Whiterun smells heavily of Iron and steel and oil when you first come through the gates. And it's almost unbearable. You can feel the heat from the forge that is immediately to your right when you come in. But as you walk deeper, the smell begins to fade, as do the sounds of hammers striking hot metal. Then, it blooms into something else. The stall run by Carlotta Valentia directly to your right has her fresh fruits and vegetables wafting a pleasant earthy scent. Then the smell of fresh meat, as you walk past the stall run by Anoriath. Then you get to the wind district, it smells of death. Of blood and iron. Flanked by the healers and the companions who are known for their bloody 'duels' and you can faintly hear the hammering of metal from the skyforge, and you can hear the groans of the wounded from inside the healers hall. Then the cloud district. It smells sweetly. Of taffy and sweet-rolls, and children laughing. Yet, there's a lingering smell of fear and sadness that is just under that layer of happiness.
Riften smells of alcohol. The meadery constantly pumping out new batches daily, and the inn almost always filled to the brim with patrons. Along with that is the smell of water. Not salt water, but river water. Dirtied with the leftovers of those above and below the city, a slight smell of fish in the air from the pier just outside the city. And it smells of Hay. And horses, from a stable that is just outside the cities walls.
Winterhold smells of magic. It doesn't have a specific smell, but you know it's beautiful and dangerous all at the same time. And it's a smell that fills you with nostalgia and warmth, despite it's cold and frigid weather. It smells of friends and family and of everything you could hope of. It feels like a closeness you can't ever seen to find because the once great city is now small and close-knit.
Falkreath smells of death and sadness. Of desperation and fleeting hope. It smells of loss and blood, and wet dogs. And the feeling gives you chills, an errie feeling creeping over you like the fog that always seems to blanket the town.
Dawnstar smells of ice and fear. Of an unsaid secrete and it smells of I spilled blood. It smells of metal and flames from the smelter and mines that dot the city. And as you clear out the nightmares, it begins to smell of hope. Of happiness and joy.
Markarth smells of metal and oil. Not in the welcoming way that Whiterun does, but in a way that is telling you to stay away, that you're not welcome here. It smells of anger and fear, and the smell of blood pierces the air for a short amount of time after you first step in. It smells of earth and rock as it's deep in a mountain side and surrounded by a mine.
Solitude smells like Happiness and joy. Of a carefree party. It smells of sweets and old friends, begging to catch-up in the Winking Skeever. A bar that, though a bit classier than most it's other counterparts, smells of flora and of recently spilled ale. Solitude smells of home. Of a place you can never forget, never wish to for that matter. It smells of salt water and the sweetness of honey.
Windhelm smells just like the freezer in your house. Cold and unforgiving. Hate and spiteful from the moment you walk in. Of blood and terror. It smells of stone and smoke and something faintly unsettling. It smells of melancholy. Of hatred; from both the Nords of the city, and those oppressed by them. It's a place you don't wish to visit ever again.
Morthal smells of earth and swamp. Of grass and wood that makes up the small city. It smells of snow and a winter night you would spend at your grandparents. It smells of ash and fire and still smoldering wood from a recent house fire. As you near the Burt down house, you can faintly smell burnt flesh and a cold that seems to Pierce you to your bones. You don't know if you should feel at home, or if you should flee as to not be pulled into what seems to be coming next.
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