Swords and Staffs

2. Knocked out

Alistair:

As soon as the gate opened, I locked onto my target. He was quite a small, skinny mage compared to the rest of them, he wore a chainmail breastplate with the mage symbol imprinted onto it and some ivory leggings, his hair was mat brown and strewn into a small pony tail (several strands escaping the grasp of his hair tie), his eyes were a crystalized sage green glinting brightly into my polished great sword.

After observing the malnourished mage, I ploughed through the obstacles and swung my great sword at his head, he avoided my attempted hit and used his staff to create a spherical aura around him the raindrops hammered on the top. I found I was unable to harm him. Mages and their ridiculous spells! Why couldn't they fight fairly like suitable soldiers? That's because they weren't soldiers at all, they're just a group of verminous cheaters, who took lives for their pleasure. I tried to shatter the sphere with my great sword. Unsuccessfully, the unbreakable barrier resisted my hit and launched me backwards into the fortress' cold, stone wall. I lay there, dazed, and dizzy.

Arlene:

The gate had opened, and a rather large Templar came raging towards me. I suddenly became incredibly nervous and began to tremble.

He seemed an extreme and unnatural size for his age. He only looked sixteen- a year younger than me. His face had the pure innocence of a sixteen-year-old boy whereas his body was the structure of an adult body builder. You could see the veins protruding from underneath the skin of his viciously scarred arms. He was abnormally muscular and broad-shouldered. He was huge. Absolutely massive! He had muddy blond hair messily knotted into a rough bun and his eyes were flickering flames of orange. His skin was pale, almost white, which made his eyes stand out even more and seem fierier than fire itself. He looked so angry. Must be a Templar thing.

A plethora of puddles flooded the floor as the rain fell. They expanded further and further as the rain proceeded to pour.Not giving me a chance to defend myself, the Templar soldier swung at me with his axe, knocking my staff flying. I fell to the floor. I screamed out in agony, my voice fading into a small cry, overpowered by the thunder. My skin stung and wept, leaving small streams of diluted crimson running in the cracks of the stone floor. Everything became a blur and all I could hear were muffled sounds of swords clanging against shields and rain pounding on metal armour. It seemed to echo for eternity. My palms were completely stained blood-red, attempting to prevent the blood from flowing out of my wound. It took me a second to realize that if I didn't get help soon, I was going to die. I was stunned. I couldn't move. I could only lay there and hope that the bleeding miraculously stopped. Of course, I knew that wasn't going to happen...