The Heart of A Dovah

Chapter 1: The Wrong Place At the Right Time

     Justarius Drakeblood

     I awoken to a strange mind numbing sensation. My dazed starry eyes gazing about my envoirnment, a foggy blur as my eyes adjusted to the bright yet pale surroundings. As my vision focused and fixed itself back into reality, I notice trees layered in a thin blanket of snow, the grown green and lush ahead of me as I took everything in one step at a time, seeing I was once again riding in a cart, however a chilling gust of wind sobered my senses as I looked down to myself, I wore tattered and ragged cloths. 

     I have always been fine with this climate but especially here up north the cold alone bites at my skin more than ever before, with or without a heavy layer of clothes on. I then developed an anxiety driven concern as I noticed my arms were bound in front of me. I shiver at the thought of my once unconscious body stripped of its wears and property. Why was I bound captive? Beginning to squirm in my bindings I reach the acknowledgement of a man across from me. He spoke to me with a calm but low tone. He was wearing that strange blue and brown padded raiment during the ambush I was caught in the middle of.  He appeared to be a nearly pale skinned Nord, dark bags under his eyes and a light blonde beard seemed to be recently shaven down dawned his face with long hair running down to his collarbone, a equally long braid of hair let down on his left side of his face. His features began to be the lesser of my focus as he spoke towards me.

     "Hey, you, your finally awake! You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush. Same as us and that thief over there" He said as I realized he was also bound in ties. I took a moment to look before me and gaze toward another man in similar rags to mine, his nose running with a thin streak of blood down one nostril, his face caked in dirt and a split lip to match. And across from them is a man sitting beside me, wearing a long coat and dawning noble northern finery, a dark wolf pelt over his shoulders as aside from everyone else, his mouth was bound shut by a long cloth wrapping around the lower half of his head. Preventing him to speak. The dirt covered man looks to me in fear seeming to try to reach out to me in desperation. The man ahead of the cart leading a sturdy bulky chestnut horse onward down a long winding nature trail gazed back at us, lead in one hand and a axe in the other in case one of us got out of line it appeared.

     "Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been half way to Hammerfell. You there. You and me- we shouldn't be here- It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants." He pleaded loudly to me as if I had all the answers.

     "I just woke up, how can you expect anything short of a yes out of me, I haven't the faintest clue of what in oblivion is going on. There has to be some sort of misunderstanding!" I responded with equally growing panic. Over my years I did toughen up, but I could not face something like escape or breaking out of my bonds without a forceful conflict. I was nowhere near strong enough to undo these binds. Then the hair braided Nord sighs extensively as he responds in a defeated tone.

     "We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief." He smirked. "We are riding this cart for one reason or another are we not?" My eyes drifted to him as I opened my mouth in attempt to question why he was so in defeat. "You there, what... what is your name? And why am I also in these binds? I was merely traveling with my caravan-" I was interrupted by the cart driver as he punched behind his seat and demanded, "Shut up back there!"

    The four of us began to try to calm ourselves to match the Nord, as he calmly whispered. "I am Ralof, what of you and the horse thief. What are your names?" The still panicked dirtied man gazed to the three of us as I replied, "I am Justarius." And the man followed my response with his. "Lokir, not like I needed to state my name here when... What's up with him?" He speaks gesturing toward the gagged man. Ralof aggressively speaks over his questioning, "Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King." He grits his teeth towards the man as Ulfric grunts through the gag.