4E 201, 19th of Second Seed
Dunsten, Cyrodiil
Severus stood outside the house, Alissa at his side. The pair of them watched the people of Dunsten go about their business. Most of that business included taking the villages small herd of sheep to a nearby pasture to graze, or tanning leather for shoes, gloves, or other things. Alissa glanced at the sky, and noted "looks like rain." Severus glanced up to see for himself, and couldn't help but agree. Unlike the day he'd asked for Alissas' hand in marriage, the sky was overcast with greyclouds.
"Emeline is going to be angry. She told me she was planning on hanging some hides out to dry today." He said, mentioning the village tanner.
"Not as angry as Vitius. He was planning on taking his granddaughters out to the forest today." Alissa said. Severus nodded. Old Vitius had taken in his twin granddaughters after their parents had died. The circumstances of the couples death weren't known to him, and Vitius didn't like to talk about it.
He turned to Alissa, taking the moment to admire her. She glanced at him and smiled "what are you thinking?"
"How lucky I am." He murmured, wrapping an arm around her waist. She laughed and leaned against him.
"Flatterer."
Severus smirked at her. "Is it working?"
She laughed again. "You need to ask? Anyways, I was thinking about an autumn wedding, when the leaves are just starting to change colours. If it's a nice day we could have it outside..." Alissa trailed off as she realized Severus was no longer listening to her. His eyes were locked on a shop down the road. A small group of legionnaires had assembled outside. One of them was knocking on the door, though the soldiers didn't look ready for battle. Rather, they looked almost...mournful.
The shop door the legionnaires were knocking on belonged to Severus' family. He tore his gaze away from the door to look at Alissa. "Stay here...please." He murmured, leaving the house, and walking towards the Imperial soldiers. One of the men turned towards him, curiousity in his eyes. "Can I help you, citizen?"
The soldier that had been knocking at the door and the last man turned to look at him as well. Severus gestured to the door behind them, and said "I was about to ask you the same thing."
Surprise blossomed on the faces of the legionnaires. "This is your shop?"
Severus frowned. The troops that had been stationed in Dunsten on their way to Skyrim
knew the shop belonged to Severus' mother. He looked at the soldiers again, noticing for the first time their battered armour and shields. "It belongs to my parents. They're the local herbalists. "
The lead soldier, the one that had been knocking, opened his mouth, but before he could reply, Severus' father opened the door. The older mans eyes flicked from the legionnaires to Severus, alarm creeping into his demeanor." Is there a problem here, soldiers?"
The lead legionnaire didn't answer the question directly. Instead, asked, "are you Kenyon Valte?" Severus' father nodded, and the man pulled a roll of parchment from his belt. "The legion has need of your skills. This is a conscription order."
Kenyon read the paper, a frown etched on his face. Severus stared, unable to comprehend what he was hearing. "Are you crazy? My father is in no condition to travel to the front lines! There must be capable healers in-"
"Severus." Kenyon said sharply, cutting off his sons protests. The herbalist turned his attention to the soldiers. "If the legion has need of my skills, of course I'll come with you. If you don't mind giving me a few moments to say goodbye to my family?"
The soldier looked uncomfortable. Obviously, he wasn't happy with his orders, but he was carrying them out nevertheless. "Of course, sir. Take as long as you need." The soldiers stepped away from the shop door, allowing Severus to get inside.
Kenyon closed the door, and Severus rounded on him. He was aware of his mother watching the pair of them warily. "What are you thinking?" He asked. "If anyone's going to march off to war, it should
be me."
"Don't be foolish." His mother spoke up. "You're getting married. What is Alissa going to say if you leave her to fight in this stupid war?"
Kenyon brought a finger to his lips and glanced at the door. Despite the motion, it was clear he agreed with his wife. "Severus, please. I may not be a soldier, but I've more experience with herbs and dealing with injuries."
Severus snorted. "Not that much more than me. Besides, I'm more fit than you, father." He turned to regard his mother. "I'm leaving so that Alissa and I can have a future without worrying about the war."
Kenyon and Lara Valte shared a glance, and Severus noticed the sorrow in both their eyes. His mother shook her head, very slightly, and Kenyon sighed. "There's no convincing you, is there Sev'?" When Severus shook his head, the older man sighed again and nodded. "Okay. If your mind is made up, I won't stop you. You aren't a child anymore."
Kenyon Valte went to the door, opened it, and started to explain the change of plans to the soldiers. Lara turned, taking a large satchel off one of the lower shelves, and carefully began placing vials, a mortar and pestle, bandages, a needle and thread, and various herbs and other things used for wound treatment. "I'll make sure your things are packed. Go and see Alissa."
Severus wrapped his mother in a hug. "Thank you, mom. I'll make you proud."
She returned the embrace with surprising strength. "Just be safe out there."
He left the shop, and made his way back to the house. Alissa had waited for him, but she left the porch and met him halfway down the street. "Severus, what's going on? Are you in trouble?"
He shook his head. "No, but... I need to go."
"Go? Go where?" Alissa asked.
"With the soldiers. They need me. I need to help them. If I can keep a few more soldiers alive, it could mean the Empire wins this war faster."
Alissa was quiet for a long time, but when she spoke again, her voice was surprisingly strong, though tears trickled down her face. "Just...come back to me."
"I will." He promised, "after this war is over, we'll have all the time in the world to spend with each other."
"I like the sound of that." She drew close, and Severus wrapped his arms around her, kissing her softly.
He heard the clank of armour, and someone cleared their throat behind him. The soldier stood there, looking apologetic. "Time to go." Severus nodded, and followed the man. He was aware of other soldiers falling in around them, and his mother handing him a pair of bags. As the Imperials moved north, towards the mountains, Severus looked over his shoulder, towards Dunsten.
'I will survive this
war.' He promised himself,
'and I will return.'
4E 201, 24th of Second Seed
The Reach
Vengar Vivarian must have checked the rocky sides of the narrow ravine the two Altmer were riding through at least a dozen times. Salthar, on the other hand, kept his eyes straight ahead, besides the occassional glance at his brother. It had taken them the better part of a week to ride from the Thalmor embassy to the Reach. The pair of them had taken pains to travel during the night, and used the paths that were less traveled by common folk.
"Stop." The armoured vampire said suddenly, bringing his mount to a halt. Salthar followed his brothers lead.
"What is it?"
"We're being watched." Vengar jerked his chin towards one of the rock ledges. Salthar glanced up towards the rocks. It was certainly a concealing position. If he'd been planning an ambush, that was where he'd have deployed his men.
"Stormcloaks?"
"I don't think so. The rebels don't know we're coming, and this pass isn't used very often."
"In that case, let's say hello, shall we?" Salthar climbed off his horse, and strode a short distance away from the animal. He stared up at the cliff, taking in the terrain. Though steep, a skilled climber could make their way up. Or down, if they were so inclined. "We know you're there." The Altmer sorcerer called. Vengar joined him, sliding the axes out of holsters on his belt.
A moment after he'd spoken, an arrow arced towards the robed vampire. Salthars wards stopped the projectile a handspan away from his torso, and it clattered on the ground. Someone from the cliffside loosed a warcry, and the attackers revealed themselves. A half dozen scantily clad warriors, rushed towards the pair of vampires.
Salthar lifted his hand, and a blast of purple-white lightning sprang forth, striking the lead warrior in the chest. The man nearly completed a backflip before slamming into the hard ground. However, the others weren't dissuaded by the death of their companion. If anything, they simply ignored his death. When the Forsworn had covered all but two meters of ground, Vengar stepped forwards, engaging the leading pair of warriors.
The Altmer warrior deflected the blade of the first warrior. His axe swung in, catching the warrior in the side, and chopping through his armour. The second man slashed at the thick armour covering Vengars back. The vampire turned and hacked through the sinew of the mans neck. The three remaining warriors exchanged nervous glances. Salthar struck the man on the right with another lightning bolt, while the leftmost Forsworn rushed Vengar in a desperate assault.
The heavily armoured vampire let the woman force him backwards with a flurry of sword sword assaults. Salthar turned to the last warrior, obviously the leader. The man gripped an axe in his hand, watching Salthar. Waiting for him to make the next move. Salthar extended his hand, but this time, instead of a lethal assault, he hit him with a telekinetic blast. The man was blown off his feet, but unharmed.
He then turned in time to see the conclusion of his brothers duel. Vengar had taken the womans right arm off, and finished her with a sweep of his second weapon, decapitating her. He looked up from his kill, and his eyes locked on the last Forsworn warrior. "You missed one." The armoured vampire pointed out. He approached and brought his axe up for a decapitating blow. Salthar stopped him with an outstretched arm.
"Not him. We may have a use for this one." He explained. Vengar stepped back and glanced at his brother. The leader of the failed ambush looked at him too, confused at his postponed death.
"What are you thinking?" Vengar asked.
"I won't tell you where the rest of my tribe is, elf. Not even if you torture me." The man promised, jutting his chin out defiantly.
"That's not what I had in mind, actually." Salthar replied casually. "You must know where the Stormcloak fort in these parts is. I want you to tell us about it."
The man frowned. Clearly, he hadn't expected a pair of elves, one of them clearly Thalmor to do more than execute him. "What's in it for us if I tell you?"
Salthar arched an eyebrow. "Us?"
"The Forsworn. Give me a reason to help."
The Altmer sorcerer chuckled, impressed by the mans bravery. "Would a new base of operations in the Reach suffice?"
"What base?"
"Why, the Stormcloak fort, of course. If I recall correctly, the Forsworn have more reason to hate the Nords than most."
The mans expression ranged from surprised to suspicious in a few seconds. "The Thalmor would just give us a fort? "
"No." Salthar said shortly. "However, my brother and I are part of an...independent organization. You'd supply the manpower, and we would make sure your assault succeeded."
"Made sure? How?"
Salthar smiled. "I'm afraid I can't reveal that. However, if you're interested, meet us here with what forces you can assemble, by this evening.After you've told us about the fort, of course."
The Forsworn warrior shrugged. " It's to the north east of here. Open ground all around it. It's well defended, that's for sure. We haven't been able to find a way in, and neither have the Imperials." The man summarized. "Patrols ride out three times a day, looking for any scouts, I'd guess. Whoever's in charge there knows what he's doing."
Salthar nodded. That made sense as to why the Thalmor hadn't been able to slip into the fort to remove this Simus Psyrakon. If what the man said was true, the fort was operating at readiness levels that hadn't been seen since the great war. "Thank you. Consider my offer. My brother and I will be here tonight, shortly before sunset."
After the man had scrambled back into the hills, Vengar turned to Salthar, looking annoyed. "We should have just killed him and be done with it."
Salthar smirked. "Perhaps, but even you could not kill an entire garrison of Stormcloak troops. "
His brother shrugged, then grinned. "Maybe not...but it would have been fun to try. So what do we do now?"
"What I said. We'll meet with him and whoever he chooses to meet with here tonight. And then we shall see how Simus Psyrakon deals with an organized force of Forsworn." Salthar said. "But first, let us see if we can't find some travelling merchants or farmers. A fight always makes me thirsty."
4E 201, 24th of Second Seed
The Bloodlet Throne
Derek was in a line of workers, heading back to the barracks when he saw Tannis out of the corner of his eye. The Bretons expression was equal parts excitement and worry, and he realized the man had news. Derek pretended to slip on the wet cobblestones of the courtyard, and fell to his knees. The vampire guard nearest him, an Altmer woman, snarled something about him being a clumsy oaf, and shouted for the prisoners to keep moving.
Tannis knelt by his side, grabbing him under the shoulders and placing his mouth next to his ear. "The head bat is gone." He whispered.
Derek shot his friend a quick look, and, moving his lips as little as possible, murmured; "you're sure?"
Tannis started to respond, then thought better of it, hauling Derek fully upright. "Later" he hissed as he moved past him.
For the past two weeks, Derek, Tannis, and any other prisoner interested in escape had been secretely sneaking tools into the barracks. Some smaller than others, but all together, they had a promising assortment of makeshift weapons. Over those two weeks, the dozen or so men that had decided to escape had grown to nearly fifty.
As far as he could tell, the vampires hadn't caught on to their activities. It wasn't hard to think that the bloodsuckers had grown overly confident in their fortress. They didn't believe anyone could cause trouble in the isolated, heavily defended location. If they had been expecting trouble, Derek never would have dreamed of escape. There were nearly a hundred vampires in the Bloodlet throne, and more seemed to arrive every week. The fact that one of the nightspawn was easily as strong as three men, didn't help matters.
He made his way into the barracks, and found most of the men he and Tannis and the dozen others had recruited waiting. "So? Is it true?" One of the men demanded.
Tannis nodded. "He left a little over a week ago. I waited to make sure it wasn't a ruse."
"Good thinking, Tannis." Derek said, "anything else we should know?"
One of the prisoners Derek didn't know, a boy, barely seventeen, by the look of him, rose from his seat. "I overheard one of the guards, talking about how they're expecting a merchant two days from now. At night."
Derek couldn't remember the last time he'd heard such good news. "Then that's when we'll make our escape. What's your name, lad?"
"Hannig. I bring water to the men at the quarry." The boy replied.
"Well done, Hannig." Derek said, then turned to the others. "Get some rest. In two days, we'll be free men." The table shook as the men pounded it enthusiastically with their fists.
4E 201, 25th of Second Seed
The Reach
Salthar sat on the boulder, hidden, from view to the road below, except for the keenest of observers. Around him were over a dozen Forsworn warriors, all of them radiating excitement. "Why are we doing this? You promised me a fort, not a random massacre." A gruff voice said from behind him. Well,
almost all of them were patient. Salthars offer had been taken up by the Forsworn tribe in the area. He and Vengar had been only been left waiting a few minutes when their former prisoner returned. With several dozen Forsworn warriors, and a small group of shamans. The leader of their group, was a Forsworn warlord by the name of Gwydionn Harghest.
It was clear, to Salthar, at least, that the man had no grasp of tactics. From what he'd heard, the warlord had simply been throwing his forces at the Stormcloaks. And been slaughtered. He'd made it perfectly clear that he didn't trust Salthar, and was only putting up with him because he'd promised him a new fort. Without turning, he said "We are doing this, warlord, because, as you've discovered, throwing soldiers at a stone wall accomplishes nothing."
"Don't speak to me as if I'm a fool, elf." Harghest grumbled. "I'm the one in charge, and you'd better not forget it."
This time, Salthar did turn around. Gwyndion Harghest was a large man, wearing a mixture of hides and furs, decorated with bear claws and sabre cat teeth. Unlike many of his warriors, he wore no helmet. His hair was a dark blonde, and his face was scarred from many battles. His beard and hair formed a bushy main around his head.
"I was under the impression you wanted my help. Just because you don't understand my tactics doesn't mean they're wrong. Ambushing the Stormcloak patrols will lower their morale significantly. Besides, killing this patrol now means they'll have less men at the fort. Do you understand now?" The warlord grumbled something that was vaguely affirmative, and Salthar turned back to watching the road.
Vengar was on the other side of the road, with another group of Forsworn. They would cut off any rebels attempting to get back to the fortress. Salthar fully intended to help the Forsworn kill Stormcloaks. Not, however, for the reason he'd told their prisoner the day before, or the warlord on the evening of the same day. He had no intention of handing the fort over to them. An important step to understanding an enemy was to see how they reacted in a battle. The Forsworn were fodder, nothing else.
He motioned for silence as he heard the sounds of an approaching patrol. He peered around the rocks he was using for cover. The patrol made their way around a bend in the road, a half dozen Stormcloaks, in full uniform. They were surprisingly well armed for rebels, though there was an easiness to their bearing. Their recent victories over the Forsworn, Imperials, and occasional Thalmor, had given them confidence. It was time to rattle that confidence. "You may commence your attack."
Warlord Harghest stood and bellowed a warcry, brandishing a long shafted, two handed axe. The Forsworn swarmed down the hillside, and the Stormcloaks met the descending group with battle cries of their own. It didn't take Salthar long to realize that these Stormcloaks were more disciplined than most. They fought like Imperial legionnaires, not unorganized rabble. Still, they were being overwhelmed by the sheer ferocity and numbers of the Forsworn.
He spotted one of the group who was not a brandishing a warhammer or blade. Instead, she brought her hand up, a pale blue aura surrounding her forearm. Salthars' lightning bolt struck her in the chest, and she collapsed. By now, Vengars group had cut the remaining rebels off from the way they'd come. A few moments later, the fight was over, and the Forsworn were cheering, elated at their victory. Salthar examined the bodies, and was satisfied to see an amulet of Talos on all of them.
"What now?" Demanded Gwyndion, making his way towards Salthar.
"Now?" Salthar knelt and tore the amulet from of the bodies. "Now I show the rebels what happens to heretics." He looked up at the warlord. "How long to the fort?"
The man shrugged. "An hour on foot, moving slow. Half that if we move quickly. When do we attack?"
"Nightfall. Now be silent, I have to concentrate." The warlord frowned at the answer, but he didn't speak, instead crossing his arms and watching the Thalmor vampire. Salthar removed each amulet from around the necks of the dead Stormcloaks. Then, using the leather strings, he bound them to the right wrist of each soldier. When he'd finished, he sat back and looked over his handiwork.
Vengar approached, and stared over his shoulder. "A message?"
Salthar smiled. "Of a sorts. No doubt Psyrakon has realized by know the Thalmor know he's in Skyrim. He doesn't strike me as stupid. Consider this..." he gestured to the row of corpses, "a formal challenge. If we're lucky, he'll grow careless at the death of his men, and one of the Forsworn will slide a blade into him. "
"And if we're not lucky?"
Salthar shrugged. "Then we'll have learned something else about the man."
Vengars eyes narrowed. "You're intrigued by him." He said bluntly.
Salthar laughed and glanced over his shoulder. "An Imperial general who escaped persecution in Cyrodiil, to flee here, and then join the Stormcloaks? Doesn't he intrigue you?"
The other vampire sighed. "He's a mortal. He'll die like anyone else when I put an axeblade in his skull."
Salthar merely sighed and shook his head.
"How are you planning on getting these bodies to the fort? I don't think the Forsworn will agree to carry them." Salthar glanced at his brother and smiled, then turned to the first corpse, the one on the left and of the line. He beckoned to it, channeling necromantic magics into the motion. The corpses eyes flew opened, but there was no hint of the mans former self. Just a glazed over, hungry stare. It clambered awkwardly to its feet, and stood, arms at its sides. The other corpses followed the lead of the first, climbing stiffly to their feet, and forming a line facing the Altmer vampires.
"Black magic!" Hissed one of the shamans, bringing her own magics to her hands.
Salthar gave her an admonishing look. "Don't be foolish. Necromancy is a tool. A tool that might win us the coming battle." He turned his attention to warlord Harhest. "We are ready to leave for the fort."
4E 201, 25th of Second Seed
The Reach, Stormcloak fort
Simus Pysrakon stared out across the rocky foot hills that made up most of the Reach. He and his men had been stationed in the fort several weeks ago. Their primary duty was to stop Forsworn raids, and harrass Imperial and Thalmor troops. So far, they'd been wildly sucessful. Neither the Thalmor nor the Imperials had expected the Stormcloak forces to move into the Reach as soon as they had. That was probably a good thing. With the Imperial legions only recently mobilizing in force, the Stormcloaks had a chance to secure much of Skyrim, and bring a swift end to the war.
Though a veteran of countless battles, Simus was tired of war. Or, more accurately, tired of the pointless civil war that was starting to emerge in all corners of Skyrim. He knew the Stormcloaks were the only ones that could purge Skyrim, and then the whole of the Empire of the corruption and intolerance that had seeped into it. He took no joy, however, in the deaths of the Imperial legionnaires he faced. Those men, like Simus and the men under his command, were merely obeying orders.
He knew who the real enemy was: the Thalmor. The radical group that had ruined his life in Cyrodiil, and the lives of countless others. Once this stupid war was over, the legion and the Stormcloaks would finally be able to eliminate them. And reforge the Empire into a force to be reckoned with. "One day." He murmured to himself, feeling the cool wind on his face. The final rays of the sun elongated his shadow, the heavy, Stormcloak blue armour he wore making the shadow appear a bulky giant.
"Sir." He turned to see Gunjar, one of his men. The man looked rather anxious, all things considered. They hadn't been attacked by Imperial or Forsworn forces in several days. Things inside the fort were running smoothly.
"What is it, Gunjar?"
The soldier nodded out past the walls. "One of our patrols is late. The look outs haven't seen hide nor hair of them for some time."
Simus frowned. It was not like one of his patrols to be late. Or, to forget to send a runner to inform the garrison what they were up to. "How late?"
"Several hours, sir. Do you want-" He was interrupted by a shout from one of the lookoouts.
"I see them!" A lookout shouted.
Simus turned back to the field and hills beyond the wall. Gundar joined him. Sure enough, the patrol, all six of them could be seen, making their way to the gate. Simus frowned. Something was wrong about the way the patrol was marching. His soldiers were well trained, but these six...their movements were too synchronized, and much too rigid. He heard the gates start to open below him.
'Something's wrong.' He realized, then shouted "close the gate!" The reinforced gates slammed shut. Gunjar turned towards him, confusion on his face. Simus ignored him for the moment. "That's far enough." He called to the patrol. The setting sun didn't offer much of a view of their features, but even with one eye, Simus could tell something was off about them.
"Report." Several Stormcloaks that had come to the wall, drawn by the return of their comrades, shot Simus strange looks. He'd never done this before. The patrol was spreading out now. When all six of them were in a line facing the wall, they saluted, right fists to their hearts. Then, the same arm stretched out, something small and glinting in the sunlight dangling from them. It was hard to make out from such a distance, but their were only a few things Stormcloak soldiers carried that were that small. Then the group stepped forwards, into the dying light. Simus felt his breath catch upon seeing them properly for the first time.
Dried blood clung to their uniforms and armour, and their skin was pale. Simus knew that no man could lose that much blood and survive, which meant- "By Talos." Gunjar breathed. "Are they-"
"Dead." Simus confirmed. "Someone or something reanimated them." As if that statement had been what the walking corpses were waiting for, they collapsed. The men on the wall watched for a little while longer, to ensure they really would be staying dead. Then Simus sent a small group to confirm what he'd already suspected.
"It's their amulets, sir." Reported one man, after returning from beyond the wall. As soon as he'd finished speaking, multiple horn blasts rent the air.
Gunjar, standing beside him, frowned. "Those are Forsworn horn blasts. Are they responsible for this?"
"I don't think so." Forsworn had no interest in who the Nords worshipped. And, as far as Simus knew, none of them were necromancers. However, it didn't take a genius to realize who'd orchestrated the march of the dead. "Prepare for battle." He ordered, "and keep your eyes open for Thalmor mages."
The Forsworn were patient. They waited until the sun had disappeared completely. Simus had the braziers on the wall lit. Though the flames gave away their position, in order for the soldiers on the wall to be able to see anything, they needed to be lit. Simus stood on the battlements, his one good eye staring into the dark.
Moments later, the horns sounded again, and the Stormcloaks could hear the battlecries of Forsworn warriors as they rushed the fort. "Archers!" Simus shouted over the war whoops of the enemy. Over a dozen forsworn fell with feathered shafts protruding from their chests and necks. Yet more came from the darkness, avoiding more volleys of arrows.
"Grappling hooks!" Someone along the wall shouted. Simus turned to see one such hook lodge itself between a pair of battlements. He drew the pair of ebony swords and advanced. Before he'd gotten to it, a warrior wearing the hide and fur armour of the Forsworn. The man let out a yell and swung the crude axe at Simus' head. The Imperial moved fast for someone of his age, dodging the axeblow, and slashing at his opponents middle.
The warrior leapt back, avoiding Simus slash, but wasn't fast enough to dodge the other mans' shoulder rush. The Forsworn toppled backwards off the wall, and Simus used his sword to hew through the rope. " Don't let them on the wall!" He shouted, though he wasn't sure his men heard him over the clash of combat.
His men surged around him, holding the line against the press of Forsworn warriors. The Forsworn that did make it to the top of the wall fought ferociously, they simply couldn't hold the wall. Thanks to the high ground, the Forsworn were forced off the walls. The reachmen launched several more assaults, which the Stormcloaks repelled. Then a horn blast sounded from the hills, and the Forsworn retreated in droves.
Simus lowered his weapons and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Then he returned to the place where the reanimated patrol had arrived. The Thalmor were behind the attack. He was certain of it. And yet...he hadn't seen any of the distinctive armour of robes of the Thalmor justiciars. "The cowards send the Forsworn against us but don't dare come within bow range."
Gunjar, approached, sporting a long gash on his forearm. "What was that sir?"
Simus turned to the man and gave him a reassuring smile that he didn't feel. "Noting. Go get that wound looked at, soldier. I want a full casualty report by the nights end." He left the walls to retire to his quarters. And think about why the Thalmor would choose to threaten him in such a morbid manner.
4E 201, 25th of Second Seed
The Reach
"This is a disaster!" roared warlord Harghest. The bushy bearded man paced back and forth behind Salthar. The warlord, the two vampires, and several of the higher ranking shaman had observed the battle from a safe distance. The warlord hadn't been pleased about the vampires not participating directly in the battle. By the time the Stormcloaks had routed the Forsworn forces, Harghest was furious.
"A disaster is a mild term for it." Salthar said dryly, watching the surviving Forsworn warriors stagger past him. Towards the safety offered by the hills, "but, " the Altmer sorcerer said, " I learned quite a lot about the garrison commander. "
Harghest turned to him, incredulous. "This was all just an exercise to you? Those are my men out there! Bleeding out on land that's rightfully theirs. All because you wanted to see how the Stormcloaks would react?"
Salthar turned and started walking away from the field of dead Forsworn, and the Stormcloak fort. "Well, you know what they say about those who poke a sleeping bear. Someone is bound to get mauled." He called over his shoulder.
"I'll have your head on a stick for this you elven-" the warlord started to say, but his voice was cut off when Salthar turned on him, making a pinching motion with his thumb and forefinger. Harghests threat turned into a gasp as his breath was telekenetically cut off.
"Please. If you're going to threaten someone, at least make it...original. For example; if you presume to threaten me again, I'll have the skin flayed from your body. Your people served their part admirably. " Harghest had fallen to his knees, hand scratching at his throat. Salthar released the spell, allowing the warlord to suck in a lungful of air. "Goodbye, warlord. I'll remember you once I've established my new order." The pair of vampires made their way into the night.
4E 201, 25th of Second Seed
The Bloodlet Throne
Lucius Draconus sat alone in one of the many rooms in the keep of the Bloodlet throne. A candle flickered on the desk beside him as he pored over various scrolls. He took the responsibility of overseeing matters at the fortress seriously. Ocassionaly, he paused to marvel at the situation. A couple of months ago, he'd been a skilled sword for hire, desperately scraping coin together to support his family in Cyrodiil. Now? He was, to date one of the best swordsmen in Tamriel, and a respected member of an organization that wasn't trying to tear apart an empire.
He'd thought he'd lost his chance to be someone of import when his father had been arrested and his family had fallen out of the empires good graces. Salthar Vivarian had given him a purpose, one that didn't include desperately doing what was asked of him. And he'd be damned if he was going to disappoint the Altmer.
Even if his duties in the Bloodlet throne lately had involved more paperwork and less swordplay. He glanced wistfully over at his ancestral longsword, leaning against the desk. It had been far too long since he'd practiced his swordsmanship. Hopefully, when Salthars decided he was ready to emerge from hiding in the Bloodlet throne, Lucius would be chosen to lead the assault.
'
Enough of idle day dreaming' he reprimanded himself. He turned his attention back to the parchment in front of him. It was a note, informing him that the latest shipment of ebony ore would be arriving the next evening. Making a note to be at the gates at the designated time, he set it aside. He was about to move on to the next sheet, when there was a knock at the door. "Come." He called, privately glad for the distraction.
A Dunmer vampire in the covens' ebony armour stepped into the room. He was holding the upper arm of a burly man with a shaggy black beard. A mortal man, most likely one of the workers. "I'm sorry to disturb you sir, but this prisoner says he has information. He insists it's urgent."
Lucius regarded the man. Despite his size, their was no hiding the fear in his eyes, or the way his hands trembled. "Is that so?" The Imperial vampire inquired, motioning for man to speak up.
"Y-yes, sir. There's going to be an escape attempt...tomorrow night."
"Is there?" Lucius gestured to the chair on the other side of the desk. "Why don't you take a seat and tell me about it?"
4E 201, 26th of Second Seed
The Bloodlet Throne
"Everything is ready, Derek." Tannis said quietly as the men handed out makeshift weapons. In Dereks opinion, the news couldn't have come at a better time. Work on the Bloodlet throne had finished that day. He was certain that if they didn't escape now, they never would. He took a small axe for himself. He had no idea how the man that'd slipped it into the barracks. It wasn't exactly inconspicuous.
He looked around at the grim faced men, and noticed one was missing. "Where's Ulfjar?"
Tannis scanned the crowd for himself, and shrugged. "Who knows? Who cares? If he doesn't want to break out with us, that's his problem. We don't have time to look for him." As much as Derek hated the thought of leaving a friend behind, Tannis was right.
He turned to the men. Now was not the time for speeches. If the guards outside overheard anything, the whole plan would crumble to dust. "Now's our chance. Keep low, keep your voices down. Once we're at the gates, run. If we get bogged down in a fight, we'll have alerted the entire fortress on us." He eyed the door, took a breath, and nodded. "Let's go.
As soon as he'd left the barracks and taken a few steps, he knew something had gone wrong. "Where in Oblivion are all the guards?" Tannis hissed from his side.
"I don't know, but we're not waiting around to find out."
They made their way out of the courtyard and towards the gatehouse. And found the guards. Nearly a dozen vampires, clad in ebony armour, wielding dark swords and shields, stood in front of the open gates. At the front of the group stood Lucius, longsword in hand, wearing the same dark clothing that he always seemed to wear. Beside him was- "Ulfjar?" Derek wanted to think that it was some trick of the light, but he knew from the expression on the big mans face; Ulfjar had betrayed them.
"I'm sorry, Derek. I don't want to die." The Nord called, looking genuinely miserable.
Lucius spoke up. "I'm surprised at you, Derek. Don't you want to see your family again? You performed your work on the wall admirably. There's no need to sneak out like thieves in the night."
"He's lying!" Derek said, hearing a few uncertain murmurs behind him. "All we'd get as payment is a bloody death! Remember our fellow workers, murdered and left out as warnings!" The uncertainty behind him turned to anger. "Make for the gates!" He could see the team of horses and the wagon full of crates. The vampires hadn't set about unloading it yet.
The men surged forwards, and Lucius signaled. There was movement above, and a half dozen crossbowmen appeared, firing into the crowd. Crossbow bolts tore through flesh and muscle like wet parchment. The man in beside Derek fell, bolt lodged in his throat. Someone else screamed as another bolt buried itself in his leg. Then the remaining forty-something workers were among the vampires.
Derek dodged a swing from a Bosmer vampire, and struck at the elfs' head with the axe. The vampire blocked with his shield, then stiffened and fell forwards, a long, sharpened piece of wood lodged in his neck. The boy, Hannig, stood behind him, another similar improvised weapon in his other hand. "Good lad. Get to the gate and get out." Derek instructed him. The boy nodded and vanished into the melee.
Derek made his way after him, only to find the way barred by the Altmer vampiress that had been on guard duty two days earlier. She had no helmet, and her lower jaw, her sword, and armour were smeared with blood. He very much doubted it was hers. He swung the axe, and she parried with her weapon, bearing her fangs in a derisive sneer. Derek slammed into her, trapping her shield arm between his body and hers. Then he disengaged his axe, and buried the blade in the side of her head. She collapsed instantly, and Derek moved on. He spotted a few black armoured vampires, but many more prisoners lay unmoving on the cobblestones.
He made his way to the gates, and found Lucius dueling three men. Two other prisoners lay nearby. The two of the remaining men were armed with clubs, and the third had picked up one of the vampires swords. Lucius stood with his own longsword outstretched,dancing between the three weapons opposing him. As Derek watched, the vampire killed all three men. The first with a riposte that had his blade peircing the mans heart. The second with a looping swing that slashed through the tunic and flesh beneath of his stomach, followed by a backhand that neatly slit the mans throat. The third, with a slash to the leg, and another thrust, one that slipped between the mans ribs, into his heart.
Then he stepped away from the corpses, and his eyes locked on Derek. Swearing to himself, he glanced at the ground, and found what he sought. He stooped, and came back up with a scavenged shield. Lucius continued towards him at an unhurried pace, bloody sword at his side. Derek hefted his sheild and went towards him. He swung his axe at the mans unprotected side, only to have the vampire parry the blow. "Really, you'll have to do much better than that." He chastised, and Derek growled.
He attempted the same maneuver that had worked on the Altmer woman, aiming to trap Lucius sword between the shield and the vampires body. Lucius stepped back, his arm moved, and Derek felt a burning pain just below his hairline, stretching to his right eyebrow. Something warm and wet rolled down his forehead, and an instant later, blood trickled into his eye. He blinked furiously, to no avail. He was now half blind. He swung the axe madly, trying to keep the vampire at bay. The longsword in the vampires hand gave him the advantage of reach. A blow bounced off his shield, and a second slapped his axe aside.
Movement to his left caught his attention. What he'd at first assumed was another vampire coming to finish him off, was actually Tannis, rapidly cutting through the harness that held the team of horses to the merchant wagon. The animals were panicked by the scent of blood and noise, and when Tannis succeeded in severing the harness, the team bolted. Right towards Derek and Lucius. The vampire noticed this as well, and attempted to force Derek back and get room to leap away.
Derek refused to move. With snarl, the Imperial vampire leapt backwards, to safety. Or, tried to anyways. By the time he'd realized the danger, the horses had already arrived. They caught the vampire in the shoulder and he spun away, slamming into the wall and from there, falling to the ground. Derek ran. He made it through the gates, aware of the surviving prisoners alongside him, and the crossbow bolts hissing through the air. He never looked back at the fortress. Freedom was finally his.