Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-25038310-20160303163426/@comment-7203512-20160315152304

"T-there is n-nothing we can-n do about it-t...", Aelwin remarked. He then breathed in and closed his eyes. "N-not now, a-at least...", he uttered in a more serious tone, if not a bit shaky and scared. As his breathing became more frequent, he slowly lowered his sword and turned around, briefly glancing over the group, before his look eventually fell on Jericho and Dunistair.

"Y-you guys-s... You are a-an army... Y-you surely w-won't m-miss a f-feeble m-milk-drink-ker like m-me. B-but... let m-me do s-something-g... s-someth....", a tear dropped on his sword, gliding down the rusty blade, "Somet-thing...", he inhaled deeply and turned back, "Useful. For once."

These were the first ever words that the Breton didn't stammer, though his breathing kept becoming heavier. He then coughed a few times, and turned his head back to the two warriors, a fresh bloodstain adorning his ragged facewrap, a bit moist from the tears shed moments ago.

"I-I... ap-preciate your-r c-concern... I r-really do..."