Recovering from the blow Hanzo had inflicted to the anti-paladin, the monk considered himself lucky to have struck when he did - the sinister figure had been prepared for another attack, and his sudden intervention had knocked him out of it and likely protected his allies fighting him. Another battle waged behind them, between the hellhound and some of the other, but Hanzo couldn't divert his focus. This devil seemed strong, and even with a new wound in his head he would not be stopped.
However, something suddenly happened. A heartfelt singing voice from elsewhere in the village. Hanzo barely managed to spare a glance... Sana? What was happening? As if on cue for an answer, several serpentine streams of light flowed out from the gypsy woman, targeting and engulfing each of her allies. The monk felt himself surging with courage, his lesser scars and scratched healing themselves fully. Some sort of secret power, of the bardic kind, perhaps? Hanzo would ask about it later. Now, it was necessary to finish the fight, while everyone seemed to be in greater spirits.
As the martial artist faced the anti-paladin again, the damned figure decided to vent some range, selecting Hanzo to be the target of a swift execution. It would've been too close to avoid, a clean cut-off of his head, but he was saved by yet another intervention - the wild orc from long before, bringing a bone club down to break the man's arm at the elbow. A cry of pain followed the sound of cracking, and the fiending warrior dropped to a knee, growing hatefully with his sword clattered on the ground.
Once more, however, yet another interruption ensued, this time from an individual Hanzo did not recognize. Or rather, he had noted the presence of him before, but knew nothing else. The cavalier, charging with lance in hand, speared the anti-paladin hard, carrying him through the air some to send him sprawling out on the ground. And then a yell from the elvish caster to stand back, and then a beam of divine flames struck the struggling man, searing through his armor. And then, again, a thrown knife from the rogue, complete with a furious insult. Battered and broken, the fiendish knight desperately reached out...
Their foe's life was finally snuffed out by a whip from seemingly nowhere, lashing around the throat and bringing a blooded head crashing to the earth. Wylsen, the old man accompanying Agnes, revealed himself, pumping an arm in victory.
Hanzo had to blink several times and look around. It had all happened so fast - the cry for help, the charging demonic paladin, the adventurers running out to confront him, and a stream of moves that combined together to slay rider and mount with extreme prejudice. Hanzo turned back to Sana, now with a small child aside her. The anti-paladin's words... He must've come looking for that child.
With pained breathes, Sana explained everything. While the others had returned with the wagon to bring the slaves to safety, the gypsy woman was mourning the loss of her father and family, separated before but now dead at the hands of the slavers. In the meantime, she had found the child, Ariana, hidden in a hole, whom the anti-paladin was somehow looking for, for some unknown and hopefully now irrelevant reason. Now, at the end of the day, everyone who deserved to be alive was so, and it seemed at last the hard day was over and all could rest well. Even the stranger, having come long after this all began, found some sympathy to share with the young girl at Sana's feet.
Mortosh announced he would take care of the bodies again while the others got some proper sleep. As an undead himself, the animated skeleton didn't need sleep, though he did implore his fairy-like companion to accompany the group to the inn. Hanzo glanced back to the south, a faint pillar of black smoke still making itself apparent in the pale light of the moon. Hopefully, the fire and everything within it would be gone tomorrow morning, and they could bury the pit of bones remaining.
There was scattered talk about harvesting some of the hellhound, and the Lob spoke up with the insistence to use everything - bones, fur, blood, all of it. That was right, Hanzo thought; his old family has also held the tradition of using every piece of every animal they hunted, so that the sacrifice of the animal's life was never senseless or forgotten. It also reminded him that one of the ingredients they were collecting was something from a hellhound. What a happy coincidence, then, that would save them the trouble of having to scour one out elsewhere.
Hanzo simply stood, half-meditating, rather overwhelmed at today's turn of events. He had entered this group unsure of what would come of it, but ultimately it seemed like they were all proving to come together. Their decisive battle against the anti-paladin proved that much.