"Ain't you a sight with that dagger?" Dolaz said behind him Faeranduhl.
If he's going to survive, Faeranduhl must learn the names of the people he must rely on. But he doubted what the half-elves' leader said was a compliment. Two ghouls laid dead before him with their throats cut open. Sticky black liquid kept leaking and smudging the ashen sand.
"Not really," Faeranduhl said, wiping sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. Iron and wood paddings clunked and felt heavy on his movements but they were required, they at least gave extra protection (minus the hindrance on his movements). "I could be better with a sw—"
Swords were forbidden. Unless he was one of the three great elves, Faeranduhl must not boast about his choice of arms. He instead wiped the black blood on his dagger with the cloth of his armor and turned to face the horde of ghouls.
