Snippet #2147975

A cool morning breeze drifted over the cliffs of the mountains of the Falkreath hold as dawn drew upon the region. The sun rising gently, lighting the horizon in a orange hue. A woman in steel armor atop the balcony of a fortress which was now pacing back and forth drawing breath in and out of her lungs as she lay deep in though before looking toward the sunset. It was a calm before the storm that was brewing since the Civil War had ended in the Siege of Windhelm and the Imperial's favor. She took a brief remembrance of the battle, the city ablaze as the Siege Engines and Magi of the Empire smashed in the walls and then soon stormed the city. That was war, but now she was in charge of a different kind of war, a silent, quiet kind, playing the Thalmor at their own game, not that anyone knew her Guild was an Imperial weapon behind closed curtains. She looked briefly toward the gate for anymore arriving recruits before sighing and heading into the Keep yet again and through the narrow corridors, past a steel door that lead to her own Private Quarters and into the man chamber. Her hand brushing lightly over the newly rebuilt walls. It was hard to imagine this was the site of one of the first Dragon Attacks in Skyrim a score ago. Soon she arrived in her office and sat down with a swift movement, pulling out a quill and parchment, waiting, watching the door.

Meanwhile outside above the Keep's main gate patrolled a massive Orc. Singing and humming to himself as he leaned over the edge and watched the road with obviously intent. It was a beautiful morning to him after a night of working on the iron, blazed teeth of his forge and watching the gate was a welcome change from his monotonous work though he did enjoy it, gave him time to think and recollect. He too was remembering the past but a much further past, going all the way to his childhood of when he walked the wharfs of the Imperial docks on his own, only the sun and moon his masters, as well as his own stomach. But now, his own stomach was still his master as well as an echelon of Imperials in cities far to the south and north, though that was merely military work as usual and he was little to complain, they provided him with ale, money, food, and even a bed to sleep in every night. Trading a bit of freedom was worth it. But now, out here in Skyrim again he felt alone and free both wonderful and terrible, all he had to do now was wait for the new recruits to show up.

Three days ago fliers, posts, and word went out in every direction, to every hold, city, or village in Skyrim asking for Warriors, Mages, Rouges and the like to head to Helgen to throw in with a new Guild that would soon ever contend with the Companions in honor. Now all the two patrons of this guild had to do was wait patiently in the serene mountainous fort for freshblood to throw their hats into a new order, no matter what backround they hailed from.