🎵: Dash of the Daring, Rise of the Iron Will, Wellspring of Arcana

"Wake up, bard." Lin's whisper cuts through my dreams. Her small hand shakes my shoulder with surprising strength. "Third watch."

I sit up, blinking away sleep. The camp lies still, filled only with the soft sounds of sleeping travelers and the deep, rhythmic breathing of the Beastmovers. Above, the moon hangs high, bathing everything in silver light while Lin waits with practiced patience as I buckle on my sword.

"Walk the outer perimeter twice per hour," she instructs in clipped tones. "If you see anything, tell Old Tom first—he's on watch with you. He's got the best eyes for trouble and we don't need a rookie waking up the entire camp over shadow tricks. And try not to die on your first night. The paperwork's terrible." I can't tell if she's joking.

Taking up my post, I begin the slow circuit around the wagons. My boots crunch softly on the packed earth, and I instinctively step lighter, the way Kira taught me. The thought brings a fresh wave of pain, but it's duller now, muted by exhaustion and distance.

A Duskweaver chimes its crystalline warning from somewhere in the darkness. I pause, listening for any response that might show it's a signal rather than natural behaviour. Another lesson from Kira. But there's only night sounds—the whisper of wind through grass, the soft clicking of the Beastmovers' scales as they shift in their sleep, the occasional low rumble from a dreaming Swiftclaw.

Old Tom sits by the banked fire, his massive form barely visible in the fading light. As I pass, he gestures for me to join him.

"Saw you checking the Duskweaver's call," he says quietly when I sit. "Good instinct. Few rookies think of that."

"Had a friend who taught me," I reply, keeping my voice neutral.

He nods, not pressing. "Route ahead gets trickier. Raiders watch for caravans this time of year, especially with the Swiftclaws shedding their winter scales. The beasts get restless, makes us easier to spot. Having someone who pays attention will help."

We sit in comfortable silence for a few moments before I resume my patrol. The rest of the watch passes slowly, marked by the moon's crawl across the sky. Each circuit becomes more familiar—the pattern of the wagons, the sound of different sleepers, the varying shadows, the way the Beastmovers shift their massive bodies to block the wind from the travelers.

Somewhere in those quiet hours, I realize I'm grateful for the simplicity of this duty. Just walk, watch, and keep others safe. No complex decisions, no questioning my judgment. For now, that's enough.

Dawn's first light finds me still walking my circuit, tired but more at peace than I've felt since the tunnels. As the camp stirs, Master Dalen catches my eye and gives me a small nod. I've passed the first test, at least.

The eastern sky barely shows a hint of pink when Master Dalen's voice cuts through the pre-dawn quiet. "Up! All hands, we're moving!"

"You'll ride sweep today," Tomas tells me, handing me a strip of dried meat for breakfast. "Grab that Swiftclaw tied up over by the supply wagon. Monitor our back trail. Any raiders following us will show dust before they're close enough to be trouble. Watch the Duskweavers too—they'll flee long before we spot any danger."

"Actually," I say, swallowing a bite of the dried meat, "I won't need a mount. My Dash of the Daring lets me keep pace with the caravan easily enough."

Tomas raises an eyebrow, exchanging skeptical glances with Lin. "On foot? For hours? Even a Swiftclaw needs rest, eventually."

"Watch," I say.

You sing Dash of the Daring!

The magic flows through my legs, and I show with a quick sprint around the nearest wagon, my feet barely seeming to touch the ground. "By the gods," Lin whispers, her Swiftclaw's head-frills twitching in response to her surprise. Even her usually composed mount seems unsettled by the display of supernatural speed.

"That's... something else," Tomas admits, clearly reassessing his initial doubts. "Might be useful having someone who can move like that. Especially if we need to get warnings back and forth along the caravan quickly."

I nod, grateful for the straightforward task. Out here, threats can't hide in shadows or spring from side passages. They have to cross open ground to reach us, and that's the fight I can handle without second-guessing myself.

The caravan lurches into motion, the Beastmovers' six-legged gait creating a steady rhythm as their claws click against the packed earth. I fall into position at the rear, the magic of Dash of the Daring still thrumming through my legs. Ahead of me, merchants and travelers trade drowsy morning greetings and share breakfast on the move, though I notice more than a few glancing back at me now, murmuring about my demonstration.

"Good morning." It's Lin, guiding her Swiftclaw back to join me. Its scales gleam copper in the morning light, head-frills rippling gently in the breeze. "That speed of yours—is it tiring? Magic usually has its costs."

"The song does most of the work," I explain, easily keeping pace with her mount. "Though I need to take breaks once in a while to let my mana regenerate."

She tosses me another strip of dried meat. "Impressive trick for a bard. The little I have ever heard about bard's is they just sing and tell stories for their supper. Never seen one who could outrun a Swiftclaw."

"Strange though," Tomas adds, riding up beside us. "If you can move that fast, why didn't you—" He catches himself, clearly about to ask about Riverhaven, but thinks better of it.

I'm grateful for his discretion, but the question hangs in the air, anyway. Why didn't I use this speed to save Kira? The answer catches in my throat. I had dropped the speed song for my fear song to have a slot...

"Master Dalen will want to adjust our defensive plans," Lin says, smoothly changing the subject. "With your speed, we could significantly expand our patrol range. Cover more ground, spot trouble sooner."

I nod, forcing my mind back to the present. "Just show me what you need."

"Well, first these signals we use..." Lin explains their system of whistles and gestures, but pauses as she notices something in the distance. "Actually, here's a chance to test both. See that dust cloud to the southeast? Probably just a wild herd of something, but would you mind...?"

You sing Dash of the Daring!

I'm already moving before she finishes the request, the song's magic carrying me across the plain at supernatural speed. The wind whips past my face as I close the distance, and for a moment, I feel almost free. This is what I was made for—to embrace open spaces, to have a clear purpose, and to not second-guess any shadows.

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The distance melts away beneath my feet as I sprint toward the dust cloud. A normal man would take twelve minutes to cover this ground and be dead tired—I'll do it in three and be totally refreshed. The magic flows through my muscles, making each stride feel effortless, like I'm barely touching the earth.

Through the morning haze, I make out shapes that turn my blood cold. Not a wild herd—raiders. At least a dozen mounted on what look like corrupt Swiftclaws, their scales an unnatural black, twisted by dark magic. Two wagons accompany them, probably filled with stolen goods.

Name: Corrupted Swiftclaw

Classification: Corrupted Beast

Species: Twisted Scaled Quadruped

Level: 7

Weight (kg): 400

Description: A corrupted version of the Swiftclaw, twisted by dark magic into a more aggressive but less stable form.Think of it as a Swiftclaw that woke up on the wrong side of the void for about a thousand years straight. At least the glowing head-frills make great nightlights for particularly brave (or foolish) riders.

Name: Black Scale Brigade Raider

Classification: Human (Corrupted)

Profession: Raider

Level: 4-6

Weight (kg): 80

Description: Elite raiders equipped with dark artifacts and riding corrupted mounts. Like your average bandits, but with an excessive commitment to the "dark and brooding" aesthetic. The void-touched weapons are intimidating, sure, but you should see them try to eat soup with those corrupted spoons.

I turn to retreat, but one of their scouts spots me. Their corrupted Swiftclaw lets out an unnatural shriek, its head-frills flaring an acidic green that pulses like liquid poison against the morning sky. The sound echoes wrongly, seeming to hang in the air longer than natural.

Three raiders break from their group, spurring their mounts toward me with practiced coordination. The corrupted Swiftclaws move with unnatural speed, their black scales seeming to drink in the sunlight. The lead rider raises a crossbow, its metal tip gleaming. I weave as I run; the bolt whistles past my ear close enough that I feel the wind of its passage. The song's magic lets me change direction instantly, leaving my pursuers struggling to match my agility. Their corrupted Swiftclaws may be fast, but they can't corner like I can - each sharp turn forces their mounts to check their speed, throwing off their riders' aim.

Through my pounding feet, I feel the corrupted Swiftclaws gaining ground, their twisted claws tearing up chunks of earth with each stride. A quick mental check of my mana reserves sends a spike of worry through me—barely two minutes of Dash of the Daring left. The lead raider fires another bolt, forcing me to zigzag across the plains. Each sudden direction change buys me precious seconds as their mounts struggle to turn, their unnatural bulk working against them, but also burns precious mana.

"Take him alive!" one shouts, voice carrying across the gap between us. "That speed magic will fetch a fortune!"

That explains their persistence. I risk a glance over my shoulder—the main raider group has split, with half circling wide to cut off my route back to the caravan, their corrupted mounts moving in perfect formation. My hand brushes the two mana potions at my belt, their glass warm against my fingers. I'd hoped to save these for a genuine emergency, but being caught by raiders qualifies.

A cluster of Duskweavers floats ahead, their translucent bodies scattering the morning light into rainbow fragments. Perfect. As my mana reaches dangerous levels, sending warning tingles through my limbs, I sprint through their midst, shattering their formation. The corrupted Swiftclaws rear back, their head-frills flattening against their scaled necks in visible distress as the Duskweavers' defensive chimes pierce the air with supernatural resonance. The ethereal creatures spin in agitation, their harmonics making the very air vibrate.

In that moment of chaos, I pull the first mana potion from my belt, the glass slick with sweat beneath my fingers. The bitter liquid burns going down like liquid lightning, but the surge of energy is immediate, restoring my mana to its full twenty points. Fresh energy courses through my legs as Dash of the Daring regains its full strength, the familiar tingle of magic returning to every muscle.

The restored mana gives me a fresh burst of speed as I turn eastward, away from both the caravan and raiders. A risky move, but I've spotted something in the distance—a scattering of rock formations rising from the plains like ancient teeth. If I can just make it there before my mana runs low again...

"He's heading for the rocks!" A raider shouts behind me, voice carrying an edge of frustration. "Cut him off!"

Their corrupted Swiftclaws are fast in straight lines, their twisted muscles bunching with unnatural power, but as the ground begins to rise and roughen, their size works against them. I weave between the first few boulders, hearing curses as their mounts struggle to match my agility, their claws scraping against stone with metallic shrieks. A quick check—four minutes of mana left, and one potion remaining. I need to make this count.

Darting through a narrow gap between two rock faces, I barely slip through the tight space—far too narrow for their Swiftclaws to follow. Frustrated shrieks from the corrupted mounts echo off the stone, while their riders curse and scramble to guide the beasts around the longer route. Every second counts, and this detour buys me just enough, though I know my luck won’t last forever. The caravan must be warned soon.

Through a gap in the rocks, I glimpse the plains below. The caravan continues its steady pace, wagons and guards still unaware of the danger bearing down on them. The morning sun casts long shadows across the grassland, making the raiders' dark mounts blend with the terrain. If I can just get to that high point ahead, Lin might hear my signal...

The highest rock formation looms ahead—a jagged spire thrust up from the earth. Perfect for what I need, but my mana is draining fast, three minutes left at most. Behind me, the raiders' boots scrape against stone as they dismount, their voices bouncing off the narrow canyon walls as they struggle to guide their corrupted Swiftclaws through the maze-like passages.

I reach the peak gasping, mana running dangerously low, the magical energy flickering like a guttering candle. From this vantage, both threats are clearly visible—the group pursuing me through the rocks, and the main raider force moving to intercept the caravan, their formation tight and practiced. Lin had taught me their signal system just minutes ago, but would they be watching for it?

Cupping my hands around my mouth, I let out the three-note whistle that means immediate danger. The sound carries across the morning air, piercing and clear. Movement catches my eye—Lin's Swiftclaw rearing up as she hears me, its natural scales gleaming in the sunlight. She raises her arm in acknowledgment, the signal sharp and precise.

Two minutes of mana left. The raiders are reorganizing below, their corrupted mounts pacing restlessly between the rocks, head-frills pulsing with that sickly green glow. I need to get back to the caravan, but taking a direct route would lead them straight there. Unless...

I pull out my second mana potion as I scan the terrain, the glass warm against my palm. Two routes lay before me: a longer path that loops wide around the raiders but risks the caravan facing them alone, or a riskier dash straight through their ranks that might disrupt their formation. My mana's down to its last minute—barely enough time to make this decision. The magic flickers in my muscles, warning me of its imminent failure.

The sound of boots on rock tells me the raiders are closing in, their shadows stretching across the stone as they climb. Making my choice, I down the potion in one swift gulp. A sharp pain immediately lances through my temples like hot needles—Caius's warning from a couple days ago echoes in my memory: "Two mana potions back to back? You're asking for a splitting headache, lad. Body needs time to adjust between doses."

As my mana surges back to full, I launch myself off the rock formation, directly toward the scattered raider group. Their surprise is obvious in their shouts and curses—they clearly expected me to keep running away. The headache pounds with each footfall, each impact sending fresh waves of pain through my skull, but I force myself to focus through it.

"He's lost his mind!" one shouts as I sprint straight at their line. Their corrupted Swiftclaws rear and twist, their unnatural grace momentarily forgotten in their confusion. In their scramble to regroup, they create gaps in their formation—gaps just wide enough for someone moving at magical speed.

I weave between their mounts, their claws and weapons slashing at empty air where I was a heartbeat before. Every dodge, every twist burns precious mana, but breaking their formation is worth it. The throbbing in my head makes it harder to focus, the world taking on a painful brightness, but behind me, I hear their organized pursuit dissolving into chaos.

The raiders' disarray gives me an opening. Dodging another swipe from a corrupted Swiftclaw, its claws passing close enough to feel the displaced air, I spot Lin and three other guards riding to intercept. Perfect.

"Accept my party invite, and stay within ten meters of me!" I shout to the approaching guards, pushing through my headache to project the magic. Time to show these raiders what happens when they face more than just speed.