Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-5543592-20150812154412/@comment-5583506-20150813212053

As night fell upon Skyrim and the icy moons of Masser and Secunda coloured all the shadows blue, everything turned completely quiet. The only sound of interest was that of the howling winds, whipping across the snow-covered landscapes. In this white, untouched landscape the collapsed rooftops of once so proud Whiterun appeared, as if the city had simply grown up from nothingness in the vast desert of ice and snow only to deteriorate shortly after.

Upon a hill overlooking what used to be the Whiterun tundra, a group of shades appeared, peering out over the wilderness.

"See that, lads?" said Rivborg and pointed at the city. "Looks like a good place to rest up, and if we are lucky we might even come across some goods there."

Drelas the Dunmer nodded in agreement. Rivborg had gotten them this far and survived. Mostly by preying on unfortunate and hapless survivors in the wilderness. Thanks to all the pillaging they had managed to keep themselves warm even as the climate grew colder and been able to keep their bellies full. There wasn't a single reason in the world to reject the burly Nord's orders.

"It looks abandoned and already looted though", said the Argonian newcomer. "I think we should continue straight over the tundra and head further south. Screw this place."

Drelas would have sighed, if he had wanted to make his opinion heard. One simply didn't question Rivborg's opinion. That was almost as asking for his broadaxe to the guts. Rivborg had indeed a terrible temper...

Rivborg stroke his long beard and turned around towards the lizard with a feigned smile. "You doubt my opinion, do you?"

"Why, yes", said the Argonian, completely unaware of how things were handled in this group he just had joined.

You are digging your own grave deeper with each spoken words, reflected Drelas and looked down into the snow. You clearly don't know how things are managed here.

"And where would you want to go then?" shrugged Rivborg.

"Well, there were these two looters we encountered further up the road who said something about the cold having yet to have reached Elsweyr. So, I was thinking that we could..."

No, thought Drelas as he heard the sharp swing and how something fell into the snow with a dampened thud.

His somber gaze was completely fixated on the snow below him. Pretty soon he became aware of how the otherwise so pure and clean snow had gained a sickly, reddish hue as the pool from the decapitated Argonian grew for each second.

Rivborg sheathed his axe and looked at the band of his fellow thirty-two ruffians.

Rapists, murderers and thieves, reflected Drelas. ''Glad I am not one of them. So this is what happens when you crack open a prison to find worthy followers?''

"Anyone else who wants to question my proposition of taking that city?" growled Rivborg as he patrolled back and forth in front of his horde. The men shook their heads and uttered every now and then a sharp 'no'. "Well then... I say that we head down there and take whatever we can find! Be it furs, gold, food, or women to keep ourselves warm when all hell freezes over!"

The men cheered in approval and joined in as Rivborg began to steadily descend down the hill, heading for Whiterun.

Drelas sighed. This wasn't what he had had in mind when he had joined up with fellow survivors. He had just been so glad to once in his life find people who seemed healthy enough to make it seem like there was some hope for the world. These men were healthy, but they weren't people. They were vicious animals, preying upon people.

There is no hope, he thought in lamentation. And that fearsome roar they uttered was just another requiem for humanity.

The Dunmer dropped his sword to the ground, watching as the thirty-three bandits moved towards the "jewel of Skyrim", before he turned about and went his own way. To whatever end he might face, now when the night seemed as darkest...