Peace and Blood

Flaming rocks flew atop our heads and hit the ground, burning the ground and the grass they rolled onto. Arrows wildly whizzed everywhere. The sky was dark with the smoke of burning trees and rooftops. This is how we'll leave when we're finished, no matter the outcome.

Galmar and I and our squad of soldiers stood outside Whiterun, listening to Galmar's speech against the Empire and the elf-loving Nords who don't know what it's like to live freely. We stood at attention while huge rocks and arrows flew toward us and destroyed stables and farms. We screamed, screamed for the freedom of Skyrim! My second home. My home. 

Who threw that rock? It missed entirely!

As soon as Galmar screamed, "FOR SKYRIM!" we sprinted across the battlefield towards the gates, weapons ready to swing. I dodged arrows aimed at my head--my comrades were not lucky enough. I saw them get crushed under rocks, blood splattering around, and I saw them get hit by arrows, piercing their heads like needles through cloth. I sprinted and sprinted, wanting to end this battle as soon as it started. This is what I saved Kiya from: the destruction and death of the people she lived with. I did what I could to protect her.

I wonder what that horse is doing in the middle of the battlefield.

Swords and axes and war hammers swung at armored citizens of Skyrim from both sides of the war. Heads got disemboweled, arms ripped off, and chests burst with pointed ends. I was at the front lines, carving Imperial soldiers with my words and sword. I felt a pang of sadness and regret that grew stronger and stronger with every soldier killed, be it Imperial or Stormcloak. Is this what I'm fighting for? I guess we are always going to need bloodshed in order to get peace. 

Oh, hey Ralof! (Not in the illumination.)

I pushed these feelings aside and continued pushing deeper into Whiterun. It looked like we were winning, leaving a trail of dead bodies along the way. We stormed the districts, slaughtering enemy soldiers through familiar grounds. I passed a glance at Breezehome to make sure it was safe from harm. I wished I had taken Lucia out of that house before this battle started, but it was too late. All I could do was to wish to the gods they keep her safe.

NO! I'll beat you to it!

Only a handful of my comrades were left to finish the job. The doors of Dragonsreach were open, inviting us in, nay, taunting us to come inside and fight. Several soldiers together with the Jarl and his housecarl were left standing in our way to reclaim Whiterun to our cause. We charged. Two of my comrades immediately fell down to Irileth's magic. I felled two of their guards in return. I blocked the housecarl's magic as easily as bringing her down to her knees. I stepped over her unconscious body and started for the Jarl. He was ready with his sword, but I knew he was no match for me. I urged him not to fight this fight, for it was already over. 

Are you ready, Jarl?

He swung at me with all his might. I blocked it with my shield and bashed him. The force of my shield pushed him away and threw the sword off his hands. He said, "Enough!" The coward. I knew it. He stayed behind his big doors and sat on his fancy throne, waiting for someone else to take action. He got his wish. Here I am. 

Die like your soldiers, you coward!

Vignar, seemingly out of nowhere, arrived at Dragonsreach and disgraced Jarl Balgruuf. He told him to run away from this place, as he had no place in Whiterun anymore. It was true. Whiterun needs a new leader, one who will have more passion. Whiterun is ours. Our first step towards freedom.

Vignar claiming the throne. Like he did any work.

I do not know what Balgruuf's intentions were, but I let him approach me. He was surprised that I was a Stormcloak and expressed his regret and anger at me. "You'll all come to regret this day," he said. One day I probably will, I can feel it.

Well, you should have thought better.

This is the start of a new age in Skyrim. We do not need anyone telling us who to worship or what to do. We cannot let anyone bully us into submission. My mother died fighting people in power who oppressed us, and I will do the same.