Ralof takes the lead with his weapon drawn. I follow on his left, slightly behind him, with my spear held aloft. We walk down the winding stairs in silence.

The Stormcloak armor I'm currently wearing consists of three layers, a chainmail shirt, with sleeves down to mid-biceps, brown gambison, and a blue cloth wrapped on top, all held together by a leather belt on my waist. It's surprisingly light and isn't hindering my movements almost at all.

Soon the stairs open into a hallway. Our creeping gets interrupted by a large crash aboveground. I can feel the ground around us shaking, and after a few moments, it stops.

Then the support beam a few paces in front of me starts creaking. I instinctively react and tackle Ralof so that we are both thrown back toward where we came from. Luckily my reaction came not a moment too soon as the ceiling collapsed behind us.

Again, I found myself moments away from death. I wonder if this is just how life is. A moment after one another composed of close calls.

"By the Divines" Someone yelled.

I shift my gaze in the direction of the sound. I see a closed door, which I hadn't noticed before now. Now that I am looking, I can see bits of blood on the ground leading through it. I take a quick look at my companion to check his condition. Good, no worse for wear. With the hallway blocked and the doorway our only way forward, the people behind the closed door seem to be our next prey.

I gesture at the blood with my spear and then shift the spear towards the door. I look at Ralof with one of my eyebrows raised.

Ralof seems to understand, considering the firm nod he gives me.

I try the door, and it is not locked. I try to open the door slowly, but when it makes a loud squeaking sound, I stop and kick it the rest of the way open. There is no one in the immediate vicinity. No one seemed to react to the sounds I made either. I glance around the room. I see a lit fireplace and a table set for lunch, with half-eaten food on the plates. The room seems to be L-shaped, with a supporting stone pillar hiding us from being seen from beyond the corner.

I peek around it and am greeted by the sight of two men. One with an open wound in his shoulder digging through boxes, most of which seem to be opened already. He is wearing no armor, but by his bearing, I can see that he is a soldier, just like the man next to him. The man who is looking straight at me, I realize.

"Stormcloaks, kill them!" The bald armored soldier yells out.

Both of them draw their swords.

Ralof charges them with his war-axe high above his head, all the while letting out a battle cry.

"For Ulfric and for Skyrim!"

I step from behind the pillar and bring my spear up. Holding the point at an eye height.

I can see that Ralof is charging from the other side of the pillar, approaching the enemy from the right. So I try to do the same but from the other direction.

The armored man is a priority, so I focus on him first. Ralof seems to have the same thought as he meets the soldier's charge with his own. They meet in the middle and lock their weapons against each other, stopping the momentum of the opposing person's charge. I am approaching with quick but steady steps, ready for a long thrust aimed at his midsection. But I abort the motion as I notice the other enemy backing off with an oddly colored flask in his unarmed hand. I feel the need to stop him. Whatever the liquid in the flask does, he must have a reason for drinking it in the middle of a fight. And I can deny the possible advantage before he gains it.

The thrusting motion transforms into a lunge, where I shift my leading foot and leap forward, dropping one hand from the short spear and extending the other to its maximum, with the base of the shaft under my armpit providing stability. The speed of my spear makes it seem to flash towards the unexpecting man, who was biting at the stopper of the flask.

He must dodge my attack or take the spear into his chest. He chose the former.

The flask shatters onto the ground.

Without a moment's hesitation, the soldier goes to take advantage of my unsteady stance and slaps my weapon away with the flat of his blade. Due to the shaft being under my armpit, my entire upper body shifts. I place my hand back onto the grip and turn the forced motion into a spin.

Back to facing my enemy, I bring up the shaft horizontally into a guard. The man's downward slash is blocked by the wood between my hands. The hit carries a surprising amount of force, considering he is wounded.

With our weapons locked together, we are left face to face. I felt something small impact my face, It was the cork that had been left between his teeth, and he had just spat it at me. The potion stopper is followed by spittle from his screaming mouth.

Rude.

The shortsword is edging towards my face, so I shift my feet into a more firm stance and shove the man and his sword away. He staggers and almost falls over but is stopped by the wall behind him.

I glance to my right. Neither Ralof nor his opponent seems to be dead. By the sounds of it, the two of them are still locked in a fight with each other. I focus back on my opponent. I use the screams of "Stormcloak scum" and "For Skyrim" to get an idea of their locations and try to situate my fight away from them.

I quickly approach him, and he can't back away from my strikes with his back to the wall. So I absent-mindedly spin my spear and stop it with the point at my eye level. Then, I throw out a flurry of stabs at him. He manages to knock the first two off course but quickly tires under the onslaught. After that, each thrust manages to pierce his flesh. Finally, he is left slumped against the wall, with his blood slowly staining his tunic.

"Stormcloak bastard, you killed my boy!" An anguished voice yells out.

I turn away from the dying man toward the two men behind me. Ralof is between the soldier and me. He is more haggard than before and seems to bleed from somewhere on his face. I check to see if there are any worse injuries that I can see, but from where I stand, there seems to be none. Ralof is breathing heavily, and his axe arm is trembling.

"I'll kill you, you hear! You're dead! Dead!"

Now that I'm thinking about it, there is some resemblance between the two Imperials. The corpse used to be about Ralof's age, while the incensed man has crow's feet on the corners of his eyes and is clearly balding. The age difference would make sense. Ah, I just killed this man's son. I suddenly feel bad about killing him, feeling much worse than when I murdered the man earlier. But, no matter my personal feelings, I will have to fight, or Ralof and I's escape ends here.

I change my grip. Now I'm holding the spear with one hand near the middle. I test the weight by tossing it a little into the air several times.

"Ralof!" I yell out.

I bring the short spear next to my ear and take a couple steps while bringing my arm as far back as possible.

Ralof is already moving by the time the spear soars past him. I don't look if it hit, instead diving for the bloodied sword.

I then follow Ralof's charge. The man, in his rage, didn't dodge the projectile and is now staring at the iron point penetrating into his gut. We reach the enemy simultaneously, Ralof on my left swinging his war-axe from the left towards his neck while I aim to stab at the opening in his left armpit. We hit true.

The now dead father slumps down, held upright by all the weapons stabbed into him. His face frozen into a hateful expression. I push him over so that I can retrieve my weapon.

I hadn't expected the spear to pierce his armor, only hoping that he would stagger from the force and surprise of the throw. Now that the fight is over, I notice the chainmail covering the gap between the intricate steel cuirass and the layered metal skirt. The fact that my weapon had pierced it is less of a surprise than going through solid steel.

Lucky.

I take a moment to study the armor more intently, making sure to take note of all the possible weak spots for future reference.

The underside of the upper arm is bare, as are the spaces between the shoulder plates and bracers. Then, finally, there is the chain mail section cowering the abdominal area and the bare neck, thigh, and knee unhidden by the armored skirt.

Ralof backs away after ripping his axe from the neck it had buried into. He heads for a wall to rest his back against. I glance over his body. He has no injuries except for the one above his right brown. He seems exhausted, exceptionally so. Which I get; I am also beyond tired. But if I am tired, then he must be even more so. After all, he was in a battle before getting caught, and even in the past two fights, he has taken on the more difficult opponents.

He seems like he could use something to eat. So I'm going to have to rectify that.

I walk to the set table and grab a loaf of bread and the opened wine bottle. The wine wouldn't be my first choice for sating thirst, but It'll have to do. I offer the two to Ralof, who gifts me a slight smile. I then continue walking and kneel before the man I killed by myself. The body is slumped, sitting down against the wall, its eyes staring into the distance. I hover my hand over its face and brush the eyelids close.

I untie a pouch tied onto the belt. Inside, there is about a handful of septims and a locket. I take the locket out and lay it in the palm of the corpse; I wrap its fingers around it. Under no circumstances would I open or even consider taking it.

I notice that Ralof is digging about the boxes the soldier hadn't checked. I approach and grab a mouthful from the bottle he had put down.

"It's a store room. I bet there are potions and such here. Try and see if you find any."

I assent and start digging through the boxes along with him.

While digging, I find a box with cured salted meat strips, out of which I start gnawing on two, and the rest I stuff into the pouch. Also, I dug out a trio of flasks from an already opened box. They were made of glass, about as long as my index finger and thick as two. Two of them held red liquid, and the last one had green.

I show the potions to Ralof, who nods appreciatively.

"Hmm, two healing potions and a single stamina draught, mass-produced sort by the looks of it. Much better than nothing." He muses to himself, gazing longingly at the potions in my hand.

I extend a hand holding a single red potion, apparently a healing potion, and a single green bottle which would be the stamina one.

"Drink," I order, hoping he will do so without a fight. But as I expected, the Nord decides to be difficult and not receive the help he clearly needs.

"Ah, this?" He gestures at his bleeding forehead.

"Nothing but a flesh wound. We really should save these for when it's needed." Ralof tries to persuade me. Yes, I do agree that we should save some healing for later. Which is why I won't be feeding him both of the potions.

He's foolish if he thinks I'll let him off without some help.

"Do you mean to say that you didn't fight before getting caught?" The dig at his pride should do the trick, but if not, I'll have to convince him with logic. Such as "You are the far more experienced fighter" and playing up my helplessness if he were to die.

The Nord grumbles something under his breath and grabs the two flasks out of my hand. I cheer out mentally at my success.

I have to take a moment to gaze at the wound on his brow in wonder. The cut seeping blood starts healing as the man drinks the red potion. There is no glow of magic, but the healing does seem like the work of one. The cut's depth slowly diminishes while simultaneously, the edges of the wound seem to just move together. The skin left seems completely unmarred if you don't count the blood.

Now that Ralof has drunk the potions, he looks like a new man, almost as if he had just woken up from a good night's sleep. All earlier exhaustion has drained away, and the sickly paleness has been replaced with healthier coloring.

Ah, I'm glad I made him drink those.

Next, I hold out some salted meat strips, this time, he takes them without a complaint. Although he lets out an exasperated huff for some reason.

I wonder what are the limits of these 'mass-produced potions'? So I decide that asking would be the best way to get answers.

"So, mass-produced potions?" I say the sentence with a questioning tone, leaving it to him to decipher what I meant.

Still chewing on the tough meat, he holds up two fingers.

"Better known as lesser potions, ya know. About the size of your two fingers, come in three sorts. Health, Stamina, and Magicka restoratives. Works fast, has no real downsides, and is pretty affordable. Not really that strong, but it can take the edge off in battle. The real good ones cost more and come in a wide variety of effects, depending on the alchemist making them, but they are usually labeled, unlike these ones."

He explains with ease, although it sounds rehearsed. Now that I think about it, he probably has had to give such explanations before as a member of a rebel organization. I bet their average recruits are just ordinary townspeople with no training, so it would make sense for such answers to become ingrained in people's minds.

I try to think if there's more I want to ask, but nothing pops into my mind.

Now that we both have some food and drink in our stomachs and Ralof looking much more battle ready, I think it's time for us to head on. So I grab the spear laid out on the floor and use it to stretch out my shoulders, back, and sides. I bring it high above my head, with two hands holding it parallel to the ground, stretch, and while keeping my hands still, stretch side to side, and finally finish by bringing the shaft behind my back, holding my hands straight the whole time.

Done with my little warm-up, I turn to Ralof.

"Let's go?"

He says nothing for a moment as he finishes his piece of meat.

"Lead on."

Don't mind if I do. I take the lead and exit the room from the door on the far side of the room. The exit leads back to the hallway with the collapsed roof, just on the other side of the rubble. The hallway continues on and leads to some more stairs.

We hear a faint battle scream downstairs, followed by an almost inaudible thud. Both of us glance at each other and start running towards the sound.

What greets us at the foot of the stairs is a room with a singular purpose.

"Troll's blood, It's a torture chamber." Ralof helpfully spoke next to me, no longer running.

Yes, a room filled with cages, wooden tables with shackles, and many sorts of strange implements.

Fortunately, the people in charge of the chamber lay dead on the floor with the perpetrator still standing over them, helping a person bound to one such table, free from his bonds.

The three turn to us at the sound of Ralof's voice. Relief is evident on their faces, although the bound prisoner doesn't seem cognitient enough. I reflexively grab at the potion on my belt. The three people are all clad in blue of the Stormcloaks; two greet us by pounding their chest once with a single closed fist, a greeting that Ralof returns.

"Was Jarl Ulfric with you?" Ralof starts to talk with the two. I try to keep one ear open while going to help the man on the table out of the last of his bounds. He struggles to get himself up, and I interrupt by feeding him the last healing potion of mine.

"No, the last I saw him was when the dragon appeared." The female Nord answers Ralof's question.

There is nothing more I can do for the torture victim, as the healing potion only helped so much. Luckily he manages to get onto his feet, but I can clearly see how disoriented he still is.

One of the Stormcloak's has disappeared behind a walled-off area in the chamber while Ralof was talking with the female. He soon returns with an additional pair of a sword and a shield, presumably for the unarmed man. He then hands the two to the one still swaying on his feet, which I get, better to have and not need than need and not have. Still, it leaves a sour taste in my mouth. Hopefully, he won't have to fight.

I look around the room for anything necessary for the future and notice a corpse in one of the cages lined up against a wall. The carcass inside had worn a robe with a hood. The robe's design is weird, as is the feeling it exudes. And what initially caught my eye was the coin purse spilled over onto the floor. The door to the cage is locked, but the key ring, tied to the belt of the headless Imperial on the ground, solves that.

I scoop the gold into the pouch and tie it next to the other already on my belt. Now that I'm in here, I might as well grab the small book on the floor next to where the gold was. The cover is simplistic with nothing but the title, 'Novice's Handbook of Magical Studies.'

I also impulsively grab the hood, which comes off easily. The hood is made so that the widening fabric can be placed under clothing so that the hood is interchangeable. The hood gives off the same unknown presence as the robes, but the fact that the man wearing the robe had such a clearly named handbook in his possession, makes me think that this unknown feeling might indicate some magical nature of the object.

I'm interrupted from my thoughts by a shout.

"Kid, enough with your looting. We're going!" I spin my eyes around and spot Ralof walking into a hallway of cages on one of the corners of the chamber.

On my way to scamper to follow him, I spot a book on one of the tables. It has the dragon symbol of the Empire on the cover. I grab it. Maybe It'll shed some light on the Empire's existence.

Now that I have two books to study for after we've escaped, I rush to follow the four people.

Now, as a group of five, we proceed through the small hall with cages inside both walls. I count that we pass five pairs of doors, so ten in total, all empty.

I take stock of all that we have available to us. There are five of us now. Me with my spear and a woman with a spear of Imperial make, which is of much higher quality. I won't contest that I am jealous. Anyway, the two men wield a sword and a shield. Ralof still has only his single war-axe.

It's a shame that none of us have any ranged weaponry because with all of us in melee in such cramped quarters as these, we will only end up in each other's way.

At this point, I've decided to wear the hood instead of carrying it. So I slip the fabric beneath my gambison but leave the hood against my back.

As I'm doing so, we pass through the room to which the hallway leads. The room is filled with skeletal remains. We strive to not pay any attention to them.

The room's exit is a partially disassembled brick wall, which opens into a natural cave, with manmade stone stairs covering the floor.

I've unconsciously found myself at the lead of the group. So, when we reached a sharp left turn in the cave, I was the first to peer around the corner.

It is a large opening in the cave, lit up by natural light shining through a hole in the high ceiling. I can't see all of the room from this angle, but from what I see, there are two levels to the room. An upper man-made area surrounds the middle of the cavern, which is the natural bottom of the cave. Most importantly, I see multiple enemies inside.

I hold up my hand, attempting to signal for others to wait so I could take a good look, and maybe we could make a plan of attack.

I am almost knocked over when someone charges past me, screaming, alerting everyone inside.

Damn, it is the injured man. He is going to get himself killed.

I couldn't even inform the others about the archers on the farside ledge before they charged in.

I grit my teeth and grip my spear tighter and follow the charge. Tortured man has engaged a soldier along the ledge that curves against the left side of the room. The trio of well-off rebels charged down the short stairs leading towards two soldiers in the middle.

Two archers are left alone on the far ledge. If I don't get to them before they ready themselves, they can start dropping us one by one.

The path of least resistance is the upper area, with only one soldier between me and my targets, one who is already being engaged. I start sprinting with my spear steady in my hands.

The path was not wide enough so that I could entirely run around the fight in front of me without worry. So I prepare a wide slash to throw at the Imperial. It does not hit, but with its purpose fulfilled, I could freely charge toward the two archers.

The one nearest to me had his arrow nocked into his bow. I prayed that my feet were fast enough and continued running.

An arrow makes a sharp whoosh as it passes me. It did not hit me.

Yes!

With the spear braced in my hands, I stab as I go to run past him. The spearhead pierces true, and the man is thrown back by the momentum.

He is as good as dead now with the blade so deep in. I turn to look at the other archer. He is still fumbling to get an arrow free from his quiver. I try to rip my spear free, but it is stuck. I try again. On the third try, I feel something give.

I have to stare in horror as I bring my weapon back in front of me. Unfortunately, the tip has broken off. I'm left with basically just a long stick.

The enemy has given up with his bow and is now starting to reach for his short sword. I need to stop him before he does so.

I swing my stick sideways at his unarmored head. As he goes down, there is a loud crack, and my weapon splinters into two. The old wood giving away under stress. He is unconscious, if not dead.

The fighting dies down. Only the faint sounds of the dragon's roars echoed in the silence. The five of us making short work of them. Only not all of us made it out unscathed. The first one to charge in has an arrow stuck in his shoulder and a deep cut running through his abdomen. I rush to try and help him.

I discard my broken weapon and help him sit down against a stone pillar.

"Thank you, brother."

He must consider me a Stormcloak, an easy mistake to make with me wearing their uniform.

There is nothing I can do for him. With me being so close, I could smell the horrible smell coming from him. A sign of perforated bowel. The sword must have cut too deep.

With no healing potions and no miraculous memories of healing magic, this is a mortal wound.

"How's it look." He is starting to slur his words.

"Not good. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. With this, I will be able to meet my ancestors in Sovngarde with honor."

Sovngarde, the afterlife of Nords. Reserved for those whom have met their end in honorable combat. The place where they may drink in Halls Of Valor until the end of times.

I decide to ask for his name.

"Kveae." His voice is starting to falter, and his face is paling by the moment.

"May we meet in Sovngarde one day, Kveae."

I look up, and the three others are beside me. Luckily no one else is badly wounded.

Someone taps my shoulder. It's the woman with a spear. In the crook of her elbow rest the weapon in question, and in her hand, she carries a greatsword of significant size. The sword that she didn't have earlier and must've taken from her adversary. She uses her elbow to tip the spear, so it starts falling towards me. I take hold of it.

I drag my gaze along the length of the weapon. It is of Imperial make, vastly superior in quality compared to my former one. The tip is long and made of steel and has a groove, a fuller, along the flat side of the blade. It is fastened onto the wooden staff by a thick metal base. The shaft itself is made of dark treated wood, which feels sturdy in my hands.

I observe that two handholds are made by wrapping the wood with reddish brown leather. The wrappings are about two hands long under the tip and more than twice that nearer to the base. Connecting the two is a singular thick leather strap. I could probably use that to sling the weapon over my shoulder for easier carrying.

The last thing I notice is that the spear is much longer. The shaft is about as long as I am, and when counting the blade, it is much longer than I. To counterbalance the length, a steel pommel is set into the base of the staff.

"Take it. I prefer my swords over those pointy sticks." The Nord woman interrupts my studying of what appears to now be my new weapon.

"You two should go ahead, and we'll stay and keep watch in case Jarl Ulfric comes this way." She says with her head turned toward Ralof. Probably meaning him and me.

I take a last look at the dying man and try to give him a calming smile. Then, exchange farewells with the other two and start to trudge deeper into the cave in search of an exit.

We encounter a raised wooden bridge soon after exiting the cavern through a large stone arch. It is easy enough to lower with a lever set into the ground.

The bridge sets down with surprising quietness. As we are walking over it, I gaze at the opening below. It's about as big as the drop from the tower to the two-story house, except there is rushing water and sharp stalagmites instead of a level floor.

I wouldn't want to fall down.

As seems to be the trend, there is a loud sound behind us after we've crossed. The sound was made by a boulder-sized piece of rock falling onto the bride, breaking it.

"Seriously, are we blessed by the gods or something?" I incredulously say to myself.

"A little divine intervention isn't exactly unwelcome at a time like this, ya know." Ralof, also gazing back at the wrecked bridge, says.

I startle at that, not realizing that I said it out loud. Then, after a moment of silence, I decided I didn't want to stay next to where a piece of the ceiling literally collapsed.

"I don't know about you, but I'd rather not stand around here after that." I pointedly gaze at the darkness hiding the drop.

"Aye, I agree. Others will just have to find another way."

Yeah, that.

The winding tunnels of the cave lead us to what seems to be a nest of sorts. I admit that I only barely avoided walking into a bunch of webs.

"Ralof, what do you think this is?" I gesture at the barely visible webs in the dark.

"Frostbite spiders, an annoying bunch. Only dangerous if they swarm you."

He sounds like he really doesn't like them.

"They die pretty easily. Just don't get caught in the webs, and we'll be fine. "

Well, all right then, I take the spear from where it rests on my shoulder and slash the web in our path. Immediately there is a skittering sound from the room in the front.

There are dozens of them, hundreds of eyes gleaming in the dark. Ranging from the size of my boot to about my midsection.

"I hate these things."

I agree. Why on earth are they so big?

Ralof is right. They aren't exactly challenging opponents. Swipes and stabs are enough to kill and make the biggest keep at bay. The smaller ones can be stomped underfoot. Although I'd prefer metal footwear to fur ones, as the fur is starting to get soaked by the purple innards.

The only tricky thing is the creeping exhaustion cumulated through the day, but it's not too much to bear, yet.

After what feels like half an hour of just swinging, all the spiders lay dead before us.

I let out a massive sigh. I can't wait to get out of here. I'm just so emotionally and physically exhausted.

Immediately after the spider nest is a cavern with a bear sleeping inside. It's enormous even lying down, and there is also the fact that it has white fur.

Great, a snow bear. No, just no. No, I refuse to fight with that.

"Tell me we aren't going to fight that, please." I pleadingly whisper to Ralof.

"Aye, I'd rather not tangle with it either. Let's try to sneak on by." He whispers back.

We walk quietly, each step careful and slow, hugging the left wall of the cave. Somehow we manage to make it to the other side of the bear, without waking it.

The sight of sunlight in the distance fills me with so much happiness I can't even describe it. Is this it? Are we done?

I take a quick look back at the bear and double-take. It almost seemed like it had been staring straight at me, but that's impossible. It's clearly asleep. I shake my head and start jogging towards the light.