Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-5583506-20160209154925/@comment-6006054-20160218234328

Taervik sat cross-legged on a bed. He was surrounded by Beast Slayers here, plunged deep into a nest of self-righteous hypocrisy. And he was here to join them.

It felt strange to be sitting on a bed. Tarvik hadn't truly slept in one since his exile. In fact, the nord hadn't properly slept since his exile. Always alert, never trusting, never risking. Only slept a few hours each night, and lightly. When he did sleep, he dreamed. Dreamed of things that had been, that could have been, that would have been. Such dreams went on and on, warping and twisting his sorrowful longing, taunting him with the home he had once had. Yet when he woke, the Exile remained an exile, still refuse, still lost. Such sleep brought no rest, only a solemn emptiness.

Taervik realized how tired he was, how drained.