Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-3293219-20141207202844/@comment-5735114-20141215224259

(Bah, there are so many future RPs now... What happened to the good old days?)

Venilius didn't consider himself old. He was, he didn't deny. But he kept the hopeful and optimistic mindset of his youth, and wouldn't back away from some hard labor because of a 'bad back'. Thus, by the time the sun rose, the elderly Imperial farmer was already out tending to his crops, with the aid of a rusty set of old farming equipment. With all the technological doodads that were being produced, the tools of a few years ago were practically antiques.

As he hummed a simple tune, Venilius walked through the rows of assorted crops looking for weeds or pests. Today was a good day, it seemed, as nothing endangered his delicate foodstuffs. The farmer lived alone, never having married, and was perfectly okay with that. He rarely had visitors, though his friends would come from time to time. With the recent spark of wartime drama, however, the frequency dwindled.

His farm was situated south of Chorrol, not too far off a nearby road but far enough so that cars speeding by wouldn't be very annoying. There was a small sign on said road indicating where Venilius' farm was, though nobody apart from the food delivery businesses really cared. Apart from the road, there were no real landmarks near the farm to speak of. It was located in a somewhat dense forest, and Venilius did have to chop down and tear out a few trees to plant crops, but left the forest undisturbed for the most part past that.

Thus, the farmer was quite surprised when out of the forest stumbled an Elf. A High Elf. An Elf in Cyrodiil was a rare sight, so a High Elf on his remote little farm was about the strangest thing that could have happened to Venilius. He was dressed in dirty leather and fur armor, with shreds of a bloodred cloak hanging behind him. His very dirty and untidy hair concealed his ears. In fact, if not for his eyes, Venilius may have mistaken the Elf for a human. He only got a brief glimpse of them, however, as the Elf fell from exhaustion a moment later.

"Oh, right on a potato..." the farmer muttered as he walked over to help the Elf. He seemed to be out cold, and Venilius had no clue how long he'd walked to succumb to this state.

"And there's a road right nearby..." the old man thought out loud, before dragging the Elf, who was heavier than he looked, around the perimeter of the farm and to his small shack.

Pushing open the door and dragging the Elf inside, Venilius considered where he would put him. And his armor. Much as he didn't want to get it dirty, the farmer realized that the only right course of action would be to put him on the bed. Heaving the Elf onto the bed, Venilius took some time to examine him closely. He was quite muscled, which was, as far as he'd known, unusual for an Altmer. They substituted magic for muscle, as he'd understood it.

"What on Nirn are you doing in Cyrodiil...?"

The Imperial didn't have too much time to dwell, as he still had his farm to tend to. As soon as the Imperial left the shack, the Elf half-opened one of his eyes and quickly scanned the room. Once he was sure the Imperial was gone, he opened his other eye and sat up.

How kind of you to put me on a bed, though Garnaril. Comfortable one, too.

He had indeed been walking quite some distance, though not as much as he'd made it appear, and so decided that he would try to get some rest. After briefly looking over the shack, the Elf lay back down. The room was quite small and constructed entirely of wood, with a small fire-pit in the middle lined with rocks, and a stone floor. All of the furniture was wooden as well, though there wasn't much of it. A small chair sat alongside a small table, on which an empty bowl and small cup lay. The bed frame, too, was wooden and fairly plain.

''Most luxurious living in Cyrodiil. Maybe he doesn't like the technology?''

That was the last thought on Garnaril's mind before he sank into sleep.