Isam lifted his head as the dungeon door opened. His eyes squinted as light spilled in. He was so used to the darkness that the shine of daylight almost hurt. The man let out a soft groan and dropped his head once more when he saw a guard making his way down. He mentally prepared himself for another beating, maybe the one that would end his miserable life. But before the guard could reach his cell, he dropped to the floor. 

Isam lifted his head again, his eyes meeting those of another man. He was smaller than the guard, dressed in Fireblade armor, but he claimed to want to help. He said he had some kind of beef with Dragonmaw. Isam didn't care; the man opened his cell and his first thought was sweet freedom. Isam slowly pulled himself up onto his hand and knees, and then just his knees. With the stranger's help, he was able to get onto his feet. Isam depended heavily on the man's support, however. His body was weak; it was all he could do to stay on his feet. 

As the man half drug him over to the dead guard, Isam groaned at the thought of putting the heavy armor on. He wanted the dignity of clothing, yes, but not the weight of armor on his raw and beaten skin. Isam leaned himself up against the wall and concentrated on staying upright. 
"You have to help me," He rasped, his throat dry and his voice under used. "I can't...I can barely stand." His whole body was screaming at him to just lay down and sleep. His muscles hurt and his bones ached. The poor knight was too weak to bend over without falling, let alone dress himself.