Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-17114085-20161224133825/@comment-24510587-20161225113806

(I wasn't going to do this until later in the RP, but since nothing is happening for me right now, I might as well.)

The mostly empty road on which the remainder of the Companions were traveling turned out not to be empty at all. In the distance, two figures were standing still. One was a wiry man with long black hair and a stubble, wearing no shirt and holding some kind of flask in his hand. The other was very tall, horned and clad in black armour that glowed red with spikes protruding from every corner - clearly, a Dremora. The former appeared to be slightly tipsy.

"Malakh, I'm telling you, if there's anywhere we can find some action, it's in Whiterun," the man said. "I hear there's some people carving a path of destruction in its direction, so that's got to mean we get to fight them if we see them."

The Dremora grumbled. "You best be right. It is tiring to be summoned for nothing all the time, and my blade thirsts for blood." It was then that it spotted the group of travellers, and drew a large greatsword off of its back. "Strangers approach."

"Put that away, Malakh," the man said, waving at the blade. "They don't look very hostile. In fact... yes, these are friends. Long time no see, Kyrnil. What's it been, a decade?"