Whiterun

 The walk north had been long and dull though blessedly uneventful; you had been heading north from Riverwood for much of the day before you catch sight of Whiterun in the distance.  In your opinion, this was the first place in Skyrim that actually deserved to be called a town rather than a village, a high stone wall appears to surround the entire place and the town seems to be built on several different levels or tiers though you cannot be certain from this distance.  Your eyes are naturally drawn to the upper tiers, one of which holds a rather large and impressive looking citadel and on another there is a large wooden long hall of some kind, the land around the small city holds several large farms, their fields containing a variety of crops, the area around Whiterun sports a few slowly spinning windmills as well. 

   You continue on your way north, only a few minutes’ walk from where you had paused you come to halt again, the road moved through a narrow pass here and there had been some kind of rock slide for the road ahead of you was now covered in boulders and debris from the slopes above.  A faint groan catches your attention, carefully picking your way across the rocky slope you find a man half buried in the rubble, he is wearing the uniform of a Riverwood guardsman and the falling rocks had battered him rather severely.  He sported a large ragged gash across his forehead, a bone jutted from both of his calves,  although his eyes were open and seemed to be aware, from the gurgling way he breathed you doubted he had much time left in this world.

   In a broken, gasping voice the fallen guardsman tells you his story, he was sent north to Whiterun by the mayor of Riverwood to report the sightings of the immense black dragon over Helgen and the surrounding area.  The guardsman had been in the narrow pass when the rock slide began and had no chance to seek shelter from the falling rocks, with one trembling hand he draws a wax sealed letter from within his tunic, he asks you to deliver it in his place to the Jarl of Whiterun, although you assure him that you will deliver the letter you cant be certain he has heard you, telling his tale seems to have taken the very last of his strength for his ragged breathing soon comes to a halt, you build a crude cairn of stones over him and murmur a prayer to the Nine before continuing northward, the letter now resting in your pack.

   The town had been farther away than you thought, that combined with the delay from the rock slide meant that the sun was almost setting when you at last walked through the gates into the town. You make your way down the crowded street, stepping between a pair of dark skinned humans in robes, sporting scimitars on their belts; only a few steps later you are **** to walk around a pair of grey haired Nord men standing in the street and arguing loudly about the merits of the Empire.  On the second tier of the city you spy a pretty, dark haired young woman in robes on her knees, weeping before a large, sickly looking tree.

   Although you know that you should bring the dead man’s warning to the Jarl immediately, the large town is a most impressive place and you want to see everything in it...