Swords and Staffs

1. The battle begins

Alistair: 

"Everyone! Get ready for battle, the mage apostates are marching towards the fortress! Women and children in the main tent! All men follow me!" father screeched from the look-out tower.

I gazed around the camp as people scurried around rapidly to retrieve their weapons. The tents trembled vigorously as a storm charged in through the distressed sky over the fortress walls; the wind cut coldly past my cheeks and rain hammered viciously against my scalp. The brutal beads plummeted through the air like descending birds of prey and stripped my hair of any volume as if it were painted on my head. Trees swung back and forth, and the surrounding light withered into a hellish sight of instant shade.

An alarm was sounded, and I automatically snatched my great sword out of its leather sheathe.

My father had taught me to be prepared for anything. I had been training as a Templar all my life and finally, I was able to portray those skills in battle against my only enemy. The mages. Eventually, I would become the top soldier of the Templars and hopefully take my father's place as general of our growing army. Now I had a chance to be the person my father had always wanted me to be. The best Templar in the whole of Mournstead.

The mages were nothing but filthy creatures, spawned by the devil himself to make all lives difficult and burdensome. That was all they were, cowardly murderers, hiding behind their spells and potions and force fields just because they're too frightened to step up and fight like soldiers, pathetic! Just a black cloud towering over Mournstead, absorbing all the harmonious light and happiness and replacing it with sorrowful rain and ruinous thunder all by using their blood magic. Spreading terror like butter on a knife. Taking people's lives just to cast a minor spell. They must be stopped. They will be stopped. 

Arlene:

My father started to lead my people towards the Templars' fortress, I held my fire staff tightly and traced the marking of the engraved symbol with my fingertip. The mage's symbol was carved deeply into the wood, and next to it my mother's initials and her quotation "Fight for what's right" underneath. "Always," I muttered under my breath. Mother had told me stories about the Templars of Mournstead. They were said to be exceptionally ferocious in battle and as heartless as they were determined, they were savage wolves hunting for anything alive to sink their teeth into. They were said to be the most cold-hearted, insensitive beings that Aaldin could ever create. Emotionless. They claimed to be the 'protectors of Mournstead'. Not at all, they were a violent and ruthless society. They were the complete opposite. "The Templars are the enemies and villains, Arlene, you mustn't ever trust them. Promise me. Never!" mother had forewarned me during my youth. When she died, I promised myself that I would forever keep that promise. I would honour my mother. After all, she was right. All Templars were nothing but monsters, weren't they?The rain poured heavily down, and a huge gust of wind stampeded through the fields of sharp blades of grass. I readied my position and gripped my staff tight. I was ready for battle.