Had he perhaps lost his way, Morr thought as he stumbled through the temple's corridors, pressing a bloodied rag of cloth on the wound, yet despite that measure still leaving a steady trail of blood in his wake, vision hazy, while he willed himself to keep going. This was not half as bad as that time when that warhammer had crushed his shoulder, nor that other time when a gargantuan demonic beast tore a good chunk of his chest out, after all.<br/><br/>He was getting old, he supposed.<br/><br/>Breathing heavily, against all his hopes, he yet found himself at the entrance of the hospice. Limping inside, he shouted "Brother Blake, I fear I am in need of medical aid once again." whilst unclasping the rest of his breastplate and letting himself fall onto the nearby bed, soon losing consciousness.