05-03-2020, 08:36 PM
Zwiche strides up to Andrea, his weapons clanking on his hips. He somehow lost his shirt in the fight, leaving his blood soaked chest uncovered. The rain has started to wash him clean, but rivulets still remain.
[Imperial] - “Lo, lady of the horse! Thou art a rare breed. I watched thy fall from heaven. Your strength shows itself in your survival. How art thy comrades? How do they fare?”
His voice rumbles out, low as thunder.
[Imperial] - “Lo, lady of the horse! Thou art a rare breed. I watched thy fall from heaven. Your strength shows itself in your survival. How art thy comrades? How do they fare?”
His voice rumbles out, low as thunder.