Run, my Princess.

In a dark tower perched upon shadowing cliffs of interlocking, impassable stone. A helpless princess cries out to her seldom prince who will rescue and sweep her off her feet, taking her far away from the chilled, bony clutches of the dark menace, Lur'thut.

The cold stung the air as horse hoofs bellowed down an old cobble path. The horse wheezed deeply and mist rose from its nostrils. A varied selection of grappling hooks, crossbows, swords and daggers of shining brilliance jangled about the satchels on either side of the horse's saddle.

A shield lay strapped upon the back of a fearless combatant, decorated with an array of fleeting dragons and golden leaf motif, A man in full confidence, wearing his mighty suit of polished iron and feathered helmet covering a stern face, gazing deeply into the fog looming over the castle.

No time must be wasted, he thought as he flung him self off of his horse, crouching at the base of the perilous mountain, which seated the mighty tower. He brushed his hand firmly across the horse to calm its creeping nervousness, in the eerie, dank mists. He pushed his hand deep into the satchel and retrieved a series of daggers, a well-balanced sword that shone in the cowering moonlight of the skies, a grappling hook attached to a good thirty feet of rope and a crossbow.

He packed it all away in a series of leather straps and climbed the jagged cliffs with all his determination, ascending to his final confrontation with, Lur'thut, dark lord of mists. Hefty spikes attached to the souls of his boots allowed him to scale quite a height, until he had reached an unreachable overhang of rocks. He hugged the stone that smelt of tin and damp moss and readied his crossbow. An explosive trigger rocketed the claw skywards into the thick mists latching onto something solid. He climbed in short jerks, like a snake for a brief moment until a sudden, yet rather incredibly strong force yanked the rope up through the mists and flung the man up and over the overhang. He gripped firm and clinched his teeth has he was suddenly brought down on solid ground.

A troll with monolithic arms and a chiselled body built like a train stood before the hunched man, snarling like a ferocious animal. It's arms hung over the man, readying to pulverise his brittle bones. He dived and rolled out of the way as the arms plundered through the bricked ground, quaking the area about, toppling statues and garden pots. A slither of metal drew from its sheath; a stance was erected and perched for combat. The troll flew around and leaked slobber from its disgusting teeth unto the ground. A flurry of daggers met its right cheek, forcing it to clutch in agony. Now was the time to strike. A thick and vicious slice met the troll's throat in a frenzied dash. The man leapt upon the beast's back and wrapped his legs around its head, then drove his sword through the back of its head. It clumsily tried to clutch its wounds as it dropped and crashed over a ceramic garden pot.

The man leapt up from his victory and dashed forth. A cackle echoed into the polished halls of golden flooring with a mirror like reflection, giving audience to cold white marble pillars as the man burst through the doors.
'The princess is mine fool. She shall never be yours, as long as I live' Lur'thut bellowed. The voice was close, yet it was untraceable.

He readied his blood caked sword and wearily crept along the dimly lit halls of crimson candles. A snort of snot erupted from behind the hero. He pivoted around and crouched with amazing reflexes, yet it was not enough. Lur'thut tried for a cleaving blow with his lance, but narrowly missed, slicing a thin strain of flesh from his victims arm, ripping through the armour. He collapsed to the sullied tiles. Lur'thut cackled and snorted as he approached. His hideous pig like features was insulting to the man's teary eyes. A grim smile rippled across Lur'thut's fat lips. He stabbed his lance through the air, yet missed and sparked across the tiles. He fell upon the sword of the fair prince that was held clumsily in his shaking grip, impaling him grimly. He then ran up the stairs of a fluffy ruddy coloured carpet leeching up the steps, moth ridden and tattered.

He charged up the steps and forced his way through the clumsy wooden door, sick with rot and age. With his mighty shield he broke through into a small bedchamber. It smelt vile; a terrible scent of bacon wafted in his nostrils. His fair maiden had heard of the cries down stairs, and wept tears of joy to see her prince still alive.

The prince wrapped his arms around her tightly, whispering gingerly in her ear 'You're safe now.'
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