To the Reader,

This story takes place over the course of one year, 854 of the Second Era. It details the end of interregnum and the founding of the Septim line of Emperors. Inspiration for this story is drawn from two sources. The first is a one line entry in the timeline for the Second Era:

2E 854 - The Emperor was assassinated by a High Rock nightblade who also burned the Imperial Palace to the ground and attempted to kill General Talos.

I have come to believe that history is merely the propaganda of the winning side. This entry tells you what happened, but it doesn't tell you how or why it happened. I have attempted to address those questions in this story.

For the second source of inspiration I express no embarrassment in saying that the form is blatantly lifted from my favorite of the in-game books, Carlovac Townway's remarkable http://www.uesp.net/wiki/Lore:2920,_The_Last_Year_of_the_First_Era

Some of the characters you will encounter in this story have been lifted from the in-game books. Others are the product of the author's imagination. I do not claim to have mastered the lore so if I stray too far from it, please don't hesitate to call me on it. That said, there are a few 'liberties' that I have taken in this story which I feel I must draw to your attention:

- Tamriel is a much larger place than the game world. A day's journey in game takes a week (weather and terrain permitting) in the story.
- Cities are larger and far more populated than they are in the game.

Thank you for reading this, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoy writing it. Any comments, criticisms, or suggestions are most welcome.


* * *


INTERREGNUM
854 of the Second Era


Book One: Morning Star


1ST Morning Star, 2E 854
Direnni Tower, Isle of Balfiera
Dusk


Lattia Direnni knelt before the four square table and continued to intone the rites from the Book of Law. Around her, the white stone that formed the walls and ceiling shimmered in the fumes of the ether and void salts that she had used to purify the chamber. Her golden knees rested on black tiled floors upon which four censers burned a combination of gorvix and harrada. The sigil stone resting in a silver dish on the table glowed with an ebon light as she spoke.

Aran watched from the doorway behind her and marveled, as he always did, at his sister's focus. She has become a true Direnni Elf, he thought, she has already surpassed Emero and, in time, may come to rival Raven Direnni herself. He already felt that he was smarter than Ryaim and stronger than Aidan, and neither of them had a spy like Varla. Clan Direnni will be reborn, stronger than ever. His generation would make the Alessians pay.

Patience Aran, he told himself, nothing can happen without the help of the Daedra. The sun was setting far above them. Lattia's invocation was nearly complete. If the Daedric Prince was out there, he would answer her. Aran waited for a sign from Oblivion, and was not disappointed.

The air around Lattia formed into a mist and began to swirl around her naked body. A dark . . . absence formed above the table, anchored to this world by the censers. All of the air in the room seemed to be svcked into it. Aran found it hard to breathe. Lattia never faltered, she remained a willing supplicant. Aran had never loved her more than at that moment.

The void imploded in a blinding flash of light. Flames filled the emptiness above the table and were swiftly carried throughout the room on the ether. A faint sound emanated from behind the flames. Aran could hear it getting louder, closer. An Oblivion Gate, he thought, she's done it. Lattia stood amidst the flames and pulled on her robe to hide her nakedness. She held a silk purse to her briast, the gold heavy within. The flames around her dissipated and were drawn into the gate. She looked back once to Aran. Then, with a nervous intake of breath, she stepped into the flames. From behind the gate the sound grew loud enough for Aran to identify it as the anguished bark of a hound.


_____


???
Nameless Realm, Oblivion
???


Lattia emerged into a land of eternal summer. Lush green rolling hills spread out toward the horizon, blinding in the glare of the sparkling blue sky. Well-tended fields of Columbine, Belladonna, and Morning Glory caught the sunlight from overhead and shimmered like a mirage before her. Lattia's eyes felt heavy, she wanted nothing more than to lie down in the grass and rest.

The incessant barking pulled her back into the moment. The weight of the purse in her arms reminded her of the mission she still had to complete. She closed her eyes to block out her tranquil surroundings. I am in Oblivion, she thought to herself, and I am not safe.

There were no signs or markers that she could use to find her destination. No castle or structure of any kind that she could move towards. Which way should I go? She thought.

The sound of the barking grew closer, its source appeared on a low slope near the horizon to Lattia's left. A great black Hound galloped toward her, shrinking the distance between them with each bound.

Lattia stood her ground. She prepared a demoralize spell that she hoped would give her the time to escape should the great beast prove hungry. As it grew closer the size of it made Lattia doubtful that anything short of a dragon could demoralize it.

The great Hound stopped some ten paces from where Lattia stood. He was a male, easily measuring 18 hands from where his paws met the grass to the tips of his hunched shoulder blades. He was at least half that wide, with a sloped wedge of a head that housed two glowing red eyes that regarded Lattia with both curiosity and contempt.

"You have entered the realm of Lord Clavicus Vile," said the Hound, "I am Barbas, the Hound of Clavicus Vile. What business have you here?"

"I am Lattia Direnni, I seek an audience with your master."

Barbas came closer, Lattia remained perfectly still. He sniffed the air around her and then smelled her from head to toe.

"You smell of dead things," said Barbas, eyeing her purse, "and the lightning clings to you. A mage is it? Your gold will secure an audience, but I warn you to return from whence you came."

"I will not."

"So be it," Barbas sighed, "But don't say you weren't warned." He lay down in the grass at her feet. "Come."

She understood, but the thought didn't thrill her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and swung onto that great back of his. He stood and with a great bound that nearly threw her back to the grass they were off.

It was nothing at all like riding her Chestnut, Mallari. Barbas was thick and rough with hard, coiled muscles where Mallari was smooth and supple. She could ride Mallari using just her legs, the two of them joined into one. For Barbas she needed both arms and both legs just to hold on.

The fields formed a green blur that rushed past her and brought tears to her eyes. Each step that Barbas made over the uneven terrain caused another part of her body to ache. She buried her face into his neck to avoid the snapping of her jaw that attended every leap over a rock or felled tree. The world lost focus, the only thought that she could identify was don't let go.

It took her a moment to realize that Barbas had stopped. It took a moment more for her eyes to regain focus. They were in a clearing, surrounded by trees thick with red and yellow Cinnabar growing on the trunks. She could hear the sound of rushing water nearby.

"What have you brought me, Barbas?" A sharp voice asked.

Lattia lifted her head painfully from the groove her chin had formed in Barbas' neck. Barbas lay down to make her dismount easier, if not more graceful. She landed on her backside in the tall, cool grass. Both of her legs were numb and useless. I must look ridiculous, she thought.

Clavicus Vile loomed over her. He was seated on a white marble throne in the center of the clearing. Barbas had taken his place at his master's feet. Lattia managed to rise to her knees, but no further.

"Well, does it speak?" Clavicus Vile asked.

He was so . . . short, Lattia thought. His dirty bare feet dangled from the edge of his throne. A pair of curved horns protruded from the temples of a misshapen head too large for the rest of his body. His small pink hands were steeped under a bulbous nose in front of a large mouth well appointed with sharp teeth. He wore a dirty brown vest and soiled green trousers.

"Greetings, Lord Clavicus," said Lattia collecting herself and ignoring a wave of revulsion, "I am . . ."

"Ah, it does speak. Pity that. I know who you are Lattia Direnni of Clan Direnni. I also know why you think you came here. Do you imagine you're the only mortal with a spell book and a spare purse of gold who has sought my favor?"

"I . . ."

"Save your words, Lattia Direnni. I allowed you through the veil because you present something of a conundrum to me. Mortals usually summon me to your realm to gain wealth or power for their own use. You enter my realm seeking power for another. It makes me wonder what one such as you would offer were I to grant such a boon?"

Lattia pushed the purse forward.

"The gold got you this audience," said Clavicus Vile, "it will not get you what you seek."

Lattia painfully regained her feet. "Then what do you suggest?"

The Daedric Prince smiled, it was not a pretty sight.

"Souls are my usual currency," he said, "and while your soul holds great value, I fear that it would be given too freely. No, for one such as you I must exact a special price."

Lattia waited, the Daedric Prince smiled. I am in Oblivion, she thought, and I am not safe.

Most interesting... do continue.

Yes, most interesting, and def do continue !!

Welcome to the forums! :icecream:

My goodness, if this introduction is any indication of where you are going, it is to my good fortune indeed.

I started reading and plummeted right into this until the end! Wonderful, and please continue.

RemkoNL, mAXL1, & Acadian: Thank you for the gracious welcome to the forums! This is my first fanfic so I hope to keep you coming back for more. That said . . .


2nd Morning Star, 2E 854
Unmarked Cavern, Somewhere along the Western Reach
Evening


“Quiet!” Nolquinn whispered, his breath visible in the cold still air.

“Huh?” Lorian tried to lift his head but the effort was too much for him. He went back to counting the empty bottles in the snow in front of him.

“I heard something.” Nolquinn grabbed a torch and lit it with a flare spell. He left the mouth of the cavern and wandered toward the underbrush.

“It’s probably a wolf . . . or a bear.” said Lorian chuckling. “Maybe it’s a spriggan, what I wouldn’t give for one of those to warm my bedroll tonight.” He grabbed his stomach as fits of laughter caused him to roll in the snow surrounded by the empty bottles.

Imbecile! Nolquinn thought to himself. He hated third watch with Lorian. The man had none of Nolquinn’s Altmer dignity. Less than two hours of their watch gone and the Breton was already into his cups. Why does the Master keep him around? He was not useful in any way that Nolquinn could tell, and he was so loud that whatever was in the underbrush had probably fled, ruining their chance at a hot meal. At least he’s stopped laughing, Nolquinn thought.

He walked back to the mouth of the cave. Lorian lay on his side. A pool of liquid began to spread, darkening the snow around him. He’s wet himself again, Nolquinn thought, I should let him lie in his own filth. He walked closer.

He stopped. In the torchlight Lorian’s eyes were wide with a mixture of shock and surprise. A smile still lingered on his unmoving lips. A thin line of blood trailed from his mouth and dripped into a small red pool in the snow. His lifeblood ran from a gaping slash across his throat, and the red skull on the front of his black robe glistened.

Nolquinn drew his dagger and summoned a headless zombie from the nether realms. He backed into a position between it and the cavern door. Whatever killed Lorian did not leave footprints. Breathe, he told himself, breathe. He felt a hand grab his forehead from behind. His head was drawn back and tilted up, but no one was behind him. He felt a sudden pressure, like a finger being drawn across his neck. There was a rush of warmth on the front of his chest that ran down his robe and legs. He grew light-headed, his vision began to blur at the edges. The torch dropped from his limp hands and sizzled in the snow. He was on his knees, though he didn’t remember kneeling. The hand on his forehead was gone. His zombie dissipated like a puff of smoke. I’m going to die in the snow, he thought. The last thing he saw was the smile on Lorian’s face.


_____


The Nightblade Arnand Desele materialized and crouched over the dead man and elf whose blood stained the evening snow. He wore a thick brown cloak over his leather armor. His elven dagger still dripped. Ten years since I wielded a blade, he thought to himself, the old skills had atrophied, but they were still there. He examined the bodies, Necromancers, he thought, the Witchmen were right about this place. He felt a moment’s regret for the two lives he had stolen. For Elissa’s sake, I’d kill a thousand more just like them. He cleaned his blade in the folds of the Altmer’s robe and turned toward the entrance to the cavern.

Well guarded, the Witchmen had said. Inside there is a sorcerer of great power. One who has mastered the power of life and death. Arnand felt a chill that was more than just the cold and pulled his cloak tighter. For Elissa’s sake, he thought. He cast a combination spell of nighteye and life detection before he stepped through the door of the cavern.

The rock wall formed a tunnel that went down at a steep angle. He started downward, crouching to limit the noise his boots made against the slick rock. On the tunnel floor torchlight provided dim illumination. Two more tunnels branched off from the walls to his left and right. He clung to the shadows. The pink blots that he could see through the floor told him that the cavern went deeper . . . and that he was not alone. He counted more than a dozen blots before the spell ended and they faded from view. He remained in the shadows while his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

I’m so close, he thought. These enemies are all that stand between me and this sorcerer. He can help me save Elissa, he must help me. He studied the lie of the shadows along both tunnels before casting his combination spell again.

Two enemies were coming toward him from the tunnel on his left. He drifted left, into the shadows near the opening and waited. The two necromancers passed through the opening talking to each other. Arnand cast a paralyze spell at the taller of the two necromancers farthest from him. He sprung from his hiding place and took the nearest necromancer from behind. His dagger found the man’s throat and drank deep. He moved past the necromancer holding his throat and grabbed the hair of the taller one still in the act of falling from his paralyze spell. He hesitated for a split second. She was an Altmer. She looks so much like Elissa, he thought. He heard the other necromancer hit the ground behind him. He slit the woman’s throat and let go of her hair. She fell and bled out on the slick stone floor. Neither had made a sound.

He pulled the bodies back into the shadows. He recast his combination spell and went down the left tunnel. Using the cover provided by the shadows, he was able to sneak past three skeletons and two zombies. The tunnel curved downwards through several turns before ending in a small chamber. There was an empty coffin placed into a niche hacked out of the rock wall. Arnand was sweating and his hands were shaking. Seeing the coffin was too much of a reminder. My wife is a vampire, he thought to himself staring at the coffin, this could be her coffin if I can’t save her.

He wiped his brow and calmed his shaking hands. By the time he carefully retraced his steps out of the tunnel he was calm, his resolve strengthened. He would reach this sorcerer if he had to go through all the minions in Oblivion to do it. He recast his combination spell and walked down the other winding tunnel.

Two more skeletons guarded the other tunnel. They wielded iron war axes and stood too close together in the confines of the tunnel to sneak around. Arnand remained in the shadows. Behind him the tunnel was clear. He could not afford to waste his magicka on another combination spell. I’ll have to trust that the tunnel ahead is the same, he thought. He waited until both skeletons had their backs to him before moving. He cast a bolt of command creature at the nearest skeleton. While the purple globe of energy was still airborne he rendered himself invisible and sprinted after it. The spell found its mark, engulfing the skeleton in a pale purple aura that provided brief illumination in the tunnel. The skeleton set upon its counterpart with a vicious overhead slash. By the time the other skeleton turned to defend itself, Arnand had slipped past them like a puff of smoke. His luck held, the tunnel beyond the skeletons was empty. By the time his invisibility spell wore off, the sounds of battle had faded far behind him.

Three necromancers were grouped together in the large chamber at the end of the tunnel. They stood in front of a heavy oak door set into the rock. Two men and one woman. The two men were facing the woman with their backs to Arnand. Mercifully the woman looked nothing like Elissa. Child’s play, Arnand thought.

He cast two spells in succession. The paralyze spell hit the first necromancer in the back and caused him to fall over. The command humanoid spell hit the woman. As the third necromancer turned and lifted his hand to form a summon, the woman blasted him with a fireball that sent him careening across the cavern. He hit the ground hard. His summoned ghost appeared next to the woman, drawing her fire. The third necromancer tried to regain his feet, but Arnand was behind him. His blade extinguished both his life and his ghost. Arnand disappeared behind an invisibility spell.

The paralyze spell on the first necromancer wore off. He tried to rise and the woman turned her attention to him, hitting him with a hefty drain life spell that staggered him. Before he could recover the woman drew her dagger and plunged it into his heart. The frenzy spell wore off, she still held the bloody dagger. “What?” was all she managed before Arnand materialized behind her, ending her life with a single cut.

He walked over to the oak door and opened it with a spell. He stepped across a threshold into a darkness that made him feel as if he had slipped off the face of the world. The void closed in around him, yet he did not fall. It held him up and carried him on cautious footsteps until it moved aside for him, like the parting of a veil.

He found himself inside a large room with oak paneling on the walls and red carpeted floors. A fire burned in the hearth bracketed by high-backed leather chairs. Lamps in sconces along the walls illuminated thousands of books that dominated the room, and candles burned on the well-stocked dinner table.

Arnand thought to go for his dagger, but he couldn’t move. A paralysis spell stronger than any he had ever known had him in its grip. A figure rose from one of the leather chairs and turned to face Arnand.

Mara! It might have once been man or mer, but it had long since shed easy classification. A cloak of a deeper scarlet than all the blood that Arnand had spilled to reach it covered the figure and pooled on the ground around him. The heavy hood that cast its face into darkness deeper than the void could not contain the blue points of light that hinted at unspeakable power and command of the dead. It spoke with the voice of an Altmer, in calm and cultured tones that belied, or perhaps underscored, the power of its presence.

“Seven of my people, taken out in minutes,” he said, “most impressive.”

A trap, thought Arnand, I’ve been deceived. He was waiting for me.

“Do not struggle. The effect will last as long as I will it, so let us be civil.” He walked over to the dinner table and filled two glasses with wine. He toasted Arnand with one.

“Though the title is a bit macabre,” he said, “I am known as the King of Worms, and you come highly recommended.”

That fight up to Mannimarco was great, and he does paralyze you too, lol. Great write, I enjoyed it!

W-ell-lll!!!!


I... am...

...impressed.


I wandered in here out of curiousity...


...and now I am hooked.

Welcome to the forums, writer. Aye, you've earned that adjective. I shall definitely be reading you!

:thumbsup:

My goodness. I see my enthusiasm for your first story was well-placed. Wow!

The motivation, background and description of your character - just enough, and so delicately woven into the story. I feel for this character and want him to succeed.

Your descriptions are wonderfully effective - both the ambiance and the action.

This is really a pleasure to read. Please continue, for I am hooked!

mALX1 - Thank you for the kind words. You'll have to bear with me, I'm on Maxical's second thread and so far I am thoroughly enjoying myself.

D.Foxy - High praise indeed! Thanks for wandering in, and thanks for the vote of confidence.

Acadian - I'm glad you think so and I'm happy to have hooked you. Right now I'm trying to set up the board. The game will begin soon.


_____


3rd Morning Star, 2E 854
Amber Forest, East of Mournhold
Dawn


The Chevalier Renald poked the fire with a stick that he held in his gold-scaled hand. Sparks rose as the flames seemed to jump up to meet him. He felt the warmth flooding through his arms into his chest and down through his tail. Around him his syffim, four strong now with the death of Akal, coiled under their thick blankets to ward off the cold. The night's chill was fading; the tops of the trees were visible in the half-light. The leaves falling into the clearing took on the hue for which the forest was named.

I won't wake them, he thought, not yet. They have journeyed far and deserve their rest. He was enjoying the quiet, the time with his own thoughts. We should reach Necrom by midday; the people there are more accustomed to seeing Tsaesci. We should not be denied a ship as we were in Tear. If all goes well, we could sail on the eventide. Renald's golden tail uncoiled and stretched him to his full height. He finished the stretch with his arms. From there he looked down on his syffim. I have kept them too long protecting a land not their own. Their loyalty all these years honors me. I will get them home.

Home to Akavir. For centuries the name had been naught but a faded memory for him. Now to be so close, to have the end of his mission decided only by want of a ship . . .

A scent in the air caught his attention. His forked tongue poked through his mouth to capture it. Wild boar, he thought and smiled. They had not fed in weeks. There were no Goblins in Black Marsh and his syffim quickly grew tired of Argonians. Boar was a poor substitute, but its flesh was close to that of man. It would provide them with the strength for the journey to Necrom.

"My Lord?" Eesham's head poked out from under his blanket. His syffim began to stir.

"Prepare to leave," said Renald as he pulled on his dagger and katana, "I will return shortly."

"Yes, my Lord."

Renald slithered into the trees. The scent was faint, but it did not take Renald long to recapture it. He swung into the lower branches. Using his tail and his arms he undulated through the upper terraces silently, with a speed that even birds would envy. A part of him relished this. He loved his syffim; they were his brothers, and his sons. But there was no denying the thrill of a solitary hunt. The pride that attended the silent stalking of his prey. The blood-rush that came at the moment of the kill.

Save that this prey was proving elusive. Twice Renald felt that he had brought the boar to bay, and twice he had lost the scent, only to regain it further into the forest. Stupid pig, thought Renald, you're proving to be more trouble than you're worth.

The boar entered a clearing. Half an acre of dried grass, brown with the season, separated it from the tree line. Renald watched from his perch high above. The squat legs propelled the boar forward with purpose, as if driven by the whip of some unseen master. I have to end this, thought Renald as the boar neared the halfway mark, if he reaches the trees I may lose him.

Renald coiled his tail against the trunk of the tree. With a sound that was half grunt and half hiss he pushed off, his tail propelling him through space. For a brief moment he was weightless, the only sound the wind as it rushed past him. His tail slowly waved back and forth, acting as a rudder to steer his descent.

On impact he curled into himself and rolled. His tail coiled and bit into the hard brown grass. He pushed off and was airborne again, less than twenty paces from the startled boar. The smell of fear on his tongue was sweet and he smiled. He drew his katana in mid-air and brought it down in a slash that carried the momentum of his body behind it. The boar screamed in agony as it was nearly vivisected along its flank.

Yet the boar was not dead, nor did it try to defend itself. Renald lifted his katana for the killing blow, and stopped. He watched as the boar labored on its two forelegs, dragging its hindquarters, leaving a trail of blood and entrails that flattened and stained the brown grass. One halting step at a time it pulled itself toward the tree line.

What drives this beast? Renald sheathed his katana. The scent of blood was strong in the air. He couldn't lose the boar now if he tried. He decided to follow it, keeping a careful distance. He was curious to see what was worth its last measure of strength to reach.

Step by agonizing step the boar continued for the better part of an hour. Renald was filled with admiration. I've known knights with less courage than this creature, he thought. They reached the edge of a shallow ravine. As the boar took its first weary step down the slope its legs gave way and it tumbled, rolling to a stop in the shallow water.

Renald eased down the slope. The boar lay on its side. Each labored exhalation caused ripples in the water that was already filling with its blood. With a profound sense of pity Renald unsheathed his katana and prepared to put the great beast out of its misery.

For the second time he stopped. The smell of death was in the air, but it didn't come from the boar. Renald automatically assumed a guard stance.

"Peace, great warrior." A female voice heavy with time and memory said.

Renald spun. How could I have been so reckless? The source of the voice was behind him. An old woman, tall, frail, and cloaked stood on the edge of the ravine. Even under her hood Renald could see that she had no eyes. He could sense the aura of magic that surrounded her.

"You drove this boar," said Renald.

The old woman chuckled, "I helped."

"Reach magic!" Renald spat the words. He remained on his guard.

"You are not one to judge, slayer of dragons."

Renald bristled at the rebuke, "Who are you?"

"My name is unimportant, but if it will ease your mind you may call me Erinwe. I am a humble messenger, great Vershu, come to offer council."

Vershu? Renald's tail propelled him out of the ravine. He landed near the Crone. He laid his katana on the side of her neck. "How do you know that name?"

"I know many things, snake-captain. Vershu was the name you wore when you made your vow to Reman I, was it not? It is the name you discarded when the Potentate's heir was slain."

Renald removed his sword. "That name is dead."

"Perhaps," said Erinwe, "or perhaps it is time to regain your name . . . and your vow."

"My vow died when the black dart found the neck of Reman III. It was dust when the Dark Brotherhood slew Savirien-Chorak."

"Then why did you stay? If your oath was void there was nothing to keep you and your syffim here, yet here you remain. Four hundred years driven by duty . . ."

"What do you know of duty, woman?" Renald placed his katana back against her neck. "Here safe in your forest? When we arrived from Akavir my syffim was twelve strong! Now, we are four. My duty is to them!"

"I too know of duty, snake-captain," said Erinwe. "My duty is to the truth, and the truth is that the wheels of prophecy have begun to turn, but in this you are blinder than I."

Renald sheathed his sword, "I have no time for prophecy woman, and I must see my syffim home."

Erinwe placed a hand on his shoulder. "And the Chim-el Adabal?"

The Amulet of Kings, thought Renald. He could still see it on Reman's neck. "Lost. What of it?"

Erinwe smiled. "News reaches you slowly, my friend. It has been recovered. At Sancre Tor, a dragon blood waits near the throne."

Renald lowered his head. Could this be true? "I have heard that a man called Cuhlecain styles himself Emperor. He has the Amulet?"

"Yes," said Erinwe, "and no. The Greybeards of High Hrothgar have set the wheels in motion. Do not trust my word, snake-captain. Let the truth be judged by your own eyes. Go to the White Gold Tower. Seek out the one called Stormcrown; only in him can your oath be fulfilled. I will say no more."

Renald watched her walk away. Her figure shimmered, and then seemed to dissolve into the trees. He was alone at the edge of the ravine. He looked down at the boar lying dead in the shallow water, its body beginning to swell in the midday sun. I should head back, he thought.

Instead he drew his dagger and went into the ravine. He cut the heart from the boar. Tonight, when they made camp he would burn the heart and set the brave creatures soul free. He would tell his syffim that Akavir would have to wait.

He would not tell them that their fate was chosen by the will of a pig.

What a scene! More, More!!!! Awesome write!!!

I am still digesting this rich meal. (and licking my metaphorical chops)

Will 'burp' later.

Wow! Yet another character that you have powerfully brought to life.

This is amazingly good writing!

I look forward to see where you are taking us.

you sir, are quite the writer. Amazing stuff this is, deserving of an in game book =]

mALX1 - This one was a bear (or is that a boar?) to write, I'm glad it came across well.

D. Foxy - * offers a bicarbinate . . . and a bib! *

Acadian - Thank you so much. I look forward to seeing where this goes as well. I mean, I have a general idea, but :ahhh:

Lochlan - Thanks for reading it, and thanks for the kind words!


_____


3rd Morning Star
Direnni Tower, Isle of Balfiera
Dusk


Word of her arrival came with the morning tide and caused an explosion of activity throughout the Tower. Maids dusted and then re-dusted the furniture. Cooks raided the larder; anything not of the finest quality was bundled for the servants to eat . . . or the dogs. Stewards found the best wines from the cellar. Grooms brushed and re-brushed the horses. The usually hushed voices were alive with joy and anticipation. The Lady Varla was coming home.

The High King dispatched a galleon to ferry her sister across the Iliac Bay. Lattia was not surprised. She retrieved Mallari from the stables and rode down to the dock with the porters. One of the grooms rode Varla's White, Rielle. A day's trip from Sentinel aboard a warship and surrounded by sailors. . . Varla's dream come true, Lattia thought.

She reached the dock with the sun setting in front of her. The ship was still out in the Bay. The evening chill had begun. It was a comfort to Lattia and reminded her that she was no longer in Oblivion. You ask too much Aran, she thought. She cursed Clavicus Vile for the price he had extracted from her, and she cursed herself for agreeing to it.

The ship docked and taciturn Emero, Varla's bodyguard, emerged and walked down the gangplank holding a green silk cloak. He wore a flowing blue velvet robe. His stiff mane was whiter than Lattia remembered, and his pointed ears sagged under the weight of heavy gold earrings. Seeing him brought back the memories of countless lessons under that stern gaze of his before he chose to leave with Varla. The old sorcerer still looks formidable. Lattia dismounted, Mallari walked over to where Rielle stood near the docks. The two horses nipped playfully at each other.

Varla Direnni wore a green silk brocaded dress that clung to her in the twilight. She is still so beautiful, Lattia thought. She felt a fleeting moment of jealousy toward her sister. The Captain of the ship escorted Varla to the gangplank. His head barely came up to her briast. As he kissed her hand she said something that made him laugh. She sashayed down to the dock, maintaining her elegant posture despite the swaying of the ship. Emero draqed the cloak over her golden shoulders. She whispered something to him, he nodded and bowed. She turned her attention to Lattia.

"Little sister. . ." she walked over and took Lattia's hands in hers. She smelled of Lavender. She held Lattia's arms out to the side so as better to inspect her, "still pining for the Daedra?"

"Older sister. . ." said Lattia, "still conducting business from your bedroom?"

Neither of them could hold the stare for long. Varla was the first to laugh. Lattia pulled her sister close and held her, laughing.

"It hurts that you think I would lie so far beneath me," said Varla, "besides, on a ship they call it a stateroom."

"I'm sure you lie in accordance with your station." They parted, this time it was Lattia's turn to hold her sister's arms out to the side. "You look wonderful."

"You're too kind. All night aboard that rat-infested tub I'm surprised I don't look like one of the sailors." She frowned and touched Lattia's face. "You look pale, what has he had you doing?"

Lattia ignored the question. "What were you telling Emero just now?"

"I told him to keep his eye on the crew. Some of the things they say would make Sanguine blush. The fool's are likely to go through my undergarments while I'm gone."

Lattia looked at the porters still milling around the dock, conspicuous in their inactivity. "You're not staying?"

"I'm afraid not. I'm bound for Wayrest, then on to the Imperial City. I just stopped in to see you . . . and Aran. Where is he by the way?"

"Waiting in the Tower, I brought your horse." Lattia pointed to the two horses waiting near the dock.

Varla grinned and for a moment Lattia saw the little girl who stood up for her when Aran's teasing became too rough. "Rielle! Oh, sister, you think of everything."

Emero appeared at Varla's side, his face as inscrutable as ever. Lattia had not seen him move from the docks. He bowed before he spoke.

"Begging pardons, Mistress," he said, "the Captain wishes to know how long we plan to stay."

"Where are your manners, Emero? Say hello to my sister."

Emero bowed even lower. "My apologies," he turned to Lattia, "greetings, Milady. You are as beautiful as I remember."

"Greetings Emero," said Lattia, "it is good to see you again."

"I have heard that you are quite the mage. I congratulate you."

"Your teaching had much to do with it."

Varla was bored. "Tell the Captain we plan to stay until my business here is complete." She winked at Lattia. "Tell him that the ship was placed at my disposal and that it will come and go at my choosing. If he has a problem with that tell him to take it up with his Majesty."

"Very good, Mistress." Emero's smile was so brief that it could hardly have been counted as one, but Lattia knew that he relished passing on the message. He turned on his heal and made his way back to the ship. Varla locked onto Lattia's arm and steered her toward the waiting horses.

"You deflected my question earlier," Varla said, "I asked why you were so pale."

They mounted the horses. Lattia reached forward and stroked Mallari's neck. "I guess I'm just tired."

"We both know better than that, but I'm too happy to push it. Keep your secret for now, but you will tell me before I leave. Now, let me tell you about the Court of Hammerfell."

Lattia didn't care much for gossip, but she was glad for the change of subject. The two rode toward the stables, their silhouettes fading into the shadow of the black stone tower.


_____


The three of them sat at the large table in the middle of the tower and dined on lettuce and leek salad topped with a pungent red wine vinaigrette. A savory venison stew with carrots and onions followed. For the main course there was braised lamb, roasted potatoes brushed with garlic, and topped with diced tomatoes that had dried in the afternoon sun. Desert was a large covered pot made of ice that when opened produced a bounty of fresh strawberries, graqes and sliced apples coated with a thin brush of orange juice and moon sugar. Conversation was light, and laughter was abundant. Lattia couldn't remember a dinner more enjoyable.

When they had eaten their fill they repaired to the solar in the tower's upper level. Aran poured the wine. "So, what news?" he asked.

Varla lounged in her chair, twirling her cup of wine between thumb and forefinger. "High King Thassad sends his regards."

Aran snorted, "He can keep his regards. It's his troops that I'm interested in, will they stand with us?"

"Thassad has problems of his own, dear brother. Even if he wanted to support us I doubt that he could raise half of his country for battle. This business of Crowns and Forebears will lead to civil war. It just shows what happens when you build your seat of power in the stronghold of your enemies. I know Emero must be glad we've put the place behind us. He was getting tired of tasting my food."

"I care nothing for Hammerfell's petty squabbles, we need his troops," said Aran, "did you tell him that I can deliver High Rock?"

"Can you?"

Lattia took a long drink from her cup. Aran stood, scowling.

"You doubt me?"

Varla remained silent. She returned Aran's stare with one of her own. She truly fears nothing, thought Lattia with admiration. Aran's temper was a thing to behold but, as usual with Varla, he was the first to blink.

"Cuhlecain played into our hands at Sancre Tor," he said, returning to his seat. "When the snow-men turned cloak, they united the whole of High Rock against him. I hear even now that the Witchmen are plotting their revenge. With Hammerfell and High Rock we could meet them on the field and squash the Alessian resurgence forever."

"You would need a host of twice that to contend with Cuhlecain's forces." Said Varla. She turned to Lattia and started to laugh. "Meridia's summoning day is soon; perhaps Lattia can pull an army of Aurorans from the basemant to help you."

Lattia blushed and remained silent. Aran rose so swiftly that half of his wine spilled on the floor.

"Do not mock me, Varla!"

Varla put on the smile that Lattia had seen her wear for the ship's Captain.

"I'm sorry, Aran," she said, "It was not my intention." She rose from her chair and gracefully crossed the room. She laid her arm across her brother's shoulder and gently guided him back into his chair. Her gaze found Lattia's, and she winked.

"Cuhlecain is nothing but an up-jumped hedge knight from Falkreath," she said in soothing tones. "Consider this: If the rumors are correct and they recovered the Amulet of Kings from Sancre Tor, why does he not wear it?"

She rose and returned to her seat. "Because he can not," she said. "The Nords believe that the hero of Sancre Tor, this General Talos, is of dragon blood . . . he is the threat."

"Dragon blood? Ridiculous," said Aran.

"Whether he is or not is irrelevant. What matters is that the Nords believe that he is. I tell you, brother, right now you can do more with a simple push in the proper place than with all the armies of Tamriel."

Aran reflected on his sisters words. Varla took a sip of her wine and laid her head back in her chair. Through half-closed eyes she watched her brother intently. Lattia was grateful for the silence, and she was grateful for not having been asked to contribute to the discussion.

Aran broke the silence. "Where would you push?"

Varla opened her eyes. "There are many places one could. For me, I would concentrate on this General Talos. He is aided by a battlemage, a very good one if the rumors are correct." She smiled, "I think I can move him."

"Then you should leave on the morning tide." Aran said.

"That was my intention." Varla replied.

"It was good to see you again, Varla."

"And you, Aran."

He got up and walked to the door. He stopped. "This battlemage, what is his name?" He asked.

"Zurin Arctus." Varla said.

GREAT!

Several things struck me, all good:
- You demonstrate much versatility over the course of your installments to date. Throat slitting to girl talk, yes indeedy.
- I was delighted to see a familiar character (Lattia). I was beginning to get concerned that I might need a playbook should you keep introducing new and fascinating characters!
- 'Tis a simple thing, but my goodness, what a fabulously rich description you provided of the meal... YUM!

Well done... er, I mean tasty! :liplick:

Riveting from beginning to end, your descriptions are detailed and perfect - Awesome!!!! More, More!!

Acadian - Thank you for the compliment, I'm glad you pointed out the dinner. I don't know what it is, but I've always loved the detailed description of a meal.

mALX1 - Your wish, my command.


_____



12th Morning Star, 2E 854
Fort Black Boot, Near Cyrodiil's Border with Elsweyr
Mid-day


For the sixth consecutive day the garrison dug trenches. The sound of picks and shovels reverberated through the valley, broken only by hastily yelled warnings as another felled tree hit Nirn. Several of the reinforcements, on horseback, hauled the dying wood to clear the land for more trenches, and to give the armorers more material for stakes.

Zurin Arctus stood on top of the watchtower and gazed to the south. From his vantage point he could see where the tree tops ended and the arid plains of Elsweyr began. Beyond the border he saw the lines of Khajiit tents before the walls of Riverhold. But that was not what drew his attention. He was more concerned with the storm clouds on the horizon, and the wind that had just shifted to the east.

Beside him Captain Itinius cradled his battered helmet and studied the Khajiit position. "That's quite a host, Sir," he said, "ten, maybe fifteen thousand strong, I think. It's hard to tell at this distance, and organized. Even with the reinforcements we'll be heavily outnumbered. Has there been any word from our Skyrim reserve?"

"Assume we're on our own, Captain," said Arctus, turning his attention to the Khajiit tents. "Make sure your men are ready, the attack will come tonight."

Itinius hesitated. "Sir?"

"Speak freely, Captain."

"Not meaning to tell the Battlemage his business, sir, but they look pretty much bivouacked to me. I'm sure their spies have told them of our situation. A night attack seems like an unnecessary risk. If what they're doing is a feint, well, it's a lot of trouble to go through considering how badly they outnumber us."

"Khajiit see in the dark, Captain."

Itinius nodded and smiled at his own stupidity. "Yes sir," he said, "that they do."

Movement to the west caught Arctus' attention. A lone trooper reined his horse at the fortifications. He spoke briefly with the guard who pointed to the watchtower. The trooper nodded his thanks, dismounted, and disappeared into the fort.

Arctus heard the rapid footsteps on the tower stairs and turned away from the coming storm. The trooper emerged through the door. He saluted Captain Itinius with a clenched fist over his heart, and struggled to regain his breath.

"General Talos sends his compliments, sir," he said to Arctus, haltingly. He looked sideways at Itinius as he tried to remain at attention, but his ride and the steps were causing him trouble.

He was a boy, no more than six and ten. Each year they get younger, Arctus thought, and we get older.

"Do you have a message, lad, or is the Battlemage expected to guess?" Itinius barked.

The boy flushed and held himself erect. "Yes sir! Sorry, sir." Then to Arctus, "the General requests your company, sir."

"Very well," said Arctus, "I shall attend him. Get something to eat and water your horse, then report back to the General's camp."

"Yes sir." The young trooper saluted, then turned and entered the tower.

"Have my horse prepared," Arctus said.

"Will you require a bodyguard, Master Arctus?"

"No thank you, Captain. Keep the men occupied with their work. The less they know about tonight the better."

"Yes sir." Itinius nodded and performed a salute that thumped on his well-worn cuirass. He turned with practiced efficiency.

"Are you a man of faith, Captain?" Arctus asked, staring into the eye of the storm.

Itinius stopped. "Yes sir. I don't spend much time in the Temple, but I believe in the Eight."

"In that case you might say a prayer to Kynareth for a favorable wind."

Itinius nodded and repeated his salute. He lingered momentarily, trying to see what the Battlemage saw, but to him the wind felt fine.


_____


Arctus rode through the gate and turned to the west. Past the trenches and the garrison he mounted a gentle slope and stopped at the edge of a deep grove. The wind picked up and shifted to the north. He closed his eyes as the first gusts hit the right side of his cheek, then he turned in his saddle to view the storm clouds. They're getting closer, he thought; perhaps the Captain is a man of faith after all. He spurred his horse into the grove. The trees formed a canopy of gold and brown above him. They began to climb, the grade steep enough that he had to lean forward to maintain his balance. The curtain of trees parted, and the catapults came into view. Forty of them at the top of the hill, all aimed toward Fort Black Boot. As he came upon them, his horse neighed in protest as the smell hit her nostrils. Seconds later he shared her discomfort.

The carcasses were lined up near the catapults, in numbers too great to count. Most were once wolves of every size and variety, but there were dogs mixed in as well. The smell alone should give the Khajiit pause, Arctus thought.

Past the catapults Arctus looked down into the General's camp. There were no fires burning. More than two hundred tents were huddled together in the valley, as if proximity could ward off the cold. Five centuries of a hundred men each milled through the tent lines. Some drilled in formation; others sat in small groups shivering under their blankets. Whatever activity they were engaged in they maintained a strict silence so as not to betray their position.

Arctus rode down into the camp. He rode through a sea of faces, sullen, ruddy with the cold, and eager to meet the enemy. Some stood and gave a hasty salute to mark his passing. The General's tent was erected in the center, the hub that held the other tents together. As he dismounted a trooper appeared beside him and took the bridle of his horse. Arctus lowered his head and entered the General's tent.

Inside candles provided the only illumination. Incense burned in a brassiere set to the right of the entrance. The smoke hung oppressively in the air. To the left there was a bed with golden silk sheets. Red and gold carpets lined the floor.

An officer in gleaming silver armor was delivering his report:

". . . from Lord Richton. He says the fleet has arrived at the mouth of the Xylo. He also says that the Bosmer have been curious, but no one objects to their presence. He wishes to know if he has leave to sack Torval."

General Talos sat in the center of the tent in a high-backed chair of gold that looked suspiciously like a throne. "Send Lord Richton my compliments. Tell him to remain where he is, do not sail into Torval." He spotted Arctus. "Arctus. Good of you to join us." He turned back to the officer. "Thank you Captain Alorius, you are dismissed."

"Sir." Alorius saluted and left the tent.

"Forgive the incense," said Talos, "It's the only way to keep the smell at bay. Of course, after a while it starts to smell worse in here than outside."

Arctus performed a salute. "General. The wind shifted as I rode in. With any luck the storm should hit us by nightfall."

Talos laughed and pointed behind him. "Luck has nothing to do with it."

Arctus had not seen the great Nord at the back of the tent. Ysmir sat with his legs crossed on cushions that were piled high around him. In his right hand he held a large hooka from which he svckled like a newborn. A thick plume of smoke escaped through the folds of his great shaggy beard and wafted in the air around him.

"This entire campaign is folly," he said, "better we should invade Vvardenfell than waste our time swatting kittens."

"Your hatred of the Tribunal has been noted," said Talos, "you'll have your revenge soon enough. Our priority now is to secure our southern border. I'll not lose Cyrodiil on some fool's errand to Morrowind."

"Fool's errand?" Ysmir stood and spat on the floor. The candles caused his shadow to fill the tent. "You try my patience, Stormcrown." He pushed past Arctus and left the tent.

Talos exhaled. "At some point I'm going to have to show that man his place."

"We still need him, General," said Arctus, "his thu'um alone . . ."

Talos raised his hand, "I know, I know. He has his uses."

The tent flap opened and Captain Alorius reentered the tent. The candle-light ran streaks through his silver armor.

"Begging pardons General, the harriers have returned." He said.

Arctus took up position to the General's right.

"Show them in, Captain." Said Talos

Alorius saluted and left the tent, returning seconds later leading a group of four: A Bosmer wearing a fur cuirass and boots with a battered steel bow over his shoulder, a long-haired Colovian in leather armor with an iron mace hanging at his hip, and two Khajiit. The first was a slight male who wore braids that hung down to his shoulders and pulled at the skin of his scalp, giving his eyes a sleepy, half-focused quality. The second was a small child, wide-eyed and barefoot, clinging to the pant leg of his elder.

Alorius cleared his throat. "General may I present Ondereos, Flavius Livia, and Dar'Zhan."

"Gentlemen," said Talos, "I trust you've accomplished your missions."

The Bosmer, Ondereos, stepped forward and lowered his head.

"General," he said, "my men and I have scoured every sewer in the Imperial City. If there was a rat crawling we caught it."

"Good." Talos turned toward the Colovian.

"The tunnels were there just as Dar'Zhan said, sir," said Flavius Livia. "We released the rats into the Khajiit camp without them ever seeing us."

Dar'Zhan stepped forward. "Riverhold has closed their gates against the vermin. My clan-mates slew all of the livestock in the camp. The attack must be tonight, for they will not be able to resupply."

"Excellent," said Talos, "Captain, make sure you pay these men what was promised."

"Yes Sir." Alorius started to steer the group out of the tent.

"Who is the child?" asked Arctus.

"This is my son," said Dar'Zhan, "he spread the rumors of the vermin in Riverhold." He looked down at his son. "Come K'Sharra, it is time for us to go."

I- I.. I am speechless....
MORE!

What happened in the realm of Clavicus Vile though??

Awesome write, MORE!!! Just Awesome!

Massive! A TES field campaign! And well described.

The build up of tension in the air is as thick as the smell of decay. I am really looking forward to what comes next.

I do not yet see all the links between the pieces you have laid out to date, but I am optimisitc that I will.

'Five centuries performed their duties soundlessly, so as not to betray their position.'
I suspect you mean sentries here?

Very, very good! :foodndrink:

Just a quick post to clear up some confusion.

RemkoNL: Patience, my friend. The deal Lattia struck with Clavicus Vile will be paid off in the months to come.

Acadian: A century was a military unit in the Roman Legions consisting of between 60-100 soldiers. I guess the closest approximation in today's terms would be a company. I believe the basic structure was:

century= 60-100 men
maniple= 2 centuries
cohort= 3 maniples
legion= 10 cohorts

I suppose I should have had them doing something other than 'perfoming duties' to give a sense of the numbers involved.

Forgive me. Wow! When I said massive refering to your scale, I guess I wasn't kidding!

12th Morning Star, 2E 854
Fort Black Boot, Near Cyrodiil's Border with Elsweyr
Dusk


They were winding up a path northeast of the General's camp when Flavius Livia reined his horse. "What are we stopping for?" He asked.

"I want to see the battle," Ondereos answered. He dismounted and led his horse through the trees to the edge of a steep hill overlooking the valley.

Livia snorted. "Battle? More like massacre I'd say."

"I still want to see it." Ondereos wound the horse's reins around the trunk of a tree. Then he removed his bow and sat down. He reached into his pack and pulled out a hardened piece of venison that made a ripping sound when he bit into it.

"Mara's teets, I got men to pay!" Livia said.

I should kill you both and take your gold, Dar'Zhan thought to himself. "As do I," he said. He rode with his son holding his waist.

"As do we all, but they'll wait. Don't tell me you're not curious." Ondereos ripped another piece from his venison.

"Wonder how curious you'd be if it were a bunch of fetchers in that fort," said Livia as he shifted his mace. All the same, his horse began to move toward the edge of the hill.

Ondereos smiled. "In that case, I'd still be riding to Bravil."

"Alone, with night falling? Thank you, no." He dismounted and tied down his horse. He moved next to Ondereos. "I don't want to see my countrymen torn apart by a bunch of dirty cats!" He closed his eyes. "No offense, Dar'Zhan."

Coward! You're lucky I don't slit your belly open for that insult. "None taken," he said. He smiled at the human. He would not act upon his impulses. Not here, not in front of K'Sharra. The Khajiit must be the best deceivers, for they must always hide their nature from the children of Ahnurr. Clan Mother's words, he knew them by heart. He had taught them to his son, as he had been taught by his own father many years ago.

He swung his leg over the horse's neck and dismounted. He heard the jingle of his purse when he hit the ground. First the soldiers pay me, he thought, and now I watch them die. He lifted his son off the saddle and set him on the ground. When the battle is over, K'Sharra and I will go down to the fort and collect whatever treasure we can. He tied his horse to a ragged stump near the path. That will make me twice paid for one job. He held K'Sharra's hand and led him to the edge of the hill.

"After the battle Khajiit won't be popular in Bravil," he said, "you two should go on without us." Baan Dar smiles upon my cleverness.

"That's so," said Livia, "I don't want to be seen with no Khajiit after the garrison is taken."

"He probably wants us out of the way so he can raid the fort," said Ondereos.

Stupid clever fetcher! "They would not welcome me down there."

"I still don't know why you go against your own people," said Livia

"Because I got paid," said Dar'Zhan, and the only ones who know will soon be dead . . . except for you two.

"Quiet," said Ondereos, "I think it's starting."

From their vantage point they could see for miles in the fading light. To the south, beyond the line of trees in the distance, the Khajiit forces began to move. Like an uncoiling snake, the great mass of troops marched north toward the border.

To the east a horn blew from the fort. The garrison filled the courtyard and the gates were shut and barricaded. Archers appeared along the battlements.

To the west a lone rider emerged from the General's camp and rode hard to the east. The horse flew past the catapults and disappeared into the grove of trees. In the space of four heartbeats horse and rider reappeared at the other side of the grove and galloped downhill toward the fort.

"That's the Battlemage," said Ondereos, pointing at the rider, "I wonder what he's going to do."

Stupid fetcher! "You should go down and ask him." Said Dar'Zhan.


_____


Zurin Arctus waited while the gate was opened. Inside he passed through the garrison. Some of the men had boyish faces, eager eyes wide with anticipation and fear. Others, more hardened, had eyes clear and understanding, resigned to their fate yet determined to see it through. Still others, eyes darting and searching, gathered around the solemn priests who gave hurried prayers to Mara and Stendarr. He ignored them all as he crossed through the courtyard and walked up the steps to the watchtower.

Outside, the first drops of rain began to fall from storm clouds streaked with red. The air was thick with the harsh smell of burning pitch. To the south vengeful shadows began to form at the tree line. The plaintive wail from the metal bars of the native Khajiit instrument carried on the wind.

"They'll have to cover an acre of open ground to reach the walls, sir," said Captain Itinius who greeted Arctus with a salute, "as per orders we tarred the stakes with pitch before we put them into the trenches."

"Very good, Captain," said Arctus. The board is set, now it's up to the General, he thought.

"Even with all that I'm afraid it's only a matter of time before they overwhelm us, Sir."

"Have you ever fought Khajiit, Captain?"

"I've fought the occasional cat here and there, sir, but never anything like this."

Arctus walked to the edge so that he could see the anxious faces of the garrison.

"Legionnaires," he began. His voice carried throughout the fort. The garrison, to a man, stopped what they were doing and lent their eyes and ears to the watchtower. "Tonight is meant to be the night of all our deaths. That may be our fate, only the Gods can say. But if it be our fate, let us leave behind a reason for future generations to consecrate this place as holy ground. Let us make them remember that on a night when savage beasts dared to invade the border of our realm the brave garrison of Fort Black Boot held the line!"

Itinius drew his sword and raised it high. "Ordo Legionis!" he cried.

As one the garrison raised sword, spear, and bow. "Ordo Legionis!" rang throughout the valley.


_____


The first Khajiit wave consisted of the Alfiq. Several hundred creatures, housecats to the archers manning the wall, broke through the trees and ran toward the fort.

"Archers!" Itinius raised his hand, but the Battlemage placed a hand on his shoulder. The Captain turned.

"Don't waste the arrows," Arctus said.

Itinius lowered his hand and turned back to the field. He saw what the Battlemage meant. The Alfiq moved far too swiftly for the archers. They leaped over the rows of trenches and closed the distance to the walls.

"We could fire the trenches," Itinius said.

"Not yet. Bring the pitch to the walls."

Itinius barked the order and seconds later the steaming pots were being passed along the battlements. The first wave of Alfiq reached the walls and, claws unsheathed, began to leap and climb, hissing and spitting at the archers above.

"Let's give these cats a bath," Arctus said.

The order was repeated, and the pots were upended; boiling pitch ran down the length of the walls. The screaming of the Alfiq cut through the falling rain as the sticky resin burned through fur and skin.

"Torches," Arctus ordered.

Itinius repeated the order. Lit torches were passed to the archers, who flung them on the boiling cats below. A curtain of flame spread along the length of the wall, consuming the first wave of Alfiq while forming a barrier that the second wave could not penetrate.

A great cheer went up from the archers, who raised their bows high for the second time that night. The cheer carried to the men in the courtyard, who beat spears and swords against their shields. Itinius smiled through his helmet, his pride showed in the way he lifted his chest and pulled his shoulders back. Even the Battlemage allowed himself a moment to savor the frustrated wails of the Alfiq below. He considered giving the order to fire the first trench, which would trap the Alfiq between two flame walls. Not yet, he told himself, not yet.


_____


The second Khajiit wave consisted of the Ohmes. Bipedal creatures resembling Bosmer left the shadows of the trees. They closed the distance in great bounds that made them look as if they were floating. Behind them their larger cousins, the Ohmes-raht, followed. These, alone among the Khajiit, walked on the heels instead of the balls of their feet. Some, hands glowing, threw spell bolts toward the archers. The cheering stopped as the archers crouched beneath the paraqet for protection.

"Spellcasters!" Itinius ducked under the path of a purple ball of magic that disappeared into the clouds behind them.

The Ohmes drew closer. In the glare of the dying flames it was possible to see the tattoos of cat aspect that adorned their faces.

Arctus stepped forward. He raised his hands toward the heavens. The cowering archers along the wall saw the air around the Battlemage glow and spark, growing brighter as he drew more power from Aetherius.

He lowered his arms toward the field and a web of lightning spread halfway to the trees. Any of the Khajiit host caught in the radius of the spell began to twitch and spasm. Some were thrown into the trenches where they were impaled on the tarred stakes. Others fell to the ground, their bodies smoldering.

The rain began to fall harder, as if called down by the lightning. It doused the curtain of flame before the wall. In the dim light of a few stubborn torches the Khajiit bodies littered the field. A second cheer erupted from the archers as they rose to re-man their posts. The men in the courtyard could not see the battle, but they fed off their comrade's elation. All eyes were drawn to the Battlemage, and for a brief instant every stout heart was buoyed by the same impossible thought. We may yet survive this night.

"Archers!" The Battlemage yelled. His voice brought them back to themselves.

The bulk of the Khajiit host broke the tree line and began to spread across the field. In the darkness the men on the wall could only see the outlines and the occasional glint of their blades. Thousands of the leather clad Suthay-raht wielded spears, bows, or sharpened claws. Hundreds of the fierce Cathay-raht, swords in hand, sat aboard their Senche Tigers, each larger than a grizzly. There were many other Khajiit that no man had ever seen.

"Merciful Stendarr," Itinius whispered.

Arctus turned his head to the west.


_____


A hundred men had been assigned to man the catapults. Another four hundred men waited, armored, mounted, and ready. Five hundred pairs of eyes followed the armored form of General Talos as his white horse cantered up the hill.

Captain Alorius held a torch and waited near the catapults. "They're being set upon pretty good down there, but so far they've held their own."

The armored head nodded and took the torch from him. He spurred his horse forward to survey the field.

The Khajiit host flooded the entirety of the field in front of the fort. The archers on the wall were firing at will. Yet for each foe that fell another, larger and closer, took its place.

Alorius turned his horse and rode back through the lines of mounted men all facing Fort Black Boot. He spurred his horse down the hill and weaved around the abandoned tents to the center of the camp. He dismounted in front of General Talos' tent. He turned back toward the top of the hill and, satisfied that he was not observed, unbuttoned the tent flap and stepped inside.

A single candle cast a tremulous light inside the tent. General Talos sat in his golden chair studying a map of the valley spread on the floor in front of him. In his right hand he held a silver goblet that he absently twirled between thumb and forefinger. He looked up as Alorius entered.

Alorius held himself at attention and saluted. "Sir, we are in position. The garrison repelled the first two Khajiit waves, but now the bulk of their host has taken the field."

"Very well, Captain," said Talos, "tell Ysmir that he may begin."

"Yes sir." Alorius turned, and hesitated.

"What is it, Captain?"

"Apologies, sir," said Alorius, turning back to face his general.

"Ask your question."

"Yes sir. It's Ysmir, sir. I have seen him stand beside you any number of times since Sancre Tor and I still don't understand how he manages to fit into your armor."

Talos allowed himself an indulgent smile. "Let's just say that Ysmir is more than he appears. Now go, I cannot afford to lose Arctus to an army of housecats."

"Sir," Alorius repeated his salute and left the tent. He refastened the buttons of the tent flap and mounted his waiting horse. He rode back up the hill, past anxious horses and men who were watching the battle unfold in the valley below them. Ysmir turned in his saddle at Alorius' approach.

By the Eight, Alorius thought, with the helmet on even his face looks like the General's. Ysmir's eyes flashed in the light of the torch that he held. Alorius' nod was almost imperceptible. Ysmir turned to the battlefield, a smile spreading across his face.

His shoulders rose, his chest expanded. From behind it looked as if he began to grow. His back strained against the sides of his cuirass. He held up an armored hand. The teams manning the catapults loaded the wolf carcasses into the slings and lit their torches.

When it seemed as if he would bust through the seams of his armor he opened his mouth and allowed his thu'um to pierce the air.


_____


Nothing in their experience had prepared the men of Fort Black Boot for the sheer power that sound could have. It covered the battlefield and the fort and caused the ears to bleed. A few of the archers along the wall were lifted bodily by it, and thrown screaming to the courtyard below.

"By the Gods!" Itinius covered his ears with both hands.

For the Khajiit the sound was worse. Many of the Ohmes and Alfiq could not stand before the hurricane force of the sound wave that washed over them. They were thrown into the dark trenches or swept away entirely. Even the Cathay-raht dropped their swords and covered their ears. Certain victory melted into confusion. The great thu'um finally grew silent. The fort was forgotten as the horde of Khajiit looked to find the source of the sound.

And then it began to rain burning wolves.

Confusion gave way to panic. The burning wolves killed whatever they landed on. Those that did not land on Khajiit landed in the trenches, igniting them into great canols of flame that engulfed any nearby. The screams of the dead and dying filled the air. The Khajiit host was broken. By the thousands they fled back toward the border screaming as wave after wave of the burning wolves fell around them.

A great battle cry was heard from the west. General Talos led four hundred legionnaires that burst through the grove and galloped toward the remaining Khajiit. Many of those that remained on the field threw themselves into the trenches to escape the demon riders. Others were simply ridden down.

It was over quickly after that. Silence descended on the battlefield. The only sound was the hiss of the rain as it slowly doused the trenches. General Talos rode his white horse to the front of the fort, where every man in the garrison could see him. He lifted his bloody sword in triumph.

"Ordo Legionis!" cried the garrison, "Ordo Legionis!"


_____


It took a while for K'Sharra to realize that his father was talking to him.

"K'Sharra, come back to me. We must be going."

Slowly his eyes focused. He was back on the hillside. Down in the valley the storm had moved to the east. Smoke rose from the battlefield, many small fires still burned.

His cheeks were wet. His father took his hand and led him toward the horses. His father now wore a bow and a mace. He tripped over the splayed leg of the Bosmer and he tumbled. His father helped him back to his feet. He looked at his hands. They were stained with blood, but he was not cut. He was lifted up and put onto the Bosmer's horse. His father had three purses of gold.

They were still there. He could feel the sound in his head. He could see the burning wolves when he closed his eyes. They rode back to the winding path. He turned and looked past the dead man and the dead elf to the valley. He knew those wolves would follow him for the rest of his life.

That battledescription was EPIC!

Riveting from beginning to end, your male dialogue was absolutely perfect! Looks like Sheogorath had a hand in this battle, lol !! Awesome write!