Henry I
Herny was one of the few town guards tasked with protecting this out of the way hamlet. He was tall and strong, and it didn't take much for the village chief to realise his talents- and at the young age of nine and ten, he felt that he was doing rather well for himself. He didn't tend to the fields, nor did he need to work all that hard to earn his keep; he just needed to spend a couple of hours each day swinging a sword and waltz around the muddy streets, looking tough enough to dissuade any ne'er-do-wells.
Today was just like every other day; he had eaten his wife's cooking and swung his blade for a couple hours under the captain's experienced eye before he was sent to walk the back streets, leading to the farmlands, to be sure that everything was as usual. It was…, well, it had been going as usual. The sheep ate the grass, the wheat was being tended to by the farmers, and the sun still rose from the east.
Then there was the purplish-black square, with a strange glowing centre. That... that wasn't as it should be. It was far too top heavy, and the glowing purple centre didn't look to be made from glass. Henry slowly stepped towards it, trying to act like this was normally, trying to not act like he was scared. He poked the 'glow' with a single finger and backed away, as if it had burned him. In truth, it had caused him no harm and felt as empty as the air around him. It poked it again before he felt a bit more confident and held his hand in the 'glow', trying to catch the purple within. The world started to spin, and he wobbled upon his feet, before he fell on his arse.
"Oof." He tried to stand, rubbing his buttocks whilst cursing underneath his breath, ready to head off to tell the captain so that the village chief could sort it out. Then he saw it. A creature that looked like the pigs he had cared for when he had just been a wee lad, only it looked dement, grotesque and stood upon two legs. With the pale pink skin of a pig, it looked almost human, but its skin had fallen off, leaving the vile creature with only its face; the rest was just the bone of a skull, and in its hand was a sword made from gold. It was a fine weapon, and Henry couldn't help but wonder if it was the same make as the Ser Jaime Lannister of Casterly Rock. He fell towards the muddy ground once more and held his breath, his bladder releasing whatever little it still held. Henry wanted to scream, but he couldn't- he was frozen with fear.
I have never been so afraid.
The creature looked at him, a sword held easily in its pink stubby fingers. It turned around and walked away from him. Its back was to him, and Henry knew what he needed to do. What if this creature attacks the village, he called home? What if it set its eyes upon his lovely wife? He couldn't let that come to pass, he wouldn't allow it. Henry's hand went to the hilt of his sword, and he drew it from its leather sheath.
"Haa!"
He stood up, attacking during his ascent. The tip of his blade pierced through the crook of its back, tearing through flesh and muscle. The momentum of the attack pushing the blade through the insides of its ribcage, destroying everything within. His attack never touched the bone of its ribs of spine. The vile beast stopped moving, and Henry smirked, certain that victory was his, and tried to pull out his blade. Then the beast slapped at his hand, disarming him with a single movement, and despite that, the blade was still lodged within its back. It turned around, and it groaned something that vaguely reminded guard of the pigs he had raised during his younger years. Back when his mother was alive and his father could hold his drink.
It swung its blade with surprising speed, and by some miracle, Henry managed to dodge most of the blow despite pondering on times long lost. His brow stung, and he felt blood fall down his face, coating half his vision in crimson. A shaky hand touched his forehead, trying to wipe the blood away from his vision. The shock of bleeding, and the fear of the monster in front of him forced Henry to stand still. He hesitated, but the beast didn't. It swatted at him, cutting through his boiled leather chest plate and the flesh and bone beneath. Henry stood still for a moment, as if he hadn't realised, he had taken a lethal blow, before he fell to the ground like a rocking hitting the surface of a pond. He looked at the bloodied golden sword, wondering how this had all happened.
It was just meant to be a normally fucking day. Why couldn't Ron have had found the bloody 'glow'?
The sword fell downwards, and a moment before the golden tip touched his bloodied chest, Henry thought of his wife. He worried for her, but just for an instant, he thought no more after that.