The harsh winds rumbling throughout the streets set Xion's teeth in what appeared to him as a permanent rumble. His cloak blew madly at the wind, tearing itself from his grip trying to keep himself warm. He had used too much power at that damned cave; he had burned himself out and was now paying the price with his hypersensitivity. A sheet of paper flew pas his head, the top reading about some sort of war, it was moving far too quick to be read. Shuddering, He came upon the entrance to a building where music was rumbling out, chased by hearty laughter. The sign above the door read Bloodseal tavern, a bad omen, but some place that would take one like him in for a night at least.
Xion pumped a large amount of effort into pushing the door open, violently slamming it against the wall and turning all eyes on him. He didn't flinch, he followed the rules. One flinch and these beasts would tear you to shreds. Star at the wall. One step. Two. Three... All eyes turned back down to their tables with some grunts, but the loud off-key piano playing kicked back in and the scantly clad dancers got back their step. The tension shook off Xion as he shivered and trembled his way over to the barstool closest to the fire. "I need...I need whiskey...a...and a room." Xion whimpered between chattering. Damn him! Acting all of a fool! If he died right now he would have deserved it.
Xion emptied the last of the whiskey before stumbling into his small room. The fire in the stove was blazing at a regular heat, but he threw his bottle, shattering it inside and creating a large burst of flame that died down instantly. "Damn it..." He uttered while picking up the logs by the stove and throwing them in. After moving the bed directly beside the stove and stripping down, he hopped into the bed and threw the covers over himself. As his eyes slowly closed he imaged himself in a warmer place, with marble lining the walls and great rugs at his feet.
Fire licked his face as he stood relaxed on a peak of rubble. His regular clothes were gone, and he now dawned black as night pants with bone-made knee protectors, a rib made chest plate, a large red-cloth jacket with a massive horned skull on the left shoulder, and a helm covering the sides of his head but not the top where large, curled horns stemmed from. This always happened when he dreamed himself in hell. When he talked to the mutilated beasts that worked all around all they told him was he looked like his grandfather, or they just bowed and kept on working. Angry with himself for not knowing of his bloodline he roared as loud as he could, shaking the stone roof far up ahead and setting people all around into bloodcurdling screams. As he caught his breath a woman appeared before him gold-blonde hair, then nothing. The strange images... "Not even hell can hold back the visions that bore into the thresholds of my head!?".
Awake.
The sun was shining in spots through the boarded up window. Blinking at the light he looked to the foot of his bed where the blonde girl from his dreams was sitting, then blinking again she disappeared. Too tired to be angry, Xion simply stood, scratched his head, and exited the room. The entrance to the inn was silent of all noises except the maids busy at their cleaning and the chief-cook shouting away orders in the kitchen. men were strewn everywhere, stripped bear of all items worth anything and snoring loudly, most with smiles on their faces. Those crafty dancers knew their ways, and most were master scam-artists, so he was sure to stay clear.
Xion grunted as he swung the door open to the loud noises of the streets. Horses trotted by the door, along with beggars and pickpockets. It was going to be a long day. So very, very long.
(OOC: 681 words.)