The force of Cyrin’s blade meeting the knight’s lance sent pain lancing up his arm, and his foe’s strength was such that his weapon did not yield an inch to the blow. Cyrin sprang backwards as the scaffolding collapsed beneath him, unclasping his cumbersome cloak with a single, deft motion as he tumbled through the air to land, rolling, on the ground. He sprung to his feet, readying himself for battle, but Asgard intervened with a barrage of bloody lances that took all their enemies by surprise.
The summoned creature that had attacked the square from the inn’s roof fled the scene with a blinding flash of light, and when his vision cleared the knight had made use of its distraction(?). Seeing no further enemies, his shoulders slumped, the point of his blade lowering. The stress of the past few minutes was quickly catching up with him, and he was afraid the night wasn’t over quite yet.
“
I have only done my duty, Sir,” he said, in response to Asgard’s praise, he managed a salute as she crossed the courtyard to find out what happened to her daughter, and he went to reclaim his discarded cloak; keeping an eye on the emotions swirling within the crowd.
