Snippet #2302080

Declan Blaise mumbled incoherently as he slipped somewhat loudly through a doorway, entering the spare room. His eyes smouldered with the dull pain of the wound he bore, a deep gash which sliced to the bone of his left leg, scarring and disfiguring his knee. He groaned and limped on, collapsing into a chair and letting his chin rest on his chest as he finally reached a stop. It felt as though he had been travelling for centuries. His dark hair hung limp and dirty from travel in front of his eyes.

His clothing, stained with the grime of the road, was ripped, and his chainmail was bloodied and rusting. He didn't even take in his surroundings. Here, he had found a temporary refuge, and he thanked any higher beings out there for the blessing and relief this gave him.