Imperial: The Journey {Skyrim}

Tyria Artemis

The men in blue stormed the city like it did not mean anything to anyone. Like it was never a place people called home, or never a place that people felt settled in, a place where people had lived in their whole lives or a place that people loved.

The brutal, careless rebels attacked every guard and every imperial soldier they seen like they were nobody and their lives meant nothing. Like they had no families, no friends or like they were simply men in their uniforms, and didn't have a face behind their helms.

Everything was loud. There were screams of terror from the people of Whiterun, people Tyria knew well, people she had grown up with and known for her whole life.
People that she had never heard scream like that before.

Whiterun was under siege. There had been many threats, she had heard many people whispering about the Stormcloak rebels and how they seemed to be interested in Whiterun as of late. Tyria had ignored it all.

She had never wanted to see the day where her home was taken over by violent and headstrong criminals.

Her father was long gone, travelling to High Rock as a merchant, bored of the ongoing war and wanting some escape. He had told her, over and over, that the Imperial Legion deserved what was coming to them, that they had brought this on themselves, every last one of them.

But that's not true, she thought, he didn't bring this on himself, he's just a boy and he's probably dead already.

Tyria was crouched in the corner of her room, holding on tight to her legs with her green, scaly hands. She was dressed in brown rags that her mama had made for her from a patch of linen. Before the Stormcloak rebels had arrived, her sister, Lia, and her mama had both popped down to the market to pick up some venison for that night's dinner. They were going to make venison stew.

But Tyria wouldn't be there.

She stormed out of her room, and strode to the door.

When Tyria opened her front door she was suddenly immersed in the boisterous shouting and screaming of the siege. She sprinted down the hill, all the way past the Drunken Huntsman and toward the gate leading out to Skyrim.

Tyria had wanted to leave Whiterun for a while now. She needed to get away from the busyness of the current war between the Imperials and the Stormcloaks, and Whiterun was at the centre of it all, what with the Battle-borns and the Grey-manes constantly at one another's throats. She had spoken to her mother about travelling to eastmarch, possibly visiting Riften or Windhelm, maybe even venturing into Morrowind.

But all she knew was that she needed to escape, and no way was she staying in Whiterun with the Stormcloaks in charge.

The men who will have probably, already, killed her best friend.