There were upsides to sleeping under a proper roof. Sure, the roof of a cave could potentially hold far more safety, and more places to hide. (Though it could also come down on you at any moment.) They typically did not carry sound from the surface though.
The longer he stuck around, Rathma found he was starting to enjoy the roof of the house in Westmarch. There were just enough spaces to hide oneself away, both in the beams and the attic. The roof kept the elements off of him, as all good roofs should, and it carried sound oh-so-nicely. He could hear the birds, the whistle of wind, and all the many many leaves it carried onto their roof.
Getting closer to the ceiling meant getting closer to whatever was going on above.
Rathma had been napping up in the attic that he'd yet to tell Tyrael or the Horadrim about. Really if they were going to live somewhere, it was their job to ferret out all its hidden nooks and crannies. No, for now the attic was his to enjoy, and it put him nice and close to that wooden roof with its clay shingles.
Now, on most days, there wasn't much too miraculous about such a design. Today though. Today, while dozing, Rathma thought he heard the telltale rumble of thunder in the distance. It roused him just enough.
A storm was rolling in. This was more than enough to wake him up, and encourage him into a better spot to listen.
The rains did not disappoint.
They hissed across the land, gentle at first and bringing a forceful wind with them. The air grew thicker with moisture, and outside little droplets began to fall. They were few at first, but quickly, their numbers grew and grew until there was an impressive drone against the building. Rathma lent himself up next to some shutters, heard the raindrops plink against them. Felt himself relax, and begin to doze once more
If there was one thing upon Sanctuary that had never let him down, it was the comforting pitter-pat-pitter of a rainstorm.
There was a reason the Necropolis was located in the jungles of Kehjistan. For all the arrogant magi wanted to believe it was to be closer to their orders, the real reason was far more mundane than that. Rathma liked rain. And there was lots of rain in the jungle.
It had always helped him relax, meditate, and even sleep properly when he needed it. Who could say why. If he bothered to think back, Rathma couldn't pin-point the exact time when the rains became so cherished. He simply knew that he liked them, and that was more than enough for him.
Finding his cloak-mimic had been one of the greater boons of his life. It did not mind the weather so long as it had access to his rich, life-giving blood. Rathma was well-protected from any kind of snow or rain, for the cloak did not absorb any of the water. Of course he had whole-heartedly taken advantage of this.
No one else was ever out in the rain. Humans and animals alike all sheltered up, not wanting to be exposed to the skies fury.
That fury did not bother Rathma though.
There was plentiful rain in Westmarch, though not quite as much as in the far East. It was a cold rain - one could not stay out in it for long. For all his cloak protected him from being wet, there wasn't much it could do about raw temperature. If Rathma didn't have such distaste for the cold he might have gone out to properly enjoy this particular storm. As it was, he simply laid back, and listened. His cloak fluttered once, and wrapped itself tightly against him.
If he focussed hard enough, he could almost imagine the individual crystal-like beads of water like falling from the sky. The way they fell, and splashed harmlessly against the clay-shingles, or the streets below. There was an abrupt crackle-flash of lighting, and he knew it had illuminated the rains quite magnificently. Thunder boomed overhead, shaking the very wall he lounged against. Magnificent.
Many found storms to be frightful, or dreary, or even awful. Rathma supposed he could understand why on a surface level, but really he just thought they'd never had a chance to really appreciate all that the rain was.
It brought life, it brought sound, it brought a change to the status quo.
If sunny days were for being physically active among the wilds, then rainy days were for lazing around in the confines of society. Beneath him, Rathma could pick up on the Horadrim bustling about, making sure their home was sealed against the rains. If he focussed, he could pick out the gleam of fierce light that was Tyrael, also making sure everything was set.
Rathma snorted. It was all fine and good to be weather-proofing the house, but he thought they were missing one hell of a show. He couldn't really blame them - houses were better off dry - but still. There was something to be appreciated about someone who could simply stop and admire for a few minutes.
Lighting flashed again outside, illuminating the attic and making the raindrops glitter like a million tiny diamonds. Yes, there was one hell of a show going on right now indeed.