The ground slushes beneath Beaurmont's feet, it's been raining for days. He is getting rather tired of the constant downfall, it's making travel rather difficult. Even though it is a light trickle his cloak is drenched and Beaurmont is shaking slightly. "This blasted rain will be the death of me before I even face the Monster Lord." He says with a sigh. As if the world understood him, it begins to rain harder, crushing his dreams. Sitting in their for a second, he sighs heavily and begins to jog steadily down the dirt road. After another five minutes chugging through the rainy weather Beaurmont happens to see an small building appear in the distance. Without stopping he squints his eyes and cups his hands. Trying to identify the small worn building. To his surprise, and great delight, he discovered that it was an old tavern. His jog turning into a sprint as he strides toward the only beacon of light he has left. Finally after reaching the front door he shakily takes hold of the large door knob and pushes it open gently. Beaurmont is welcomed with the banter of drunkards and the smell of rum. It's warm and welcoming. He eagerly walks over to the nearest table and begins removing his wet cloak. After hanging it on a post next to him he slowly sits down into a chair, easing all of his muscles. Beaurmont basks in the warm dryness and wearily massages his own neck. Suddenly he hears a muffled yell and looks around himself, confused. He tries to identify the culprit but everyone seems to be interested in drinking and merrymaking. With a confused shudder he tries to shrug it off before hearing the yell a lot louder, angrier and...beneath him? Beaurmont jumps to his feet and backs away from the tiny wooden chair he sat on. People begin to notice his frightened state and chuckle lightly.