The Sound of Battle

Swords clashed and rang out. Men bellowed war chants until their lungs burned. Some screamed as they lay dying in the mud.

In the midst of this bedlam one man pranced and danced about. He wore no armour, and yet he carried a sense of invulnerability about him.

Lips curled back in a contemptuous sneer, his fingers moved as if possessed by a daemon. Blasting out the lyrics of his song, the bard held his lute high and hit the final power chords. “Yeah! Rock ‘n’ Roll, dudes!” he yelled as the last note echoed across the dying battlefield.

d.

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