Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-28667390-20161220050036/@comment-30797179-20170122002414

Ralof, the middle aged Nord and his son, young Faolan, reached a clearing in the hills east of Bruma. Ralof and Faolan were armed with swords, axes and shields, Ralof wore a set of old armour from his fathers time, while Faolan had to make due with a steel halmet with his linen shirt, an obscure form of metal plates covering his torso and back. The two rag-tag levy soldiers were about the enter Bruma to join the defence, but were shocked when they set their eyes upon a chaotic city.

They stopped in awe as they looked on from the distance, streams of men were entering the city from the North whilst men were fleeing south in what seemed like a disorderly manour.

"What'll we do, father?" Faolan asked.

"We must head towards Cheydinhal, that might be where they will next attack." Ralof answered, wasting no time as he headed in the direction of Cheydinhal. The two having their shields slounched over their backs.

"We'll find shelter there, Faolan. But we must travel with haste, less we are found by the Northern scouts." Ralof said, his ever watchful eye scanning ahead. Faolan took one last look at the city, black smoke curled up to the sky and the cries of men could be heard, offering Faolan a fearful look of what war looks like.