Marching, or more so running, his troops circled Fort Dunstad in a slow but steady pace. Their fur and leather boots turning the snow to mush as they retraced the track around the walls. To him, the sound was procedure, something they needed to get lost in. Though the shouts from the lead broke any tranquil state they were in, he hopped that they would find it soothing; even though they were nothing but young boys, he knew they would be great soldiers. He sighed, turning on heel and crossing his meaty arms over his bold chest. The cold biting at his bare arms and face. But he was a nord, a proud one at that, and the cold winds of northern Skyrim did nothing to phase him. His steel spiked boots coming down hard against the thin layer of snow atop the stone wall. He paced, looking down at the yard with calculating moss eyes.
The archers could use steadier aim, and the warriors could put more effort into their swings, but they were battle ready. He paused, glancing between two soldiers, they were bickering, no doubt about something childish. With a deep sigh he turned east and jumped onto a wooden platform below him. Then he crashed dramatically to the ground, making a noticeable thud pull the archers attention. Several looked at his tall imposing form with awe, at his broad shoulders wrapped in black bear pelt, lined with steel claws down to his gauntlets. One of them spoke, "General," Effectively making the others stop shooting. The thud of arrows piercing hay ceazed as he approached the two squabbling boys. He stood there in silence, watching them push at each other and throw insults into the crisp air. That was, until one of them threw a punch.
He was on them faster than a wolf on a rabbit, his hand gripping the assaulters wrist with enough might to almost crush his wrist, and the other was caught withering under his glare. Silence overtook most of the camp, and all eyes were on him as he spoke, deep, slow, and to the point, "What is the meaning of this?" He demanded, no one dared to answer. A frown claimed his lips, "You two are bickering in the midst of training, when there is a war waging not a wink outside these walls?" He let the one boy go, turning his gaze back and forth between the two, "You think that bickering with your enemy like a child will stop them from shoving a sword through your chest?" They both looked down, ashamed of their behavior. He huffed, obviously having more to say to them, but settled for finishing the matter, "What are your names?" They didn't speak, he smirked inwardly, in him, the tension was gone, and he sought to mess with them further. One kicked at the snow idly while the other stood frozen, "Well?" He pressed, a mischievous glint passing over his eyes,
"Gundger," One said, the frozen one he noted.
"And?" He looked to the other,
"Jorn," The young man admitted,
"Well then, any dispute you have with your brother in arms can stay in your mind until a piece of Imperial scum stands in front of you," He said, harsher than most, but they needed to understand that the world wasn't a playground when people were trying to kill you. "For now, all you can do is train until that day," He said to the both of them before turning to the rest of the yard, "That goes to all of you, train as if your lives depend on it, because they do! There is no room for any milk drinker here! Prove to me and to all of Skyrim that you a true son, a true daughter to the land!" He bellowed, getting most of them into higher spirits as they began to stand at attention.
He waved them off and left for the stairway to the wall again, as to oversee the training process. However, a man can only get so far before being interrupted, one of his fastest couriers ran up to him, slightly fatigued and solemn faced. The woman looked up at him, words dying on her lips as she had run from Windhelm. The general bit his lip and pressed his hand to her shoulder, leading her to the small house at the other end of the compound. Once they were inside, the woman wasted no time in taking a seat and a plate of food. He sat across from her, leaning against the table with his forearms.
She took in her general, as it had been three days since their last meet, and that was at the camp north of them. His eyes still held higher spirits than most, the set moss green color seeping into her skin. His dark hair a tad longer past his ears, and his goatee still residing on his chin. "What news do you bring Senna?" He asked, his voice much lower and quieter than from the court. The woman in question pulled over her satchel, grabbing the two letters for him. "A friend's regard from Riften, and a letter from Ulfric himself, he said to deliver it with great haste," She explained, handing him the scroll and slip of paper.
He slid the scroll from her hand and broke the wax seal, opening it his eyes scanned the paper, taking in the fine ink scratches. He recognized Jorlifs hand writing, but it was from Galmar. He furrowed his brow in frustration, setting the paper down and closing his eyes. He sighed slowly, deeply, before standing and grabbing a slip of paper and something to write with. He settled for charcoal and began writing. "What did it say?" Senna asked, pushing her thick black hair over one shoulder. "Ulfric wants me to march on Fort Greymoor within a weeks time, it seems my men will need to be more battle ready than they are,"
"Greymoor, west of Whiterun? Does he plan an attack?" She asked with partial awe and horror. She knew people there, and the last thing she wanted was for them to feel the fire of the Stormcloaks. "That is not my place to tell Senna," He said, he folded the paper in half, not bothering to be fancy much like Ulfric's steward. "I need you to bring this to him," The dark haired general rasped, not feeling the fire of the call of battle. He was not willing to drive his men into a storm of arrows and death, he knew quite well how heavily defended the fort was. Senna pursed her lips into a thin line, not happy with his answer, none the less however, she stood taking a few more gulps from her mead, before turning swiftly for the door.
He rubbed his eyes as the wooden door slammed shut, with a heavy sigh he stood again and made way for the cold outside. The drills needed to be switched up, and for that, he needed to consult his brothers in arms. With the news of death on his shoulders he made his way to the keep, heavy footed he marched into the building, gathering Harem and Soleen, noting that Sidger was missing, again. They settled at a war table, a debate running mad through the air as the bow master and shield barron bickered. The general found himself correcting the both of them on many points, his voice stern as he proposed ideas not only for training, but for the assault on the keep.
Planning went on till dawn, leaving the three soldiers tired and at a loss for words, with a little bit of a plan agreed upon for training. The whelps would start sparring with each other, leaning the strengths and weaknesses of their foes and friends. The archers would begin learning how to use a dagger in a tight spot, as a bow might not always be useful. Intensive training would start for all groups, as the scouts would have to learn to defend themselves, or become reconnaissance if need be. The general noted that he would need a word with Sidger and his wing once he was found, fearing infiltration may be needed.
Once the meeting was done, the general rose to his feet, weariness claiming his muscles. Soleen looked up at him, her amber eyes flashing with concern, "Tristan, are you alright?"
"Is a man ever alright if he knows he will be responsible for the death of too many young men and women?" He ran a hand through his black locks, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he thought. Soleen looked down at her hands, her blonde braid falling down her shoulder, "Goodnight sir," She said boldly before returning to her own cot. She swore her men would be ready, she just hoped that the rat named Sidger would show his face soon, they needed him more than she would like to admit.
So this is a story about two oc characters, it is a developing romance and can get pretty intense. None the less enjoy.