Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-3293219-20140210211511/@comment-24449631-20140216163556

Boreau was actually pretty pleased with how things were proceeding at the moment. No mad dashes of mountains or car racing. It should be smooth sailing from now on.

As he walked down the misty mountain roads of The Reach he was sometimes past by a motorcar. Most of them heading for Markarth, probably for those factories. Either way, they weren’t running him over so it didn’t bother him. He was well accustomed to the sound they made now, and knew when to step aside if he heard the chucking noise of the infernal machines.

He had been walking on a steady pace now for some time and saw that the rocky canyons of the reach started to open up ahead.

He looked up to be sure of his direction.

''Yep. East.''

A he looked up he saw an old fort located on the mountains to his left. It was older and had fallen into decay. Fort Sungard wasn’t what it once was. Although Boreau had never been here so. It didn’t really matter, he just noticed the old stonework. About twenty years ago people would have shivered to come this way. The fort was once occupied by the Forsworn. Bretons who called themselves people of the Reach. However they were so few in numbers that not even the more sophisticated Bretons from High Rock knew they existed. They were, or so is believed, to be completely eradicated by a group called the ‘anti-juramentorum’, a group dedicated to destroy any forsworn that still lurk around the Reach. They were a pest before the beaumanic revolution but even more so when Markarth tried to industrialise. They would ambush traders bringing in materials to keep the wheels of industry turning. To great anger of the Silverblood family, running most business ventures in the Reach. So much even they created a privet Squad of Forsworn hunters. Hence the anti-juramentorum squad. Which is Nibean for anti-Forsworn. Why they even bothered to use that long name confused a lot of people in Markarth. But they probably wanted it to sound vague to begin with. Their practises aren’t at all what one could call… ethical. Entire settlements and caves. Burned down. Torture, mutilation… you name it. All unbeknownst to the Citizens of the Reach, even the Jarl didn’t know, at least, that’s what he says.

Boreau couldn’t have possibly known all that history. Although if this blasted divide between worlds would ever be lifted, I’m sure he would have found the time to research the Reach a bit more. He would certainly like to, that much is clear from his face. He had always loved travelling. Mind you. Travelling, not Running away from a hailstorm of bullets or Racing across the Roads in fast cars. No sir.

Boreau walked up to a metal sign up ahead on the road. It seemed he reached a road sign on a crossroad:

Let’s see here…

Forward: Whiterun, Windhelm…

Left: Solitude, Rorikstead…

Right: …, Cyrodiil

''Ah, right it is then. ''

He hadn’t noticed the vast landscape behind the sign. But once he did it did hit him for a bit. A vast tundra in front of him, behind that, white mountains covered in snow. To his right. Pine forests like the ones that could be found in Evermor. Skyrim. From this angle at least… didn’t seem at all that industrialised…

But Boreau would have been quick to swallow those words if he had seen Haafingar or The Rift. Solitude had grown into a dazzling metropolis of wealth and Commerce. Most of the pine trees of Haafinger had been cut and lost to industry. It was also the largest port in the whole of Northern Skyrim. Stealing the crown from once mighty Windhelm. Windhelm hadn’t seen much industrialisation. The freezing weather made it difficult for brass pipes to endure. And most of them eventually burst, after maybe only 3 months. It wasn’t worth the investment. However the city did lose a lot money because they tried to. Now, Windhelm is known to be the poorest city in the entire Province, a Title that was once owned by Riften of The Rift. Now however, it’s the second largest and richest city of Skyrim. But unlike Solitude, the gap between rich and pore has grown exponentially. Building great structures like the Goldenglow Bridge on the back of the poor. Riften has become an even more Ruthless city, even more so than when the Thieves Guild was still powerful, and that’s saying something.

Boreau had now been walking down the Pine forests of Falkreath, one of the most untouched holds of Skyrim. Still however, not completely unscathed.

<p class="MsoNormal">The pine trees are excellent fuel for recharging beaumanic generators. Refined moonstone can’t be found everywhere. But wood, in much bigger quantities mind you, also does the trick.

<p class="MsoNormal">-

<p class="MsoNormal">A bit later Boreau came to another fork road. At the banks of lake Ilinalta. It pained him to see, large portions of the Forest fall down as he heard the buzzing noise of large machinery pulling the damn things down. And carrying them to a wood cutting station on the banks of the Lake. Up ahead. The noise of fleeing birds could be heard throughout the entire hold, if only. You listen carefully. Because the machines cutting the trees produced a massive amount of noise.

<p class="MsoNormal">Boreau sighed. As he was reminded why the Adamantines fought.

<p class="MsoNormal">He looked up at the road signs on the fork.

<p class="MsoNormal">Forward seemed the fastest way to Cyrodiil. And he had no reason to go to Falkreath. He had still plenty of daylight. He straightened his backpack again and started walking again. As he followed the path along the Lake he came closer to the woodcutters factory. It was only recently built. So much was clear. It was built in Clay Bricks, not like in usual Skyrim fashion, which was nature stone and wood. Maybe even hay. But hay hadn’t been used for a long time for it was prone to fire and could burn down an entire factory. Wouldn’t want that now would we.

<p class="MsoNormal">Boreau had to step aside as a Motortruck with 3 giant pine trees came riding past him. Huffing across the road and turned into the courtyard of the Factory.

<p class="MsoNormal">Gold-Stone woodcutting Corp.

<p class="MsoNormal">The sign read. In tiny letters underneath it said:

<p class="MsoNormal">proper Skyrim wood! Not that cheap Bruma wood!

<p class="MsoNormal">Boreau guessed the Jerall mountains probably would have gone under the same fate. He could only shrug and be angry about it in himself. Unless of course he was suicidal, which he wasn’t.

<p class="MsoNormal">-

<p class="MsoNormal">The sun started to set when Boreau arrived at Helgen. A fresh town, that actually still looked like a town. Although, not that old. Most of the stone works were ruined and had old scourge marks on them. That seemed to never fully go away.

<p class="MsoNormal">It was quiet. The way he liked it.

<p class="MsoNormal">He sighed as he entered the Dragontail Inn, A stone building that had been built inside an old fort tower. You could see what was new and what was old pretty clearly. The new stonework was much more refined than the larger portions of the tower. No matter. When he entered he also noticed the Vox leram machines hadn’t spread to every corner of the Empire yet, as they still had an old fashioned bard. He sung about how the dragonborn started his journey here, or whatever. Boreau wasn’t really interested in the Dragon Crisis at the moment.

<p class="MsoNormal">He walked over to the bar and asked whether or not there still was a room available.

<p class="MsoNormal">"Excuse me. Is there still a room available?"

<p class="MsoNormal">"Eh, sure"

<p class="MsoNormal">The barman spit in a glass to clean it.

<p class="MsoNormal">Boreau looked at the glass in disgust and reminded himself, that if he were thirsty, not to come and drink here.

<p class="MsoNormal">"How much?"

<p class="MsoNormal">"10 the night."

<p class="MsoNormal">"Gold?

<p class="MsoNormal">"What else?"

<p class="MsoNormal">Boreau realised how stupid the question was, best not make that mistake again, unless he wanted to draw attention. Which he didn’t.

<p class="MsoNormal">"Eh, ok. Here."

<p class="MsoNormal">Boreau gave the barman the money.

<p class="MsoNormal">The giant black haired Nord didn’t seem to bothered with ‘keeping customers happy’

<p class="MsoNormal">"It’s up the stairs. First floor. There should be a clean bed somewhere."

<p class="MsoNormal">"What do you mean clean?" Boreau asked.

<p class="MsoNormal">As an Advisor of the Emperor he had grown accustomed to the lavish beds akin to those heavy on coin. A bunk wasn’t something he had ever slept in before. But the Nord ignored his question.

<p class="MsoNormal">Boreau could not help but stare at the spit dripping from the Nord’s bushy beard.

<p class="MsoNormal">"What are you looking at?" The nord asked him annoyed.

<p class="MsoNormal">Boreau came back to Nirn.

<p class="MsoNormal">And shook his head lightly as he excused himself. And went upstairs. He felt the Nord’s annoyed glare still in his back.