For My Brother, For Glory, For Tamriel (Vol. 1), The Daedric Invasion through the Champion's eyes. Options

[Captain Hammer]

Author’s Note: What follows is the story based on my TES IV: Oblivion character. I decided to write this when, after reading Infernal City, I realized that my first fanfic had just been torpedoed. Additionally, I felt that yet another Morrowind fanfic would pale in the presence of some of the other, very well-written pieces on this site (Black Hand, Treydog, I’m looking at you). Any and all differences not found accessible in the vanilla game are based on too great a number of mods for me to effectively list here. Enjoy.

Prologue:
For Myself.

I was dreaming again. But this was different. A man stood alone in the dark, the sole source of light coming from the massive ruby on his chest. I had been through the legions, I knew both by sight, if not by heart. The Emperor and the Amulet. He turned, as if to face me, and words I barely heard and registered filled my head. Something about dreams and rule, reigning and sleeping and dying. The vision shifted, to what I knew to be a view of the planes of Oblivion. Daedra, angry and armed, marched towards a glowing portal, a massive machine moving behind them on insect like legs. As they approached the gate, I felt the malicious presence that guided them. Even as they began to enter the portal, the view collapsed into a storm and fog. It faded to white, and when the misty haze cleared I was looking down at the Imperial City as though I were some spirit, the massive tower of the Imperial Palace before me. I seemed to float—no, fly—in and circled around the different districts of the city. As I flew, the emperor’s voice came in again, this time clearer. He said the date, and then something I will never forget. He told me that the Third Era was ending, and that it would be the last day of his life. Almost immediately, I could hear the Imperial Fanfare swell up, the noise odd, but strangely comforting. As I flew around the city, I left on a tangent, arcing out to head in a straight line towards the window of a small cell on the island that held the Imperial Prison. My cell…

I sat up, breathing hard. For a while I had forgotten where I was, but looking around I recalled vividly the events that had brought me here, the odd images of the dream temporarily set aside. I was Awtwyr Draghoyn, Breton, Champion (ret.) of the Eighth Imperial Legion, Hammerfell and Morrowind Tours. My life story prior to this was as dull as one could imagine. I had been born in my people’s home of High Rock, to a farming family, first of four children. After me came a sister, then a brother, and then another sister. Gwen, the elder, had married off at eighteen, my younger brother Roland had chosen to continue with the family’s farm, and my youngest sister Bethany was probably just now being courted by the eligible young men from the local villages. My father had always remarked that being the eldest made me grow up the fastest, and like his elder brother, who was my favorite uncle, I decided to make something of myself in the Legions.

I spent two tours of duty in service, found out that I made a decent navigator when sailing, and managed to acquire the basic skills in both heavy and light armor, swordsmanship, blocking, blacksmithing, marksmanship, and athletic conditioning to make me generally fit for service. Those eight years had been spent hunting bandits, hunting deer for the officers’ table, and “expanding the protection of the Empire” whenever a minor noble started making enough trouble for his liege-lord to call us in. The first re-up for duty meant a nice pay increase and better choice of tasks. A second one was out of the question. I wasn’t what they called “partial to the necessities of knighthood,” which meant that even though I had fighting skills, I had little skills in the politics of the service, and they knew that too much of my leave time had been spent studying magic, a field that was always in my focus. Bretons and High Elves will always argue about who makes a better mage. But I was determined to prove, at least to myself, that a properly trained Breton would be able to not only make the best Altmer go the distance, but that in the end the Breton would win.

Once I got out, I visited home, and realizing that there was little for me by way of employment or marriage prospects (I was just shy of my twenty-fourth name-day, and all eligible women in that small town were either young or ugly), I headed off to that great bastion of all that I had fought for: the capital. When I got there, I rented a room at the King and Queen Inn, and spent a week touring the city, eyeing the baubles in the market, wagering away almost a fifth of my accumulated pay at the arena, and seeing if I could reignite some form of piety when visiting the temple district.

But all good things, it seemed, must come to an end. After a week, I had grown less satisfied with the city, and in a great way, with myself. I had been drinking progressively more and more each night, and on that fateful night, I heard somebody make a remark about my kind that I didn’t take too kindly. I wasn’t much of a brawler, but I went at him anyways, aiming my right hand straight across his jaw. He staggered back, was caught by one of his friends, and before I knew it I was facing a couple of pissed off Dunmer, with a big Nord standing next to me angry about something that one of the aforementioned Dark Elves had thrown. Based on the flecks of clay in his hair, I assumed that a mug aimed at me had gone stray from the alcohol-induced aim. I nodded to my sudden ally, and went low, he high. My target saw it coming, and rushed to meet me. But I was a trained Legion soldier, and had made friends easy enough in the unofficial boxing matches that the officers didn’t look for too carefully. As he dove at me, I smashed my knee into the ashborn’s face, hooked my right arm around him, and leveraged my body and left arm to flip him up, over, and straight into the stone floor.

I turned to try and help my ally, only to feel five strong arms pull me back and shove me to the ground. I recognized the technique, I could do it myself, and the steel behind the wrestling movement confirmed what I was dealing with. The Imperial City Guard. Despite the alcohol, I knew trouble when it hit me. I looked up to see about six men break up the remaining combatants and sit everybody down. Then a man in the silver and white finery of a captain came in, looking at us all with the strong jawline of a poster boy for the law. “I am Captain Hieronymous Lex,” he said with that voice of enforced authority. “I want to know what happened here.”

After several people came forward to identify that I had started the brawl, Lex turned to question me. I identified myself, and claimed that I was merely defending my honor. “In the Legion, somebody insulted your blood, the captain would let the men settle it themselves. I’m not a man for letting things slide.”

“Well, citizen, you’re not a soldier now, this isn’t the legion depot, and these others aren’t trained fighters. You can’t hold your drink, you should maybe look for another place to stay. Meanwhile, you’ve cost me and my men valuable time. I had information that the Grey Fox was in the city tonight, and now I’m spending my time dealing with you. Do You Have Any Idea WHAT YOU’VE COST ME?!?!?” Lex was getting himself red in the face.

I couldn’t but help the reply. “You know most people accept the fact that the Grey Fox is just a myth, right? That’s what common sense says, anyway.” That was a mistake on my part.

“I will not tolerate this type of insurrection! You show disgrace to your comrades and your colors! I’m placing you under arrest for disturbing the peace, drunk and disorderly conduct, and inciting violent mayhem. You want to come easy, or do we drag you out by your heels?" Lex looked ready, as though I had personally killed his mother. But then I realized that killing his mother might not have been as harmful to him as taking away his chance at fame.

“I’ll go quiet,” I said.

They half-escorted me, half-carried me through the city towards the prison. It wasn’t my fault, I had taken a few nasty blows, and that combined with the alcohol promised to make my steps falter. When they got me to the cells, they had trouble with the locks on a few, finally deciding to throw me into the one that seemed least used, and never once cleaned. They handed me a foul concoction, one that restored my health but left me drained of strength, shackled my arms, and left, talking about moving me out first thing in the morning to go before the Imperial Justice. Across from me was a Dark Elf, who looked to have made this his long term residence. I ignored him, climbed into my bunk, and went to sleep.

When my dream had woken me, I stood, feeling slightly better. The sun had risen and was already at midday, which meant that the guards had not taken me before the magistrate that morning. I stretched, and the Dark Elf gestured to me, asking me to move closer. I shuffled up to the bars, and he promptly launched into a stream of invectives at getting a better look at me. Something about being his sworn enemy and me staying while he would get out to enjoy the world again. I suppose now would be as good a time to describe myself as any. I was taller than many a Breton, and between that and the brownish-red hair that graced my head I knew myself to have some amount of Nord blood in me. My eyes were the bright grey-green of my father, my hair and expression that of his father, and my mother had often said that when I scowled, my entire jaw could have matched her father. Thus, I was pretty much guaranteed that my father was indeed my father, with the same holding true for my grandfathers, a true-born peasant of true-born peasants.

As the Dark Elf continued his rant, the doors at the end of the hall opened, and an Imperial male and Breton female in ornate, steel battle armor with an Akivir Katana came to my cell. Apparently, neither I, nor anybody else, was supposed to be in that cell, but there I was. I was ordered back underneath the window, and knowing a superior swordsman when I saw the Imperial's grip on his own blade, I backed off. He could have killed me if he wished it. Once I was safely back, he opened the cell door, and steeped forward to prevent me from moving. Behind him came the other armored figure, escorting an aged man in purple robes…Emperor Uriel Septim the Seventh, Ruler of all Tamriel.


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Author's Post Script: Any and all comments or recommendations are welcome. Criticisms, especially stuff missed by a spell-checker, are appreciated.

This post has been edited by Captain Hammer: Aug 10 2010, 07:17 PM

[Captain Hammer]

For Kvatch!!
Part III

The smell hit first. It was fresh air, mixed with the tannic scent of smoke from burnt wood as opposed to the acrid smoke from the hellish landscape of Oblivion. The realization that it was raining came second, though with it came the realization of just how sweaty I was. My eyes finally focused after the blinding flash from the explosion in Oblivion, and I realized that I was back where I started. Kvatch. Tamriel. Nirn. Mundus. I was crouched down, my right knee in the moistening earth with my arms gripping the glowing ball of Daedric magic-infused rock to my chest. I could still the low, steady hum that the stone made.

Then came the shouting. “Water! Bring water, quickly!” It took me a moment to recognize the voice of Savlian Matius, suddenly standing at my back and helping me up. A water skin was held to my lips, though I spilt more than I drank as I tried to hold the skin in my shield hand, my right arm still clutched around the humming stone. As I emptied the water skin and handed it back to Savlian, he forced two vials into my hand. “Here, drink,” he commanded, the same voice any Legionary captain would use when getting a man with a minor injury to take care of himself. I waved them away.

“I’m fine, took restoratives before I came out. According to Goneld, this,” I gestured, raising the sigil stone slightly, “was what kept the gate open.”

“You closed the Gate?” Relief spread over Savlian’s voice at the first indication of some end to his nightmare. “I knew you could do it! This is our chance to launch a counterattack! I need you to come with us. You’ve got far more combat experience than these men. Are you able to join us now? I can wait, but not for long. We’ve got to move quickly, before they have a chance to barricade the city gate.”

“Of course,” I agreed, but then realized that I could not follow him in with a Daedric sigil stone tucked under my arm. “Is there anybody from the Mages’ Guild in the camp? I need somebody to take care of this.”

Savlian nodded, and turned to one of the younger faces. “Go fetch Sigrid.” He turned back to face me. “She’s a Nord, alchemist by trade. She’s the only one of the Kvatch Mages’ Guild in the camp.” The statement made me swallow hard. I was hoping for an expert in enchanting and Daedric Conjuration. I was lucky to have anything at all. “What of Goneld? You mentioned him, where is he?”

It was then that I finally had a chance to look around carefully. Vonius was there, apparently in position with his fellows, but no sign of Menien Goneld. “Last I saw, he was trapped in some Daedric cage. He has only Arkay now.”

Savlian muttered a silent, solemn curse at the Daedra under his breath. “Vonius briefed us. I don’t know what you were able to see there, but I…” Savlian was cut off by the approach of the young guard and a tall, blonde Nord in a blue dress.

“Greetings,” said the alchemist. Some small part of my mind registered that even though she was of typical height for a Nord, my own ancestry of Nord and Elf put my eyes just above hers, allowing me to avoid what might be a difficult conversation had I been level with another set of her impressive attributes. An even smaller part of my mind noted that the dress concealed barely more than decency when it came to a man of my height or greater, but that small thought was quickly stampeded by more important things. Namely, I still had a glowing, humming piece of Oblivion clutched tightly to me, and I didn’t know what to do with it. “I’m Sigrid, Evoker of the Mages’ Guild.”

“I greet thee in turn, and wish we were better met. Awtwyr, Associate of the Guild, as of three nights ago. Can you help me with this?”

Sigrid took the stone from me, delicately holding it as if prepared to drop it and run in the same instant. I had similar ideas, but forced myself to stand my ground. “I’ve heard of these, but never seen one up close. It’s a Daedric Sigil Stone, though it looks like this one has attenuated to lightning.”

“Lightning? Attenuated? I’m sorry, but my study of magic has been more for habit than any thorough study.”

“These things are composed of a magically energized core, drawing power from Aetherius, with the outer layers allowing it to function in Oblivion. When brought to Nirn, or exposed to a Nirn-based influence, the outermost layer solidifies, with the middle layers settling on an interpretation, translating raw Aetherial energy into a set form that can operate both in Oblivion and on Nirn. Here, give me your sword.”

Wordlessly, I drew the longsword and handed it to her. “Thank you,” she said, before turning the blade so as to strike the object with the pommel. “If I can just crack the shell, the disturbance should cause the Aetherial and Oblivion energies to cancel out…” As she struck, there was a sound of rushing air and fire, while the blade flashed red and the scent of electrified air briefly touched my nose. “Oh, well that’s strange.”

“What happened?” asked Savlian, daring to step closer to the two of us, and cutting off my own question along similar lines.”

Sigrid wiped the ashen remnants of the sigil stone from the fingers of her left hand. “I believe I transferred the magical energy to the blade. I hope I haven’t upset you, but it looks like your sword now has a lightning enchantment on it.” She handed the blade back to me, allowing me to feel the pulse within that I knew to be indicative of enchanted energy. I hadn’t been able to obtain an enchanted weapon of my own before, but I was familiar with the sensation when I had dealt with the more tricky assignments that required the use of the Legion’s enchanted gear. Those items, however, were always carefully maintained, returned after every assignment, and kept under lock and key.

“Well, if that will be all? Said Sigrid, and Savlian gave her his thanks before she left. I didn’t remember my own manners in time, so enamored was I with the enchanted steel in my hand.

“Well, are you ready?” asked Matius, the rest of the guard now assembling in battle formation. By the looks, there was probably only about a century and a half’s worth of manpower, when each city was entitled to the use of up to two cohorts' strength in regular guards, and the same number of militia troops for emergencies. With this paltry number, Savlian Matius intended to retake a city.

“I’m ready,” I said, nodding. “Let’s go.”

“Good, you’re with me. Guards! Tight and firm! Keep the archers protected from melee, and keep your wits about you! On Me!” Savlian turned, facing the gates of the city itself. “FOR KVATCH!!!” As the others echoed his battle cry, we charged the gates of Kvatch.

True to Savlian’s word, our rapid attack had interrupted an attempt to blockade the gates. There were a number of Dremora busy reaching for maces when we hit them like a tidal wave. We were arranged in staggered ranks, so that there was space between each of us to the left and the right, but that space was occupied by the rank behind, evoking images of a ludus board so that we had the room to use our longswords.

The daedra fell faster to me inside Kvatch than they had in Oblivion. I thought it attributable to the separation from their plane of existence, but a nagging thought told me that wasn’t the reason. I couldn’t concentrate on that line of thought, lest I find myself dead. I was used to squad based tactics or solo operations, not line of battle, and certainly not the chaos of urban warfare. We may have started in formation, but it quickly devolved into smaller actions as we cleared the plaza. The alleys and thoroughfares had to be swept clear or we could face attack from the rear, and the damaged buildings provided too many places to hide. Fortunately, the rubble and ruin ended up forming effective barriers that isolated the front part of the city to the great chapel.

Once the denizens of Oblivion were dispatched, and stripped of usable materials, Savlian and a few others went to the unblocked doors of the chapel, knocking on the massive oak doors in a pre-arranged signal. It was answered, and then opened. The wreckage of the steeple had put rubble up against the main entrance, and in fact looked to make the chapel the only effective portal between the cleared part of the city and the rest of Kvatch. But for now, I had to know if our hopes would go any further.

Inside the chapel, I was stunned to find it barely filled to a quarter of its capacity. Savlian was gripping the side of a pew as he looked, seemingly supporting his weight on his right arm. I understood immediately. Chapels such as this generally held multiple services over the course of the week, at varying times, and were incapable of holding the entire city’s populace at a single time. Savlian had expected a crowded structure, the assembled portion that was lucky enough to survive the onslaught. And I knew, as the other soldiers did, that the people we were to rescue were gathered here. So little to salvage, and so much destroyed.

One of the soldiers approached Savlian and saluted, banging fist to chest before extending her arm. “Report, soldier,” said Matius, forcing the words out.

“Sir, we’re all that’s left. Berich Inian, myself, our men, and these civilians.” The female Redguard spoke in careful, reserved tones.

“That’s it? There’s no one else?” I saw a small shift in Matius’s arm, as he tightened the grip he had on his only solid piece of support. The man was about to do one of two things. Either he would collapse, or he would erupt. I hoped for the latter.

“There were others, sir. But they refused to stay put. We tried to convince them it was dangerous, but they left anyway. I guess they didn’t make it.”

“Very well. Thank you, Tierra. The area outside the Chapel has been cleared, and these people need to be taken to safety. Escort them to the camp south of here at once.”

“But sir! I want to help fight!” she protested, but to little avail. Savlian merely shook his head at Tierra’s request.

“You will, soldier. Once they’re secure, get back here immediately. We’ll need every available blade, and there’ll be plenty of fighting to go around.”

“Sir, yes sir!” came her response. She saluted, and then turned towards the gathered throng. “Civilians, it’s time to move out! Let’s go!”

As they assembled to move out, a brown-haired man in priest’s robes caught my eye. It wasn’t an exact match, but close enough for there to exist a familial relationship. Before I could approach him, however, Matius closed the distance with me, grabbing my shoulders with both hands, even with his shield still strapped to his left. I could see the fire grow in his eyes again.

“We’ve done it! I can’t believe it – I didn’t really think this would work.” He paused, trying to catch his breath. “Maybe we do have a fighting chance. Oh, yes. We’re not done. Not even close. This was only the first step. If this town is to be ours again, we’ll need to get inside the castle. You’ve come this far with us: will you go further? If we’re truly going to succeed, I’ll need much more of your help. I warn you, though, what we’ve seen so far is nothing compared to the battle that likely awaits us. Take a few moments to catch your breath and think it over. When you’re ready, let me know, and we’ll get underway.”

I didn’t respond immediately. On one hand, Savlian Matius was clearly prepared to fight to the finish now that the momentum was in our favor. On the other, I had an obligation to get Martin to Jauffre, to protect the emperor, though uncrowned. Instead, I drifted toward the main altar, kneeling in front of it and baring my head to rest it on the cool, cloth-draped stone. I felt the surge of energy as it healed my wounds, mostly fresh from the most recent fight. I raised my head, as my eyes took in the image of Akatosh, miraculously still preserved in the stained glass window ahead of me. Flanking him were the images of Stendarr and Talos. I didn’t take it as a sign from the gods themselves about what I should do. But it did remind me of the teachings of the priests. There was a time and a place for everything. Now, it was time for Fury.

The others had by now emulated my example and healed themselves at the chapel altar, Savlian going last. Once the blessings had taken effect, men would move aside for the next, and began assembling at the door that opened to the uncleared part of Kvatch. I joined them.

“Are you ready to go? We need your help getting to the castle, but we need to move soon,” said Savlian, joining us but addressing me.”

“Yes,” I said. “Let’s go.”

“Ha ha, I knew you’d be up to it!” It wasn’t bravado filling Captain Matius’s voice. It was enthusiasm. He had genuine anticipation for what was coming. “Our goal is the Castle gate. We should be able to use this door to get out to the plaza in front of the Castle gatehouse. You know the drill. Stick close, and keep your eyes open. Let’s move out! For Kvatch!”

“FOR KVATCH!!”

True to word, we were able to use the door to get around the rubble and into the rest of the city. Unlike the first charge to the chapel, this was a slow, methodical progression. We had not lost any men when we cleared the gates, a fate more attributable to fortune and luck than any particular skill on our part. The same was not true as we cleared the way towards the castle. At one point, two of our men ran ahead, breaking away from support and running smack into a tight group of scamps and two Dremora. Another was lost trying to go to their aid, rushing forwards when he heard the screams of our comrades. The rest of us were kept in line by Savlian, even as he tried to help the doomed. His rage was terrible to see against the daedra, but it didn’t stop there.

“Why didn’t you listen to me, you stupid son of a dog?! If you’d listened to me, you would still be f*cking alive right now, stupid f*ck! Now you’re Dead, and you’ve killed two other good men with You! The least you could have done was go quietly so as to give them the chance to live!” Savlian paused for a moment, surveying the scene around him, and I finally realized why the face of the man Savlian was yelling at looked familiar. It was Ilend. “Come,” said Matius, shaking me and others out of our momentary stupor. “We’ve got to make it to the castle. Onward.”

It became a daze after that, clearing the through the rest of the city as we tried to get to the castle’s gate. It was only when we got past the statue of Antus Pinder (the famous captain whose final stand had delayed the Camoran Usurper by two days while most of the city was evacuated) that we came under arrow fire. Dremora had taken the castle’s outer walls.

“Chelonia!” roared Matius. We hastened to obey. Unlike the more static Testudo formation, the Chelonian shieldwall was designed to allow for quick movement to a covered position, which in this case meant the archway for the castle gates. I would have had my reservations, but upon reaching the cover I realized that the castle’s inner defenses, while including a moat and inner walls, lacked the murder holes common for defense against siege warfare. Generally, such architecture reflected either poor design, or a healthy respect and appreciation for the people and the guard. It was clear that this was probably an instance of the latter.

“Dammit!” swore Matius, kicking furiously at the unmoving gates. “This is no good! The gates are locked, and the only way to open them is from within the gatehouse.”

“Is there any way to get at them from another route?” I asked. Nobles were paranoid creatures, and you never knew when you might be stuck on the outside of your own castle, trying to get in.

“We can’t open that gate from out here,” he said, before the gears started turning inside his mind. “The only mechanism for raising it is inside the gatehouse. And the only way to get into the gatehouse now would be through the passage at the North Guard House. But that’s always kept locked. Hurry and find Berich Inian. He should be back in the Chapel, and should still have the key to the Guard House. Once you’ve got it, get to the Guard House, find the passage, and open that gate. Then we can get inside the castle and secure it.”

“Aye,” I responded, and then I was off, back towards the chapel.

I arrived to find Berich Inian cooling his heels, having seen the last of the civilians out of the city. Empty, the damage to the chapel now struck me with sharp focus. The feeling of unease rising from my stomach did little to help, and the whisper of the wind from outside turned to a discomforting whine as it passed through the holes in the chapel’s structure. I shook the feelings a little, reminding myself why I was here.

Inian saw me, and came over. “Do you have orders? I’m just waiting for Captain Matius to give the order.” I nodded, and his eyes took on a hard glint of anticipation. “Finally, a chance to fight back!” The man wanted revenge.

“Do you have the Guard House Key?” I simply asked.

“Yes, I have it. Why?”

“I need it to get into the castle.”

Realization dawned on his face. “That’s right! They managed to close the castle gates just before we were forced in here. I’m afraid you’re in for a tough time, friend. The city’s in bad shape, and it will be difficult to make it to the Guard House by yourself. I’d better go with you. We’ll have to go through the Chapel Undercroft, and then through what’s left of the city. If…If I don’t make it, take the key and carry on without me. You need to reach the tower at the north wall of the city.”

Before we could depart, the doors opened and in marched the heavily armored forms of twelve men in legion patrol gear. “We saw the smoke from the Gold Road while out on patrol. How can we help?”

“Fall in. Our goal is to open the castle gate. Follow him,” I said, gesturing to Inian. It was coming back. As a Legionary Champion, I was expected to lead small groups in individual assignments and larger actions. While my experience with the latter was minimal, I had experienced a certain amount of the former.

We encountered small resistance in the Undercroft of the chapel, but Berich led us steadfastly through to a passage that led outside, depositing us behind the chapel. From there it was another struggle through the city streets, this time taking us past the ruins of the Kvatch Arena. My previous venture with Savlian and the better part of the city guard had cleared most of the daedra, drawing them in as we had made bloody progress. Some were left, which Berich demanded we mop up lest they rally and strike Savlian from behind. My authority in the matter was tenuous at best, and so we deferred to Inian.

Eventually, though, we made it to a concealed tunnel, but another two men fell in the combat to wounds nobody could treat in time. At the edge of the trapdoor, Berich motioned for us to circle around while he knelt at the ground. “This is it. The entrance to the passage is right here. I’ll unlock it for you. Best of luck.”

Once the door was open, he stood, pausing to barely say “Go, I’ll meet up with Captain Matius” and a brief “Protect Hero-Boy here,” to the guards before hustling off. I nodded to the men with me, then descended into the tunnel. The one two spots behind me lit a torch, barely casting enough light for me to see ahead but still better than nothing. The passage was narrow, so I switched to the shorter blade I had acquired during my sojourn in Oblivion, but we encountered no foes. They hadn’t entered this part yet, and might not have even known about it.

Just below the entrance to the gatehouse, I gathered the soldiers. “Alright, we need to go fast. There’s some Daedra still in the courtyard, but our objective is to open the gates and clear the walls. I’ll handle the gates. Split into two groups, one for the south wall, the other to take the north. Don’t give them the chance to throw you from the walls. Once the walls are ours, descend and clear the staircases. Regroup in the courtyard.”

The rest was a fast paced strike. The gates were well balanced, and once set in motion raised with little effort on my part, allowing me to rejoin Captain Matius. The legionnaires performed admirably, and we cleared the courtyard.

As soon as it was done, though, Matius was ordering us on. “This area’s clear. We’ve got to get inside and find the Count before it’s too late. Move out!”

Entering into the castle, however, found us facing interior destruction greater than I imagined. More Dremora and scamps were encountered, and another man was lost to a well-placed mace blow to the chest. Savlian gestured me over, surveying the scene with heavy eyes. “All right, this is it! We’ll hold this area. You head to the back of the castle, and find the Count. Don’t come back here without him!”

I nodded and moved on, the legion soldiers following on my tail. We fought our way through the next, horribly burned passage, but upon reaching the count’s quarters we encountered the source of all the structural damage. Two flaming women stood over a body. Flame Atronachs, they were. They raised their hands and emitted more fire at us, but it wasn’t the strong inferno they could muster at full strength. Screaming through the pain, I stabbed at the one on my right while my comrades took the one on the left. I thrust, bashed her face in again and again with my shield, and hacked at her until her form collapsed onto the warm stones. I gulped down the last two of my healing potions, and then cast my heal spell until my magicka ran dry. Only then did I turn towards the body.

There, lying in a pool of blood long since dried by the heat of his attackers, and scorched beyond recognition, was the Count of Kvatch. I knew it only by the gleaming ring on his hand, somehow less damaged than the rest of him. Suppressing an urge to vomit, I bent down and removed the ring from his swollen finger, to hand it over to Savlian.

Matius stared as I returned, only the other soldiers as my company. “Where is the Count? Why is he not with you?”

“I’m sorry,” I choked out, throat still raw. “He didn’t make it.”


“We...we were too late? If only we’d gotten here sooner!”

“No,” I said. “He’d been killed much earlier.”

“This is indeed a dark day for all of us left. But I thank you for risking your own life to help us. Did you find the Count’s ring, by any chance?”

“Yes,” and I extended my hand, “Here it is.”

“At least this is safe. Thank you: I shall make sure it is protected, for the time when a new Count is crowned. Here, take this. I have no use for it; I’m tired of fighting.” Matius undid the buckles on his cuirass, sliding the weight of chain and surcoat and shoulder guards off before folding it and putting it in my arms. “It may serve you well in the days to come.”

I looked around, at the nearly destroyed Great Hall, realizing that this was what Uriel had foreseen. And with grim suspicion, I thought that the real target may yet be in harm’s way.

I made my way out, past the chapel and through the gates, passing the spot where I had entered Oblivion and descending to the camp where the survivors gathered. I asked for, and was directed to, Martin, with words about the fact that his actions had helped save many of the survivors that took shelter in the chapel.

I found him, alone and staring, seeing and not seeing the destroyed city in front of him. When I approached, he did not seem to notice, but turned when I got close. He eyed the chain cuirass over my shoulder, and my unfamiliar face. Now that I was close, I could see that he did have a resemblance to Uriel Septim VII. “I heard about how you helped the Guard drive the daedra back,” he said. “Well done.”

“Sir, I need you to come with me. You’re in danger.”

He scoffed at my remark. “Danger, you say? You came here to tell me this? Explain yourself or leave me alone. There are many others here who actually need your help.”

“You’re Martin, right? The priest?”

“Yes, I’m a priest,” said my emperor, rage and sorrow in his voice. “Do you need a priest? I don’t think I’ll be much help to you. I’m having trouble understanding the gods right now. If all this is part of a divine plan, I’m not sure I want to have anything to do with it.”

“There is a plan,” I said, trying to sound convincing. “We’re part of it.” In truth, I didn’t think I had myself convinced.

“What plan? What are you talking about?” He turned and stalked, but I followed, and he continued to speak. “I prayed to Akatosh all through that terrible night, but no help came. Only more daedra.” He stopped, and turned to face me. We were now truly alone, save for the fact that the Prior’s Paint horse stood watching, accompanied now by branded Legion steeds. “What can you possibly know that would help me make sense of this?”

I needed a different tactic. I set the Kvatch Cuirass down carefully. Then, I took off my open faced helmet, holding it in the crook of my left arm. I drew my longsword, the glow on the blade pale from the use of its charge. I set the point lightly into the hard packed earth, then went to one knee, and bowed my head.

“Ave, Ave, Dragonborn.” I intoned the words I had learned in the Legion, words I had only ever said before a standard of a man, a man who I had met once a week ago, only to see him die to save me. Now, though, I said them to his last living son. “Hail, Emperor of Tamriel.”

This post has been edited by Captain Hammer: Jan 30 2011, 07:11 PM