After waking up in the morning, Lothran grabbed his gear, bade farewell to the Dunmers running Aleswell Inn, and was out the door.
He had done this for quite some years now, the white-haired Dunmer from Morrowind. Little had he known and few were his skills the day fate gave him a chance to redeem himself and let him out of that prison cell. Now, he was quite the competent fighter as well as mage and few were those who posed a challenge to him. He had also amassed quite a healthy savings account and he could quite easily earn more by selling tickets to what many would call a museum. To Lothran though, it was just his home.
After some time up the mountainous path he reached the crossroads from where one could choose to go to either the Imperial City, Chorrol or Bruma. As usual, Lothran took off his huntsman's vest here and instead donned his cuirass, helmet and gauntlets, all made out of fur. Not only did they protect the Dunmer from the cold he was about to face yet again, with their enchantments they also protected him against both magic and steel.
The Jerall Mountains laid ahead. Cold, windy and not a whole lot in terms of things to eat straight from bushes or trees. There were plenty of wolves, bears and ogres though, who all could withstand the harsh environment and who were always on the lookout for their next meal. For some, these are not quite ideal conditions and those people would probably opt for say Anvil with the warm beaches instead. But Lothran had only warm feelings when he once again saw the beautiful mountains and felt the cold wind in his face.
When the door to his house slammed shut and he could smell the air from months gone by, his heart felt peace.
Lothran was home.
All That Is Physical Is Not The End