The sergeant pulled the dagger from his cloak, he knew it was imperative for him to lead the attack.
With gritted teeth and eyes blazing he approached the monk, his stance was wild and unpredictable. Throwing himself into a sharp feint to distract his opponent he quickly whirled back, dagger poised to kill.
A low groan beat out once, then rattled out into a dying whisper.
The sergeant was impaled on the bladed staff gripped in the iron palm of the monk.
The scouts looked fearfully as their dying comrade slumped to the floor, and bolted back to the pickets.