The weathered and tired Jarl, sits above his throne, unsatisfied. And with a terrible lack of entertainment and excitement he so dearly craves. The fire crackles in the middle of the room, making largely over exaggerated shadows on the face of our jarl, and the wall behind the throne we see him sat in. Distain and annoyance are visible on his face as he sits in the chair sideways, his legs hanging over the arm of the chair, as he holds a glass of wine in one hand and he twirls a dagger in the other. He takes a large swig of the wine, and lets out a large belch, that echoes around the lit hearth and main hall of the palace.
The Steward: My lord, I don't recommend the continuous drinking before bed... you hardly wake in the mornings anymore, let alone wake sober...
The Jarl: Oh shut you're damned mouth Devetry! If I gave a damn about what you had to say I'd ask damnit!
Devetry becomes quite and leaves the room.
The Jarl: Dumb simpleton, I never gave you permission to leave!
He receives no answer. The Jarl's reputation with the people of his hold remains to be adequate, with the accepting of when he is intoxicated. Which in recent months grows more frequent due to his incredible, and continuously growing boredom.
The Jarl gets to his feet, stumbling as he stands up straight, barley avoiding a potentially brutal fall. He steps towards the fire, which crackles and waves beautifully. He dumps the remaining wine in his glass into the fire making it explode in orange, and red color illuminating the room and causing the shadows to die down for a moment until the fires inevitable calm causing the shadows to be even more embellished and dramatic than they were once before.
Instead of retiring to his chambers for the night, the Jarl instead heads to the palace armory, otherwise known as his trophy room.
Once there the Jarl admires his trophies, and killing appliances. The Jarl finds himself standing in front of a display, now with a bottle of wine in his hand rather than a single glass as he admires an Orcish war-hammer mounted to a wall along with a shield and helmet over the top of it. The Jarl remembers this event fondly. The utilities before him belong to an old friend.
The Jarl: The Battle of Narzulbur.
The Jarl in his drunk state says this allowed, although there is no one around to hear.
He remembers fondly of his friend, Gra-Shone, one of the son's to an Orcish Chief at the time. He lead his people against a necromancer that had slaughtered the town of Kinesgrove with a resurrected giant's corpse, then proceeded to take the whole town under his control and attempted to move on the stronghold. Gra-Shone lead 50 Orcish Berserkers and The Jarl brought with him 50 of his own men, consisting mostly of town guard and mercenaries, the deal was that if The Jarl were to assist in the defense of the stronghold, due to Ulfric's refusal to supply aid that The Jarl would then have an unlimited access to the ebony ore that lay deep within the Orcish mines there. So the Jarl found himself compelled to bring men, and brought with him what he thought was the necessary amount to fight a small band of resurrected rejects. But upon arrival he came to find that the necromancer had a much larger force than The Jarl prepared for and anticipated. The Necromancer's force consisted of not only three giants, two mammoths, the town of Kinesgrove and their cemetery, but also, on top of that an entire bandit clan that numbered over 200. Upon this knowledge The Jarl sent word to hire two mages from The College of Winterhold and just prayed that him and his men could hold until the mages arrived so they might get lucky and survive the dark endeavor.
The battle raged on for two days. Upon arrival the mages combined a fire ball spell to destroy the giants and light the undead horde ablaze, only helping The Jarl and The Stronghold temporarily, until consequentially the flaming horde overcame the main gate with the assistance of the undead mammoths, which were slain by archers shortly after. The horde was stronger than the forces of the living anticipated and rushed through the main gate. The living forces did their best to hold the line and keep the undead from flooding into the town. Gra-Shone and his brothers fought together bravely wielding their axes and hammers, each of them being worth over 50 men. The Jarl and his men held a shield wall as all of the undead forces ran into their phalanx, effectively running to their deaths. The forces of the living were finally just beginning to take the upper hand when the men began to falter from fatigue. They began to drop like flies.
The Jarl: Hold then back we can not fail, for Whiterun and for Skyrim!
The men: For Whiterun For Skyrim!
Then suddenly the phalanx was blasted open by a massive fire ball, projected into to them by none other than the necromancer himself, wielding his staff while atop a skeletal horse.
This seemed to be the end for The living forces. Gra-Shone's men being under 20 and mine being reduced to 9, find themselves pinned against the back wall of the stronghold, the mine just behind them, and the towns people within. All that separated the undead from the towns people, was the thin line consisting of The Jarl's and Gra-Shone's men. The living forces continued to dwindle and fight for their lives, the situation growing more and more dire by the second. The sun setting in the background.
Then the sound of twin war horns rang out off in the distance on the outskirts of the stronghold's view. Two banners could be seen, those being the banners of TheDawn-Guard, and The Vigilant's of Stendar. The two groups formed a line of crossbows, 10 men wide, and 4 thick, that unloaded arrows into the horde, putting down countless of the undead. The Necromancer turned, clearly angered by this intrusion. The crossbow line then opened to reveal a mass of cavalry that charged up the the hill leading to The Stronghold and then through the main gate, and flying right into the bulk of the horde enclosing them, and the necromancer as well. The living, with their new advantage destroy the horde and surround the necromancer. As the Necromancer went down in a blaze of fiery, and electrified rage, he managed to effectively, fatally wound Gra-Shone, causing him to pass in the coming days while the rest of them reveled in their victory.
Back to the present the Jarl takes another swig of his wine and falls backwards in the process passing out on the floor.
