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The bandit warrior lies dead at your feet. ‘For Sommerlund!’ you cry, as the enemy shield-wall falters and falls. Your men take up the battle-cry and hurl themselves against the foe. Swords whine and men and metal cry out in pain. The fight is desperate but swift. The bandits throw down their shields and flee the tavern, melting away into the rain-filled darkness. You rally your troops and run to the stables, but your heart sinks when you see the doors are wide open. You fear the worst.
