A single arrow is all it takes. The long black staff of the bow contorting to its inflected flexing. The powdered string bouncing and riveting along with the sound of her fingertips.
Tap-tap-tap.
She felt the weight of the air and the arrow. The length of the feathers. The point of the tip, how much it weighed from the front to the back. She felt the sand, how much the ground shook, the waves of dust in the air. She looked across the horizon with a single line in mind. Five figures in the dark emptiness, riding aimlessly for a destination, for an evil dream.
She aimed sharp, her bowstring taut. She gabbed five singular arrows and placed their firm backends against the powdered horsehair string. With all the strength in her body, she lowered the staff of the bow to the sandy grown and pulled back on the string. It buckled and cracked against the strength of her pull, and then like thunder in the sky, she let go of the string. The five arrows shot across the sky, creating a whistle of entertainment as they flew past the evening sun
---
There is a village on the furthest edge of the Kingdom of Rend. It's a small village of about two hundred residents. It has small wooden huts and homes, with a singular road that runs through its many sandy dried-up river beds.
It's an odd village, with many odd happenings, many odd experiences, and many monsters. Since it is located on the edge of the Outerlands it is frequently visited by monsters of all shapes and sizes. But, for some reason, the village is always perfectly safe. There are no monster deaths, no bandit deaths, no unnatural deaths of any kind.
This village is unaptly named the fishing village of Morigan, even though there is no fishing going on in the village. It used to be a popular fishing village many hundred years ago, but once the Monster Gates started exploding out more and more across the Outerlands, and the world turned to sand, there has been absolutely no fishing down whatsoever.
So the only real income that the village can make is through tourism. And surprisingly it is quite abundant since the only way for humans to get into the Kingdom of Rend from the Badlands is to pass through the fishing village of Morigan.
---
"Should we really be taken the place over? It's known for bein the worst village in the whole six Kingdoms?" asked a dark brown leather-strapped Bandit, as he rode atop his trusty steed.
"I'm tellen yal, the place was once called the fishing village of Morigan, but it's lost its reputation once those Monster Gates popped outa nowhere like crazy. They say it's protected by an ancient deity, a monster..."
"Really?"
The sun was slowly started setting toward noon as five horseback bandits rode across the sandy dunes. They were nearing close to the fishing village of Morigan as their leader, a man in full leather, with flappy straps wiggling out the back of his leather vest, turned around and stopped. He looked at his bandit crew.
"When have you boys ever known so much about fishing villages and such?" asked the boss.
"I don't know boss, I just learned it all from Mendy."
Mendy pointed to Bill, "I learned it from Bill."
Bill pointed to Funti, "Funti was just tellin us about the village. I'm not smart or notin."
Funti sighed, "I was born their, boss."
The boss turned his horse back around and started to ride out into the orange sun once again.
"Well my boys better be staying dumb, or else I'mma have to make yall dumber," he said sternly.
The other bandit men raised their curved scrap swords and screamed out-
"I stay dumb for you boss!"
"Anything for the boss!"
"For the boss!"
"We love da boss!"
The boss pointed to the fishing village of Morigan far off in the distance, "now let's take dat village!"
---
An old man in a rocking chair sat staring off into the sunny sandy distance. Next to him was a visitor from outside the village. They looked out at the incoming bandits as they rode in screaming.
"Oh boy here they come..."
"What's happening?" asked a man in full red-clothed robes and a red fluffed up hat, with a long white feather sticking out the top of it.
He was also holding a lute instrument, with its round wooden bottom and thin stringed top. He was a Bard.
The old man sat on the porch of his small thatched house while staring off into the distance. The horse-riding bandits were creating a small sand storm in their fast-paced wake.
"You're a Bard not from here, so you don't know about our village, sunny boy," said the wrinkled old man.
"Don't know about what?" the Bard asked back, his legs up high on the old wooden railing of the porch.
The old man in his ripped-up cloth shirt and pants sat back in his rocking chair.
He said with a soft grin, "you'll see..."
The Bard looked out at the village people, as they walked about, their faces filled with happy smiles, and positive grins, like nothing, was happening.
"Mr. Old Sherrif, this village is an odd one isn't it?"
"It is indeed..."
"Hmmm... I've traveled across many a lands, many a lost towns I've visited, many more destroyed by monsters. But yours must be the furthest out I've seen and the safest of the bunch."
"We are the safest..."
The Bard leaned forward, his lute strung across his lap as he leaned over to ask another question, "so then mind me asking, why are you the safest? Is this some magic? Some witchery? Maybe even a sword of Feu-"
The old man interrupted, "no-no my sunny, keep watch on the bandits." He pointed his wrinkled hand out again, "across the skies a protector keeps watch of these lands. For only a basket of arrows and a barrel of food and water, we are then safe from Monsters and men."
"You are using a monster to protect against monsters?" asked the Bard back, his left hand writing down everything the old man said.
"No-no my sunny boy, this is no monster, but a deity, a being from the heavens. He makes his form in the shape of a hawk, reining its arrows like rain upon the enemies of this village."
The Bard continued writing before looking down at his lute.
"Interesting..."
The old man turned to the notepad the Bard used to write.
He asked in an interested tone, "you going to write a song about this tale?"
"Maybe... I've had many a tales to write, but this is the most interesting of late. I'd say the most interesting of the year... If I may ask again, but can I meet this hawk deity. I would like to talk to them."
The old man stared out at the bandits as they drew in close, their swords held up high as they screamed out at the sun.
"Oh no-no-no, my sunny boy, you can not see the hawk. if you were to seek him out then-"
Simultaneously five arrows shot across the evening sky, their piercing sounds scratching across the air as they tilted over the setting sun. All the bandits turned in confusion as the sound drew in close.
"What is dat soun-"
Slink-slink-slink-slink-slink!
All the bandits were simultaneously struck in the head. The five arrows piercing right through their dumb skulls and their mushy brains, killing them instantly.
"My God," stunned the Bard as he recoiled in the sight of all the bandits falling off their horses and being trampled on, blood splattering across the sand.
"The Hawk is kind and ruthless. He brings instant death to those of nefarious minds. Only those who the Hawk deems to be of good intent may pass."