Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-24510587-20190221011452/@comment-5543592-20190222191833

The three road on, towards Dragon Bridge.

The Haafingar Mountains rose on their left, the Karth River ran into the Sea of Ghosts on their right. The road here was well-maintained and clear, as was befitting of Skyrim's richest hold. While the Rift had gold and the Reach silver, Haafingar had one thing neither of them did: shipping. That gold and silver had to get out of Skyrim some how, and there was only one port in Skyrim that wasn't frozen over for half the year-- Solitude.

In the distance, some ways down the road, they could see the Dragon Bridge for which the town was named. However, they encounter a brief, if easily surmountable obstacle.

The road was blocked by a group of peasants. They'd formed a wide semi-circle around a cave. A horse was hitched out front of the cave, and they could hear the peasants arguing.

"She's been down there for an hour!  No way she's coming back out." One of them was saying. "Did you see the size of her anyway?  That's a snack for a troll."

"Snack in general." Someone muttered, the vulgar insinuation clear. "Hope she isn't dead.  Want to have some fun with her myself."

"Don't think you'd want to do that." Said a third. He was dressed like the others, in patchwork clothes of linen, fur, and roughhide. Their boots were the cracked, ancient leather of the working class. "You see that look in her eye?  The way she held that sword?  Be your last mistake."

"Doesn't matter now." Spoke a fourth. "The troll's got her.  I say we go and have look at the horse's bags."

There seemed be general agreement among the four men and they approached the lone horse. It bayed nervously, growing skittish, and cantered in place, tossing it's head. Given the rest of the townsfolk were only spectators, they did little to stop the soon-to-be robbers.