18+ Kings of Fire

"You have two days, Throgrim. Do not disappoint me." Ulfric sat proudly atop his throne, staring down at Throgrim. The last light of dusk filled the room as best it could, but many of the corners were left soaked in shadow. Ulfric hadn't aged well. His hair had begun to turn grey at the root, and his face had become riddled with wrinkles. A fine layer of stubble lined the Nord man's jaw, and he was sat slouched in his throne as he usually did. Two of Ulfric's soldiers stood at the base of the steps leading up to the throne, one on each side, clad in their usual garments and steel-faced helm.

"My King... two days is simply not enough time. This matter is of the utmost importance, we simply cannot afford to take any risks." Throgrim couldn't understand why Ulfric would not give him time to assemble a proper team. "If we cut corners here, it could jeopardize your safety, the safety of Skyrim."

"If we wait too long, the trail will go cold. As you said, this matter of the utmost importance. We need to move on this. My decision is final. You have the full backing of the Crown and I will personally fund your search. Now leave me."

"As you wish, my King," Throgrim said after a brief pause, before rising from his knees and turning to walk away. Rhornkar had been leant against one of the pillars in the grand hall, and moved to Throgrim's side as he walked out. There was an awkward silence between the two as the doors opened and the two Nords left the Palace of the Kings.

"Well, that didn't go well."

"No s*hit, genius," Throgrim sighed. "Two days. We can't put a team together in two days."

"We need to try. Wouldn't want to disappoint Ulfric now would we," Rhornkar said, mocking his friend.

"You should kneel before the High King of Skyrim."

"The day I kneel before Ulfric is the day my legs are cut off below the knee. Even then I'd rather stand on my hands. I bow to no man." The silence returned as the two continued the walk to Candlehearth Hall. "We have two days. Don't worry about it tonight. We can start in the morning."

Rhornkar jogged up the steps and held the door open for Throgrim, before following him in. The two instantly made their way to the bar and took up seats, ordering their first round of many for the night. The pair sat in silence for a while as they sipped on their bottles of mead. The warmth of the inn was in stark contrast to the bitter cold air of Windhelm. The fire in the inn was enough to battle the chills that were rooted in the men by the icy winds outside. The inn wasn't as busy as usual, with the few people that were present sat around the fire, talking quietly. Although, the sun had only just fallen.

After three rounds, the pair ordered the bartender to keep the drinks coming while they moved off to a table in the corner of the inn to continue their chat. "How many people are we going to need for this, do you think?"

"To take down a cult? At least half a dozen, if they're good enough. We can't do everything ourselves, you know."

"I suppose. I don't suppose Ulfric would approve of us taking some of his soldiers? Surely Bjorn or Hrengor would tag along."

"I don't doubt that they would. But Ulfric requested we assemble a specialist team."

"Specialists don't just present themselves to you."

"Yeah, I'm well aware of that." Throgrim sighed. "This place is too... dull. I'm off to find a wench. Find me in the morning, if she hasn't swallowed me whole." Rhornkar shuddered, and Throgrim laughed. Then he stood, and went to walk off out of the inn.

"Fine, fl*ff off then! You can pay for the rest of my drinks!" Throgrim shot a smile back at his friend as the door closed behind him. "Son of a b*tch," Rhornkar muttered. He leant back against the wall and smiled as the bartender approached, and brought him another drink. Rhornkar thanked the man, and sat quietly sipping his drink as the night went on.

The Candlehearth Hall looked warm and welcoming to Selena, who was freezing in the Eastmarch climate. She drew her cloak closer about her as she approached, thoughts of ale, soup and warm bread filling her mind with excitement. Rather than heading up to the main room when she entered, she sat at the bar, just starting with a bottle of mead. She just enjoyed the warmth and the taste, relaxing in her stool.

Over the noises of merriment from upstairs, Selena heard footsteps on the stairs. From the heavy steps, it was a large man, but she couldn't be sure. The footsteps continued over the creaky wooden floorboards, heading toward the door, and then suddenly stopped. There was a small pause, and then the footsteps headed toward the bar, and a slender yet tall and toned Nordic man sat down on the stool next to Selena, resting his arm on the bar and looking pointedly at Selena.
"Hello there, m'lady. What's a pretty thing like you doing in Windhelm?"

The fact that the man had referred to her as a 'pretty thing' shocked Selena most, and she turned her head to him, eyebrows raised. She reached to her waist and drew her sword, placing it on the ground and resting it against the bar to prove a point to the man.
"Looking for mercenary work. What about you; running baths for the Jarl?" She gave him a look, wanting to have some fun with this one. "Or maybe wiping his backside. I've heard that's an easy job, away from all the big mean boys who could hurt you." Selena smirked, brushing her hair back over her face and waiting to see how he'd respond.

Caldr was getting fed up of the damn greyskins. He had been recieving complaints from some Dunmer parents because of his refusal to teach Archery to their children. Considering it was his main source of income normally the Nord woud have been happy to tutor as many pupils as he could handle, but he was under strict orders from the Palace to only include Nordic children in his classes. But of course, rather than confronting his superiors, the pathetic elves had chosen instead to continually harrass him for his segregation of the children. Today he had finally snapped, telling some mouthy elf lady to "Piss off back to yer slums".
By the afternoon Caldr was still fuming, and as he barged into Candlehearth Hall nobody tried to talk to him, likely sensing his mood. Heading straight to his rented room, he threw off his helmet and collapsed onto his bed.

It wasn't that he had reason to hate the Dunmer, it was just that the attitude of the city and its government was getting to him. With the war over Caldr never had a reason to leave Windhelm any more, but his duties as a Stormcloak kept him there, unlike when he had been a priest in Whiterun. To make a living he was teaching his archery skills to the youths of Windhelm, but even with his constant demonstrations during classes Caldr missed the rush of adrenaline that only live combat seemed to bring. Sadly the Imperials were gone though, and Ulfric apparently had more than enough people on the field already, because he was never summoned for any assignments. Hell, he'd take courier work, if only so he could travel the roads.

Getting changed out of his uniforms into his civillian clothing, the Nord headed over to the Temple. He would have preferred a shrine to Kyne, but the only one he knew of was in the Temple of the Divines, all the way over in Solitude. So he settled with praying to the shrine of Talos, like most other people in the room.
Caldr thought for a moment before starting. Oh Talos, please let there be an assignment for me. This city and its looming walls are driving me crazy. He paused and revised his words. I agree with Ulfric and his policies, but I want to get out of here. Hunting, fighting, just something other than helping a new generation of fighters to replace me! You know what I'm talking about, right? I hear you traveled lots yourself, back in the day... he trailed off. He would have been a lot more comfortable praying to Kyne, truth be told. Maybe he could start a petition for her own shrine in the city.

There was nothing else he felt comfortable praying about in a public area, so he quietly left the Temple, heading back to Candlehearth. It was turning dark by the time he arrived, but the warmth of the inn quickly warmed his bones. He must have walked in at the end of an argument, because the first thing he heard was "-Fine, fl*ff off then! You can pay for the rest of my drinks!".
The speaker was a short yet muscular man over at the bar, and as the mouthy Nord took another beverage and leaned against the wall Caldr headed over in his direction, taking his seat on a barstool and ordering a flagon of Ale.

Considering the reasonable cost he had expected the drink to be watered down, and ended up spluttering when the strong drink went down his throat.
After wiping his mouth and then taking a more cautious sip of his drink, Caldr caught a smirk off of the man who had been shouting profanity before. He looked the man up and down, sizing him up. Stout, but wearing thick steel armour. He made the choice to not confront the man and risk a brawl. Instead he spoke. "So what was all that cursin' about before?".

The Candlehearth Hall was a bit more crowded then usual, and a nord sat in a chair sipping mead, and listening to the bard. This nord's name was Aldor, a famed sellsword and warrior. Aldor saw several Stormcloaks enter the mainroom. Noticing them he muttered to himself "Damn idiots" Aldor knew Skyrim prospered because of these men, but that did not mean he had to agree with them. Aldor was about to leave when he saw two of the soldiers, clearly drunk, harassing a Dark Elf, yelling drunken insults and racial slurs. Aldor had to stop this,"Hey, idiots, go back to your mead and leave her alone." the taller one made the stupid decision of drawing his dagger. The Stormcloak drunkenly tried to swing and missed,"Stupid *hiccup* gray skin lover.", the soldier then stumbled away spilling mead everywhere.

Aldor left the main room and approached the lower room bar, sitting next to a nord woman who had her sword leaning against the bar and was just clearly chastised the man next to her. Aldor chuckled and asked the bartender, "Any rumors floating armound?", the bartender looked at him lazily, then realized who he was a quickly served him some mead, "Sorry, to keep you waiting Aldor," then bartender glanced to his side and spoke,"I hear that the Jarl Jarl is rounding up some warriors, although I don't know why." Aldor, looked to the nord woman next him and casually asked,"Maybe you should join up, you look like a fine warrior."

It has been colder than it should, at least it felt so. Falkreath always feels cold, due to its reputation. As expected of such a place, it was a silent evening. There were three men present on the cemetery, two guards on watch and a rather big bulky man visiting a grave.

“What’s that man doing at this time?” asked one of the guards, who recently got stationed in Falkreath. The other replied: “That’s Fenris, there’s no harm to let him go unto the graveyard at night, I wouldn’t mind it if I were you.” Fenris heard the guards talking, but didn’t think much of it, he knew one of the two guards that were on watch, although he never saw the other one. “Must be a new one” He thought to himself.

As he walked away from the grave, he mumbled something about people minding their own business. Even though the visits to the grave always made him grouchy, he always made sure to visit at least every once and a while. Partly out of respect, but also out of guilt. He knew he couldn’t help it, but Fenris still felt like it’s his failure to protect his little sister all those years ago. A quick impulse of sadness ran through his body as he left the cemetery.

While he wandered off to his home, he suddenly decided to go to the inn. “One pint won’t be a problem”. He entered the inn, and asked for a pint. “I’ve got something else for you as well” Said the innkeeper as she handed him an envelope. “Was delivered this morning”. Fenris took the pint as well as the envelope and sat down. He was surprised to get mail, he rarely got any. After a big gulp of mead he opened the envelope:

“To Fenris,

I’m sorry it has been so long since you heard from me. We’ve got rumors about Ulfric wanting to assemble a team for a special task. We both know you’re fitted for any team, you were an officer for a reason. And I’m sure you can use the coin. Along in this envelope are some septims to pay for a carriage. Just get to Windhelm and we’ll find out what it’s about. If you are interested, that is.”

The letter was signed by Kraldar, an old friend and fellow soldier during the war. “The bastard always knows where to find me” Fenris thought to himself, while he had a little grin on his face. He could indeed use the coin and he wouldn’t mind some action after a long time of solitude. He finished his mead, thanked the innkeeper for the letter and went home.

The next morning he took a carriage to Windhelm, after a long trip he arrived at the Windhelm Stables. Fenris was worn out, knowing he still had to get to Kynesgrove where Kraldar lived. After a moment of doubting, he decided to just get into Windhelm to find a place to rest. “Kynesgrove ain’t going anywhere overnight” Fenris figured.

He decided to go to the Candlehearth Hall. As he entered, another Nord almost bumped into him, “if she hasn't swallowed me whole” the Nord said as he left the Hall. “Some things are the same in every place” Fenris thought to himself. When he took a look into the Hall, he noticed how crowded it was, unlike its used to in Falkreath. After looking around carefully, he took a seat on the other end of the bar. At least it seemed a bit more calm here. After a while, another man entered the inn who took a seat next to a rather attractive lady. Fenris asked the innkeeper for a room, some food, and of course, a pint of mead. “We’ll see what Windhelm has in store this time”. He thought to himself while keeping an eye out on the lady.

Aldor noticed a man walk in wearing Solitude Guard Armor, who seemed to have his eye on the woman next to him. "Hey you got a problem?", the nord man glared at him and Aldor glared back, but before the man could answer he was cut off my a stormcloak officer who clearly had a problem,"Hey elf-lover, I don't care who you are you just shut your mouth." Aldor looked at him,"Did I just hear that right?", "Yeah one of my men told my you tried sticking up for a dark elf wench!", Aldor looked at the officer, he was short maybe about 5'5 with long black hair and had blue war paint. Then suddenly he swung at Aldor, who quickly ducked and uppercutted the officer in the chin,"You damn milk-drinker!" the officer then drew his axe only to be thrown into the wall,"Try that again, I dare you!" Aldor yelled as he lifted the soldier at threw him into the bar. The officer punched Aldor in the face and then kicked him in the stomach, Aldor felt a sudden rage fill him as he tackled the storm cloak almost smashing into the nord woman, who jumped out of the way just in time.

Aldor punched the soldier while was on the ground, then again, and again, he didn't stop bashing the soldier's head into the ground or smashing his face in with his fist. He heard cries from other people, some encouraging him, others saying this was enough, Aldor didn't care he just wanted to beat this man to the ground. As Aldor stood up he saw the officer bloodied face, both his eyes were blackened, his lips were split open and his nose was beat into a pulp. Aldor saw both of his own hands were covered in blood and he even saw a tooth wedged into one of his gauntlets. Aldor saw everyone in the inn was there looking at him standing over the beaten body of the brash officer. Aldor saw the Stormcloak vomit onto the nord woman's boots, and mumble "You fl*ffer", Aldor looked at the nord woman and apologized,"Sorry about that, and I didn't catch your name."

Throgrim's search had been uneventful so far. All of Windhelm's talent had dried up. The women were undoubtedly better in Western Skyrim. Feeling somewhat deflated, he decided to head back to Candlehearth Hall and see if Rhornkar had stayed at the table. When he re-entered the inn, he noticed that Rhornkar was sat talking and drinking with another Nord man. However, more importantly, he had spied a good-looking woman. She was sat alone at the bar. Her hair was dark and flowed past her shoulders, yet her face was Nordic. Without a second thought, Throgrim took up the seat beside her. "Hello there, m'lady. What's a pretty thing like you doing in Windhelm?"
Without replying, she brandished a sword and placed it on the bar. "Looking for mercenary work. What about you; running baths for the Jarl? Or maybe wiping his backside. I've heard that's an easy job, away from all the big mean boys who could hurt you."

Throgrim smirked, and chuckled, before calling for two meads. "Good-looking and a killer sense of humor. We don't get many of your type around here."

"Really? A woman from Solitude is better looking and more friendly than a woman from Windhelm? Next you'll be telling me that the Altmer are arrogant control freaks." Her voice was riddled with false arrogance and sarcasm. "So what do you really do here, then? Standard archer fodder?"

Throgrim chuckled again. "Archer fodder. I like that." He stopped and brought his drink to his lips as he debated telling her what he was doing. "I'm one of Ulfric's lieutenants. Throgrim Windmane, though my colleagues call me 'the Thrice-Dead'. And you are?" He decided to hold off from telling her, for now at least.

"Selena Dufont." She took the mead Throgrim had bought her and tapped it against his own before taking a sip. She noticed he'd just shrugged off her question.
"Mercenary. So," she said as she leaned closer. "I'm assuming, since I've had no response yet, that you're obviously on some super secret mission for Ulfric himself, or something like that," she said sarcastically, not believing it herself and winking at Throgrim.

Throgrim's face dropped for an instant before he regained his composure. "I'm one of Ulfric's lieutenants. I guess that, actually, you could say I'm on a mission for him. But I'm not sure it's quite the right job for a pretty thing like yourself." He had no doubt she could handle herself, but he was determined to play it off.

Selena was shocked that she had been right. Then her eyebrows raised.
"I think I've already proved I'm not a 'pretty thing like me'. I can help, trust me." She glared at him while his face grew more suspicious, hoping for a yes.

Throgrim sighed and looked at Selena, the her sword, then back to her. He opened his mouth to speak when another Nord man came and sat next to Selena, asking the bartender for gossip. As if on queue, he told him about the unit Throgrim was assembling. The man turned to Selena. "You should sign up." Throgrim put his head in his hands and looked back at Selena. "Maybe... its a possibility. Right now I'm not going to make any promises."

Selena smiled at the new man, before turning back to Throgrim.
"No promises? You mean, 'come along for now but don't be surprised if I kick you out later'?" She smirked, grabbing her sword and sheathing it.

"I mean I want to trust you, but I don't. This is important, and me and my companion can't risk our own lives on a wildcard."

"Look, I get that. Just give me a chance, let me come along and prove myself. Deal?"

Throgrim sighed deeply. Even if he said no, he could tell she would tag along anyway. "Fine. But you set one foot wrong and you're out. No warning, no second chance, you're out."

Selena grinned, leaning back again. "You won't regret it."

Throgrim eyed the girl cautiously, wondering if he'd made the right call, when a flight broke out behind him. The Nord from earlier threw a Stormcloak officer into the bar, nearly knocking over Selena and spilling Throgrim's drink. When he looked up, Throgrim could see only the Nord man beating on the officer. Eventually he stood, and the officer threw up on Selena's shoes. "Sorry about that. And I didn't catch your name," he said to Selena. Throgrim couldn't believe it. Before Selena could respond, Throgrim grabbed the man by the collar and pulled him close. "You fl*ffing b*stard. That's how you treat your superiors? Show some fl*ffing respect you rat. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't stick a sword in you right now."

While Throgrim had been sat at the bar talking to Selena, Rhornkar had stayed at his table. He hadn't even noticed his friend come back in, although he probably should have guessed that as soon as the woman came in, Throgrim was bound to be close behind. He got through two meads before anyone came near him. Another Nord man came and sat at the table, eyeing Rhornkar while he ordered a flagon of ale. The pair sat in stony silence as the other man attempted his first swig, and ended up spluttering as he struggled to cope with its potency. Rhornkar couldn't help but smirk, which earned him a sharp glare from the man at his table. "So what was all that cursin' about before?" Rhornkar hadn't been expecting the question.

"Just my pl***-for-brains partner ditching me to find a woman, when we have an important job to do." Rhornkar took a huge swig of ale before placing the empty bottle on the table and calling for another. "Say, I know you. I've seen you around, you were a Stormcloak, weren't ya? You're the one who teaches little kids how to shoot?"

Before the man had a chance to respond, a loud crash caught Rhornkar's attention as a Stormcloak officer went hurtling into the bar. The fight was brutal, bloody, unnecessary for sure, and Rhornkar kept shouting for the man to stop. It was the aftermath, however, that forced Rhornkar's intervention. The Nord that had beaten the officer said something to the girl next to Throgrim, and Throgrim grabbed him. "Excuse me, we'll carry this talk on later." Rhornkar rushed over and pushed Throgrim away from the man, breaking his grip and extending his arms between the two. He was shorter than both, but almost certainly stronger than both too.

"Stop it, both of you. What's done is done, Throgrim. He beat him, that's not your problem, stay out of it." Before the other man could get a word in he turned to him. "And you. That was unneeded. You had him on the floor, that was it, fight over. The extra beating? You best hope Ulfric doesn't hear of this, or your head will adorn the gate of the Palace of the Kings for sure." Rhornkar had defused the situation so far, but he could feel the tension ebtween the two. He kept his arms up as a barrier to keep them apart. "Now, are we gonna end this here, or am I going to have to knock you both on your arses to get you to stop acting like children?"

Aldor shoved the stormcloak away and started yelling at man who grabbed him,"I'm the rat, this b*tch of a nord, tries to attack me for scolding a couple of drunk idiots!" he glanced to the side and saw as the officer stumbled away out the door, "I would love to see you try to kill me." Aldor said as he gripped the hilt of his sword and was about to draw it and kill the man in front of him but thought against it an looked at the man between him and the other nord. "That beating was necessary, his men harassed a dark elf for no reason, and he tried to attack me."

Aldor shoved his way past the stormcloak and sat down next to the the nord knowm as Selena and ordered a pint of mead,"A pint please I have had a rough night."the bartender refused rudely saying,"No, first you fix what you broke in that fight.", Aldor got up and was about to leave when three guards approached him weapons drawn, the lead one spoke,"Aldor Stormblade as respected a sellsword you are striking an officer is a crime punishable by death." the nord who threatened Aldor smirked, "however", the guard continued, "Jarl Ulfric is aware of your reputation and has decided that you shall serve under Throgrim and Rhornkar on a special mission." Aldor was taken back,"So I live?" the soldier laughed, "No, assuming you survive the mission they will decide if you are honorable of living or not."

Björn entered the city of Windhelm, his cloak blowing in the wind. Heading towards Candlehearth Hall, he entered through the door, and straight into a fight between a Stormcloak and another man. It seemed like everyone in the inn was either cheering the non-stormcloak on, or telling him to stop. Björn grinned under the hood he had pulled up over his head. 'Some things never change.' He thought to himself. As he started to walk towards the bar, he saw a Stormcloak officer puke on the shoe of a young woman. This got a chuckle out of Björn as he pulled his cloak off, revealing the giant axe on his back. He was easily the tallest man here, that was for sure. Taking the axe out of its sheath on his back, he set it next to a stool, and then sat down. He didn't think anyone would recognize him, even though he still wore the same facepaint as old. His beard should help hide his identity, but just in case, he decided to lower his voice. "Can I get a glass of milk, and a beef stew?" He asked. This order was probably strange to the Barkeeper, who looked new. "Oh, and can I get a Shot of Argonian Blood Wine, a Shot of Honningbrew Mead, a shot of Ale, and a larger cup as well?" He asked the man, who looked at him funny, then turned around and began preparing everything. Björn set a few Septims down on the counter in front of him. The Bartender brought him his beef stew and milk first, which he dug into heartily, enjoying the stew. He had missed the food of this inn. After finishing the bowl off pretty quickly, he picked up the jug of milk, and downed it. Björn never really cared if people called him a "Milk-Drinker", because he liked milk. Next came the shot glasses, and the taller glass. Mixing the three different types of alcohol into the taller glass, he swished it around for about thirty seconds, and then took a drink from it... and sighed. It was just as good as he remembered. They didn't have Blood Wine or Honningbrew on Solstheim, so this was the first time he had drank this concoction in a few years. Anyone who had served with him during the Civil War would probably recognize the drink he made, as it had spread around after Björn had made it in camp before the battle of Whiterun, and had become famous among Stormcloak soldiers. Taking another sip, he looked around at the people in the inn, trying not to make eye contact with anyone.

"Just my pl***-for-brains partner ditching me to find a woman, when we have an important job to do. Say, I know you. I've seen you around, you were a Stormcloak, weren't ya? You're the one who teaches little kids how to shoot?"
The Nords last remark left Caldr scowling. Sure, his role in the war hadn't left him famous, but was that all he was remembered for! He had dealing with Justicars and Legates whilst everyone else had been raiding and ransacking! He almost stood up to give the man a piece of his mind, but his kinsman had already politely excused himself to go and break up a bar brawl.

Taking in the spectacle, which was violent even for Windhelm's most popular inn, Caldr quickly found himself taking a side. He too began to jeer at the man in red- "Filthy elf-lover! You got no right to do that!". He might have jumped in himself had close quarters been his speciality. Eventually some guardsmen arrived on the scene, and so he turned back around on his barstool, not wanting to be accused of involvment. Taking more slowly to his ale now, he looked up to see a new figure amongst the rabble. A huge one, no less, but definatly a Nord.

The archer crossed his arms and leaned on the intact part of the bar, curious as to what the behemoth would do. He must have walked in whilst the fight broke out. How could somebody so big be so quiet? After some milk and Beef stew, the giant began to mix some drinks toghether; a combination Caldr knew well. He remembered being introduced to the beverage from when he had been operating in the Reach, when his fellow soliders had 'confiscated' a large amount of alcohol from a nearby Bandit den. Honningbrew Mead, regular ale and some concotion from Black Marsh, all mixed toghether to make quite the drink.

Now his Ale looked less appealing. He turned to the barkeep for a new order, but after the brawl they were still busy cleaning up the mess. Instead Caldr tried to make eye contact with the newcomer, but he spoke up when the man remained evasive.
"Whoever discovered that combination was quite the brewer. Maybe even an alchemist, like mys-" His own sentance stopped short, for he had just overheard the guards prosecute the elf-lover from the brawl. This 'Aldor Stormblade' ended up being drafted for some special mission, led by his restrainer and the provocative talker from before, who went by the names of Throgrim and Rhornkar respectively.
Not wanting to be impolite though, he turned back to the man with the shots, asking who he was whilst keeping an ear open for the 'special mission' to be mentioned again.

Rhornkar stared in disbelief as the man who had beaten an officer attempted to justify his actions, before he said "I would love to see you try and kill me." Rhornkar looked to Throgrim and chuckled at the notion. It didn't matter how good this man was, if Throgrim and Rhornkar both tried to kill him, then kill him they would. He was tempted to grant the man his wish as his hand found the hilt of his sword, but clearly he decided against it as he pushed past and tried to order a drink from the man who's bar he'd just wrecked. Obviously he was refused. Throgrim and Rhornkar looked at each other and shook their heads. Rhornkar was about to go back to his table, when the inn door swung open.

"Aldor Stormblade. As respected a sellsword as you are, striking an officer is a crime punishable by death." Rhornkar smirked. He turned to Throgrim.

"Never heard of him. Must be a special kind of respected," he muttered.

"However", the guard continued, "Jarl Ulfric is aware of your reputation and has decided that you shall serve under Throgrim and Rhornkar on a special mission."

"So I live?" Even the Nord, now identified as Aldor, seemed surprised.

The soldier laughed, "No, assuming you survive the mission they will decide if you are honorable of living or not." Throgrim and Rhornkar looked at each other. They looked at the guards, then at the man himself, then back to each other. "You're joking, right?"

"Ulfric's orders, Throgrim. I just deliver them."

"He wants us to take him? A man with no respect for his superiors, a man of no loyalty, a man who works for the highest bidder. What is he thinking? This is a terrible idea!" Throgrim looked to Rhornkar. "Can you believe this?" Rhornkar shook his head, too dumbfounded to speak. Throgrim turned to Aldor. "Don't get any ideas. You're not coming. We'll see Ulfric in the morning and get him to correct this madness." Both men couldn't come to terms with the decision. It made no sense at all.

Björn looked at the conversation going on between the guards and this Andger character, then he turned back to Caldr. "Aye, a brewer he was indeed. Names Björn Kril-Kendov." He said, mixing the concoction together again, in a new shot glass. As he started to take a drink, he almost spat the alcohol back out when one of the guards mentioned that Andger would be working under someone named Throgrim. Björn remembered Throgrim, his former commander, from the battle of Whiterun, and as he did so, memories of battle came flooding back in. Fighting, holding the line, the arrow to the woman's throat, the two arrows he was hit with... The memories for some reason brought back a little tenderness in his shoulder, and he rubbed it. He remembered after the battle, having to get the arrow heads dug out of his body, and Throgrim helping to hold him down, by his side. The pouring of Alcohol on the open wound to sterilize, and the cauterizing with a hot blade from the forge, the head butt he delivered to the guy who had carterized the wounds, who seemed to be a companion of Throgrim. Turning back to face, Caldr, he excused himself, and got up, picking up his axe and hefting it on his shoulder as he walked up to Throgrim. "Throgrim, is that you." He asked, shifting his weight to lean on his right leg.

Throgrim turned at the sound of the voice, and quickly found himself staring at a man's chest. He didn't have to look up to know who the man facing him was. "By Talos... Bjorn? Wait, what? Bjorn? What are you doing here you great b*stard?" Throgrim was as surprised as he was happy. He had served under Throgrim a few years past, and was one of his most skilled soldiers in his unit at the battle of Whiterun. He remembered Bjorn's arrow wound, and treating it with Rhornkar. It earned the stout Nord a headbutt, and from a giant like Bjorn a headbutt could do a whole lot of damage. Throgrim turned to look at Rhornkar, who was rubbing the swell on his nose where the headbutt had landed. Even this far on, his broken nose had never healed properly. It only took one glance to know what Rhornkar was thinking, and Throgrim was thinking the exact same thing. Both of them wanted Bjorn in their team.

"You know what, it doesn't matter. I don't know if you heard or not, but Ulfric has us assembling a team for a... special task. I can't divulge information here. But, you're battle tested, know how to follow orders and to kill without mercy, all of which we're going to need in abundance. So far it's you, me, Rhornkar, this mercenary nutcase," he said gesturing towards Aldor, "and Selena," he said gesturing towards the girl who was stood by the bar. "I'd be honored if you'd accompany us. It'd be just like old times."

Caldr, who by now had become quite the eavesdropper, got fed up of being left mid-conversation. Bjorn went over to join Throgrim and Rhornkar, but this time the archer followed him, keen to get involved. Again he felt left out when the trio seemed to share in a reunion, recalling their battle at Whiterun.
As the giant Nord began conversing with his old commander, Caldr walked back into his rented room, and picked up his weapon from a shelf. Nothing special, just a standard issue hunting bow for most Stormcloaks. He came back into the bar area of Candlehearth and revealed his weapon to the company. For a moment he panicked that his bow looked unimpressive, but quickly spoke up to avoid looking stupid.
He felt excited, and it showed in his voice when he spoke to the trio. "You're short a solider. Care for a marksman amongst your axes?"

Bjorn grinned at Throgrim. "Aye, I've heard of the call for arms. In fact, that is why I am here, to see if I could join up, which, by your reaction, I am assuming that I can." He replied to the Nord, chuckling. Looking over at Rhornkar, he raised an eyebrow, and let out another small chuckle. "I see your nose is doing *much* better." He said, nodding to his old comrade. He hefted his axe off of his back, and set the butt down on the ground with a dull thump, and leaned onto it a bit. "So, do we have enough people?" He asked, looking around the hall. "Because if not, there are some quality people in here. Not a lot, but a few." He said, and then motioned to a bald man, who was keeping to himself. The man wore a Solitude Guard's chest piece, but the rest of his armor was definitely Stormcloak like. "Wha' about him? He could looks like he can hold his own in a fight." He says to Throgrim. Suddenly, the smaller man who he had introduced himself to at the bar walked up behind the group, showing off his bow. "You're short a solider. Care for a marksman amongst your axes?" He asked. Bjorn shrugged his shoulders. The man looked like he knew how to handle his bow, and they really could use someone who can kill at range to complement their Melee weapons. "I don't see why not, but I'm not in charge, ask him." He replied, motioning to Throgrim.

A slam at the entrance door of the Candlehearth Hall caught the attention of a couple of patrons near the bar area. A shady fellow wearing a dark fur hood came in panting, leaning at the door as if it had just escaped from doing something suspicious. The fellow calmed, shaking off the snow residue from his fur cloak , then walked towards the bar.
The dark fur hood slid down from the mysterious fellow's shoulders, revealing a woman, head shaven on the sides, her left cheek scarred by a tiny slash from her lip. She eyed the woman in dark colored armor next to her who was quietly sipping her beverage, more so on her shamelessly exposed cleavage. She caught the attention of the barkeep who was just about to return to his working post.

"Oh Gods, not you again..." The barkeep, disappointingly dropped whatever he was doing , then turned away from the woman.

"Hey! Torjolf, my man, how'd you been?" she hasted behind the counter, smiling at him while blocking his only path.

"What do you want now, Sigfrid?" the man sighed, unamused of the lass.

"Oh, nothing, you know, just visiting an old friend. Look at you, is it me or are you getting more strapping by the week?" She gestured her hands to the man, as if showing an obviously faux admiration. The man, unimpressed, looked at the young nord woman as she prattles compliments at him.

"And that beard style really suits you, bet the ladies diggin' that grizzly bear look uh? I know i would." She awkwardly winked at the old man following a toothy grin that doesn't look quite as charming as she intended to.

"You done?" He sternly said to her.Her unintentionally creepy expression fades into a worried one, grabbing the barkeep by his shoulders, "Listen, i know I've got you in a lot of trouble already, but, i desperately need to borrow some coin."

"For the last time, I cant spare anymore coin to help you with, gods know whatever trouble you're into this time. I cant barely keep this place running with what little i have left." He said, with a bit of irritation.

"But I always pay you back!"

"And I always get visits from your suspicious, frightening friends who asks a lot of demanding questions" The barkeep crossed his arms looking down at the younger nord.

" Look, if you let me borrow a few coins now, i can keep them off your back, long enough for me to give them the rest of what i owe. And i'd gladly pay you, with a few extras. What do you say?" she said, in her desperate attempt to persuade him.

Suddenly, the door swung open, three burly man fully donned in leather armor entered the inn. Eyes searching for something, or someone, in particular.

"Oh plops." Sigfrid ducked under the counter, cautiously peeking at the three intimidating patrons.

"You let them follow you here!?" The barkeep mumbled to Sigfrid. The men walked towards him, nervous, he looked at the woman under the counter.

"Stall them." She whispered.

"What!?" The woman slipped away, sneaking behind the men and into the crowd.

"Where is she?" One of the man said, voice raspy, soft but deep.

"Who?" Torjolf nervously stalled, wiping the already clean counter table with his shaking hands. The other glared at him, but the barkeep avoided eye contact. "Tell her that the Blackblood Marauders want their coin back."

Sigfrid almost reached the exit when she spots one of the marauders guarding her way out. "fl*ff." Muttering under her breath, heart racing as she turned away, her hand covering the side of her face. She caught a glimpse of Torjolf sweating, and nervously looking at her direction, the three men followed his gaze.

"Gods damn it..." She backed away slowly as the three men came closer to her, apparently, not so happy with her recent shenanigans.

She spotted a group of strong, muscular men conversing with each other on the other side of the inn. Seeing this as her only chance, she casually walked towards them, the group caught her attention.

"Hi, nice weather we're having." She butts in, their expression puzzled by the sudden interruption. One of the three marauders, the leader, head cleanly shaven, watched the lass.

"Joel! Hey, i was just, having a conversation with, my pals here. My large, musclebound, warrior pals." She awkwardly taps Bjorn, with her arm slightly raised above her head as she reached out for the huge man's shoulder. The three men looked at her companions, their expression suddenly cautious. " We haven't kept in touch with each other for quite awhile so, we thought we do some catching up. Isn't that right, uh...Marley?" Her eyes steady to Bjorn and to the rest,teeth gritted into a smile, hoping to the gods that they'd play along in her ridiculous plan.

Throgrim smiled widely as Bjorn spoke. "Aye, I've heard of the call for arms. In fact, that is why I am here, to see if I can sign up, which, by your reaction, I'm assuming I can." Throgrim nodded. He followed Bjorn's gaze to his companion, Rhornkar, while Bjorn remarked about his nose. Even Rhornkar had to smile about this one. "So, do we have enough people?" Five. They had five. It wasn't exactly the most elite or well-trained group either, with one particularly... volatile... member of the group that Throgrim could see was bound to cause a bit of tension. "Because if not, there are some quality people in here. Not a lot, but a few. Wha' about him? He looks like he could hold his own in a fight." Throgrim looked at the man Bjorn mentioned. He looked grizzled and a solid fighter for sure. "Yes, he might just do."

"You're short a soldier. Care for a marksman among your axes?" Throgrim wheeled around to face the sound of the voice. The Nord facing him was quite short, with blonde hair and a scraggly beard. Rhornkar recognised him as the man who he sat at the table in the corner with earlier. He was dressed in Stormcloak armor, and the hunting bow on his back was clear for all to see, as was the axe at his waist. "Depends. You actually know how to use that bow or is it just for show?" The look he got in return made Throgrim feel stupid for asking. Of course he could use it. And he was clearly quite good.

"A Stormcloak sniper. Interesting. We'd be glad to have you aboard, if you think you're up for the challenge." Rhornkar smiled, trying to make up for his friend's moronic questions. "We're gathering what we have tonight and then heading to meet Ulfric come morning. We'll meet by th-" He was cut off as a new arrival slammed through the inn door and settled at the bar. Rhornkar decided to pay her no attention. "We'll be meeting by the archway in front of the Palace, then we'll head in as a team. Ulfric will brief you all, we'll gather provisions, and hopefully we can be on the road by the end of the day." Before the man got a chance to reply, more men entered the bar. Tall, muscular and angry. They marched up to the bar, and although he couldn't hear their words, he could guess who they were looking for. He watched them for a while as they questioned the sweating barkeep.

"Hi, nice weather we're having." All of the men looked down at the woman who wandered into their company. Rhornkar recognised her cloak, and was somewhat surprised to discover that the hooded figure from earlier was a woman. The men came over almost immediately, as Rhornkar had expected. "Joel! Hey, I was just, having a conversation with, my pals here. My large, musclebound, warrior pals." She fumbled to find Bjorn's shoulder. "We haven't kept in touch with each other for quite awhile so, we thought we do some catching up. Isn't that right, uh...Marley?" Rhornkar had to fight back chuckles. Without the pause, or the stammer, it may have been believable, but now he was certain they would not be convinced. The men all turned towards the three, forming a U-shape around the woman, with Bjorn and Throgrim flanking her and Rhornkar and the new man behind on either side.

"Can we help you boys?" Throgrim said to them.

"We came for the girl. We don't want no trouble."

"Aye, you don't. So this is where you make your choice. You leave with no trouble, or you leave with no girl."

"Clearly you don't understand what's-"

"No, clearly you don't. So I'm going to explain, in a single sentence, your situation. Get out alive now while you can, or get carried out in pieces. Either way, don't make no difference to me. I haven't had a good fight in a few days." The men looked somewhat worried. It seemed that Throgrim's bluff was paying off. Not many men could stay composed when threatened by a brute of Throgrim's size, especially when he was surrounded by more similarly sized warriors. "Let's not do something you regret." He looked to the woman, hoping she hadn't just landed him in it with the Dark Brotherhood or Thieve's Guild or some ruthless bandit organisation.

Sigfrid couldnt believe that worked. Looking at Throgrim, she repeatedly muttered little thank yous under her breath, although the Nord seemed a bit bothered and unsure of the people they are dealing with. A couple of lowlifes who call themselves some tough name is nothing that bunch of skilled warriors such as them, cant handle. She gave the nord a reassuring smile, to set his mind at rest.

"I'd listen to him if i were you, Joel." She looked mischievously at the leader. "Alferdo here," she gestures at Throgrim, "is a well known Akaviri martial artist." she discreetly winked at the guard, in return, he raised an eyebrow. "And you dont really wanna mess with an Akaviri martial artist, Joel. Plus youre outnumbered so, save yourselves the trouble of agonizing pain and leave. "
The leader, gestured one of his men, who flashed two huge bags of gold. Sigfrid gulped at the sight, turning her gaze to Throgrim.

"We'll pay you in exchange for the girl." he said to Throgrim. " This doesnt have to get violent. Unless you wont cooperate." seven more men, including the one guarding the exit door came in the tavern doors, weapons strapped on their backs, looking vicious and cocky. Joel looked at the girl.

"We grow impatient of your silly games, girl. You've slipped passed under our noses for too long, but this time, it seems the odds are in our favour.." Ten of the the Bandits surrounded them, weapons draw with smug looks on their faces. Some of the patrons cower under tables and chairs, some went for the exit.

"I think Davin would rather want to see you in person, and maybe he'd teach you a lesson for being a naughty girl." The bandits laughed, making Sigrid feel uneasy. "Yeah, well, Davin can go kiss my freckly arse. I'm not going anywhere with you bunch."

She gripped her dagger behind her waist, preparing for the worst, unsure wether Throgrim will either help her, or her soon to be captors.

Throgrim stared at the gold. It was tempting, oh-so tempting. They didn't know this girl, or anything about her, yet she had drawn them into this, and frankly Throgrim didn't want to risk killing himself days before he was due to set off. Yet for some reason, the gesture angered him. Was he insane? Was he simply too proud? Or did he just dread having Rhornkar in his ear for the next three weeks about this? He couldn't tell, but it didn't matter. His mind was made up. Throgrim stepped forward. He was an inch or two taller than this 'Joel' character, and the closer he stood the smaller the man got. Who ever this girl was, these guys were bad news, and he couldn't let them get a hold of her.

"You can't buy me, asshole." Throgrim drew as much saliva as he could and spat at the man's feet. his was suicide. He could only count on Rhornkar to back him up, and 2 against 10 were not favorable odds, no matter how good the fighters were. The complete strangers behind him couldn't be relied upon to intervene. Maybe he could expect Bjorn to help, but in truth the giant owed no allegiance to his former captain and would have been entitled to step away. "I'm going to say this once, and only once, so you better hope it gets through your thick skull." His hand clutched the hilt of his trusty steel sword, Wraith, at his hip, and drew it ever so slightly from its scabbard so that it let out an audible sigh. "You turn around, and you walk out of that door, or this is going to turn into a bloodbath. And I promise you, we'll be the ones left standing." Rhornkar stepped up and stood just behind him to the right. He wasn't armed with Comet, he pulled a steel axe from his belt instead. The two looked at each other, and Rhornkar's eyes said everything. Throgrim could hear him say it, You are one crazy motherfl*ffer. Throgrim didn't care. It was about time he got into a good fight.

"We'll be meeting by the archway in front of the Palace, then we'll head in as a team. Ulfric will brief you all, we'll gather provisions, and hopefully we can be on the road by the end of the day." Caldr, who had turned away after being indicated of where to go in the morning, went back to his stool and started on his drink again. Moments before the door had flown open and a hooded figure had entered the hall, now revealed herself as a woman. After she engaged in an awkward conversation with the barkeep, the door slammed open once again, and this time three thuggish types walked in. The woman made her way over to Throgrim and his two companions, putting on an act that looked like a poor attempt to send the newcomers on their way. The archer went over to the group of Stormcloaks, sensing that they might need help in a moment. He was; the marauders didn't buy it.

Surprisingly however the groups leader tried to make an offer of gold to the four of them, though this friendly gesture was followed up by a call for reinforcments. Throgrim chose to come to the womans aid, and physically spat in the mans face. Caldr was filled with a sudden respect for the big Nord, but realising he would be caught between the two groups based on where he was standing, decided to move over to the bar. The owner of the establishment was understandably distraught. This would be the second fight this evening, and the first one had caused quite a bit of damage. He put several coins on the table, and the woman looked at him funnily. "One ale please" Said the archer calmly, making a beckoning gesture with his hand.

Gripping the bottle once it was in his grip, the Nord suddenly spun round on his stool and jumped up, smashing the bottle into the nearest thugs head, who instantly collapsed. His element of surprise now gone, Caldr looked up, and saw everyone in both groups staring at him in surprise. He looked at the Stormcloaks. "Well, what are you waiting for?-" he nodded his head in the general direction of the marauders "-Pummel the B******s!"