Tugging on the borrowed armor, chaffing yet so familiar,the poet surveys the scene.
Not quite what he imagined he admits to himself, even as he recalls the words of his suited friend no battle plan survives first contact with the enemy.
Then, a glint catches his eye and he realizes that trophy is within reach.
Now or never he thinks as he kicks the stallion into a charge, its time to end this.
Like a silver bolt the cavalier streaks, plowing through the air.
As the warhorse pounds the distance away, the poet weaves his tune, filling the air with the power of his magic.
Wooden lance turns into lightning, imbued with power, with mystery with song.
Closing his eyes at the final moment, he waits for the impact.
silence...silence...silence
where did it go?
And then, the deafening roar of the lance shattering...
the sensation of flying through the air...
then... darkness.
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