Adventure of Parthus 1

Parthus reaches the stone shrine as wagon wheels groan in the dust. Merchant carts stand half-sprawled in the yard, horses tossing their heads and braying at the smell of danger.

At the center, a kneeling merchant father is held down by two rough men while a third pries at a chest latch with a dagger point. Their leader balances on a crate, blade bare, watching the family with cold patience.

A woman near the wagons clutches a child to her skirt. One bandit tears at a chest lid, eager for whatever is inside.

Parthus steps into the open, shield forward, sword ready, the shrine stones catching hard light behind him.

The leader’s men stiffen. One bandit glances toward the road, weighing escape against steel, while the chest at his knees hangs open just enough to tempt a hand. The child starts to cry.

Parthus’s shout cracks across the yard, sharp as steel.

The woman jerks her child free of her skirt and turns toward the shrine stones, half running, half dragging the little one beside her.

The man at the chest slams it shut with his palm and lunges away from the wagon, while one of the rough men loosens his grip on the merchant father to look toward the fleeing pair.

Dust kicks high between shrine and wagon. The child stumbles once, but the woman hauls him onward toward the stone steps, and the bandits must choose between their loot and pursuit.

Parthus closes the gap in three hard strides, shield first. The nearest bandit meets steel and stumbles back from the shrine stones, his blade skidding wide.

The bandit leader wheels around too late, his order broken by the impact. Dust bursts at their boots as the line wavers around Parthus’s advance.

One looter hesitates between the chest and the fight, then backs away from Parthus’s reach. The merchant father drags himself farther from the menacing hands now turned elsewhere.

Parthus drives another blow into the bandits’ advance, and the rough men give ground in a ragged step. The woman and child slip onto the shrine steps, out of the immediate press.

The yard opens around the faltering thieves, their easy plunder gone for the moment. One bandit glances toward the road as if measuring flight, while the leader still snarls for them to stay.

Parthus’s warhammer crashes down in a bright, holy arc, and the bandit leader takes the full weight of it on his shoulder and breast. He folds with a strangled gasp, his blade dropping into the dust.

The blow sends a sharp shock through the line. Two bandits flinch backward at once, staring at their leader as he reels at Parthus’s feet.

His shout breaks instead of binds. One man turns and runs for the road, and another drops his loot to follow.

The woman gathers the child tighter on the steps, watching the yard empty in disbelief as dust swirls around the fallen leader.

Only one bandit still hesitates, half-turned between flight and loyalty, while Parthus stands between him and the shrine.

Parthus levels his shield and speaks with hard calm, telling the last bandit to drop his steel and kneel, or join his leader in the dust.

The bandit freezes, then his blade slips from his fingers. He backs away with both hands raised, staring at Parthus as if measuring a grave he has not earned yet.

The words crack across the yard. The fleeing men do not turn back, but they keep running, and the one who hesitated swallows and throws his empty hands wider.

Dust drifts around Parthus’s boots as the merchant father drags himself nearer the shrine steps, while the woman loosens her grip on the child just enough to breathe.

The surrendered bandit waits for Parthus’s next order, pale and shaking, and the yard falls into a wary stillness.