The stench of sweat was draped heavily across the battlefield, due to the stifling heat. I seemed to be the only warrior shaking in my faux leather boots with unquenchable fear. Yet I did not flee, and intended to live out this hellish war.

The much anticipated and dreaded battle-horn cried out, warning us of what was to come. Soon I was enmeshed in a hopeless web of blood, flesh and grime. Every time I glanced around me, swords that were once silver and hideously covered in gems, now clashed and became stained with fresh crimson splatters.

In a moment I noticed a vulgar giant, unbalanced by his weight, stumbling towards me. In his hefty hands he carried a long sword, unclean and menacing, gleaming in the sunlight. Gulping, I fumbled for my own weapon, and wondered how I had survived so long unarmed. My previously drenched brow began to drip again, when I realised my scabbard was empty. I had no sword.

The giant spotted me along with his luck, and lunged.