Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-24391865-20140526022931

It had been three years since I had left my home. Three years of wandering. Three years of being alienized. Three years of being laughed at, pointed at, shunned. Life had been like a slow march through Oblivion for the last three years. I had hoped to make a new living in Skyrim. I was, so far, not impressed. The wagon ride was unbearable. Bitter cold, a lame horse, an obnoxious driver, and a splinter magnet of a wagon. "So, how are you liking our homeland so far?", asked the Nord who was steering the wagon. "It's as boring and as grey as the ashes of the deepest fires.", I replied with a sigh. "Oh. Well then, I assume you're not from here?", he asked, yet again. "For the last time, Nord, I said no!", I couldn't help but yell. We couldn't be too far away, I thought to myself. Just as I found some odd form of solitude from the rocking of the wagon, the swaying of the trees, and the crunch of the snow dusted roads, the annoyance spoke up again. "Are you familiar with the culture of Cyrodiil?", the driver prodded into my privacy. "All too well. My mother had my bastard brother with some Imperial milk drinker, and that same brother, as well as my mother and feeble father, were all killed by an Orcish raiding party. So yes, I am familiar with the culture.", I answered with a bit of snap to my tone. "Sorry to hear that. So, what brings you here?" Finally, a new question. "I came to farm. I hear the area around Whiterun has rich lands. If that doesn't go well, though, I am handy with a war axe.", the reply was to the point, and I had hoped to shut up the driver. "Hate to break it to you, friend, but the lands around Whiterun are filled up. Some Redguard owns a rather impressive farm there. There's a meadery, too. Though it hit a tought patch as of late, got caught trying to poison some big wig guard, they did!", he droned on. Just as he finished being the bearer of horrid news, I saw my destination through the tall grasses and rushing rivers, and my eyes were struck with awe. Whiterun was impressive, compared to the ratholes and skeever dens I had endured for my miserable three years. The wall was secure, and Dragonsreach towered like the dragon it once held. The fields were in full harvest, and business was booming. The stables were full, and the stable master was counting his Septims. The plains were vast, but were interrupted by a destroyed watchtower, which had an interesting backstory, from what I had heard. "Well, here we are! Whiterun. Not my flaggon of mead, but whatever sails your ship." I could ignore the driver's remark, as I felt more at home here than I had in my homeland. With a sigh, I hopped off of the wagon, and regretted it immediately. My muscles were sore. Too sore to recall without the pain shooting though my thighs. I was handed my belongings by a weary looking Argonian, who also had to put up with the particularly feminine Nord who pierced his voice into my head. I gave the pour soul a tip of 20 Septims, and swatted at the driver when he dare ask for a tip. I looked back as the wagon loaded another passenger and headed on its way. heaving a huge sigh, I looked into the city from the outside. My future, whatever it may be, awaited me inside those walls.

( Just say so if you wish for me to continue. I have a few interesting ideas, but if there's not an audience, what's the point in continuing.? ) 