^ Banned for getting Hakuna Matata playing in my head... but no worries for the rest of your day.
The glade was silent and still. Not even a bird broke the forest's shady, evening serenity. Suddenly, from the undergrowth at the clearing's edge, dark figures leapt forth, and a fiery cry seared the cold air: 'BAN!'
The bard recognized the bone-chilling battle cry of the Knights of Ban. The knaves still rallied under that banner even though nowadays they were little more than a ragtag band of thieves and cutthroats.
Though outnumbered, the bard was unafraid, for he was about to spring a trap of his own! He stood tall, took a deep breath and then from his throat issued a thunderous, ear-shattering ban the likes of which shall never again be heard in the Age of the Hammer!
The Knights of Ban were routed by the bard's stentorian ban, their spirits broken, their eardrums undone...
Though outnumbered, the bard was unafraid, for he was about to spring a trap of his own! He stood tall, took a deep breath and then from his throat issued a thunderous, ear-shattering ban the likes of which shall never again be heard in the Age of the Hammer!
The Knights of Ban were routed by the bard's stentorian ban, their spirits broken, their eardrums undone...
The bard, well satisfied with his resounding dispatch of the battered knights, became urgently aware of a presence, immediately behind his back. Turning abruptly, his eyes confronted a vast expanse of green, leathery scales, and chitinous dark plates. Raising his trembling gaze, the songster beheld the gaping maw of a fire-drake leering ominously over his head. Venomous acid, and acrid steam dripped and fumed from between its rows of fangs.
Things looked black for our hero, for, surely, this was the dreaded Worm of Ban Mordscath -- who had no appreciation for music, nor for being roused from his slumber in the hills. . .
Things looked black for our hero, for, surely, this was the dreaded Worm of Ban Mordscath -- who had no appreciation for music, nor for being roused from his slumber in the hills. . .
And thus, the beast roared mightier than a hundred thunder would, bedazzling the bard and abruptly snapping at Twain's torso.
Ban Mordcath wasn't very fond of all kinds of art equally, apparently.
Ban Mordcath wasn't very fond of all kinds of art equally, apparently.
The bard struggled within the maw of the dread wyrm but steadily regained his courage as he recalled the blood-rousing chant of the dragonslayers of Ard Bannath.
Our hero drew his ensorcelled blade as he chanted feverishly, striking at the beast's head. The wyrm relented and dropped him on the ground. Seeing as he was finally free of the wyrm's grip, the bard wasted no time. With a triumphant roar, he rushed foward and slashed at the wyrm's loins...
Our hero drew his ensorcelled blade as he chanted feverishly, striking at the beast's head. The wyrm relented and dropped him on the ground. Seeing as he was finally free of the wyrm's grip, the bard wasted no time. With a triumphant roar, he rushed foward and slashed at the wyrm's loins...
Having purloined a brief reprieve from the perilous jaws, the bard attacked furiously, but to no avail. The draconian thighs staunchly withstood the onslaught of his enchanted brand. The enraged worm opened wide his noxious mouth, and bands of encircling flame soon ringed our hero on all sides. . .
The bard saw plainly that enchanted steel could no longer help him against this relentless foe. He knew that in the end it was always song that won the day. Our hero dropped his blade and pulled out his lute, recalling the song of banishment he learned from a shady old geezer who was hiding out from who knows what in a tavern's cellar.
As the flames drew closer, the bard caressed the lute's strings like an old lover and presently began playing...
As the flames drew closer, the bard caressed the lute's strings like an old lover and presently began playing...
As he coaxed forth the solemn melody, the bard recalled his banter with the dodgy old man. (Strange that he should have known a song like this one.)
'I'm not offerin' to go with you, lad. I'm not a man o' action, like yourself. This bit o' magic might save your life someday. But I warn you: Play it only in direst need, elsewise, 'twill bring you naught but trouble!'
The wistful strains wafted amidst the smouldering reek, as the savage flames licked at the bard's heels, and singed his cap feather. Soon he would be naught but ashen bones, and cinders!
However, just as the inferno was about to devour him, the haunting tune's curious magic began its work. The dragon halted. The fires died down. The fume cleared. A crackling energy -- like lightening -- filled the air. A blue light sprang from the air about them, enveloping the bewildered beast, and the bard. Then, with a blinding flash. . .
'I'm not offerin' to go with you, lad. I'm not a man o' action, like yourself. This bit o' magic might save your life someday. But I warn you: Play it only in direst need, elsewise, 'twill bring you naught but trouble!'
The wistful strains wafted amidst the smouldering reek, as the savage flames licked at the bard's heels, and singed his cap feather. Soon he would be naught but ashen bones, and cinders!
However, just as the inferno was about to devour him, the haunting tune's curious magic began its work. The dragon halted. The fires died down. The fume cleared. A crackling energy -- like lightening -- filled the air. A blue light sprang from the air about them, enveloping the bewildered beast, and the bard. Then, with a blinding flash. . .
