Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-26446054-20150827123016/@comment-26446054-20150828094219

Cyrnin picked up his pace, brow furrowed and sweating lightly,  as he walked on with a rather damp set of animal furs rolled up and tied to his back, alongside his musket which had a leather strap rather incoveniently tight, making his left shoulder uncomfortable while he travelled across northern Cyrodiil, knowing that he needed firewood to survive in the Jerall Mountains without freezing to death. He knew that Bruma wasn't a place where muskets or ammunition were cheap; to get supplies here was hard enough, and hardly any guards used firearms, but worse was the Nords here, and their attitudes to the guns. Most wouldn't even sell you anything, and if they did, the prices would be ridiculous.