Rolfe ducked, lightning streaking over his head, shattering on the wall behind him in a burst of sparks and stone fragments. He brought up his shield, the already-battered wood splintering as it was struck by another lance of crackling blue energy.
He tossed the shield to the side, the wood smouldering from the heat of the beam.
Clutching his holy symbol in his right hand, he whipped his left towards the shadowy figure clutching a spellbook before him. With a quick mutter of incomprehensible words, a dim red flash of light darted towards the boiled leather cuirass, lighting the dim tunnel along the way. The figure stumbles, clutching the now bleeding cuirass, spellbook falling to the floor.
"You'll regret that, priest." The hooded figure spat out the last word as poison, before drawing a dagger and darting forwards. Rolfe stumbled back, hand grasping for the mace at his hip. He'd barely pulled it from its sheath when a fist caught him on the cheekbone, the hilt of the dagger clutched within barely missing his eye. Trying to bring his mace to bear, his forearm was grasped in the iron grasp of his opponent, holding his mace uselessly behind the would-be assassin.
"The Raven will be ours!" the assailant spat in his face, accompanying the statement, before receiving a holy symbol-grasping fist to the ribs. Already injured by the guiding bolt, he drops Rolfe, coughing blood. Rolfe swings his now freed mace up high, sneering "Not in the name of Ilmater, scum," before he brought the mace down in full force.
The hooded figure slumped to the floor, still. Rolfe stowed his mace back within its holster, before checking the location of the artefact carried within his robes. Satsified, he wipes his cheek, fingers coming away bloodied. Sighing, he continues on his quest, far below Waterdeep.
AN: Wrote the beginning of this for an English class, felt like expanding it. I'll be sporadically updating it if/when I feel like it.