Duffy raised an eyebrow as the duo, most unexpected, closed in on him. They made short work of the sands, which only served to prang his nerves into life. The one with the shield made a straight line for him and forced his hand. Ever the one to challenge fate he charged right back at her, blades poised like hawk’s wings and hair whipping into a frenzy in his wake. He did not have time to see what they had planned, and just before the bulwark of the shield connected with his all too often broken nose he dissipated. The bard became nothing but broken promises and a merry ditty brought to life in a whorl of blue ribbons of light.

He re-appeared five feet from whence he’d vanished, his momentum still intact and a sudden rush of blood to the head sharpening his senses. Though the realm he vanished too was cool, the return to the sweltering heat brought his neck out in hives and moistened the small of his back. He spun about, skidding over the sand to a halt and dropped to one knee to steady himself. Remaining there, eyes set on both his assailants and heart pounding, he set one blade to the ground and spread his fingertips. They touched the hot grains and steadied him, like a sprinter ready for the big race. His right hand remained raised, sword tip pointing skyward in a reverse grip.

“Now then,” he said between heavy breaths, “let’s try that again, shall we?”

Waiting for them to catch up, he gestured with a nod for the duo to try to commence proceedings a little more fairly. The rush of blood eased off, leaving the bard with a clear idea about how to proceed. Carefully. Very bloody carefully.