[i][u]2'C / 35.6'F[/u][/i]

'[i]It[/i]' was without face or form. No body to attack or physicality to gaze upon. '[i]It[/i]' was older than time itself and was now residing in the deepest depths of the things around them. Having slowly but surely ingrained itself into the entirety of the tavern.
The cold radiated from the very souls of the building.
Trinkets and tricks held no hopes of truely driving it away, while the monkey may pose a mere slight setback and offer a slimmer of warmth, in time it would fall against the inevitable creeping passive cold.
First it was the fire that once again stumbled and fell, wisely knowing this was now a place it no longer belonged.


[b]Clay[/b]
The concussed topless lycan came stumbling up the stairs, his own arms wrapped around his shivering bruised and burnt body in hopes to retain some heat. He gives Ayeka a stern gaze blaming her for the chill as he walks on up to his room.