He rolled his shoulders to shift the weight of the armor. It hadn’t even been two days, yet already he grew weary of the task. What was the point anyway? Nothing could be seen through the dense fog and heavy mists. With a sigh, he scanned the gray wall in vain. He wouldn’t be able to see anyone unless they stood only a few feet before him. The waves crashed in an iterating rhythm against the rocks far below and the wind blew in strong gusts across the bluff. He quickly brushed the water off his arm, before returning his hand to his hilt. It wasn’t raining; the fog was just so thick that anything within it was soon drenched.
A soft ripple sounded in the air, quickly followed by the flash of a red feather waving in the wind. He turned to the heavy door to find an arrow sticking out of it.
Though he still hadn’t quite worked out in his mind what had happened, he instinctively raised his shield before him. The move saved his life – four more arrows pierced the fog, stabbing hard into the wood.
“We’re under attack!” he cried out.
