Chapter one - Through the Night, We Walk
The cold wind of the north came. The horses, in silence, stood in the stables. The colours of the aurora borealis lighted Skyrim. It was a quiet night. There was no signal of any threats. No dragon signal, no wolf's attack, nothing. The moon slipped away swiftly the sky. The morning soon came.
The people over Whiterun were awakening; the bars, the blacksmith and the general stores were opening. All three districts were slowly rising to life. The Bannered Mare – a friendly inn, offering exquisite politeness, mead, food, entertainment and a warm, welcoming fire; the warm glow lighting up the town. Arcadia's Cauldron, offering all alchemy needs for the growing warrior, stood close-by. Next to Arcadia's, there stands Belethor's General Goods – sellingeverything; both trading and purchasing is available, from books to weapons, potions to food. The Drunken Huntsman, a local tavern and hunting shop – predictably living up to its name, the Drunken Huntsman specialises in a friendly pub, providing ale and food, but also the option to purchase armoury goods, especially archery equipment. Across from the Drunken Huntsman, stands Warmaiden's; weaponry, armoury and shop, filled with equipment and goods designed to fulfil a local's necessities. As rivalled with The Bannered Mare as the most popular congregation points, the Whiterun Marketplace - known for its vast supply of produce; meat, vegetables, fresh fruit and even jewellery.
Eventually, the sellers went to the stands. But all the food, the meat, the vegetables; they were all gone. The large produce crates were all over the floor, no Stormcloak's guards were to be found; there was nothing but blood all over the path to Dragonsreach. On the bridge to the front door of Dragonsreach, all the weapons of the Stormcloak's guards were scattered all over the wooden bridge, all the way up to the great porch. The usually clear, blue stream running alongside Dragonsreach was flowing with masses of dead bodies. All the bodies either belonged to guards, or locals. The water was crimson from the blood.
On the Dragonsreach front door, a sharp bladed Dragonbone dagger was wedged in the wood; fresh, maroon coloured blood oozing down the dagger.
Ulfric Stormcloack stood watching his city fall, wilting in fear; his face colourless and blank with distress. His army was destroyed; the unknown enemy could attack whenever it wished. There was no protection, the walls would easily fall to the nemesis; what with the army defeated, and the locals would not wish to fight. The panic on Whiterun was clear. The sellers, the families, the workers; most of the population had fled within the past little while. The walls of Solitude seemed taller, stronger; more able to look after them. Seeking safety and security, they left.
Whiterun became a ghost town, the echoes of silence through the empty streets and houses made Ulfric fear the next daunting night. The only sounds in the town were the distant calls of birds, the wind swirling, gentle breezes whispering over Whiterun, the faded trickle of water in the bloody stream. All of Skyrim considered Whiterun as afflicted. The crows were soon sent to inform the other cities of Whiterun's carnage and devastation. Every living being that set foot in the streets of Ulfric's prized Whiterun were to be cursed - undeniably.
And there Ulfric stayed, his companions joined him - they would battle for their homeland, the King bought services to protect him and his brethren. They would keep their home even if they had to become the bloody beasts that they really are.
The night was calm - so was the next morning. The Gildergreen tree began to bud dark red leaves, as red as Falmer's blood. Some red guards were sent from Solitude, they had no idea what was happening or who – or what – was responsible for the bloodshed. Ulfric took important papers, maps, important books; took his axe, mounted his horse and travelled to the walls of Solitude.
The companions stayed at Dragonsreach, preparing for some unknown enemy. By the third night, footsteps and voices could be heard from inside the city. The companions weren't a big assembly - they couldn't look after every corner of the city. They went to the most important places so they could watch as much as possible from inside the walls. From the gates of Whiterun, they could hear a scream – but it was not humane. Something started breaking the gates down, loud screeching and howling echoed from the other side of the gate. The courageous, brave companions waited for their death; swords brandished and bows aiming towards the opponent's position. Shields up and armour ready, they stood, waiting anxiously. Pieces of wood started to fall from the gate, sent hurtling – the unknown enemy soon to be revealed to them.