Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-24685738-20170611015924/@comment-24685738-20170615195100

The Village of Hackdirt seemed to be full of early risers, as, when the morning sun just began to peek over the horizon, most of the men and women were getting up to begin the day.

Hackdirt was a jovial little town, with the sun shining, the flowers blooming, and the little birds singing from the roofs and trees. Matronly women were walking about with baskets in their arms or on their heads, children darting about under their feet, playing silly games and giggling. Lovers were chatting on benches, men were whistling on their way to their jobs, and raucous laughter still echoed from the tavern, from the young men who had spent the entire night there. A bard was even singing, strumming her lute, her clear voice echoing throughout the village square.

Hackdirt was isolated from most of the rest of Cyrodiil, and one would have expected its people to be suspicious. However, Hackdirt had not experienced the horrors of war in a millennia, not during the Imperial Simulacrum, the Oblivion Crisis, the Great War, the Adamantine War, the Reign of Telemachus, the War of Thrones, the Dragons' War, the Conquest of Argonia, or even the Blackfyre Rebellions. And, in truth, it showed.

It was a village of peace, of plenty, of happiness. There did not seem to be a single person who was without a purpose, no beggars, no whores, and no soldiers.