Bard and Spellblade

“Wake up!”

Achilles blinked, disoriented, at Medea’s urgent warning.

He rolled out of his bedroll, which was unfastened on one side so he would not be trapped in situations like this, and drew Virgil in one fluid motion. “More demons?” he asked in a bleary voice, blinking against the dim light of embers in the firepit.

Medea had drawn both her daggers, and pointed one at the treeline beyond their camp.

The sound of crashing came from it, the sound of many feet breaking twigs and branches.

But then the sound of a trumpet reached them, along with a loud voice proclaiming, “Hail, Phoenix Talon Company!”

Medea relaxed, a smile coming to her lips. “That’s a Dwarvish horn!” she said. “They have a Bard with them. It’s a convoy from the Frontier!”

Achilles relaxed, grateful he had not immediately wasted an eye on darkvision for a fight that was not going to happen.