Kris had to work hard to keep her teeth from chattering. Her native Daggerfall endured hard winters from time to time but nothing like this. Winters in Skyrim were famously harsh but the campfire stories hadn't prepared her for the brutal reality. She had to admit that a decade of campaigning in Cyrodill and Valenwood had done little to remind her of her northern roots.

"We are Imperial spies come to murder Ulfric Stormcloak in his bed, now let us in or kill us, I'm too cold to care much which," Kris retorted grumpily. The guards roared with laughter at that and on held out a sputtering torch illuminating her face.

"Ah a Breton with the funny mouth," one of the guards chuckled before repeating the proccedure with Dax.

"And an Argonian... well come on inside before you freeze the rest of the way to death," a redbeared man invited, turning back towards the impressive gates.

Even at night Windhelm was an impressive place. Soaring Nord architecture and impressive fortifications. Stormcloak banners hung from the walls and the blue and black were displayed on many doors with twined ribbon that fluttered and snapped in the breeze. Kris frowned in distaste. If Ulfric had wanted to lead the people of the Empire to smash the Aldmeri Dominion she would have cheered him as loudly as anyone, but his ambitions took him no father than Skyrim and that meant that all his petty rebellion really did was divide Imperials when they needed unity most. She kept those thoughts to herself.

The city was quiet, most beggars and vendors had been forced inside by the night bitter cold, though a few bedraggled and hopeful looking prostitutes cried their dubious wares. Guard duty being what it was a few of those girls might find their efforts repaid when the watch changed.

"Lets find an inn and some soup before I freeze to death," Kris told Dax.

Luckily for them, the Candlehearth Hall was just in front of the gate to welcome any newcomers and visitors. The guard pointed their way and another dozen meters forward, they found the wooden sign screeching back and forth through the wind. A golden circle with three candles at its center. Dax grabbed the latch and pulled the door open without hesitating, streaming cold air into the graciously warm common room.

Kris came in just behind him, her cloak matted with thin ice shards that were already beginning to melt as Dax closed the door behind her. The Argonian hissed irritably as the weather's cold faded from his scales. It had been a long boat ride and an unrelenting trek through the snow, but they finally found a safe place and city yo make their stay at. Perhaps the two of them would part ways at some point soon, but as of now they both needed a bed and some hot food.

"This here's Candlehearth Hall. Great room's upstairs, an' there's a bed for rent on the ground floor." A golden haired woman said, the lines on her face giving her creeping age away. She seemed to beam at the new guests, absent-mindedly wiping the counter with a cloth. "I am Elda Early-Dawn, and you two look like a bear got to you. I bet you both might just want some food for now though, I can guess. Some hot mead maybe?"

The buildings outdoors were beautifully built with carved statues that caught the wander eye. Within, it looked fairly plain. Wooden floors and round tables with chairs and the smell of hot food wafting in the air. A connoisseur of inn's would at least appreciate the two firepits that bisected the room and the double chairs and single table set that matched both. As the name of the inn implied, there were candled a-plenty.

Daixanos didn't answer the woman. He creeped over to one of the roaring flames and removed his hood and cloak, revealing his crimson scales and fearsome reptilian visage. Were he not removing a piece of clothing followed by very dangerous and very humanoid weapons, he'd look very much like a grumpy beast from the wilderness finding a cave for the night. The fire eased his temperament slightly, and the Argonian began to relax and grow almost languidly apathetic to his surroundings.
@Penny

"Stew and ale for me and my friend," Kris told the Nord, drawing a septim from her pocket and flicking it over to the woman. Elda made the coin disappear with enviable skill and turned to hurry of towards the hearth where a pot of pork stew simmered and boiled over the cookfire. Kris looked mournfully down at her empty purse. The priests were wrong when they said that revenge was not satisfying, but it certainly didn't pay well. At most she had a dozen septims left, enough to eat for a day or two if the fare wasn't too fancy. Well she had been broke before she supposed.

During the sea voyage from Morrowind she had spoken at some length with Halfdan at some length about the situation in Skyrim. Stormcloaks in the north and east, skirmishing with the central cities around Whiterun, Tullius with the three legions up in Solitude, trying to force his way east towards Winterhold to take the passes south to to Winterhold. Ulfric's navy, Nord pirates who had come down with patrotic fever when Ulric started paying and the raiding on the north coast grew too tempting. Halfdan had even spoken of Thaelmor around Markarth though that might just be rumor and fancy. Halfdan's opinion seemed to be that anyone who didn't sail the seas was a fool, a coward and a milk drinker to boot, which made his grasp of political matters colorful but less than reliable. Whatever was truth and whatever was fiction, people with swords would not starve in Skyrim and any Thaelmor agents looking for them after their adventure in Morrowind would have to tread very carefully indeed.

"Here is your stew Breton," Elga announced appearing beside Kris with a bowl of meaty broth and a generous crust of bread. She sat them beside the former legionnaire and then handed her a mug of ale. Kris took a bite of the bread, discovered it was mostly stale and then dunked it in the stew before hungrily devouring it. Elga produced the same for Dax, though she was a little cooler towards the Argonian. Kris moved her chair over closer to the Argonian hoping the food and drink would restore him to something closer to his former self.

"Eat," she encouraged around a mouthful of bread, "Its good!"

Dax had ever been aloof and dangerous, but he did glance at Kris and followed her insistent pressing. He placed the bowl of broth to what one might consider 'lips' and he began to drink. Great gulps of air, liquid, and meat were swallowed every few seconds. It seemed very much like an alligator opening its throat. By the end of the guzzling, he finally picked up the spoon to stick it in his mouth, loosening some chunks caught in his moderately sharp teeth.

"Yesss, I do feel better." He admitted, and placed the bowl and spoon down. Elga and what few patrons she had in the common room had been watching, but the show was over. He had the bread in a far more mannish fashion, biting off small swathes of the wheat roll and chewing with his mouth thankfully closed. The hunter's tail twitched lightly in small joy at his belly being filled. "I often am not fond of most Landstrider cuisine, but this did it for me. I had forgotten how long it had been since we had eaten."

"And where do you two come from?" A Nord asked, leaning on the back of his chair. He was an older man with a greying bushy beard and even bushier eyebrows. There were two bronze braids that framed his hearty facial hair.

Daixanos raised his gaze up to the man and waiting a few moments before saying. "Darkwater Crossing."

It was the only place in Skyrim he knew of that had a reputation for having some Argonian settlers, though he was certain he'd meet some more eventually. The Nord looked to Kris and met her gaze for a moment, and then he shrugged and decided it was none of his business. If Dax could smile as a man would, he likely would have. Many people thought the Nords isoloationist and hard to get along with, with some even accusing them of racism. Though in Dax's experience, all peoples had those problems.

The Nords were much like the Argonians in many ways. Distrustful of outsiders because they have been persecuted in the past by invaders and interlopers. Tough people in a harsh land. He might not like any of them, nor they him. But they had his respect if nothing else.

"How long is the storm supposed to last?" an Imperial asked down past the first firepit. Dax would like to know too, even with a full belly he felt somewhat annoyed at the snow piling up outside.
@Penny

"Storm?" A one eyed Nord laughed derisively, "boy this is not storm, a balmly fall day is all!" The surrounding Nord roared with laughter at the comment. Kris managed to avoid rolling her eyes by long practice. Such nonsensical bragadicio was nothing knew to her, she had known Nord scouts to lose toes to frostbite rather than admit it was snowing. Everything in Skyrim was always bigger, badder and more ferocious than anywhere else. The Imperial who had asked the question cursed bitterly.

"How am I ever to get my goods to Whiterun before the snows block the passes?" he whined. One of the local Nords, drunker than the others, staggered to his feet and let out a deafening belch. He took a couple of steps towards the merchant, drops of ale dribbling from his lank blond beard as he did so.

"You trading with those traitors in Whiterun, we ought to string you up for collaborating Imperial," the man snarled. The merchant might have done any number of things to defuse the situation, calling back an insult would probably have worked, simply ignoring the drunken boor might have done the job too, instead the man's hand instinctively went to the hilt of a short sword he wore buckled beneath his cloak. The Nord let out a bellow and lurched forward, lifting up the table and dumping it, contents and all atop the merchant. The Imperial rolled under it, coming up with his shoulder braced, driving it into the Nord's stomach hard enough to drive the wind from his lungs in an audible woof. Men and women of a half dozen kingdoms were grabbing for weapons now and at least one, a sinister looking dark elf, appeared to be readying a spell. Kris picked up a clay flagon and hurled it at the elf striking him between the eyes with a thunk a moment before the bar disintegrated into chaos.

"Get the lizard men!" another Nord shriekd, rushing at an Argonian who has been sitting quietly in the corner oppoiste to Dax and Kris. A pair of wood elves leaped to their feet a moment before a Kaijhit slashed at one of them with clawed fingers. The bar was rapidly dissolving into a melee of people out to settle grudges real or imagined. Kris wasn't eager to see the inside of a jail when the Stormcloaks arrived and she tried to back away, but the Nord who had precipitated the fight grabbed the merchant and hurled him at her. His body struck her a glancing blow and sent her spinning to the ground. Roaring like a bear the Nord rushed after his intended victim. Kris drove her booted foot hard against the side of his knee as he passed. The Nord howled with pain as he went down in a crash, fingers outstretched for the merchants throat.

The Imperial man leaped at Dax with little warning, the rage of the north some how infecting him as it did the rest of the landstriders. Diaxanos ducked under his blow, grasping his outstretched arm like a flying fish and yanked forward with his shoulder, sending the Imperial bowling over to hit another charging Nord that had nearly been in range to flatten Kris. Dax heard the crunch and knew a bone had likely been broken, but he cared very little. They might not heal as quickly as Argonians, but they still healed. His snide thought was driven out of him when someone broke a chair over his back, shattering the wood with the force. Dax staggered forward, and on instinct sent his tail whipping upwards like a bullwhip, scraping across the soft flash he figured was on his attacker's face. There was a cry of terror and a stumbling as whoever had attacked him tripped over and fell out of the fight.

Kris had yet to draw steel, but Dax saw that look in her eyes when she regained her feet and knocked the teeth out of the Dunmner there. Dax was jealous for that, but decided he could hit a Dunmner later. Right now he had to dodge a thrown mug of frosted ale.

"Hey, that's expensive stuff!" The inn keeper, Elda Early-Dawn, cried. She held a cudgel and looked to have already whacked a rowdy patron over the head with it, the unconscious fellow at her feet. Daixanos at least guessed he was unconscious as there was no blood on the rod.

All of the sudden, two nords grabbed Dax by both of his arms. Dax planted his feet firmly on the ground and under a table leg, squaring his form to keep his center of gravity relatively stable. He could smell their rank, human breath spilling onto him as they tried to wrest him from the ground. To their surprise, they found him hard to move. Dax wasn't as large as the two men, but he was large for one of his race and he was all muscle with almost no fat on his body. Granted, he couldn't exactly shake out of their grips either, but he kept them in check at the moment with sheer stubborn resolve.

"Filthy lizard!" One grunted, only for Kris to knock him flat with a guantleted fist, crushing his nose with a spray of blood. The fluid spritzed on Dax's crimson skin, losing itself on the similar colored arm that Dax used to elbow the other nord with into his stomach. It knocked the wind out of him, clearly. With a hiss of distaste, he shoved the fellow who tripped over Dax's tail just as the Argonian intended, hitting the ground. His head smacked against a fallen table, and even Dax and Kris winced at the 'snap' they heard from the impact.

"Are you..ok?" Dax asked Kris, still unused to being with a traveling companion. She was about to reply when a clapping sound rose above the now-silence of the barroom. Dax hadn't even noticed everyone had either fled or were knocked out. The two turned their heads to see a burly nord in the corner, who looked a true warrior in stature and trappings. Far more than these civilian hooligans, at the very least.

"Impressive! Very impressive..." He said, his accent thick on his tongue. "You have the capacity to be Stormcloaks, I think. Of course, you look like ones who don't wish to be involved in politics. I will leave you to decide. Nevetheless, I know someone who might have an offer for you on a job, if you're willing."

"And who is that?" Kris asked.

"Follow me. Let me take you to Ulfric Stormcloak."
@Penny

Kris squared her shoulders, lip curling in distaste. The effect was somewhat spoiled by the blood that ran from her split lip. To her Ulfric Stormcloak was a traitor to be reviled, not a friend to be visited. The Nord sized her up with a glance, evidently no stranger to such reactions. He held up his palms in a guesture of friendly negation which did nothing at all to dull the steel in his eyes.

"I can take you Ulfric or I can take you to Ulfric," he said, his tone still friendly but the slight change in emphasis as clear and sharp as an autumn afternoon. Kris cast a look at Dax and then shrugged her shoulders.

"When in Windhelm I suppose..."

_____________________________________

At this late hour the throne room was not precisely packed but at any time Ulfric held court, he could expect attendance. The infamous Yarl of Windhelm lounged on his stone throne, a great fur cloak tossed over his shoulders that seemed to fit him far better than the silk finery that made up the rest of his costume. In his hands he held a crown worked to resemble a score of intertwined sword blades. Men and a few women lined the ancient stone throne room, mostly in armor and all armed, they had a hungry look, like a pack of dogs straining at the hunters leash. They eyed Kris and Dax as they were escorted towards the throne, between Dax being an Argonian and Kris' obviously Imperial Legion leathers, they glances were less than warm.

"Yarl Ulfric," their escort began without preamble.

"These two handled themselves well in a brawl at the Winds Favor, they are new comers to our city and no doubt eager to prove their loyalty to you and to Skyrim, for an appropriate fee of course." The last remark bought a hearty laugh that seemed to somewhat cut the tension in the room. Kris revised their guide from tough bastard, to clever tough bastard.

"Approach then and let me look at you," Ulfric boomed.

Windhelm Hall was as contrastingly austere and pompous as most Landstrider landmarks Daixanous had seen throughout his time at Skyrim. The drab but sturdy stone towered over them, the walls lined with tapestries, war trophies, or the skulls of great beasts. He could at least understand the latter two to some extent. The nords were men, but they had a martial, primitive view on the world he could appreciate. For Dax's part, he approached the throne, though he did not bow before the 'barbarian king.' A large nord brute approached him, pointing at the stone floor.

"Kneel, lizard."

"No!" Ulfric called with an upraised hand, sternly gazing at his retainer before the nord backed off dejectedly. Ulric fixed his gaze on Dax. "My apologies, noble warrior. Your people are known to me, and from what I have heard, you have fought like a beast in the tavern. Tell me, do you know of the Argonian Hunter living near Falkreath?"

"I am he." Was all Dax replied. The solidly built argonian stood tall but easily, like a deceptively lounging hunting cat, ready to spring at a moment's notice. His frills still had bits of coated snowflakes at their ends, though the warmth of the hearth was beginning to warm the lizard-man's body quite nicely. For his part, Ulfric laughed heartily.

"Then it is a great honor! Most of your people slink about, but you prowl the forests and kill even giants with your arrows!"

There was a long pause, the argonian tilting his head. "My people are escaped slaves. They have little means to make a living, and no skills such as mine from their servitude." Dax reiterated. The men around them murmured, but not necessarily disrespectfully.

Ulfric acquiesced with a nod. "Forgive me. It is not your people I seek to run out of Skyrim. Only the Imperials, and their spies are comprised of members of every man, mer, and beastman they hold sway over. I cannot afford to trust easily, and so I trust no one until it is safe. Though I speak too hastily, for the mer are the ones who order the imperials about. Weaklings, I say! You, good hunter, came to this land to seek your fortune and hold yourself honorably. You are welcomes in my hall."

A few of the more silent men nodded in acceptance, though a few of the nords seemed uneasy by this proclamation. Daixanos stepped to the side and spread a hand toward's Kris.

"This landstrider travels with me. She is welcome too, if you would have her. Or I would leave you, as the Hist wills."

Ulfric's eyes shifted too Kris, who would have just as soon he kept his attention on Dax. It had been several years since she had officially been part of the Legion but her leather armor and equipment were obvious marks of that affiliation. The Yarl's eyes were cool and glacier blue as he looked at her and a murmur ran through the court.

"Greetings Landstrider," Ulfric said with a touch of humor to his voice.

"Ulfric," Kris responded with deliberate informality. It was foolish in the extreme she knew and in her mind she had prepared herself to bow and scrape, but now that she was here she found herself unable to follow through on such a sensible plan. Silently she prayed that it didn't splash back on Dax.

"That is Yarl Ulfric!" one of the henchmen spat.

"I'm pretty sure they strip you of your titles once you murder your king," Kris responded. The hall erupted in angry shouts and there was a general scraping of weapons clearing scabbards. Kris didn't reach for her own weapon, if they decided to kill her there wasn't much she was going to do about it with her sword.

"SILENCE!" Ulfric shouted, and it was more than mere words, it struck like a gale and rattled the stones like the blast of a great wind. In the wake of the command a quiet so profound that Kris could feel her heart beating fell over the room.

"This woman is a guest in my hall... even if she chooses to be discourteous," Ulfric continued in a regular speaking voice.

"And you are mistaken Breton, they don't strip Jarls of titles for killing a man in a fair duel," Ulfric replied in a tone that suggested he had made the remark many times in the past. Kris shrugged her shoulders.

"Must have been for the rebellion then," she added, getting more angry grumbles from the hangers on.

"You were in the Legion I see," Ulfric said, changing the topic.

"I was with the Tenth, back during the war," Kris admitted, casting her eyes to the side at the glares she was receiving. It would have been a very good idea to take the olive branch that was being offered, but once again she found she couldn't. How was Ulfric any different from the man she had hunted for betraying his comrades?

"Good men..." Ulfric began.

"And Mer as well," Kris put in stubbornly. This time Ulfric didn't bother to respond, he just gave her a look that invited her to go on if she had more to say.

"Are you with the Empire now Legionnaire? Are you spying for Tullius?" Ulfric asked, sounding like a cat playing with a mouse.

"I'm just a pensioner," Kris replied, managing to reign in her tongue before it managed to put her in an early grave.

"Do you swear that by your ancestors?" Ulfric asked. Kris nodded glibbly.

"You bet," she replied sweetly.

Ulfric weighed the statement in his mind, and after a moment of consideration, he looked as if he had made up his mind. "Very well, you are welcome here. And though I doubt you will believe me, I have no ill will towards Bretons or even full-blooded mer, as long as they do not commit fealty to the Thalmor. You forget, I was a Legionnare myself once, like mighty Talos. Unlike the Imperials, however, I will not bow to those who sought to slaughter my people as they have with the Thalmor. The once mighty empire are now whipped dogs, and Skyrim wants no part in it."

"I have heard others in this land think differently," Kris remarked with a smile. "The Thalmor are enslaving bastards, but do not become that which you hate, good Jarl Ulfric."

Her tone was mocking, but Ulfric finally laughed. Loudly. "You should look at your own history, Imperial. There is no people on Tamriel who have subjugated more than your people, and they still seek to do it here. Only now under someone else's dominion. I only wish to leave Skyrim to the Nords, as Blackmarsh is left to the people of your friend." He extended a hand at Dax, and more than a few eyes fell on him.

Truth be told, Daixanos cared nothing about the politics of men and elves. The nords of skyrim were fine people, for landstriders, but they were divided and he wasn't going to direct them one way or the other. The followers of the Hist did not have the fondest memories of Imperials attempting to conquer their lands, but their main enemies were the Dunmer. He still felt the jarring of his arm when he last struck and killed one of the wretched dark elves with his axe.

"We are welcome in your hall," Daixanos repeated slowly, promptly changing the subject. "But why are we here? You have not put ussss in c-chainssss." He looked visibly uncomfortable at the mention of the word. "Do me the honor of telling me why. You are not recruiting us, are you?"

Ulfric stroked his blonde beard, sobering up. He was very passionate about the current political divide, but he wouldn't be the leader if he could not cool himself at will. "You are right, my friend. I did invite you two for a reason. You see, there is another threat to Skyrim that is not Imperial, and I cannot send my men or it will spark the war I hope to avoid for now. You must do this, and if you do, you will be greatly rewarded by whatever you wish from the Jarl of Windhelm."

"I suppose that excludes laying down arms and surrendering to Imperial justice?" Kris put in, cursing herself for her stubborn streak. Ulfric boomed a laugh that was quickly taken up by his hangers on.

"You are a bold one Breton. Anything within reason I should have said," Ulfric replied, he was still smiling but a slight chill in his eyes told Kris that she was pressing her luck further than she should. Ordinarily that might not have stopped her, but a sideways glance from Dax reminded her that it might not be her head alone that she was putting on the block. Nothing in all the world was do vile as a traitor, and petty would be tyrants who would rather carve up the Empire than stand against the Thalmor made her insides burn with bile and contempt. With a visible effort she managed to control herself.

"There is a village along the river that serves as border between Windhelm and Whiterun," Ulfric continued, clearly taking her silence for agreement, however reluctant. Hammerstone they call it, for the old mines in the hills. Something is terrorizing the villagers there. I cannot send my soldiers without Jarl Balgruuf interpreting it as an attack, and I suspect he feel similarly constrained." Kris' knowledge of Skyrim was scanty but she seemed to recall that the center and south of the country were its agricultural heartland. Moving against Whiterun, already a powerful Jarldom, would bring a swift response from the Imperial Legion at Solitude and do so on terrain that was greatly to the Imperial's advantage. Ulfric's Stormcloaks were at their strongest in rugged terrain like that around Windhelm and would suffer on the plains. Further more such an attack would force the Jarl's to choose sides in the nascent civil war. Something Ulfric clearly wasn't ready for. His best bet of disloging the Imperial garrison at Solitude was to sway enough of the country to his cause that they couldn't manuever without opening up their supply lines to attack. That still wouldn't get the Legion out of Solitude, but Kris suspected that the Thalmor would be happy to foment trouble elsewhere to help Ulfric realize his petty ambitions at great cost to the Empire.

"I need strong blades who will do what is best for the people, and I am willing to pay handsomely."

Their sleep in the Palace of Kings was fitful but welcome compared to the prospect of camping in the fierce blizzard. Even the hunter Daixanos wasn't keen on the prospect of sleeping outside this night, and so they accepted the Jarl's hospitality despite political differences. The Argonian himself slept on the floor, but laid near one of the hearths to keep his cold-blooded form limber. He was allowed his own area, preferring his solitude.

Early that morn, Galmor Stone-fist met with them after they had eaten a heart breakfast, bringing them into the planning room where no doubt many assaults on Imperial forces had been planned. A map of Skyrim was laid out on the slab of a table, knives and nordic fetishes pinned to it in various places. He spoke with a rustic, northern accent and a voice like grinding stone, but he sounded was anything but a dumb brute by the weight of his words and the surety of his posture.

"It's two days walk from the gates of Windhelm to Valtheim Towers. I have not been there since last spring, but my scout, Waldulf, informed me the locals no longer consider it a welcome crossing. You've been given three days provisions and water to match. If you must take water from the river, do not step in it. Boats do not travel there for a reason. If the crabs do not get you, the current will. Which makes the crossing even more dangerous, so beware."

"No horses?" Kris asked, though she had doubted the prospect initially. Mounts were expensive, and it was doubtful Ulfric trusted them enough to come back with the beasts in good health.

"The road is steep, and the crossing is not fit for a horse. Unless you rode to Riverwood, it will be impossible." Galmor replied, looking at Kris and her companion without betraying any emotion. There was a hardness to his gaze that looked as if it could turn to wrath in an instant, but he seemed a hard enough man to reign his rage in save only for his true enemies. The berserker tendencies of the nords were not to be unleashed lightly. "Come back as soon as you are able, honored guests."

Dax gave a nod, but did not speak. His bow held easily in his clawed hand, he simply walked out of the room with Kris like as not behind him. He imagined his constant state of silence was grating, but she had told him she was a soldier. Placing action higher than words was hopefully not a new concept to her. He had never been too keen on conversation, even amongst his Hist brothers. Tsleeixth had always been the speaker. He still missed his old friend.

The air outside was crisp, but the sun kissed his reptilian snout and his crocodilion tail lashed in anticipation. The nords and refugees of Windhelm alike watched them leave, one Dunmner woman muttering about 'lazy argonians' as she poured out some spoiled soup into the sewers. Dax did not look at her or even stop, as he normally would.

His mind was on the hunt this day.

When Kris had first joined the Legion she had been given the choice between an engineering unit and the scout. Few women had the physiques for the line companies or the cavalry though a number of them usually found their way into the archers. Becoming an engineer was a coveted position because after your twenty years you had a trade as well as your pension to live on but Kris had declined. In her heart she loved the outdoors and the wilds. Cities and towns were find places to spend your pay, but give her an open sky and a dense forest any day. In this regard Skyrim did not disappoint. As they trudged up the steep roadway, they were treated to magnificent views of the city and the bay beyond. Mountains seemed to claw at the sky in all direction, their sides covered with thick pine forests that chirruped and hummed with birdsong.



It was almost enough to make her forget she was working for traitors.



The thought was sour in her mouth and she uncorked a bottle of mead and took a swig. It was too sweet but had a warming burn to it that was bracing in the chill air. It had been a simple matter to memorize the map and dispositions in the Stormcloak war room, but it seemed unlikely they would run into any Imperial troops to share the information with. Tulius was, by all reports, up near Solitude with his legions, reluctant to plunge ham fisted into a cauldron of rebellion, trying to work with the local Jarls while that remained an option. Maybe she could send a raven when they got where they were going. Hello General, you don’t know me but I got a look at Ulfric’s war room and know where all his troops are. You can definitely trust me and this is not a trap. Bah. The road was thick with refugees moving down towards Windhelm, their meagre possessions piled on their backs. A few of the wealthier sorts had wagons, loaded to the axels creaked with furniture and other belongings. No one seemed to be heading west up the road. Kris got more than a few hard looks, her leather armor was distinctively Imperial even though she had forgone her red cloak in favor of a forest green one to reduce the chances of being shot from ambush by some would be Stormcloak. Veterans were common in Skyrim afterall regardless of political affiliations. Skyrim had long provided more than its share of Legionnaires. Only Cyrodil herself produced more, and Cyrodil had ten times the population of this mountainous land. With the White Gold Concordite and the disbanding of many legions, there were discharged troops a plenty. Some were with Ulfric now, eager to fight and die for something, even if it was the dream of a self-important moron. Others had, no doubt, turned to banditry or mercenary work. A small fraction had maybe even settled down and made lives for themselves, though Kris found that hard to fathom.



Dax walked confidently along beside her, oblivious to the hard looks he got from many of the refugees. Like Dark Elves, Argonians were not popular in these parts. Too different to be comfortable at a time when so much was up in the air. Even in the legion Argonians were rare, though that didn’t mean unknown. Some had even won renown. Skixti Blackskin who had swum the Colovia in full flood to burn the Thalmor supply train before Kendas. Kamois Twice-Bitten with his great axe that could cut a horse in two in a single blow. Gam-Kur Nine-Toes who had stormed the breach and Enden. She glanced at Dax, wondering what he made of all this. Did it matter to him? Was it just human nonsense far from Blackmarsh, none of his business? Was it any of hers? High Rock was on the other side of the province and Daggerfall even further. A disturbance up ahead dragged her out of such thoughts.

Three men in tattered pieces of armor had come out of the trees and were shouting at one of the wagon drivers. The man shouted back, his face red. Two women, possibly a wife and a daughter were drawn up atop the wagon, trying to keep out of the range of the grasping men. Kris and Dax exchanged looks. They weren’t in High Rock or Blackmarsh, but they both hurried forward. One of the bandits had stopped the wagon by grabbing hold of the reigns of the tired dray pulling it. The beast whickered and whined nervously.



“We are questioning refugees,” the leader snarled, “Ulfric Stormcloaks orders. Cant be too careful!” That brought a laugh from his men, who were continuing with their game of trying to grab the women.

“I suggest you sod off before we have to question you too outlanders,” he added, patting a rusted axe in threat. There was a slight rustle in the trees in the woodline above. Kris didn’t turn her head, but her eyes tracked upwards, making a pair of men, probably archers, crouching in the woods above.