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[Dymm Crowley]

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Dymm awoke. He hadn’t even realized he had fallen asleep. The door to his rented room was still locked. There was zero light in this room – Dymm could tell it was the middle of the night. He wasn’t comfortable at all… He hadn’t taken off his coat and a host of daggers and krysses were still hooked to his belt and strapped to his ankles. He still had work to do (had actually been doing work before he decided to lay down for ‘just a moment’) but figured he wouldn’t get anything else done tonight anyway. He didn’t have the energy, either, to get more comfortable. All he had the energy to do, in fact, was lay there and think about his miserable situation.

He had planned to go far, far away. He had planned to get deep into the woods, bring a bedroll and some food and stay there for a while. He had planned to be on the other side of the world. Yet, where did he lay now? A Vesperian inn, literally across the road from his home. If he had the energy to look out the window, he would see his house quite clearly. In fact, he had seen some people pass by earlier: Ra’ja, for one, and Avrice, another.

He wasn’t quite sure what compelled him to stay right here. He thought he would be pretty safe, as long as he kept in his room, but not as safe as he could be. He had tipped his hat low and tied his hair back before coming to the inn and had checked in as “Mister James Blacke.” He was quite sure the innkeepers bought it. He also had requested that no visitors be allowed into his room, no matter who they might be. He thought about ordering some soup, but decided against it: better to attract as little attention as possible. The soup, he now thought, might have helped. Not only did he feel moderately unsafe, he also felt physically sick.

If Dymm had been more in touch with himself, he may’ve figured it was because of all the mental stress, that he was now physically ailing. He felt tired, like an old man, and unable to keep his mind on one thing for more then a few minutes. He clearly felt the weight of his own body – like wasted matter and muscle slowly rotting away. He managed to move one arm far enough to unsheathe the kryss at his side. The weight of his arm felt much heavier then the kryss itself. Tossing it to the side, he realized that small movement was the last of his energy for now.

Staring into the blackness of the roof, Dymm fell back into dreamless but troubled sleep, only a few feet from his own bed.