With a quiet murmur Azerus nervously glanced towards the dull distant shuffling sounds building up beyond the opening of his hovel. 
His back numb from the firm pressure he applied against the stone cold solid wall behind him as he sat on his crude flat bed, pushing himself back into the last remaining shadows of his publicly accessible sleeping quarters. 

In recent days, only noticeable due to his extensive time against it, Azerus had realised this shared wall had grown increasingly colder then expected, certain times worse than others. 

But now as the other in-mates were just starting to wake, Azerus expected to find it slowly warm. 
Azerus himself hadn't slept, once again. 

He itched the dull symbol on the back of his hand. The irritation was one of purely mental fabrication. 
The marking was magical in nature and could not be touched, felt, hidden or removed. The only thing Azerus could do to nearly rid himself if it was close his eyes, and even then he often still saw it.

He wondered if all the others bore a brand like his. Seldom did he leave his room and even rarer was it that he conversed with another. His thoughts were suddenly and sharply cut short as a nearby growing *clip clap, clip clap* startled him. Azerus held his breath as it got worse, the sound echoing off the stone walls brought with it the flickering glow of illumination.

Azerus waited in still silent anticipation, barely daring to look up at his entrance.