Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-24123288-20150315182542/@comment-27783182-20150317180708

Amira, after hours of riding his horse, finally arrived at Markarth. The young mercenary dismounted his horse and handed it to the stablemaster.

"I'll make sure nobody will cause any harm to her." The stablemaster said

"You better." Amira replied

He opened the gates of Markarth and rushed to the Hall of the Dead, to place the ash urn of his great-grandfather at his tomb. He stopped, at the moment he heard fighting.

"You won't be needing those... You were more likely to hurt yourself with them, than you were to hurt me..." A voice spoke.

Amira waited and heard the fighting for a bit, until he decided to open and see what was going on. He saw a Breton with short, black hair in a bob cut wrap the curve of a sickle's blade around a cultist's neck.

"What the..."

A cultist was about to strike him, but he shot a bolt at him before the axe could dig into his skin.

Now what in Oblivion is going on here?