Skyrim: A Sorcerer's Tale-Chapter 448 - LXVII: Lightning Strike (Part 2/2)

Almeril Faren felt oddly at peace as his kinsfolk followed him through the sea of tents and shacks that was the Argonian encampment.

His heart beat with a purpose he did not know in his lifetime, his shield protected his comrades who advanced on the enemy with the same vigor as they did when the battle started, and his blade sang through the air as it cut down yet another worthy foe, the Argonian's leather and scale armor failing to protect its vitals as it clutched at its throat.

He kicked the beast into its comrade, his blade flashing out and stabbing it in its throat as it stumbled, and like so many times before he stepped over yet another corpse.

It was a beautiful kind of monotony to the Redoran warrior, only amplified by the blessing of Boethiah who even now directed the smallest glance his way, her approval guiding his blade to cut and cut and cut.

So inured was he in this righteous slaughter that he did not even notice the moment the last worthy enemy fell and what few still stood fled with their tails between their legs.

He took one short breath and centered himself "Savin." He called out "Losses."

His second in command took a bit of time to clean the blood from his eyes before answering "Twelve dead and seventy heavily injured."

'The beasts are bleeding us.' Faren realized, it was slow but it was starting to become noticeable. Still, the Hortator was ready for this "First lines fall back and recuperate, second and third lines with me!"

His brothers in arms looked hesitant but the plan was clear, Falmer healers would follow each battle group and provide healing to the most critical while the healthy ones rested and protected their comrades.

He would be given no such privilege, especially since he would never ask for it. Instead he took out a stamina potion with some minor regenerative properties and downed it in one swift gulp.

Faren winced at the taste and let out an exhale, already moving as to not give his body time to start locking up under the strain "Warriors of Morrowind!" He called "Forward!"

A fresh wall of shields and blades replaced the one he had spent and soon they marched on, the guiding light of their Sovereign's assault informing them just how far they could go without overextending.

Everything was going as planned, and then they stepped into another clearing where a makeshift barricade wall awaited them.

Faren scowled below his helm as he quickly counted the numerous Argonians hissing and growling at him from atop their defensive positions, already certain rushing the wall would cost him far too many of his brothers' lives.

It was good then that the Redoran did not fight alone on this day "Karvanni." He called.

The diminutive Telvanni wasted no time and bodily pushed his way through the ranks of warriors blocking his path.

An Argonian archer must have noticed his robes, heavily armored as they were, for the moment he stepped forward a hail of arrows was loosed at him.

The small Dunmer grinned, showing of his far too dense rows of sharp and narrow teeth, and swung out, casually throwing the arrows aside and grasping with his other hand.

A large runic circle formed in front of him and almost too quickly for Faren to see it, a massive fireball slammed into the wall, followed soon by a wave of wind that made the flames jump at the now panicked defenders.

"Hmph!" The Telvanni huffed and turned back without a word.

Almeril Faren fell upon the routing enemy without a moment's hesitation and soon he was once more back in that delightful haze of battle, knowing that even should he die on this day his life would have been a worthy one.

---

Savos Aren felt an eyeroll coming for the tenth time since he was attached to assist the Archmagister in blocking off the approach to Mournhold "You aren't going to discover anything, I hope you know that."

The Telvanni Lord scoffed, even as the spider automaton he was tinkering with zapped him for trying to unbolt a specific latch "Just you wait, Aren, I will succeed and then I will be the one laughing!"

"You know, Reyvin might actually be right." Savos spoke up after a moment.

The Telvanni finally looked up "Right about what?"

Before Savos could rightly call the older elf a mechanophiliac, their attention was drawn by rapid armored steps as the form of Dagoth Ulthis rushed to them "My lords" The elf saluted "Enemy cavalry approaching from the southeast."

"So they finally noticed did they?" Demnevanni quirks an eyebrow "Took them long enough."

"We better prepare a proper welcome for them then" Savos says with a smirk before looking back to the Unmourned tribesman "Tell Abbasel and Vasilor to keep facing the city, we don't want to be caught in a pincer attack."

The Urshilaku and Erabenimsun Ashkhans had already managed to throw off a few disorganized sallies from the ensorceled city but something told Savos it would be wiser if he made sure they didn't suddenly abandon their posts in the excitement.

The younger elf saluted and ran off.

"Come on then Baladas" Savos called as he began walking "You can go back to fondling the toys later."

He didn't bother hiding his grin as the older elf sputtered in indignation.

-

Irezir spurred his salamander forward even as the beast startled whenever a new explosion of fire came. His heart beat with barely suppressed fear but he allowed none of it to show as he became the example for his fellow riders to follow.

A loud ringing noise made him look north and he saw yet another position get pelted with large crossbow bolts, the hastily assembled barricades getting thrown about as moments later black armored greyskins armed with halberds surged through, cutting down his egg brothers without mercy.

He focused back on his task, rising his spear and crying out a loud war cry for his kin to follow, they could not save the ones currently suffering but giving the small garrison in the city an opening to strike would make their deaths worthwhile.

Soon the enemy came into sight, barely hidden by the edges of the mist that took hold of the city, and a small force of armored greyskins revealed themselves, all of them heavily armored but also lacking any polearms.

Irezir grinned maliciously as he couched his long spear and prepared for a charge.

He felt a small bit of hesitation as the enemy formation failed to startle at their approach, the salamanders were larger than the horses the humans used so they should have...

The Chieftain shook his head and focused on his task, spurring his mount onwards, and once more bellowing a war cry that was immediately joined by his brothers in arms.

And then it happened.

A bored looking greyskin stepped out of the formation, bearing the vestments of their dread shamans. As if stepping on a bug, he rose his leg and stomped on the ground.

In the next instant, Irezir felt himself utterly disoriented as everything turned wrong, the ground was suddenly above him and his mount now faced the skies.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed another one of their shamans step out and make a clutching motion.

His instincts screamed and spikes of earth burst from the ground, cruelly impaling numerous salamanders and Argonians, throwing Irezir aside and doing much the same for his mount.

The Chieftain screamed as he felt both his legs crack under the weight of his now dead companion.

He tried moving, he tried throwing the weight off, and when that failed he tried clawing his way out.

It was all for naught and soon an armored figure stood above him, its black plate armor emblazoned with a three eyed beetle.

Irezir was almost relieved when the greyskin granted him a swift death.

---

Things were not going terribly well for one Alandro Indoril as he was once more forced to close a gap in his formation by his lonesome, his Magicka long since having been spent on pushing the enemy back and his potions were either consumed or left smashed upon the bloody mud.

His knights started the battle out well, aiding their Telvanni allies in punching through the enemy and being an unbreakable wall as their mage comrades slaughtered the beastly invaders.

With each force they threw back and each beast they slew, their aggression and boldness grew. It was when that boldness grew too great that their folly was made apparent.

Before he even noticed, the Indoril was cutting through enemy ranks far too quickly, his knights following with zeal in their hearts even as the Telvanni mages warned them of overextension.

Those very mages were the first to die to his mistake.

For as they pushed through yet another narrow corridor of shacks, they failed to notice a clearing to their side, hidden by a wall of tarps as it was. And as they clashed with the wall of shields and clubs that awaited them, a force of agile Argonians burst from their hidden position, killing the Telvanni with poisoned blades.

Alandro managed to avenge them mere moments later but even as his spear feasted on more blood than it ever had he knew he had made a mistake, and bitterly began a fighting retreat, leaving behind body after heavily armored body of his brothers in faith.

As if smelling the weakness, the lizardmen threw themselves forward, uncaring for injury or death as they nearly pushed against each other to see who would deliver the killing blow in vengeance.

The spears of his brothers drank just as much as his own but it was not enough, for no matter how many they killed it would seem there would be more to replace them.

And when he heard hissing war cries behind him, the recently ascended Lord of the Indoril knew he would die this day.

He commanded his brothers in faith to hold the front while he alone went to face the rear charge. He made a prayer to Azura, and to Boethiah, and even one to Mephala, useless as it may have seemed.

The first Argonian leaped at him with reckless abandon, and he made to impale him for his trouble.

But he stilled as he heard the telltale sound of a crossbow loosing its bolt, and no lizards used such weapons.

The Argonian above him twitched and fell, and was set ablaze, and his fellows soon followed as the crossbowman seemingly needed no reload for his weapon, and was soon joined by more marksmen of lesser but still mighty armaments.

In mere moments, the rear attack had been cleared out and the form of Alandro's saviors was revealed.

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"You good there, Indoril?" Davos Dagoth asked aloud even as his white cloaked subordinates rushed to help Alandro's knights.

The Grand Ascendant breathed out in relief and nodded "I thank you for your timely arrival, Sera."

Suddenly Davos twitched and loosed a bolt from his crossbow one handed, catching another ambushing Argonian as she tried backstabbing one of his own.

"We can exchange thanks later" The right hand of Dagoth spoke "There are still Argonians to get rid of."

-----

With a satisfying crack, the last of Nerevar's foes fell limp before him, his body sundered to pieces as his magical staff fell to the ground uselessly, right next to the other dozen or so of his fellow mages.

The once Hortator took a long breath of the bloody air and turned to the rest of his band "Did we get them all?"

"We did" Anondor answered as he pulled his sword out of a corpse "Akulakhan."

The automaton ever so slightly turned his way "Meatbag."

"Kindly check for traps." The tired Falmer instructed.

Without another word, the mechanical being summoned a large ward that seemed to push against the corpses briefly before ignoring them, thoroughly shaking the surface level of the ground below them "Clear." He called out after a moment.

"Bloody rune traps." Nerevar muttered, he never liked those things "How is the lad?" He asked Varen, one of their comrades got his legs blown off by a rune trap with such power it burst the eye of the elf next to him.

The Captain of the Sworn Mer scowled "Gave him a high regeneration potion, he will live."

It was exactly at this moment that a group of white robed Falmer and their guards stepped into the field-turned-pile-of-corpses and began checking on everyone without a singular care of their complaints.

"What are our instructions after dealing with the ambush?" Nerevar asked Varen.

The masked elf shrugged "Flank the closest fight and keep on killing. Lizards should be heavily panicking by now so we are waiting for His Grace to do what he plans."

"Does he often fly off in the middle of a battle?" Nerevar couldn't help but ask.

The Sworn Mer chuckles "He does but we've learned to trust he knows what he is doing."

A healer approached Nerevar and just as he was about to protest the woman directed him with such a glare even his ancient soul felt slightly shaken.

After letting himself be patched up like a good boy, they were once more on the march and minutes later they were slamming into yet another enemy formation.

Surrounded by rivers of blood as he was, Nerevar felt right at home.

-----

Sayekar nodded as yet another report reached him "Send another detachment of salamanders around the left flank, that ought to give them pause."

The runner nodded and ran off.

He looked to the group of Shamans next to him "Sound a fighting retreat after the next clash, we will consolidate our force and counterattack before the enemy can rest."

"And what of our losses?" The Shaman asks with a frown.

He holds back a growl "Was it not you who said the Hist demands the greyskins be struck down?"

The Shaman winces "Well yes but-"

"But nothing" Sayekar scowls "You will do as you are told or my patience for your arrogance will reach its end."

The woman looked like she wanted to protest but chose better.

And that is how the next hour of the battle went by, with Sayekar receiving reports, giving orders, and reorganizing his flagging army.

The greyskins had cut down many thousands of his egg-brothers today but they failed to crush their morale into a full rout, which gave Sayekar the chance to avenge himself, even if he knew he was not likely to survive the counterattack he planned on leading himself.

Sometimes death was necessary to bring victory.

And He. Would. Win.

There was no other way.

Sadly, the world had other plans.

Suddenly everything turned utterly silent and Sayekar heard a light thud behind him, his blood chilled and he slowly turned around, and what he saw made his eyes narrow into pinpricks.

An imposing figure crowned and armored in black and purple with a red sash across their chest, and a bird of golden fire on their shoulder... and currently holding the eviscerated form of his most powerful Shaman.

It took him only a moment longer to realize all his officers had been killed in that very same instant, their wounds looking like a giant punched through them and leaking copious amount of blood.

"I will admit, the move was the correct one. Almost had me stepping in more thoroughly" The creature spoke even as it threw the Shaman's body aside like a wet rag "You did everything perfectly, made all the right decisions..."

"What are you?!" Sayekar hissed and grasped his sword.

The thing paused and tilted its head "Did you not get my message?"

Sayekar's chilled blood began boiling with rage.

"Oh don't blame me, your folks just couldn't leave well enough alone." The thing laughed at him "Still, my thanks for the opening. Becoming Hortator would have been much harder without such a blatant threat."

Unwilling to listen to any more of this drivel, the Warchief lunged- or at least he attempted to as he found himself unable to move, feeling like he was stuck to deep in water to move at all.

"It is funny" The thing chuckled, not even looking winded by holding him in place "From where you are twitching helplessly this must look oh so incredibly unlucky."

"The truth is." Its red eyes shone with amusement as both it and the bird spoke ""The game was rigged from the start.""

And then all was gold.

---

Divayth Fyr looked up from his book as a massive explosion of golden fire lit up the sky at the back of the Argonian encampment. He snorted, shook his head, and got back to reading "Insane bloody children."

"Shouldn't we do something?" An elf who he forgot was standing next to him asked.

Fyr looked up, barely managing to remember the name of Merin Zadir, and waved him off "Go ahead then, shoo. They should be running like headless chicken now so you might get some glory if you hurry up."

Merin scowled at the ancient's sarcasm but took his advice to heart non the less, swiftly organizing the Sadras marksmen and his own Dres border wardens and calling on Furius' light cavalry.

Fyr once more rolled his eyes and brought them to his book.

All the while channeling the massive mist ritual practically on his own.

He wound never voiced it but getting to cast some grand spells once more was rather refreshing after millennia of stillness.

Who knew, the child might even prove worthy of his more direct support. He nearly chuckled at the thought "All in good time."

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