*The tall and lean bard returns to the fountain some weeks later, his red velvet coat now slashed and re-stitched and still showing residual stains of deeper red despite clearly having been washed. He hops up on a stone bench, much in the same place he was when he told his tale of the will-o-wisp, and begins to call to people out doing buisness or enjoying the day.*
Come one, come all - a tale of battle and blood, of foes vanquished, from an eyewitness! Come, come and hear!
*A slightly larger crowd gathers after a short while. He clears this throat, sings a quick scale.*
I would dedicate this to the fierce spell-slingers and weapon-wielders who took me into battle with them, and let a bard of little power see what bravery really looks like.
*He then sings forth in a deep tenor, his voice echoing across the flagstones and off the walls of the city.*
This day beneath Bear Island hills,
Before my light-seared eyes,
The ground awash in bloody kills -
We march forth to the prize!
*He drops a register for the chorus*
Hold your ground give not an inch
Though lightning tear around thee
Hold your ground, do not flinch
Before us they will flee
Pressing on through fur and claw, *He makes slashing motions*
Bearing wounds aplenty, *He holds his side and sags*
We battle on with firm-set jaw -
Five and ten and twenty!
Hold your ground give not an inch
Though lightning tear around thee
Hold your ground, do not flinch
Before us they will flee
Bugbears fierce with gleaming tooth,
Gather by their altar,
Holding forth our hard-won truth -
Still we do not falter!
Hold your ground give not an inch
Though lightning tear around thee
Hold your ground, do not flinch
Before us they will flee
We drag our dead and battle out, *He bends wearily, arm extended behind*
Victory at hand,
Ahead a shout and falls our scout-
We make our final stand!
Hold your ground give not an inch
Though lightning tear around thee
Hold your ground, do not flinch
Before us they will flee
One last battle by the door,
My companions falling round me,
My clothing soaked in battle gore -
With battle-horn sounding east!
*He raises his voice an octave for the last chorus*
Flee your ground, get out alive
Before they gather more
Flee your ground, get out alive
So we'll live to the shore!
*He bows as the audience applauds, and bows again and once more before stepping down and strolling toward a food vendor, still humming the rousing tune.*
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