A bloodied, battered, shambling wreck
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A man, clad all in silver, walks the darkened caverns of the inner city, his armor bloodied, his body battered. He shambles along, helm placed firmly over his head, but the marking on his armor are unmistakeably those of the god Corellon Larethian. To those that approach, he clasps his hand very tightly about a bloodied rag. He does not speak unless spoken to, and even then is terse and laconic. He does not remove his helm.
