Arveion burst through the Kingdom's mighty doors, getting glances right away. People wondered why his body reeked, his clothes untidy and what caused the threatening frown on his face.
However he had no time to stick around being friendly, nor was he about to explain his dignity to them. He clenched his sword to his side, his face contorted with hatred and resentment. The murmurs continued behind his back but he felt no need to bring himself to cut them off.
He already had enough to take care of.
He walked down a dark hall, the more he walked the more his headache increased. He entered the darkroom, removed all further clothing and forced himself into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and stood under its head, the cold water trickling along with his warmth bruised skin, the water a dirty red when it ran down the pipe hole.
