Clash, sparks went flying everywhere as Imrats sword hammered down on his opponents blade. Imrat was trying to defeat his mortal enemy, Evildrip who was far stronger and more agile than him. Imrat ducked as a blast of fire flew from Evildrip’s hand and whizzed over his head. Imrat counter attacked the magic with some of his own and fired a blade of darkness into the stomach of Evildrip who flew backwards and sprawled against a dead tree with knotted roots. Been given a distraction, Imrat pushed his through the mass of heavily armoured fighting warriors.
It was the Kaken Skirmish. A battle between good and evil. Leader of the evil army was Sparkspare and he was the king of lightning. His slimy apprentice who was just as dangerous was called Skullrot. He was a very magical person who could blast you apart with a click of his slimy little fingers. Imrat just hoped he wasn’t here at the battle. The leader of the good army was Ilker Bleakfire and he was like a shadow moving around the battlefield picking of Sparkspare’s men with swings of his shadowsword. Ilker could send a whole village up in flames when he had the energy but now his energy was quickly running out and soon he would be left with nothing but an ordinary sword to cleave open Sparkspare’s men. Ilker was surrounded by a group of Mud Orks with long rusty pikes that would not hesitate to stab their own leader if they weren’t so scared of him. Ilker looked at his shadowsword and saw that his spell to make the blade stronger and kill more efficiently was flickering out. As Ilker was deciding his plan of action their was a flash and a blood curdling scream as a Mud Ork was flung into the air and landed several metres away, dead. A tall man walked calmly towards Ilker and the Mud Orks who were keeping Ilker from moving. The Mud Orks pikes were directed at his throat so the Mud Orks would ruin any chance of escape. As the tall man approached, Ilker surveyed his appearance. He was tall, probably an elf, had long black hair and a smooth, sinister face. “Take him.”
Imrat looked around the battlefield and tried to look for Ilker. Finally he spotted him surrounded by Mud Orks. He could see a tall man striding towards him and blow a Mud Ork into the ground. This man was a powerful magician. As the tall man stopped he uttered a few words and the Mud Orks began advancing on Ilker and grabbing his arms and marching him off. Imrat boiled with rage and hurtled after them, killing all Mud Orks in his path. Imrat raised his sword to kill the tall man who was giving orders to the Mud Orks. As he was bringing it down on his head, the tall man turned round so fast you could barely see him and blasted Imrat in the face with a knockout spell. Ilker did not have time to react and tried to stay awake as his legs gave way and his mind blacked out.
Somebody shaking his shoulders brought Imrat to consciousness. “ Imrat, wake up.” A dwarf was leaning over him and slapping him in the face. “C’mon, wake up.” Imrat sat up gingerly and rested on his elbows.
“Huh, were am I? “
“You are in a stronghold under the battle,” said a small boy, dressed in ragged clothes. His face was pale and terrified. “The Battle is turning in our favour,” continued the boy, scratching his head in an attempt to stop his hands shaking.
“Ilker has been taken,” Imrat muttered to himself. The boy nodded his head gravely.
“ I must go and save him. He is a great warrior and is very brave. We cant afford to lose him.”
Imrat went up to the edge of the battlefield and peered in from behind a rock. He heard a noise behind him and
