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[Tay Thormear]

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He sat in the back of the gloomy tavern torches lit some not. The stench of vomit, men's blood, and ale filled his nostrils. His hood pulled up over his head, he sat calmly alone. He held ale in his right hand and his left hand gently druming on top of the table.

"What does my future hold for me? I thought I was to travel this road, but there is a side path that has come upon me. Do I continue down this road, or take this other path? Both seem promising....which one?" he thought to himself.

Recent events had Beowulf confused; he had no idea what was meant for him as of now. He couldn't help but think over his latest decisions, ideas and doings. What was he suppose to do?

Just the other night Dark Cove had nearly been over run by intruders. With aid The Regulators were able to push the intruders out and back to their own lands. It wasn't but only the night before that that Beowulf had crossed the line. He had killed a few too many people who crossed him and was now paying for it. Being stuck in the land of fellucia had its ups and downs.

Beowulfs newest visitor was a very pleasing and promising one. They dropped by quite frequently to see him, and check up on him. Always chatting about things of the future. He was beginning to look forward to every evening to sit with this person and talk. One of the ups about being stuck in fellucia, people had to come to you.

He sighed to himself and raised his hand to take a sip of ale. He had no idea what he was going to do with himself. Just as the ale reached his lips he noticed a man out of the corner of his eye. This man had been staring at him all night long.

"Perhaps I should ask if there's a problem?" he thought to himself.

Pulling his hood back enough to reveal his face Beowulf called over to the man.

"I'm sorry, is there a problem with the way I look?" at that exact moment the man drew his sword and threw his table aside. He broke into a hard run, sword held high ready to slice through Beowulf.

"I wish not to do this..." he shrugged to himself and snapped his fingers. He watched as the vengeful spirit tore into the attackers flesh. Beowulf pushed himself up from the table and walked over to confront the man. Grabbing him by the throat he hosted him off the ground. He placed his other open palm against the strangers face and muttered a few words. A fireball shot clean throat the foolish mans head and he dropped.

"I wish not to fight, unless I have to." he shook his head he was becoming extremely frustrated. Beowulf pulled his hood back over his head and turned on his heel. He strode away from the tavern.

"This confusion must be put to the side, these decisions must be made. Perhaps "fate" will aid me in my decisions."