Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-3293219-20151030221951/@comment-25828117-20151101131047

A lone figure in the snowfall rode towards the main gate of Winterhold. It was a sturdy town where most houses has been made out of thick stone walls. Very old walls even... That stood here ever since the first men arrived on Tamriel thousands of years ago. The city was built around a huge citadel on top of a mountain; The college of Winterhold. The magnificent palace of the Jarl stood on the cliff side behind the college. Quite grand, it dated back from the time when the city was still the capital of these lands of Skyrim, until Windhelm took that honor from it. And that was as far as Alain's knowledge of the city went.

The Breton had figured on his way to the East, far away from his western homelands. That he would pursue the noble arts of magicka. And what better place to train than a college far away and secluded where nobody would recognise him and send him home, or worse...

Gollwyn thought it was a good fit never the less. After all he had Breton blood... And Bretons are well known for their affinity and mastery of spellcraft. How hard could it be?

He left his horse at the stables and entered the ancient capital. The main street looked directly to the entrance of the College. His self-proclaimed destiny lay before him. But first, he desired a drink... Something strong against the cold, because by the gods was it cold up here!