The Crush Of Shadows

The Favour

Race to Dreadhold!

Frost's eyes slowly opened. As his surroundings came into focus, he became aware of the large band of metal covering his mouth and the chains that bound him to the side of a large cage.

He looked about. He appeared to be inside some kind of storeroom. Crates and barrels were scattered neaby. The only light came from a pair of everburning lanterns hanging from the ceiling. As he watched them rock from side-to-side, a memory came to him. He was on a boat. He'd boarded with his comrades to try and capture someone, or something but they had been overpowered.

But, what of his friends? He looked about but could see no other occupants . Was he the only one left alive and why?

Frost's thoughts were interupted by a door opening in the otherside of the hold. A figure stood silhouetted in the door frame. Frost struggled to make out who he, or she, was but it was near impossible.

" Not long now, dragonborn. We just have to pick up one more passenger then you can meet your fate." The figure let out a quick, cruel laugh. " I hope you can handle yourself. I hear the average  life expectancy in Graywall's arenas is pretty short…"






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