The heroes square off against the Dragon Cult’s horde in the temple, risking everything to usher the helpless townsfolk to safety.
With the moments to spare that he had, Zane quickly checked on the old battered harp he carried. It was with trepidation he pulled it out of his pack, but his worries were soon abated when he saw it intact. Well, it was still as battered as it always was, but the bard cherished it regardless.
He strummed it lightly, and leaned himself against the keep walls, trying to ease the pain of his wounds. There was a feeling of hopelessness, and sorrow about the keep, but Zane couldn’t help but feel alive.
The glory of it all! That last stand in the temple, was the stuff of legends. Taking leadership, directing everyone, saving the day. Like a hero. I’m a hero.
He smiled, oblivious of the soft weeping around him. He could still smell the fire on his clothes, and feel the hot burn on his face. Stepping out of that door was like stepping into hell. Oh, that’s good. I need to write that down!
Glancing into his pack, Zane spied some loose parchment and scrolls, and grabbed one, along with his writing implements from among his unfinished works, still floated around in the pack. I should really write more, but this hero business is busy work.
The bard glanced up, and noticed that Mellisandre was also writing. What’s this now? A moment of jealous rivalry sparked, does she think to best my saga with her own? Zane shook his head. Reminding himself that he was an accomplished and well trained bard. She was just a child.
Well maybe older. Seventeen? He wasn’t sure. Pretty, and like so many women he’d encountered, so obviously taken in by him. Zane didn’t blame her of course. And she was pretty. Careful. He chided himself, a true hero does not take advantage. Not today anyway…
He followed her eye, and noticed that she was staring at Thorogrim. The dwarf had taken a beating in the temple, surrounded, and bellowing challenges to the raiders. Serevin was also looking worse for wear. It was a good thing Zane had commanded them to hold the raiders off. They’d done a fabulous job under his guidance and leadership. I inspired such greatness in them!
The bard sighed, his smile widened. It was a shame some of the peasants died though, but heroes have to make tough choices. And tragedy is something they overcome. I will fight on, for them. The people needed something to look up to.
Zane looked to the parchment. Where to start? A title of course, but which? How best to describe the amazing efforts of this ragtag group he was championing?
Yes, it’s obvious.
He took to the parchment, in broad strokes: Ode to Zane was how it began…