Well I've wasted enough time. Here you go!

Left cross to the cheek followed by a stab to the gut ended the life of another Imperial soldier, one of many on the day. One of their chief slayers was currently adding to his count.

Emile leaned back to avoid a clumsy swipe by another Legionnaire in heavy steel armor. Like a viper he shot forward, stabbing his own sword swiped from a corpse deep into the chest of the Imperial Centurion. The Spartan shoved the body away harshly, throwing the corpse off of his sword and bringing the steel blade around to block another.

Noble Three grabbed the lightly armored soldier's right arm with his left hand and twisted. The sound of the soldier's shoulder popping out of its socket was drowned out in the man's cry of pain. His pain was soon multiplied tenfold as Emile's steel sword spilled the man's intestines onto the floor where he crumpled on top of them.

Three dead in seconds and the Spartan wasn't even breathing hard. Looking around the room he found Ralof standing over another heavily armored Centurion prying his axe out of the soldier's helmet. Alea was standing over her own kill, an archer who was still smoking slightly. Undoubtedly she had used more of that magic, or whatever it was, to electrocute the man.

Still, it didn't harm the bow or the arrows, and while Noble Three never had to use any to kill any Covenant, he was more than aware of how to use one. During his training, Emile and the other young Spartans were often dropped off into the wild, stranded and alone against dozens of armed men with orders to shoot on sight. Well they say that necessity is the mother of all invention, and Emile was in need of a weapon, so he made a bow.

Three strapped the quiver around his waist for an easier draw. If he tied them to his bare torso, the low ceilings would catch every arrow he withdrew from the quiver, not to mention it reduced the likely hood that the arrows would fall from their quiver every time he bent over. Picking up the bow he pulled on the string, testing the drawback, and found it to be a light drawback, for him at least, only a hundred fifty pounds. The bow itself was made from dark wood, and was nearly three fourths as tall as a normal man.

"Know how to use one of those?"

Emile stared at Ralof, making the Nord uncomfortable, "Of course you do, just, not going to do a lot of good in here."

Since coming to this backwater, unknown planet full of primitive humans, elves, magic, and perhaps worst of all, civilians, Emile had rarely spoken, but now felt like one of those times.

"We'll see. Keep moving."

Moving through the store room, the Spartan smashed the locked door down with one well placed kick and moved past the rubble that had been blocking the hallway. The corridor lead down further into the keep, to the point they were assuredly underground. After a short venture the party could once again hear the sounds of battle, and lightning?

Holding up a hand to stop the other two Emile peeked around the corner. There were seven people in that room, though it looked like there used to be ten as three dead Stormcloak soldiers were lying on the ground. The two remaining Stormcloak warriors were getting pounded on. One was holding a shield, hiding behind it as one heavily armored Legionnaire pounded on it with a mace. Two more attempted to flank her, but she was so far keeping them at bay with swipes of her longsword. The other was ferociously swinging a great battleaxe at one lightly armored soldier, but the smaller man was too swift for the bigger one, and the soldier's friend made the larger warrior pay for every miss.

Now that was the one Emile focused on, for this was no mere soldier. Not unless everyone around here knew how to throw lightning around. The two Stormcloaks weren't going to last long, but he couldn't just attack the way he had been, not with those numbers, and not with Gandalf throwing lightning bolts around.

"Alea," Three spoke up for an unprecedented second time in a row, "I need you and Ralof to hit the three guys pounding on that girl."

Ralof was about to argue, but he wasn't quick enough as Emile quickly and smoothly knocked an arrow. Memories of training flooded him, putting arrows into the knees of the armed trainers, or hunting the sparse wildlife of Onyx. Just like in those memories, the Spartan fluidly drew the bow back and loosed the arrow in one quick motion.

The iron tipped arrow tore through the leather hood of the mage and then punched through the soft flesh of the man's neck. The arrow pierced the windpipe and the jugular of the mage, which was actually not what Emile was aiming for. Well he hadn't used one in a while anyway.

Two of the three soldiers attacking the female Stormcloak soldier looked up at the gurgling sound of the mage drowning in his own blood. Which is probably the only reason they saw the Altmer and Nord bearing down on them.

Ralof's axe smashed into a balding man's iron shield just as Alea released a lightning bolt into the dark skinned swordsman. Ralof squared off against his opponent, the balding man was pale, and weathered, but still bigger and probably a fair bit stronger than the Stormcloak, but after just a few strikes it became clear that Ralof was faster. The only problem was the shield, the Legionnaire knew how to use it and Ralof had yet to get past it.

Alea, on the other hand, wasn't really having any problems. In fact the only problem she really had was putting enough energy out to actually kill her enemy, not just give him a temporary seizure. Switching up tactics, the elf cast threw a large icicle directly through the man's heart.

Unlike the first time she had ever killed someone, which had been just a few minutes ago, Alea didn't freeze. She did feel the same sinking sensation however, and was not paying attention when the heavy soldier with the mace that had been beating on the Stormcloak soldier moved in to crush her head.

Just before the blow landed an iron arrow dug through his skull, dropping the soldier to the floor with a loud crash of steel. The sound jerked the elf out of her trance and she looked over to the source of the arrow. Emile was standing over two dead soldiers and one obviously dying Stormcloak.

Finally seeing a chance to do something other than kill people, Alea rushed towards the large Nord, hands already glowing with the golden light of a healing spell. The burns the Stormcloak had received from the Imperial mage were bad, add to that the multiple cuts and lacerations from the other, now dead, soldier he had been fighting and it was obvious that even with the proper healing, he wouldn't be in fighting shape for another few days.

The Spartan in the room watched with interest as more of that magic that had been showing up lately was used in a new and fascinating way. Second degree electrical burns from the lightning were healing at a fantastic rate under the influence of some queer golden light. Still, Alea had a long way to go and Emile began searching the room for something to help in any future confrontations.

His eyes fell upon two things that would be of great help. The injured Stormcloak's large steel battleaxe, and a wood and iron shield hanging up behind some kind of fenced in counter.

Picking up the heavy battleaxe with one hand as though it weighed nothing at all, he strode over to the iron cage door and smashed it open with kick. Now armed with a bow, an axe and shield, and a sword in reserve, all the Spartan really needed was some armor to cover his still bare torso. Unfortunately there didn't seem to be any size matches in this room either. Though there was a match for Alea in one of the cells that occupied the room, and the current owner certainly didn't need it anymore.

The iron cage never stood a chance against Spartan strength, and the clothes were easily removed from the dead body. Alea jumped back slightly when a pair of robes with a hood were tossed into her lap.

She looked up at Emile, "You want me to wear these?"

"I don't care what you do with em," he replied coldly as he slung a knapsack filled with food and gold over his shoulder, "Gotta be more comfortable than a burlap sack though."

With that he strode down the hallway, leaving Alea with Ralof, the female Stormcloak, and her patient, who was still unconscious. Ralof and the still awake Stormcloak walked over and each took an arm of the injured man so they could follow the Spartan.

"Not one much for words, is he?" Ralof joked at Alea, "Still he's right though, and you best hurry or you'll be left behind with the dragon."

"Who is he?" the Stormcloak asked.

"Never caught his name," Ralof said, "All I know is that he calls himself a Spartan, and that he's easily the best fighter I've ever seen. Makes Galmar look like a newborn babe with a rattler by comparison."

"I find that hard to believe," the woman replied.

"He punched the dragon in the eye."

Both Stormcloaks looked over to find the Altmer cinching the belt of the robe as she spoke, "He also broke the back of a fully armored Centurion over his knee."

Ralof nodded, "I also saw him decimate nearly a dozen Thalmor troops with nothing but his bare hands."

"And if we don't hurry up he'll leave us behind," Alea pointed out as she moved down the hallway lined on either side with jail cells, some still occupied by the skeletal remains of those long dead. Ralof and the female Stormcloak followed, still dragging along their wounded compatriot.

Emile peeked around the corner to take stock of the tactical situation. The room beyond was large, and was clearly the end of man's influence on this subterranean lair, and the beginning of what nature had carved out a long time ago. There were a few stone bridges crossing the small stream that had cut a channel into the floor, and that created three areas where close quarters hand to hand combat could occur.

The first was the two bridges as one hopped from the Spartan's side fo the room to a small stone column that stood out where the stream diverged into two paths. The second bridge extended from that column to the far side of the cavern. Patrolling the bridges was a heavily armored Centurion and two lightly armored legionnaires all of whom were armed with the standard short sword Emile had seen almost every soldier wield.

The next area was the broad flat bed of the stream that cut the room in half. There were four lightly armored Legionnaires down there, some appeared to be filling water skins or cleaning blood off of their leather armor.

The third and final area was the one that would cause the most trouble for the Spartan. It was the elevated stone balcony that the bridges led to. There were only three lightly armored Legionnaires, but the problem lay with the fact they were each equipped with a longbow and happened to have a perfect view of the other two areas.

Emile had no doubt he could kill the seven others. He was too fast, too strong, and too well trained for them to be of any threat. What the Spartan doubted, was that he could kill all seven in such tight quarters, and dodge the arrows of the three archers at the same time. He didn't survive Reach to die in some backwater world surrounded by primitive humans, elves and magic.

Fortunately a solution to his current problem jogged up behind him, a little louder than he would have liked but the Imperial soldiers were currently arguing amongst themselves, meaning they never heard the elf slide up next to Noble Four.

"What's going on in there?" Alea whispered.

"Ten combatants," Emile broke down, "One heavy and two light guarding the way across the cavern, four light on the lower level that could flank us if allowed to move unmolested and three rangers across room on an elevated platform."

The Altmer stared for a few seconds before slowly whispering, "Ooooookay."

Four rolled his eyes, fucking civilians.

"I'm going to engage the three on the bridges," he said hefting his newly acquired greatsword, "While I'm doing that I need you to strike the three archers on the other side of the room."

"This is the most I've heard you talk so far," Alea noted.

"Don't get used to it, ready?"

Alea's hand lit up with fire and her scarlet bobbed with a nod.

The Spartan shot around the corner and reeled his shield hand back. He shot his hand forward, launching the iron shield down into the stream where it found the throat of an enemy soldier.

As the Legionnaire fell into the shallow waters, choking on his own blood, Emile engaged the three soldiers above them.

A powerful overhead strike cleaved through the shield of the first Legionnaire and cut down to the bone on the man's forearm. Four kicked the man in the chest so he could disengage his sword and finish him off, fortunately for that soldier, the Centurion in command was an experienced veteran and managed to pull the man back out of reach of the next sweep made by the greatsword.

The heavily armored soldier pulled the wounded man past him and gestured to the uninjured soldier, "Charge!"

Standing shoulder to shoulder, shields raised, both Imperial soldiers charged forward in an attempt to force their larger enemy to misstep and fall off the bridge. It failed… miserably.

Grabbing the shattered shield he had just broken, Emile flung the twisted misshapen hunk of wood and metal into the Centurion, forcing the experienced soldier to falter while the Spartan simply ripped the shield out of the grip of the younger soldier as he was going by, knocked him to the floor, and drove the edge down onto the man's throat, completely severing his head.

The Centurion had regained his footing and now stood on the stone column connecting the two bridges, shield up and sword out. Behind the veteran the Spartan could see two archers lining up shots, only they weren't aimed at him. They were probably aiming at the person who had set their fellow ranger on fire.

…

Make that two rangers on fire and the other one ducking for cover as more yellow/orange bolts of fire were slung across the room by Alea. Although she wouldn't be able to keep that pace up forever it hardly mattered. The three remaining soldiers that had been in the small canyon underneath the bridge Emile was currently standing on had given up trying to save their companion, and were racing to climb up the rocks and kill the she-elf and the Spartan. Emile had to end this fight now.

Four feinted high, causing the Centurion to bring his shield up high, but the veteran never counted on the ridiculous and unmatched speed of a Spartan as Emile was not only able to change the direction of his swing from an overhand chop and swing it around into a right handed sweep before the soldier could react, but he was able to do it with one hand.

The iron greatsword cut a deep gash across the Centurion's armor, but more importantly it spun the soldier around letting Emile unleash a devastating kick to the man's back, sending him flying into the stone wall of the cave where he went limp with a sickening crunch and fell to the underground stream below.

The wounded soldier was all that stood before him now, still holding his arm close to his body and holding his sword out in defense. A defense that had no chance as the greatsword easily batted the smaller weapon aside as it cut through the man's body from left hip to right shoulder.

The last archer ducked under another firebolt and stood up, drawing his bow back and taking aim. Just as he let loose, the broad blade of a greatsword came down, smashing his longbow into splinters and cutting off his left forearm. The Legionnaire simply stared in shock for what felt like hours, though was in fact less than a full second, at the blood spurting like a fountain out of where elbow used to be. He didn't ever have to worry about feeling the pain, however, as the same greatsword that cut off his arm drove into his stomach and up into his chest cavity, killing him before shock could wear off.

Emile let the greatsword fall to the ground and withdrew the longbow he had acquired earlier, nocked an arrow, and aimed the bow at Alea, "Down."

By now the Altmer had learned that the Spartan wasn't out to kill her and that she could most certainly trust him when he gave an order, so the she-elf dropped to the stone bridge she had been crossing without a second thought. She watched the iron arrow shoot forward and bury itself into something right behind her. A gurgling sound filled the elf's pointy ears and she turned her hooded head just in time to watch the body of a Legionnaire with an arrow through his throat fall from the bridge. That's when she finally heard the footsteps of the other two approaching her prone body, hoping to kill her then her towering human companion.

Thinking quickly, Alea rolled onto her side and thrust her hands towards the other two Legionnaires. Lightning rolled along long delicate fingers and lashed out at the steel sword of the first soldier, blue arcs of energy covering his whole body. The Legionnaire's companion was standing just an inch too close, and one of the electric arcs dancing along the man's body jumped out and struck the second soldier's diagonal steel shield.

With both targets temporarily paralyzed, Emile casually lined up his second shot on the furthest combatant, drilling him through the heart. Alea must have run out of whatever fueled her magic as the blue lightning stopped, but the Spartan still took his time. The only living Imperial in the room wasn't a threat to anyone yet. Burns covered his body and he seemed to be having trouble regaining his breath. Not that he needed to have bothered, as an iron tipped arrow punched through his leather bound chainmail and stopped his heart.

"Well," an accented voice commented from the threshold, "Good to see we weren't missed."

Ralof, the Nord woman, and the still unconscious man were shuffling into the room. The two conscious Stormcloaks quickly moved the unconscious man over to the wall, propping him up as they set him down.

"We're never going to get out of here if we have to keep lugging him around," Ralof pointed out as he walked over to Emile and Alea.

"We've cleared out the keep above us of Imperials," the she-elf began, "We could clear out the caves and come back for him?"

"You don't need to come back," the Nord woman spoke up, "I'll wait here for Jarl Ulfric."

Emile, who had been watching in silence, simply accepted the woman's statement. If she wanted to wait for her superior who was probably dead, who was he to argue? Instead he moved along to an archway that led deeper into the cave system. A wooden drawbridge was raised, most likely to keep people from entering the keep from below. Fortunately the builders of the keep had the foresight to put the lever operating the bridge on the side of the keep, and not on the side of the caves. An unusual thought to be sure, but Emile had a feeling that there were many conveniently placed levers in his near future.

The drawbridge hit the rock on the far side with a smack that echoed through the cave, something that Emile didn't particularly appreciate. If there was anything hostile in these caves, they now know someone's coming.

Four led the way, greatsword in his right hand, diamond shaped steel shield in his left. The cave was not particularly well lit, but the Spartan had no trouble at all seeing in the dim light. The same could not be said for his companions.

"Ow, shit!" a curse came from behind.

Emile and a Alea turned to find Ralof hopping on one foot, holding the other.

"Stubbed my toe!"

Shaking his head, Emile turned around when…

CRASH!

Whipping around again, Emile raised his shield and drew his sword back and held the point forwards.

Ralof held his hands up, "Don't look at me!"

"I think there was a cave in behind us," Alea suggested, "Maybe a something crushed the drawbridge?"

"Doesn't matter," Emile said, a certain finality to his voice, "Keep moving."

The Spartan's plan for finding a way out was rather straightforward, just keep following the stream as it continued onwards. It had to come out somewhere right? Of course it didn't take long for the stream to go right through hole in the wall too small for anyone in the group to actually fit through, fortunately they could see through the hole, and see that there was a cavern beyond, it just happened to be covered in spider webs.

A path down the right side led the trio to the cavern's entrance, where Emile was greeted by a sight that nearly topped a fire breathing dragon. Spiders, four of them, spread out around giant egg sacs and stringing up more webbing in hopes of capturing more prey. While none of that was necessarily strange, the fact each spider was approximately the same size as a dog, was.

"Frostbite spiders," Ralof whispered, "Nasty creatures."

Emile grimaced at the way the Nord's voice echoed, but the grimace turned to a look of curiosity when the Spartan noticed that the spiders didn't seem to hear him. A theory began to form in his mind, one that needed immediate testing.

He rapped his sword against his shield three times, creating a noise that, while not loud, would certainly catch the attention of anyone who wasn't very nearly deaf. His suspicions were further confirmed when one of the spiders turned to face the group, but still did not seem to take notice as it picked up a rock that was interfering with its webbing and removed it.

One final test, Emile picked up a small rock and tossed it towards the webbing on the far side of the room. All four spiders immediately descended upon the rock. Had it been an animal, undoubtedly the poor creature would have been pumped full of venom and sucked dry in seconds. But more importantly, this simply confirmed what the Spartan had been theorizing.

The frostbite spiders were almost, if not completely deaf, and were incredibly near sighted, they hunted exclusively by webbing.

Well that makes things easier, Emile thought as he raised his borrowed longbow. The first arrow spilled globs of blue blood all over the webs on the floor, and the body attracted the other three. The clustered targets only making it easier, three more arrows, three dead spiders and a big empty room.

Four smirked to himself as he strode across the room with conviction, certain that there were no more dangers. Which was probably why he had trouble reacting in time to the sound of a body pushing air out of the way.

Three hundred pounds of arachnid slammed into the Spartan's back and sending the super soldier sprawling across the webs.

Emile rolled onto his back just in time to see a six foot tall spider bearing down on him, the eight eyes solely focused on him. The Spartan rolled to one side just in time to avoid the two massive fangs meant to pump him full of their debilitating poison. Lying on the ground, Four's greatsword was of no use to him, but he was able to snatch one of the iron arrows that had fallen from his quiver and slammed the shaft into the spider's side.

The massive arachnid reeled away, screeching in pain, giving Emile the perfect opportunity to bring the massive piece of iron around and hack off one of the spider's legs. The gargantuan furry tarantula seemed to regain some form of composure with the pain of losing a leg, and darted forward, thrusting one of its legs out like a stab. The Spartan executed a perfect parry, one that was disrupted by the spider's far superior strength.

For the second time in just a few seconds Emile was tossed across the ground. This time, however, he didn't have to worry about dodging an incoming attack, as the arachnid burst into flames. The fur like hairs along the spider's body burned easily, and the cold blooded creature quickly cooked inside its own exoskeleton.

Alea stood behind the charred body, smiling coyly as she regarded the Spartan getting to his feet, "This time I saved your life."

"Only four more to go," he responded roughly.

"Was that humor?" the she-elf asked with surprise on her face.

Emile slotted a few arrows back into his waist-side quiver and moved on further into the cave before turning back briefly, "Don't get used to it."

The stream continued on, and it was clear they were nearing the surface, as holes began appearing in the cave's ceiling, letting sunlight stream through and illuminate the cavern.

"Look there," Ralof whispered, pointing at a massive pile of fur laying across the only path onwards.

Emile just nodded, having already spotted it, and raised his greatsword in a reverse grip, "Wait here."

Stepping on solid rock so as to avoid the crunching noise of the dirt covering the floor, the Spartan was soon standing over the sleeping bear, sword tip pointed at its neck. In one quick motion, the iron sword cut through fur, fat, muscle and bone to sever the bear's spinal cord.

"Well at least there's nothing left in the cave," Alea said, "look, blue sky."

The trio stepped out into the sunlight, and was immediately covered in shadow once more.

The Spartan grabbed both of his comrades, dragging them down behind a rock as the massive black dragon made another appearance. Emile held both of them down, letting them up only enough to see the dragon flying overhead so they'd stop struggling, or at least so Ralof would. The elf seemed to trust him enough to know he wasn't trying to hurt her.

The dragon roared as it skimmed the tree tops, birds scattered into the air and some of the skinnier trees snapped under the dragon's wake. The giant lizard's path through the forest looked as though a hurricane had ripped through it. Finally the midnight black beast turned and disappeared over the mountain in the distance.

Four let the others back up, and continued to stare across the lush, forested valley at the mountain the dragon disappeared behind, partly to make sure the dragon didn't randomly reappear, but also because of the massive structure splitting the mountains peak in two. Massive stone arches framed what appeared to be some sort of courtyard in front of a giant semicircle cut directly into the mountain. To anyone else's eyes that would have been all they could see, but the Spartan's eyes, far more sensitive than almost any natural eyes, regardless of species, was able to pick out faint figures moving across the snow covered stone.

"Ancient ruins," Ralof said, noticing what Emile was staring at, "Never liked those things. I know there's no logic behind it, but when I was young I always had nightmares about draugr creeping down from those ruins and killing me in my sleep."

"Are they abandoned?"

"Should be," Ralof said, "but it's not unheard of for bandits to camp out in the entrances. There is a lot of gold in those old crypts, if you can get past the draugr."

It was Alea's turn to speak up, "That's the second time you mentioned draugr, what are they?"

"They're Nords, or at least, thousands of years ago they were Nords, now they're withered, shambling corpses that limp through the hallways of those old crypts, until they spot someone anyway. Then they change, they become sharp with their movements, they're freaky fast, and stronger than a blood raging orc."

Zombies, Emile thought to himself, and I'm not even surprised. Next up I'm sure there'll be half bird, half old lady witch things leading a bunch of insurgents trying to throw these 'Nords' out of their supposed homeland.

"Ooh, kind of like the zombies in Cyrodill," the she-elf said excitedly, "I remember reading books about them."

"Well I don't know about that," Ralof admitted, "I just know that one encounter in my lifetime is far more experience then I would prefer."

The Spartan tuned out their conversation and began observing the valley before them. Tall oaks, fat pines, and luscious ferns all blanketing the ground except for where a river cut through. To the north he could see the horizon was wide open, seemingly indicating that the region beyond was flat, but to the south the horizon was cut up by massive slabs of stone jutting out of the ground. Emile didn't really want to deal with a vast mountain range, and there were more likely to be people to the open north than the treacherous south.

"We should go to Riverrun," Ralof brought the Spartan out of his internal reverie, "My sister Gerdur will help us, get some food in our belly."

Almost on cue Emile heard Alea's stomach rumble. With a small humph of amusement, Emile started down the dirt path as Ralof listed off directions.

…

The trio were headed down a cobble stone road, Emile took notice of the road's design. It was similar to the Roman roads that were constructed throughout the Mediterranean. Briefly the Spartan wondered if the intention was the same as Rome's was. Did all roads lead to the capital of this empire? If they did, were they headed in the right direction?

Not that it mattered, Emile realized, he had no intention of going to their capital. Now that he thought about it, he really didn't have any intentions. His MJOLNIR had been scrapped on Reach, he didn't have any comm. gear on him, and he certainly wasn't an electrical engineer who could build a transceiver out of rocks. There was no way for him to contact the UNSC, and even if he did have a way, the UNSC would have to, for some oddball reason or another have a ship in orbit to listen, otherwise he'd be talking to no one.

No, he realized, there was no going back to the UNSC, ever. He was stuck here for the rest of his life. He supposed his priorities should be to find a means to make a living, but what could he do here? All he knew was war. He could become a soldier, but for who? From what Ralof had been saying on their trip, the Empire was a tyrannical government that was forcing its will upon people who didn't want it. On the other hand, the way he kept going on about the 'glorious Stormcloaks' made it seem as though this group was a racist affair, and honestly nothing Emile really wanted anything to do with.

It wasn't the fact that most of the Stormcloaks seemed to hate the non-humans. To be entirely honest, Emile completely agreed with their point of view, although for some incredibly confusing reason he had absolutely no problem with Alea. He wondered if it had something to do with the burning feeling he got whenever he noticed the way her body was shaped. Like right now, the way those blue and white robes of hers clung to her back side and showed the way her hips flared over a well rounded…

Emile crushed another primal urge, though this time with significantly more difficulty than the previous two times he had needed to do so. But in the end he succeeded in not feeling anything at all, which was a good thing, as it allowed him to focus on his surroundings and hear just the faintest rustle of leaves on a calm, windless afternoon.

A massive hand shot out and snatched the arrow meant for Alea out of the air. Emile quickly pushed the she-elf to the ground and slung the bow from around his shoulders and quickly drew back the arrow he had just snatched. The Spartan's superb battle honed instincts meant he didn't even really have to aim, in fact he didn't even look as he fired the arrow directly into the bandit's chest, he was too busy focusing on the positions of the criminals companions.

A lithe figure dressed in what appeared to be a fur skirt and a fur cape that left the man's chest bare. Which drew one's attention to another interesting fact, the man's skin was midnight black, a complexion Emile had never seen before on a human. Couple the man's complexion with an inhumanly angular face, blood red eyes, and pointed ears and the Spartan felt confident that this was no human.

Still bleed red though, Emile thought to himself as he cut the dark elf from right hip to left shoulder in a single swing from his greatsword.

Four spun around and slapped aside a warhammer swung by a short but very muscular man and came back around again in an overhead chop that split the man's skull, torso, and waist completely in half.

Ralof grabbed a Nord's sword hand to divert the swing and overextend his opponent. The Stormcloak finished by driving his axe into the bandit's stomach. Alea, having recovered from the attack, held out both hands and fired lightning into the trees, suppressing the archers that were attempting to bring down the two human warriors.

Another nonhuman leapt out of the bushes to attack the Spartan, this one nearly as tall as Noble Four and built to almost the same dimensions, although where Emile was lean and built for speed, this green skinned, tusk mouthed monster was built for power. Just like his human opponent, the orc was shirtless, scars and muscles out for everyone to see, and an iron greatsword longer than most men clutched in a single hand.

Bringing his other hand to his sword, the orc swung diagonally downward with both hands. The strike, usually more than enough to break the defenses of any man, elf, or beast was met with the surprising strength of the human, but then again the orc didn't pick this human because he thought it'd be an easy fight.

Back and forth the two traded blows that would shatter most anybody's arms, and had begun to deform the two iron swords. One particularly strong blow from Emile bent his sword at an angle and pinched the orc's blade, locking the two together.

The bandit tugged, and was actually able to pull the Spartan towards him, but Four quickly retaliated by swing the tangled mass of iron to his left and overextending the humanoid. He let go of his sword handle and grabbed the green man around his chest and threw him back onto the cobblestone.

Clearly the orc was well versed in hand to hand combat as the bandit was able to fluidly turn his momentum into a backwards roll that saw him to his feet. He surged forward and was already swinging. Emile was impressed by the strike, though far too slow to actually hit the fastest member of Noble Team, it was a perfectly executed strike that would have knocked a smaller Sangheili on its ass.

Emile grabbed the heavily muscled, olive drab colored arm and executed a shoulder throw, but before he could land any more blows on the downed bandit, the orc grabbed the super soldier by the armpits and flung Emile over his body.

The two opponents quickly scrambled to their feet in an attempt to gain an advantage over the other, but the orc was far too slow to compete with the Spartan, and found a dark arm underneath his chin, bulging bicep slowly cutting off the bandit's windpipe.

Never one to give up, the criminal rained blows down upon the Spartan, wherever he could reach, to no effect. Then he began pulling on the arm that was slowly choking him to death, but no matter how hard he tugged, the orc just simply wasn't as strong as Emile. Even though the super soldier may not have had as large of muscles as the orc, the Spartan's muscles were more than twice as dense as an average human's. He could face an opponent twice his size, and had four times the strength.

Still, Emile had to give it to this particular species; they were far stronger than humans, just not as strong as him.

The orc finally fell limp, and Four was confident that the creature was dead, though he still snapped its neck for good measure. He joined Alea at the tree line, where she was still firing off lightning bolts into the trees. As he stepped up, one of the archers actually fell from a tree top, quite dead even before his smoking body hit the dirt. An arrow lanced out at the elf, but was easily snatched out of the air by the superb reflexes of the Spartan. As before he quickly drew the arrow back and shot the archer out of the tree without even needing to look.

The last the bandit dropped from the tree, and quickly raced up a dirt path. Emile had the chance to take him out, but he decided to let him run, and he would chase him.

"Wait here," he commanded to Alea, the she-elf nodding with ease at the command.

He slowly, for him at least, ran up the hill after the bandit, hoping the criminal would lead him to their encampment. Of course it didn't take long for the bandit to do exactly that, as he disappeared into a hole in the rock wall framed and supported by logs. The Spartan's sensitive ears quickly picked up the sound of footsteps coming from the cave.

Emile grabbed a log splitter from the campsite outside the cave and waited.

The first man to come bursting out of the darkness into broad daylight could have been considered tall, though he was much shorter after a precise swing from the wood axe split his neck as easily as it split wood.

The next was a small woman, with olive skin, fair hair, and pointy ears, she almost looked like some of those Thalmor Emile had slaughtered earlier, though she was significantly shorter. Not to mention her chest cavity was caved in, or at least it was after the Spartan delivered a devastating upper cut directly into her sternum.

One of what must be a Redguard everyone else was so confident Emile was came out afterwards. This one didn't even get a chance at some war cry, or brandishing a weapon as the axe buried into his brain directly through the man's forehead.

Emile focused his hearing on the cave opening. Water was falling; some torches were burning, but nothing else. Shrugging, the Spartan called his companions from the road.

"Bandit cave," Ralof noted, "Probably some gold and weapons inside. Maybe a cloak you could wear."

"Does he have to?" Alea asked.

Ralof looked back at the tall elf, "You'd like it he kept his shirt off, wouldn't you?"

"A little."

Ralof raised a blonde eyebrow.

"A lot," Alea smiled as she looked back up at the Spartan's green eyes with her own blue ones before raking them over his torso.

Emile noticed she was growing a lot bolder and more comfortable since he had first met her. If he had to guess, this was her usual personality, outspoken and energetic, and that her shyness had most likely been due to the fact she was about to be executed, then she was in the middle of combat, but now as she was quickly assimilating to combat, and her usual personality was coming to the forefront.

The Spartan smashed his current line of thinking, breaking down the attitude and making a psych profile for a complete stranger wasn't conducive to the current situation. Instead he picked up the steel longsword of a bandit and marched into the darkness. Psych profiles wouldn't do him any good, but currency could buy him food, clothes will keep him warm, and weapons will help with both.

…

Some hours later the trio were headed down the same cobblestone road they were before, only this time Emile was wearing a roughspun shirt that must have belonged to the orc he had killed before. It wasn't exactly comfortable, and it certainly wasn't clean, but when they got to Riverwood, he could get something a little cleaner, and something a little less itchy.

Additionally, the Spartan was sporting some new gear, alongside the old gear he had been using. A brand new greatsword was sheathed on his hip, something that no one of normal height could accomplish, and the gold colored handle glimmered in the sunlight. The blade was made of something called moonstone, and Alea had identified it as an elvish blade, and one made for a high ranking Thalmor Justicar. Regardless the sword was lighter than the iron blade he had wielded earlier, and much stronger, even stronger than steel.

Just behind the greatsword was the handle for a steel longsword. On his other hip was the quiver of arrows, and slung across his back was a new bow, made from thicker and stronger wood than the longbows they had found in Helgen, and it was much easier for the Spartan to use.

Alea had found new boots, ones that fit her much better than the boots taken off of the dead Legionnaire, and she was carrying a fancy new staff. It was made of wood, and the head was carved into the shape of a dragon.

Ralof hadn't taken any effects from the bandit cave, but all three of them had taken plenty of gold. In fact, every step any one of them took jingled with the sound of dozens of coins stuffed hastily into pockets, wrapped up in pouches, and tied up in sacks. In fact if it wasn't stuffed with gold, it was stuffed with gems. Three hours ago, they were paupers, now; they would likely be walking into Riverwood already some of the richest people in the town.

Alea was staring at an emerald she had found in the cave, "I think emeralds are my favorite. Even more than diamonds," she looked up at Emile who was glancing her out of the corner of his eyes, "Hey they're just the same color as your eyes!"

She proceeded to hold them up to his face, which Emile tolerated right up until she playfully attempted to cover his eyes with them. Instead of grabbing her wrist and twisting like he normally would, Four simply snatched the gem right out of her hand.

"Hey!" the she-elf shouted, "Give that back!"

"Give what back?"

Her red eyebrows creased over her deep blue eyes, "More humor? Be careful, someone might begin to think you're a big cuddly bear instead of a cold hearted killer."

No response. Alea smirked as a different idea came to her.

She pressed herself up against the massive human and smiled up at him when he stared down at him, "I wouldn't mind cuddling with you."

The Spartan quickly looked straight ahead and gave no other external reaction, but the Altmer sorcerer was already laughing at his expense, "You're a lot of fun for someone who never talks. I don't even know your name!"

Four walked on for a little while, not answering the she-elf and focused on the skyline, he could already see this Riverwood in the distance, but in the end he decided to answer her.

"Spartan 239 of Alpha Company," was the short reply.

"That's not a name," Alea shot back, "That's a… a… um… Well I don't know what that is but it can't possibly be your name."

Nothing.

"Fine, but one day I'll wring that name out of you!" she said, getting close once more and pointing her finger in his face, "Mark my words!"

"Marked."

"HUMPH!" she said, exasperated.

Well there you have it. Another chapter. Now I plan on keeping my promise I made to some of you. For anyone who isn't aware of my promise, I said I wouldn't update any of my other stories until I got Emile and Alea in front of Jarl Balgruuf in Whiterun.

After that I suppose I'll update Noble Intentions, then back to Justice League:Dragonborn, and back to this story, but we all know how good my word is. Hint, not very good.

I'm taking suggestions on Emile's final loadout, what weapons should he wield, what kind of armor, that sort of thing. Just know that magic is out of the question, as is anything to do with the Thieves Guild or the Dark Brotherhood, that's just not in Emile's character. At the end of the day he's a warrior, strong and silent, and loyal to an absolute fault. Which would mean that if Alea can win his loyalty, he probably will tag along with her to the College of Winterhold. He won't learn any magic, but he'll be along for the quests, kind of like how Lydia can tag along in the game.

Which brings me to my next point, what should I do with Lydia. Should she become Alea's housecarl? Should Emile become a Thane alongside Alea? Or should I do something original and unexpected, which, in all honesty, is probably what I am going to do anyway unless one of you can change my mind. Remember people, eloquence! I expect nothing but eloquence, flattery, and general brown nosing in these reviews! Actually just write whatever the hell you feel like. I'm not too terribly concerned.

Remember to leave a review, because I don't want to write what you people don't want to read.