He stood, a Bastion of war. His protective shield held close to his towering chest. He guarded safe anchorage with his chain laced Tunic. His honourable stance embedded firmly in his rock laden vantage- point .Beneath his pivoting helmet and vigilant glare, his fiery lance pierced the night sky, illuminating his battle ground. Shining like a beacon of hope. He sheltered those seeking his protection.

At his spray whipped feet. His ancient adversaries seethed and gathered their forces. Their foam soaked Chargers thundered iron clad hooves against his fortified walls. Their allegiance rose. A tidal force, ready to storm. They sent their Champions to waylay his service. To crumble his heart, in their ferocious grasp. Squelch the light in his eyes with their spears.

His nostrils flared at their odouris presence. He seethed. His chivalry insulted, sorely tested by the unequal Tournament. His rock like heart thudded. His peril spiralled high within his hard core. Bold determination radiated through him, accelerated by his pledge. It held him fast to his assignment.

 He barred their entrance. Against their angered roars he cast his heavily meshed gauntlet. His shield braced by rock like shoulders against their blows. Wave upon wave he endured. They sort devastation against his armoured entrenchment. His sheathed sword screamed for freedom, to ward off their un-relenting barbarism. They spat their wrath through sand gritted teeth. Their foul breathe swallowed his illuminated strength. Their battle raged.

Still determined, their sullen forces lie in siege around him. They wait for his fire laden lance to weary. Unshaken by their assault, he licks the layers of saline encrusted froth from his battle scared lips. His blinding glory illuminating the shame of their agitating Champions. His noble quest remains.