Eastmarch

Wind blew the snow through Valunstrad, the oldest section of Windhelm. The bitter air of the snow-covered land of Skyrim reddened the cheeks of the guard stood outside of majestic Place of the Kings. The strong Nord men had a natural resistance to cold, however even the toughest of them were chilled to the bone by the snow storm.

It was the twentieth of Frostfall and the throne room in the Palace of the Kings was cold, quiet and mournful. Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak had just received the news that a dozen of his troops were captured by the Imperials in The Rift. They were in difficult times, the war was getting more heated with every moment. Day after day, his Stormcloak soldiers fight for their beliefs – many times they bring back victories to be re-told in mead halls, however failures happen. Failures that bring mourning to the soldiers' families and cut the numbers from his army.

“My Jarl,” Ulfric looked up to see Galmar Stone-Fist, his most trusted man, second in command and housecarl.

“We need people, Galmar.” Ulfric told the man.

Galmar nodded, grunting. “We need the Dragonborn.”

Ulfric sighed, resting his head on his hands as he sat on the throne. “The Dragonborn is no more, my friend. What we need are True Sons and Daughters of Skyrim, people who do not abandon their country in need.”

“Where will we find soldiers like that, My Jarl?”

Ulfric grunted, sitting back in his throne. “We don't, my friend. Men and women like that come to us.” He said. “We just have to wait for them.”



When Rexia finally reached Windhelm, she was tired, frozen to the bone and her leather armour was in shreds. On the way from Riften to Windhelm, she was attacked by a group of Frostbite Spiders from which she barely made it out alive and her armour was torn apart by the vicious beasts. Then a snow storm surprised her about two hours away from Kynesgrove and it ended up taking her nearly five to reach the village.

Relief showed on her dark, battered face when the guards let her through the gates. She travelled by foot for the entire journey so all she wanted was to get some rest. The guards said that she could get some food and a bed at Candlehearth Hall which was just in front of the gates. However before she could do that, she needed to get her armour repaired.

After ten minutes of asking around and getting directions, Rexia reached the local blacksmith. He was a Nord, named Oengul War-Anvil who worked with his assistant Hermir Strong-Heart. He seemed like a good, honest man and his assistant was definitely... spirited—she was singing praises for the Jarl of Windhelm to everyone that would listen.

“Hello?” Rexia tapped the blacksmith on the shoulder. He turned to her with a grunt. “I need to get my armour fixed.”

“I can see that, lass. By the Nine, what did you do to get it in that state?” Oengul said to her, examining one of the leather bracers that now resembled leather
strips rather than a sturdy piece of light armour.

“I got ambushed by Frostbite spiders.” Rexia said simply. “How much will it cost?”

“I'm sorry lass, but it will be cheaper for you to buy new armour. There is not much that can be done for most of this. A while set will cost you 240 septims.” The blacksmith said to her.

Sighing in annoyance, Rexia took out her money. She hated spending money, she preferred to steal whatever she needed. However it was a necessity, she needed new armour pretty quick and she didn't have time to have a stroll through the city to see if anyone was hiding away some decent light armour in their chests. She handed Oengul the gold. “I'll just get it for you. I have some leather armour somewhere around here.”

A while later, Rexia was in Candlehearth Hall getting something to eat. She was dressed in some loose-fitting clothes with her new armour back in the room she rented out for the night. The cook placed some Venison Stew and Spiced Wine before her and Rexia gladly dug in. Tomorrow, she would go and see about joining the Stormcloaks, however today was time for rest. Her whole body was aching from the journey and losing her favourite armour didn't put her in a good mood either.

Talen-Shei could hardly see a thing through the wild blizzard that tore through the forests of Eastmarch, how by the Nine did the local Nords cope with this weather. Skyrim was nothing like Talen-Shei's homeland of Black Marsh, Skyrim's vast, coniferous forests were nothing like the warm, wet swamps of Black Marsh. However, a job was a job, and Talen-Shei needed the money. He urged his weary horse forward, a horse he had stolen from a highwayman who had made the mistake of trying to rob Talen-Shei. As Talen-Shei usually did with his victims, he carved a picture of a snake into the highwayman's forehead. He was beginning to wonder if he might become immobile due to the cold, cold-blooded creatures like him were ill-suited to to frigid blizzards of Skyrim.

After about another hour of riding, Talen-Shei finally reached his destination, Windhelm. He dismounted his horse, he didn't bother leaving it at the stables, he didn't need it anymore. It ran off, Akatosh knew where to. He walked past a few guards who guarded the gate, the one wearing an open-faced helmet glowered at him as if he were Tullius himself. Talen-Shei was half inclined to drive his dagger through the bigot's throat, but he could hardly get a job fighting for the Stormcloaks if he killed off his allies. Silently cutting the string that attached his coin purse to his belt and stealing it was good enough.

Once inside the city, Talen-Shei decided he should find some warmth and food before he lost all mobility completely. There was a nearby inn, Candlehearth Hall that seemed to fit the bill perfectly.

Talen-Shei pulled down his hood as he entered, allowing the warmth of the inn to seep into his weary bones. The inn was filled with mostly Nords, but there were a few Dunmer and a Redguard woman as well. He sat himself down at one of the tables after buying a pint of ale and a large bowl of stew. Once he finished, he was going to straight to strike out a deal with Galmar Stone-Fist.

While Talen-Shei was eating a Dunmer and an Imperial also entered the dining hall. What an odd display of diversity for a Stormcloak city, the most racist one in the whole of Skyrim no less.

It wasn't soon before he had unwelcome company. The Redguard woman came and sat at the other side of the table, bringing a bottle of wine with her. He hoped the conversation wouldn't have to last long, he had important business to attend to.

"Hey Argonian, what brings you to Windhelm? It's strange to see your kind around these parts, no offence meant."
"I'm here on business." Talen-Shei replied, "Galmar Stone-Fist wants someone other than a blundering idiot with a warhammer in the Stormcloak ranks, so he hired me."
He took a swig from his pint before speaking again. This woman didn't seem to mind the fact he was an Argonian, that was certainly a start.
"Redguards aren't particularly common around here either, what brings you to Windhelm?"

"I'm here on business.Galmar Stone-Fist wants someone other than a blundering idiot with a warhammer in the Stormcloak ranks, so he hired me." The Argonian said. "Redguards aren't particularly common around here either, what brings you to Windhelm?"

Rexia took a swing of her wine and grinned. "Aye, we're not exactly from around here, it's far too cold. I was born and raised in Whiterun myself, only my grandparents had the pleasure of living in the Hammerfell warmth." She replied. "I'm here on business too, to join the Stormcloaks. I hope that I'm not a blundering idiot as you said, but I certainly don't weild a warhammer - to heavy, not dicrete enough." Rexia smiled.

The Argonian seemed nice enough, if not a bit sarcastic. Although living in the Thieves Guild with Vex and Tonilia certainly made her immune against the latter. "I never caught your name, Argonian. I'm Rexia." She said to him.

"Aye, we're not exactly from around here, it's far too cold. I was born and raised in Whiterun myself, only my grandparents had the pleasure of living in the Hammerfell warmth."
Talen-Shei almost told her about his past in Black Marsh, but he stopped himself. He was The Serpent now, Talen-Shei had died in Cyrodiil.
"I was born in Morrowind." Talen-Shei lied, giving no hints that he was telling untruths, "It's not particularly warm there, but it's no way near as bad as Skyrim."

"I'm here on business too, to join the Stormcloaks. I hope that I'm not a blundering idiot as you said, but I certainly don't weild a warhammer - to heavy, not discrete enough."
"Ulfric must be getting desperate." Talen-Shei remarked, if Ulfric was desperate enough to accept large numbers of non-Nords, perhaps he could extort more money from Ulfric, "His 'Skryim for the Nords' policy seems to be failing. Good thing too, otherwise I might have had to find work with the Imperials, and where would that leave him?"

"I never caught your name, Argonian. I'm Rexia."
"T-" Talen-Shei stopped himself, he couldn't let her know who he really was, "Just call me The Serpent. I no longer have a need for a name."

Rexia nodded slowly. "The Serpent? I heard about you." She said. "Nothing good and it came from the mouths of drunken travellers, but I heard some stories."

Rexia took a drink of her wine, finishing it off. It was strange, she was comfortable enough to be talking to this stranger who would soon, quite possibly, be her comrade. She didn't like comrades - she worked alone. However it seemed that The Serpent was someone who shared her views - that it's best to be working alone. She couldn't imagine a man like him to be a people person.

"The Serpent? I heard about you. Nothing good and it came from the mouths of drunken travellers, but I heard some stories."
"You don't tend to make many friends when you make a living killing their loved ones." Talen-Shei replied as he finished his pint, "All I require is that people give me the respect I deserve. People who cross me don't tend to live long."

Once Talen-Shei finished his stew, he stood up and pushed his chair under.
"I must be going now." He told Rexia, "I have business to attend to."

Talen-Shei once again had to step into the bitter cold of Eastmarch, a cold he didn't want to have to bear for long. He hoped the Palace of the Kings would be as warm as the inn. The Palace of the Kings was to the north, and not particularly far away.

As he expected, Talen-Shei did not receive a warm welcome as he approached the palace. The guards standing in front of the large, steel doors both drew their weapons, a mace and a battleaxe. Talen-Shei knew they wouldn't listen to reason unless they were helpless, so he hurled a throwing knife at the mace, splitting through the handle, making it unusable. He then leaped at the guard with the axe and slammed his foot down on his right wrist, causing his to drop his axe and clutch his wrist in pain. Talen-Shei kicked his axe away, leaving both guards helpless.
"Stone-Fist was right, the Stormcloaks really are in need of specialists." Talen-Shei sighed as he removed a scroll from his cloak, opened it and showed it to the helpless guards, "I have a personal invitation from Galmar Stone-Fist. Ready to let me in now?"
Without waiting for an answer, he barged past and into the palace.

The hall was relatively empty, Ulfric wasn't in the room, and neither was Galmar. Only a man in a red shirt and a fuzzy hat.
"Galmar Stone-Fist, the Serpent has arrived!" Talen-Shei called out and waited for Galmar to present himself.

Rexia shrugged of The Serpent's exit. She was tired anyway. It was time to turn in for the night, she has to get up early tomorrow morning to meet with Galmar Stone-Fist. Paying for her meal, Rexia went to her room and almost immediately sleep claimed her worn body.



Galmar Stone-Fist looked up from the map of Skyrim when he heard his name being called out. He followed it to the source of the noise - an Argonian. The Serpent. Galmar regretted that his army was not enough to fight the Imperials and he had to hire men in order to win it, however it was necessary. If it meant that those damn Thalmor and the Imperial bastards were kicked out of Skyrim, he would do it.

"The Serpent." Galmar said to the Argonian. "Before you join the Stormcloaks, I need to test your abilities. I have heard stories telling of them, but I need to test them out personally. Go to Bleakcoast Cave in the hold of Winterhold. There is a book there, 'Battle of Sancre Tol' that you will have to bring back to prove yourself. It is said that the cave is inhabited by four Frost Trolls, so bring another person who wishes to become a Stormcloak with you, if you wish." Galmar explained. "I trust that it's enough information, I'll be awaiting your return, Serpent."

"Before you join the Stormcloaks, I need to test your abilities. I have heard stories telling of them, but I need to test them out personally. Go to Bleakcoast Cave in the hold of Winterhold. There is a book there, 'Battle of Sancre Tol' that you will have to bring back to prove yourself. It is said that the cave is inhabited by four Frost Trolls, so bring another person who wishes to become a Stormcloak with you, if you wish."
Four frost trolls?! Was this man trying to mock him? He had slain important, heavily guarded, political figures, powerful warriors, influential drug lords, and got away with it. Well, apart from that Synod. Now he was being asked to stab a few trolls! At least it would be easy. Maybe he could take that Redguard he met earlier, Rexia. She was warm blooded, she didn't suffer so much from the cold as he did, he might need help on the journey. The roads of Skyrim weren't exactly welcoming and in. If he didn't wrap up warm enough, he could lose all mobility in his body. He didn't like the thought of having to travel with a companion, but it was better than dropping into the snow and dying there.
"I'll leave in the morning." Talen-Shei replied, "I'll be taking someone else as well, there's a Redguard who wants to join your cause. From what I can tell, she's more like me than the rest of your troops. I'll return soon with your book."
With that, Talen-Shei turned and left the hall, ready to take on his assignment in the morning.

After an argument with the innkeeper at Candlehearth Hall, Talen-Shei finally managed to acquire a room. If he hadn't had the written invitation from Stone-Fist, he would have had to sleep in the Argonian Assemblage. He would have to wake up early tomorrow morning if he was to get Rexia's assistance. If he woke up second, she would likely go off somewhere on her own. Sleep claimed his weary body quickly as he fell onto the bed and dozed off.

Talen-Shei awoke rather early, the sun wasn't very high in the sky, so it couldn't be any later than six in the morning. He quickly pulled on his cloak and left his room, he presumed Rexia hadn't left yet, so he sat by the entrance and waited for her.

Morgana raised an eyebrow in confusion. "I don't quite understand your question." She looked back at him. "You're a conjurer? Interesting." She then felt the sleep grip her and she yawned. "Oh, I do apologise." She blinked and looked at the Dunmer. "I may have to call it a night. Goodnight." She told him as she rose from her seat and rented a room. The Nord didn't want to let an Imperial have it but Morgana was paying more than the asking price for the room. Once in the room, Morgana shut the door and stripped down to her undergarments and climbed into the bed, pulling the furs over her body.

Feylon felt all the tension in his body surge downwards as he relaxed on the chair. It had been a long time since he had the pleasure of a comfortable chair rather than the floor of his tent. He let his pack drop the the floor giving off a load thump. He was now as relaxed as he could be in a city filled with racist and hateful Nords. He had to always be alert for his kind was not taken too kindly in these parts. He knew in himself that if the Imperials had not done his family wrong he would be fighting for the Empire against these fools. Now however he had an oath to fill. He promised revenge for his plight and he was going to get it one way or another. For now, that meant keeping his head low and bearing the hate.

He heard then, the call of another elf a few tables away from him. He looked towards the band of people that clustered themselves around the table. At first he was weary. He had no idea who these people were. He decided against sitting with them with a small reply. "I have to decline your invitation dear elf. I have nigh enough time to dally around for the evening. I must take my leave now and setup camp outside the walls before it grows too dark for me to see." With that Feylon nodded and left the inn.

He headed straight out the gates and towards a clearing across the bridge. He set down his gear and hastily constructed his tiny 1 man tent and unfolded his bedroll. Not having enough money for anything was making his journey a lot tougher. At least he would get used to the freezing cold temperatures. If they didn't kill him first.