“You know what?” Duffy eased off his defensive stance and let the katana hang loosely at his side. “This isn’t working.”

Though not the most confident of people, the bard could see that despite the numbers being on their side, the duo was catastrophically outmatched. He thought about how he could balance the scales, and smirked wildly when the perfectly obvious came to his attention.

“I remember what it felt like to be so unsure of myself.” His stomach rumbled. “When the world was still so damned amazing.” It had been centuries, but seeing the women fight so hard for a scrap at the table reminded him that he was no god – he was every bit as humble as they.

He changed before their eyes. The brooding, debauch bard turned into a relatively strapping twelve-year-old and the katana, a more pig sticker in the hands of his elder turned into a near great sword. As soon as the transformation completed, he realised his mistake.

“Oh, man, you two are scary!” He bit his lip. “But I isn’t backin’ down!” He waved his blade to suggest he meant it, but his awkward grip and sweating brow betrayed his confidence.

He gave them no chance to recover from the moment he had to recover his mistake. With flat-feet, the kid charged over the sands, leapt over the still smouldering shield and rolled into a criss-cross whirl of unskilled fury at the dagger wielding woman that skulked on the edges of the sand caldera.