Took a trip to Hunter’s Glade in the Rift, a new housing option that isn’t available for sale yet. Nice wide expanse. Iirc we can remain in werewolf form there. It’s lovely, but I won’t know what to do with it. Probably leave it in its raw form. It looks like that might suit it more.
Ahhh… Craglorn! The smell of musty trolls hit me as I wandered towards a nearby Nirncrux mine. How they stand the intermingled fragrances of the grazing welwa and the milling trolls astonishes me as I mind my own business trying to excavate some rubedite ore.
Bites-his-Claws sometimes looks over at the sunset, wondering about Murkmire and his lost history.
Always lovely to see the greens in Auridon. Dreaming of Summerset next.
What is it about Rivenspire and its misty skies?
Stormhaven with a descended dolmen truly lives up to its name.
The two statues always seem to me that they are giving high-fives to one another. But that wasn’t what caught my eye this time. The purple-blue shades of the sky was so strangely incongruent with the sun shining down at me. I had to remind myself where I was – they didn’t call it Far Shores for nothing!
Every time I go to Stirk, and I’ve been there at least ten times, I almost always arrive at nearly but not always the same time – the magic hour just reaching its last tendrils over before the evening ends and night begins. The sun nears the horizon; night gathers above, bejeweled and waiting. I imagine that the sea breeze is balmy, and perhaps I can taste sorrow in the air – the Crimson Ship carried its burden hopeless into that endless Abecean Sea and were lost. Who mourns them?