Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-3293219-20140217201750/@comment-24449631-20140223114236

Rowan saw Cheydinhal up ahead. It seemed almost everything seemed to revolve around this town somehow. Which was odd, for it was in no way particulary significant. Well, not in the big picture anyway.

Rowan remembered he needed to deliver the ring here once. To a priest by the name of... agh...

"Veneficus!" he said out loud, remembering the priest's name

Maybe he can help me out.

As he entered the town he almost strumbled over some of the loose cobblestones in the ground. He had no idea there had been a war.

What happened here?

He tried to remember, but all his memories as a deadric agent had long since gone with the ring to the bottom of lake Rumare.

First I need new clothes, though

He walked down the destroyed roads of the city, looking for a tailor or the sort of shop that would sell cloth and clothes. A mysterious fog had descended over the town while he was walking around. It looked mysterious but it wasn't. Cheydinhal lay in march land. So it was a common sight. It did create a strange view of a sun trying to protrude through the veil of the marchlands. Creating a almost dreamy and heavenly atmoshpere.

The soft chapel bells of Cheydinhal tolled four in the afternoon. They were much more soothing then the baleful bells of Riften's temple, those were much louder and more suited to tell everyone to get back to work and the like. Not at all so romantic.

Rowan again almost strubbled over a loose stone, the one Boreau almost stubbled over a few hours ago.

Shor's bones...

Gorbolgana's Gods and Stores was closed, though luck. So Rowan then walked next to the west bank of the Corbolo river and passed 'the march rider smithing'. Passed the giant willow tree, next from it lay the Silveren Cloth tailor, it seemed open.

Rowan then entered and greeted the proprietor.