With a shout from the Captain at the front of the convoy, the cart screeches to a halt. The horses snorting and whining briefly as the driver coo's to his animals. In the distance the cries of birds can be heard. The quick burst of raven calls causing the cart's horse to whine louder.

"Why have we stopped?!" The scarred Legionnaire shouts. The incessant cawing of ravens echoing as if in mocking response. The black feathered birds a stark contrast to their pure white surroundings, appearing as dark specters on the limbs of dead trees.

As anxious murmuring fills the convoy a single bird lands beside the railing near to the prisoner, it's brown eyes regarding hin with a strange curiosity for a moment. Then with a single caw, it takes flight fleeing the scene.

"Florus!" The Legion Captain shouts once more. "Assemble a Contubernia!"

"For what purpose?" The scarred man says, spurring his horse up.

The Prisoner shift in his seats, straining your neck and the bonds that tie him and the other captives.

As the heavy rope digs deeper into his skin, through poorly fitting rawhide rags he gets a glimpse of what caused the halt. Eight poles are driven deeply into the snow and ice, black and red ice encrusting them forming a trail up towards the bodies.

The backs of the eight men are presented towards the road, sliced open, desiccated and frozen flesh on a macabre display propped by their torn ribs and the hanging remains of their lungs.

"By the Nine..." A Legionnaire breathes, his fear visible on the cold winds and through the wool scarf.

"I want you and seven men to fan out ahead of us." The Captian orders.

"Damned Traitors! This deep in Imperial Territory?!" Florus spits in disgust. The Legionnaire's hands all shift towards their weapons in unison, a few moving closer to the cart while others scan the tree lines.

"Be sure to take Grundvik with you. He knows these lands better than most."

“Aye, Captain." The Legionaries rides back shouting for his men.

"So this is what you Stormcloaks are worth?" The Nordic Legionnaires questions, sprinklings of snow gathering on his dulled light armor. "This is what you wished to be remembered for? What righteousness lies in such an act? What honor?" He disdainfully speaks towards the bound men in the cart.

"Explorator Grundvik!"

Grundvik snorts before he hops from his position near the cart driver and towards the scarred legionnaire. He joins up with the seven other Legionnaires for a brief moment before he takes off into the trees, the rest of his unit taking a slower pace.

"Talos guide their souls." A fellow prisoner says, his eyes heavy with sadness and grief. "A warrior should die on the battlefield, steel in hand and heart. Not like this. Never like this."