Fort Snowhawk, what a dreary place. Cedran thought as he was doing his rounds across the broken and crumbling battlements of the ancient fort. The view he had wasn't much better, the bogs and sinking swamps of Hjaalmarch were a less than inviting sight for the mercenary, not that the temperature helped.
Cedran crossed his arms and rubbed his hands up and down the length of them to get a bit warmer, he himself was completely covered in fur and still the icy touch of the north chilled him to the bone, he didn't know how these Nords did it. At that time he envied the ones who had the luck to be able to sleep that night, at least they were comfortable... somewhat.
His eyes scanned the entirety of the ruined walls of the fort stopping every now and then on a lone figure holding vigil over the horizon, unlike him they only needed to stay at one place. Lucky them, they could set up a nice little fire basket and keep warm during their nights. Cedran? He had to keep walking, being forced to serve as a pair of second eyes to the stationary lookouts. Still, he was known to stick around and talk to the other guards when things got too cold for him.
With a sigh and a shrug he continued his patrol, the snow crunching beneath his fur boots. In the end He'd be a lot warmer and a lot happier with a belly full of mead.
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