Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-5543592-20150323035824/@comment-11457306-20150324022124

Next morning, Pris dressed in her warmest clothing and wrapped herself in her mage robes. She donned her fur cloak and pulled up the hood, then gathered up her pack and staff after making sure the farviewer, as she called it, was strapped safely to her back.

She would likely find herself too warm below, but for the journey down the mountain she would need to survive the bitter cold of Skyrim's tallest mountain.

Her journal with all of its notes was safely stashed in her belt pouch. Her knapsack was light, for her food supplies had dwindled during her time here. She had learned all she could about the object in the sky. Now it was time to find some way to put that knowledge to good use.

She shunned the trail and turned to the side of the mountain which faced what had been Whiterun Hold. By dint of strategic use of telekinesis and some strenuous climbing, she was down the mountain in about half a day. After resting and eating some of the last of her supplies, she moved carefully through the woods, avoiding the road, where bandits and highwaymen preyed on hapless travelers. Late evening found her crossing the White River, where she could see the ruins of Whiterim City. She stood not too far from the falls, trying to decide whether to head for Whiterun, or turn and go through Riverwood, thence to the Falkreath Gate which would take her into Cyrodiil.

(To be continued.  Must go to bed now.)