[center]Jameson Telluth, Captain of the Guard, Insignificant

[h1]Artis Port[/h1]

[/center]

Jameson couldn't help but grin at the abomination screeching in pain due to his sword. It had been awhile since he had some quick thinking like that, most of the conflict in Artis port simply required him to draw his sword and the merchants would back down. 

"Looks like I still got it!" He roared, bravado coursing through his veins. The creature grasped at the sword in his chest, but only to have the warrior he was holding to brutally kick the sword further in. The creature dropped the man to the ground to bring its other hand to the sword, desperately trying to free itself from the pain.

"Hold on, traveler!" Jameson said, confidently running to the fallen man. With his pride and adrenaline at the highest it had been in years, Jameson figured he could easily retrieve the wounded knight as the creature was trying to free itself. This would definitely be a tale to tell to all of his friends. Perhaps he could even get an early retirement out of this.

"You whoreson!"

A crossbow bolt had stopped Jameson's day dreaming and his stride, piercing his shoulder and a wall behind him. Jameson screamed in pain, immediately dropping his sword and clutching the gaping hole left in his shoulder. The arm was completely limp, and the injury in his shoulder felt as if every tendon was being pulled and twisted, then dipped into a jar of acid. His screams almost deafened him to the the phrase uttered behind him.

[color=8882be]"Fire."[/color]

The words seemed to be spoken so softly compared to the devastation it caused. It began with the husk turning into a bonfire, then an inferno. However almost instantly, the towering flames collapse, leaving nothing, and for a second there was only Jameson's screaming. Apparently the flames felt as if they could do better than Jameson's screaming, and an explosion of fire roared from the husk, sending the knight flying through a wall. Jameson was further back, but was still thrown by the blast, skidding on the ground, probably about two or three feet away from the source of the faint voice. The only thing that stopped him was the width of the alley way meeting with the top of his helm, which was enough to cause Jameson's vision to envelop in darkness.