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HJAALMARCH, MIDDAY It was cold. Skyrim was always cold. Nords had a natural resilience to cold, though Kurza's youth in the harsh Wrothgarian mountains had hardened her body to the elements. Although the day was cloudless, and the sun stood high, Hjaalmarch was really cold. While the places they had visited up to this point, except for mountain tops, had been harsh, it wasn't too bad. In Hjaalmarch, however, the ground felt like it consisted solely of ice and snow and the hold was bordered to the north by the sea of Ghosts, and stinging-cold winds blew from the coast up through these areas. The wind also brought a second smell up to Kurza. Swamp-water, tar and Nightshade. "There's a swamp nearby." Kurza supplied, snorting sharply at the oily smell. They had a route through the Anthor mountain range, and then towards Morthal. They had to admit, although it wasn't the Throat of the World, the mountains looked impressive. Way to big to just pass over. There seemed to be some routes