Knight pov
…
Why wasn't I dead? I felt the air rush around me as the sword chopped down like an executioner's. So why? Why was I not dead… why could I still breathe the frigid air beneath that helm of mine.
Why?
I groaned and lifted my arms to push off of the ground. Around me was a surrounding of chairs, each of them held another. Whether they were bare fist, whether they held sword or spear. It was up to the whims of fate.
And here I was, sat upon the same wooden chair and in a meeting of champions. Each of them were responsible for differing duties. One, for example, was the captain of the ground troops, they who held long spears and charged towards the ramports with nothing but vitriol and spite.
