Swoosh. A low breeze rustles the once still trees; a lone traveller turns apprehensively and grips his sword
His eyes dart.
Crunch, crunch, crunch. Footsteps make their way along the undergrowth.
Shing. He stands, removing his sword from its scabbard.
The blade gleams, catching a beam of moonlight, briefly illuminating a lumbering shadow.
Hiss, hiss, hiss. The shadow arches its back, sensing danger it leaps forward.
Swish, swish, swish. In three sharp movements the sword punctures the creature’s skin; it stumbles backward.
Drip, drip, drip. Black blood oozes from the creature’s body, its blood shot eyes waver.
Crash. The creature falls, the lone traveller sheaths his sword.
Moving back he escapes to the forest.
Bong, bong, bong. The castle bell tolls more are coming.
The war has begun.
