Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-25828117-20200106232024/@comment-25828117-20200107031820

Cheydinhal. The sad city. If a tree could be used to describe a city it would be the willow. The purple color scheme had endured for centuries even if it had seen plenty of adventurers and incredibly events.

Today the most notable addition were the tents inside and outside of the city walls. People in rags from all ages held their heads low and graveled before those that passed. Refugees from Morrowond. The Laumer war was still raging on. And the skirmishes across the world in the name of religion certainly hadn't helped manners. Whole villages of Dark Elves lived in small spaces of tents, their crafts abandoned for begging or exploited by locals. Some Dark Elves turned to skooma or bottles of alcohol.

It had become a problem for Cheydinhal with the city watch having their hands full cracking down on criminals trying to make coin out of the misery or refugees that disturbed the peace.

As the covenant rode in they would be greeted by the smell of the unwashed refugees by the entrance gate. Some had been living like that for over a year.