She had been at Fort Greymoor for only three days, and the men either hated her, or struggled to swoon her. But like any nord woman would, she shut them up with a swift punch to the face. Legate Rikke seemed to take great pride in knowing that she trained one of the best, but the best also got sent to the most dangerous places. Setting a young woman at the title of Tribune, she and a large number of Imperial troops guarded Whiterun holds west flank, the pentagon of stone walls sitting perfectly atop a small hill in the planes. While the men she worked with were a pain in her arse, she valued the area she was placed in. The watchtower to the east of Greymoor held a valuable vantage point over the flat land, and she trusted the guards to send word of trouble if there was any.
The woman stood atop the stairs in front of the keep, watching as men and women alike walked the walls in constant vigilance over the surrounding area. To be honest, it was mainly a power location, showing Balgruuf that the Imperials were at his city, but at the same time protecting it. However much to the nord woman's dismay, the only skirmish that happened in the three days that she had been there was with a Giant, one that proved to be no match against her or her men. Even as the night air brushed against her slightly tanned skin, she found herself getting bored with the lack of battle, or, anything really. The whinnying of a horse drew her from her boredom cloud. Her eyes locked on two figures and a black mare. Her, black mare, and they were trying to take her.
The nord woman unsheathed her dagger and stalked up to them, silent, brooding anger seeping out through her very skin. She stopped a few feet behind them, deciding that she would have some fun, after all, she would need to find out if they were her men or bandits. Oddly she wished they were bandits, so she could mess with them further. She watched their feeble attempts at calming the feisty mare down. She was so skittish that the farmers who owned her were thinking of getting rid of her in a few days time, that was of course, before the nord woman collapsed on their doorstep. As payment for her staying there, she would help around the farm, the black mare took an odd liking to her, and she instantly got her.
Now here they were, fury matched and rivaled on both sides, these men didn't stand a chance. A smirk graced her full lips and she spoke, "Trying to steal a horse now are you? Meer bandit play, I should think you were more than that boys," The both of them froze at her authoritative tone, the way her honey smooth voice rode through them on a higher level of passive aggression. They turned to look at the source of the voice, and saw nothing but shadow. They exchanged glances and noticed that the horse had calmed down significantly. One of the men reached out for the reigns, but the whistle of wind shrieked through their heads. Suddenly the man's hand was cut open, from wrist to little finger. He cursed and flailed enraged at the searing bubbling pain. The other looked to where the knife was supposed to be lodged, but saw it was gone. "Oh come now, haven't you boys ever played hide and seak?"
"Come out bitch, or I'll gut you like a fish!" One snarled, reaching to draw his sword,
"Alright, fair game it is then, but you have to find me first," She taunted. The one she skimmed drew his sword and stomped furiously out into the yard. She walked out into the dim torch light and crossed her arms, "What business do you have here, bandit?" She hissed, knowing this fight would be easy, he spotted her and yowled with anger. She narrowed her amber eyes and a frown curled her lips. He closed the gap and swung down, she sidestepped and kept her arms crossed. He swung left, for her torso, she ducked and smirked, finding all the flaws in his form and aim. Then suddenly he spun backwards and skimmed her armor as she rolled back. He swung to her left at a downwards angle, she grabbed her other dagger and stopped his sword, hitting him in the gut with the butt of the other. He stumbled, glaring at her as she straightened and stood at full height, her glare burning into him like a deep cut.
He jerked his sword forward as to run her through, she caught his blade again and tilted it up. Stepping closer to him with more speed than imaginable, she hooked her blade at the guard of his sword and ripped it from his grasp, tossing it and sticking it to the ground. When she noticed the awe and horror on his face she tilted her head and drove her dagger into his gut, he sputtered and struggled to shove her off. His blood sticky and warm on her hands, she etched the dagger up, looking at him, at how the life left his eyes.
She stopped at the bottom of his ribcage before pulling out her blade. He gurgled and fell to his knees, his hands desperately trying to hold his gushing life in. She mumbled softly, almost like a coo into the air, "Who's gutted who now?" The sound of shuffling broke her savage moment and her eyes locked on the other hooded figure, the mare dug at the ground idly with her massive hoof as her nord rider walked up to the fallen figure. She ripped off his hood and instantly recognized the blue eyes, followed by the rusted brown hair. "Ronan," She said, his eyes widening, "What did you hope to gain? Bandits, honestly, I thought you were better than that," Quickly she hooked her fingers in the kinks of his armored shirt, ripping him off his feet and dragging him to the other side of the yard, ignoring his protests and pleas for mercy.
Roughly she shoved him against a target and pinned him there by his armor with her daggers, finding some rope nearby, she tied him to the archery target and marveled at the sight of him squirming. She wasn't sadistic, but she knew when someone needed to be punished, as she turned to walk back into the keep her daggers in hand she heard him yell, "No please! The wolves will get me! Don't leave me here!" She paused and turned on heel, looking him in the eye, "Bandits deserve to die by a wolf, as they are the scum of Nirn, but you were an Imperial soldier once," She paused, noticing the sky start to clear as dawn would surely come soon, "Tomorrow, at noon, you will die by arrow head by your once comrades, as you deserve no more and no less, I'll send my condolences to your family Ronan," She walked to the keep door, noting his silence.
She walked through the door and closed it behind her, walking to a basin and washing her hands off, then running a hand through her wavy auburn hair. She sighed and braided her hair back, tying it before waking a few soldiers up, as training would resume just before dawn. She kicked their boots every once and a while but shook most of them up, walking towards the back of the keep waking a few more up before seeking her own quarters, sleep threatening her bones, she needed sleep, but she also had duties to carry out. Coming up to a hallway to get to the armory, which happened to be next to the prison. After all, the fort wasn't made to defend, it was a prison before anything.
She opened the door to the kitchen and grabbed an apple for breakfast, she bit into it before opening another to the hall, coming face to face with a soldier, she opened her mouth to apologize but noticed the blue warpaint. Noticed the war hammer on his back, noticed the blue armor he wore. Her eyes flickered to the many soldiers like him trailing behind, with a yell she broke the frozen awkward air, she brought her apple down on his head, smashing the fruit to bits and making him stumble against the wall, he cursed as she cried out at the top of her lungs, "Stormcloaks!" She spun on heel and slammed the door shut, flipping a table to block the door as she ran out to get her men prepared.
She ran hard and as fast as she could, into the main barracks, only to meet the narrow swing of a sword. She dropped to her knees in record time and swung her dagger up as she noticed how much the blue grey sea had flooded the room. The keep was under attack, no doubt to go after Whiterun next. The Stormcloak she killed fell and she rose, dancing around swings and slashes she watched in horror as her weary men were cut down. With a new found fury, her daggers began to ebb and flow in one swift motion, turning into a flury of sharp edges and the end of your life. She cut down three men and women from the Stormcloaks before a boot to the gut knocked her through the keep door. She was tossed out into the rising morning to the smell of blood and the sound of death and cries. Eyes wide she pushed herself to her feet, gripping her daggers as she caught her breath. They were flanked, and short of men, losing fast, the realization hit her like a bucking horse. She ran cutting down anyone in her way, effectively saving a few of her men as she made her way to the stables. The archers above struggling to make clean hits through everything, having arrows fired at them as well. She found her black mare, Sasha, and hopped on with ease, slamming her heels into her steed she grabbed an archer and pulled him up behind her. Bow drawn and arrow pulled back as she made her way for the Western watchtower.
She didn't get far however, because her archer was shot with an arrow, and shortly after, she was ripped off her horse. Her back hit the stone road hard, she bounced slightly and almost layed there. And she would have, if not for the bear headed war hammer swinging down for her face, she rolled. Shoving herself to her feet, she slapped her horse to make her run, the nord woman turned, daggers drawn in both hands, she stepped back as he stepped forward.
He was a bear of a man, a complement as the black pelt was draped over his shoulders. She took in the clawed gauntlets and boots, the way he held himself. He had dark hair, and green eyes, and he was built to easily kill a man. She was faced with a Stormcloak general, and fear licked at her fingers. She gritted her teeth and snarled, bringing up her blades and rushing him, licking at his belly as he tried to grab her. She jumped and brought her blade down to his shoulder, the steel not letting up, and leaving her in a vulnerable place. He shoved her, knocking her back to the ground hard, forcing her to do an analysis on him, she would surely die if she wasn't careful. She wet her lips and looked at the relaxed taught yet posture, he was ready to be fluid but hit hard. She stood and regained her bearings, noticing how he took heavy steps towards her.
She swayed a little with each step around him, giving the impression that she was weaker. She noticed how he covered his sides, just under his ribs, with his arms, he tensed up and gripped the war hammer harder. She needed to get closer, but he was quicker with his hands than with that weapon, and for that she needed to get rid of the claws. He swung to the left, she ducked and tried to get close, but she earned a knee to her side instead. She winced, taking note to avoid that as well, she danced around him, dodging his blows, not attacking. Then suddenly he jabbed at her, rushing her again, she swung and lodged her blade into his side, he hissed and cursed, knocking the grip of his war hammer into her. She stumbled, and he did it again, but this time she grabbed the hilt of it and made a swipe at his face, she skimmed his cheek and he backed away from her.
He growled as he pulled out the dagger in his side, blood seeping from the wound, when he lifted his arm to throw the thing she ran and slammed into him, shoving him back with impressive force, she threw a punch and landed it on his jaw. Then she pivoted and spun, kicking him in the gut with all her might. He fell, trying to get up, but her heel stopped him as she kicked him in his wounded side, he yelled profanities at her and threw a punch himself. Narrowly missing her, the steel bear claws skimming her eyebrow. He went to shove her off of him, her daggers dangerously close to his throat, but one swift punch put him out. She poised a dagger up, threatening to bring it down, but he didn't move. She waited, sitting on her knees above him, waiting for him to move, as pretending to be done was surely a trick. One hit like that couldn't have knocked him out.
When she saw there was no response but his shallow breathing, she sighed and rolled off of him, panting and assessing the damage done, he cracked one or two of her ribs for sure, and she would be bruised to the bone for a while no doubt. With a wince she sat up, sheathing her daggers, She cried out, "Sasha!" Questioning just how far the mare had run, to her ease, the sound of metal shoed hooves beating against the stone road filled her ears. The black horse strode over and stopped in front of her, huffing at the Stormcloak general that lay on the earth. The question itching at her bones as of what to do with him. The horse looked between the two and then nudged her rider. The nord woman gripped the harness and pulled herself to her feet, she eyed his weapon, and the wound still seeping with his crimson life. She looked in the bag on her horse and pulled out some thin cloth.
Begrudgingly she removed some of his armor and wrapped him up, almost satisfied at the ammount of damage she managed to inflict. Almost. She pulled off his gauntlets and tied his hands, she strapped in his armor and weapon to her horse, and then there was the matter of getting him on the beast. After a while of unnecessary struggling with getting her mare to comply, they rode slowly back to the fort, the sight she returned to pleased her.
Her men stood at attention, and a row of a few prisoners sat at their knees, hands tied, and over all looking rough. Her men looked at her in awe, at the sight of the man behind her, and how beat down she looked. She woe'd her steed and hopped off, requesting help with the general. Noticing how some of the captives bristled at the sight of his wound. Silently she watched as they placed him down gentler than she guessed they did with the others. Then she lead her horse to the stables, taking the armor and weapon from her mare, the nord woman walked over to the prisoners, placing down the armor down a bit far from them, she looked at three of her men, "Duncan, Lucien, Erien, go get some water and food for them, good food, and some potions and mead if you can,"
"But-" Duncan tried,
"Now, soldier," She said firmly, they scurried into the keep. Then she spoke, "My name is Nichole, I am the second to Legate Rikke in Solitude. No doubt you were ordered to take Greymoor to further pressure Whiterun?" She was met with silence, she noticed the girl in light armor, she had light blonde hair that fell in messy tendrils over her face. Nichole walked over to her and kneeled down to her level, "What's your name?"
"Why should I tell you bitch?" The amber eyed fury raised an eyebrow,
"I'm not going to ask again," She growled, low, venomously,
"To oblivion with you, Imperial rat," The blonde hissed, then suddenly the Imperial nord gripped the blondes hair, pulling her to her feet as she screeched. Paying attention to how the woman held herself she shoved her out in the open, allowing her to stumble, showing that she favored her right leg. "Listen to me archer, I don't have to be your friend, so make this easy for all of us, what is your name?" She demanded coldly,
"Fuck you," The blonde hissed, then her head cocked back, and a sound escaped her throat the woman fell to the floor, moaning in pain at the impact. People gasped and Nichole clenched her fist tighter, "Next one won't be so light, you have three broken ribs and your left leg is about to snap, would you like me to make that happen?" The blonde held herself and sent an icy glare, "Well?" The other woman asked,
"No," The blonde mumbled, closing her brown eyes. Then she was pulled to her feet, she yelped and hissed, "My name is Soleen!" She cried, as the auburn beauty pressed her fingers into one of her ribs. Then suddenly, her hands were gentle, and guiding her to sit down on the steps. Soleen looked at her in a bewildered awe, still cradling her ribs. Nichole walked over to the others, stopping in front of a greasy brown haired man, blue eyes, and a sly smirk. "Do I have to ask?" The woman said to him,
"Sidger," Said the sleazy man, she frowned slightly, a scowl returning to her face. The next man was like a saber cat, his beard hugged his face in short curly dirty blonde locks. His eyes were kind, but he could probably kill her just with a hug. "And yours?" She said softly,
"Harem," He said to her, his voice deep and burly, loud too. She offered a smile and then her eyes fell on the man she fought, worry creased her thoughts. Then she opened her mouth, "And him, what's his name?" Her voice faltering, it was almost noon, and she had taken a beating harder than she thought she would. "Tristan," Harem said, then Duncan, Erien, and Lucien walked out, plates and bowls and bags of mead and potions in hand. She smiled and thanked the boys, giving everyone an equal amount of food and water. Mixing in some healing commodities as they fed and drank. She and another soldier using the alcohol to tend to wounds.
When she got to the general she wondered if it was wise to wake him up while she changed the bandages, she decided against it. Getting some clothes for them all to change into, she unwrapped his wound, frowning at how bad it looked. She poured alcohol on it, and he shot up, forcing more blood out, she cursed frustrated and pushed him back down, his hands dug into her arms as her health potion lubricated hands massaged and worked into the wound. Soon his hissing died down and he simply glared at her. She wrapped him up with new cloth, then gave him some food.
He didn't release her however, so she paused and looked at him, her amber red eyes locking with this moss green eyes. "I am well aware of how easily you could break my arm, and if that is what you wish to do, then do it," She said softly, boldly, still loud enough for all of them to hear. "Why are we here?" He demanded, and she couldn't stop her eyes from widening, his voice deep yet soothing, not fit to yell but to laugh. Her lips parted for words but she was caught up, then she said, "You're a general for Ulfric Stormcloak, under direct orders to take this fort, you must know quite a bit, so you and your circle are going to Solitude."
He gripped her arms harder, and she resisted the urge to wince, he would surely leave bruises. His eyes taking in the way her jaw clenched, her eyebrows drew together slowly, at the cut across her forehead. At her fire like eyes, and then suddenly he released her. She stood up slowly, turning to her men, "Get a cart ready, and a small selection of men, we set off for Solitude today."