Steel grey clouds clustered in the sky above the ancient city of Windhelm, their heavy bottoms weeping fluffy bits of themselves to coat the sooty dark stone framed in centuries’ worth of black dirt ground into their mortar. The new puffs of white helped add some contrast, covering the dingy, crusted snow already heaped in corners, against walls, and over the carefully stacked stone blocks piled here and there throughout the city. More grey stone rose up on either side of the street, creating a warren of unrelentingly dismal corridors beneath the black slate roofs.
Romulus Amulius, Hero of Kvatch and Daedric Prince of Madness, gazed up at the bottom of the clouds, the monochrome world around him making him long for the bright colors of Mania. Bored and depressed, he started a colony of bright yellow mold on the wall across from him, concentrating on the tiny world of fungi rather than the larger world of rot around him. It distracted him for a while, until a pair of guards crosse
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