The tyrant fell, and the heroes lowered their weapons.
As the populous emerged from hiding from the conflict, they waited to bask in their praise. The cruel overlord of the realm was no more.
The people did not deify them. They did not praise them. No flowers were offered or gold tithed, no gifts bequeathed or titles bestowed.
Grief was palpable in the air, tears openly streaming down their face as they pushed past the adventurers to their fallen master.
Men and women, young and old, pushed the party away even as their fellows began to sing an ancient song that reverberated throughout the city. The tears in their eyes shimmered and vanished, their sorrow empowering the spell.
With a tired groan, the tyrant revived.
“You may consider me an evil man,” he said to the adventurers, a human shield forming in front of him as they raised their weapons once more. “But the will of the people will always raise me. Will you slaughter your way through them, just to get to me?”
The civilians were resolute, arm linked in arm, even as the rag-tag group of warriors advanced once more.
Author’s Note: This week’s Three Word Wednesday words are: Bask, Grief, Raise.