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It all seemed to rise up in a single moment, given the little amount of time for everything to plummet. Lands, waters and communities became fuelled with a distinctive lust for bloodshed against an opposition far closer than before. No longer did the Aldmeri Dominion engage a seemingly unmatched war against the Empire, oh no...This time, it was far closer than anyone had imagined. Tamriel's Province of Skyrim had succumb to a new age of disaster. The soil of its surface would be stained in the Bloods of families, cities and entire organisations. The Nords were finally taking what they wanted back, Skyrim. They denied the ways of Imperial life, disgusted and the denial of belief towards Talos. Soon enough, friends turned on friends, race on race, comrade on comrade. Citizens and Soldiers would take arms on their side, having little choice on whether they were involved or not. But it wasn't just an increase of those who'd begin fighting on the many fronts of Skyrim, it was also taking its toll to those not siding with their beliefs. Many who refused to follow what others did began to feel oppression, and great deals of tension between individuals on who rightfully owns Skyrim became increasingly stressed. These were dark times, even those choosing to stay clear of these actions were suffering at the hands of Oppression. These were the most sorrowful times of Skyrim, as of now...For the Generation to currently inhabit the Province were to be used in the Clutches of the Civil War.

Settled down in the Southern Areas of Skyrim, Falkreath stood. It had been relatively quiet here, and recently an increase of travellers had emerged due to its known distance from the Conflict at hand. Many considered it a Safe-Haven from everything, only having to deal with small-time criminals and Bandits that lurked in the shadows. At least, that's how it was. As predicted, the war had found a way to keep Falkreath a priority, sending an Imperial Garrison under the Command of Legate Skulnar to act as an Occupation force. With Skyrim split into two, a disturbance between the Hold's Nords and the New-Found Imperial Settlers made it tense. Very few positive icons were brought with the Empire's arrival here, not counting the extension of Defences and Wall-Buildling. And now, that they had settled for at least two weeks, everything seemed to be at its most Tense. Falkreath was now only a Hold behind the Frontlines, only two Forts and three camps being the only thing left to stand between the Stormcloaks and the Imperials stationed here. It brought great trouble among everyone, and some had even fled the Hold, few the Province, in search of a better life. And among those who chose to stay, was Arnkel Aridmetis. The Redguard Trader wasn't one of those comfortable with the new-life that he had been forced into. Falkreath had been his home-away-from-home for years now, taking itself to be a part of his life. Suddenly, the community seemed less friendly upon the Arrival of the Imperials, who hadn't made it easy for him either. Now, he stood at his stall at the Peak of the Sun's travels, arms folded and laid back. The Stall he was used to gather information, jobs, roles and items from. He sighed deeply, dressed in his usual trading gear. This was not a good day. This was not a good Era.

"Things are not going well. The bandits continue to grow in strength, Stormcloak activity remains unchecked west of Helgen, and some of these fool townspeople can't see that the Legion is all that is keeping them from the creatures of Skyrim and that madman Ulfric. I pray to Talos that-" Denric shook his head in frustration. "I pray to Talos Akatosh that the tides of this war turn in our favor, and not Ulfric's. For Skyrim. For the Empire." Denric placed the journal back into the drawer he drew it from, and rose to his feet. He had to make his rounds now. To ensure that the people remained placated, and in the event they weren't, that the Hold's guards were doing their jobs properly. The Tribune strapped his steel greatsword to his back, and stepped out of the confines of his quarters.

Falkreath was a dark place, the grey skies that threatened rain and the looming tombs of the fallen that the hold and capital was named for. It was a dreary place, and Alysse Lathronein adored it. As she leaned upon the counter of Grave Concoctions waiting for customers and watching the owner, Zaria, mix up a batch of healing potion. It was always a quick seller and they never seemed to have enough. Especially with the war, but the Imperials and their taxes were taking the coin as fast as the war brought it in. A curse and a blessing. But then again, Alysse mussed, war was a blessing to her second trade.

In the sense of challenge and danger. A slight smirk graced her lips as she gave a light chuckle. Zaria knew her well enough not to ask. She'd only get a shake of a ravened head and a smile. Her fingers flickered tapping on the counter, before scooping up a basket. "I'm heading to the stalls, Zaria. You'll keep a eye on the shop?" The Redguard laughed with a retort about her having run the shop well enough before the Nord had joined as her help. Slipping on a cloak over her robes she pulled the hood over the raven bun she had pinned her hair up in.

Stalking through the streets with a joyous sway to her step. The markets loomed ahead and her amber-brown eyes gleamed with glee. She was here to shop, true. But her first love hid in the many secret pockets of the robes, and her quick fingers. As a townsman walked by, struggling under a large load of lumber, she passed closed by, her hand darting into the shadows. As the man walked away, Alysse's purse was heavier with a small brass key. She was a thief, and she enjoyed it. Perhaps she enjoyed it a bit too much.

Audani sat on the edge of her bed, impatiently pulling her guarded boot onto her foot with an overly aggressive tug. Her fiery hair fell around her shoulders as she muttered to herself, "So many rebels, so much action to be had, and here I lay in my quarters like useless skeever..." She secured her remaining boot around her knee and stood up, briefly shooting a glance to her side table. A sad sight to behold with only a few coins and an empty mug. Swiping them from it's rough surface, she pockets the gold and strides to the door, her foul mood radiating from every gesture. She pushes the door open with a low creak, peeking into the corridor with hopes that something exciting or at least different will grace it's stillness. Even without an event to rouse her restless mind, there should be a pint to be had somewhere.

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Another average day in Falkreath. The weather was dark and dreary with rain looking to be very likely from the grey clouds which mottled the horizon. Wynnter hummed to herself as she went about her day, Lod - the local blacksmith - had badly burned himself and needed healing as quickly as possible. He was probably her best customer come to think of it, one of the precious few people in town who's work meant he couldn't wait for a healing potion to run it's course. It hadn't taken long to fix him up, so Wynnter was on her way to the market, her coin purse just a slight bit heavier.

As she browsed the stalls, Wynnter pulled her hair down, picking up the odd bit of produce and giving whoever ran the stall some Septims. Freshly baked loaves, some newly killed meet and the latest crops filled her basket. Yes, another average day in Falkreath.

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He was awoken from his previous mind-set by a calling. A customer, at the trading stand he owned. It was Du'almak, of course. A darker-toned Imperial, not fighting alongside his Race's cause. He made his way closer, resting one arm against the counter-top. Making his way out of the leaning posture, he nodded. There was a small history between the two. They'd been moderate friends since Arnkel's arrival. Du'almak was responsible for the homesteading of his business, and would be there to use Arnkel as a recommendation. Without him at the start, it'd be a grim future for the Bard, tradesman and blade. There's a lot the two would trust each other with, having worked together on many Espionage Contracts for the town regarding the perculiar increase of Bandit Clans surrounding the Hold.

"So, what word on the street have you got me, this time? Anything I should pass down to other customers?" He smirked lightly to his acquaintance. That's the way it usually was. Arnkel as usually prepared to take the blame for leaking information, covering for his friend.

"If you consider a surprise visit important, then of course. With the Imperial Garrison here, according to what the Guard's say late at night, the Recruiting Officers are going to be here in about 5 minutes. We both know that there are strong Stormcloak supporters here, but that's only the start. Expecting some sort of ramble between the two sides as they try to recruit the entire town. If I were you, Arnkel, I'd make sure you have a good reason for keeping out."

"Huh...Well isn't that something. Cheers, today's going to be a little more interesting than the last, I presume? Well, I'll be sure to pick my side wisely. If we get the Stormcloak's to keep quiet, maybe no one will die, this time. Now, off you go...I've got customers to inform...NEXT!"

The many stalls of the market were boasting some interesting wares. Alysse just smiled gently and nodded to those she recognized as fingers twitched with a itch known to a certain group in Riften. She reached the stall her heard about, her amber-brown eyes glancing over his wares as she stood politely off to the side. Indicating interest if not buying something immediately. Her basket balanced with ease on her hip. Out of the way, and close enough to ward off the pick pockets, well other than herself. She had already decided this one was far too risk to snatch from, and she was too familiar a face. Standing well over her own height had some hand in the matter. The keen shopkeeper would take care of the rest. "Happen to have any books, merchant? Or perhaps you might recommend something?" She smiled with a slightly apologetic smirk. "Hard to find something you've never seen nor heard tell of." With a light laugh she continued to view his wares. "Though, might you know how the rest of the world fares? I've lost touch in my old age and potion fumes."

---

Not long after his beckoning of new customers, Arnkel was faved with a vastly, if exaggerated, smaller individual. The person seemed very enthusiastic about her shopping list, which seemed more than out of the ordinary. People like these usually behind some plot to disrupt small-time businesses in hopes to benefit themselves. It's what he had learnt from his trading stops in Riften and Windhelm those years ago. Yet, it wasn't his privacy to snoop around, whether it was truthful or not, especially when small coin was on the line. He looked upon what she was ordering, listening carefully. Taking notes of stockage and customer exchanges were crucial to the trading industry, especially when so keen to catch the odd Purse-Snatcher.

"Happen to have any books, Merchant? Or perhaps you might recommend something? Hard to find something you've never seen nor heard told of. Though, might you know how the rest of the world fares? I've lost touch in my old age and potion fumes." She seemed legitmate, seemed. But it wasn't his place to judge customers with simple requests. Books and World, most likely local, news. It was plausible, and respectful. He responded in the cheerful bartering voice the community knew him by, not by the serious, focused tone.

"Ahh, a reader, resorting to the old techniques of entertainment, I see?" He let out a low chuckle his hands moving to shuffle throughout a resource crate. As they rummaged through, he'd hum the tune of the introductory verse to The Dragonborn Comes. "Aha, you're in luck. I've got five left...this actually could be my reminder for new stocks...Anyway, we've got a few titles here: The Great War, Tales of Nordic Misfortune, which I must say is a good classic of mine, Zu'Laru's Treasure, Oslo's Fortune, a direct sequel, and for some reason a Whiterun 'Home Decorating Guide' for a homestead called...Eh, text's a bit smudged? Unless you're from there, I'd expect it isn't much of a good-seller...As for a recommendation, try finding a copy of Arnkel's Traveling Shop, real good one." He gave yet another cheeky grin at the, to him, comical response. "Right, the news...Well, there was a bandit assault in Whiterun. Real dirty work, probably seven guards and two citizens killed from it. Haven't got names, but it's worth looking into it. Anyway, The Jarl there retaliated and sent the Guards to finally deal with the group. I think they were called the Lower-Blade or something...Problem is, they were successful. The problem with that is they've been driven back quite far, Oroa from our Guard's Barracks said he sighted some near...mus t've chosen Falkreath as a new settling ground. More locally, if you wait a few minutes, the Imperial Recruitment detachment will arrive..I'm sure that'll stir up way more trouble than we are all hoping for." Actually, the truth was, he wasn't expecting peace. It there was a small ruckus, then it'd be more than exciting for the Redguard, Arnkel.