Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-25828117-20190911184542/@comment-24510587-20190911222744

The weather was even worse for Emile; the knight came from the chilly northern coasts, and had never been farther south than northeastern Hammerfell, but even now he refused to doff his armour. His brown hair matted to his head, his head was practically shining with sweat, and it wasn't hard to imagine just how soaked his undershirt must've been.

Emile had been sleeping poorly, too - that had been a constant since the Battle of Cloud Spring. What few hours of rest he did manage to get at night tended to end with a loid gasp and his back dripping with cold sweat, or warm sweat in this climate. But it had become worse since that Khajiit had told him about the Game of Take. Emile spent most of his time neurotically looking around him in order to prevent anyone from getting close to him. It was beginning to become a serious issue, as with each day he got more exhausted and more paranoid.

Nothing had happened, thankfully... until today. Emile was making his way up the stairs onto the forecastle, when one of the Khajiti crewmembers walked past him and got close. Too close. In passing, the Khajiit brushed against Emile, likely on accident, but Emile had spent the last days getting increasingly paranoid about this. Combined with the heat, he was barely able to think straight.

Thus, when he felt the Khajiit making contact with him, a reflex kicked in. A reflex he had acquired during his days traversing Jehanna, where anything and everything could spell his end.

Before anyone realised what happened, even Emile himself, a crunchy, lightly metallic thud sounded on the deck, followed by the Khajiit tumbling down the steps and crashing in a heap on the wood boards. Blood began to pool around the man's cracked skull.

Emile was still standing frozen in place, bloodied warhammer held up and a paranoid, nearly panicked glare in his eyes.