I awoke, in the cold tundra, shivering in rags. What happened? I thought, This is not home, this is someplace... familiar, yet unknown to me. I hear the hooves of cattle, approaching at an extreme speed. Horses. I look in the distance, I see a large ancient city overlooking the river nearby. Its walls are made of stone. I recognize this place, it's the city of Windhelm. The center of the Rebellion.
I've played Skyrim for years, but never like this. I favored the Stormcloaks, their efforts of fighting back for their homeland is a worthy cause. I felt as those it was job to join their army.
A few weeks later...
It is the battle, the final battle, which took place at the capital of Skyrim. Solitude. Ulfric Stormcloak proudly shouts his speech, one of glory and revenge. Then bloodshed began. I was fighting alongside the Stormcloaks. My pride and strength in every swing of my glass greatsword. I slashed wounds in the Imperials, dismembered many Thalmor, and smashed in the skulls of my enemies. I was the Dragonborn, I fought for what I believed was right.
In order to bring peace to Skyrim, the civil war must end. Running up to the gates, after slaying more Imperials, I spotted a Nord boy, young enough to be a boy, old enough to be mistaken as a man. He was ducking, avoiding the boiling rages of the soldiers. He grabs a pointed rock, sharp enough to stab someone in the chest. He charges at the nearest soldier. Unfortunately, for me, it is a Stormcloak battlemage. I spot a dead Imperial Archer, his bow and iron arrows still intact.
Do I...
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