"Ah ah! You defend well with that big sword of yours, but what about offence? Would you mind swinging it for a moment?!" relentlessly hammering away with his fists, like a machine with only one purpose, Frenand was hitting so hard that the gauntlets upon his fits were being flattened and extended from the repetitive strikes, cracks steadily forming upon the black iron, the pride of the undead forges was being reduced to pieces.
'A mad dog…' Alisart Cleavster was familiar with those, blooddrunk warriors that only sought battles after battles in a manic frenzy, seekers of conflict were plentiful, but only a handful of them could be regarded as obsessed.
