Chapter 1: Reinstatement

"Got any Black-briar?" asked a gruff voice.

"Uh, no sir. No Black-briar today. Might I offer the Honningbrew?"

"Ah well. I suppose that will have to do then. And Kleppr, you can call me Burz. We are in a tavern for Talos' sake. No need for formalities." replied the gruff voice.

"Well... Burz... You know Frabbi. She hates when I get too friendly with the customers," said Kleppr.

"Tell her Burz gro Ka doesn't take kindly to being called sir by friends," Burz said loud enough for Frabbi to hear from the fireplace. She looked across the dimly lit tavern at the orc and glared. "Now hand me some of that Honningbrew. I need a drink."

Kleppr poured some mead into a tankard and handed it to Burz, who grabbed it with a grimy hand. He had been at the forge all day working on his ebony smithing. Since the war was over, that was about all he was useful for now. He took a swig from the tankard and looked down at the stone table-top. All he was to the Imperials now was a relic. A memory. One that he couldn't shake even after 10 years. He still had nightly terrors from the horrors of war.

Burz unsheathed his Orcish warhammer as he and the Imperials stormed fort Greymoor. This would give them the foothold in Whiterun they needed should the Stormcloaks choose to attack. But first, it had to be cleared of bandits. Running through the gates, Burz smashed the barricades to allow more soliders in. This was his first mission with the Legion.

Burz tried to drink his memories away, but all he could remember was blood and tears. And the ungratefulness. He practically won the war for Tullius. It was Burz who defeated the Jarl of Eastmarch. And what did he get in return? A promotion to Legate. A useless title now that there was peace. Burz thought he should be grateful for the peace. Isn't that what they had fought for?

Legion soldiers spilled through the fort's gates. Burz's hammer met with many shields and helmets. He could see the bodies go limp as he gave them concussions and fractured skulls. "Take the keep!" his general yelled. Burz ran to the main structure in the complex.

All of the fighting seemed so long ago. It felt like it had happened in a completely different land, far away. Strange and foreign. He took another swig from the tankard and fought back the burning tears of regret. They had fought for peace, and they won. But what they had was not peace. It was just the eye of a long brewing storm. The White-Gold Concordant was taking it's toll on not only the Nords of Skyrim, but all of Tamriel. The Aldmeri Dominion took more and more rights everyday. Burz had believed the Empire would surely strike back once Skyrim had been won over. Then he believed they were just biding their time to regain strength, but 10 years? It has been too long.

Once inside Burz found his way up to the Bandit Chief's quarters. He was the first up, and found no one. Where was the chief? Had he already abandoned his party? Burz felt a sharp pain enter the back of his leg and heard a loud scream. He looked behind him and saw a large man dressed in iron. He realized the scream was his own when he saw the man's sword in the back of his thigh. Burz dropped to one knee as he turned around and swung his hammer as hard and wide as he could. He made contact with the mans shin and felt his leg buckle. He had broken the bone. The chief let out a moan of pain. Burz's vision began to blur and started to feel weak. He saw Legion soldiers appear in the doorway as the world turned black.

Burz reached down and rubbed his leg. His old war wound still acted up in the cold Skyrim climate. Often times he thought of moving to the desserts of Elsweyr or to the Gold Coast close to Anvil. But very little movement was allowed by the Altimer. Even by their own retired soldiers. He could move to Whiterun where the cold wasn't as bitter, but he and Jarl Balgruuf weren't on the best of terms. Besides, this was Ghorza's, his beloved wife's, home. He couldn't ask her to leave the shop she worked so hard to open. He took one last swig of his mead before it was gone. "Kleppr! I need another!"

"Burz... I don't like turning away gold, but all you do these days is work all day at Ghorza's forge, and then you come in here and drink yourself into a drunken stupor and I have to make sure you make the climb to Vlindrel Hall without falling off the cliff. You used to be something. You were a hero." Kleppr said in a tone full of pity and worry. His words stung. No one in Markarth ever stood up to him like that. It had been so long since some one had earnestly called him a hero. Not since the Battle of Windhelm.

"I... Well, what would you have me do? Tullius has all but forced my retirement. I am useless Kleppr. All I know is war," Burz looked down at his empty tankard. His voice was heavy.

"Well, for one, clean yourself up. You spent all that money on Vlindrel Hall. You are one of the few men in town with their own water, yet you walk around as if you have no place to bathe. Second, stop wasting your time drinking. Go and love your wife. I remember your wedding. You two were so happy and in love, and now look at you. You treat each other as co-workers rather than husband and wife."

"You and Frabbi fight all the time..." Burz interjected.

"Yes, but that is how we have always been and always will be. That is our love. And I am trying to fix your problems right now, not mine." Kleppr laughed and Burz joined in mildly. "Seriously Burz. You call me your friend. Take your friend's advice. I don't want to bury you in your prime."

"But am I in my prime? I'm washed up Kleppr. I'm 33 and have nothing more to contribute. An orc shouldn't be living like this. You Nords hold on to your glory long past its usefulness. You fight until you are old and gray and can hardly hold an axe."

"Burz, 33 is long from 'old and gray.' You have many years left! Go and live them!"

"But how, Kleppr? How?" The orc begged. He knew nothing but war and conflict. To settle for anything less would be wasting the strength Malacath had granted him. Just then the door burst open.

"Legate gro Ka?" A young soldier asked. All he knew was the name, not a face. Typical Legion briefing.

"Right here, boy. What word does Tullius send?" Burz asked. He expected to hear of a memorial or celebration that he would need to attend. Being a decorated veteran, he was expected to go to such things from time to time so he could be shown off like a prized pig. He hated it.

"He has requested your presence in Castle Dour in Solitude by weeks end, sir." The soldier said quickly.

"Tell Tullius if it is another party or meaningless ceremony that I am busy here and can not attend." He glanced at Kleppr and shrugged his shoulders. Kleppr hid his grin and started to wipe the stone table-top clean.

"Sir, it is not a ceremony." He said quickly. This little guy was skittish. Burz could see why he was on Currier duty.

"Well, what is it, boy?" Burz said, getting frustrated at the soldier's persistence.

"I can't say... in front of civilians, sir." He said glancing around the room.

"As a vastly superior officer, I am giving you a direct order. Out with it boy!" He barked.

"Sir, we are planning our offensive. Against... the Aldmeri Dominion..." The soldier got very quiet. Burz stood silent and stared at the young soldier. He did not have words. He had hoped for this moment to come, but did not know what to do now that the moment was here.

"L-let me get my things... Kleppr, here is 10 gold. Give this man a room," Burz said as he turned to Kleppr. "I will meet with you here in the morning, solider. I must gather my thoughts and things. And have one final night with my wife." He said grimly. How long would this war drag on?

"Yes sir. Of course." the soldier replied.