When Aldanith woke up, he felt like pure, concentrated death. His head was throbbing, every stitch on his body was burning, and he felt like throwing up after drinking those three bottles of wine the day before. The worst of all was that he didn't remember one thing that happened after coming to the inn and settling down, and he was in a strange room, hungover and in pain.
With a long, loud groan, he stretched his arms, and right after snarled after straining the right one too much. He begun rubbing it with the metal fingers of his left, careful not to press the stitches too much or rip them, and blinked at the ceiling.
He rolled off the bed, landing on the ground with a loud thud as he knocked his left elbow into the floor, and holding onto the bed, he scrambled to his feet. His head was spinning, and it was painful with the bright light, an apparent sign that he had one drink too many... Stumbling to the door as he could, he managed to stand in the doorway. Maybe it was just another inn room.
When he pushed the door open, leaning onto the frame of the door, he found out that he definitely wasn't in the inn. This was someone's house... He cursed, delving into his hair with one hand. He appeared pale, only his eyes were bright in the dark rings that surrounded them like bottomless, hollow wells, and his long hair was a mess on his head, standing around it like a halo and falling into his face. It looked like he was eaten, chewed, and spat back out by a wyvern - like a corpse.
He moaned, blinking in the light. "Where the f*** am I?"