He woke with a startled gasp and claw-like nails digging at his chest. Sweat dripped down his body as he felt the all too typical heightened reaction to a nightmare. With a grunt, he slung himself around to rest his feet on the rug that sat next to his bed. Drawing the hand up from his chest, he ran it through his long white hair and looked down towards the ground. Fel green eyes stared as his heart beat faster from the nightmare, and continued that for another minute before beginning to relax. He was used to the sleepless nights, and this didn't bother him much. Even the most powerful concoctions could not erase the startling nightmares, and so he just let it happen. He closed his eyes as the nightmare's imagery played back to him, and it was of a burning fleet. It was a nightmare of a memory, and it was not a good memory at that. He was reliving the moment when dragons burned the Kul Tiras Navy at the behest of their orcish riders. The flames, the screams, and the death all around him had left a permanent mark on him at his young age.
Slowly he opened his eyes and pushed from the bed. He made a gesture and a white fur cloak appeared around him as he stepped away from his bed. Heavy footsteps took him from the comfort of his bed and to a mirror. He stared at his reflection, and watched as his brows furrowed. All along his body were scars, and all belonged to their various sources. All of them had their memories that drew him back into his past. He reached up to rub at the claw-made scar along his throat and then trailed it to the scar over his heart. His hand moved from scar to scar before resting at his side. He had been through it all since a young age, and he showed it in the pain of his physical form. With a pained grunt, he moved from the mirror to the door. Slowly, he pushed his hand to the door as his gaze fell to a picture on a shelf that was illuminated by moonlight.
It was a picture of a family that seemed happy. There was a man with ginger hair and a knightly appearance, and he knew that was himself. The woman beside him was an elven woman who had patterns of arcanic tattoos painted onto her. In between them was a young girl - a daughter he once had. Seeing such an image had him pause and grief played at his heart. There was a time in his life that he had things like that - family, loved ones, and similar words. Now he was so certain of his inability to have such a thing. He accepted it as fact despite any other sign saying the opposite. With a heavy sigh, he opened the door and stepped out of his room - closing the door behind him.
It was time for a walk.