A tall blonde Nord winced in pain as he marched on the road leading up to Windhelm. His face was covered in bruises and his left eye was almost black from a punch he received in his most recent fight.
He frowned deeply upon thinking of it causing himself to wince once more due to the movement.
Rumors of Ulfric's righteous uprising had spread like wildfire but they all seemed as if spun by a spider, all spoken in such a way to cite the Stormcloak as a fool and someone without honor.
This was the third time he had to fight someone over their words.
Why in Talos' name could they not understand that Skyrim needed to be freed from foreign usurpers? Were they all so blinded by greed and the words of the Thalmor that they could not understand that their culture was slowly being consumed by the Imperials?!
The man shook his head, overthinking things would not solve the problem, only honorable battle would.
Ever since he left his home village his young inquisitive mind kept making him ask uncomfortable questions about the cause. Ever since he faced his oldest friend and spared his life despite him deciding to join the Legion the blonde man had been clouded with doubt.
But that was just the thing, wasn't it? Everything happening all around him was orchestrated by foreigners to make good Nords doubt themselves and submit as slaves to their machinations. He could not allow doubts to cloud his judgment, Skyrim would be freed and that was all he needed to know.
Deep in his contemplations, he hadn't noticed that he had already crossed the great bridge of Windhelm and only someone standing in front of him brought him out of his thoughts.
"Greetings brother." The gate guard welcomed him seriously "Here to join the cause?"
"Yes." The man nodded "Someone has to fight for our freedom."
The guardsman nodded as if expecting the answer "Good, got to show those bloody elves and their puppets what for, eh?"
The man nearly winced at the guard's words, he cared not if someone was an elf or not but most of his brothers in the cause hated elves with a passion, he only cared for their culture and way of life and he did so more than he did for protecting the elves "Right you are brother." He said with what he hoped was convincing enough cheer.
The guardsman was either too tired or just didn't care for he merely brought out a board with some parchment upon it "Name and place of birth?"
"Ralof of Riverwood." The blonde answered "You take everyone's name?"
"Bah!" The guard sniffed "The Jarl, erm... King wants to have a list of his men and has me writing even if I can barely scratch two letters together. Don't you worry about me, if it helps us kick the bloody elves back into their holes I'd do it all over again." He finishes writing the name down and waves his hand toward the gate "In you go then, you came at an opportune moment as well, the King is holding a ceremony! Best not miss it lad."
"My thanks brother." Ralof thanked the man and walked into the city.
Windhelm was far busier than it had been in decades, or at least that is what young Ralof thought as he walked down the ancient city's streets. Young lads and lasses ran about the place carrying supplies while many of the newly formed Stormcloaks patrolled the streets while singing of ancient battles and encouraging each other.
Something told him things would not remain so jovial for very long.
As he passed through the eastern path leading to the palace he chanced upon one of the entrances to the Grey Quarter, a place that to his knowledge housed the greatest number of elves in Skyrim. Guards stood vigilant and in full arms and armor, guarding against something, what that something was he could not say.
A small, malnourished Dunmer child attempted to exit the district with desperation in her eyes only for one of the guards to near slam her away with his shield, thankfully not breaking any bones or teeth.
The child looked at the guards with eyes that had no tears left to cry out and Ralof had to force himself to look away. He managed to do so for all of an entire second before cursing himself and approaching the scene. His father had taught him better than to look away from injustice.
The guards seemed to notice him "Hail brother" The one that struck the child greeted him "Do you need something?"
"Why did you hit the child?" Ralof demanded fiercely.
The man, seemingly taken aback scowled "Cursed thing wants to pollute our city with its presence, I ain't letting the thing poison my family."
"She is but a child!" Ralof near hisses.
The guard spits onto the ground "Give her some fucking food if you want then, I am not letting her through."
Ralof passes near him wordlessly before kneeling before the girl who slowly manages to get up from the ground. He slowly brings out his bag and wordlessly offers her some bread and jerky.
She says nothing but her eyes offer all the thanks would ever need as she quickly grabs the offered food and runs away as fast as her stick thin legs would carry her.
Just as Ralof is about to leave he hears the guard "Serves you right fucking elf lover, not even a word of thanks."
Something snaps within Ralof as he approaches the guard menacingly, it only now dawns on him that the man is a head shorter than him "Be glad that armor gives you the authority to act like a fucking Justiciar because if you did something like that I would have had your head."
The guardsman scowled "The fuck did you just call me?"
"I called you no better than the Thalmor we fight." Ralof did not desist "Nords are supposed to be better than those monsters!"
The guard looks just about ready to attack him for the insult but the other one finally intervenes by placing a hand on his colleague's shoulders "Calm yourself, boy."
Only now did Ralof take a look at the other guard, foolish of him as it was, and he beheld a weathered greybeard staring at him with appraising eyes "You do understand lad that this isn't by far the worst you will see in this war?" The greybeard asks him, his eyes full of wisdom and experience.
The old man taps the other guard's shoulder again "Conflict will make honourless fools of all of us long before it is over, and we shall all do something as shameful as he just did before our time comes."
The younger guard scowls but his eyes lower for a fraction of a second.
"And why did you not stop him if you consider his actions to be without honor?" Ralof questioned with more heat than he intended.
"Because I wanted to take a measure of you." Those ancient eyes twinkled with wisdom.
The younger guard seemingly understood the hidden message and outright tried to hide his face in shame.
"You noticed me that fast?" Ralof asked with a mix of awe and fear.
The old man nodded "T'would be odd for a mage of my strength not to see you. Grimnir Shatter-shield is the name lad."
Ralof, momentarily cursing his lack of perceptiveness, looked over the man once again, and only after a long search did he notice the lightly shimmering jewelry on the man's fingers and around his neck coupled with parts of his armor extending into robes. Not being able to unhear what has been said he suddenly felt very small in front of the legendary war mage.
"No need for that look, young man." Grimnir waved him off with a cheer only the elderly could possess "I like the look in your eyes, you have spirit." He caressed his beard seemingly in thought "Yes, I think I could make use of you."
Ralof, understanding that the man was offering him a place under his command, couldn't help but smile like a child in a weapons shop "It would be my honor sir!"
"Keep that spirit lad, you will need it." The old man smiled "Now off with you."
He didn't need to be told twice and immediately went to leave. As he was about to make a turn left he heard the sound of a hard smack happening behind him and turned around to see the younger guard on the ground, clutching his mouth while his teeth were spread on the bloody snow.
Grimnir stood over him with utter fury in his eyes, said eyes slowly lifted to Ralof's. They stared at each other, one with respect and the other with wisdom, Ralof was the first to turn away and he left toward the recruitment center near the palace, his faith in the cause restored by the old man's actions.
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Ralof walked alongside many others, a steel axe and round wooden shield in his hands, all gifted to him and his new shield brothers from the King's own armory. He wanted to take heart in that, the fact that they weren't all just left to fight with their kitchen knives, even if most would, but his father's teachings led him to understand that the King had been preparing for this for a long time.
He was left feeling conflicted between a possible avoidance of the civil war and respect for Ulfric and his foresight.
Not that his thought on it would matter at this point as his group passed by three Thalmor heads on spikes, the retired Justiciars of Windhelm, and exited the passage leading into the yard of the Temple of Talos.
And there he stood in full battle armor, sans his helm, Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak. The rightful High King and future liberator of Skyrim. The King beheld his men for a moment, his eyes full of heroic resolve and he finally spoke "Welcome my brothers and sisters!" He greeted them, his voice as firm as the stone he stood upon.
"I have shouted out my call to arms against foreign invaders to the very skies, and you, my honored shield siblings have answered!" A cheer greeted the proclamation "For too long have we sat meekly while our people were exploited by outsiders! For too long has our culture become nothing more than that of Cyrodiil and their decadent nobles!" A series of 'boos' and outright spitting on the ground greeted his words.
"Well no more I say!" Ulfric proclaimed "No more shall we be sheep to be shorn for the benefit of those weaker than us! No more shall Skyrim suffer under the oppression of elves or those who serve them!"
The cheer that followed was deafening.
"Join me oh Nords of Skyrim!" Ulfric continued "Join me as my Stormcloaks, and we shall drive back our enemies! And should we fall in battle we shall feast we shall feast with our honored ancestors, sitting proudly with the heroes of old in Sovengarde!"
"STORMCLOAK!"
"STORMCLOAK!"
"STORMCLOAK!"
The chant of thousands of voices echoed through the city of kings.
Soon bolts of blue fabric were brought out and all the recruits were instructed to wrap it around their armor. The 'storm cloak' was cut in a practical fashion and was more of a hood and sash than a real cloak, but it was enough to show allegiance and keep someone somewhat warm.
As Ralof donned the cloak he understood there was no going back. All that remained now was victory or Sovengarde.
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Ladies, gentlemen, eldrich abominations, you know what to do.
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