Felix aep Caileach was sitting by a fire, sharing it with two tough-looking Nords and one skinny Imperial. His comrades, as he had learnt to call them, were cooking some late night meal and exchanging banter and tales of their adventures. Felix was drinking dark ale from a small wooden mug and trying to nibble a hard rye bread.

"... and then I told them this one joke; what's the difference between a Reachman and a bucket full of shit. 'Nothing', they answered, but then I replied 'Wrong, the bucket of course!'" a tall and brawny Nord named Björn the Bald told Felix and other men by the fireplace. Felix feigned amusement, as he didn't enjoy such jokes, while the others laughed wholeheartedly.

Felix had heard that Björn was a former Stormcloak, born in a farm near Whiterun, and he claimed that he had witnessed one of the Dragonborn's duels with a dragon. Helmi the Hammer, the other Nord by the fireplace, had one day claimed that Björn's story was ridiculous. The men had started to wrestle in the mud, wrestling and punching each other for quite a while, until they both had been exhausted. They had buried their grudges and had become friends quickly.

"Have I told you about this one time when I had to wrestle with a snow troll?" Björn asked. He had drunk some mead and ale, so one couldn't trust everything he said. "You did not do that, I am sure" Helmi said with slighty doubtful tone. "You wouldn't even be here if you had wrestled with a troll."

"Hell I didn't. I wouldn't do that even for thousand coins" Björn said. Another burst of laughter. Felix smiled a little. "But I could have, y'know. Björn the Troll-wrestler, that would be a good name to settle for."

"I think that would make a mighty song" Felix said. He had made few friends in the mercenary company, and he included Björn in them. He laughed easily and shared his experiences and sparred sometimes with Felix, although he wasn't much of an challenge for a veteran Stormcloak soldier.

"You could make one, bard. 'The Song of the Troll-wrestler', and the name of Björn the Bald would always be remembered." Björn took a sip from his waterskin. Björn shook his head. "Damn this water, it's too mild for me!"

Felix' companions continued to exchange crude jokes. How many Khajiits are needed to repair a barrel? Only one, but you have steal it back. A mage, a Thalmor informer and an elf walked into a tavern, and he wanted a drink. It seemed that Björn and Helmi had an infinite number of jokes like these. The other Imperial mostly stayed quiet and laughed with them. Felix hadn't catched his name.

Björn wasn't much older than Felix, but he had lived most of his life in the same farm as where he had been born. Once the fighting with the Reachmen ended, Björn would go back to his family's farm and rebuild it, as it had been razed during the Civil War.

Felix couldn't say the same. He had been forced to leave Leyawiin and his family in fear of Imperial's police, Penitus Oculatus for his part in an illegal protest and in a skirmish with legionnaires. Throughout his escape across Cyrodiil, Felix had felt extreme fear and extreme tiredness, feeling like a hunted animal, finally reaching Skyrim just after the Civil War's start.

For few years, Felix made a living by traveling from town to town from one end of Skyrim to another and singing about Dragonborn and of other heroes, far away from the reach of imperial agents. Now, Felix felt almost safe. He had joined the mercenary company as an act of drunken foolishness, after he had drunken too much of the sweet but strong northern mead. He couldn't remember all the details about that fateful night, but the next morning he had woken up in a wagon full of furs and weapons, sporting a hammering hangover.

Sometime before midnight, Felix had to go to relieve himself to a nearby bush. His piss hissed and steamed when it hit the cold ground. He was shivering, when he had done relieving himself and pulling his trousers up, he decided to go back to his backpack and take a look at his manuscript he a carried. He had been tasked to record and detail the mercenary company's happenings and goings into a book. Felix had named the book as [i]Devils of the Reach[/i]. It was a catchy title, and it was also better than his first title, [i]Our War against the Witchmen[/i]. At least it sounded better.

While walking to his backpack, Felix was stopped by an assembly of mercenaries that had gathered to hear commander Ashav's speech. He tried to speak loudly, but Felix could spot that he was slightly struggling to get his voice heard. A scouting sortie was ordered, and volunteers were asked to attend an elf called Daelin. A couple had already volunteered, as Felix understood it.

[i]Well, time to write this down and get some sleep[/i], Felix thought.