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A Wood Elf in Skyrim PT7
The way to Kynesgrave was a long one. The weather remained peaceful and warm for the first couple of days but, once they got close to Windhelm, it changed abruptly.
Cold, wild wind blew in their faces. They were covered only by cheap hoods, bought in one of the smaller villages along the way. The snow came down in a fast dance, swirling all around them, holding onto them like mischievous little fairies, biting them through their armor and skin.
Windhelm was the oldest city of them all, built out of massive stones. Its mighty presence towered over the snowy, surrounding lands, like a dark and frightening omen. A warning to all their enemies, the Stormcloaks' pride.
A shiver went down Ruthalia's spine when they rode past it.
“It's not far anymore. Maybe another couple of hours and we are there. Be prepared.” “Yeah, yeah,” Ruthalia mumbled, rolling her eyes. Not even the constantly growing snowstorm seemed to disrupt her companion's behavior. If anything, the snow
Vanguard, Chapter 1: DuncanDuncan's Journal: Day 1288
I consider myself a good man. I respect women, elders, my equals, and the dead. I say a morning prayer, and an evening one. Hell, I even thank the gods for a meal, instead of immediately chowing down in the voracious manner as the other soldiers here do. By all logical means, I should be in paradise. No really, not just because I'm a good man, but also because I should be dead by now. So I ask myself: why, oh gods up there, have I ended up in hell?
1288 days. 1288 days of my life have been spent in this misery, and I'm beginning to lose faith in the glory I was promised. Some of the rookies still live in their ignorant bliss, but I've lived long enough to realize that there's not much glory to find here. “Sing the songs of glory and march into battle—-join The Crusade today!”. Such were the words of the posters The Crusade has spread all over The Mortal Realm. Gullible fools practically stand in line for these songs of glory that th
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