conjuredskies | (Reply)

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"Zeus, hm?" He tests out the sound of it, shrugs a little. "Sounds good enough to me." It's as important that Alex likes his name as to blend in.

Water strikes him as an odd thing to dislike. Kind of sad, really, to someone who spent so much of his boyhood around the Niben Bay. "Really? You're lucky: we're a long way from the sea up here. I can't imagine you'd be too happy in a port city."

Past the brewery, and they'll start to encounter a few more people as they enter the farmlands. A few workers are out tending the crops in the various small plots of cabbage, wheat, potatoes... and there's the faint clink of well-padded chainmail as a guard comes their way. The cloth sash over his mail is a golden yellow, as is the face of the shield he carries on one arm, marked with the horse-head of Whiterun. His stride is the easy pace of a man on patrol, and he gives one of the farmers a casual greeting ass he passes.