As the night drew near, Harklas had just begun to notice how empty the dungeons had gotten. The orc and the elf were gone, among others, and the only noises that could be heard throughout the place where the scurrying of rats and a few hushed whispers. He'd spent all his time thinking and talking about his plan, and now he had no time to execute it, and no one to execute it on. It doesn't matter, there's always tomorrow.  He yawned before speaking again. "Actually, it's getting quite late. Tomorrow would be better, there would be more victims about. Provided I'm not a nasty stain on the arena floor by then." Harklas let out a small chuckle, not realizing how tired was until now. "Off to bed with me. Don't let me forget, now." He opened the door to his room and shut himself in.<br/><br/>Just like Ryder had said, no bed. Cracks ran along the walls and there was no lighting besides a single torch on the wall. There was a weapons rack though, practically lined with knives and daggers. It was far from living in luxury, but it's boring when everything is just handed to you. Harklas flew up to the corner and perched himself on wall, trying to find a menacing pose so as to get a cheap laugh out of anyone who woke him up. He shut his eyes and turned to stone, unconscious in an instant. He didn't dream that night, unlike most nights. But for Harklas, dreams where a bad thing. He'd rather face his troubles when others where around so he could be distracted, and maybe get some sort of comic relief.