Author's Note: Right... I'm just gonna make it really clear, you're probably in for a boring ride to nowhere. I don't think I'm such a great writer, and I certainly lack the ability to finish what I do, so be warned. Also, if you would like to post a review, know that negative ones that show me what I'm doing wrong and how to fix it as well as positive ones telling me what I'm doing right are the most helpful; for me at least. Anything you'd like to comment on I'm willing to receive, however, and I would even personally appreciate nitpicking (to any degree). Then again, you should write what you actually think in reviews, so don't let this comment of mine specifically change what you'll post. I just want you to know what I will appreciate myself, not the people reading the reviews (who the reviews probably *should* be for).
The road behind stretched on and on. Cobblestone, dirty from over-use, but newly built, and in excellent condition otherwise; he supposed dirt from the slope would occasionally slide down to the road, and – combined with the moving of dozens of people to and fro – the result was a well-built road on the side of a mountain with more dirt and mud than a Hjaalmarch track ought to ever have. Perhaps, if the mining performed higher up the mountain slope was done more cautiously, there would not be as much gravel and dirt dropping down. Alas, Dovah-Brod Hold was built, and still is being built, hastily.
The lush trees of Falkrealth were nowhere to be seen on either the road or up the mountain; this face of it, at least.
Sitting in the back of a carriage himself, he could see dozens of horsemen and carriages travelling to and fro, up and down. Previously, he'd seen a band of heavily armored riders, flying Dovah-Brod colors. Such parties they'd often come across as they crossed Falkreath to reach Dov.
"Coster!" Lance called from behind.
Or ahead, depending on whether one took into consideration the direction Coster faced or the one the carriage did, respectively.
Coster sat up in the carriage and turned to face Lance. He'd have asked what he wished, had he not realized the answer immediately upon turning.
Ahead of them stood the outer walls of the Hold. Or rather, the first layer of them. At this part of the route, the road flattened and widened. Before the cliff's drop was a make-shift woven fence. It would hold little, were anything to crash into it, but even now masons worked on replacing it.
Ahead, on the edges of the road, stakes – with guards positioned behind them – faced the road. These guardsmen held the Dovah-Brod flag, and were rather seriously armed.
Next came more stakes, only this time they formed a palisade, tightly held together. As they passed through its gate, they found themselves between two such walls, and surrounded by men, who approached them as they arrived.
One of them, his helm different, spoke and said:
"State your business." in a Nord's accent.
"We're here to see the chieftain." Said Lance. "We wish to speak with him."
"Aye, you're not the first ones to come today. You wouldn't be yesterday, either, if you came at a similar time… or the day before. Right, do you carry any arms?" He asked.
"None." Said Lance.
"What are you carrying then?"
"Only thing on this carriage is us and what's on us. Oh, this is Coster, by the way. Drumn, that is."
Coster addressed a polite nod to their inquisitor, leaning over Lance's shoulder.
"And what's your name?" Said the Nord.
"Lance. Just Lance."
"Fine." He said, and turned to his side, to face a scribe listing (presumably) their names. Seemingly satisfied, he turned back to them. "Exit your carriage."
The two abided, and several guardsmen inspected their carriage. After nothing was found, and despite the captain raising a brow at the guardsmen's report, they were allowed back on their carriage. Peculiarly, there was a rider Coster noticed taking off just as they finally cleared the walls. He rode fast towards the Dovah-Brod Hold.
After some riding of their own, the Hold itself appeared in the distance, just after a bend in the road.
It was built on the side of the mountain, overlooking Falkrealth. Split into three segments, it was extensively vertically built. The lower part consisted of three short, overlapping, vertical cylinder-like wings jutting from the side of the mountain. His research told him that via a route built inside the mountain and hidden from the exterior, they connected to the middle segment. The middle segment was practically a small city, and was referred to as Dov, short for Dov City, which was short for Dovah City. Various specialized buildings and houses, and a wall that surrounded it all on three sides. The one side the wall didn't cover was the one where the fortress stood. It was built higher up the face of the mountain, and only a somewhat narrow path connected it with the middle.
They had to pass by another fortification on the way, however, before they could reach the actual fortress. It was another checkpoint, a stone watchtower and wall, but they thankfully did not have to go through another inspection. The guards there only exchanged nods with them.
"Coster." Said Lance. "I don't think we'll be seeing him today."
"You're right. Probably won't be." The path leading to the fortress, the residence of the chieftain, which started from Dov and cut its way through the mountainside, zigzagging up the mountain, was littered in men on foot, horse, and carriage. They flew all sorts of colours, and the line they formed was completely still. He looked at the sun, and fit only four fingers between it and the horizon. Sighing, and continued: "We'll just have to find an inn, and meet him on the morrow." Taking another look at the path to the fort, he added: "Maybe even the day after".
They continued down the road to Dov.
Author's (Second) Note: Okay, in case you couldn't tell this is not gonna be particularly lore accurate or make sense within the world of Skyrim/Tamriel. Distances might not make sense, locations, characters, ideas, etc.