Before yall read, one thing for yall to know. this story will include Mod characters. at this time, 3-4 of them, as well as some story ideas from a few other mods. i aim to faithfully capture those characters alongside the canon characters and the OC's in a way that promotes these awesome works, and still write a engaging and entertaining cast for yall to read. if you would like to know hich characters are from Mods, and where some of the story mods and such appear, PM me, i'll point em your way. if you happen to be the owner of one of the mods that appears in here, and are somehow pissed off/peeved/mildly annoyed/or concerned in any way shape or form of my use of them... again, PM me. beyond that, i hope yall enjoy this story, i've wanted to write a skyrim centric fic for the longest of times, and simply could never find a story i actually wanted to tell.
Crisp cold wind blew against the boy's face, the small flakes of snow brought with it melting as soon as it touched his bare skin. Several shivers were sent down his body from where he was sitting. Not one of the them was from the cold. The wagon he sat on rocked back and forth down a winding mountain trail, the boy watching as the walls of a small village drew ever closer. Each gentle clop of the horse's hoofs, each clink of mail and steel, all sent a stabbing pain through his chest.
I really screwed up… I should have never tried to steel that horse! He let out a sigh as his eyes dropped to the wooden floor of the wagon, his bound hands now immediately in front of his face, along with the several other pairs of boots around him.
Unlike him, the others in the cart were all decked out in full chain mail, the sheaths and loops for various weapons still in place even, compared to the boys ragged threadbare tunic. Each one was a soldier of the Stormcloak army. Each one had woken up that morning knowing they could die today. As rebels, that was merely part of their life now.
"You there, boy. Where are you from?" one of the rebels suddenly spoke up, his green eyes fixed to the boy.
"A small village, north of Bruma. Doesn't exist anymore." He responded as curtly and politely as he could manage, given the situation. The next few minutes could very well be his last after all.
"Ah. Thought you had the look of an imperial about you. Family?"
"No."
"Sad. A man's last thoughts should be of hearth and kin." The man's eyes dropped away from the boy as he continued, almost too quietly to be heard over the armor and horses. "If only you hadn't been caught in the ambush meant for us. You would not be on this wagon if it was not for such poor timing. For that, I am sorry." As he finished, he brought his eyes back to the boy's.
The man beside the speaker seemed to be following the conversation, the fine furs over top his armor marking him as a man of some measure. Oddly though, he was the only man to have been muzzled by the imperials. The boy could see the sadness in his eyes as he solemnly nodded his way. The other Stormcloaks all matched his small and simple gesture, it sending a single shudder of fear through the boy.
"Quiet back there! It's the end of the line for you rats!" the wagon driver called that out as they approached the village's gate. A fair number of people had gathered at the edges of the road to watch the wagon's roll toward the center of the village, where a small keep was.
As soon as they arrived there, they were told to get off the wagons were the several dozen prisoners all fell into lines, the boy at the back of one, right behind the Stormcloak that had spoken earlier. The Imperial soldiers at the heads of the lines were calling off names one at a time, the prisoner moving off to a new line forming beyond them.
"The empire and their damned lists…" the Stormcloak ahead of the boy muttered that under his breath, almost too quiet to be heard over the shouted names and the slowly gathering crowd's shouting.
"Ralof of Riverwood!"
The Stormcloak let out a small sigh before slipped out of the line, leaving no one but the boy from his wagon. Slowly, one by one, the other lines completely emptied, leaving the boy as the only one standing there.
"You there, boy, what's your name?" the Imperial with the list from his wagon calmly spoke toward him, none of the anger and malice in it that many of the other soldiers were displaying toward their captives.
"Maximus." The boy spoke up just loud enough to be heard, a small spark of hope appearing in his mind.
"Maximus….?" The Soldier drew out the name for several moments, glancing between the boy and the list.
"I don't have a last name. Not one worth mentioning anyway."
"Alright, well, I don't see you on the list s-"
"Hadvar! What's the hold up!?" a female soldier in full imperial armor strode over from the mass of Stormcloaks, visibly irked that the boy was still standing there.
"He's not on the list ma-am."
"To hell with the list! To the block prisoner!" she shouted that at Maximus, pointing off at the others before striding off.
"I'm sorry boy. I'll make sure your remains are returned to Cyrodil."
Maximus shared a small nod with the soldier before walking to the group waiting to be executed, the little spark of hope he had felt completely gone. One by one, Stormcloaks were called forward to the headsmen, a meaty thunk marking the end of their lives.
"Next, the Renegade from Cyrodil!" he gulped as he was dragged forward, just over a dozen of the rebels left standing behind him. There were several crude crates containing severed heads lined up behind the small wooden chopping block, a wagon already being filled with corpses. Blood soaked the earth under the block in enormous quantities.
When he reached the block, he didn't give the soldiers the pleasure of shoving him down, dropping to his knees and letting himself slump into place. None of the soldiers said anything about it, likely just relieved they didn't have to struggle this time. The headsman shook his head at the boy, his face covered by the traditional veil most headsmen wore.
After the small gesture, he raised the blood coated axe high over his head, preparing to bring it down on Max.
Max closed his eyes, taking a deep shuddering breath. This is it. The end. Well… at least I get to see my family once more.
There was a sudden echoing roar, like nothing Max had ever heard before. It was unbearably loud, likely the loudest thing he had ever heard, and no animal could have produced the same tones. His eyes snapped open to find the headsmen dropping the axe to his side, his eyes scanning the sky.
"What in the eight divines was that!?" someone shouted that, his deep and authoritative voice somehow familiar. "Sentries, do you see anything!?"
"No sir!"
"Fine. Headsmen, continue!"
The headsmen nodded, raising the axe once more. Before he fully raised it though, a massive black winged shape ripped out of the clouds, slamming down on top of the keep tower with enough force that stones were cast away from it, several people screaming. Those screams were cut off by a second, almost linguistic sounding roar, this one so loud that the air cracked from the sheer force of it.
Max was knocked off the block, seeing the headsman tumble to the ground. The sky had suddenly darkened, a swirling cloud spitting lightening and fireballs out of it like drops of rain.
"D-DRAGON!" someone shouted that, Max's eyes fixed to the creature now. It let out another vocal like roar, a column of fire ripping out of it's maw.
"Come on boy! On your feet if you want to live!" the Stormcloak from his Wagon, Ralof, grabbed Max's upper arm and shoved him to his feet, pushing him toward one of the watch towers. There were several other Stormcloaks in the open doorway, gesturing the pair toward them.
Max ran as fast as he could, his bound hands preventing him from pumping his arms like he normally would. Ralof was almost immediately ahead of him, having somehow gotten his bindings off already. As soon as Max was inside, one of the Stormcloaks slammed the door shut.
"Where in the hell did a Dragon come from!? They should only be myths!" one of the Stormcloaks was visible shaking, his chainmail accenting the movement.
"Calm yourself lad. Ralof, find us a way out of town." The man now speaking was the one who had been muffled earlier, his clothes now nearly black.
"I'm on it, Jarl Ulfric. Boy, this way, with me!" he grabbed Max's tunic before sprinting up the spiraling stairs lining the outer edge of the tower, almost dragging Max with him. They barely made it up a flight of steps when the wall of the tower was burst inward, the dragons muzzle sticking into the tower. It let out another roar, flame jetting into the tower and nearly roasting Max alive. One of the Stormcloaks above them on the stairs was not so lucky. A moment later, the dragon was gone, Ralof dragging him further up the tower.
"Jump boy!" he pushed Max toward the hole in the tower, Max panicking.
Max barely got enough time to see a half on fire two story house just a little lower than him, using the momentum Ralof gave him to try and launch himself toward it. He smashed through the thatched roof, crumpling to the floor of the second story in the building. Most of his body was in pain from the rough landing, but he forced himself back to his feet, keeping his head low and out of the smoke as he rushed down the stairs and out the door.
Outside was nothing but carnage. Half the village was already leveled, there were arrows flying up into the air, and what wasn't smashed was actively on fire. The smell of flesh burning was mixing with the acrid smoke, burning at his nose. Screams seemed to emanate from everywhere at once, Max able to see more corpses than he could people. In a panic he began running for the keep, the one building that seemed relatively intact. He ran by several imperial soldiers, most of them having scooped up bows that they were firing off into the air, fruitlessly trying to bring down the beast above. He paid them no head though as he ran, aiming for one of the doors to the keep. There was a soldier there ushering a few townsfolk inside, Max recognizing him as the one who had taken his name down earlier. He continued his mad sprint toward him.
As Max slipped through the doorway, there was a tremendous crash, his head snapping back to see the dragon slamming to the ground behind him, its silvery white eyes focused on him. The soldier was slamming the keep door shut behind Max, max throwing his shoulder against the other portion of the double doors, slamming them shut alongside the soldier. And just in time, as bright red light slammed into the doors, heat bleeding through the wrought iron as they struggled to keep the doors closed. After a moment, the fire blast died off, the doors remaining closed as Max slumped to the ground, panting and sweating in equal measure.
"Thanks boy. We'd all be dead right now if it weren't for that." The soldier spoke as he offered Max a hand up.
Max shuddered as he accepted the hand up, his gut lurching slightly when he heard the knife slip from its sheath. A quick tug and flash of steel sliced the bindings on his hands apart before he could react, the soldier slipping the small knife away.
"There. Should be easier to move now. If you can fight, grab a blade. The dragon's fire most certainly sealed that door, so we'll have to find another way out."
Max nodded, moving over to a rack on the wall where a blade was hanging still in its scabbard. He quickly scooped the weapon up, stuffing the scabbard through his belt before moving to the small group of imperial troops further into the long barracks hall. He took a deep breath as he drew the slim blade, it singing from its scabbard in a way that was all too familiar to him.
"They're executin' a whole bunch of rebels in the town square!" someone shouted that in the tavern, most of the tavern falling silent. A good majority of the patron's in the tavern rushed out of the door, murmurs and mumbles rippling through them.
Damned idiots. Who cares 'bout an execution… he glanced at his nearly empty mug, frowning. 'Specially when there's still mead to be drunk!
"Eh, barkeep, pour me another one would ye?" he banged his mug on the counter as he spoke, blearily watching the barkeep make his way over to him, emptying the last of the mead bottle into his mug.
"Sorry Jorge, that's the last I got of the Black Briar stuff."
Jorge merely humphed at him, drinking half the mug in a single swig. The mead, though it had the burning tang of any alcohol, had a strong honeyed flavor to it that made every drink of the stuff as pleasing to the palette as it was intoxicating. So he happily chugged the last of the mug, feeling at least a little dribble down his cheek. He quickly wiped it off, slamming the ceramic mug back down on the counter once more.
"W'at else ye got?"
"Damn Jorge, if you were anyone else, I'd say you'd had enough! You've downed four bottles in the last hour alone!" the barkeep was shaking his head, quickly gesturing at one of the casks behind him. Whatever he opened his mouth to say though was lost to an almighty bang, Jorge getting a split moment image of the tavern's roof caving in before his vision went black.
What felt like only moments later, Jorge's vision came back to him as he stared up at a strange swirling black sky, bolts of lightning and flaming rock falling and flashing at random. Each created an almighty bang that rocked every one of his senses.
"Ah hell, w'at's goin' on 'ere!" he sat up, dust and bits of debris cascading off him. One glance at the ceramic handle in his hand told him the mug was shattered and gone, along with the little bit of mead that had been in it. He shrugged though, figuring, all things considered, the state of the flattened tavern meant his day drinking came at zero cost to him. He shambled to his feet, seeing a bottle of local mead not shattered behind the ruined counter, scooping it up. The barkeep was crushed under the cask he had been gesturing at before the tavern had been flattened, his blood slowly mixing with the ale draining from the cask.
"Huh. Bad day to own the tavern, ey keep!?" he chuckled at his own crude joke, dropping a few coins by the corpse before staggering out of the ruins. The town was a flurry of crazed motion, archers firing wildly into the sky, villagers running for the keep, spell caster's adding their crazed attacks to the mix.
Wait the sky? What in Sovngard would be up there? He let his eyes scan the sky again, seeing a massive winged lizard slam into a watch tower, breaking through the stone before it let out a roar, brilliant red flames blasting out the top of the tower and the windows.
"Well… that aint somt'in' ye see every day." He shrugged, staggering his way across the town as he took long swigs from the bottle he was carrying, emptying it by the time he entered the keep, ignoring the imperial soldier trying to hurry him entirely.
He gave the bottle an annoyed look before tossing it aside, it clunking across the stone floor. Moments after, he heard the doors slam closed, letting his eyes trace back to the door. An Imperial soldier and a boy were keeping the door closed, flame visibly spitting around the edges of the door, the room temperature skyrocketing. Once the flames died away from the door, the pair stopped pressing on it, the boy slumping to the floor. The boy was bound by rope, the solider with him helping him stand and cut the bindings.
He was dressed in a simple deep red tunic, but it was ragged and falling apart, a then belt being the only thing forcing it to cling to his body. Even his boots were weathered and traveled well beyond when most would have replaced them. His short black hair had bits of dust and rubble in it, but was otherwise well kept. Most of his facial features were quite boyish, though he did have a small amount scraggily hair growing from his chin.
From there, he stopped paying any attention to the boy, meandering toward the only other door in the small barracks room, tearing it open and shambling through. The other side was the base of the keeps tower, a pair of Stormcloak soldiers bickering back and forth inside.
"'Ello there boys!" he nodded at them, moving to head along his way when one of the Stormcloaks raised his weapon, rushing toward Jorge. Jorge merely caught the small war axe the man was swinging near the man's wrist, smashing his free elbow on the wrist to get the weapon out of his hand. With the weapon free, he spun it in his hand and swung it into the Stormcloaks side, hitting with enough force to rip right through the chainmail and embed the weapon into his opponent. The man let out a weak gurgling scream, blood sputtering from his mouth as he slumped to the floor.
"Now that wassnt a very nice way to say 'ello." Jorge spoke down to the man, hap hazardly pulling his own larger war axe off his hip.
The second Stormcloak was already about to be upon him, but that Stormcloak's blade was met with the resounding clash of steel, the boy who had helped close the door earlier catching the swing with a single-handed sword before redirecting the Stormcloak's blade to the ground. Before the Stormcloak could respond, the boy had kicked out the man's knee, ripped his blade away from the Stormcloak's blade, and plunged it through the Stormcloak's throat.
Huh. Looks like a boy, fights like a man!
The boy wrenched his blade free from man's throat, using part of the man's uniform to clean the blade of blood before sheathing it. He visibly shuddered but seemed oddly calm beyond that.
"Wot's your name boy?" Jorge dropped his weapon back into its loop as he spoke, completely ignoring the dying man still writhing at his feet.
"Max. Come on. Hadvar said there should be an escape tunnel down in the dungeons. You?" the boy spoke curtly before setting off toward the door on the far side of the chamber, not even keeping his eyes on him.
"Jorge my young friend!" Jorge followed him through the door, which lead into a long downward spiraling ramp. The roars and crashes of the dragon above could still be heard, the imperial soldiers that had been with them in the barracks rushing by. As the path leveled into a hallway, the roof suddenly came crashing down ahead of them, the soldiers that had rushed by disappearing in a cloud of dust and screams.
"Damn it! This way!" The imperial that had been helping close the door earlier jogged by Jorge, gesturing at a side door in the hallway with his sword.
Jorge merely shrugged and followed, the boy slipping through the door before him. Immediately on the other side were several Stormcloak soldiers, drawing weapons before they could think to try and reason with them.
The imperial immediately charged one, using his shield to batter the man into the wall, the boy rushing another and locking his blade under the Stormcloak's axe head, forcing both weapons up and clear. This left the Stormcloak in the middle to Jorge.
Jorge slipped his axe from its loop, letting out an enraged shout as he sprinted forward, the Stormcloak readying his two handed longsword for a thrust straight for Jorge's heart. Jorge merely batted the blade up and away with his fore arm, his hide bracer protecting him from the edge of the blade, clearing the man's guard enough to slam his axe into the man's throat. The tendons and flesh were snapped apart by the axe head, the body going limp and falling before he could wretch the weapon away.
The Imperial soldier had also dispatched his opponent, having jammed his blade into the man's gut while he pressed him to the wall with his shield. The boy on the other hand, had managed to disarm his opponent, the two now struggling and grappling with each other. As Jorge watched, the boy got a hold of a dagger that had been in the Stormcloak's boot, jamming it up into the man's jaw and leaving it there.
As soon as the boy had recovered his blade, the trio continued, a second door leading them around the obstruction and out of the storeroom they had been fighting in. Within moments, they found a small dungeon with several dead imperial soldiers and Stormcloaks. They ignored the bodies as they followed the imperial soldier down past the cells, opening a door that led into a cavern. Ahead of them was a bridge that crossed an underground stream, the trio thudding across it. Moments later, a tremendous crash behind him drew Jorge's attention back to the small wooden bridge, now gone with sunlight streaming down from above.
"Well that was close." He smirked as he said that, about to turn away when a dark shape dropped down into the cavern, disappearing down past the lip of rock with a meaty thud. He jogged over to the lip and looked down to find a body lying amongst the rubble, seeing it shift with a groan.
"That looked painful there lad! Ye alright?" Jorge shouted that down at the person, inspecting him as he did so.
The person was quite young, and of very small stature, though he did look old enough to be considered a man. Though he was covered in dust, he was wearing a dark green cloak, most of his clothes so covered in dust they were hard to see. He did, however, have a single-handed sword on his hip, and a long bow firmly in his hand.
"I'm alive." He spoke as he slowly rolled to his feet, pulling the cowl on his hood up the moment he was standing, making his messy hair and young features disappear in an instant.
"Aight, let's get ye outta there!" Jorge was about to drop onto his gut to try and help the lad up when the lad started to walk down stream.
"This stream crosses with the path you're on." He spoke curtly up to Jorge, not looking his way as he strode out of sight.
He looks familiar somehow… Jorge shrugged before he turned to catch up with the others, continuing down the passage.
"Wi-illiam… C-come here…" His father's voice was barely audible over the screams and roar of the flames.
William's body trembled as he approached his father, seeing the piece of wood that had ripped through his chest, dark liquid dripping from the wound and from the corner of his father's mouth.
"Y-you nnneed to get out of here son! S-save yourself!"
"I'm not leaving you dad!" he reached for the wood impaling his father, his fingers just a hair's breadth away from grabbing it before his father's hand stopped his.
"You c-c-can't sav-ve me son. We would both die." He let out a series of wet, wheezing cough's, blood spattering from his mouth. "Take my sword. Take the cloak… you're a Ranger now son. D-Don't let me down." As he spoke, he unclasped the cloak from his neck, barely able to tug it out from under him before pressing it against William's chest.
"I can't! I don't know enough, I'm not ready dad!" he tried to push the cloak away, but his father's hand didn't budge at all.
"You are son. Just remember…" he coughed even more his hand falling away from William as he fell onto his back. His body shuddered several times before it fell eerily still, his eyes blankly staring at the tumultuous sky. It was a blank and lifeless stare that Will already knew quite well, despite his age.
He let out a shuddering sigh, closing his father's eyes before untying the sword sheath from his father's hip, tying it to the belt on his own hip. As soon as he was done, he slung the now blood-stained green cloak, clasping it into place and bringing the cowl up. It wasn't the first time he had worn the enchanted cloak, but knowing it was now his made the fabric immensely heavy to him in a way he could have never described with words. He gave his father's corpse one last look before he scooped up his longbow and jogged away, scanning the sky for the dragon as anger began to seethe beneath his skin.
As soon as he spotted the beast above, he flipped the cloak clear of the quiver hanging on his hip, slipping an arrow from it and immediately nocking it on the string, one finger above the arrow, two below as he drew the string back. The feather fletching on the bow tickled the corner of his mouth as he tracked the beast, following it with his eyes and the bow until he felt he had a good feel for its flight. As soon as he did, he loosed the arrow, watching the shaft leap away from the bow. A moment later, it intercepted the dragon, harmlessly reflecting off the scales and falling back toward the earth.
How could anyone kill that thing! He wanted to curse aloud, looking back at the rubble his father's corpse was in before he took off running, his mind scrambling to think of a way out of the town. The three gates had been smashed and set alight by the dragon, the dragon seeming to be targeting anyone trying to leave the town. He did know there was an escape tunnel located under the keep, having once explored it as a boy, but the walls to the keep had also been smashed down, blocking access to it.
Crap! Where in the name of nine can I go!? As he had that thought, a boulder cracked down from the sky, nearly smashing into him as it smashed into the ground. He was thrown off his feet, slamming down on his back. He painfully dragged himself to his feet, hearing a massive thud behind him. His head snapped around to find the dragon's white eyes just a few yards behind him, fixed to him. He panicked, running forward and falling into the crater the rock had created, only to find himself falling farther than he anticipated. He hit the ground nearly two stories down, crumpling on impact into a heap of pain, barely managing to not cry out. His entire body hurt as he rolled onto his back, tears slipping from his eyes.
"That looked painful there lad! Ye alright?" A bear of a Nord was standing in a passage above William, leaning out to look down at him. He was dressed in a mixture of iron plates held together with hide and lined in fur. He had one hand on an axe at his waist, his horned helmet hiding most of his features beyond his tanned skin and blonde beard.
"I'm alive." He groaned that out as he forced his aching body to his feet, pulling the cowl back onto his head. As he did so, he recognized where he was, in a natural underground stream that was used to keep clean water in the fort, and, having explored it in the past, he knew it crossed into the escape route downstream.
"Aight, let's get ye outta there!" the Nord shouted again, his words slightly slurred.
"This stream crosses with the path you're on." He curtly snapped that out, hoping it was loud enough for the Nord to hear him as he set off down the stream, his bow still firmly in his grasp. He didn't bother with checking if the Nord heard him. The path wound back and forth for a while before he began hearing voices echoing back to him down the passageway.
"How do you even know if there is a way out of here! This could just be a dead end!" the shouted voice was barely understandable, William now naturally starting to be more selective of where he stepped, making virtually no noise as he moved.
"Well, it's better than being out there with that dragon! Worst comes to worst, we'll sit down here for a few hours, then see if the dragon's gone. It's better than nothing!"
William was now emerging into a larger chamber, seeing several figures illuminated by a torch they were carrying. By the blue tabards and chainmail, William recognized them as Stormcloak soldiers. A quick count told him there were at least seven of them, three with bows.
Way too many to handle on my own. Maybe I can reason with them?
"IMPERIALS!" one of the Stormcloaks shouted before William could step from the shadows, pointing to somewhere roughly behind William.
He was acting without any thought, whipping an arrow from his quiver, drawing the bow, and taking aim for one of the Stormcloak archers. He knew their chainmail would likely stop his broad headed hunting arrows, so he aimed for the woman's throat. As soon as he felt his aim was right, he released the arrow, having prepped, aimed and fired before any of the three archers could even reach their quivers. His arrow ripped into her throat, toppling her down. The two remaining archers watched their comrade fall, panicked expressions on their faces.
William was already reaching for his quiver, pulling another shaft out, just to find that it was nothing more than a broken shaft. Each arrow he pulled out after that was in similar un-fire able condition, the boy cursing as he rushed out of the stream's tunnel. His boots splashed water out before him, dropping the bow onto the bank of the stream as he made the short leap onto the path.
Three figures were already locked in a fight with the four melee fighters, William focusing on the two archers. One had loosed an arrow toward the melee, the other leveling his bow on William. He didn't get the chance to loose it, as Will had already drawn his blade, the training he had received already kicking in as he slashed at the archer. The blade snapped the wood of the bow as the tip of the blade slammed into the soldier's chainmail, the steel rings preventing the blade from biting into the man's chest. It did however knock the wind out of the man. He never got the chance to drop his ruined bow, as William yanked his blade back and immediately thrust it forward, the point managing to split the links apart and dig several inches into the archer's flesh. All that was needed to create a fatal blow.
The man dropped, screaming as William yanked the blade free, just in time to block a swing from the final archer, who had drawn a blade himself. William was forced to retreat as the Stormcloak continued his attack, repeatedly trying to snake his blade around to plunge it into William. He barely managed to keep the soldier's sword at bay, his back hitting a wall as he continued to try and backpedal. Before the Stormcloak could take advantage of that fact, the point of a blade ripped out of his throat, disappearing a moment later as the corpse fell to the side.
Behind the man was a boy, not much older than William, giving William a small curt nod. "You alright?"
"Yes." William replied as curtly as he could, his muscles trembling as he did his best to wipe the blood from his blade on the Stormcloak's tabard before sliding it away.
"Thanks for the help. I'm Max." the boy was holding his hand out to William, but William didn't accept it, moving off toward where he had dropped his bow instead. "It's normally polite to give someone your name when they give you theirs."
He ignored that too, inspecting his bow to make sure it was undamaged before slinging it across his back.
"That cloak looks pretty familiar there. Ye don't happen to be that Ranger's boy, are ye?" the voice now speaking earned a small glance, turning out to be the Nord that had spoken to him earlier.
William's only response was to stare back at him for a moment before moving to one of the dead archers, inspecting the pointed armor penetrating arrows before filling his empty quiver with them.
"Doesn't matter. Ranger, come with us. I can lead us to Riverwood. We have to warn them about that dragon anyway." The imperial among the three was speaking now, cleaning and sheathing his short sword before scooping up the torch from the fallen Stormcloaks. As soon as he had the light source, he strode off down the tunnel.
"Eh, so long as there's an inn there with plenty o' ale." The Nord shrugged, following after the imperial.
"Are you coming Ranger?" the older boy waited a moment for William, staring expectantly at him.
Might as well. I've now where to go anyway. William shrugged and let out a small sigh, stepping off behind the Nord as the boy followed him.