The snow was cold underfoot, the sun was warm overhead as they climbed that final ridge. As they crested the hilltop, that warmth was swallowed up in a gust of sharply cold wind that struck them in their faces like a slap from Kyne herself.

Most of the group shivered, even with the furs they had wrapped around themselves. There were only two who had not wrapped up, and they were the only two who did not seem to mind the cold. One, an orc, stood bare chested as the wind, surveying the land before them, looking almost disappointed.

The other was the group's leader and he too regarded Skyrim. Though the look in his eyes was far from disappointed. They were the dark blue of a stormy sky, yet they shone with pleasure as they took in his homeland.

Unlike the orc, he was wearing fur. His shoulders were covered with a cloak made from Snow Bear hide, a gift from his father before he had left Skyrim, which was fastened with a bronze clasp beneath his chin.

Unlike the others, however, this man did not wrap himself in his furs and instead let the wind blow it behind him, exposing the orichalcum plate mail he wore underneath. The armour had been a gift from an orc war chief he had fought with, a token of respect. The plate was covered in the pelt of a sabrecat that hung like a tabard over the orcish metal. The head of the beast crested the helmet, the two fangs coming down on either side of the wearer's face in a ferocious snarl.

'So, is this Markarth?' one of the wrapped-up men asked as he came to stand beside them. He, like the orc, did not look overly enthused by that land ahead of them. Like most of the group, he was a Redguard and so used to much warmer lands than the frozen tundra of Skyrim.

To Bjorn Blackmane, however, the soft crunch of snow and the harsh winds felt just like home and he smiled.

'No,' he answered his friend, 'Markarth lies to the north of here. Behind those mountains.' He pointed off to the distance where they could indeed see the high peaks of a mountain range. 'this is Falkreath, the homeland of Talos himself.'

The Redguard, whose name was Alesne, looked again upon the land. He looked no happier than he had moments before but maybe a touch more reverent. The Redguards might not hold Talos as a god in the way most other men did, but they recognised and respected the strength of power of the man he had been, and that was enough for Bjorn.

It felt strange to be leaving Hammerfell. He had spent so many years there, fighting alongside the Redguards as they continued to beat back the hated Thalmor. But he had spoken with the Lord of Hunts who had told him the time had come to pursue new prey.

The Spear of the Hunter, a gift given into Bjorn's own hands by the Lord of Hunts, seemed to twitch excitedly in his hands, as if eager to begin the new chase. Though what they were to chase, Bjorn was not yet sure of. Hircine had not told that to him, but he was sure it would become clear in time.

For now, he would be happy to carry on taking the fight to the Thalmor, now in his own homeland. This was why his companions had joined him.

'Long have you fought with us in our land against the enemy,' Jaiatu had said the night Bjorn had told them he was leaving, 'it is only right that we join you when you fight in yours.'

Jaiatu Nuuga was Bjorn's oldest friend and they had fought beside each other in countless battles now. Curiously for a Redguard, Jaiatu seemed to honour the Nordic pantheon and often spoke of Sovngarde. He even wore an amulet of Talos around his neck.

Alesne and Roxelana Martell, the other Redguards in his group, kept to the Redguard ways. Alesne followed Satakal as his god, as did many of the Alik'r nomads. Roxelana, despite having been raised in the port city of Rihad, preferred the winder places of the world and followed Ius, their god of animals, though more and more, Bjorn thought she might turn to the worship of the Lord of Hunts.

Lorzuk, the orc, had also joined out of loyalty. Bjorn had, in the orc's eyes, saved him from a skooma problem and had given him purpose again and the will to take up the axe. Even Goshawk, a Breton mage descended from the Reachmen, who had all reason to hate Bjorn simply for being a Nord, followed him and had followed him loyally since they had met five years before.

Only one of their number followed Bjorn not out of loyalty or hatred of the Thalmor, but because it was commanded of him. Ulwaar Highmoon was a fellow devotee of Hircine and their Lord had commanded the wood elf to accompany him on his journey to the north. A fact Bjorn was not happy with. The dark eyed elves of Valenwood had gone over to the Thalmor along with the cats of Elsweyr. They were almost as bad as the Summerset elves. The fact he was having to walk the same road as this elf was an insult. But it was as the Lord commanded and so he must obey.

Bjorn stole a quick look back at Ulwaar, easy to make out being the shortest of their number. Well whatever their reasons, they were with him. And he would lead them to glory just as he had in Hammerfell.

They were over the border and quickly found a road leading North. Bjorn knew he wanted to be heading east, towards Windhelm. There he would find the man he had heard so much about, this Ulfric Stormcloak, who had risen up in glorious rebellion against the cowardly Empire to spit in the face of the Thalmor.

Bjorn longed to meet him. From what he had heard, he was a man to inspire armies, who could lead the Nords to freedom. And Bjorn wanted to be at his side when he did.

But first, they would need news and a way of getting to Windhelm. And if he remembered rightly, both would be found at Markarth, along with a proper bed for the night, their first bed in the gods alone knew how long.

Bjorn stole a sly look back at Roxelana. A true bed to pull her into, where she could laugh as he kissed her, where she could moan and scream as he took her. By the gods she was beautiful. Short for a Redguard, she barely came up to his chin, and buxom for all she tried to hide it beneath her leather armour. Her eyes were large and her hair was long, falling in ringlets to the middle of her back when it was not tied in a braid.

Roxelana seemed to feel his eyes on her for she met his gaze and gave him a coy smile. She knew what he was thinking. Bjorn wondered if she was as excited as he was at the thought of her dark legs wrapped around him, of her nails digging into his back, his hand tangling in her thick hair. Bjorn imagined kissing those full lips of hers now and then hearing her gasp as his kisses moved down to her round, ripe breasts.

'Riders!' Ulwaar called.

Bjorn looked back ahead and saw the elf was right. In the distance he could see a group of mounted men coming straight towards them.

Cursing himself for getting distracted, he cast about. They had taken pains to avoid the Imperial checkpoints coming into Skyrim, he did not want to get taken by them now.

'Over there!' Jaiatu called, gesturing at a thicket of trees just a short way off the road. Bjorn and his group made for it. Not a moment too soon.

It was an Imperial patrol, leading what looked like a prison transport. Two wagons, each driven by legionnaires, both full of bound men and women.

'Stormcloaks,' Goshawk said, quietly, as they watched the wagons go by.

'What?' Alesne asked.

'Those were followers of Ulfric Stormcloak,' Goshawk explained, 'that's what they call themselves.'

'Where are they going?' Roxelana asked.

'Execution, probably,' Lorzuk said, matter-of-factly, 'that's what you usually do with enemy soldiers.'

'Well not a lot we can do for them, even if that is their fate,' Jaiatu said, regretfully, still watching the wagons as they turned a corner in the road and began to disappear from sight. 'Wonder where they're going.'

'I think there's a big town over that way,' Bjorn struggled to remember, it had been many years, 'Helgen, I think. Fortified place with big walls.'

They waited for the patrol to disappear from sight and hearing before they moved from their hiding place. It rankled Bjorn, having to hide from Imperials. But there had been too many of them, and they'd all been mounted. They'd have taken most of them, but they would have lost.

Roxelana spat after them.

'Imperial bastards,' she said, hatred in her voice. She, like many Redguards, held the Emperor and those who followed him in the deepest contempt for signing that peace deal with the Thalmor. From what he'd heard, it was a sentiment that many here in Skyrim shared, Ulfric Stormcloak among them. One of the many reasons Bjorn was eager to join his fight.

Not long, he thought as they passed by a sign that pointed in the direction of Markarth, not long now. Then I shall prove my worth. To Ulfric, to Father, and Lord Hircine.

The first step was Markarth.