Stormcloak

Chapter I: Introductions

It was noon, with the sun at it's peak in the sky; yet grey clouds blotted the sky, and an eerie mist had descended upon Kynesgrove. Through the light of the campfire, mountains could be seen towering over the Eastmarch in the distance, leaving a sparse forest in it's wake.

A man sat on crude log stump, seeking the fire's warmth, and the boar's meat that roasted over it. He was a Nord, there was no doubt, as he wore the distinctive garb of the Stormcloaks – a blue cloak worn over boiled leather, with a chainmail tunic beneath that. A pointed steel helmet rested on the ground beside him, as did his steel longsword, which was placed in a pristine leather sheath. Crudely cut blonde hair fell down to his shoulders, and the beginnings of a beard jutted from his chiselled jaw. Broad shouldered and well built, he was the universal stereotype of a Nord. His skin was the giveaway of his youth. It had not weathered nor scarred, but was clean and untouched. This was no man; this was a boy.

It was Rickon's seventeenth name day, but there were no celebrations. His father and elder brother had left to join Ulfric's rebellion, and soon Rickon would join them. He was left in the care of his old uncle Ragnvald, the blacksmith of Kynesgrove, who had forged the steel longsword as a parting gift. Rickon's eyes left the roasting boar, and found it drawn to his blade. He had only swung wooden sticks as a boy with his brother Ragnar, pretending to be knights or sellswords. The two boys would be Martin Septim and the Champion of Cyrodiil, fighting their way through Daedric trees in the Imperial City. Rickon smiled at the memories, but it would not be the pine trees he would face on the battlefield he knew, but Imperial legionnaires. His mailed hand gripped the scabbard, and drew out the blade slowly, examining it. There was nothing special about it – it was plain steel, with his uncle's mark at the base of the blade; yet it had a Nordic beauty, and the fire caused it to shine golden. When he was satisfied, he placed the blade back in it's scabbard, and attached it to his belt. He was eager to eat the boar there and then – he could see it's juices drip down into the fire, and the smell was overpowering.

The sound of a wagon rolling over the cobblestones of the road sated his hunger for the boar; he knew it was his time to take up arms for certain. He kissed the amulet of Talos that rested around his neck, the steel symbol of Tiber Septim was cold to the touch, and carried his helmet under his arm. As he trod past the houses that he used to play around, and the inn he had his first mead in, he did not think of the past – but the present. He thought of how he would be part of the movement that freed Skyrim from the dying Empire and the talons of the Thalmor. Of course he knew there was the probability of death, but that meant the probability of Sovngarde, where he would meet his forefathers – it was a glorious thought.

The wagon itself looked to be an old, used thing. It was spacious at the back, though chunks of wood had been chipped away, and holes had been patched with a darker wood that contrasted the light brown pines. Two brown mares pulled the wagon – one seemed healthy enough, the other looked smaller and older. Still, it would be the thing that carried him to the front. In the back sat four other recruits, all still boys like Rickon. The driver was an old man, with short, fine white hair and a patchy beard that just looked like snow on his face.
“Get in, boy,” he croaked. “Wagon's heading to Falkreath, the forts there are swarming with Imperial bastards,”.
Rickon simply nodded, and climbed in to the wagon. In hindsight it was a dull thing for him to do, just a simple nod, but his thoughts were still set on the future he had envisioned, not this old cart driver.
The greying old man urged the two mares onwards down the southern road, and Rickon saw Kynesgrove vanish in the distance. Although he still kept the optimism he first had, there was also the fear; not the near of death, but the fear of the unexpected.

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This is my first Elder Scrolls fanfiction. I haven't had much experience in writing, especially fiction, so feedback would be great. I hope it attracts interest, and I'll keep writing if it does!