Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-25038310-20160209213345/@comment-24510587-20160222191545

The fight was over, so Dunistair let his blade rest with the tip on the ground. He took a moment have a good look at the newcomer, who was crying and squirming on the ground. He wore no significant form of armour other than a worn and tattered leather jerkin, and his only armament was a small rusty sword. Dunistair wouldn't even have used a sword that small to cut meat. Were it not for his Undeath, this whelp wouldn't have lasted a minute in this twisted realm.

He looked at the sword of the Revenant he had beheaded. It was rusty and of poor quality, but at least it wasn't as pathetic and useless as the shortsword this kid was using. He tore the weapon from the cold grip of the Revenant, and tossed it to his fellow Breton. "You'll need a better weapon if you want to survive out here," Dunistair murmured, before hoisting his longsword back onto his shoulder and continuing the long march ahead.