First things first, I do not own The Elder Scrolls, Bethesda Softworks and Zenimax own The Elder Scrolls. This is an original story that take place thirty years before the events of Skyrim. The first several chapters span the opening months of the Great War, told through various characters POVs, both original and from the cannon. The style of writing is very similar to GOT and very own Boys Do Like Girls – The Seasons Trilogy. Like the Seasons Trilogy Skyrim is much larger in scope to create more interesting scenarios. I hope you enjoy my portrayal of The Great War, and please leave a review. Good or bad I appreciate all the help I can get to improve as a writer.

I have decided to do a lot of editing to the first twenty chapters because of the new team of writers we managed to gather, also because of some tips I received in comments and messages. This is my first attempt at creative writing and I have very little experience reading besides the mandatory books I was assigned in school that were mind numbingly boring. I hope there is an improvement over the first iteration of the opening chapters and I thank all those who gave the advice, keep it coming and please review.

The Wulf and the Red Ring

Chapter 1

The Edge of War and Peace

The first POV is Roderic Burd

A calm breeze sweeps across the fields of western Cyrodiil as the sun peaks over distant mountains, the snow topped peaks laying far west of the Abecean sea. The tall golden grass is complemented by the daylight as the blades arches under gentle gusts. Roderic, a man of average height, stares off, his mind straying ever further from his purpose. He can't help but stroke his freshly shaven face, running his fingertips across several scars once covered by a hearty beard he had acquired over several year's. A truly uncomfortable feeling for a Nord such as himself. But the Imperials like to keep up appearances, they always have.

The crash of waves could be heard from the nearby ocean, as well as seagulls flying overhead, tenaciously searching for their next morning was barely through and already his apathy had boiled to the surface. To call this assignment monotonous would be an understatement at this point. He had spent most of his life in the heat of combat, whether it be in the sands of the arena during his younger years, or serving the empire in their never ending quest for political security, he had always felt most at home was in the mist of battle.

Needless to say the last two years had been mundane, as he had settled down in Helgath with his fiance Jolda. A few months back, he decided to honor a request made by his old friend Glador, thinking that travailing to Cyrodiil to aid in the training of imperial soldiers would give him that feeling he had been without for nearly two years. But as most events tend to play out in this world, things did not proceed quite as he had thought. At least the repetitive maneuvers, day in and out, have kept him in good shape during these mundane times. Jolda will be sure to show her appreciation upon his return home.

A tall Redguard adorned in a set of mismatched Imperial, and Alik'r leather armor, approached Roderic, repeatedly calling his name in attempt to gain his attention. But it is to no avail, as Roderics stands oblivious to the calls, staring out towards the vista. The Redguard places his hand on the pauldron of Roderics steel plated armor, breaking his mind free from distracting thoughts.

"Long morning?" Curtis says in an sarcastic tone, relived to of finally gained the Nords attention. He stands taller than Roderic, with lanky arms that extend well past his wait and a well trimmed goatee that complements his bald head. "Put troubling thoughts to the back of your mind and let our work distract you." Roderic responds with a nod and turns to the group of students.

"What is your take on this batch?" Curtis inquires, "They have nearly completed the first stage of training ."

Before Roderic gives his response, he pauses momentarily, to study the men in action, being sure to measure his words carefully.

Roderic stares down the varied group of imperial soldiers as they drill his own techniques, using weighted wooden swords and daggers in attempt to have them quickly acclimate to dual wielding. The men train in a large imperial camp that stands atop the tallest hill near the shore, its strong wooden frame contrasting the surrounding fields of grass. Housing the fourth and seventh legions, the camp was strategically placed north of Anvil, hugging the province of Hammerfell to assure the security for the region. The beautiful weather goes unnoticed by the fatigued soldiers, whose intense training has been on going well before sunrise.

Roderic's deep voice bellows powerfully when he finally breaks words. "The men have a good technique when they attack, and their form in solid when in defensive."

Curtis looks to the men proudly before Roderic cuts his gratification short, speaking directly to him in a lowered voice. "But their transitions need work, they leave to big an opening while switching stance." Curtis looks back to the group, the grin quickly fading from his face.

"Good is not always enough to stay alive, many a capable soldier lay dead in testament to the fact."

Curtis is a motivated young man from Gilane, who has quickly risen to the rank of Captain in the seventh legion. Despite having no experience teaching, he was placed alongside Roderic for his proficiency at dual wielding scimitars. Roderic on the other hand is here by request, and tasked with training the new soldiers in exchange for leveling a debt with the General. His apathy was easy to spot throughout the day, but he decided to make the best of the situation and aid those that need it most.

Roderic steps forward and yells out to the men, "In order to master the use of two weapons, one must have balance. Despite the light nature of your weapons, you must not rush to attack, but rather use your opponents haste against them."

Roderic walks down the line of soldiers, his signature Newtscale Cuirass clanking against his ebony war ax underneath the red Imperial cloak, covering one shoulder. He attempts to give more personal instructions to those that need it most.

"Gunder, you lower your guard after a strong blow, keep your damn guard up!"

"Yes sir." The burly Nord replies with vigor in his voice, he then raises his weighted practice shield in preparation for the next drill.

"Watch your brother Holger closely, and see proper technique form quickly." It was refreshing to see a man so endeavored in his training.

Roderic began pacing up and down the line of men, inspecting their skills as Curtis yells out various commands. "Good form Servo, but you need to control the ferocity in your attack, or risk losing your vitality prematurely."

Despite his indifference, Roderic was a skilled and respected trainer, even going as far as learning each mans individual name. Upon completion of his review, he turns to Curtis. "This group needs a bit more work on technique, but it will come in due time."

Curtis, clearly disappointed, decides to take out his frustrations on then men, ordering another round of drills before morning rations.

Placing his hands to his knees in exhaustion, the Imperial Varus attempts to protest. "But Captain Shamar, we have been training all morning, we are tired and hungry."

Curtis turns to the Imperial, his eyes filled with a dim fury being held back. "The more you beat yourself in training, the less you will bleed in battle." he yells, snapping back at the soldier.

"But we have been without food or drink since we woke. Our belly's would be full if this were a true battle."

Surprised by the ignorant outburst, Roderic yells out to the Imperial before Curtis has a chance to speak. "What do you know about true battle Varus? What do any of you know about a true fight." He yells out now referring to the entire group.

"A true fight, one that truly tests your heart, is not a one sided annihilation of your enemy, or a cleverly planned tactic. You are truly tested as a warrior only when the fight is not where you want. While you are not at your best. When you are beaten and battered, weak and discouraged. For when a man can overcome that adversity, that is the moment. The singular instance when a mere mortal is blessed with the chance to become legend.

Varus turns to Roderic giving a nod of acknowledgment, enlightened by his words. In acceptance of the captains task, he furiously attacks his partner in attempt to impress the renowned warrior.

"Well that lit a fire under their ass," he thinks to himself before succumbing to the monotony. Despite being fairly skilled at using words to motivate men before battle, Roderic was not fond of speeches, or the rituals that most would preform before battle. Normally he would only use the skill in dire situations, but he finds it to be just as useful in taking the attention off him and dispersing it among the men.

Roderic slips back in to a stoic state, staring off in an attempt to lighten his dreary mood just as Clavus, the highest ranking soldier in the Seventh Legion besides General Galdor, entered the training grounds.

"Roderic, Curtis, you have been summoned." Clavis says with urgency, unable to hide the change in his usual stoic domineer. "Report to the generals quarters immediately."

"What does this regard Clavus, I spoke to General Wulf no more than an hour ago." Curtis says, curious as to what shook the usually intrepid warrior.

"Urgent news has just arrived from the capitol, apparently from the Emperor himself. The General has ordered all active captains to his hut, you as well Roderic. The parchment holds grim news by the looks of it."

They head off to the Generals tent, the two men spurting ideas back and forth in attempt to determine the reason behind the odd domineer of Clavus. The ideas range from another possible uprisings in Black March, to a full scale battle with rebel forces in Cyrodil, who have been raiding supply carts for months now.

The two enter in to General Galdor Wulf's quarters to find the various captains gathered at the end of his table, their eyes glued on the young General as he looks over the various maps and parchments littered on top. They appear to be as clueless as Roderic, standing in silence awaiting General Wulf's orders. Galdor sits in his heavy Imperial armor, looking over the parchment for what seemed like the seventh time. As all the captains fill the room, he appears to struggle with what his eyes behold.

Roderic can see the shock upon Galdors face clear as day, "This can't be good." He mutters under his breath. He is fairly clean cut for a Nord, "Imperialized", is the term most Nords would use, but Roderic new the valor that resides inside the General, and knows how bad the news must be for Galdor to start second guessing himself . Galdor overhears Roderic and looks up, disappointed he could not hide his dismay.

"As you all may know, i have received word from my father in the Imperial City. He has informed me that Emperor Titus II has declared war on the Aldmeri Dominion."

"The entire Dominion?" One of the captains yells out, shocked by the revelation.

Galdor looks deep in to the man's eyes. "It seems so."

The man, unfamiliar to Roderic, continues. "So not only must we deal with those audacious High elves, but the Khajiit's and Bosmer simultaneously?"

Galdor loudly replied."Who we fight matters not if we use our training, and fight with the spirit of Talose in our heart. We will meet any Man, Mer, or Beast in the field of battle, and only after they suffer bitter loss, shall they be educated. It is then they will see why this bold transgression shall bear solemn meaning for the rest of their days."

The men stand in a suspenseful silence, hanging off of each of Galdor's bold words. His way with words, while being slightly absurd for most Nord's, motivated the men. This skill made him a very good General in Roderic's eyes.

"Let us set out to the imperial city immediately, and we shall find out why the Thalmor has suddenly lost mind."

A unanimous sense of shock filled the room, with every man worthy of his position mindful of the great threat the Thalmor pose. Galdor hands out various orders, and tasks, starting the process of moving the legions west. He orders Clavus to take control of the fourth Legion and head out immediately, while Galdor handles the organization of the seventh.

Roderic is concerned as he his overlooked for various tasks in which he would excel, but the reason is exposed after the room empties and Galdor calls him over as the final man takes his leave. His tone changes from bold words to a softer tone, one shared solely by long time comrades.

"You have always been a valued friend to me." Galdor says in a serious manor. Roderic looks back with his dark blue Nordic eyes , searching for meaning the behind the Generals words. "I have asked much of you over the many years we have served together. I won't hand you any orders, you have earned that much. You're a skilled warrior and your presence on the battlefield would no doubt give the men an unparalleled moral boost. Yet with that said, I must say that you owe the Imperials nothing. Your life is your own now, and if you wish to head to Helgathe for Jolda's sake, no officer will attempt to stop you."

Without pause, Roderic gives response, "And let you have all the fun." Galdor lets out a laugh. "Don't forget who stands before you General," a smile materialized on Roderic's face, "I had begun to grow weary of this routine anyhow."

Galdor lets out a laugh, "I''m glad to see the simple life has not softened you, let us not waste any time, and teach these elves the true meaning of honor."