With the tension between the group and the bar tender gone, Ionathan could see that most were returning to conversations that were previously interrupted by the groups entrance. After Isabeau finished her order Ionathan decided to pay for all four rooms. If he was to travel with this group on this adventure it would mean that they would be fighting alongside him and he would prefer it if he had their trust and respect before the inevitable battles that lies ahead. Besides if Sakaala is going to fix the door then the money offered would not be needed and can instead be used to rent the rooms.
Asking politely where the rooms were in the tavern the bar keep told anyone in the group who were listening where each room was with a hint of distrust and caution still in his eyes. Picking a door Ionathan made his way to the room, his eyelids feeling heavier with each step. The quarters that he got was of a typical tavern variety and Ionathan wasted no time, mechanically removing his armour as he had done hundreds of times before.
Laying on the bed Ionathan took a deep breath watching the scars on his body stretch with the inhale. In truth Ionathan hated the marks as it represented what his thoughts towards fighting had turned into. Before he had these wounds of war fighting was a mixture of excitement and horror, with each battle and each fight he slowly became numbed to these feelings. A few months before when he was attacking a bandit encampment with the guard a spearman came at him in a head on charge. Ionathan just did a simple parry, an instinctive thrust, without even thinking and without any emotion.
And that's what bothered him. He didn't feel anything, just another day of hard work. Killed a couple of criminals in a camp somewhere south of Waeldeshore. It was how clinical, and technical, and routine it all felt, and it made him feel monstrous. He might not even have remembered it, it was so normal and every day for him. He was surprised he remembered it so vividly right now.
Exhaling Ionathan stared up at the ceiling, and wondered if he would get a good night’s sleep.
@Belwicket @vietmyke @AdamantiumWolf @Zero Hex @The Harbinger of Ferocity @IcePezz @The Fated Fallen
Asking politely where the rooms were in the tavern the bar keep told anyone in the group who were listening where each room was with a hint of distrust and caution still in his eyes. Picking a door Ionathan made his way to the room, his eyelids feeling heavier with each step. The quarters that he got was of a typical tavern variety and Ionathan wasted no time, mechanically removing his armour as he had done hundreds of times before.
Laying on the bed Ionathan took a deep breath watching the scars on his body stretch with the inhale. In truth Ionathan hated the marks as it represented what his thoughts towards fighting had turned into. Before he had these wounds of war fighting was a mixture of excitement and horror, with each battle and each fight he slowly became numbed to these feelings. A few months before when he was attacking a bandit encampment with the guard a spearman came at him in a head on charge. Ionathan just did a simple parry, an instinctive thrust, without even thinking and without any emotion.
And that's what bothered him. He didn't feel anything, just another day of hard work. Killed a couple of criminals in a camp somewhere south of Waeldeshore. It was how clinical, and technical, and routine it all felt, and it made him feel monstrous. He might not even have remembered it, it was so normal and every day for him. He was surprised he remembered it so vividly right now.
Exhaling Ionathan stared up at the ceiling, and wondered if he would get a good night’s sleep.
@Belwicket @vietmyke @AdamantiumWolf @Zero Hex @The Harbinger of Ferocity @IcePezz @The Fated Fallen