At the Battle of Whiterun – Much further on in the story probably the Mid-Point

Rickard looked behind him, 1800, Steel Armour clad Stormcloak War Chargers with Chainmail helms; his own company he founded with Jarl Ulfrics permission, backed by 500 Stormcloak Archers and 16 Catapults.

The War Chargers themselves were taught by Rickard Sword-Runner himself. He taught them how to fight from horseback with sword, spear, axe and lance, for only the biggest, toughest and best soldiers could join the War Chargers, each of them over 6ft 7in, they truly were a fearsome sight, and the only stormcloak battalion to be made up of soldiers from each of the holds, Falkreath, Whiterun, The Pale, Winterhold, The Reach, Eastmarch, The Rift, Haafingar and Hjaalmarch, and each were split up into 9 divisions whose steel kite shields and standard bearer bore the Coat of Arms of their respective holds.

But, what made the War Chargers different was that they were not made up solely of Nords, although they made up the majority, there were Red Guards, Khajiit, Wood Elves, Dark Elves, Bretons, Argonisns, people who were fighting for their homes, for their freedom, for Skyrim. To show all of Nirn that this is not simply a Nord Rebellion, but a rebellion for all who call Skyrim home, for all who have experienced the long cold of Skyrim, and have earned the right to call Skyrim, Home.

Rickard rode at the head of the column as it unfurled in a long line across the plains like a giant steel snake bristling with spears. Before them lay Whiterun, the Stormcloaks main force had already began the battle with the Dovakiin at its head as it rushed the main gates. The archers and catapults in Rickards company had readied themselves at had targeted the city, their arrows alight and boulders covered in tar.

Rickard raised his steel clad arm with his mailed fist into the air, the archers took aim, the seconds slowed and slipped by as time itself seemed to slow, then, his fist dropped, swift and heavy as a giant fiery wall lifted from the very earth in one motion, flying through the air in a flaming fury, smashing into the city with a roaring crash as the western stone wall of the wind district collapsed in an explosion of red glory.

Rickard looked to his right, upon a raised patch of earth stood four figures, two slender figures encased in silver-steel armour, silver blonde, and auburn hair flowing in the wind, as two others stood holding his own Coat of arms, A pair of golden lions rampant facing each other on a field of black with a white shield between then outlined in gold with a black cross on it, a red horse and steel clad knight stood at its centre, rearing wielding a golden lance

He spurred his steed forward up the hill, a huge crystal white war horse, almost 6ft 8in in height with a long golden mane and tail, encased in enamelled silver armour.

He rode up alongside the two slender figures, Linevia and Mjoll. He turned to face the bristling spiked steel wall behind him.

“My brothers and sisters!” He roared in a bombing authoritative voice of steel,
“See before you the feeble might of the glorious Imperial Legion” he called out as a rolling laughter spread through the ranks

“Today my brothers and sisters we show all of Nirn what it means to be from Skyrim. It matters not what colour your skin, furred or scaled, we are all the sons and daughters of Skyrim! These imperial dogs no nothing of the cold hard winter winds and waters of the north! These lands are where this empire was founded! Lets us show them that no longer will the north bend the knee to weak willed old men! Arise riders of Skyrim! Arise riders of the north! Feel the cold on your face and take heart in it! These are our lands not theirs this is our home!
Forward unto death
Forward unto glory
Forward war chargers!” He boomed as his mighty horse reared beneath him and the deep horns sounded Bummm-BOOOOM bummmm-BOOOOM bummm-BOOOOM

He tore his Spartan helm from his saddle, its black plume ridding down the helm.

He slammed it down on his head, spun around on his horse, kicked in with his knee and shot off like a bolt as the noise of reading lances and steel shields sounded across the hills, 1800 strong.

The riders rode closer and closer to the burning breach, black arrows flying overhead.