Snow falls gently over the curve of hills at the base of Mount Ebonstall: the looming summit at the edge of the fields that pierced the sky and disappeared onto the haze.

the sky is painted a bland grey, the colour only interrupted by a horde of crows rising from the Dryhollow Forest, their sharp cries filling the empty air with melodical warnings.

the paths of Oakengard were bustling despite the early morning and snow. the steady threat of approaching winter always set the townsfolk a bit on edge.

Oakengard was an agricultural town in Aldis, supporting itself by trading what it grows. the vast farmland at the base of the mountains after the forest, served as the town's primary resource.

winter was never ideal for Oakengard. the scarce amount of necromancers in the town meant Dryhail spells (used to keep soil thawed) had to be used sparingly, and on the most important land.

as if winter wasn't hard enough, the ever-present words of war in the South were mere whispers in Oakengard, but spread like wildfyre through Aldis.

Aldis was often at war within itself. Greed consumes rationality and pride starves greed. and by the gods, the lords were greedy.

Oakengard was far from the South, but it provided for other Northern towns. If the South wanted to choke off trade and resources, they'd ambush Oakengard.

under the haze of war and winter, something stirred in the mountains. something Aldis had thought it was rid of.

Aldis is divided into two sides, the North, and the South. the North is ruled by Lord Atolisus. And the South is ruled by Lord Virico. the two have always had bad blood, it isn't much shock that war has blossomed.

but in the North, in the depths of Mount Ebonstall, Drakmir stir. When Lord Virico's ancestors killed the last Drakmir, they supposedly went extinct. Some never died. Dragons made of ice and obsidian are waking once more. With black eyes and icy scales, the massive beings stir with the tundra.

and the clueless Dragonborn feels it.