a young warrior fulfils a dream, one on one combat, and his foe folds like wet parchment. a wounded musician, has his back even as the javelin impaled in her arm (her spoils) drips with life.
the clatter of a die. a number announcing if she survives is softly reported
[or how Oscarβs help was neither wanted nor needed, thank you very much]
This is part of a series of vignettes from my first Dungeons and Dragons campaign.