Holding his hand hand up, Joshua wreathed it in enough blue fire to see by. "I have it under control, lady," he muttered to himself. A brutal thrust lodged his knife in the neck of another of the stunned bandits. The last man, having recovered slightly, swung a simple mace at the smith. Wheeling back, Joshau focused his magic, turning the club orange, forcing it from the bandit's hand. The mage seized his opportunity in a literal sense, placing hands on the man's face, flash boiling his brain. "Besides, the fire was their fault."
The last bandit struggled with the bard, reaching for his saber. The hilt came apart in his hand: Joshua had melted the tang out of the weapon, letting the pommel, guard and ashes that had once been a wooden grip fall upon the floor.
Eyepatch snarled, unwilling to accept his defeat. "I don't know who you are, girl. But siding with that crooked he-witch was the biggest mistake o' your life" Then, thinking better on his chances, the man mellowed. "Ask your damn' questions..."