Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-24449631-20140827094909/@comment-10197675-20140901182802

From pain to agony…

Zalniltron awoke with his head half buried in snow, which therefore meant he had been thrown out of the Inn last night… abandoned and disliked. His defeat had been embarrassing; the Altmer did truly feel like a fool, a humiliated fool. He attempted to get up, but pain kept him pinned down.

The snow in which the Altmer’s head had been buried in was stained with blood, so were his clothes… this reminded Zalniltron of his childhood, the times he was beaten and abused, by those who shunned him, those who did not care for him. But never the less the High Elf tried to stand up once more and with a struggle he did manage it, but he was anguished in agony.

Zalniltrons face had been completely destroyed and mangled from the night before. The whole of his it was swollen and his nose was still dislodged and because of the 10 hours straight of being buried in snow, he felt extremely numb and cold.

The Altmer stared at the Inn, trying to use what little vision he had as his swollen cheeks blocked most of his view. The Altmer despised them all, the towns’ folk and guards who had just simply forgotten about the loser, and merely disposed of him by flinging him out of the way.

Zalniltron decided to head south, as the north had appeared to be quite harsh, maybe south will be more merciful and not as fierce.

Thus the Altmer started limping south traveling at a snail’s pace due to his injuries and woes. He showed hatred to any Man or Mer that he passed, as of now he completely disliked them.

He started to near Whiterun, fortunately it seemed to be warmer there, but that did not improve the grim state of which Zalniltron was in, as he once more coughed up a bit more blood.

The Altmer hoped that Whiterun wouldn’t be as bad as Dawnstar, as he believed that any other fights could prove to be the end of him…