Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-9062114-20140831060517/@comment-1359657-20140902060951

Cyrus grimaces as he wipes the slime of a slain mudcrab off his robes for the tenth time. What a waste of charges, he thinks mournfully as he looks at the gleaming sword in his hands. ''My Lady, I'm sorry for using Your gift in such a base manner. But, when all you have is a hammer...''

Resolving himself not to think about it more than he has to, Cyrus finally spots the towering silhouette of Dragonsreach in the distance. Sheathing Dawnbreaker, he begins a jubilant dash for the city's main gate. Warm bed...warm food...maybe I'll even get lucky and they'll have some decent wine at the inn...

Despite having lived his whole life in Skyrim, and the bulk of his developmental years in the utterly frigid Winterhold region, Cyrus hates being cold. One of the first spells he ever learned was Flames, as a precaution against freezing to death in the bitter, hard nights. But tonight, Meridia and the Divines have more in store for him than simply shuddering in a hollow somewhere, with a roasting troll carcass as his only source of warmth.

Whiterun awaits!