Chapter One: Welcome to the Old Kingdom
Rain.
Corvus Decimus Galatius hated rain.
Unfortunately, Falkreath Hold had an abundance of such weather, and today was no exception. The natural shower made quiet tapping sounds on Corvus' armor as his small party of men slowly plodded along. Corvus absentmindedly patted his helmet and felt the black horsehair plume sitting at the crest, straightening it with one hand while the other held onto the reins of his horse, General Valerian. He looked to his compatriot, Quintus Titus Metello. "I've always heard Skyrim was beautiful...this crap is making me doubt that." Quintus snickered. "I have absolutely no idea why Titus Mede wants us to hold onto this backwater of a province. When was the last time you saw a decent-looking woman here?" Inside his helmet, Corvus smiled. Quintus' mind always was on the ladies.
Thunder rumbled in the distance and Corvus shuddered. He still was not fully used to the sound of such a phenomena. The Imperial City was always balmy and warm. He thought of his home, a large townhouse in the Elven Gardens district, where his family lived. His father was a military advisor to the Emperor, and held the rank of General. His mother, an Imperial aristocrat, was no "milk-drinker" as the Nords would call her, and had been honorably discharged from the Legion after serving her time as a field legate on the border with Hammerfell. If only they could see him now.
Corvus was a member of a special elite within the Imperial Army; he was a Praetorian. These men, all heavy infantry, were the best and brightest the Legion had to offer. Corvus had recently been assigned to the Fourth Legion under General Tullius, an old friend of his father's. The civil war in Skyrim had hit a stalemate and the Emperor had ordered a contingent of his best Praetorians to provide the Fourth with some much-needed staying power. His father and mother would of course be proud, but they probably expected more from Corvus. They always had. The Galatius family had always been proud soldiers, with their bloodline being traced to the army of Tiber Septim himself. In recent years they had done well; An Admiral Aurelius Galatius commanded the Imperial Navy, and Count Cicero Emmalianus Galatius sat on the throne of Anvil. Corvus was just another of his family to serve his Empire. Nothing more, nothing less.
His musings were interrupted by Quintus. "Hey, Corvus. We're here." Corvus surveyed the scene in front of him; Falkreath, the capital of the hold of the same name. "Dosen't look like much, Quintus." They both chuckled again. Indeed, this "city", could barely be called so. A motley collection of small huts behind decaying wood and stone walls. Corvus supposed the huts looked cozy enough though, and the guards on the walls looked vigilant and strong. Perhaps this won't be so bad, he thought. The small group of Praetorians, including Quintus, Corvus, and several others, dismounted their horses and gave the reins to a bystanding guard. The five of them made their way down the street, giving cordial "Good Evening, citizen." greetings to every person they saw. A group of children shadowed them from behind, fascinated by the tall men in heavy armor, with large shields and swords.
Their company commander, an older man named Gordanius Feletia, a Quaestor, called out to the squad that the tavern was on the right side. The small group of soldiers, accordingly, moved to the right side of the street and mounted the slightly raised tavern stoop. Gordanius took off his helmet and nodded at each of the men in turn. "Remember, no brawls or public drunkenness. We're here as models of Imperial virtue. Helmets off, too." The men grumbled affirmatively and removed their horsehair-plumed full-face helmets. Corvus brushed his light brown hair out of his face and to the side, and wiped his brow of the moisture that had accumulated. He was handsome, one could say, with sharp features and calm gray eyes, and the light tan most Imperials had. As a lad, he had been popular in school with the girls. As Gordanius pushed the door to the tavern open, Corvus followed, accompanied by the other Praetorians.
Inside was quite different from what Corvus was used to, and it took a second to fully understand. Buxom Nord women arm-wrestled on tables, clearly inebriated, as two half-clothed men took swings at each other next to the large, central hearth. A bard was singing a crude song about Ulfric Stormcloak, the leader of the rebellion, and his exact relation with his second in command, Galmar Stone-Fist. The food, at least, looked delicious, and the soldiers could barely wait to sink their teeth into a famous Nord venison patty. However, at the sight of the 5 Imperials entering the bar fully armored, the noise quieted and then stopped. The curious Nords gawked at the newcomers.
"Hello, citizens. Carry on. We are hear only for lodging and food.", said Gordanius. At this, the merriment resumed as Corvus and his company shuffled over to the bar. "'Allo gents, what can I do ya for today?" asked the bartender. Gordanius looked his company over. "5 pints of your finest, please, and 3 rooms." Quintus grumbled when Gordanius didn't order any meat, but a quick look from the Quaestor stopped him from saying anything rash. The Imperials got their drinks and sat at a large table on the side wall. "This place is...different, I think." This coming from the youngest member of their company, the son of a renowned soldier, Marius Hortalus. His father, Gaius Hortalus, had single-handedly vanquished a large gang of bandits threatening the road leading to Chorrol and had been showered with titles and riches every since. The rest of the group laughed; Marius was a bit naive, but still a tough soldier and very bright.
"It's a different damn country, boy!" roared Quintus, who along with the rest of the company had already received the revalation as soon as they entered the city. Gordanius interrupted and suggested that they hit the sack because the next day of travelling would be long and hard, and rumors abounded that Stormcloaks had set up a small camp halfway to Markarth, their next stop on the journey to Solitude to meet with General Tullius. The men, having finished their pints, retired to their rooms, doubling up with another soldier, one on the bed, one on the floor.
Corvus got to the room first and claimed the bed by placing his helmet and pack on it as Quintus staggered in, cursing when he saw that he must sleep on the floor. Both soldiers stripped down to their red tunics which they wore under their armor and curled up for sleep. Corvus found himself tired and the furs on the bed were surprisingly warm and comfortable. The sounds of the tavern just outside his door died out as he drifted into the first good sleep he had had since leaving the Imperial City.