Not-So-Angelic Guardian

Steadfast and stoic, Richard stood his ground, his own blade drawn in response. It was a simple thing, but still incredibly reliable. Forged of steel, the broadsword he wielded had tasted the blood of many a foe, its black leather grip stained slightly red by the many enemies whose lifeblood had spilt over it. He had to wait for his chance - one false move, and he would be outmanoeuvred, and Kieara would be killed.
 
The man wasn't one who enjoyed attacking first. It didn't often end well. He liked to use opponets weakness against him so he stood steadfast and still. Kieara watched the scene unfold.
 
Edging in slowly, Richard readied himself, preparing to launch an attack. He had to analyse the situation - this foe probably had the same mentality as him, rendering his cautious approach null and void. Once close enough, a lunge was feigned - however, mid-thrust, it redirected itself upwards, aiming to disarm, but not kill.
 
It served its purpose and disarmed him. He backed up his arms coming up in a defensive.
 
Seeing his opportunity, Richard pushed forward, batting aside his opponent's guard, now holding his sword to his foe's throat.
"Who sent you? What are you doing here?" he asked, retaining composure - he couldn't show weakness in front of his foe, not now.
 
He didn't dare answer. The king would have his head if he answered and let this man know where he came from, even if it meant his life, he wouldn't speak.
 
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