The blade crashed against the right brigand's sword, the weight of the blade breaking past his one handed block and slamming his blade along with the force of the great sword into his side. The sword entered the brigand's side, burrowing into his stomach and sending him flying into the bandit next to him.
As the two clattered over, one bleeding profusely, a saving grace unwelcome to him. Brande yanked back his sword, letting it crash to the ground besides him. The blade glistened, shadowed by blood, yet gleamed so gloriously in the morning light. Brande grunted, slowly lifting the blade onto his shoulder, resting it within the well worn niche.
The man turned his head to the rouge, staring at him. The rest of the assaulting bandits had fled into the forest, most of them having been slain in combat. The man sighed to himself, his hand reaching up to adjust his mask.
"Magical Relic, cursed weapon of destruction, blade of unwieldy power," The man spoke. "It is nothing but a reminder and anchor of my past, that is all."
The man turned his body around, glancing around the once again quiet forest once more. "It seems we should make haste, for the brigands of these luscious greens will surely impede our time of arrival."
The man spun his body, heading off, in the complete opposite direction of his intended destination.