Ulysses

He heard the call from far off. Like some great beast in the distance asserting his dominance.

Ulysses had never heard such a noise, but knew it was one he'd remember. Far removed from the terror of the Divide, his scouting instincts still made him wary of unfamiliar sounds, and here there were many.

Wherever he was, it was a land of life. Was something like the tales of Nursery, or the Great Mountains in the East; his East as he knew it. Under his boots, the road he walked was made of cobbled stone, not like the asphalt of the old world roads, but something that felt even older.

The air was good though, cold and clean. For the first time in some time, his respirator was in his pack rather than covering his face.

He didn't even know where he was going, he just wandered the alien land like some poor wayfaring stranger.

How Ulysses got here, was something he wanted to know. The last thing he recalled was his body being lifted to the sky like the hand of an invisible god. Next thing, he woke up with nothing but his staff, his smg, and a handful of grenades. Also on his pack, was his anti material rifle dissassembled.

He saw a fork in the road. A smaller road branching off to the right, a road less traveled. There were no signs to tell him where the roads took their travelers.

Without even a thought, he took the narrow path. As he moved down the road, something stopped him in his tracks.

A series of loud thumps came from behind a bend in the road. His instincts took over, and he found cover under the trees on the hill. The scene that unfolded before Ulysses was something that gave him pause.

At the end of the road, that led into the tiny valley was a camp fortified with a wooden palisade. Just outside of it was a super mutant, with a skin he'd never once seen from the Master's sons who came from the west, and once roamed Arizona free in the days before Caesar.

It fought the defenders on their timber parapets with a giant club that knocked men from their walls.

Waves of fire, seared the skin of the pale giant, but it hardly gave him pause. The gates flew open and a defender chucked his javelin. The throwing spear pierced the attacker above the knee, but still it came. Against its club, the warrior didn't have a chance. Its force knocked him from the ground and on to his back.

Ulysses decided to get closer, and sprang from his hiding place. He walked across the field with Old Glory in his hands.

He got a better look of the creature and realized it was not one of the Master's soldiers. It had too much hair.

The giant saw his approach and ignored those beyond the wall. It turned to face him. They looked at one another for one long moment. With a cry, it closed the distance with only a slight limp. The creature lifted his long club recklessly and swung it downwards at him.

Ulysses saw the move, and side-stepped the blow. As the club came down in a chopping motion, he brought the flagpole to bear against the monster's left kneecap. The impact of the blow forced it back a painful step. Without skipping a beat, he jabbed the soft underbelly of the beast with the wings of the eagle, and withdrew it before the giant could react.

Like a Night Stalker toying with larger prey, he slipped away from the giant. With the careful movement of one, he feinted left, and then to the right. His opponent's stance was wide, and his club was at his side ready to react to any coming attack.

The bearded giant did not have time to raise his club before Ulysses closed the distance, diving under his legs. Ulysses hit the ground with a roll, and found himself behind his opponent.

He got up swinging, bashing the gilded head of the pole against the knee, followed by another hard swing against the heel. The metal cut against the hardened flesh and came back bloodied both times.

A guttural moan of pain left its mouth, and with the hard prodding of the pole against the calves, it fell hard onto its knees.

It tried to get up, but its legs were too weak. He knew a vein had been severed with the sheer amount of blood that was now leaving the giant.

Ulysses drew his 10 millimeter from its loose hanging belt holster, and pulled back the slide. The sound of the gunshots carried through the valley, when he unleashed two rounds that severed its spine above the neck. His opponent teetered for a moment and fell face down on the trail.

"Halt, you have no business here outsider. Leave at once." A hard female voice scolded his presence now that it was all over.

Ulysses sighed, Too territorial to appreciate help from anybody not of the tribe. He turned around to face the speaker. He understood the suspicion in her voice, but most tribes offered would offer respect to match their justified fear.

These tribes were Caesar's biggest nightmare in the wars for Arizona as he knew too well. The isolationists forced him to show his true nature without any chance to convert the tribe and its warriors before enslaving the rest. Divide and conquer as he called it, did not work here, only conquest.

To his surprise, the speaker was no human. Its skin was green, much like those Master's army were, but she was but a few inches shorty than he. From her mouth, a pair of fangs stuck out. She wore a good suit of Leather armor with steel plates fitted to the chest piece, shoulders, thigh and knees.

Despite the tone of authority, there was fear in her eyes. Whoever they were, he could tell they had never heard a working gun. He lowered his weapon.

"Show some respect Ugor," another grating voice scolded the warrior in front of him. "Besides, we may need him." The speaker who wore a long black robe, stood atop the parapet. The hood of her robe hid most of her features. Ulysses assumed they looked much like those of Ugor.

"We need nothing from outsiders!" The green skinned woman forgot her fear, and turned to her peer. "Yamarz will provide for us."

"We cannot carry on this way, you know we are doomed if we do not do something!" The one in black robes countered with a tone of bitterness.

"Yamarz charged me with keeping outsiders away from Largashbur. You would have me disobey him?"

Ulysses listened to the conversation. From the way Ugor spoke of outsiders, he assumed that stranger and enemy were one here. That offered more questions than answers though.

"You were charged with keeping us inside the walls. Have faith, Ugor. I only wish the best for our tribe." The black one only pleaded this time.

"Fine, its your neck." The one known as Ugor walked through the opened gate, and motioned for him to follow. Ulysses holstered his gun, and followed.

Once inside he took a moment to look at the camp. Beyond the walls, was a hall of some kind built in the shape of a crescent.. Beyond it scattered against the rocky walls of the valley, was a small collection of wooden huts which stood against the gray rocks.

The speaker who spoke on his behalf, came down from the walls. "Forgive Ugor's harsh words. She is merely doing as she has been told."

"And to hate as well I suppose?" Ulysses shrugged.

"Please, our tribe suffers and we need help, our chief Yamarz, was once a strong and proud warrior. Now he is stricken, cursed. Now he is weak, and so is the tribe. The giants sense this, and intrude on our land. Now they attack our very home. Still, Yamarz refuses help, but I sense that you may be the one we need."

"And what would you want with an outsider that you cannot handle yourselves?" Ulysses regarded her with curiosity.

"Yamarz has demanded that we stay inside these walls, we cannot leave. I can only petition Malacath for relief, but I cannot travel to his shrine. The ritual must be done here, and there's one thing I need that I do not have."

"Speak then."

"There is a troll over that hill," she pointed to a small ridge. "Lost a battle against the giant. I need the Troll's meat. Once I have enough fat, the ritual can happen."

"What kind of chief do you have, that your people cannot get it yourselves?"

"A dying one," she conceded. "You look strong enough to carry the Troll by yourself, if you could do that, our tribe would be grateful. It might even bring Yamarz to his senses."

Part of him wondered what business he truly had here, but at that moment, the voice of Ulysses the Frumentarii took over.

"Then that is what shall be done." Ulysses concluded.

David

He entered the Sleeping Giant, not entirely sure what to expect.

Gerdur had given him him some money. "Septims," she had called them. The money would get him a hot meal, which left his mouth watering at the very thought. That and a decent coat at Ralof's advice.

The coat would help him blend in much easier. The eyes of the few within at this hour were on him for a quick moment, but they were cursory looks of locals seeing another traveler, that they would hopefully ignore.

"What have you got?" He asked the bartender when he stepped up to the bar. The man was middle aged, and stocky to the point that he only missed the occasional meal. His hair was jet black, with a few tiny braids dangling from the edge of his hairline.

"We got rooms and food. Drink, too. I cook. Ain't much else to tell," the barkeep, replied dryly.

David gave an approving nod. "I'm a courier looking to get to Whiterun before dusk. I'd like some takeout. Any chance you got the makings for a Caravan Lunch?"

"Depends on where you're from. You don't look like a Khajit from elsewhere like the last caravan to come through, so I won't ask if it has Moon Sugar in it." David had no clue what a Khajit was, but he was not about to ask here. Maybe it was another racist slur for foreigners just as the man had slurred the word "elsewhere". Moon Sugar, by the context, was probably some sort of chem.

"Let's say I'm from Whiterun. What makes a good sack lunch in your book?"

"In my book?" The man behind the bar looked at him for a moment before understanding his meaning. David made a note to listen more often for the speech quirks of the locals, as a slip of the tongue at the wrong place could be disastrous.

"Lets see here..." He turned around and looked through a pantry for a few moments before producing his choice.

The man displayed a few items on the counter. A carrot, a red apple, a slice of cheese, and a ready slice of bread were lined up for his pleasure. The man then lifted his finger in a request for patience. "If you want some meat with that, Delphine will be out in a moment with a slice of salted beef."

"I would like that, how much?" David asked wondering how much the clean, and probably unmutated food was.

"That'll be twenty septims for the meal, courier." The man in the white tunic replied without batting an eye.

David opened the bag of coins, and counted out the correct amount. When asked, Raloff told him it would get him at least two roadside meals and a night's stay in Whiterun.

As he handed the coins over, he decided he was thirsty. "Got anything to wash it down?"

"I got a batch of ale that needs to go soon. Two Septims more, and I'll send you off with a skin of ale.

"Deal," David agreed and handed an extra two over. The bartender pocketed the currency, which he thought looked crude in make compared to the coinage of Caesar's Legion. His lunch was put in a sack, and left open for the rest of the meal.

He allowed himself to be lost in thought while he waited. There was a general store in town, but the owner was strongly pro-Legion he had been told by Gerdur, and would probably inform on them once word of Helgen disaster settled on the rest of the community like a radioactive cloud. It was a strange land he was in, and he didn't even understand the battle lines. Ralof could tell him until he turned as blue as his storm cloak, but without a map and some time in country, anything he heard would simply go from one ear through the next. He'd heard though that he could get a map in Whiterun, for almost nothing though.

His mind returned to the present with the emergence of a figure from a room to his right with a wooden tray in her hands. She was a tall, dirty blonde, with a lean form. By the lines on her face, he put her around late thirties, or early forties. When she moved toward him, it was with a grace of a mountain cat.

His sharp nose caught the faint whiff of the cured meat, and his stomach raged. He ignored all else, and focused on the food in front of him.

"Salted beef for you, don't break your teeth." she held out a strip, and dropped it into his waiting bag, and set the rest of the tray on the counter.

The bartender was right behind him with the ale, which was held in a watertight leather sack that may have been built around a Bighorner's bladder.

He thanked them both, and left the bar. As hungry as he was, his sixth sense was screaming almost as loud as his stomach. That sense of coming danger, even when it was a false alarm, had kept him alive far longer than he had a right to live with the sheer number of times he laughed at the face of death.

That, and the last time he disregarded it, he was dug out the Goodsprings Cemetery by a securitron.

As he stepped back out into the bright sunlight, he looked down both ends of the street. David instantly knew why he should run from this pretty village.

In front of another building, he saw two men conversing with a resident. One wore a green robe, and the other was in Legion Crimson.

Flokir

"Uncle please, keep your voice down." Hadvar tried to calm his uncle, who was horrified at the sight of him. "I'm fine. But we should go inside to talk."

The burly blacksmith was not yet calmed. "What's going on?" Alvor then turned and noticed him for the first time with suspicion. "And who's this?"

"He's a friend. Saved my life, in fact. Come on, I'll explain everything but we need to go inside."

"Okay, okay. Come inside, then." Alvor agreed to Hadvar's request. "Sigrid will get you something to eat, and you can tell me all about it."

He walked towards the door, and held it open for Hadvar, and then himself, before bringing up the rear. Alvor walked over to the stairs for a basement. "Sigrid! We have company!" He shouted to the basement, before taking a seat at the table.

The house itself, looked like a comfortable one. The dinner table was snugly placed to his left and parallel to the downstairs staircase. A double bed covered in furs was to his right, and a hearth crowned with the large stuffed head of a stag was in front of him.

"Hadvar! We've been so worried about you! Come, you two must be hungry. Sit down and I'll get you something to eat." He took his seat, while Flokir and Hadvar followed suit.

Hadvar! We've been so worried about you!" A sweet voice called from the stairs coming up.

When Flokir turned his head, he saw the smith's wife, Sigrid. She had a willowy figure, with brown eyes that sparkled in the candlelight, and a head of dark red hair that went down to her shoulders. It was not a stretch to say that she was the most comely wench he'd seen since he'd fled Riften. She regarded him for a moment.

"Come, you two must be hungry. Sit down and I'll get you something to eat." Had his stomach not cried out then, he would have worried a little more about the stirring of his loins.

"I don't know where to start," Hadvar began his tale. "You know I was assigned to General Tullius's guard. We were stopped in Helgen when we were attacked by...a dragon."

There was silence in the room for a moment before Hadvar's uncle found his words. "A dragon?" His tone was nothing short of disbelief. "That's ridiculous. You aren't drunk, are you boy?"

"Husband," Sigrid scolded him. "Let him tell his story."

"Not much more to tell." Hadvar continued his tale, and Flokir jerked his head back to the table. "The dragon flew over and just wrecked the whole place. Confusion everywhere." Hadvar paused for a moment to gather his words.

"I don't know if anyone else got out alive. I doubt I'd have made it out if not for my friend here." The soldier gestured in his general direction. "I need to get back to Solitude and let them know what's happened. I figured you could help us out. Food, supplies, a place to stay."

"Of course! Any friend of Hadvar's is a friend of mine. I'd be glad to help however I can." Alvor forgot any suspicions he had about Flokir at the request, as he turned to meet his gaze.

"Like I said, I'm glad to help however I can. But I need you help. We need your help. The Jarl needs to know if there's a dragon on the loose. Riverwood is defenseless..."

"You want to send a message to Jarl Balgruuf?" Flokir asked, not liking where this was going one bit.

The blacksmith nodded. "You need to get word to Jarl Balgruuf so he can send whatever soldiers he can. If you do this for me, I'll be in your debt."

Before he was expected to answer, a slender hand appeared with a plate on the end. On the plate, was a hunk of buttered bread and a slice of goat cheese. A bottle of mead in a dark blue bottle was placed at his side, which Flokir took gratefully.

Ordinarily Flokir did not care much for mead, especially if it happened to be Black-Briar Mead. Right now though, he needed a drink, and he would take it like it was the last drink in Skyrim.

"Hadvar, did you really see a dragon? What did it look like? Did it have big teeth?" A little girl suddenly entered the conversation as Sigurd brought Hadvar a plate.

"Hush, child. Don't pester your cousin." The woman admonished the girl gently as she placed a loving hand on her shoulder. Flokir hated to admit it, but he felt a pang of envy at the girl.

"Can you go to Whiterun for us?" Alvor asked him again.

"I'll make my way there." Flokir hoped his answer was good enough. He had already been to Dragonsreach once, and did not want to risk getting locked up again in the castle dungeons while asking the jarl to help someone else he barely knew.

"Well, I'd better get back to work. You two make yourselves at home." Alvor was satisfied, and Flokir tore into the food. the big blacksmith got up and headed for the door as they ate.

They did just that. When they had finished the contents of their plates, Hadvar asked for more food. Sigrid obliged with a bowl of chopped carrots, and lettuce topped with snowberries.

"Listen, I'm going to lay up here for a little while, you can make your own way to Solitude from here. I'd recommend heading to Whiterun and taking a carriage to Solitude."

Flokir nearly choked on his salad and glared at Hadvar. "Do you jape? I almost died today."

"Of course not. Look, I know, today wasn't the best introduction to the Legion, but I hope you'll give us another chance. The Legion could really use someone like you, especially now. And if the rebels have themselves a dragon, General Tullius is the only one who can stop them."

Ulfric Stormcloak calling down dragon? Flokir shook his head. He was no expert on the tales of the dragons, but he did not believe for one moment that they would lower themselves to help anybody, Stormcloak or Legion.

"Somehow, I think Tullius knows about as much we do about where dragon came from." The faith some men put in their leaders was truly astonishing.

"You're probably right, but you can bet he'll be trying to figure it out. This could shift the whole balance of the war. If you want to help stop that dragon, your best bet is to go to Solitude and join up with the Legion."

"I'll think about it," Flokir's reply was sarcastic.

"Sure, I understand. It's not easy to go from being executed by the Legion one day to joining up the next." Hadvar finally spoke some sense. "But I think you'll see that the Legion is Skyrim's only hope for real peace right now." Hadvar took a moment to look him in the eye. "I know you'll make the right choice in the end."

Author's Note: There you have it ladies and gentlemen. I know it's been awhile, but this chapter (Ulysses in particular) was a bit difficult for me to write. That and I've been pretty damn busy in the last month with work and a few newly released games.

Let me know what you think of the update, especially Ulysses. His head is not an easy one to get into.