We’ve been in Whiterun for two days now chopping wood to earn a little coin before we leave.
Fear is setting in though. I’ve grown accustomed to the warm bed and fully belly that the thought of leaving makes me uneasy.
Lydia insists we follow through with our duty though.
We arrived back in Whiterun late afternoon. We didn’t make any stops. I made quite a bit of gold from the pelts I skinned from the trips.
However, none of the merchants have gotten their shipments in because of the dragon attacks. I think I’ll have better luck buying potions of healing in Solitude.
The ruin of Ustengrav is in the marshes southeast of the city, so we’re heading that direction in the morning. For tonight, we’ll sleep in a warm bed within the safety of Whiterun’s walls.
It was certainly easier going up the mountain than it was going down. Each step was slippery and I lost my footing more times than I’d like to admit.
A couple of cultists approached Lydia and I in town. Their masks resembled a scowling octopus. Said something about how I’m not the true Dragonborn and that Miraak? would return and show his true power.
The city guard took care of them. I found a letter on one of them saying to board the boat from Raven Rock and to kill me. I may look into this later…
We’re going to rest here until tomorrow. Klimmek caught up to me and paid me 500 gold for delivering the supplies, which I’ll be using for food.
We’ve arrived at High Hrothgar. By my observations, it’s probably only an hour past midnight. A man in Ivarstead asked me to deliver some supplies to the Greybeards before we left. I’ve left them in the chest outside.
Continue reading “17th of Heartfire, 4E 201”
So, I’ve added pages for rules I’m following for Dynami and the mods I’m using as well.
We passed a man on the road wanting help, said some bandits ransacked his cart. He wanted Lydia and I to take care of them, but it was a trap. Cur turned on us as soon we crossed the bridge.
Continue reading “16th of Heartfire, 4E 201”
“Gods, what has happened to Skyrim?” Polemistis shook her head in dismay. A Breton woman then approached Polemistis, “His name was Roggvir and he helped Ulfric escaped.” She spat on the ground, “Traitor.” Continue reading “Chapter Three: You Have Your Orders”