The bitter winds no longer affected the Nord, for he had already lost feeling in his face and many of his appendages, yet he still kept going. Behind him was a trail of both boot imprints and blood, which continued to drip from one of the many wounds he had suffered. Burns, two arrows, and many slashes were scattered across his body, though the pain was no longer all that harsh, no doubt caused by the beginning stages of frostbite. Andrel was perhaps the last survivor of a small force of Stormcloaks camped near Markarth, a city now a puppet of the Thalmor and General Tullius. It was betrayal that ended any chance of the city’s liberation, someone had reported the location of the Stormcloaks camp to the Imperial garrison, who then struck at night. They slaughtered so many in their sleep, but those brave few who stood and fought against impossible odds were now safe in Sovngarde, they all deserved a rest. Yet why was Andrel still among the living? Apparently it was a stroke of luck, as he was rendered unconscious during the battle. The Imperials must have thought him dead due to his wounds, and simply left him to rot with his brothers and sisters. Yet he lived, and he made his way towards the mountains, it was the only way to avoid patrols. But now he was going to freeze, there was no honor in dying out in the cold. He doubted he would be welcomed to Shor’s halls, and he understood why.<br/><br/>Soon, the Stormcloaks feet began to give out, and in desperation he managed to slip into a small cave, though it was clear a pack of wolves were using it as well, though they were off hunting. In silence, Andrel looked himself over, his wounds were beyond his power to heal, and he had nothing to prevent the bleeding. So, the only option was to resign to deaths icy grip, he would not be welcomed to Sovngarde with his brothers and sisters. Yet there may still be a chance for a final battle. The pack of wolves was returning, their howling could be heard echoing throughout the cave. Andrel reached for his axe, but he could no longer even feel the handle, and in a dark realization, he lets his hands fall to his sides. He couldn’t even die with a weapon in his hands. The wolves would be here soon, and they’d rip him apart. The final insult it appeared. Had Talos forsaken him? No, he had run off, he could have died in one final battle with the Imperials, but no. He feld to the mountains, and now the wolves would finish him off. So, with a defeated sigh, Andrel let’s his arms go lose while closing his eyes and waited for death. At least it would be over soon.<br/><br/><a class="username" data-user-id="83" data-username="@MintyMinx" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/members/83/">@MintyMinx</a>