The whip swooped down on the sword and wrapped it around it with a loud clang.
It was huge, black, and smelled of sulfur.
The turqart gave a roar of laughter and jerked it from her hand. She tried desperately to hold it back, but couldn't.
That was clear, because the Turqart was a hundred times larger than herself and at least twice as strong as its size.
Her courage sank steadily and she frantically looked for a way out. There didn't seem to be any.
The Turqart had meanwhile drawn his oversized sword and was trying to cut her with it. She dodged as best she could, only made it with great difficulty.
The strong drafts that the sword left as it rushed through the air threatened to knock her over. When the sword struck beside her, she could see the deep furrows left by the Turqart's previous battles with perhaps larger monsters. Remnants of the blood could still be found in these cracks.Sometimes these "cracks" were as big as they are.
Panting, she tossed around with ever waning strength to avoid the sword once more. The turqart roared angrily and swung back again.
She couldn't go on anymore. She knew that if no miracle happened now, she would die and with it the last hope of the Alwirin. She was the chosen one. It was the last chance. And she would die ...

Annoyed, Elia let his gaze wander through the class, which was chasing a ball with a loud roar. He hates ball games of any kind (like me)
He had to sit on the side because he had a broken foot. Before that, he hadn't noticed how boring the gym classes actually were. He rubbed his aching foot and looked at the basketball game, shaking his head. Suddenly he realized that he was being watched. A group of girls chatted whispering and every now and then one of them looked at him. He rolled his eyes and looked back at the game.After such an incredibly boring half an hour, he hobbled into the changing room.
“I'm waiting for you upstairs!” His friends, who were talking animatedly, showed no reaction. "If anyone cares," he muttered as he walked out.
He hated being stared at like that. Everyone felt sorry for him. He didn't want to be pityed.
He wanted a job that everyone would respect him after!

The ship creaked when it got into the storm. The impending doom and gloom had been felt for hours. The world was unnaturally quiet and the sea was calm. There was a crackling in the air, so that one had only walked around depressed on the ship. The shackles of the slaves were apparently even heavier than usual and the captain was frantically scurrying around. He knew the sea. After all, he has been sailing across the Atlantic to America and back to Africa at these points for years. Later, he had resolved, he would go to mainland America.He would take his wife and son with him and start a new existence. The people who bought the slaves sometimes told him about the still undeveloped land. Sometimes he sat dreaming on the railing when he was waiting in the harbor for his slave deliverers.
He hated these people. The same goes for the incredibly arrogant snobbugs they bought back from him. He made good money from it, but he didn't like the job. He felt sorry for the slaves. Perhaps they were captured in one of the numerous civil wars, and were mostly still children. Their fate was nothing better than that. He didn't know how these people would treat the slaves, but it certainly wasn't good.
He patted the rail of his trusty ship.
The Armistad had weathered many storms, it would survive this one too.
That he wasn't wrong ...