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It would not be a short voyage to Skyrim. The boats boarded were stocky things, full of supplies and men alike and bearing no rowers the sails could only do so much to take its fat frame through the waters of the North, a task made far harder by the permafrost of Northern Skyrim having to be cleared or sailed around. But eventually the Blue Palace could be seen in the distance. Soon the Karth river was entered, the mouth of the waterway decorated with new statues of great Nordic heroes: Ysgramor with the head of a Falmer, Tiber Septim - Talos - bearing the Amulet of Kings, Gormlaith Golden-Hilt with her sword held high, the Dragonborn in all the splendour recent memory could allow.

Though a wondrous sight, there was little chance to see it as most men on the deck focused on watching the Eastern shore for Thalmor lackeys. Though certainly none dared try mount an attack on the vessels, many a probing eye could be seen in the marshes.

The process of disembarkation from the vessels was somewhat strenuous, with a great many crates to be carried, horses to be lead out, and of course a good many papers to fill out from making sure that all troops were presented and accounted for to ensuring that all the auxilia had disembarked from their vessel with no clever bugger hopping off some way mid journey to swim for a rendezvous (or whatever similar journey of spycraft the mind could imagine). It was a time where it paid to be of the lower ranks, for whilst the officers and elites toiled away an enlisted man and conscript alike could do their bust to bundle up and enjoy the view; a more enterprising soldier could sidle off and purchase a bottle of Solitude’s famous spiced wine from a loose vendor. 

Eventually the respite ended however. The squads were to move into the marching formation of their cohorts, and thus they climbed the stone trail to the capital of Skyrim. Always the core of support for the Empire, the locals passing by the city cheered for their arrival hoping it would foreshadow a day when no longer were they strangers in their homeland. The words that went unsaid were the thought that before them was the strength for a true, Nordic Skyrim.

The march would be the first time that the Legionnaires would see their Legate, Ingjald, in person. A massive man, it was no secret his ornate armour was inspired by the many statues of Ysgramor across his homeland. Riding upon his horse at the front of the column, he was stopped by a guard that came running out of the gates. A master of the thu’um and su’um alike, there was no difficulty in overhearing his discussion with the guard: the barracks was at full occupancy, even the floors covered in sleeping bags. Ingjald was an intimidating man, but instantly hundreds of soldiers were willing to brave his wrath as they scattered upon hearing that they would have to make alternate arrangements for the day and night. 

[b]“Stand! Stand where you are!”[/b] The Legate attempted briefly, but seeing the chaos that erupted in his ranks he simply roared [b]“Anyone who is not at the gates in the morning is a deserter who will receive the full penalty of Imperial law for such a transgression!”
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Many a man went to simply set up camp near the refugees from the rest of Skyrim along with the wandering merchants and paramilitaries outside the city. Some ran to the large temples to the Divines within the city hoping their faith would convince the clergy to give them respite. Many of the Legionnaires along with some of the auxilia ran to the inns, deciding to spend their first salaries on a last night of comfort before heading towards death. Some with local connections found rest with their family or an empty stable to sleep in. 	

Of course, these were only the men with foresight. It was only midday, and many a warrior that would take life as it came to them found themselves wandering to places of entertainment. Taverns, guilds they were associates of, the Bard’s College, or embassies of their homelands in the case of some Dunmer, Redguard and Argonians. Day and night was theirs to spend, how they would do it was a choice up to every man. 

The squad had been rather near the front of the formation, and thus even the scoundrels among them would not scatter with the first wave of men upon hearing they had to make their own sleeping arrangements. Sergeant Dallio turned to them, doing his best to have a bright smile. “Apologies comrades, I uh... if anybody would like next month’s pay early I can hand it over now. It’s from me, not the Legion so pay it back when you can please.” Dallio would be far better known to the squad than the Legate was. A career soldier and native of Colovia he was a younger than many men of lower rank. He'd have done his best to make a good impression on his squad when they were training playing a more soft counterpart to the rigidness of the drill Sergeants. A man of few words it would nevertheless be a mistake to take this for coldness or unsociability for he would produce a friendly smile to any that meet his gaze. 

Behind him, Solitude was different to how many who had been there before might have remembered it. Its streets were far busier, luckier refugees residing within rather than without. Soldiers mingled with the common folk rather than just patrolling it, donning full Imperial armour rather than the gear of Holdguard that once prevailed. The population was primarily Nordic as always, but the proportion of Mer and Beastfolk in the citizenry was now replaced almost entirely by Imperials. Though the war had brought some somberness, there were also some signs of festivity. This was owed to both the changing of seasons and the glorification of war by the Nords. Bards sang songs in Old Nord or even Dovahzul to praise the Dragonborn, competing with the myriad of shouting Priests of the Divines for one's ear. Vigilants of Stendarr walked the streets and harassed those that acted pecuiliarly whilst offering charity to the ailing. In the distance, the Blue Palace remained pristine as ever with decorations padded upon it to celebrate the arrival of the Legion. 

The City was now a place of great contrast, flairs of the Empire and Skyrim clashing for dominance in all five sense.