A Survivor's Tale:

  • This blog series will follow one of my characters, Jacen Marek, a young Breton who lived in a remote village in northern High Rock. His father was a renowned blacksmith, while his mother was a former Legate. One night, the town drunk, Salris Dren, passed due to illness. While they were preparing his body,meh rose and tore the flesh off one of the physicians, as she too became undead. His family fled the village, though only he survived, aswell as a few others. He headed to Skyrim, alone. The harsh winds swept at Jacen's back, as he pulled his grey wolf-fur cloak closer around his body. His clothes were worn from countless hours of walking. He wore a padded tunic as black as night, torn dark blue pants, patched boots, and well used gloves, his hood lay crumpled around his neck. His pack lay slung over his bag, as was his crossbow. At his sides lay a weathered boarding axe he had found near a marooned boat, and a polished silver sword, which glowed a light red in the evening light. "Divines, it's freezing." He muttered bitterly, his thin beard and chin length hair had specks of frost clinging to them. He exhaled, his breath appearing in a cool mist. "Can't sleep now, have to find some refuge from this accursed snow." He looked around, finding an outcrop of stone, a small cave was carved in the surface. Quickly, he headed inside, blocking the entrance with a tarp. Sighing, he lit a fire, eating a bit of cooked venison with a tankard of Ashfire mead. He had been in Skyrim for a over month now, he had been called Dragonborn by the Greybeards, and was currently looking for the horn of Jurgen Windcaller, who was rumored to be buried in Ustangrav to the north-west. Checking his supplies once more, he laid out his sleeping back, made out of a snow sabrecat he had skinned and gutted five hours ago, and a pillow he had found in an abandoned house near Ivarstead. Sighing, he drank a bit more mead, before laying down, his eyes closed. The crackling of the campfire warmed his bones as he drifted to sleep. Outside, the wind howled.


1 Comment
  • Soneca the Exiled
    Soneca the Exiled   ·  April 17, 2014
    This is too short Chris, and you should separate your dialogues with paragraphs, it's too confusing to read the way it is now