Skall took another deep draught of rich amber ale from the flagon in his fist, the powerful muscles in his throat clearly visible as he gulped the liquid down. He was, in truth, thirsty in more than just name at that moment in time. It had been a long and difficult hike through the woods of Falkreath hold that morning and once they had got here he had spent the next half hour splitting logs for the fire. But was really splitting was his head. An early start coupled with a later night than most left Skall seeking the hair of the dog almost as soon as he had a chance to rest. 

Luckily he had been wise enough to spend a septim or two filling this flagon before he had passed out next to the hearth in the Dead Man's Drink, either that or Valga had been taken pity on him, knowing he would be in need of it in the morning. It wasn't too strong, not enough to get Skall blind drunk, but enough to sooth his nerves and still his shaking hand. He put down his drink beside the stump he sat upon and wiped his mouth, smearing the beer foam into his lustrous beard. For a moment Skall considered the events that had led him here. 

It had started, as many things in Skall's life started, in a tavern. Skall had been drowning his sorrows after a long day at the mill. Adventuring hadn't been going so well recently, so he had been hewing logs since Second Seed at the Deadwood Lumber Mill. Bolund, the foreman, was a miserable milk-drinker but Skall was in need of coin. He was always in need of coin. The common room had been busier than usual that night, with many strangers and travellers who had come in off of the road. The talk had turned to adventuring and someone had spoken of a undisturbed ancient Nord barrow - a rare thing these days in Skyrim. The rest got a little hazy after that, but apparently at some point after than and before waking up in a hedge the next morning - Skall had offered to join them.

Adventuring was a fine thing, many of the the greatest Nord heroes had spent some time doing it. But it was lonely. With a party like this that wasn't so much the case, but perhaps there was a little less glory when it was shared with others. Certainly though there was more glory in this than in chopping wood for Bolund, that was for sure. But who exactly were these companions that he would share this adventure with? He was the only Nord amongst them he noted, though Skall wasn't too prejudiced in that regard. The Imperial, Sibassius, had the bearing of a soldier, as did the older man in wearing Stormcloak furs. There was a Gray Elf, a Wood Elf, a Cat and a pretty woman. Perhaps he would have preferred some sons and daughters of Skyrim, but beggars cannot be choosers.

It was at that moment that Sibassius spoke to them, telling them all that the door was open and they would be leaving in thirty minutes. Thirty minutes eh? Enough time for another drink in that case. Skall retrieved the flagon from beside him and took another long swig, it was beginning to approach empty by this point. He set it down and again, took out his knife, and leant over toward the fire to help himself to a large slab of the venison that was roasting above it. 

"So the-" Skall began before suddenly stopping, distracted by his meal almost slipping off of his knife as he moved back to his seat. He readjusted his blade and used his other hand to support the venison before taking a bite. Grease and meat juices ran down his chin and fingers as he began to chew.

"So then... " He continued in his booming voice, mouth still half full. "I think we have time for a story then. Anyone have a good one?" Skall liked stories, he liked listening to them almost as much as boasting about his own. "Have I ever told you about the time I won a drinking contest against Torbjorn Shatter-Shield? We both ended up so drunk that we spent half the night chasing an Argonian around Windhelm because we thought he was a dragon! Ha! That was a night to remember!" 

He laughed and slapped his knee. It had been one of the more memorable nights he had spent as a Stormcloak, though it may have also been one of reasons he had not been one more than a season. Skall went to take another drink, still chuckling to himself before his brow furrowed. The flagon stopped half way to his lips, his laughter died along with it.

"I forgot about Windhelm..." There was a sorrowful note in his deep tones now. "I suppose he's dead now most likely. Bloody business, all that. Ack, shouldn't speak of dead before going down there." He pointed with a thumb towards the black stone portal that led to barrow below. "What about you, old man? Why does an Imperial wear Stormcloak gear? Must be a story behind that, or how about you, Pretty Lady?" He gave a broad smile to the Breton mage, there were bits of meat still stuck between his teeth. "You have a good one?"