Just as Damien grabbed Xavier's hand and started shaking it, another man entered the room. When the handshake broke, Damien turned to look at the newcomer, a feeling of dread overcoming him when he heard what the man had done. [i] Great, somebody else who throws their weight arou-wait, Regna Ferox?! Oh...ohhh no. I'm not doing this. Not today, not today. [/I] Coughing, Damien turned back to Xavier and bowed, excusing himself. "Apologies, milord, we'll have to discuss this later. My presence seems to be offending the sellsword here." He stopped himself before making any further comments, though every ounce of him was jumping to return the mercenary's lip. Making a wide path around the Feroxi man, he exited the room and looked about, stretching his arms. [I] Not much to do here anymore, so I think I'll head back to the inn. Xavier will be able to find me when he needs me, after all. The boy's resourceful. As for that Feroxi urchin...I can only hope that is the last I see of him. [/i] 

Damien didn't have anything against Regna Ferox, of course, but in his time, he'd found that most Feroxi were...brusque people. Nobility and warriors by culture did not mix well under most circumstances, and although he respected the skills of those the nation produced, he couldn't help but hold prejudice against them as low-born murderers, running about and slaying those who give them dirty looks. [i] And since when did I value human life so much? Argh, why did my father have to be a lecher, and my mother a whore?! I can't fit in with any of these people! Bastard lords always shunning me, commoners treating me like a fragile piece of china, dammit![/i] He nearly slammed the door to his room, but stopped himself at the last moment, unbuttoning his belt and throwing it on the bed. As he pulled off his boots and grabbed his flask, he downed a heavy drink, burning his throat on the way down, trying to kill the memories of his past before they overtook him yet another day.