Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-31940900-20131209221432/@comment-5735114-20131212232006

(Wait, my horrible sense of time has left me a half hour early...)

Z'shal sighed. As much as he hated it, the high elf was right. He didn't have enough supplies to make more healing potions, and those strong enough to ward off Blighed wounds were hard to make as it was. Giving the Breton as strong a healing potion as he could spare, Z'shal picked her up and walked up to the locked gates on the Northern end of town. After a brief delay, the gates were opened and Z'shal saw a greusome figure on the road, a merchant with an axe in his eye in the middle of the road, dead in his own blood. Avoiding the corpse, Z'shal set out northwest towards Windhelm.