[center][h1]ℜ𝔢𝔫𝔞𝔲𝔩𝔱 𝔅𝔢𝔞𝔲𝔪𝔬𝔫𝔱[/h1][/center]
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Any doubts Renault might have had about the rats' intelligence were swiftly allayed when one of the larger vanguards clamped its rotten jaws around his sword arm, sending waves of sharp, shooting pain all the way up his arm and shoulder. The scale armor he wore was decent for skirmishers; combining a decent amount of defense without hindering mobility, but that came at the cost of leaving his arms comparatively unprotected. While Renault was uncertain whether the rat's teeth had chewed through the scales or not, he was all-but-certain that the skin was broken. 

Now forced to hold his arm outstretched, blade pointed aloft, Renault at first tried to simply shake the wretched thing off, but found that he wasn't able to build up enough speed or intensity to do anything more than mildly jerk it about, only grinding its teeth further into his flesh. With a cry of pain in his throat that escaped his grit teeth in a hissing seethe, Renault instead tried to bash the edge of his shield against the rat with any strength his free arm could muster. He knew that, distracted as he was, he was at greater risk of being overwhelmed and waylaid by even the smallest of the brood. His compatriots would certainly help, but a helpless soldier could be more trouble than he was worth.