[DarkAngel]

as the rain thundered down in the streets outsied the inn a young eleven ranger crawls towards the doors of the warmly lit in. clutching his side he attempts to crawl a little way forward towards the door of the inn. his silver hair , now grey with mud flicks his face as he struggles to pull his weight to the door.
using his last ounce of energy he lightly taps on the door of the tavern before passing out. his hand, which is heavily burned now falls limp to his side reavealing a terrible wound, bound by leaves and twigs. now unconcious on the mudddy road by the inn he is at the mercy of any passing maurauder or thief.