So there I was, blood dribbling down my breastplate. I wasn't sad about dying, just angry that the thrice-damned musketeer had gotten a shot off before I could so much as draw my sword. With my dying breath I cursed him, swearing to haunt him to the end of his days. I had no idea that the vow I coughed out would imprison me halfway to the next life.
He refuses to let go, unable to accept his fate, destined to relive a single moment for eternity. 5/5!
I always look forward to your submissions glooh and this is why.
Looks like the Spaniard took one in the chest before he died.