«12. . .1314151617»
Godhead Dreams All
Tirdas, 17th of Last Seed, 4E 203
The Old Kingdom of Skyrim
The vampiric menace that came from the confines of Castle Volkihar progressed past the Reach and is now infesting the westward lands of Skyrim, as clans of vampires occupied more lands as they indulged their blood-feasting tendencies over the three months.
After months have passed, Harkon's clan has draped a sheet of fear over the hold of Markarth, inducing paranoia and worry over the vast settlers who rest in the hold. Jarl Igmund feared the rumors of the settlers, speaking of vampires securing more land north of the hold and descending further south to encircle Markarth to possibly choke them out of resources until they were fresh for feasting. The grounds of Blind Cliff Cave, Kolskeggr Mine, and Reachwater Rock have been invaded and cleansed in Molag Bal's will and wraith; a multitude of Forsworn was brought under Harkon's thumb and risen as undead vampire kin.
New plots arise northeast of Markarth in the Drajkmyr Marsh of Hjaalmarch; the hold of Morthal has been slowly yet thoroughly seduced by the vampiric menace organized by a Dunmeri master vampire, Movarth Piquine, in a cave north of the hold. A hold resident, Alva, has already attracted and enthralled countless men and guardsmen in Morthal, effectively gathering cattle and slaves under the command and will of master vampire Movarth. More of Jarl Idgrod's councilors, guardsmen, and town folk disappear every day without any notice and are enthralled with lustful visitations each night and prepped for servitude. The Jarl of Morthal and the unafflicted from within the Council have been noticing strange events recently and are currently working on an investigation, but it's difficult to do so with the same familiar faces. The Jarl must reach out. Each day is progress for Movarth; each day is a step toward enslaving the entire hold and having an endless cattle supply to feast.
Markarth is now establishing a strict curfew policy within the hold, and guardsmen are on high alert, increasing patrols throughout the entire hold and around the borderline of it from the exterior. More people from westward Skyrim migrate eastward to save themselves from the growing vampiric menace that is determined to strangle Markarth. Jarl Idgrod and his Council have determined that hiring mercenaries to investigate will be a sufficient way of conducting the investigation on the strange going-ons within Morthal, however, what Idgrod doesn't know is that two of her Councilors are thralls of local housewife Alva, gathering information to relay back to master vampire Movarth. The future of Morthal is undetermined and many of the townsfolk are too scared to sleep at night, familiar facing acting casual one day and disappearing for weeks only to return back and act abnormally strange and unfamiliar, many are planning migration in fear of disappearing from their friends, families, and loved ones forever or worse.
Whitewatch Tower.
Whiterun Hold.
4E 203.
Though most of the agriculture of Whiterun has been reclaimed from the wilderness, and connection re-established with Riverwood, much remains to be done - most notably, the retaking of Whitewatch Tower directly north of the city, just beyond the massive cliff face that Dragonsreach itself rests upon. Deposits of iron litter the plains between the Tower and the cliff, and had proven useful to Jarl Balgruuf and Commander Caius in years past - especially since the looming threat of being assaulted by either the Empire or the Stormcloaks necessitated the production of more arms, armor, and munitions for the Hold Guards.
In the interest of reclaiming the tower and the iron, Caius has collaborated with Thoraldr to dispatch fifty warriors to clear out whatever foes may have taken Whiterun's northernmost fortification - although such a term may be too grandiose, as it's merely a pair of crumbling towers with an arch across the Hope Road. In any case, the men in their iron gear march quickly around the eastern walls of the city. Soon enough, the tower comes into sight - a measly force of fifteen bandits have taken refuge within it, and if the men's eyes don't deceive them, the lawbreakers have been raiding wagons and caravans coming from the north. A dozen arrows cut through the air - some clatter uselessly against the cobblestones or the wooden palisades, though the remainder find a new home in the exposed flesh of bandits. With shouts of surprise and pain, the scum draw weapons and make ready to fight off the guardsmen - too little, too late. Forming a shieldwall, the Whiterun guards are more than able to fend off the untrained bandits, gutting them like fish as swords and axes slice cleanly through hide and leather armor into soft skin and organs, while warhammers and maces are easily able to turn arms, ribs, and skulls into dust. When the short - though vicious - fight is concluded, the guardsmen are pleased to note that they had suffered no casualties; a runner is immediately dispatched back to the barracks to speak with Caius, informing him of their success.
Bleakwind Basin.
Whiterun Hold.
4E 203.
While Caius had ordered a platoon of men off to secure Whitewatch, the Commander had not yet finished issuing orders; though the bellies of Whiterun's inhabitants will surely be full for the foreseeable future, the fact remains that many hunters had relied on the Basin for their game - and grain, cabbages, carrots, potatoes, and the like are not enough to satisfy the Nord populace. As such, several horsemen have been assembled to dispatch the giant camp that had remained in the region for years - Balgruuf had never deigned to send men out to face the monsters, for some unknowable reason. Perhaps the man had been afraid of angering the giant tribes throughout the Hold, perhaps he thought they served some purpose in preventing bandits from growing too close to Whiterun itself, or maybe he had feared losing troops in such uncertain times; no matter the cause, Thoraldr has seen fit to permit Caius the ability to marshal the troops and remove the lumbering beasts.
As the fifteen mounted archers and five mounted swordsmen draw close to the camp, two giants make their displeasure known at having their home intruded upon. Guttural sounds emerge from their throats as they speak in their barbaric tongue - the exact meaning is lost to the cavalry, but the threat is evident as the monsters shake their tree-clubs and point them at the approaching horses. Of course, this fails to dissuade the soldiers of Whiterun - arrows are loosed upon the giants, iron and steel tips easily plunging into soft skin and drawing first blood. Enraged, one of the giants rushes for the cavalry as they circle the camp, failing to account for the swordsmen on their own steeds in its blind rush for the archers. Blades slice through tendons, causing the beast to tumble to the ground; a rock jutting out of the ground catches it in the head as it falls, piercing the skull and killing the monster - thus enraging the other, which flings a rock at one of the men. The boulder slams into man and horse alike, instantly killing both as the stone slams them into the ground, slowly being surrounded by a pool of blood. Arrows rain down on the last giant as the archers take a position atop the small bluff to the southwest of the camp, opening more and more wounds and weakening the beast before the melee horsemen are able to draw even with it, cutting through tendon and muscles - several swift strikes fall upon its neck, and the massive head rolls away from the body.
Region of Crowhaven | Kingdom of Nisca
There had been a raid on the site where the new gold mine was being prepared, and the second division had been too slow to put a stop to it, not for lack of trying. This raid had indeed drawn the ire and desire for revenge from the men, and their commander concurred; this could not stand. So he had dispatched a notification to the Queen, and set some of his men to work trying to undo the damage, while sending another small party of men north to determine where the raid had come from, with explicit orders to report back to him as soon as they had done so.
It took about ten days for them to return and when they did, they brought news, news that made this commander, a man born and raised in Nisca City, turn cold with unbridled rage; pirates had dared to raid Niscan lands. Immediately, he ordered the men to prepare to march north, these scum would not be allowed a moment's respite, for they had taken sanctuary nearest to the borders of the power most hell-bent on bringing about their ruin.
According to the scouts the pirate outpost, sat at the mouth of the river, hidden in a cave that would have been easily overlooked by Imperial Forces, and should by all accounts have taken four days to reach; the division made it in three. While the captain was not nearly as skilled as the Major in strategy and tactics, he had not been appointed to this position for lack of those skills, and the plan to deal with a pirate sanctuary tucked away in a large cave was not a challenging task, just unique. The plan would be simple enter the cave as quietly as possible and kill the pirates as they came upon them.
Even so, they waited for nightfall. Well after dark, they slunk down to the cave's terrestrial entrance and entered, while it was dark the eyes of the guards were well adjusted, and they moved quickly through the cave. The first pirates they came upon were on patrol and carrying torches, and the Guards hid quickly, before ambushing the two as they passed, extinguishing the torch, before moving on.
Soon, they came upon the main berthing area for the cogs these pirates most likely operated, they crept around the small built-up camp the pirates had made for themselves, surrounding it from all sides. Once the final group of Guards was in position, arrows were loosed at the pirates, shocking them as the sword-armed guards charged the pirates who were now scrambling to defend themselves before the Niscan Guards could reach and kill them.
The Guards reached the pirates quickly, cutting some of them down before they could even draw a weapon, and finding themselves surrounded, the pirates were pushed back, as the Guards pressed in on them. Some attempted to make a run for the cogs but were killed by arrows before they could get aboard. Slowly, the noose tightened around these pirates until some surrendered, thinking they would at worst be enslaved.
A poor decision on their part; under Niscan Law all Pirates were subject to execution. Doubly so if they had decided to raid into Niscan lands.
Upon realizing this, some pirates attempted to make yet another break for it but were once again killed before they could make good their escape. The others were held down, struggling against the Guards as they were pushed to their knees and blindfolded. Then with disgust written on their faces, the Niscan Guards beheaded the remaining pirates without reprieve. They then set fire to the few ships in the cove and the built-up camp, before leaving to secure the surrounding land.
Once this was finished, they left a few guards for patrol, while the rest returned to Crowhaven to resume their regular duties.
The Slums
Nova Orsinium
4E 203
A figure, concealed by a black cloak, walked the near empty streets of Orsinium's slums, only a few beggars lining the street. They didn't bother the figure, however, they were already fully aware that bothering the mysterious individual would only lead to their untimely disappearance. After a moment of walking, the figure's footfalls unnaturally muffled, before turning into a dirty and disgusting alleyway, it was dark and nary a soul inhabited it, not even the desperate beggars so desperate for a decent place to lay their head for the night. Good, the figure thought, it seems those disgusting cretins finally got the message.
The figure walked forward and revealed a doorway, concealed by both the darkness of night and illusion magic. With a rhythmic knock the figure stepped back as the door squeaked open, revealing a rough looking Orc.
"You're late…"
The figure merely said nothing and waved their hand, causing the Orc to move aside to allow the figure in, the door closing behind them. The inside was dimly lit, only a single ball of magical light illuminating the long hallway, the figure didn't seem to mind though, they were already used to the darkness their associates love so much.
The figure slowly walked across the hallway, towards the lone door that sat at the end of the corridor. With a smirk the figure opened the door, revealing a lavish meeting room filled with Orsinium's most influential members of society, all seated behind a large circular table. Those currently in attendance were the heads of the largest Orsimer clans within the city, Breton nobles, and even a handful of Orsinium generals. At the head of the table, however, sat the most influential of the entire group, Lork gro-Murzok, the firstborn son of King Murzok.
Lork noticed the figure's arrival and scowled, showing his clear frustration towards the figure.
"You're late, again!
As Lork continued his rant the figure removed the cloak's hood, seemingly ignoring the Orcish prince's words, to reveal pointed ears and yellow skin, the telltale characteristics of an Altmer.
"Lork, your majesty, you must understand that traversing your fine city is quite difficult for an Altmer such as myself. We want to keep these meetings secret, don't we?"
Lork merely shut his tusked mouth and, after a moment, finally nodded, much to the Altmer's satisfaction. Lork knew he had to play this prissy elf's game for the time being… Didn't mean he had to like it…
"Yes… We don't need this to reach my father's ears. Now, Aronndil, why don't you enlighten me and my council on how you believe the Thalmor could assist us moving forward…"
Halted Stream Camp.
Whiterun Hold.
4E 203.
After the successful liberation of Whitewatch Tower from the small bandit gang, the newly assigned guardsmen had reported hearing the throaty cries and trumpets of mammoths being killed. In years past, the sound had only been heard in the vicinity of giant camps - or when the creatures out of myth, the dragons, still hunted across the land, serving Alduin World-Eater until Ysmir had vanquished the Twilight God. However, no known giant camps had been reported within Whiterun Hold - and so it fell to the guards to investigate. Donning leather armor dyed black to enhance stealth, a trio of soldiers had taken to the field in the dead of night to search the northern sectors of the Hold; within hours, they discovered a large encampment built up against one of the dozens of stony bluffs littered throughout the plains. Logs with sharpened tips made up the walls, with only two available entrances - one with a proper gate, and the other with a bone-chime to dissuade intruders. The men had spotted two archers patrolling the western wall, presumably utilizing some platform that was just below the tops of the logs; and these strangers are certainly not of the Whiterun Guard, not with their ramshackle gear and what appear to be simple hunting bows. Evidently, a more organized bandit clan had moved in, seeking to take advantage of Whiterun's seeming weakness to begin poaching the mammoths wandering through the vast plains of the Hold.
Once the camp is reported to Caius in the city barracks, a plan is quickly devised to exterminate the scoundrels. Thirty light infantry, twenty medium, and twenty heavy will march on the encampment - supported by a dozen archers. Two days later, as the sun begins to rise, the eighty strong formation approaches from the east; the rising sun will serve to blind the bandit scum. A dozen bows twang, and a dozen arrows find new homes in flesh and dirt - the criminals hadn't expected to be found by anyone, let alone the soldiers of Whiterun, and so were wholly unprepared. The heavy infantry quickly push in, their strengthened armor and powerful two-handed weapons allowing them to clear through the small crowd of bandits with nearly no difficulty - and the bandits begin to retreat into their hideout, diving into a small mine at the rear of the camp. This in mind, the lighter infantry leave the heavies to stand guard around the entrances of the encampment - their heavy armor and larger weaponry would only serve to hinder them in the tight spaces offered by the winding tunnels of a mine.
In the bowels of the earth, the bandits find no reprieve - swords and axes harry them all the way to the largest cavern, where the scum find themselves slipping in a large pool of oil; thankfully for the guardsmen, the bandit chieftain had - for some unknowable reason - strung up a variety of lanterns above the pool. One of the archers who had followed the infantry into the mine looses a single arrow, neatly severing the lantern from its rope, allowing it to drop down and burst into a ball of fire, rapidly igniting the oil and melting flesh from bone. Faced with the sight of almost his entire clan dying in one moment, the chieftain makes to surrender - unfortunately for him, Jarl Thoraldr and Commander Caius are both of a mind that no bandit shall be allowed to live, and the soldiers of the city had been given explicit orders to kill all bandits. One swing of an axe later, and the chieftain's newly decapitated body falls backwards into a still warm forge, cooking the flesh. The guardsmen begin plundering the chest at the rear of the cave, ready to bring back the spoils of war back to Whiterun.
Jorrvaskr.
Whiterun Winds District.
4E 203.
The sound of metal clashing against metal rang out across the courtyard - even those praying at the Gildergreen could hear it, some ways away.
"Now that's more like it, new blood! Keep that shield up, and watch my eyes. The eyes almost always tell ye where your opponent will strike next, and that means ye can be ready when the blade comes down."
Kotheim's blade cut through the air, blocked once again by the whelp's shield. The young man - a Nord by the name of Bjorn - had trained with Kotheim some months prior, but the elder Companion had been away on various jobs in the interim, leaving Bjorn's training to the others.
"Well done, lad. Stow ye gear and rest; that's all for today. Ye've gotten better since our last spar."
As the teen darts off into the longhouse, the members of the Circle - led by Kodlak - come to greet Beast-Bane before he can leave the sparring yard.
Kotheim is directed to stand before them, as the Harbinger has an important message for the man.
"Brothers and sisters of the Circle, today we welcome a new soul into our mortal fold. This man has endured, has challenged, and has shown his valor. Who will speak for him?"
Farkas steps forward, placing a fist over his heart.
"I stand witness to the courage of the soul before us."
"Would you raise your shield in his defense?"
"I would stand at his back, so that the world may never overtake us."
"Would you raise your blade in his honor?"
"It stands ready to taste the blood of his foes."
"And would you raise a mug in his name?"
"I would lead the song of triumph as our hall reveled in his stories."
"Then the judgement of this Circle is complete. Kotheim Beast-Bane's heart beats with the fury and courage that have united the Companions since the days of the distant green summers. Let it beat with ours, that the mountains may echo and our enemies may tremble at the call."
The Circle members congratulate him, with Farkas and Aela in particular grinning from ear to ear. The redhead hands him a bottle of mead, and soon enough Skjor brings forth a small keg - and within moments Kotheim is being persuaded to chug the entire barrel. Never one to shy away from a good drink - especially in his name - Beast-Bane swiftly downs both the bottle and the keg, to the roaring applause of the Circle and the rest of the Companions, who had drifted out into the yard to join the celebration. The party eventually migrates inside, where a feast has been prepared by Brill and Tilma, with help from Ria and Bjorn. Several hours later, Skjor claps the younger man on the shoulder, ushering him outside.
"Kotheim. I've got something special for you, but its not for everyone to hear. Follow me."
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Torchlight illuminates the small cave just beneath the Skyforge, its door masterfully hidden away and flush with the stone supporting the forge itself.
"Skjor... What is this place?"
"Here's all you need to know. Jorrvaskr is the oldest building in all of Whiterun - maybe even Skyrim - and the Skyforge was here before even Ysgramor himself touched these lands. This place, this Underforge, taps an ancient magic older still, having existed long before man or elves. I brought you here to make you stronger, Beast-Bane."
They round a corner, and Skjor has the small pleasure of seeing Kotheim grow tense as he spots the fully transformed werewolf on the far side of the room.
"I'm glad you came with me, Kotheim. It's been a long time since we've had a heart like yours in our numbers. That pitiful ceremony in the yard doesn't befit warriors of our status, although the feast was good enough. You are due more honor than that, however. That is why tonight, Aela has agreed to be your forebear."
The older man gestures to the werewolf as he speaks her name, giving Kotheim a slight shock to realize that all members of the Circle are werewolves.
"We do this in secret because Kodlak is too busy trying to throw away this great gift we've been granted - he thinks we've been cursed; but in reality, we've been blessed. How could something that grants us this raw power and prowess be a curse? So we've deigned to take matters into our own hands. To reach the heights of the Companions, you must join us in the shared blood of the wolf. Are you prepared to join your spirit with the beast world, my friend?"
"I am. I won't turn something like this down."
"Step forward, then, and drink deeply of your forebear's essence."
Skjor slices the werewolf's palm, allowing blood to dribble into a stone bowl. Kotheim comes up to it, and drinks deeply - he can suddenly feel his bones rearranging themselves, his body stretching and elongating - he can even see his own nose clearly, as it transforms into something else entirely. Skjor and Aela guide him towards a small drop in the cave, as the world goes black.
miffed at this incredable racism, but knowing better than to just argue with a guard that controlled none of that but could arrest him, he set up his camp as instructed, off the side of the road, wondering who this reesad figure was.
Kingdom of Nisca
Palace of Nisca City
Anne had been disturbed that her guards had taken so long to enact a quick and efficient response to the raid on the new gold mine, while they were doubtlessly capable soldiers, their mobility was less than ideal. They needed something to move them and their equipment farther and faster, especially as their realm of control continued to extend.
They needed horses.
So Anne ordered her Captain in Crowhaven to immediately search for lands containing a vast supply of horses, she need give no reason, as the Captain would be well aware of the likely reasons she gave him these orders. Once the lands were found his orders were simple; secure them and set up an outpost where the Niscans could acquire horses.
Region of Crowhaven
Upon receipt of his orders from the Queen, the Captain immediately set about preparing an expedition, there was a small region, just across the river from whence they had returned that did indeed have horses in sufficient quantities for the Queen's orders to be satisfied, and the region should be relatively easy to reach. So he retained twenty of his men and some of the villagers to go with him to this area, to carry out the construction portion of his orders, departing once the supplies had been gathered.
Once they reached the river that acted as the separation between Niscan territory and their destination, they used small canoes to ferry themselves across, before continuing their march. Once they found the residents, the Captain spoke with them and brokered a deal whereby they would join Nisca and for the foreseeable future be the sole provider of horses to the Niscan Guard, while also being allowed to sell their horses throughout Nisca, while maintaining their current lucrative business offerings, in addition to their ongoing efforts to combat pirates and extend their protection to this area. To show their commitment (and comply with the Queen's orders), they set up an outpost whereby the Niscan Guards could come and buy horses and other merchants to sell their wares.
Their task complete the Niscans departed, with new people joining them as Brethren under the rule of the Niscan crown. This deal, it seemed, would prove most fruitful for all involved, a more delightful outcome could not have been sought.
The Captain wrote a note to the Queen as they made their return journey;
To Her Majesty,
Region secured most peacefully.
Orders carried out to the letter,
soon we shall all have mounts.
-Captain of the 2nd Division
Kingdom of Nisca
Palace of Nisca City
Princess Anne, better known as Annie to her family and the servants within the palace, was nervous.
Not because of who she was about to meet; her mother while formidable as a leader was an incredibly kind and loving soul, no she was nervous regarding the topic she wanted to discuss with her mother.
What was that topic? You might be wondering.
Oh, that of first love, or rather, the first infatuation; the awkward and surreal emotion that clutched her heart and the focus of this attraction was always on her mind. It was no easy thing to discuss with the one woman who had loved you since before birth, especially one who had so recently lost her great love, your father, for it was a nerve-racking thing to discuss without that context, even more so when this woman was your mother whom you feared to hurt.
The door to her mother's study opened, and the councilors she had been meeting with stepped out, seeing her they gave her shallow bows, which she returned with a nod before they left. Stepping up to the door she stopped, taking a deep breath to steel her nerves.
Then she knocked.
It was only a few seconds before she received a response but it may as well have been hours for Annie as her blood rushed and her nerves were abuzz.
- Anne: "Come in!"
Annie pushed open the door, taking a step into the study. Her mother was sitting at her desk, looking down at some papers in front of her. Annie approached, her shoes clicking on the cold stone of the floor, before stopping a few feet away. She stood there for what again seemed like hours waiting for her mother to look up, and when she did, Annie could not deny that the smile on her mother's face was soothing.
- Anne: "Hello dearheart, what brings you to your mother's study on a day such as this?"
Annie bit her lip and looked away, which must have alarmed her mother because she stood up and immediately came over closing the distance between them, putting a hand on her cheek, forcing Annie to look the Queen in the eyes.
- Anne: "What has you so nervous Annie?"
Annie could not deny her mother anything, and glanced away before she finally responded, in a quiet voice;
- Annie: "What was it like when you first fell in love?"
The Queen's eyes softened further, wrapping her arm around her daughter's shoulders and guiding the young woman to the couch that sat facing the fireplace. Once they were sat down, Annie relaxed into her mother who looked at the fire, deep in thought, and though she couldn't see her face, Annie knew she smiled, though it was doubtlessly pained.
- Anne: "I will admit that I have only fallen in love once, and that was with your father, though it took me many months to realize that was what it was. Even so, I craved his presence, desired to have him smile at me, and savored his touch. His presence alone brightened my spirits, his attention made my heart sing, and his touch soothed me like nothing else. Falling in love was slow, and quick and the best thing that could ever happen to me, and I regret nothing of it knowing what would come, for it has led me to three more loves, even if the man I loved more than anything else in this world died and left me, long before either of us was ready for it to end."
Annie felt her mother run her fingers through her hair, scratching her scalp soothingly before she spoke again.
- Anne: "If you think you may be falling in love, Annie, if you take nothing else from this conversation remember this; savor it and remember that if it is meant to be, it will be. I loved your father with a love that will never fade, for I know my heart is broken over his death because I have loved, and been loved in return, but it is kept happy each day when I see you, your sister, and your brother living life and smiling even when you miss him terribly. I have fallen in love only once, but I have loved more because of it."
Annie stayed silent, and wrapped her arms around her mother, smiling when her mother pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. This was the heartbroken Queen of Nisca, who loved her husband dearly and lost him too soon, but she still had her children, and Annie counted herself fortunate that she was one of those children, not for the title or wealth, but for the love that permeated her life from the moment she was born.
Allisar
Nova Orsinium
4E 203
The streets of Allisar were bustling with activity once more, the town being rebuilt thanks to the gracious funding provided to the citizens by the city of Orsinium, the dried blood and smell of decaying bodies being scrubbed clean. Of course many of the citizens were quite on edge considering the increased amount of Orcish guards stationed both in and around the township, it was to simply ensure their safety but many of the town's Breton and Redguard residents didn't very much like these Orcs being the ones wielding the power within their community, but they weren't willing to allow either the vampires or Trolls to come strolling back into town and slaughter them once more. So the Orcs stay… No matter how much they may not like it…
Within the town's center sat the old mayor's place, sadly Allisar's old leader was lost when the vampires attacked and the Trolls came in to feast on the leftovers. So, to further establish their control over the region, King Murzok personally handpicked a governor, an Orsimer obviously, to manage the town and its surrounding, repurposing the old mayor's manor into the governor's. Every decision reached the governor's ears before anything happened, a new schoolhouse wants to be constructed? It has to be approved by the governor. The residents want a decreased militaristic presence? It has to be denied by the governor. So on and so forth.
So, when a mysterious letter reached the governor's desk he simply believed it to be yet another request by that local 'council' the residents formed a little while back, perhaps it was yet another request to decrease Orsinium's presence within the town or perhaps to relocate the handful of Ogres that were also stationed in Allisar to assist in its defense back to Orsinium, human's can be so untrusting of their goblin-kin. But, the letter instead contained a plea for help just north of the Dragontail Pass, it would appear that a lumber mill is being constantly harassed by bandits and the local Breton Lord is doing little to nothing about it. The governor paused, if he were to send help in the form of soldiers to defend the mill, as they have requested, then there is a possibility that High Rock would notice and take action against them… However the promise of pleasing his King in claiming more land for their kingdom to further his own goals was far too tempting to ignore.
So, with the governor's support, a small group of Orsinium soldiers, numbering twenty men strong, headed out from the town of Allisar towards the mill that all but cried out for their help. The path was, luckily, quite safe for the most part, only the rogue wolf threatened the men on their march north. As the mountainous landscape began to slowly transform into heavy forest the men knew they were close to approaching their destination and, in only a few short hours, the Orcs found themselves in a minuscule Breton town, only consisting of a couple small huts, that surrounded a small lumber mill, this must be the place.
The soldier's captain met with the town's de facto leader, the owner of the mill in fact, and after some discussion reached a deal. The mill merely wanted protection from the rising bandit threat in the region and, since the local lord is doing nothing about it, the mill owner decided to search for protection elsewhere. If the Orcs agreed to station a decent amount of guards at the mill then they will be more than willing to sell their lumber to Orsinium at a greatly discounted rate. The Orc captain knew that lumber was a hard commodity to come by in great amounts within the Kingdom and this would be greatly appreciated by both the governor and the King himself, so he was quick to agree. The first bloodless expansion of Orsinium was then solidified with a firm handshake and a contract being sent directly to King Murzok.
A ways down the path from the main gate and drawbridge, almost directly across from the city stables, is Ri'saad's own caravan - the Khajiit is wary of the newcomers, silently judging them and their likeliness to affect his own dealings throughout the province. Up until now, he was the sole operator of trade caravans throughout Skyrim; Ahkari and Ma'dran both worked for him, and had their own monopoly on most of Skyrim's cities, bar Falkreath, Morthal, and Winterhold - those three had been judged as less profitable than the other cities of the province.
"Who are you, stranger, to come to Khajiit's caravan in these times?"
Silent Moon Camp.
Whiterun Hold.
4E 203.
Several miles west of Halted Stream, an old Nordic temple lays in ruin. None know of its original purpose, nor even its true extent, but for years none have dared to tread within it, for fear of the chance to awaken the draugr that all Nordic ruins contain - but after all this time, a bandit clan has come to call it home at last. Travelers along the road to Hamvir's Rest - an old graveyard northwest of Whiterun proper - have been complaining of a new toll to enter the graveyard itself; something that Thoraldr knows for certain that he had never implemented, nor had Balgruuf. Two dozen warriors in iron armor have been assembled by Caius to investigate Silent Moon, as the ruin is the closest known location to the Rest for a possible bandit clan to hide out in. A small group of archers - only six - accompany them; as Caius served in the Imperial Legion during the Great War, he knows well just how important archers can be, even when entering old ruins.
Some days later, the company of soldiers arrives - and just like Caius has assumed, bandits have taken residence within. Arrows rain down on the Whiterun guards as they grow closer to the temple, forcing them to raise their shields to deflect the onslaught; the guardsmen's own archers return fire, felling several murderers before the swordsmen are able to close the gap and engage the marauders. These bandits appear to be a cut above those seen at Halted Stream and Whitewatch, with some wearing proper armor as opposed to the leather and hide trash so commonly seen used in the myriad criminal gangs scattered about the province; these bandits even understand how to flank their foes, though the tactic is useless with the Whiterun archers protecting their fellows from behind. Though the guards take several losses before entering the ruin proper, they still manage to outnumber their foes within by two-to-one, easily overcoming the stragglers and granting them a swift death.
Wilderness.
Whiterun Hold.
4E 203.
In recent months, the combined efforts of Jarl Thoraldr and Commander Caius had seen almost all of the lands in the immediate vicinity of Whiterun brought back under the rule of law - all but one small patch of grassland, nestled between Bleakwind Basin and the twin camps of Silent Moon and Halted Stream. During the Great War, vast amounts of unbroken, feral horses were known to inhabit the area; the Jarl of the Hold at the time had seen fit to send out teams to round up these feral steeds, for use in the Imperial Legion in the fight against the Aldmeri Dominion. During Balgruuf's reign, many mares were brought to these wild fields to allow for new seed to be spread into the population of the city stables, keeping the blood mixed - though when Balgruuf was killed and thoraldr rose to the throne, the plains had fallen into disarray.
Now, with more men freed up by the success of the campaign to drive back the bandits, animals, and monsters of Skyrim, Caius and Thoraldr have finally been able to dedicate a force to pacify the area and kill off any wild animals that would hunt down the horses, depriving Whiterun of a valuable resource. As the most likely threat is that of sabre cats, the notion of using men and women on foot is immediately thrown out - fierce fighters they may be, but a fully grown beast will easily outrun them and outflank them. This in mind, Caius has proposed sending out Whiterun's own cavalry to clear the way - a tactic that Thoraldr agrees with. Twenty cavalrymen, most utilizing bows, are sent out to the plains; and due to the natural superiority in speed over footmen, the group arrives the same day they were sent out from the city. A mere three sabre cats stalk the herd the men come upon - and it's a simple matter to pick out the massive hunters from their not-so-hidden spots amongst the rocks and grasses, before filling them with arrows.
Southern Salt Flats, Arnesia, Morrowind/Argonia Border
4e 203
Selvan Thirano, a Dres war leader old enough to have experience but young enough to lead in the field, walked with a detachment of soldiers through the salt flats, open with little shelter. He wore the white armor of an elite fighter and leader, covered over with a grey cloak so as to not stand out from a distance.
His second in command approached him towards the evening. "The scouts have come back. They found the mine. We can make it today if we march a little longer."
Selvan nodded. "Tell the soldiers. I don't want to pitch tents for the night out in the open like this. We are too close to the jungles."
His aide gave assent and walked off to inform the other commanders.
As the night began to fall, lanterns were lit and the soldiers marched on, some grumbling as they did. Selvan and his aide were toward the front of the group when Selvan slowed, putting an arm out to stop a small group of soldiers near him, and listening carefully. "Draw your bows and fire a volley that way, into the darkness, at my command," he said to them quietly in Dunmeris. "I hear someone skulking about out there, following alongside us. Do not alert them."
The soldiers casually spread themselves into a firing line parallel to the column of soldiers, some in the lantern light, some out of it. Selvan stood by the commander of the unit, and at a motion of his hand, the commander shouted an order, one of many drilled into them by training. The unit drew their bows in near unison and turned 90 degrees to fire blindly into the darkness. There was a yelp and the thud of something hitting the ground. A few soldiers went and found the source: an argonian dressed in light clothing and bits of armor, now impaled through the chest with a Dres arrow. Selvan looked down at the dead body with no emotion on his face and only said to his aide, "There are bound to be other spies. Do not go after them. They know we are here already. Have the soldiers make haste to reach the mine. Anything is better than an ambush out in the open."
Kingdom of Nisca
Palace of Nisca City
Annie had always enjoyed walking through the Palace Gardens, they had been a cherished space where her parents had been able to pretend they were not the King and Queen of Nisca, and rather just be themselves, a couple so deeply in love with each other that it was the best of times. Since her father's death, however, her mother had not dared set foot in the gardens because it was a place with the sweetest memories of her family, whole and unbroken from the profound grief at the loss of one of their own.
Annie's purpose for being here was to remember those days, but also to distract her from the feelings creeping in on her heart. After talking with her mother she was sure she was at the very least beginning to fall in love.
Unfortunately, the boy who was the object of her affections was infuriatingly stupid and was one she would count among her closest friends. The Gardens, however, were reserved for the Royal Family alone and so he could not enter without an invitation from her or one of her siblings, since it was unlikely her mother would come here and even more unlikely she'd invite anyone in.
Annie wasn't one to pour out her heart to people, as she tended to be very private despite her very public status as crown princess. Despite that, however, this boy, one Damron Macius, seemed to act indifferently to her more affectionate behavior toward him, which just made her heartache with the desire for him to reciprocate in some way so that she could at least pretend that he felt the same. She found a bench and sat down unceremoniously, huffing as the thought crossed her mind that perhaps because he hadn't noticed because he could never see her in that light, which she would accept, she was the Crown Princess after all, but still, she wanted more from him.
She looked up at the sky, the clouds cloaked the sky as far as the eye could see, and they were a dark gray, her mood reflected by the world. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, and relieve the melancholy, she stood up with a sigh, before returning inside.
She thought back to her mother's advice; "if it is meant to be it will be." She smiled wanly at that thought, she wanted so badly for his attention to be just that tad more affectionate, but she would heed her mother's advice.
If only it didn't strain her heart to do so.
Kingdom of Nisca
It had been determined that further securing the coast of the continent along the Abecean Sea would only be beneficial as they move to secure Hew's Bane and continue to eliminate piracy along the coast. In recent weeks, the Allure and its crew had sailed the coast attempting to locate and map further pirate outposts and give this information to the Major.
Given this information, the Major decided it best to attempt two simultaneous operations, the first division would hit the one to the north, mimicking their operations in Hew's Bane, meanwhile, the second division would take the one to the south from inland. The hope being to completely destroy the pirates in these areas and secure them for future movement.
The Major sent word to the Captain in command of the second division, ordering him to move into position at once and to attack the date the Major estimated the first division would arrive in position to take out the outpost to the north. He also considered the diplomatic impacts of these actions, the primary benefit being the possible leverage it could provide to the two villages that lay to the north.
Yes, these actions would definitely be key in their future efforts and interests in the area.
***
When the Captain received the orders, he did react immediately, given the date of the Major's estimated arrival for his own attack, he could afford to wait for his guards patrolling to the south to return, gather the supplies and then head north collecting the northern patrols as they went. He opted for this and began preparations as soon as possible, food for both men and horses was gathered and more food for those men they would collect as they went was also packed on. Soon enough, they were prepared, and upon the arrival of their comrades to the south they set off, their travel time cut down by the newly acquired horses, they crossed the river and were in position just ahead of the Major's instructed date.
***
When the two divisions commenced their attacks, they were ruthless.
These pirates did not have the benefit of being told by survivors of the attacks in Hew's Bane and the Gold Coast, as there weren't any to be found. To the north, the first division landed and the combined forces of the first division and the crew of the Demon's Claw, which had been somewhat salvaged, descended once again on pirates as if there would be no reprieve. It was simply slaughter, and there would be no survivors, even though the leader was captured, tortured and his belongings searched, he would be executed once the torture was done.
A similar story occurred in the south, only this time the guards killed most pirates in their sleep, those that woke would attempt resistance, but they too would die. The leader of this outpost too was captured before being tortured, his belongings searched, and he would be executed once it was over.
Both outposts were burned, and the pirate scum that resided within were cremated in their burning buildings and ships.
The Guards rendezvoused in the south, and the Captain confirmed that his orders had been carried out to the letter. The Major nodded in grim professional satisfaction, and the Guards from there returned to their normal areas of operation.
Fort Greymoor.
Whiterun Hold.
4E 203.
In centuries past, Fort Greymoor - and the nearby settlement of Black Moor - had played a key part in Tamriel's history; more specifically, in the history of Morrowind. During the early years of the Third Era, Count Sven Advensen had been granted the small fiefdom by Tiber Septim himself; and Advensen would go on to raise Princess Barenziah in the small hamlet. Of course, such lore has been long lost to the mists of time - all anyone knows of the fortress now is that it sits upon the strategic crossroad connecting Whiterun, Hjaalmarch, the Reach, and Haafingaar. It's location had played an important part in the various wars and conflicts in Skyrim throughout the Eras, and is effectively the key to reclaiming the western Hold from lawlessness - yet a large bandit clan has already taken the fort for themselves, having wiped out the guardsmen that inhabited it during Balgruuf's reign. Luckily for Jarl Thoraldr and Caius, Greymoor had fallen into disrepair over the centuries, with large portions of the once formidable walls having collapsed; fortified only with wooden barricades, the Commander believes it should be relatively easy to wrest control back from the marauders.
While siege equipment could one day be useful to Whiterun, for now it is far too much of a risk - should any Imperials or Stormcloaks see the men and women of the Hold marching with such imposing weapons, they would surely presume that Whiterun had joined the opposing side of the Civil War, leading to blood running through the streets of the city as hostile armies broke down the great doors and plundered the peoples' wealth. That in mind, Caius had decided against having his engineers construct such things, settling instead for a more standard assault on the fortress - after all, with the state its in, siege weapons would be incredibly unnecessary. Over the course of a week, forces are marshalled and prepared to march upon Greymoor - their objective is to clear the fort of any and all hostiles, thereby taking control of it and bringing the village of Black Moor back under the protection of the Jarl. Twenty archers, sixty light infantry, forty medium infantry, and thirty heavy infantry are finally brought together in Bleakwind Basin; and come the following dawn, they attack.
Waves of arrows rain down upon the bandits patrolling the battlements, striking down a dozen - yet even as those dozen collapse and their lifeblood stains the stone walls, the other bandits within the fortress shout in alarm, awakening their fellows and bringing the bulk of their forces to the courtyard. Whiterun archers trade fire with their lawless counterparts, with both sides taking losses; but with the bandit bowmen distracted, the swarm of melee guardsmen are able to rush for the barricades, hacking them apart and plunging directly into Greymoor's courtyard - straight into the midst of the bandit clan. Blades flash in the rays of the morning sun, blinding men and women on both sides at inopportune moments; battle cries rattle the morale of the marauders when the heavy infantry of Whiterun unveil themselves, carving a bloody gouge through the bandits' numbers with greatswords, battleaxes, and warhammers. After over half an hour of heavy fighting, the surviving bandits can easily see that the tide has turned - to stay means only to face death, as word of Jarl Thoraldr's ruling on the fate of surrendered bandits has spread far and wide throughout the Hold. Among those scoundrels who flee is the bandit chieftain, screaming at his compatriots to help him drag off a massive, ornate chest; surely filled with gold and riches beyond measure. The smarter among their number simply keep running, heedless of their chieftain's screams - better to live and beg forgiveness, than to obey and die. Of course, with the weight of the chest, even those who come to help their leader are unable to go far; and they are easily shot down by the archers of Whiterun.
Fort Greymoor has been cleared of bandit corruption, and with it comes the freedom of Black Moor - something the civilians are immensely grateful for, all too happy to swear their fealty to the Jarl as thanks for saving them from the depredations of the marauders.
Iron Shells and Ice Skin
With the border sealed off the push towards the city was the next big item in the conquest. The central area's of Winterhold were a gods forsaken maze of mountain passes and blank snow covered valleys, almost nothing would be in between them. The best option left would be to sweep through it and eliminate any potential hide outs for possible stragglers. Rebels and nords that could escape slavery, or even worse, a particularly overly ambitious Falmer looking to take a stab at the surface and defy the moot's purpose. A few idiotic fools wishing to over reach on their potential. In this critical stage of expansion division could not be allowed. With a clear plan set out the Flamer clans would each gather their own packs and bands of fighters and some more useful slaves. Some chaurus hunters were also released onto the surface. Where they would fly and seek out pray, each of which the falmer had addicted to the taste of Nord meat. For days on end one could spot entire packs of flying gigantic insects flying around the mountains of Winterhold, descending on anything and anyone they could possibly find.
With the gathering done they could get to move onto the surface and weeding out any location of interest. The snow capped mountains were filled with the distant sound of whistling wind, it would continue to blow on and on and on, it never seemed to stop. Where did the wind come from? where did the sky begin and end and where did the ground end? These questions stumped the Falmer, their life underground had made them so unaware of the world that even simple things may perplex and puzzle them to a unbelievable extent. The mountains were thankfully dotted with caves and tunnels which could be used to endure the cold. A few prospecting Falmer in advanced claimed it for themselves and would later on return, to begin building small settlements. There were a few problems with bears and the occasional troll. Which of course was a major concern. The bigger concern however, was some of the hunters had gone feral, no longer obeying any commands from the Falmer. Quite a few parties had went up to the surface only to be swarmed by the over sized insects. The swarms would be a constant issue for weeks to come, eventually they would ether die from the cold or exhaust their food supply. The trolls and larger animals so far had managed to hold off the packs of wild Hunters. The frost wraiths however seemed to be fighting an endless fight in the skies of the mountains.
The writhing serpent like bodies infesting the skies, seemingly multiplying by consuming the bodies and essence of the charus hunters. When the fighting would end the wraiths dispersed across the landscape of skyrim. The Falmer now free to continue their path up north. Where the Nords had been for ages digging in a spesific spot, because of a odd stone known as Iron. The mine was a glorified hole in the ground, with some carts and rocks piled into them. A crude tunnel compared to any of Falmer digging. The workers inside were easy to subdue, the hard part was teaching overseer falmer to be able to tell what was and was not iron. After a good round of conditioning to the miners, their minds completely washed away and replaced with undying loyalty to the Falmer, they were put back to work. The mine was greatly extended, going much further down and splitting off into several directions. To reach as much of the ore as could possibly be obtained, the Falmer's knowledge of the underground locating much more than the Nords could have hoped and the mine would also be far more stable, the chances of cave ins greatly lessened, almost impossible even.
The odd metal was apparently the source of the Nords weapons and armour, similar to the Chitin of the humble chaurus. But the iron had held up to a higher standard but was harder to make and replace. It also lacked the Falmer's preferred weapon, venom and poisons. The first experiments the falmer had turned basic, mostly just sheets of metal that could be tied down to one's body. It was considered a failure and sent to be melted down and used again. The next few attempts would yield some interesting results. The success of the smiths ended with a glorious set of armour, perfectly designed to resemble the chitin of the Chaurus but equalling to that of iron made by the nordic smiths. The best of the warriors and some of the Warmongers would be given these suits. However the majority of the Falmer still preferred their chitin, it felt like a key piece of their culture by this point and straying from it would be a end of an era for the Falmer.
The more useful result of the mine was being able to reliably equip the brainwashed soldiers the falmer had been continuously building. The designs differed a bit from the modern nord items, having much more ancient nordic symbols and styles added onto them. This would just be a way to tell themselves apart form the non converted nords. While still blending in to not drag in the Stormcloacks or something called "The Imperial Legion" whatever that was, it was clearly a threat on the same level of the stromcloaks, their forces just as large and trained. According to some they were from "Beyond skyrim" impossible the world ended at skyrim. All that was beyond was just ocean and maybe some islands. But nothing that was being described by the slaves. Grand cities, places called things like "Morror-wind." "High Rocks" and the most ridiculous of all "Black Marsh" a badly re-used name for BlackReach no doubt. With the forces of the Falmer and their slave hordes significantly improved by the acquisition of the iron, they continued on their plans to march to the city of Winterhold, it was the last major site in the entire hold.
Silent Moon Ruins.
Whiterun Hold.
4E 203.
Some months ago, the guardsmen of Whiterun had been dispatched to clear out the ancient Nordic ruin of its bandit occupants; the operation had gone off without a hitch, and the scum put to the sword. In the weeks since, regular patrols have been made out to the ruins, ensuring nothing else decides to lay claim to it - and since Silent Moon lays a way off of the roads, the troops are forced to trek across the open plains to reach it. As a result of this, most of the patrols fail to take the same route twice; tactically, this provides a benefit and detriment at the same time, as it prevents any foes from ambushing the guards, while simultaneously meaning the time it takes for a patrol to reach the ruins wildly varies between the groups.
Recently, however, a patrol stumbled upon something new, something that had gone unnoticed by both their fellow guardsmen and all the bandits that had come before - several deposits of silver just beyond the ruins, hidden away under one of the countless rock formations dotting the Hold. Cutting their route short, the soldiers had made all haste to return to Whiterun and inform Commander Caius of their discovery, who in turn spoke with Proventus, who in turn spoke to Jarl Thoraldr. Historically, Whiterun had been a center of trade throughout all of Skyrim, owing to its central location within the province; not to mention the vast reserves of food that it exported across the realm. With the Civil War, though, Whiterun's economy had taken a turn for the worse. Still one of the wealthier cities and Holds of Skyrim, it no longer could claim to be one of the richest - and so the discovery of silver is incredibly valuable to Thoraldr. Immediately, work orders are issued for a mine to be constructed, and Caius assigns more guardsmen to the ruin - it does no good for a mine to operate in such proximity to Silent Moon if bandits were to once again take up arms within.
(Silver mine complete on 6/6/22)
Imperial Legion Camp 'Artorius'.
Whiterun Hold.
4E 203.
Some seasons ago, at the start of the new year, guardsmen from Whiterun had uncovered evidence of the Imperial Legion setting up camps throughout the Hold; ostensibly to assist in forcing out the bandits who had taken advantage of the chaos caused by Balgruuf's untimely death, but in reality seeking only to cement the Empire's grip on Skyrim. Clan Battle-Born had been implicated in the creation of the Legion camp, as their farm was found to be home to a deceased Imperial courier bearing a sealed letter - but such a thing could be argued as coincidence, and not outright betrayal of Whiterun. In any case, though, a detachment of horsemen direct from Whiterun's stables had been sent to speak with the commanding officer of the camp - one Legate Quentin Cipius. A letter is given to the Legionnaire, written by the Jarl and sealed by Proventus, detailing in no uncertain terms that the neutrality of Whiterun will not be dishonored.
Legate Cipius,
We have not met, and it is my desire that we never do - though you may have met my predecessor, Balgruuf the Greater. The former Jarl was incredibly explicit in wishing for Whiterun to remain a neutral Hold in this monstrous Civil War, a mentality that I myself strive to uphold; I believe he had exchanged letters with both General Tullius and Jarl Stormcloak expressly indicating his position. The General had agreed to refrain from stationing any Legionnaires within the Hold, and Jarl Ulfric had been displeased yet otherwise uncaring of Jarl Balgruuf's refusal to support his claim to the throne of High King. Your camp, 'Artorius', is in direct violation of the promises between the former Jarl and General Tullius - and the agreement did not expire upon Balgruuf's death. I have no wish to wage war upon the Legion, nor to join the Stormcloak cause, yet if your camp is not removed from my Hold posthaste, then I will have no other choice. You will be forced to report to Tullius and describe to him in exccruciating detail just how exactly you managed to tip the balance of power into Ulfric's favor, and how the Divines have clearly cursed you with some manner of illness of the head.
Legate Quentin Cipius, you and your men have approximately five days to dismantle your camp and leave Whiterun Hold. Should you not abide by my deadline, I will send men to cut you down and burn Artorius to ash, and I will send word to Ulfric Stormcloak that Whiterun has finally chosen a side in the Civil War.
Jarl Thoraldr the Unwavering
Eyes nearly bugging out of his head - never in a hundred years had the Legate imagined that the Jarl would learn of his camp, let alone threaten the Imperial Legion - Quentin is forced to shout out orders for his men, having them take down the tents, barricades, and removing any trace of the Legion from the plains of Whiterun. The naked threat against the Legion enrages him, but Cipius knows too well that no Jarl would bluff about such a thing - and Tullius would have his head if Whiterun had finally joined the Civil War in support of the rebellion as a result of the Legion's own actions.
Rorikstead.
Whiterun Hold.
4E 203.
For months, now, the small farming settlement of Rorikstead had virtually been under martial law, courtesy of Centurion Cipius; who's Legionary camp just a few miles east of the village had often requisitioned and forcefully taken supplies under the guise of 'acting on the Jarl's behalf, in his absence'. Naturally, the inhabitants of Rorikstead hadn't believed the man, but when faced with a full camp of armed and armored - albeit hungry - Imperial soldiers, they had little choice but to acquiesce to their demands; even when the food stores had begun to run low and the civilians were forced to begin rationing in preparation for the harsh winter. Some weeks ago, though, the Whiterun guard had finally sent the Legionnaires back to whence they came; tails between their legs and utterly embarrassed by Jarl Thoraldr's scathing letter and unsubtle threat to join the Stormcloaks.
Of course, the town still desperately needs more food to prepare for the winter, as it has nearly come upon them - and so Thoraldr, in conjunction with Proventus, had requisitioned Ri'saad's caravan to deliver foodstuffs from the farms surrounding Whiterun proper to Rorikstead. The Khajiit are distrusted at the best of times, but the Jarl knows that in order to best lead his people, he must make use of all available resources - even if they may be unsavory to deal with. Thus the unique sight of a Khajiit caravan, escorted by a platoon of infantrymen, came upon the village at the western reaches of the Hold. Carrots, potatoes, leeks, cabbages, wheat, all manner of meat and drink; all was brought to the struggling settlement, and the villagers quickly grew to trust the cat-folk of Elsweyr. Such an event is almost entirely unprecedented throughout all of Skyrim, and indeed paints a picture of Thoraldr as a kind and just ruler; some have even begun to - subtly - imply the man would be the province's best choice for High King, should he want it.
"just a friendly dealer of business like yourself. i come to offer my greetings to you, and trade drink to show my good intentions."
The city of ice and Winter and the college of magic, both in ruins.
The last stretch was here. The final assault and then the Falmer would have a realm. A place to rule over and to dominate. To shape to their will and alter as they please. The prospect was practically eating away at their very minds. Like Khajit skooma addicts on the verge of getting their next batch of the hard to get narcotic. The city of Winterhold is a run down slum, extending far past its own protective stone walls, becoming a sprawling shanty town where the majority of the population of the hold was living inside of. The shanty town slowly got worse and worse the farther from the city one got. The closet were slightly run down structures built near and sometimes onto the walls themselves. While the middle areas consisted of little more than badly constructed wood cabins and brittle shacks. The farthest out, the poorest and most desperate of course, living within simple tents, some even getting so desperate to resort to the use of dug in holes and scrapes to protect them from the cold. The huddled masses would cling even closer and more dense to the safety of the city after the Falmer's rampage across the hold. The last collective assortment of nord resistance all centred here. Soldiers and militia and the rabble armed as much as they could possibly get, some even using modified utensils as a excuse for a weapon. Unlike before no simple hit and run raiding party would be able to take this, so instead a properly organized and readily armed horde would be needed. Lines of lines of Falmer with their chitin armour and weapons. Fields of Chauruses had to be harvested in order to supply the army. The slaves and enthralled soldiers would also be set out. Organised into bands around their masters to act as advanced forces and elite bodyguards for important Falmer. The feeble mobs of Nords outside the city were practically nothing to the amassed horde, Dathra of course leading from the helm. What few resisted would be torn apart and their meat thrown into baskets as emergency rations. The rest clamped into irons and chitin collars and led away to be processed, a good haul. With the outer camp taken the walls remained, old and sturdy despite the poverty of the city. But Dathra had a ace in his deck for them.
"Bring up the Brood Mother!" On his orders a massive Charus was forced up to the surface. A gargantuan creature which could climb over the walls without so much as batting an eye at the defenders. Today however it would scutter and click as it sprinted to the wall, using its powerful pincers to clear away the nords atop attempting to stab away at it. The Falmer and some of their more capable slave soldiers climbing up the thick carapace covering the tower like beast. With their breach onto the walls the hordes of Falmer poured up and fell into the city like a wave crashing against the rocks. The desperate defence put up by the city guard and the scattered fighters would devolve into small groups cornered into allyways of the half ruined and abandoned city streets. The Falmer took to screeching and howling through the streets, scaring what poor civilians were within the city into their homes. Exactly where the falmer wanted them to be, isolated and corralled. The largest problem would stand within the Jarl's Longhouse, which was the only fortified building that could be of a challenge to them. A beautifully crafted battering ram of Chitin was brought up to the door and slammed against the wooden door, its iron bolts buckling and shaking. They hit again. Again. Again. And then again. Shaking it each time before finally with one last strike the door splintered and shattered. Giving way for the Pale Horde. The Jarl was quickly brought down and Dathra himself cleaved his head off and moved back out. His face turned now towards the place of magic that had made this place famous. The home of the Nord shamans. The College of Winterhold.
The approach to the college was a treacherously built bridge. Ordinarily with some guidance it would have been no problem, but the mages within were clever. As the Falmer approached they would be pelted and blasted by balls of flame, waves of cold and ice and streams of lightning. Only in rare instances would their shields provide any actual protection. Many falmer and slaves would loose their lives just attempting to cross the bridge, the few who made it to the locked gate would find themselves trapped and unable to break down the magically strengthened structure. The bodies of the horde littered the bridge and even covered the floor of it entirely. The mages would send out waves of force to knock off entire groups that would attempt to charge the bridge. Only around 2 mages would be killed by arrow fire, the rest quickly supporting themselves with odd magical wards. The college would not be breached by normal means. When muscle fails, turn to magic. The Shadowmasters gathered and begun their strange shadowy ritual, taking pieces of the town and creating a small fire, dancing around and eventually stopping. Suddenly their bodies would seem to flake and break apart into swarms of hundreds or thousands of insects. They would fly around within the air and swarm over the walls, the mages out in the open would be eaten alive quickly and left skinless, nothing more than bones on the ground. A collective voice streaming from all the insects would sound out as they wormed their way into the college itself. "Surrender." The inexperienced and horrified apprentices would get onto their knee's and be avoided by the swarms. The swarms themselves consisted of wasps, bee's and other stinging and biting insects.
Within a short amount of time the few resilient teachers would have been delt with. The archmage barricaded via powerful wards in their quarters would be dealt with by a useful tool. Poisonous gas. Spores from the various mushrooms within the deep underground of Blackreach. Finally the battle was over. The long path to an empire and civilization. Suddenly seemed alot shorter. The city would of course need improving, the walls would need expansion and renovations and at last, the College, the mightiest building the Falmer had ever experience was now a haven for their shamans and Shadowmasters. The population now slaves to the pale skin snow elves of the deep. Tomorrow, skyrim.
Post by Voljundok suppressed by 28 knights templar.
"Well, may your road lead to warm sands. Khajiit is always looking for new friends to barter with."
«12. . .1314151617»
Advertisement
