Tiaz Raydari
Champion of Khorne
Windhelm. Fabricated of stone, the castle of kings. As equal as its craftsmanship is its blistering cold, biting at faces. The snow looked as if it danced in the wind, although bearable the place was certainly a hostile place. Etched into all the walls, like epitaphs on graves lies plagues dedicated to ancient kings. Its ancient design complements its ancient heritage.
The dark clouds seemed to hide the luminous stars. A flurry of snow gusted past, the frigid air remained a harsh reminder that the weather could take a unexpected turn. The long stone bridge was lit up bright orange, torches and braziers kept the guards warm. As he walked through the gate, the guards watched him for signs of danger. The tall walls protected from some of the outside cold piercing wind, Candlehearth hall overlooked the entrance, the perfect place for travelers to restock on their energy.
The Inn was warm, better than what laid outside. A hearty fire burned slowly, patrons laughed, the bard sung. A drunk stumbled his way past Rickas to the door, surely getting what he needed for warmth. Rickas made his way to the bar, took a seat. "Beef stew, some ale," He asked the barmaid, she shifted her gaze up, "Nice mask, you hiding something?" she asked, but Rickas ignored her and surely she got the message, "Alright, that would be 50 septims," She finally gave in.
She served the meal and Rickas paid the gold, then took his mask off and placed it on the counter before hungrily digging in, and occasionally taking sips of ale; which tasted quite fruity. The letter from the sign post lead him here, now he just needed to wait. But whom shall appear?
The dark clouds seemed to hide the luminous stars. A flurry of snow gusted past, the frigid air remained a harsh reminder that the weather could take a unexpected turn. The long stone bridge was lit up bright orange, torches and braziers kept the guards warm. As he walked through the gate, the guards watched him for signs of danger. The tall walls protected from some of the outside cold piercing wind, Candlehearth hall overlooked the entrance, the perfect place for travelers to restock on their energy.
The Inn was warm, better than what laid outside. A hearty fire burned slowly, patrons laughed, the bard sung. A drunk stumbled his way past Rickas to the door, surely getting what he needed for warmth. Rickas made his way to the bar, took a seat. "Beef stew, some ale," He asked the barmaid, she shifted her gaze up, "Nice mask, you hiding something?" she asked, but Rickas ignored her and surely she got the message, "Alright, that would be 50 septims," She finally gave in.
She served the meal and Rickas paid the gold, then took his mask off and placed it on the counter before hungrily digging in, and occasionally taking sips of ale; which tasted quite fruity. The letter from the sign post lead him here, now he just needed to wait. But whom shall appear?