All in all, this had been a good day. Sure, it had started with an execution and a dragon attack, but on the bright side, Bradley had actual supplies, including some basic clothing. It wasn't anything special, just some trousers, a white shirt, and a leather vest, but it was certainly a step up from the armor he'd scavenged from Helgen.

He and Hadvar had explained everything to their hosts; Alvor, his wife, Sigrid, and their daughter, Dorthe. They had hesitated to believe their story, but in the end, relented. Alvor had asked that Bradley send word to Jarl Balgruuf in Whiterun concerning the dragons, and had been more than happy to provide supplies. Bradley had, of course, thanked the man graciously, then immediately disappeared into the basement to change while Dorthe hounded Hadvar about the dragon.

As he emerged from below, Bradley noted that Hadvar was the only remaining occupant of the house.

The soldier glanced up from the soup he was cooking, raising an eyebrow. "Going without the armor?"

Bradley shrugged. "I'm afraid it wasn't to my taste." He pulled at the vest, adding, "This isn't either, but it is closer."

"I see," Hadvar nodded, returning his attention to the soup. "It's nice to be back in a friendly spot, huh?"

"That it is," Bradley agreed, though internally, he was... Conflicted. While out there, he'd had clearly defined goals; survive the dragon, destroy the opposition, and get to shelter. Now, while he technically had a Jarl to visit, he had no idea of what could possibly come after that.

"Listen," Hadvar said, interrupting his train of thought. The young man had an odd habit of doing that, Bradley noted. "I'm going to lay up here for a while. You can make your way up to Solitude from here."

Bradley frowned at that. "Solitude? Is that another city?"

"Uh, yeah?" Hadvar asked, uncertainty lacing his voice. "It's the capital of Skyrim, and the Legion's main headquarters in the region. I figure you could clear your name there, and maybe consider joining up?"

Bradley snorted. "Join the people who attempted to have me executed on a whim?"

Hadvar chuckled nervously. "Well, yes, I admit, it wasn't a good first impression. But if the rebels have themselves a dragon-"

"They don't," Bradley interjected coldly.

Hadvar froze mid-stir, slowly turning to face Bradley. "I beg pardon?"

"The Stormcloaks do not 'have themselves a dragon'." Bradley shook his head. "Surely, you noticed how uncoordinated and desperate they were?"

"Uh," Hadvar muttered, swallowing. "I was, uh, a little more concerned with survival."

Bradley rolled his eye, turning away. "Of course you were. It's good you're not a commander, you're not ready for it yet."

"But, who else would it be? The dragon turned up at the execution we were holding for Ulfric." Hadvar scratched his head, his face scrunched up in thought. "Just as..." A look of realization crossed his features, and he turned his gaze towards Bradley. "Just as you were about to be..."

"Beheaded for no real reason," Bradley finished. "And before you ask, no. I did not summon a dragon to my rescue. If I had that kind of power, I wouldn't have summoned something so loud and messy."

"Oh, uh, I-I didn't..." Hadvar sighed, shaking his head. "Still, if it wasn't you, and it wasn't the Stormcloaks... Then who did summon it?"

"Who, indeed," Bradley muttered, stroking his chin. "Perhaps I'll take some time to investigate the situation." Adjusting his sword belt, he said, "In the meantime, I believe I shall be taking my leave."

"To Whiterun?" Hadvar asked.

"Indeed," Bradley answered, giving Hadvar another friendly smile. "After I speak with the Jarl, who knows? Maybe I'll take up your offer. Perhaps not. Either way, I shall cross that bridge when I get there."

"Uh, sure," Hadvar said with a nod, stepping forward and holding out his hand. "Best of luck to you, Bradley."

"To you as well," Bradley replied, accepting and shaking Hadvar's hand. "Just try not to tarry here too long. I doubt the Empire looks on deserters too kindly."

Hadvar snorted. "They most certainly don't."

Bradley nodded once more, then walked out the door.

Ralof chose to approach Riverwood under cover of nightfall. It wasn't that he feared capture; Whiterun Hold was neutral territory these days. Much to Ralof's chagrin. Jarl Balgruuf was a good man, of course, but he was so overly cautious about EVERYTHING. Eventually, he'd have to choose a side, and when he did, the war was almost certain to find itself at his doorstep.

No, there was only one thing he truly feared in that town. An old man with one eye. He could scarcely believe it, and yet, after seeing the carnage in the stranger's wake, and hearing Gunern speak of him as a horror story... Ralof felt more fear for him than the dragon.

He sighed as he passed under the town's Southern wall, watching the door to Alvor's house as he passed by. No one was out at this hour, probably all in bed or enjoying themselves at the Sleeping Giant Inn. Still, a bit of vigilance against Hadvar and his new friend seemed appropriate.

He turned right, passing between the inn and the Riverwood Trader on his way to the house behind the Trader. He kept glancing over his shoulder, though, his anxiety only rising each time he confirmed his solitude. He didn't even relax when he knocked at the door.

"That had better not be you again, Embry," called out a woman's voice from within. "Orgnar kicked you out again." The door opened, and a blonde woman put a hand to her hip as she glared outside. "Take the hint and-" She froze as her gaze fell on the man before her, her eyes widening in shock. "Ralof?! But I thought-"

Ralof couldn't help but grin at her, but he needed to take this inside. But... This was his sister, and he couldn't resist a little teasing.

"What?" he asked cheekily. "No hug? Not even a celebration for a long lost brother returned home?"

Her eyes filled with tears and she rushed forward, holding him in a tight embrace. "Thank the gods," she whimpered. "When I saw Hadvar and his friend and heard the news, I thought..."

He sighed again, returning the hug. "I'm fine, Gerdur, really. But we should probably take this inside."

"Right," Gerdur answered, sniffing as she pulled away. "It's probably not safe out here. Come on in. And be quick about it."

Ralof nodded, following her inside.

"Hod," she called out, closing and locking the door. "We have company!"

Another blond man, this one in a simple, white shirt and bearing a prominent mustache, looked up from the table, where he was eating some cheese. "Ralof," he said, setting the chunk down. "You look pretty well done in. Come on, sit down."

"Thanks, Hod," Ralof answered, taking a seat along with his sister. "I'm fine, but to be honest, I don't remember when last I slept."

Hod nodded. "Aye, I can imagine. But... What exactly happened in Helgen? All we heard was that a dragon attacked."

"That," Gerdur muttered, wiping her face with a bit of cloth. "And that Hadvar escaped, along with a new friend."

Ralof's smile faded at that. "It's... A long story, and I don't know how much time I've got. I'll try to summarize, but... I can't promise to answer every question you two have for me."

And he dived into the story, starting with the capture of himself and Ulfric at Darkwater Crossing. It took some time, though both Hod and Gerdur waited patiently for him to finish.

"... And we took Embershard Mine as a temporary shelter," he finally finished. "And now, I'm here."

Gerdur swallowed. "That's... Quite the tale, Ralof. Do you know if anyone else escaped? Did Ulfric..."

"I'm sure he's fine," Ralof assured her. "But honestly, that's the least of my worries."

"Your mystery man with one eye," Hod mused. "I only caught a glimpse of him, heading through town to the North road. If I had to guess, he's arriving in Whiterun as we speak."

"So did I," Gerdur added. "To be honest, I can't imagine him doing all the things Gunern claimed. He seemed so... Harmless, really."

Ralof grit his teeth with a nod. "I suppose you would. But I have no reason to doubt my comrade's tale. If the man's capable of half of what he said, and is planning to join forces with the Empire..."

"Ulfric can deal with him," Gerdur said sternly. "He's a true Nord warrior, through and through, not like that magic wielding coward."

Ralof sighed. "Regardless, I'd rather we lose as few Stormcloaks to him as we can. I hate to ask you two for more than you've already risked, but do you know anyone who could track his movements? Preferably without catching his attention?"

Gerdur and Hod glanced at each other in contemplation.

"Well," Hod muttered, stroking his mustache, "I have an idea, but I can't promise you'll like it."

Ralof's eyes narrowed. "Don't tell me- You want me to ask Faendal?"

"He's a good man," Gerdur protested. "Elf or no. And he's a Wood Elf, with as much of a reason to hate the Empire and the Thalmor as we do."

"And I've seen him hunt," Hod added. "He's as silent as the grave when he wants to be."

"I'm not arguing either of those points," Ralof said, holding up his hands. "All I'm saying is, people are sure to notice if he stops working at your mill, no? Besides, he may be a great hunter, but if the stranger catches sight of him..." He shook his head. "I don't want his death on my conscience, is all."

Gerdur sighed. "Alright, those are good points. But... maybe he knows someone else? He did travel a lot before settling here, after all."

Ralof pursed his lips in thought. "Alright. If you could send him to the mine tomorrow, I'd like to discuss the matter with him. But make sure no Imperials see him leaving. Especially Hadvar."

The pair nodded. "You can count on us, Ralof," Hod said. "Just be careful. We can't promise that someone won't head to the mine, hoping to clear out the bandits you and your comrades killed. And if they do..."

"We'll be careful," Ralof answered, getting to his feet. "But I have to leave. I've put you in enough danger as it is, and the others expect me back soon."

"Oh, leave the Imperials to me," Gerdur huffed, waving a hand. "I'm just glad to see that you're still in one piece."

"As am I," Ralof said with a snort. "Thank you both for everything, but-"

"Uncle Ralof," cried out the excitable voice of a boy, who ran straight up to Ralof, wrapping his arms around the man's waist.

Ralof chuckled, patting the boy's head. "Look at you, Frodnar. Almost grown up!"

Frodnar grinned up at Ralof. "Can I see your axe?" he asked, the words rushing out of his mouth so quickly, they were almost jumbled up together. "How many Imperials have you killed? Have you really met Ulfric Stormcloak?"

Gerdur snorted, getting to her feet and strolling around the table. "Hush, Frodnar. It's past your bedtime; no time for your games."

Frodnar turned his gaze to her, pouting. "But I wanna talk to Uncle Ralof!"

Ralof sighed heavily, extricating himself from the boy's arms and kneeling before him. "You should do what your mother says," he gently chided the boy. "Besides, I have to leave now."

"But Uncle Ralof-"

"No buts, my boy," Ralof interrupted him, even as he ruffled Frodnar's hair. "There's a lot going on that I can't explain now. But I promise, next time you see me, I'll share all the war stories I've got with you."

Frodnar sighed, looking down at the floor. "Alright, uncle..."

Ralof chuckled, giving the boy a proper hug. "Ah, I've missed you. Now off, back to bed with you."

Frodnar nodded, reciprocating the embrace before dragging his feet back to bed.

With a heavy sigh, Ralof got back to his feet. "I really do hate saying goodbye to him," he grumbled.

"But you must," Gerdur said, giving him another hug. "You stay safe out there, you hear me?"

"I'll do my best," Ralof answered, lingering in the hug for a moment before stepping away.

Hod held out a hand to him, nodding solemnly. "Don't be a stranger," he said.

Ralof nodded, shaking Hod's offered hand. "Take care of Gerdur and Frodnar."

"I always do," Hod answered with a smile. "Now get going, before someone sees you."

With another nod, Ralof was off in the night. But he did take one last glance over his shoulder as he left Riverwood behind. It would be some time before he saw it again.

Night had fallen by the time Bradley arrived at Whiterun's gates. He'd killed another wolf along the way, and had passed by a battle between three warriors and what he could only describe as a giant, occuring on a farm he was passing. The trio seemed to have the situation well in hand, so he'd passed by without comment. Yes, he'd noticed the disapproving glare he'd recieved from the archer wearing war paint, but it was of no concern to him. He had nothing to prove to these barbarians, but he felt assurance from the fact that, despite their lack of the technological advances he'd enjoyed back in Amestris, this country was protected by warriors of great skill.

What did catch his eye was the fact that, just past the stables and laying beside the first of Whiterun's gates, was a camp filled with... Cat people. For a moment, he mistook them for Chimeras, but... they couldn't be. Amestris and its surrounding lands were nowhere to be seen, and magic seemed to be their answer to alchemy. But if these weren't Chimeras... what were they?

Sheer curiosity drove him into the camp, particularly towards an older member. A gray furred specimen, with a mane that hung rather than rose like a lion's, and braids of fur just behind his whiskers, fastened in gold. He wore a fine, navy blue robe, and there was a twinkle in his green eyes. He sat cross legged on a mat right in front of what Bradley assumed was his tent, waiting patiently for him to approach.

As Bradley came to a stop before the being, it bowed its head respectfully. "Welcome," it said, its voice raspy, but not unpleasant to the ear. Almost as if it was purring with each syllable. "I have traveled far across Tamriel to serve you."

Tamriel. Yet another name Bradley needed to file away. Perhaps it was a name for the world? No, no, that was Nirn. So, perhaps this continent? Either way, Bradley was in desperate need of a map.

Besides, there was another question he wanted answered.

"To serve me?" Bradley asked, glancing around the camp. Only one warrior could be seen, another gray cat man in steel armor. Besides, when he glanced into the tent...

He cleared his throat. "I assume you're a merchant caravan of some kind?"

The figure before him nodded. Slapping a fist to his chest, it said, "Khajiit have wares, if you have the coin."

Khajiit. Strange name, but he supposed he could live with it.

"I do apologize for my forwardness," Bradley said, putting on his best friendly smile. "But I am quite new to Skyrim, and I cannot help but notice that you're out here and not selling your merchandise within the city itself."

"Ah," the figure said with a nod. "This one is afraid that it is the Nords," he said, motioning to the city walls. "They do not like outsiders in their lands, and so we are forbidden to enter their cities. When they look upon us, they see only pickpockets and skooma dealers."

Bradley considered his words carefully. Signs were pointing to these creatures not being of artificial creation, but natural occurence and evolution in this world. As for the Nords, and whatever kind of drug skooma was, he could learn that at another date.

"And what of you?" he asked. "And where do you come from?"

The cat's features were quite easy to read, for a non-human creature, for he could tell when the forlorn look replaced the calm smile.

Taking a deep breath, the cat answered, "The Khajiit hail from a distant land called Elsweyr, bordered on the north by Cyrodiil and the south by the glistening blue waters of the sea." Spreading his arms wide, he continued. "Elsweyr is an arid land of deserts and rocky canyons, where the sun shines warmly, always. There are cities so ancient, the sands have swallowed them whole." He sighed, shaking his head. "But now I will say no more, for I miss my home greatly."

Bradley contemplated the cat's words. So, Elsweyr was a desert nation, not unlike the climate in Ishval. Though it seemed the Khajiit were marginally more friendly towards outsiders than those warrior monks. That could prove useful.

With a smile, the homunculus held out a hand. "I hope you find fortune here, and see your homeland once more. May I ask for your name?"

The cat eyed Bradley's hand curiously, then smiled once more, taking the hand in his own and shaking. "This one is named Ri'saad," he answered. "Now, would you like to browse our wares?"

Bradley shook his head. "Not at the moment, Ri'saad. I was merely curious. I've never seen one of your kind before, though I would like to take advantage of them at some point. Tell me, how long do you intend to stay near Whiterun?"

Ri'saad stroked his whisker-braids, humming as he thought. "This one believes we shall be leaving in two days hence, stranger. Whiterun is hardly the only city in Skyrim, and we have many items to offer its people. Too many for a single settlement." He then held up a furry finger. "But, if you travel often, you may also happen upon the caravans of Ma'dran and Ahkari. Both are sworn to me, and both have worthy goods to offer."

"I suppose I can live with that," Bradley said with a nod, turning away. "Until we meet again."

"A moment, kind master?" Ri'saad asked. "You never told me your name."

Glancing over his shoulder, the homunculus smiled and waved. "It's Bradley. And it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ri'saad."

"Indeed," Ri'saad replied, bowing his head. "May your road lead you to warm sands, Bradley."

Bradley nodded once more, then passed under the wall.

He'd already noted the guards along the wall and above the walkway heading into Whiterun. He'd also noted that their armor was fashioned in the same style as the Stormcloaks, with the exceptions being that their furs had been died yellow as opposed to Ulfric's blue. That, and each wore a closed-face helmet with a spike at the top. Their weapons varied, but each was fashioned from fine steel, as opposed to the dull iron of Bradley's own blades.

Still, they let him pass by, most merely glancing at him before turning their attention outside their walls again.

It wasn't until he reached the doors leading into the city proper that he was stopped. Before he was even twenty paces away from them, one of the guards standing beside them held up a hand.

"Halt," the soldier barked out, folding his arms again. "The city's closed with the dragons about. Official business only."

Bradley nodded solemnly. "I've come here by way of Riverwood," he replied calmly. "They are calling for their Jarl's aid."

He could almost see the grimace behind the guard's helmet. "Riverwood's in danger, too?" he asked. Without waiting for a reply, he motioned to his partner, who produced a ring of keys and went to work on the doors.

"You'd better go on in," the first guard said to Bradley, jerking his thumb to the doors. "You'll find the Jarl in Dragonsreach, at the top of the hill."

Bradley gave the guard a polite nod as he marched up to the slowly opening gates to Whiterun.