Sir Robb raised his sword just in time to ward off a mighty downward cleave by his opponent, a huge dragosian well-armed and armoured. He was finding it increasingly difficult in the stifling heat of his own plate mail to keep up with the savagery of the Sherriff, whose dragon-blooded stamina gave him a considerable edge.

That and the wearing-down that Sir Robb endured while eliminating his four henchmen, their bodies now lying in the hot sand, flies buzzing about their sudden bounty. Since his arrival in Wattingham, the paladin knew the encounter was inevitable, but he had hoped to contact the rumoured band of outlaws in the area. So far, no success.

Sir Robb had already suffered several powerful strikes by the Sherriff and his wounds, combined with the heat, made it a pitched battle. He still had so...

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