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Blue Bard's Thunderclap

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The bard was dressed in blue, and though his face was weathered with years of travel, his voice was strong and pure. He stood on a little slope on the village green. A hundred murmuring revelers were below him, spread out on colorful blankets. Vendors (and a few pickpockets) strolled among the throng. Cheese, bread, wine, and beer were abundant, and the sky was incandescent in the springtime sunset. Today, mothers smiled and did not shush squealing children. Today, young lovers scooted closer on blankets, or, oblivious to the bard and the entire world, kissed with abandon. The bard had been singing pleasant melodies, letting his audience eat and drink, waiting for them to be in just the right mood for some real shenanigans. The time was finally right. Suddenly, he strummed his mandolin once for attention and launched into a lively chant most of them knew from time in the Duke’s service, sung on many a long march. The throng roared approval and joined in... What shall we do with