nordthuum: (nord)
Tag here to contact the mun.
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Skyrim is a game, and in games of an RPG flavor, you have to allow some room for suspension of disbelief, mentally adjusting the things the game engine can model to a 'real world' feeling.

On this thread I will post some 'canon' definitions to help mold the world the Dragonborn came from. If anyone has questions, post on the OOC contact post above and I will try to answer.
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Vilemyr Inn is not the most comfortable purveyor of beds and meals Einar has visited, but is also far from the worst; he secured a room for himself and Lydia, perhaps with a bit of presumption about her interest in keeping their intimacy arrangements.

Hopefully she won't mind.

The night passes by quickly enough in comfort and warmth, bringing a clear day of gentle heat, a good day for more traveling.
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Milliways, Einar decided, was much superior to the Bannered Mare.

Oh, Whiterun's inn was a fine place, but could not really compete with a magical bar's facilities. Regardless, he had slept well, and now it was time to break fast and take to the road before the sun was too high.
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They met, they talked, they danced, they ate together, they shared drinks.

They both needed to think less about their worlds for a time.
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Whiterun, once again, and once again that feeling of walking to meet his destiny; Einar greeted people on the streets, but did not stop to talk.

Dragonsreach, the Jarl's Palace high above, seemed to beckon, urge him.
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Einar could not sleep; that feeling of energy ready to burst forth was back.


He could feel it in his bones, in his muscles, in his blood, a low-key rumbling, some kind of...


...of what, exactly? It would be easier to rebel against it, if it actually felt bad, but it felt like energy, like...


And just like that, it faded away; the Nord looked at the darkness beyond his camp, towards where he knows Whiterun is.

Farengar will have to answer a lot of questions when Einar gets there.
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No, Einar did not expect to see it again so soon. Or maybe ever, but, there he was again. First things first, to return the rented horse.

Then, try to find out more about the ominous ruins in the mountain.
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Glorious, was her intent.

Hopefully, Einar did not disappoint.
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Einar was quite surprised to see Riverwood seemed to have frozen in time while he was in that strange tavern talking with women from other worlds and men from the past; it was really easy to think it was all an hallucination, or a dream, if it were not for the missing septims and the pleasing warmth of tipsiness.

Regardless, the Nord made his way to Gerdur's house and collapsed on the guest bed to sleep off his weariness.
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So this is how it ends; this is where it all goes down.

The trip to Cyrodiil had gone well: trading, some sightseeing, good food and drink. Of course, the whole country was too warm for a true Nord's tastes, but you can not have all in life at the same time.

Right now, he would be happy to have a bit more freedom and not the prospect of being executed for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The wrong place was the border outpost between the Imperial province and Skyrim. The wrong time was when a group of Stormcloaks were passing by. There was an ambush, nets, sling stones, and then darkness. Now, he woke up on the back of a cart with three other men, being hauled off to...

...well, likely execution.
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