Not your voice V1

Not your voice V1

The smell of dirt permeates your nose along with the scent of body odor, and death. The sky is faded by the cloud of dust that has risen and now hovers over the area, watching. Your hand is in a death-grip on the leather straps that are encasing the hilt of your sword. The weapon has some weight to it, but you can maneuver with ease with it. Its silver shine almost blinds you as you tilt the blade towards the beating sun. The blade only extends a rough 3 feet away from its cross-guard. Your left arm is burdened with a heavy, and thick bronze circle. Your forearm is pained with having the leather straps dig into it, but you still persevere. Your shoulders are pressed with the bronze breastplate that is your only defense against you and your armies, besides your own skill of course. Your feet are wrapped in sandals and are free to feel the wind brush against them, and have the dirt cast them as it flies from the ground.

You must take a look up now. Where do you think you are? Rome? No. You're silly for thinking that Idiot.
 Look out!  A man charges you yelling, and he drops his arm trying to bring his steel blade down onto your skull. You bring your right arm up and parry the blade to the side then shoot your left arm forward and slam the edge of your shield into the man's throat, breaking his wind pipe and killing him.
Good, you didn't die, and surprisingly your counter was that of an experienced soldier. That might explain why I'm....what's that? Why? OH no no no. That's not for you to know, just know that wherever you are, I am and here. Always watching through what you see.