First Blood
Matthew was hauled to his feet by two of his soldiers, the formation moving off without them under the leadership of their captain. His horse had bolted during the first bout of melee, spooked by the smell of rotting flesh and chattering bones. He hadn't even landed a blow yet. The Golden Serpents had already advanced, trudging dutifully over the corpses of the dead. They had been eager prior to the battle, relishing the chance of glory that had been promised to them. Bruised and frustrated, the knight shook the two off, shouting for them to catch up. Taking a moment to survey the battle, he saw sir Donald being assisted off of the field. He cursed. The first horde had been dealt with, cut down in a brutally swift engagement from the varying battalions of the junior knights. The other group approached, smaller, but no less threatening. Matthew wouldn't leave the field so soon.
​Marching slowly forward, held back by the weight of his coat of mail; breathing restricted by the close-faced helm on his head. He snapped his attention to the ground. A hand had grasped his leg. Raising his flanged mace to smash the creatures skull in, Matthew stopped as the wounded soldier grasped for salvation. One of Staedtler's boys, he recognised the face, or what was left of it. Cheek to jaw had been cleft by some blade he reckoned. It wasn't a fatal wound, not yet anyway. Shaking the grip off, he continued his steady pace back to the front, he had no time for this, the battle would be finished without him.
​Pushing through the back lines of the engagement, Matthew went looking for his number. He would not be disappointed. Across the blood soaked dirt he saw it, lurching toward him like some grotesque nightmare. He wasn't a brave man, but he knew his name would be wounded if he didn't show his worth. Perhaps he was more afraid of that than the foe he had yet to face.
He would soon regret that decision.
His shield raised, he made his way toward the rotting soldier. It lunged at him with surprising ferocity, he expected something more clumsy. Surprised, he deflected the blow with some difficulty, stumbling back a step. Attempting to retaliate, he swung through attempting to catch the creature in the side, only to find an axe planted into his arm mid swing. He was far too slow, and the creature was clearly a better fighter than he. Yelping in pain as he was sent to the ground by a swift barge from the corpse, he hurled his mace involuntarily into the fray.
​The creature was upon him now, dealing two more blows in quick succession to the felled knight. Bloodied and disarmed, Matthew blocked the strikes with his shield, before smashing the creature across the head with it. He wasn't weak, and such a blow would have felled any regular man. This thing didn't even flinch. Gasping for breath, he brought back his shield in a futile attempt to defend himself. The creature stepped down on it, pressing it into the knights chest whilst raising its axe for the killing blow.
​A crunching sound, as a sword lodged itself into the creatures head, cleaving its rusted helm in two. It fell limp once more beside the knight, who could do nothing but lay there, made helpless by the weight of the armour he wore. His saviour stood there, the crest of the Water's family emblazoned on his breastplate. Matthew tossed his shield to the side and held his hand out. It seems he might live to see another day yet.
