I used to hate winter - my number one goal after graduating from college was going to be getting a job someplace warm. On the other hand, there are few things more beautiful and peaceful than a world covered in a white blanket of snow, with ice glazing branches and structures like shimmering crystal. It is a beauty I once was able to appreciate only from the comfort of a heated room, preferably with some hot chocolate and a warm blanket.

 

Now, thanks to that asshole Sanguine, it may be my favorite season.

 

Winter had stripped the world down to its bones, leaving nothing behind but stone, wind, and the stubborn persistence of things that refused to die. Fort Hraggstad rose out of that emptiness like it belonged there -- grey walls rimmed with snow, towers standing rigid against a sky that had forgotten color.

 

The cold gnawed at everyone but me. Lane stamped her boots to keep feeling in her toes; Kellan kept flexing his hands beneath thick gloves; Kangme moved minimally, conserving heat. I stood exposed to the wind in little more than shaped metal held together by thin leather straps. The steel should have burned the unprotected flesh it touched, but I felt nothing worse than awareness. Whatever that fucker Sanguine had done held the warmth in, denying winter its claim.

 

The fort was not empty -- figures stood along the battlements. They didn’t move much, but they were present -- dark shapes at regular intervals, helmets catching light when the cloud cover thinned. Every now and then, someone else appeared on the wall, talked to one of the guards (I assumed – they were too far away to hear), then both shifted a few feet along the wall, presumably making minute adjustments to their sightlines.

 

Lane swore softly under her breath. “Well,” she said as she pulled her cloak tighter against the wind, “that answers that.”

 

Kellan nodded. “They’re posted evenly. It will be hard not to be noticed.”

 

“They are far too disciplined to be mere bandits.” Kangme shook their head. “They must be soldiers. With a very strict leader.”

 

“So maybe the Stormcloaks really are here?” I shook my own head, very annoyed at the idea that Lazhah or whoever had decided on this assignment might have been right after all. “Fuck me.”

 

Kellan motioned. “The walls are not in the best shape – there are probably gaps. If we circle around, maybe we’ll find a better way in than just walking up to the front gate.”

 

We moved downslope and let the terrain swallow us, keeping low and slow. Snow muffled sound but punished carelessness; every step had to be deliberate. The fort loomed closer as we worked our way around it, the wall always just visible through bare trees and broken stone.

 

Up close, the sentries unsettled me more -- they were too regular. Too still.

 

“They haven’t reacted,” Lane murmured as we crouched beneath a half-collapsed outbuilding near the western wall. “We should’ve drawn something by now.”

 

Kangme tilted their head slightly, studying the nearest figure. “There is no variance. No adjustment for wind.”

 

I frowned. “What are you suggesting?”

 

“Those aren’t people,” Kellan supplied at the same time Lane’s mouth thinned and she said, “Dummies.”

 

“Armor on frames,” Kangme confirmed. “Crude, but effective at distance.”

 

Kellan let out a slow breath. “It’s an old bandit trick.”

 

That was when I saw it -- the way the light caught where a shoulder should have moved and didn’t. The way a spear remained at precisely the same angle no matter how the wind shifted.

 

“Huh.” I scratched my head as I looked. The illusion was clear, once you saw it. “Well, it’s cold as balls out here, so I can’t blame them for wanting to stay indoors.”

 

Kellan snorted. “You don’t look cold.”

 

“Good point, I’m not. I’m just assuming it’s cold because you three seem that way. Plus, you know…” I gestured, “…snow and shit.”

 

Lane shook her head. “Dibella protects me from the worst of the cold, but even her help does not make this pleasant. You must be blessed, indeed.”

 

It’s a good thing the guards weren’t real, because I could not hold back a loud guffaw at that. I then immediately clapped my hand to my mouth and muttered through it, “You must be fucking joking.”

 

She smiled. “A little, yes – you have told me your story. Shall we continue?”

 

We found what we needed at the back of the fort. The thing was built on the edge of a sheer cliff, with just a narrow strip of windswept rock between the wall and a long fall. Better yet, there was a crumbled gap in the wall, just as Kellan had surmised. It was the perfect setup for using Force Push – just get them to come out and send them flying.

 

The only trouble was thinking of a name for it. The Pull and Push was descriptive but boring. Maybe The Yank and Yeet? The Grab and Go? I couldn’t decide what I liked best and when I brought it up, I got some very concerned looks but no helpful ideas in response. I suppose it was a little macabre, in retrospect.

 

Not that the name (Lure and Launch?) ended up mattering.

 

We tried making noise to draw them to us, but were only met with silence. So we made more noise. Eventually I ran into the fort itself and yelled as loud as I could (all the time ready to Ghost if they came rushing), but still had no response.

 

With the ol’ Taunt and Toss out the window, we nervously switched to plan b and entered one of the buildings within the walls. I went first, ready to Force Push anything that might be waiting for us.

 

What we found was a woman bundled in scavenged cloth, layers tied together against the cold rather than made for it. Her hands were already raised. A child clung to her side, eyes wide and terrified. Behind her, more figures gathered hesitantly -- too thin, too young, too old.

 

The truth landed all at once, heavy and unavoidable - no fighters. No defenders. Just people. Fires burned low and weak. Corners were claimed by families huddled together for warmth. We had been sent to sweep out refugees, mostly farmers forced from their lands by bandits, dragons, or worse. It was hard not to notice they were all non-human – mostly Dunmer (dark elves) but with a scattering of other elves, Khajit, Argonians, and even an orc, though small and frail for his species.

 

There’s not much to belabor here – their stories were heartbreaking and we were there to break them some more, because as soon as we got back to Solitude, a garrison would be heading this way. Obviously, there was no way we were going to just kick them out, but we were also hard pressed to figure out what to do until Kellan noticed a statue of Mara, the goddess of love (how that is different from Dibella, who certainly seemed to be working in the same general realm, I’m not sure). Kellan stopped short and stared at it for a long moment, which is understandable because it depicted a life-sized naked woman with very generously proportioned tits.

 

“That,” he said slowly, “is not real.”

 

Of course, I could not resist a setup like that. ”Yeah, they’re clearly fake – they don’t move at all. It's like they're made of stone.”

 

“I’ve seen this before,” he said, completely ignoring my wit, the jerk.

 

He walked over, studied it a moment longer, than reached out and shoved it hard, eliciting a gasp from the refugees. One of them even squeaked out, “Blasphemy!”

 

The statue topped over and crashed into pieces on the hard stone, spewing tightly tied sacks all over the floor. And inside the sacks…gold coins. Jewels. Chains of gold and silver. Enough wealth to start over, hidden in plain sight, disguised as devotion.

 

Kellan nodded as the refugees’ tone changed in an instant. “It’s a bandit cache – they keep some hidden around in case of emergency. It’s a good hiding spot – most people wouldn’t dare deface a shrine. It guards itself.”

 

I laughed. “Unless someone comes along who has seen it before.”

 

“Unless someone comes along who has seen it before, yes.”

 

I know what you’re thinking, so I’ll go ahead and tell you, yes, you are right – this did lead to future me dramatically toppling a statue just to discover it had been real. That was not a good day.

 

Speaking of bad days, this is also when Lane left us – she knew of a place near that fuckhole of a city Markarth where the refugees would be safe, but getting there meant traveling through miles of Forsworn territory, so she said she would guide them. It was a surprisingly emotional parting -- we had known each other for maybe three months but it somehow felt like we had always known each other. After they departed, I said as much to Kellan.

 

“Aye,” he replied. “I’ll miss her greatly.”

 

“Oh, I know exactly what you'll be missing. I understand, though - some people really like church.”

 

He flushed wonderfully. “That’s not what I…oh.” He stopped when I couldn’t hold back my snorting laughter. “You’re teasing me.”

 

“Don’t worry,” I assured him between giggles. “I used to have her job. Have I ever told you that? No? It’s true! I wasn’t nearly as good at it as she is, though.”

 

He muttered something as he turned away that sounded like, “Don’t be so sure,” but before I could follow up, Kangme showed up and we got back to business.

 

That business consisted of making sure the rest of the place was empty, including a visit to a very dank and dreary dungeon that I could just imagine being locked in, had this been past me. It was a grim reminder of how my path might have gone had I not met Kellan.

 

 

 

Don’t feed the bastards. Others need it more.

 

 

 

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