Kris had to work hard to keep her teeth from chattering. Her native Daggerfall endured hard winters from time to time but nothing like this. Winters in Skyrim were famously harsh but the campfire stories hadn't prepared her for the brutal reality. She had to admit that a decade of campaigning in Cyrodill and Valenwood had done little to remind her of her northern roots.

"We are Imperial spies come to murder Ulfric Stormcloak in his bed, now let us in or kill us, I'm too cold to care much which," Kris retorted grumpily. The guards roared with laughter at that and on held out a sputtering torch illuminating her face.

"Ah a Breton with the funny mouth," one of the guards chuckled before repeating the proccedure with Dax.

"And an Argonian... well come on inside before you freeze the rest of the way to death," a redbeared man invited, turning back towards the impressive gates.

Even at night Windhelm was an impressive place. Soaring Nord architecture and impressive fortifications. Stormcloak banners hung from the walls and the blue and black were displayed on many doors with twined ribbon that fluttered and snapped in the breeze. Kris frowned in distaste. If Ulfric had wanted to lead the people of the Empire to smash the Aldmeri Dominion she would have cheered him as loudly as anyone, but his ambitions took him no father than Skyrim and that meant that all his petty rebellion really did was divide Imperials when they needed unity most. She kept those thoughts to herself.

The city was quiet, most beggars and vendors had been forced inside by the night bitter cold, though a few bedraggled and hopeful looking prostitutes cried their dubious wares. Guard duty being what it was a few of those girls might find their efforts repaid when the watch changed.

"Lets find an inn and some soup before I freeze to death," Kris told Dax.