It had been 200 years since the Oblivion Crisis and 15 years after the Great War had taken place in Tamriel, The Aldmeri Dominion had risen out of the ashes and claimed much of what was once under their control. Cyrodiil and the Jarls of Skyrim had little choice but to sign the White-Gold Concordant, many saw it as a bribe for not soon after Altmer soldiers dressed in golden armor were seem carrying chests of gold to each Jarl. They said it was to rebuild Skyrim and to pay for any damages, but the Jarls did not need the bountiful chests of gold for that. The ban of Talos from worship in Tamriel was the start of a rebellion within Skyrim; the Nords saw the banning of Talos the sign of a weak and terrified Empire. Even Nords within Cyrodiil who were born in Skyrim or could trace their families back to Skyrim began to cross the border to join the Stormcloaks. Wearing blue and silver light armor they had camps hidden in the woods across Skyrim, their targets had been Imperial Legion camps and anyone wearing Imperial armor. The Legion had been sent into Skyrim to stop the rebellion, however in doing so they had made themselves a target by defending the White-Gold Concordant. The Jarl of Windhelm had been the man to begin the civil-war that held Skyrim in its grasp and the Dominion could do little but watch from the shadows. Aldmeri soldiers however could be seen taking prisoners to the Embassy that as located north of Solitude in the mountains, whatever happened to those taken there as unknown for few to none ever returned. Another feud within Skyrim was in the city of Whiterun, between Skyrim's oldest clans. Grey Mane and Battle-Born were once close friends who found value in farming and the old traditions of Skyrim became two bitter clans at war. Ulfrid Battle-Born and his clan had made a living while farming, but used their found wealth to cozy up to new friends within the Empire. When the war began the Grey Mane had chosen the Stormcloaks over the Legion, this only added more fuel to an already burning flame between the two. The Jarls had also chosen sides; the Jarls of Riften and Dawnstar had aligned with Windhelm while Solitude, Falkreth and Markarth took the side of the Empire. Whiterun remained a neutral party, the Jarl took cautious to take action for either side.
In order to join the civil-war within Skyrim races from Dunmer to Nord crossed the borders, the Orcs had remained within their compounds as the Khajiit took advantage of the war to sell merchandise outside of city walls and via caravans. The war had also divided another clan, older than Grey Mane and Battle-Born. A clan that's line could be traced back to a time where race and creed of man did not matter for all man were servants to a larger being. The clan had been spread between Skyrim and Cyrodiil for centuries, the war had divided the clan based on the right to worship Talos, but also for the destruction of anything that had come before the Aldmeri's own mastery of it. The clan of Davari had been keepers of old tomes, recordings of both priests and their masters. They had tomes from before the birth of Talos Stormcrown and the founding of the Akavari, scrolls and makings in a language only they could read and understand. The only others to have that knowledge were the Grey Beards of Skyrim, located on the slopes of Skyrim's highest mountain, the Throat of the World. The division of the clan however had come when those tired of protecting the past wanted to forge their on future left to find glory within the Legion. Those who wanted to protect what memories of the past they had took the journey to Skyrim, using their skills at the forge and with alchemy to help the rebellion but also to hide their relics within the tombs of their ancestors. Skilled with steel, leather, iron, and ebony metals they had made homes within small encampments and the large capitals of the Holds. Some even wandered the forests and mountains of Skyrim, choosing a life of solitude over the busy and trivial tidings of township.
"Sot lok kodaav nid iiz." A feminine voice murmured.
The traveler looked to the white sky with icy green eyes; her blood red hair fell against cold black armor as a satchel under her armor held all that she owned. Within her grasp as a large ebony sword, the edge kept sharp at all times. Behind her was the mouth of a cavern near the border of Cyrodiil and Skyrim, she had stayed there fearing that the growing winds meant a storm was near. With an exhale of frozen mist she returned her helmet to its rightful place, hiding her face from the world as she began the walk to Whiterun. Her sword rested on her left shoulder as a silent threat to anyone brave enough to attack the ebony clad traveler. Sadly the animal kingdom ever seem to understand such things, the low growling to her left and right had been her only warning before two wolves charged her from behind. The first struck her left leg making her fall to her knee as the second one leaped at her head, when the wolf's teeth tried to bite through her shoulder the woman yelled and tried to shake of the beast. The first wolf circled with fangs bared and waiting for an opening before an arrow whistled through the air. A yelp sounded before the woman finally shook off the second wolf, picking up her sword before thrusting it up blindly to feel something warm ooze into the cracks of her gauntlets. Looking up she saw the wolf impaled on her sword, the first wolf had been hit in the leg by the arrow and snarled. Two more arrows flew through the air, one went astray nearly hitting the young woman while the other hit the dead wolf.
"Dammit, watch your aim Ralof!" A man shouted before he charged from the bushes.
The man wore silver light armor with blue clothe, in his hands was a steel war hammer. Easing the dead wolf from her great sword the woman also charged at the wolf, both almost on a collision course the two had swung at the wolf. The force of the war hammer had caved in the spine while the great sword nearly cleaved both man and wolf in half. The man had short brown hair and deep grey eyes, his face covered in dirt and blood from the wolf. His hands tightly gripping the war hammer now buried within the wolf's rib-cage, the fur gloves on his hands slowly freezing from the blood on his hands. He looked at the ebony clad woman with wide eyes, the great sword nearly an inch from where his shoulder was. The man with the bow slowly walked from his hiding place, his long blonde hair riddled with pine needles as green eyes looked from the man then to the woman. Ralof lowered his bow and eased his great axe from off his back, the woman before him was not friend, nor was she foe but he would take caution before anything else. From the three did nothing but silent mist passed from their beings as they stood frozen in place.
"Easy lass, we don't mean any harm." The man in front of her said.
The woman eased her sword from the corpse, slowly putting it onto her back as blood dripped onto the snow. Ralof and his companion also returned their weapons to their rightful places, the air as still tense until the woman gave a short bow. The men were confused by the action but uneasily bowed in return; her silence was unnerving even then. The woman looked at the wolves on the ground before she reached for something, both men once again on guard until the woman dropped to her knees and began to skin the wolves. When it came time to search the stomach the two watched as warm organs were pushed aside, steaming in the cold air before the woman slit the stomach and slowly turned it inside out. A soft hum the woman sifted through the half-digested lumps of meat and bone, something within the goop had glittered in the light. A wet slap hit the ground again before the woman made something akin to a purr rubbing a small gem into the snow to clean it. Ralof shivered as she did the same to the broken wolf but found little more than more goop before she collected the pelts.
"You're quiet aren't you?" Ralof said, looking around before he collected any unbroken arrows.
The ebony clad woman gave a faint nod before she shifted to pull twine from her satchel; the sound of cracking branches alerted her before she turned to see more silver and blue armored men and women. There had to be enough to fill four carriages, a small party of soldiers. They looked at the woman with glares and drew their weapons before a man walked from the back of the group, the soldiers parting to show a man with light brown hair and chocolate eyes. His clothing was that of a Jarl's making the name of the man no mystery judging on just who the soldiers were, the woman removed her helmet showing pale skin to the sun. A scar traveled from the top of her right eye to the corner of her lips, sweat from the fight with the wolves was light upon her brow as the man looked over her armor. There had been rumor that Nords from an old clan were making their way to Windhelm and other areas controlled by Stormcloaks but the man did not think that there were also women that had survived any purging of the clan. With a deep breath the man's chest seemed to puff out for a moment before he stopped, whatever he was about to try did not seem wise if he was wrong. The Stormcloaks around the man half-expected him to use an ancient gift called The Voice, to focus one's vital essence into a Thu'um or Shout. The man knew of only one shout but it had been enough to kill the once High King of Skyrim, it had been the very start of the rebellion but many saw the High King's death as an honorable loss.
"I see that the rumors of the Davari leaving Cyrodiil were true." The man said, crossing his arms over his chest.
The woman gave a nod.
"When it calls, all return to the land of their first breath." She said; her voice a soft yet cold melody upon the air.
Ralof gave a faint grunt looking over his shoulder, they were not alone. Refusing to drop her helmet the woman put her helmet back on. The sound of hooves made her weary of what was coming before at least 30 men had surrounded them, bows drawn and arrows ready, more were on their way. The man without armor on had looked around before ordering his men to stand down; the woman shook her head and drew her sword. Men and women wearing brown and red light armor had them surrounded within five circles, each bigger than the last. Icy green eyes seemed to glow as she tensed up, her blood pounded in her veins before her grip tightened and she charged. A snarl the only thing leaving her lips as she swung, two men were nearly cut in half as the rest of the circle aimed and fired. To be trapped within 4 circles of soldiers totaling 40 with only 8 people in the center made for a rather impressive ambush. The choice to charge into the ambush was neither brave, nor was it mad but the woman refused to be bested by ambush alone. Though 2 men had been cut down the other 8 arrows within the circle had either bounced off or found a weak point in the armor, the searing pain made the woman cry out before she paused. This time she had arrows and swords pointed at her, the arrows in her flesh must've been coated in a poison meant to drain her stamina. She felt weak as she gripped her great sword tightly, panting even before shaking her body trying to dislodge the arrows. Only two had fell from shallow wounds, the air freezing her hot blood to her skin and armor as the soldiers readied to fire again.
"Stand down, rebel!" A soldier shouted, a Breton by the tone.
The man who just moments before was going to Shout at the woman was silent watching as she shook once more, the men's blood had frozen to her armor giving it a ruby glitter down her front. A weak growl ripped from her throat before she rose once more to charge into the second circle before the sound of arrows sang through the air. Stray arrows nicked and hit other soldiers as others found their way to the flesh of the woman as she cleaved half-way through a woman's arm. The soldier dropped her sword as three men drew their maces, ready to beat the woman into submission. Stormcloaks shouted out cries for them to stop after another man had been run through, five more soldiers were needed to hold to woman down. The harsh blow to the back of the head from a steel mace was the final blow to bring darkness to the woman's world as she finally fell to the ground. Her fate then would be sealed as her armor removed and her satchel tossed into the woods to be forgotten, or so they thought.
A/N: Dovah used in this fanfiction translated using Ni Dovah translator
Sot lok kodaav nid iiz: White sky bear no ice