After much fighting Gregoir finally was able to catch his breath. He took cover inside a ruined battlement as a torrent of fire burnt everything in the space behind him. His sight completely blurred, he leant on the remains of a wall, trying to regain his senses. That was too intense for him, it was a long time since he had fought in great battles. But, even though exhausted, he felt a surge of happiness inside him. All the fighting was a good way to relieve his traumatic memories, so he was smiling. But that happiness soon turned into pain, as he tried to return to the battlefield. Under his right arm blood flowed abundantly. He could also feel a couple o ribs probably broken. His ragged cloack was long gone - burnt down by one of the dragons - and he could see the right side of his breastplate painted red where a dragon's claw practically destroyed it. Looking downwards, he only then noticed the current state of his lance. It was intact up until halfway through the pole, but the remainder of it was missing. Now that he looked back, it had broken after hitting so many dragon's scales.<br/><br/>He had to make a decision: either give in to the pain and lay down, waiting for his death; or go back outside and exhaust his last breaths in a lost fight - at least to him. Up until a few days ago, he would have chosen the first choice; but having tasted the thrill of battle once again, he needed to go outside. He wanted to strike once again - and perhaps to be stricken too. And so he limped back outside, and reached for the first abandoned weapon nearby - a standard long sword. He had a hard time brandishing it, but he kept on forward, probably towards his last fight.