I have started writing a bit of a story, and I would like your advice on how it is. Basic structure is that I am going to write it in two sections. Each section is the same story but from the opposing points of view (those scenes which overlap in terms of events will be from differeing characters povs, so they should be sufficiently different not only in action but in style so as not to bore the reader with repeats). I have written the first two 'chapters' so far. I'll post the first and would much appreciate any and all feedback. Keep in mind it's a bit short, but its only a first draft, so I will add things to it later if it is needed.
The text (esp dialogue) is very clumped at the moment. I use double line spacing so it doesn't normally look so bad.
Thanks in advance,
Kashaaz
“Why should we give it to you?” Gerald's eyes flashed with annoyance at the audacity of the newcomers.
“Because this artefact was the tool of a witch, and as such should be studied by those who are trained in the containment of witches. That would be us.” The smarmy tone of the response flamed Gerald's anger even more. He tore his gaze from the withered face of the Witch Hunter and stormed back towards his tent, the semi-dried mud squelching underneath his boots. Arthur approached as he arrived at the tent. His face showed his curiosity as to what the Witch Hunters were here for.
“Come in.” Gerald said, voice terse with anger as he brushed past the guards.
“What do they want sir? Very sudden of them to just show up out of nowhere like that, and here of all places.” Gerald walked over to the cabinet and poured two goblets of spiced wine, handing one to Arthur before slumping into his chair.
“Those bastards want the chalice. We put our lives on the line to penetrate that cursed tower, we find the damned cup, and then they waltz in and demand that we give it to them! Witch Hunters are always like that, those bastards.” Gerald's wrinkled cheeks flushed red and Arthur could tell that he was furious. Gerald was getting old, and had been serving as a Knight of Order for most of his life. Arthur knew that despite being risen to the rank of Paladin Gerald still felt like he had never managed to obtain a crowning highlight to be remembered by. Riding into Marksburg with this chalice would be that highlight that Gerald was yearning for. Arthur saw the pain in his eyes and knew he had to help his old commander. The golden chalice sat sparkling on the table in the middle of the tent. Arthur sipped the wine, savouring the spiced flavour as it washed around his mouth. He walked over to the shining chalice and examined it carefully.
“Sir, was the chalice not originally used for ceremonies in the Cathedral?” Gerald looked up at Arthur, wondering where he was going with this.
“Yes, it was a vessel for libations in the Cathedral before the minions of the cursed King of Chaos stole it away for their own profane use. Whatever that might have been. Why?”
“Well then surely, as stolen property of the Church, if falls under the jurisdiction of the priests, not the contemptible Witch Hunters? It would seem to me that the priests have the sole right to this artefact and any information collected from it. Surely the Knights of Order, being the fist of the Church, have the task of making sure that this happens...”
“Well yes, I agree, but the Witch Hunters will argue that it has been tainted by the evil of witches, and as such falls under their jurisdiction to find its secrets. Besides, they will claim that their tie to the Church entitles them to the artefact as much as the priests.” Gerald looked into Arthur's pale blue eyes and saw a glimpse of a mind at work.
“Well technically the Witch Hunters have nothing to do with the services and more...spiritual...aspects of the Church, they are more a para-church organisation. A leech if you will, though I would not hazard calling them that to their faces.” Arthur noted the smile crack across Gerald's bleak face and continued. “And as for their claim that they must deal with the taint of the witches, I have a solution to that too. If they consider that only they have to power to break the witches' spell, then they are saying that the power of Order, which the priests command, is not strong enough to prevail. That, I do believe, is blasphemy.” Gerald looked up at the young knight in front of him again, but this time with a sense of wonder. Such a young man, having only seen twenty winters, and yet he had already risen to the rank of Knight. There was much promise here, with a mind as sharp as his sword, and able to wield both with equal skill.
“Aye Arthur, I think you just about have it there. Haha! Come with me young whelp. We have some Witch Hunters to embarrass!" Arthur smiled as vigour and enthusiasm flowed back into his old commander.
Arthur sat on a barrel, thinking about the exchange he had just witnessed. Gerald had a fire in his belly when he had begun to assail the old Witch Hunter, the old fire that made him such a capable Paladin and a respected and feared drill-sergeant for the new recruits. The Witch Hunter had seemed genuinely shocked at the sudden and fierce uplifting of the old Paladin's spirit. Arthur bet no-one talked to the old Witch Hunter the way Gerald had. A shadow crossed Arthur's face as a bird flew past and he looked up, the ominous figure of the tower splitting the patch of blue sky over the forest glade in two. Arthur shuddered as he looked at the tall stone building, and not just because it had been the enchanted abode of a powerful and dangerous witch many years before. The large stone blocks and engineered architecture of the tower unnerved Arthur. Even the stone buildings of Marksburg unnerved Arthur, but this was an ancient and mysterious tower, built long before anyone could remember. The snap of a twig broke Arthur from his thoughts and he turned to see a young woman approaching him. He recognized her as the companion of the old Witch Hunter, and she seemed to have all the trappings of being one herself. Arthur grew weary as she approached, wondering what she wanted with him.
“My name is Amanda. I heard how your commander managed to humble Jaffery, and I must say I am quite impressed. Not many people can get the better of him.” She flashed Arthur a dazzling smile and he was taken back by her forthcoming manner. He smiled back somewhat awkwardly, unsure what her intentions were.
“My name is Arthur. It was good to see the fire back with my commander. He really wants the recognition for recovering the chalice, you must understand.” She sat on a barrel opposite him and looked around at the clearing they were in. The tower stood in the middle rearing into the sky, and the tents of the Knight's expedition filled half the clearing. They sat for a few minutes without saying anything, and Arthur grew more and more uncomfortable.
“So, you are a Witch Hunter, tell me more about the witch that used to reside here.” He said, breaking the awkwardness that only seemed to affect him. She turned to him and flashed another one of her smiles.
“Not such a hopeless case after all are you? Never mind, there is still time to convert you to liking us Witch Hunters. Anyway, this tower used to be the home of a powerful witch who worked for the King of Chaos. He was using it as a lair and a base to infiltrate Myrtalla with his dark sorcery. You see, this tower was here long before him. The local villagers all tell stories about how this tower is haunted, and no-one ever comes near. They expect strange things to be going on here. That is why it was such a good hiding place for the witch. Well to cut a long story short, the Witch Hunters eventually figured out that the witch was hiding around here and sent a team to destroy him. They met him at the entrance to the glade over there, and a great fight ensued, in which--” her story was cut short by the sound of screams coming from across the other side of the camp.
Arthur and Amanda bolted to their feet and Amanda was off running across to the sounds of battle. Arthur swore and grabbed for his sword before following. An explosion rocked the glade and smoke wafted across the camp. Fire blazed ahead of Arthur as he rushed forwards. Cursing his lack of armour he drew his sword from the scabbard, unsure of what he was going to meet. The clash of weapons and the screams of wounded echoed in his ears and he weaved his way through the tents towards the battle, the silhouette of Amanda ahead of him in the smoke. She stopped suddenly and Arthur careered into the back of her, knocking them both sprawling into the mud. Grunting Arthur rolled to his feet as a fireball flew over their heads and exploded behind them. He looked out past the final line of tents and saw dead and dying knights strewn across the ground. Those still alive battled fiercely with warriors with curved swords and strange clothing.
Roaring, Arthur threw himself into the battle, slashing at the nearest enemies. His sword cleaved through flesh as he fought his way towards Gerald, who was being surrounded. A flash blinded Arthur. He was knocked down by a tremendous shock-wave as a bolt of lightning slammed right onto the spot where his commander stood. Arthur fell, and his head smacked against a rock. His senses filled with a splitting pain. Reeling from the shock, Arthur rose to his knees and saw a charred corpse where his commander had been. The acrid stench of burning flesh writhed its way up his nostrils. Arthur gagged, and wretched the contents of his stomach into the bloody mud at his knees. An eerie quiet hung over the glade, the only sounds were the moans of the dying as their precious lifeblood spilled and mixed with the mud that would be their death bed.
Cold steel pressed against Arthur's neck and he looked up to see one of the strange warriors standing over him.
“Kill the badly wounded, and gather the survivors. I want them marshalled here in half and hour. Take the Witch Hunters separately.” The cold voice came from a man in a black cloak who seemed to glide over the muddy battlefield, wiping his thin sword on the clothes of a fallen warrior. His cold grey eyes met Arthur's, and a wave of hate washed over him. Arthur shuddered involuntarily as the gaze passed. The tall man strode across the encampment and disappeared behind a tent. Arthur's hands were roughly bound and he was dragged to his feet, pain wracking his body and he could feel a trickle of blood on his forehead.
“Get over there, and sit down,” The warrior's voice had an odd accent that Arthur guessed was from the northern deserts. Head swarming with pain and shock, Arthur turned to look where the man pointed, and was kicked in the back.
“Now!” Arthur stumbled through the mud and collapsed where he was directed. The pain in his head washed over him and he felt nauseous. Slowly unconsciousness gripped him and dragged him from the turmoil of the glade.
(as well as some other phrases that might have been a bit cliche). Has the dialogue improved much? And I am still having some issues with noticing cliches. Any criticisms and help are, as always, much appreciated. 
