Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-25828117-20191023222228/@comment-24510587-20191025132058

Emile glanced at his reflection in the creek. He was a right mess. Grime had been collecting on his armour since they had left Tenmaru, the jungle having made it inevitably dirty. Garran's blood had spattered onto his gauntlets and vambraces, and had dried there. He hadn't washed in days, and he hadn't shaved in nearly a month; his beard had grown out and become unkempt. Right now, he more resembled Anvilian guttertrash than Bretonnic nobility.

He looked away from the sad reality of his current appearance and focused back on his surroundings. This forest had sent them plummeting through the folds of reality once before, he didn't trust it not to do it again.