Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-26052600-20160302043959/@comment-25547106-20160328212936

I can feel that you're dying from your injuries... Not my touch... Let me help you, then... she says, reaching into herself and pulling out a potion. I always keep a few spares... she says, giggling as she removed the cork and helped him drink. His wounds healed, but his bloodloss was still quite severe, and he was so weak... But the pain in his heart started to ebb away. It was being soothed... He'd never felt warmth like this... Down his cheeks... In his chest... In his sinuses... He was starting to cry, like the child he was never allowed to be.

Dreadnought holds on to the ejected prosthetic arm before crushing it in his grasp and readying his sword.