[color=007236][u][h2]Vellion Hurst[/h2][/u][/COLOR][hr][COLOR=#C0C0C0]Hotsprings[/COLOR]
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[BATH TIME]

The whispering wisps of steam that rose up from the surface of the hot spring should have been inviting. A warm welcoming reprieve from the biting cold. He knew this, it was the sort of luxury that would have once excited his younger self, But now Vellion couldn't deny the internal anxiety that grew within him with each and every step that drew him nearer that haunting body of steaming water. 

[i]This was his choice.[/i] He told himself, a consequence of earlier choices. He had denied himself a fresh caught meal due to the presence of others, foolishly letting his hunger grow as curiosity got the better of him. This then led to a less than civilised style of eating when he eventually deemed his location safe. 

The dead fox had lost much of its warmth, but despite that disappointment, Vellion had still devoured it hastily. No cutlery or knife was needed. Nor did he cook it. Blood now stained the hands that ripped it apart and coated the mouth that tore through it. Buried somewhere out in the dark under the snow were it's bones. 

This, this is why Vellion now found himself in need of a bath. He couldn't very well wander back through town looking the way he did. So, fighting back that gnawing warning screaming at him from the pit of his stomach, Vellion slowly unbutton his shirt as he approach and sit upon the rocky cropping beside the water, staring at his moon lit reflection with a fierce intensity.

After what seemed an age, he found no conclusion or resolve to his thoughts, if he even had any, but the fact of what he had to do remained. Completely removing his shirt now, his bare torso exposed to the elements, he wrap the fabric around his hand and dip it into the water.

There was a moments silence as the warm liquid gradually seeped through the clothing, then, suddenly, a sharp hiss sliced through the silence as the water enveloped his hand. He wasn't sure if the sound came from his mouth or his flesh but the water might as well have been boiling for all the pain it caused. He snatched his hand back, leaving the shirt bobbing in the spring as he examine the source of his sudden sharp pain. He could sense it before he could see it. The magic that created the facade of life was wilting under the heavy touch of water. It sought to slowly dissolve what he had created, exposing old injuries and rotted flesh. 

Once his skin was no longer submerged, the effects sought to reverse them self. This was trickier where rivulets of water still cascade down his exposed skin, but was entirely manageable with a bit of focus. More importantly, his hand was clean. It wasn't a pleasant experience in the least, but one he could come to tolerate, bare even. As long as he never accidentally fell in.

Gritting his teeth he reach into the hellish water and grab his shirt, rinsing it as quick as he could. Next, was his mouth. Without giving himself a moment to hesitate he plunged his face into the water. Bubbles erupted around his head and soon after he threw himself back, caught by a mound of snow. He would of closed his eyes if he could, but he was missing an eyelid. Melted away. The snow that fell from above was a blurry sheet. His chest was streaked with pale lines where the water ran down his body fighting against his magic. All his focus was on repairing his face. The only active sense beyond his blurred vision was pain, everything else was muted in comparison.

The pain was almost a relief, an escape... almost.
It was not so easy being dead.