The last Spellblade (MxF)

His armor is scored and pitted, the once shining metal turned black by soot, dirt and grime. His cloak is tattered, and torn. Its once rich colours sapped by the merciless sun and constant exposure. His face is obscured by his helm, only his scarred, weathered jaw visible. His lips are thin, pulled into a seemingly permanent stern line. His sword is the only thing of beauty he owns, the leather scabbard still shiny with oil, the silver runes on the pommel lovingly cleaned and cared for, the blade sharp and free of any rust.