Smoke burned Diath’s throat as he sprinted across the street’s uneven cobbles, a trio of bandits hot on his heels. He vaulted an upturned cart, blindly threw a dagger at the height of his jump, and hit the ground running; the roar of the fire around him drowned out any indication of whether he had found a mark. Moments later, he leaped aside just in time to avoid the avalanche of sparks and timber as the building next to him collapsed, gutted by fire. The entire village was burning.

Diath landed in a roll and sprung to his feet to face his pursuers. To his surprise, none remained. Though it would have been poetic justice if they were buried beneath the rubble, he suspected they had instead chosen to go after easier prey. All the more reason for him to hurry; he needed to get back to the town’s chapel, where Strix and Evelyn were helping to protect the few villagers who had been given enough warning to run. Getting separated had been a mistake, and on his own he would be far too easy for a group of any size to pick off.

Diath turned a corner to see a man standing in the middle of the street, staring dazedly up at the burning buildings. Though he was both armed and armored, none of his weapons were drawn, and though he swayed on his feet, Diath could see that he was uninjured. Shock, then; a village militiaman who had never seen battle, suddenly faced with the destruction of his home. Diath’s heart went out to him, but there was no time for either of them to delay.

“You!” he shouted, stepping out into the man’s line of sight. “Can you use that sword?”

The man blinked and, after a moment, tore his eyes from the flames to stare through Diath instead, his gaze just as unfocused as before. Over the roar of the fire, Diath heard the shouts of angry men; they were both rapidly running out of time.

“Listen, we need to go.” Diath said urgently, stepping forward to grab the man’s arm. “I can take you to the chapel where my friends will keep you safe. But you need to move.”

Agonizingly slowly, the man looked down at Diath’s hand, then back up. “Huh.” he said quietly. Then, as though broken from his stupor by his own voice, he asked, “Well, what are we waiting for?”

Without another word Diath began to run toward the chapel, the man stumbling along somewhat close behind. Luckily, they didn’t run into anyone else along the way; the man was so unsteady on his feet that Diath wasn’t entirely sure he would be an asset in a fight. He kept tripping over cobblestones and bits of rubble, to such an extent that Diath was sure he must be concussed or drunk, or possibly both. Finally, with some difficulty, they emerged into the open square where the chapel stood unburnt as the village’s only stone building.

All the windows had been smashed by a group of bandits who, having found them barricaded, were now trying to break in the door. The village militia fired crossbow bolts into the fray through gaps in the barricades, and Strix scuttled up and down the chapel’s sloped roof, a dark smudge throwing flames at whoever she could get an angle on. From behind the building came the clash of metal on metal, above which Diath could just hear Evelyn invoking Lathander’s name. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding; they were both alive, at least for now, and by the looks of it they had bought enough time for the villagers to put together a defense.

Such was Diath’s relief at seeing his friends unhurt that he didn’t notice the armored hulk until it was already upon him. An enormous mailed fist smashed into the side of his head and sent him tumbling to the ground; he rolled on impact and just managed to avoid the follow-through with the most enormous sword he had ever seen. Diath sprang to his feet, bleeding, and turned to face an armored woman nearly eight feet tall. Her skin was gray and craggy, as though she had been carved from stone, and she held in one hand a sword that was nearly as tall as Diath. He danced backward as she swung again, wary of the fight still going on behind him, and retaliated with a thrown dagger which bounced harmlessly off her armor. Her reach far outstripped his, and he quickly realized that this wasn’t a battle he was going to be able to win alone.

“You need to fight!” he called to the man who still stood, motionless, at the edge of the square. “Please!”

The woman laughed, not even bothering to turn to see who he was talking to. Maybe, Diath thought as he ducked another swing of her sword, she knew a lost cause when she saw one. He sidestepped around her arm and managed to deal a glancing blow to the back of her hand; he wasn’t entirely sure she even felt it. She whirled to face him and kicked him in the knee with an iron boot, sending him stumbling back again. Before he could find his balance, she sprang forward, grabbed him by the throat, and hoisted him into the air. He couldn’t breathe; the woman was throttling him to death.

Through his graying vision, Diath saw the man take a half step closer, sword still sheathed. His lips were moving, and Diath felt as much as heard strange words flit around the edge of his consciousness, seeming to float just beyond his understanding. The woman screamed and dropped him, ears bleeding, and he wasted no time in stabbing her in the gap her armor left between her neck and shoulder, scampering back when he realized the blow had failed to down her. He had expected retaliation, but to his great surprise the woman spun to face the other man instead.

“Traitor!” she screamed, rushing him. Diath froze in shock, sure he couldn’t have heard her right.

The man threw his hands up, eyes wide. “Wait hold on”–

Whatever explanation he had been planning to give was cut short by her sword. The man, less coordinated and not as fast as Diath had been, was only just able to leap out of the way of the worst of it and took a wound that sliced through his armor, spraying his blood onto the wall behind him. He stumbled backward, alive but bleeding heavily.

“Should have known you’d turn on us,” the woman growled as she advanced on him, “You always were a coward, Seppa.”

“Wow. Hurtful.” He gasped, leaning on the wall for support. Diath could tell that he wouldn’t be able to dodge another swing; he looked like he could barely stand.

Whoever he was, whatever side he was on, he had saved Diath’s life, and he intended to return the favor. Diath sprinted toward the woman, vaulted up onto her shoulder, and stabbed down toward her throat, his dagger digging in behind her collarbone. Before he could jump away, she reached up and grabbed his arm in a grip so painfully strong he was sure his wrist would break. Over the woman’s shoulder Diath saw the man, slumped against the wall, raise a blood-soaked hand.

A loud boom shook the shook the square, sending both Diath and the woman flying backward. She landed atop him with a painful thud, and Diath found himself pinned beneath her bulk. She wasn’t moving, and Diath fervently hoped that she was finally dead.

“The signal!” someone shouted above, followed by the rush of many booted feet. Moments later, Diath heard the whizz of crossbow bolts from behind him, followed by the screams of many men. He managed to push enough of the woman’s body off of him to get a look; it seemed as though the village's militia, firmly entrenched in the chapel, was holding off the ill-advised charge of the last of the bandits. By the time he completely freed himself and reached his feet, all of them save the man he’d found in the village were either dead or fleeing.

“Diath, are you all right?” Evelyn flew into him so quickly she nearly knocked him over again. Beside him, Strix materialized out of a cloud of gas.

“He’s fine. Some guy saved him and then he fell over.” said Strix, who, despite her words, was eyeing his injuries as though she could glare them out of existence. She reached into her robes and pulled out something unidentifiable. “You should probably eat this.”

“Maybe later.” Distracted, he looked to the man by the wall. Evelyn, following his gaze, flew to him before he could stop her.

“You’re injured!” she cried, her hands aglow as she reached down to him. She pulled him to his feet, his wounds healing, and immediately pulled him into a hug. “Thank you so much for saving my friend Diath, that was so brave and w”–she gasped and Diath tensed, sure for a moment that he had attacked her, but instead she spun around to look at something on his back. “What is that?”

For the first time, Diath noticed that the man had an odd-looking bag slung over his back. Wordlessly, he swung it around and blew into one of several pipes sticking out of it, producing one of the worst noises Diath had ever heard. Evelyn gasped, her face lit up with a huge smile, and Diath heard Strix groan a miserable “oh no” beside him.

“Diath, he’s a bard!” Evelyn enthused, “Lathander sent a bard to save you, isn’t that wonderful?”

Diath goggled wordlessly at her, incredulous. Surely what he thought was happening couldn’t actually be happening. “He was with them,” he croaked, “He came here with the bandits. He was on their side!”

Evelyn gave no indication that she even heard him; in fact, she looked so infatuated that Diath was sure she hadn’t. She took one of the man’s hands in both of hers, shook it vigorously, and said “I’m Evelyn Marthain, humble servant of Lathander, and these are my very best friends Diath and Strix and it’s such a pleasure to make the acquaintance of someone so blessed with the Light of the Morning Lord!”

The man looked between Evelyn, who was positively starstruck, Strix, who was sitting on the ground with her face in her hands, and Diath, who was beginning to regret every decision he had ever made.

“Paultin Seppa,” he replied with a grin, “And the pleasure is all mine.”