Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-32420582-20141106071232/@comment-16669347-20141114055934

Aasim's dreams were not good ones. He remembered the day his father died at the hands of the Thalmor. The ethereal blade stabbed through his chest. He woke up angry and scared and ready to fight. He looked out the window, it was still night time. The festival was dying down but still going on. Aasim realized he was gripping his sword, which he kept under his blanket, so hard his hand hurt. He let go of it and tried to get back to sleep.