Return to Skyrim
A stranger had arrived at the tavern. What could be seen of her under her cloak’s hood as she was sitting in the inn’s far corner put her origin into the devastated province of Morrowind. From the other tables she received the well-known array of looks, from quick glances to dismissive steers.
One patron in particular seemed to take offence at her presence. A rough article he was. Not nearly in the midst of his years, he already carried the careworn look of a man having seen too many winters.
Akatosh knew, three out of four seasons in this Gods-forsaken land were winters!
Helping himself to a final draught from his cup of mead, the blond fellow rose and strode self-importantly towards her table, albeit with a slight shuffle. The stranger watched him closely, yet made no attempt to meet his provocation in any form. He towered over her for a moment, then let himself thump onto a free chair, utterly uninvited. She met his snide gaze, shoving her own cup to and fro in demonstrative calm. After assuring himself of his mates’ attention, he scoffed loudly. Continue reading
Stories by Venom
venomstories 