Takes place in copenhagen.

The sound of water being pumped into buckets and sabres stabbing into flesh filled your ears as you sat on the ground for a quick break, the groans of the undead was a frustrating, yet repeating thing you had to hear.

The distant crackle of the fire could be heard, as soldiers ocassionally climbed up and or down to continue putting out the fires in the attic, or to reffil their buckets.

Letting out a groan, Lars would sit down next to you on a nearby crate, sighing and leaning back onto the wall of the building behind him his muscles tensing as he relaxed, crossing his burly arms over his large chest.

Adjusting his eye patch and taking off his czapka to rest it in his lap, he'd look over to you, Shooting a small, yet kind and noticable smile.

"Tiring, isn't it?"

He would speak up, More to himself. He'd narrow his eyes, Letting out a soft sigh again.

"It'll be alright. As long as we keep moving and keep an eye out, We will be fine."

He would state, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. Well, Technically, an eye. The other was covered by an eyepatch.

His adams apple bobbed as he leaned his head back, his chest slowly rising up and down as he rested.