C.o.t.D: Chapter 14 (Arc 2 Prologue) - The Storm Before The Coming

  • Chapter 14: The Storm Before The Coming

    13th Last Seed, 4E 201

    “No sign of the Legion.” Ralof declared as he stood on a tree overlooking the road.

    “How much longer is our watch? I’m tired.” Halstein yawned after he asked.

    They were both on watch for nearly 4 hours, looking for any signs of the Imperial Legion. The night was both a boon and bane for them for they were shrouded in darkness but so too is the enemy.

    “What was that?” Ralof heard a twig snapped from behind them. He readied his bow strapped on his back, nocked an arrow and aimed at the bushes. He only needed to see a small glint of steel or red to know if it was a Legionnaire.

    Instead, a pair of horns appeared from the bushes followed by two Stormcloak soldiers, their replacements.

    “Keep your arrows in your quiver, Ralof.” One of them said. “We’re here to replace you two lots. Head back to camp and go get some rest.”

    The sight of the soldiers filled both of them with relief. Halstein was practically overjoyed by their arrival. He was finally able to snug under a pile of fur for the night. “Finally I could get some shut eye.”

    “And I can finally eat.” Ralof added.

    The two arrived at Fort Amol, a fortified Stormcloak camp. It barely resembles a fort with its crumbling walls and makeshift wooden palisades built to cover up the gaps. The courtyard was empty and quiet except for the sound of hammer banging metal at the smithy and the faint footsteps of Stormcloaks patrolling the walls.

    Halstein sinked into his bed of fur the moment they stepped inside. The poor man deserved it after spending hours without his eyelids shut. The air smelled of bacon that made Ralof’s belly grumble.

    He went to the dining hall, hoping to get a strip of bacon. The soldiers that gathered around greeted him and passed him a bottle of mead and a strip of bacon. They shared stories to pass the time. Ralof never minded their stories. But what he was really concerned about is why he was here, they were here?

    Ulfric had called out for all his top lieutenants to gather in Fort Amol. It had to be important as the Jarl hand-picked a few of his finest warriors to be his escort, including him.

    Maybe the Jarl has finally found a way to drive off the Empire? Ralof thought as he sipped his mead.

    On his left, he overheard three soldiers talking about the Empire. “Did you hear the news from Solitude?” said one of them, “No, what of it? The Empire finally decided to pack up and leave?” replied the other one, chuckling. “No, you half-twit. They sent a new general to handle the Rebellion.”

    “Aye,” The third one added. “From what I heard, he once commanded a legion during the Great War, all the way until Red Ring.” He burped for a moment before continuing. “And he’s an Imperial, so I don’t think Jarl Ulfric would get into him.”

    It doesn’t matter if it’s an Imperial or a Nord leading the Legion, the Stormcloaks will never back down so easily. Ralof always believed that Ulfric Stormcloak had the right of it; that Skyrim belongs to the true Nords, the Nords that still worship Talos and not those who submit to the rule of the Thalmor. When he heard of the Rebellion, he soon left Riverwood and headed to Windhelm to join. He’d never thought he would’ve reached this far in just a year.

    “Ralof,” Someone called him out. “Ulfric wants to see you in the Captain’s quarters.”

    And here I thought I was going to finally have some sleep. Ralof quickly obeyed and headed towards the Captain’s quarters, which serves as a meeting room for the Stormcloak leaders on the second floor. A pair of guardsmen opened the door and let him in.

    When he entered, the Bear was conversing with his lieutenants. He was all in grey. A fur-lined coat covered the breastplate protecting his chest and steel bracers that were dull in color. He was always seen in armor, whether it be just a piece of metal plate in front of his chest or a full set of steel plate armor.

    “Are you sure these reports are correct, Galmar?” Ulfric asked Galmar Stone-Fist, a man with the size of a bear and an appearance of one.

    “Yes Ulfric. Our scouts have seen the Imperials crossing the mountain pass. I’ve already had Thorygg Sun-Killer send a courier to warn the soldiers at Fort Neugard should they get attacked.”

    “Are you really sure about that, Galmar?” Gonnar Oath-Giver asked in suspicion. He was commander of the Stormcloaks in the Rift, “Because my men haven’t seen a single redcloak coming out from that mountain pass.”

    Galmar’s furrowed his eyebrows. “Do you think I would lie in front of Ulfric Stormcloak, Gonnar? The future High-King of Skyrim?”

    “Ysmir’s beard! Of course not. It’s just odd that your reports don’t line up with mine.”

    “Gonnar’s right, my friend,” Ulfric put a hand on the Nord’s fur-padded shoulder to calm him down; “Perhaps the Imperial milk-drinkers have forged our reports. I want that courier to stay here; make sure he doesn’t leave this fort.”

    “It’ll be done, my Jarl.” Gonnar placed a fist on his right chest as a sign of salute and left.

    Ulfric glanced at Ralof who stood there during his conversation. “Are you going to stand there or is there something you need, soldier?” He asked, sending a chill down the young Nord’s spine.

    “You called for me, my Jarl.” Ralof answered hesitantly. It was a rare opportunity to meet his hero and leader. Ulfric Stormcloak was like every other Nord born and raised in Skyrim; strong, resilient and bearded. The blonde on his hair and beard was a tone darker than his.

    Ulfric studied him for a moment before he spoke. “Ah yes, Ralof isn’t it? Come inside. There’s a tankard of mead if you’re thirsty.”

    Ralof went inside and grabbed the tankard of warm mead poured for him. He couldn’t believe that all the leaders of the Stormcloak are gathered under one roof. Among them was Hakkar Frostfinger wearing the colors of the Pale, Gunjold Iron-Wall in black iron armor banded with a blue sash around his waist and Tyrek the Red who led a group of sellswords called the Red Dawn to name a few. They were all seasoned veterans from the Great War with the scars and battle-hardened looks to prove it.

    “Galmar, fill the boy in,” said Ulfric.

    Galmar nodded and began, “Alright Ralof. As you can see, all of the Stormcloaks top lieutenants are gathered under one roof and you’ll probably ask yourself why. Well save your breath because that’s another thing we’ll discuss later. As for now, we need to discuss about your loyalty.”

    “My loyalty?” Ralof nearly spewed his drink when he heard it. He was concern on what Stone-Fist was trying to imply.

    “You’ve proven yourself to be a loyal soldier from the start and loyal soldiers will not go unrewarded. That said, I’m transferring you to the Stone Bear brigade.”

    Ralof tried to control his excitement. The Stone Bear brigade were the 2nd most elite brigade in the Stormcloak army and commanded by none other than Galmar Stone-Fist himself. Working under him would be a privilege most Stormcloaks would envy.

    “I won’t let you down, sir.”

    Galmar smiled. “Good because that’s what I want to hear from you. Now, onto the other reason why we called you here, what do you think about this letter?” He slid a letter towards him. It was sealed with the red dragon of the Imperial Legion.

    Ralof broke the seal and read its contents. “It’s… a threat?”

    “Aye, a threat; and a false one at that,” He spat into his empty tankard which rang like a small chapel bell. “The Imperials claim they have 1000 men and are preparing to attack Fort Amol at daybreak should we not surrender. I say they’re lying. You were on watch from dusk to midnight. Did you see anything suspicious?”

    “Not a single cloak of red or smoke in the woods, sir.” Ralof confidently answered.

    “Then that that proves they’re lying.”

    “I wouldn’t want to jump into that conclusion just yet, Galmar,” Tyrek added his voice into the table. His voice thick with the Yokudan accent, “Perhaps they want us to believe they’re lying. This is the Imperial Legion were facing here. They’re…”

    “A bunch of faithless dogs who bowed down to the Elves,” finished Galmar, “Why did we even invite you to this meeting? You’re not even a true Nord.”

    “True,” the Redguard admitted, “But you need swords and I have the swords and men to wield them. All I ask is a piece of the silver trade once we capture Markarth or should I remind you of Lake Yogrim?”

    Upon mentioning Lake Yogrim, Stone-Fist went silent in shame. Ralof knew about the Battle of Lake Yogrim. About 60 Stormcloaks led by Galmar were attacked by the Legion when they were pushed away from their camp and into the freezing waters of Lake Yogrim. They would’ve died if not for the arrival of the Red Dawn. It is said that the newly-formed ice caps above the lake were pale red in color as a reminder of those who had died.

    Tyrek turned towards Jarl Ulfric and said, “Jarl Ulfric, I think we need to be considerate when looking at this threat. We know that General Tullius has just assumed position as Military Governor of Skyrim and in the past few months, our raids have been far less… successful. I’d suggest we reinforce our walls and prepare the scorpions for the eminent attack.” A few of the lieutenants voiced their agreements except for Galmar who opined another idea.

    “Well I’d say we take the fight to the Imperials. Fort Amol’s an island; the only way they can attack us is through here,” He pointed at the rocky hills south-west of the fort in the map. “Just give me a hundred men and we’ll trap them in there before they could move. Let’s see if Tullius could fight his way out of that.” The other lieutenants also voiced their agreements on Galmar’s decision.

    The quarters soon bellowed with arguments and bickering. On one side, there was Galmar who preferred the old Nord way of charging into battle while on the other side; there was Tyrek who believes that a great offense is a good defense. The commotion was about to reach its highest before Ulfric slammed his tankard into the table, quelling the crowd down.

    “Enough!!” He roared his anger, “I will not have my commanders’ bicker like milk-drinkers. This is what Tullius expected. He wants our chain of command to collapse before he begins his supposed attack on us.” His anger soon calmed down. “I will decide on the best course of action. I request to be alone for a moment.”

    Obediently, the commanders left the room, Galmar being the first, followed by Tyrek and Gunjold and Hakkar. “Not you Ralof. I need to have a word with you.” Ulfric demanded when they were the only ones left. He had asked for the door to be closed.

    “My commanders are brave, strong and smart; yet they could never get along.” Ulfric expressed his frustration. “Where do you live Ralof?”

    “Riverwood; just between the borders of Falkreath and Whiterun. My sister works in the lumber mill there and is a supporter of your cause, my Jarl.”

    Our cause,” he corrected the young Nord. “Your one of us, remember?” He poured himself another tankard of mead to soothe his coarse throat. “Tell me, what is Jarl Balgruuf’s current standing in the war?”

    Ralof hasn’t been to Whiterun for a long time. He tried to remember the latest gossip he heard from the Sleeping Giant a while back. “I think he’s still neutral in the war, my Jarl.”

    “The Nine have been good on him so far. But sooner or later he must choose. I just hope my old friend will join the right one.” He took another sipped of his mead before he finally made up his mind. “Ralof, go and get the other commanders. It’s time I finally made my decision.”

    Before Ralof could leave, the room shook as if there had been a minor earthquake. Someone was banging the door, shouting for the Jarl. When he opened it, there stood Galmar with a battleaxe in one hand.

    “Ulfric, the Imperials have started their attack!”

    The Jarl rose up to his feet, “So soon!? Damn that Tullius. Damn him and the milk-drinking Jarls that sided with the Empire. Wake up the men!”

    Ralof quickly ran to the fort’s barracks. The entire fort was shaking as dust and small pieces of rocks started falling down from the age-old ceilings. He found Halstein still sleeping in his fur bed.

    “Halstein! Wake up!” Ralof shouted at him, shaking his body.

    “Please, not now mother. I’m full.” Halstein muttered. He was deep in his sleep.

    For the love of Talos, Ralof grabbed the fireplace poker from the nearby hearth and heated the hooked tip. “Sorry about this, Halstein,” he then gently poked the man’s butt with the heated tip.

    Halstein jumped out from his bed, screaming as he clenched the burn mark on his butt. “What in Oblivion possessed you to poke my arse with that poker!?”

    “The one that will save you from being squashed by a piece of debris,” Ralof retaliated. “Grab your gear and weapon, we’re under attack.”

    They headed to the armory where a few Stormcloaks were fastening their armor. Ralof grabbed a pair of steel pauldrons from a shelf and fastened them to his shoulders and grabbed a bow from a stand along with a quiver full of arrows and a steel shortsword. Halstein equipped himself with an iron breastplate and a spear.

    “100 Septims says I will get the most kills after this battle.” Halstein dared as they rushed to the front doors.

    “You’re on.”

    -----------

    Soldiers ran across the courtyard, some were carrying yard-long shafts for the scorpions while others ran to the front to cover any openings the catapults might have left. There were even a few men on fire, running away from the burning storage shed. The air burned of smoke, fire and sulfur from the nearby hotsprings.

    “Archers! Ready!” A voice ordered. When he looked at his right, Ralof saw Hakkar Frostfinger giving orders to the archers on the walls. “Draw!” Hakkar said, and then, “Loose!” The arrows whispered as they flew followed by the sounds of Legionnaires dying.

    “They’ve breached the western wall!” A voiced shouted.

    They saw the wooden palisades that covered the hole in the western wall destroyed. A red tide gushed into the courtyard before splitting to engage the Stormcloaks. The courtyard rang with the sound of steel clashing with steel and war cries and shouts.

    Ralof let loose a couple of arrows at the legionnaires, mostly the ones that were lightly armored. Halstein went ahead to support the shield wall that was being formed to drive out the Imperials. Ralof went up the walls to assist his fellow archers. He saw Galmar cleaving his way through legionnaire after legionnaire followed by Ulfric Stormcloak who was wearing a grey steel plated armor with bear motifs and wielding his signature war axe.

    “Death to the Stormcloaks!” The legionnaires cried out as a few of them charge for the Bear.

    Ulfric stood his ground, seemingly letting them charge at him. He took a deep breath and then, “Fus Ro Dah!” he let out a thundering shout that shook the battlefield.

    The legionnaires flew like ragdolls when the wave of force hit them. The men cheered, “Ulfric!” and “High-King!” as they followed their leader into battle. Blood and piss spilled the courtyard until Ralof had trouble identifying the Stormcloaks and the Legion due to their blood-covered blue cloths.

    I need to stay focus. He reminded himself. Ralof was a fine archer. But even the finest archers had trouble in the heat of battle. He was sweating; eyes looking for any Imperial they could glimpse on; every sound faded except for his breathing and heartbeat.

    “Ralof, look out!” Halstein shouted.

    Ralof snapped out from his focus when he heard a heavy clanking noise that went louder and faster and was tackled by a large shield and fell down into a hay bale. He crawled out of the hay bale; the dried yellow grasses prickled his skin. He heard a heavy clank dropping from behind him. Turning around, he saw a legionnaire clad in steel from head to heel walking towards him, sword and shield in hand.

    He managed to find his bow and fired two arrows at the armored legionnaire but it bounced off his shield like it was mere training arrows. He drew another arrow, this time he prayed to Kynareth to guide his arrow before letting it fly.

    The arrow flew before it was joined by another, shorter arrow. Ralof’s arrow made a dent on the legionnaire’s armor, but the second one made the killing blow, penetrating through the steel plate and hitting him directly in the heart.

    “Right in the heart,” A man said in a familiar accent. Ralof looked behind him and saw Tyrek the Red with an ornate crossbow in his hands. The Redguard wore a chainmail shirt over his red garb. Two slender scimitars hang from his sword belt.

     “Best you be more careful, boy.” He warned the Nord as he loaded another bolt onto his crossbow. “It would be very sad if Galmar sees your lifeless body amongst the dead.”

    Ralof heard Halstein calling for him and he quickly went to his location. The man's spear was dripping with blood.

    “So, how many did you kill?” He asked his friend.

    “Six.”

    “Hah! I killed seven. So that means I win.” Ralof boasted.

    Unsatisfied, Halstein glanced at a distracted Imperial in the courtyard and threw his spear at him, killing him as the spear buried itself in his belly.

    “We’re even now,” Halstein claimed.

    “I need eight men over here!” Galmar called out from near the stables.

    Galmar Stone-Fist was drenched in milk-drinker’s blood from chest to heel when Ralof and Halstein arrived. He looked more like a savage bear than a brute warrior. Ulfric was with him and so were Gonnar Oath-Giver and Gunjold Iron-Wall and a few other lieutenants. They were mounted on their horses, trying to calm them down as the battle outside raged on.

    “Alright Stormcloaks,” Galmar addressed to the eight soldiers, “The Imperials have us pinned, all of us. We can hold the fort, but with the presence of the Jarl and the Stormcloak commanders, I doubt the Empire will never stop.” He looked at Ulfric who seem to let him continue with a wave of a hand, “Our main priority is Jarl Ulfric’s life as well as the other lieutenants. Tyrek and I will hold the fort with the remaining men to keep the Imperials at bay. During that time, the eight of you will escort Jarl Ulfric and his lieutenants back to Windhelm. Let nothing stop you.”

    “We’ll be back, Galmar.” Ralof vowed, saluting as a sign of farewell. Others soon followed.

    “Aye, but until then, the doors of Sovngarde are open for us.”

    -----------

    “How far is Windhelm from here?” Halstein asked.

    “Not far, I think.” Ralof answered, unassured of himself.

    They were travelling for quite a while, not even looking behind until the sounds of fighting faded into the woods. The smell of sulfur was thicker here than at the fort. If they weren’t busy keeping an eye on any Imperials, I could use a bath. Ralof thought as he saw steam coming out from the distant hot springs on his left. He smelled his armpits and recoiled on the first sniff. I could really use a bath.

    “Halt!” Ulfric commanded, causing the whole band to rear their horses. “Gunjold, I need to know where we are.”

    Gunjold dismounted his horse and pulled out a map from his satchel. He used a nearby tree stump as a makeshift table and lit a lantern. Ralof and Halstein were with them, acting as Ulfric’s personal guards.

    “Fort Amol’s here,” He pointed out. “And we’re here; just near Darkwater Crossing. If we follow the road, it may take us two days to reach Windhelm. But if we cross the hot springs, we can shorten the trip by half…”

    “And makes us targets in the open ground,” Ulfric finished. His rugged looks betrayed the false sense of intelligence one would expect upon first glance. “What about our supplies?”

    “We have food that would last us for a week.” Gunjold then moved closer and whispered, “But the soldiers are eating more than they should.”

    “What if we pay a visit to Darkwater Crossing, my Jarl?” Gonnar added. “Perhaps we can requisition a few supplies from them. A basket of fish would be enough for the whole trip.”

    “Aye, that could work,” Gunjold agreed to the idea. “They’re your people after all, my Jarl. Surely, they must obey their Jarl.”

    While they were discussing, Ralof realized that the rear guards were being quiet, too quiet. He took Halstein with him and asked for the Jarl’s leave. As they approached the rear guards’ location, they heard a faint gurgling sound around the corner and when they turned, two bodies lay in a pool of blood, one was jerking, twitching his finger toward the bushes before he collapsed. Ralof took a closer look at the bushes and caught a glimpse of leather and chainmail hiding behind them. He slowly stepped back, placing a hand on the pommel of his shortsword.

    “Halstein, I need you to accompany me to the privy.” Ralof tried to sound naive of the Legion’s trap. So far, it seemed to work.

    “Accompany you to the privy?” Halstein snapped, unaware of Ralof’s intentions, “Do you take me as your mother?”

    “I just want someone to watch my back while I piss, that’s all.” He hardened the words, “Watch” and “Back” to make Halstein understand.

    Halstein raised his eyebrows after realizing what he meant. “Alright sure, I watch your back.”

    Ralof thought they had fooled the Imperial milk-drinkers hiding in the bushes until he heard the bushes shiver as something came out from behind them. He heard the sound of a crossbow loading, knowing that a Legionnaire was aiming for one of them.

    “Get down!!” Ralof shouted at his friend.

    The bolt missed Ralof’s head by a mere inch as he dropped to the stone floor. The crossbowmen frantically tried to load another bolt before a steel blade drove itself into his chest. Ralof then saw more legionnaires coming out from the bushes. The two quickly ran away to warn the others.

    “Ambush!” Ralof shouted frantically. “The Legion are behind us!”

    The Stormcloaks hastily mounted their horses and sped south-east. Ulfric was leading them in his black destrier. The horseshoes clap against the stone so loud; it could wake the villagers of Darkwater Crossing which they had just passed. Ralof made a quick peek behind him and saw three Imperial cavalrymen ten yards away and gaining. “Faster,” he told his horse again and again and again until he passed through Gunjold and Gonnar. He was right behind the Bear, eating the dust his horse had left for him.

    Ralof wondered if they had lost them. He took one quick peek behind and saw no other horses except for theirs. We made it, he thought, laughing as the others look at him as if he was a madman. “We’re safe!”

    Suddenly, he heard Ulfric’s horse whine in pain and fell just as they passed through a tree. The Jarl fell from his horse. The others stopped to help the Jarl up before they realized the field of caltrops between them. The bushes shivered once again as more Imperials came out.

    By the Nine, just how many of them are there!?

    The legionnaires surrounded the Stormcloaks, pointing their swords at them.

    “We need to protect the Jarl, no matter the cost.” Gunjold reminded them.

    “Stormcloaks!” A female voice called out. When they turned towards the source of the voice, they saw a female Imperial in steel armor along with two more legionnaires holding Ulfric Stormcloak by the hair. She had a dagger near the Jarl’s throat to get their attention. “Lay down your weapons or your leader will die.”

    “You craven,” Gunjold blurted out. “How dare you use a Jarl as a hostage!” When Gunjold took a step forward, the Captain pressed the blade closer to Ulfric’s throat; his apple was hanging above the blade.

    “One more step and I’ll slit his throat.”

    “Gunjold… please, lay down your arms… all of you. …For the loyalty you have pledge towards me.” Ulfric struggled to let the words out. For the first time, Ralof saw his idol so weakened, but he knew the reasons.

    Reluctantly, they all dropped their weapons. They were all filled with a sense of shame. They should have gone to Sovngarde to join the other Nord heroes, yet the Jarl had ordered them to surrender rather than die.

    “Good.” The Captain gave out a wicked smile at the sight of the defeated traitors. “Soldiers, restrain them. And gagged this man,” She kicked Ulfric down into the ground before her legionnaires  took over.

    “This isn’t over! The Stormcloaks will never fall!” Gunjuld avowed as he was being pushed into a horse carriage.

    “It is over!” The female legionnaire retaliated. “Hope you enjoy the trip to the Imperial City; because it will be your last.” She then turned towards another legionnaire. “Hadvar! You’re guarding this carriage.”

    “Yes, ma’am.” He replied.

    From the wooden seat of his carriage, Ralof was shocked to see the Nord he once called a friend back in Riverwood, now dressed in Imperial armor. They both exchanged mixed glances of anger and disgust before he mounted his horse.

    My childhood friend is an Imperial and I’ve been captured and sent to the Imperial City to be hanged, Ralof pulled his head upwards. Gods, help us all!

    Table of Contents

    Author's Notes:

    Chronicle of the Dovahkendaar is back with Arc 2 fellas! This is perhaps the most longest prologue I've ever made but it was worth it. Axius's adventure will continue in the next chapter. In the meantime, I need to create a new poster and update my ToC.

Comments

4 Comments
  • The Long-Chapper
    The Long-Chapper   ·  April 10, 2016
    An interesting account of the events prior to Helgen. I like the fleshing out of Ralof. Look forward to see how you tie this in. :)
  • Sotek
    Sotek   ·  April 10, 2016
    It's not like I can talk is it.
  • A-Pocky-Hah!
    A-Pocky-Hah!   ·  April 10, 2016
    Got that little mistake fixed. Sometimes I don't trust Microsoft Word's red underlines.
  • Sotek
    Sotek   ·  April 10, 2016
    Nice start to arc two. Lots going on.
    I noticed one thing though.
    Ralof wondered if they had lost them. He took one quick peak (peek) behind and saw no other horses except for theirs. We made it, he thought, laughing as the others look at him ...  more