"Your Majesty, forgive our late arrival."

King Wendland looked up from his command tent, face creased with stress. The past few months had weighed down his mood, aging him years in a shorter time frame. Today was the culmination, as his troops waged a desperate last stand. If they were to fall, his kingdom was doomed.

Before him stood a woman in bright red. Her suit was tailored to hug her body, fashionable yet functional. She wore a small plumed hat, a badge bearing crossed lutes on its front. She had an air of calm around her, as if this was a simple business meeting.

"I am Esma Religol, of the College of Performance. We did send word to expect our appearance."

The king frowned, rubbing his head. The guards flanking his tent entrance stood ready, watching his every move. One gesture and they would arrest Esma.

"The College? I was expecting you days ago!"

The constant tension finally broke, as an outlet for his emotions stood before him.

"You were supposed to build morale up! What use are you to me now, now that my men are fighting and dying?!"

Esma nodded, flicking her hand. A conductors baton appeared with a flash, as she held it lightly.

"Morale is not the only thing we are here to bolster. We are the War Band, and this is our first performance. Listen to our music, and know that you have the bards on your side."

With that she strode out of the tent, heading towards the front lines. Her troupe were lined up ready, thirty bards holding various instruments. Fifteen held drums, sticks ready to go. Ten had bugles to their lips, taking deep breaths to full their lungs. The final five showed bagpipes, waiting for her orders.

Esma wasted no time, raising up her baton as she approached. Around them the sounds of fighting quietened, as though the world held its breath. She took her place at their head, and let loose the first beat of the drums.

The effect was instant. The flagging troops, worn down from weeks of fighting, felt rested. The beat drove away exhaustion, in body, mind and spirit. Wounds numbed, and grips tightened. The rising despair was shattered by the beat, courage taking place.

The bugles soon followed, resonating in their chests. Their armour felt lighter, but strangely heavy at the same time. Strikes from their enemies shifted in mid-air, hitting protective metal over flesh. Their own weapons adjusted their paths, scoring wounds a plenty.

Esma conducted them, before increasing her speed. As she did, the pipers joined, their notes following her baton. With a flourish she let some loose, causing earth to split beneath the feet of some enemy reinforcements. Chasms swallowed them up, before slamming shut around them.

Another flourish let loose a stream of streaking lights. They whipped overhead, arcing down with deadly intent. Each struck a leader within the opposing force, throwing them to the ground. Even if they survived the strike, the fallen bodies were soon trampled by subordinates as fear took over.

She conducted the band with firm precision, letting their combined strength astonish. King Wendland watched and listened, shock and respect in his expression. Their performance eased his concerns, as the looming defeat was upturned. Their survival was all thanks to the College, a debt he knew he would never be able to repay. Yet in the moment his concerns were ignored, as he enjoyed the show before him.