At first, his instincts told him to lurch upward and attempt to release himself, he didn't really bother. He let his head fall back, resting his helm against the ground. "So that's how it is, then..."
"I fear I've underestimated this venture of mine," Galter admitted from his resting point on the stone. "You people are far too easy to lose track of. Tell me- do you all carry those sorts of tainted weapons with you?" The place in his side where the blade had struck still stung incessantly, though it didn't bleed. Rather, it appeared as though the gap in his body did not open to more flesh, but instead to a void of pure black. It was still difficult for him to imagine such a small blade cutting through him so easily without having some kind of Dark behind it. That his shield, the one thing he had to protect himself from the Dark, was the reason he was in this place was an irony that he'd likely never live down. "Perhaps it would be appropriate for you to relieve my chest of your boot so I can seek a priest," he suggested. The Dark was something fearsome to him, but he felt no reason to let it intimidate him, as any priest or cleric could dispel the wound for him, and enact a miracle of healing. It had kept him alive after poorly-played duels in the past, and he saw no reason this would be any different.