Rathmerall rolled on to his shield arm wrenching the adversary's sword out of its hands. As he rolled he stuck out his right leg catching the daemon behind the knee. The daemon pulled by the weight of its own armor crashed into the ground. As Rathmerall stood he threw off his shield with the cursed blade in tow. The flames followed. Both objects made a spiraling path past the bridge and into the river below.
The daemon watched helplessly as its sword hit the water. Still flaming the sword let off a steam as the water surrounded it as it sunk. The hiss of the water's displeasure to the fire was like a song of victory to our fighter's ears. The water carried that foul blade away. As for the shield, black and charred, it floated to the top of the water and disintegrated into ash carried away by the rushing current.
Rathmerall looked at the daemon, it had its fists up ready and eager to fight. It was now our fighter's turn to laugh, for the daemon was now at a disadvantage with no sword or shield. Rathmerall sheathed his sword and pounced.
With the daemon under him, he let out a flurry of punches that would cripple any normal foe. But daemons, to our displeasure, are not normal, and it soon threw Rathmerall off. He stumbled and hit a pillar that was part of the arch on the beginning of the bridge. As he tried to stand the ground wouldn't hold still and he collapsed back onto the pillar.
