The Writers' Circle

When the guard positioned himself, gun in hand (for he heard the once faint gallop grew louder and louder), he told the passengers to get behind him, told them to not attack the person, for the passengers had no firearms, no sticks, and no knives, but had documents, documents that were hallowed throughout the land. One of the passengers, a man with a stout visage, an appearance of that of a bear, wearing a black suit and an aristocratic hat, turned his head to the guard, who kept his same position; except now his body trembled in fear, and said, " Sir, do you not think it will be better for us, meaning all of us, to attack this person who we don't know, so that if the attacker were to out gun you, we will outnumber him?"
	The guard, who let the gut-wrenching fear weaken his mind, turned his head towards the stout man, while attempting to keep his position, and replied, "No it would not do any good to try to attack the incoming person at once, for we have to keep the documents intact, because if one document becomes tattered, then the remaining will become useless, even if we defeat the person and picked up the remnants of the damaged pieces, for the documents are magic, and when in one piece they secrete energy, energy that can destroy the world."
	As the volume of the hoofsteps increased gradually, the group caught sight of a man mounted on the horse, though the distance blurred the image to the group's eyes. Seeing that the person could be anyone, the passengers, who trembled with intimidation, scurried towards the trees, knowing that the quantity of the trees and their height would conceal the passenger from danger. The guard switched the safety off his gun immediately, knowing that he won't have an opportunity to turn it off once he confronts the person. He rooted his feet to the ground but still quivered in fear, thinking that his chances of suriving the confrontation between him and the mysterious person could go in one of three ways: either he could have died, the guard would attack the person and kill him, or (this is what he hoped) the person would be friendly and the two would not fight. Either way, the guard thought, I have to prepare for any circumstances that come my way.
	First, the passengers heard the skidding of the horse, then saw the man mounted on the horse. The man, who appeared to be taller than the guard, wore a navy blue suit, a suit that blended into the moonless night. A dark cloaked wrapped around his collar, and a mask that resembled a wolf's muzzle covered the manin's lower half of his face.
	The man unmounted from his horse, not noticing the guard, who crept closer to him with his gun. the guard in a trembled voice said, "Y-y-you there! Who said you can come here? Answer me, or you will pay with your life."
	The man, who had a build of that of an ox, gave a sinister laugh and said not a word, but instead, he reached under his suit and pulled out a knife-- a Victorian knife-- and walked towards the guard, his shoes tapping onto the gravel road.
	"Stay back!" said the guard, and having said that, he pulled the trigger. a loud pop came about. The bullet hit the man in the chest, and he fell down with a clomp. A puddle of blood formed from the man's chest.
	"Whew, I thought that he would actually kill me," the guard cried, fanning the smoke away from the nozzle of his gun.