Skyrim: A Sorcerer's Tale

(Reyvin's POV)

I could practically taste the big lizard's hateful glare as he understood I invalidated his initial plan without taking a single step. I would begrudgingly admit his reaction to it was much more reasonable than I expected.

The besieging army began shuffling about, their shock troops replacing their spearmen on the front as what remained of their rickety siege towers were pushed out before them, soon followed by numerous ladder teams.

At least the ladders looked well made, would have made me feel bad for them otherwise.

Within only a few minutes, the attackers were reorganized, and after one bellowing war cry they began marching, their large, better armored forms screaming pure aggression even as they stepped carefully forward.

A few of our magi, all of whom were stationed atop Kragenmoor's many tall towers, began launching bolts of lightning and fire to harass the enemy and start up their Magicka regeneration as I taught them, their attacks were met by the mages attached to the Argonian formations and mostly cancelled out with only one group of some one hundred attackers suffering heavy casualties as their mage fumbled his ward. At least so it went for the initial volley, attrition would inevitably favor us in this case.

The Argonian magi were far less useful once they entered missile range though.

Kragenmoor did not have many bowmen, a downright sad amount really, but it was equipped with a few hundred of automatons imported by the Redoran from your's truly, and those had already proven themselves by harassing the enemy into insanity mere days prior.

Small, precise, and heavily armored, the little buggers could deliver a veritable deluge of high draw weight crossbow bolts in a rate that could rival even my own whitecloaks. Needless to say, they would reap a massive number of casualties, even if the lizards' formation barely looked shaken by the dozens of death they suffered each second.

The small giant sized lizard leading their army proved himself not a complete idiot once more, as while the first wave of attackers, some five thousand strong, marched at us from the south, thousands more began marching to the west and east, their desire to slowly envelop us quite evident for all to see.

"A bit premature but I suppose I can deal with it" Is all I had to say to that as I sent Scorch to inform the relevant people of the shift in tactics.

(General POV)

At first, Yrel felt honored and a bit relieved that his unit had been assigned to the most central wall, as that was where Lord Dagoth had chosen to make his stand, but as the very earth and walls shook beneath his feet he felt his regret for his life choices growing by the moment.

Only the reassuring grip of Grey's hand atop his shoulder manage to stop him from shaking like a coward.

There were so bloody many of the lizards that he could not conceive the very idea of victory, much less imagine it as an actual outcome.

And yet, an elf decades younger than even himself stood in front him, staring down at the enemy not with defiance or hatred in his eyes but... boredom. Pure. Disdainful. Boredom.

The moment the enemy crossed some invisible threshold, the leader of the once accursed Sixth House rose his hand, a staff that was not there a moment ago now occupying the other, and brought it down with a deliberate slowness.

In an instant the very skies felt like they were set aflame, as massive storms of crackling crimson fire appeared to their flanks, devastating hundreds upon hundreds of the attacking army and herding the vast majority of them to the exact section of wall Yrel was standing on.

As Lord Dagoth confidently summoned a sword in his empty hand, his massive bodyguard yet unmoving, the young cobbler from Kragenmoor found that he most definitely regretted his life choices now.

-

Lord Dagoth's expected deluge of magic did not stop the enemy from moving to strike the rest of the fortified city, an expected outcome to one Almeril Faren.

The Redoran noble did not even look at the first Argonian that descended from the enemy siege tower as he beheaded him, his shield already slamming edge first into another lizard's neck.

His fellow house members, and even the Dres he admitted silently, followed through immediately, slicing into the enemy with both skill and discipline. Those lizardmen who did not get immediately cut down swiftly being brought down by bolts of fire and lightning from the nearby towers.

The slaughter was efficient indeed, nearly perfect in fact.

A quick count was called for and only one Redoran warrior lay dead by the end of the first clash.

As he stared at the ever numerous enemy, Almeril found the kill to death ratio to be insufficient.

-

Massanor of the Erabenimsun found that the more time he spent with these house elves, the more he was forced to respect them. For all his century of youth he was taught that the Great Houses leading most of Resdayn were corrupt and conniving, and yet as they fell around him, fighting as brothers, all he could do was respect their spirit and sacrifice.

His shield protected as many as he could, his sword cutting down the n'wah invaders with each strike, and his heavy armor saved the priest's healing for all those who would truly need it.

Massour stood above him as ever, his unreasonably tall brother crushing more than slicing the enemy apart with his glaive, giving more opportunity for the less experienced spearmen of Kragenmoor to cut down those less skilled and armored.

As a lull came to the fight, mere seconds separating them from the next wave of lizards clambering up the ladders, Massanor felt a bit of validation for his decision to come here.

At first he merely followed the priest and his brother, no Erabenimsun would truly ever be a believer in prophesy but when Azura herself appears to tell you the time is night you suck up your pride and follow through, that is just how it was done.

He doubted the near-child that was Lord Dagoth at first but with each moment the young one proved to be beyond most, and likely all elves Massanor had ever met. The disdainful ease with which he made things happen, and the sheer audacity to stand before an army over ten times the size of his own and preach victory was downright inspiring, even if the Ashlander would never admit it aloud.

Was this the reason the gods chose him? The arrogance to stand before the world and tell it to go ash itself?

Massanor supposed he would have to survive long enough to find the answer as the next wave came and his blade tasted blood once more.

-

The apprentice shamans of the An-Xileel felt their blood boil as they held back the mere aftershocks of the storm of fire that had consumed their comrades. Wards broke, amulets were drained, and the very Magicka within their bodies was repurposed to intensify the slaughter.

As a champion warrior leaped from the siege tower, the sole remaining true shaman let out an internal cheer, hoping that the valiant egg brother could buy them a moment's distraction and let them reorganize.

The enemy Great Shaman did not even bother looking at him as his guard slapped his head away, the firestorm growing ever more violent as if in retaliation.

It was not long before far more than merely their blood began to boil.

---

(Savos' POV)

"Kids these days are so damn demanding" I grumble cheerfully as the flanking force approaches "Oh gramps go and hold an entire army back by yourself, shouldn't be that difficult." I scoff before remembering I wasn't actually alone "Apologies."

The Imperial Legate just snorts and rolls his eyes.

The Argonians finally step through the small patch of forest that was supposed to hide their approach from our lookouts and I barely hold back an eyeroll of my own.

Whoever was leading them seems to notice that the walls facing them were mostly empty and soon I feel the air start shaking even harder as they begin a frenzied charge, no doubt hoping to catch us by surprise.

It was just too bad for them that I had days to prepare for this very event.

Runes laid out all across the field between the Argonians and the walls lit up, all of them flickering with power as a connection was established with Oblivion and the Good Daedra.

Reyvin may disdain their use but as a conjurer I found that I could now make contracts far more easily by mere association, why some Mephalans were even willing to fight for free!

That is to say, the field was suddenly covered by a good two thousand Dremora warriors, and even aided by prepared runes and enchanted artifacts gifted to me by my grandson I felt myself nearly fall unconscious then and there.

The Legate whistled appreciatively, and a moment later the silence caused by the surprise summoning was broken as both sides began screaming at each other.

The Dremora were not particularly creative with their taunts but a massive 'demon' as Reyvin called them screaming his lungs out at you while trying to brain you did not really need much effort to be terrifying.

Evidently, the lizards agreed, as their formations began buckling a mere minute after the clash began.

"Well gentlemen." I stretch a bit and pop my neck "And ladies" I quickly add to the amusement of the few female legionaries "I do believe it is time for us to join in on the fun."

The Legate salutes and begins barking orders, the light cavalry under his command moving out with practiced ease as they prepared a flanking attack.

'I on the other hand would be much more direct in my own attack' I thought as I downed a perfect potion of Magicka and summoned Brightburn at his full size, stepping atop him with practiced ease.

We did not need to communicate verbally as he launched himself into the skies, an unstable mix of destructive Magicka already swirling within my hand as I began disintegrating Argonians left and right.

''At least the soil will be richer when we were done.'' Both my familiar and I thought at the same time.

---

(General POV)

Great Warchief Valezar kept his expression perfectly blank as he observed the battlefield. He knew the enemy was capable but the mounting casualties were going even beyond his most radical expectations.

Over seven thousand warriors across three different attack waves and dozens upon dozens of shamans fell to the enemy.

Those kinds of numbers would humiliate anyone, doubly so the 'radical fool' of the An-Xileel and thus ruin his ambitions.

"Great Shaman" He called out, drawing the old woman's knowing gaze "We must strike out now."

"Very well." The 'you foolish child' went unspoken but most assuredly not unheard.

Within minutes, his second had been informed of his duties, and his elite companions readied for their assault. Their rare orichalcum plate armor enchanted to the brim so as to resist the most powerful of Telvanni sorcerers long enough to deliver a killing blow.

His preparation cost him another five hundred warriors as an elder shaman finally fell to the concentrated fire of the slaver magi, his unit of archers following soon after as they were consumed by a barrage of fireballs.

The enemy did not go unpunished though, as two towers fell soon after, one shriveling up and falling apart under a powerful storm of snow and the other falling apart under a barrage of artillery.

The smug bastard leading the slavers could not be everywhere and his protection required his focus to be perfect. A fact Valezar chose to abuse to its fullest.

Already the walls were beginning to be worn by the barrage of artillery, his egg brothers instructed to target the few spots away from the ladder and siege tower teams, both distracting the defenders and potentially cutting off their reinforcements.

A section of wall was nearly overrun as a part of it caved in but the enemy magi barely managed to save it by burning down a siege tower, still the casualties would make any subsequent attack easier.

His archers were also slowly beginning to do serious damage, even it if cost them dearly for each arrow loosed.

Another blast of light came from the east as he rose his hammer and began his march, he could only lament the deaths caused by what was no doubt a massive trap and hope that the western assault would have a better time of it.

His rapid march soon broke into a sprint as he felt the very air around him heat up, the only thing stopping him from certain death by incineration being the Histspeaker's own magics.

The old woman glared up at the wall with narrowed eyes as her wards, her pride and joy as far as Valezar knew, were pushed back by blast after blast of powerful purple flame. He was no mage himself but something told him the wards being set aflame somehow wasn't a good thing.

That the Histspeaker growled and drank a potion but a moment later only served to confirm this.

Valezar shook his petty concerns away and readied himself to climb up the bloody siege tower in front of him, though a small part of him wondered why it was not incinerated where it stood.

Before he and his band could follow through with their plans, the ground suddenly shook with impact as the Histspeaker staggered back and redoubled her casting, a cloud of dust now covering the corpse ridden siege tower.

Valezar blinked and the cloud was gone, revealing a figure more massive than even he. 

"Greetings meatbag" It growled "My master bid me to capture you, and I will not fail."

In an instant that only he could follow and react to, Valezar found his hammer blocking a flaming ebony glaive from killing one of his companions, the force of the blow nearly doubling him over.

He blinked as he realized one of his companions had gotten kicked in the chest while the enemy struck at him, his body breaking under the massive force and leaving but a smear on the ground.

"Yes." The ogre chuckled darkly "Now there is a look I can appreciate."

Valezar would never admit it but a part of him rejoiced even as he and the creature began striking at each other with reckless abandon, rarely was he ever able to find someone who could face him and not break.

-

Great Shaman Xelnara, or Histspeaker if you were of a more devout mentality, could only curse as she was forced back over and over by the beyond archmage elf atop the wall.

Her wards, trained within the now defunct Mages Guild, were the greatest in all of Argonia and the fact that she had to focus on them fully instead of being able to strike out from under their aegis told her just how utterly idiotic their decision to attack had truly been.

The elf, the renowned and among her people quite dreaded (by sheer reputation and implication to any who had enough of a mind to think) Lord Dagoth, threw so much magic at her within each second that she wondered where exactly he was pulling it from.

Each spell was potent enough to drain a fully ordained shaman utterly and yet the elf kept chaining them into more ridiculously complex and cursed forms, forcing the ancient woman to keep modifying her own wards lest the curses consume them utterly and redirect all of her magic against her own people.

A small part of her wondered if the bastard was using her to experiment but that thought was too ridiculous to actually consider.

She finally caught a chink in the enemy spell, a small inefficiency that would never be noticed by less experienced eyes, and immediately took the chance to strike back, the curse upon her wards contained and redirected back to its master.

Only for the one currently fighting the Warchief to kick him away in a sudden burst of speed, and raise his hand, completely negating both the curse and spell at once.

Xelnara had never seen any ward so utterly solid, and knew immediately that the creature countering her was no mortal being.

Valezar took the distraction as invitation to strike back at his enemy, his natural regeneration so utterly ridiculous by even the high standards of his people that he was able to heal his broken bones in a mere second.

The massive metal creature blocked the attack, joined by odd shadowy creatures rising from beneath it which warded off Valezar's cohort of warriors.

Only centuries of experience saved Xelnara as she felt the air shift ever so slightly to her right and immediately displaced herself upon the earth, barely avoiding a decapitating swing of a single bladed sword wreathed in grey flame.

"Madam" The crowned elf did not seem disappointed by his failure and instead offered a respectful but shallow bow.

Xelnara felt a bit surreal about the whole thing but still gave a nod of her own.

Greetings exchanged the two stared at each other for a brief instant before the entire area around them exploded with magic, an ancient grandmaster facing down a rising star of blinding brightness, and swiftly finding herself pushed back.

That she would manage to hold the elf at a stalemate for a full five minutes would earn her immense reputation among both friend and foe.

-

Valezar grunted in annoyance as yet another one of his companions was crushed under the careless grip of what he belatedly realized was a Hist damned automaton. That the damn thing held emotion within its enchanted eyes baffled him but he did not truly have much time to consider its implications as he kept exchanging blow after blow with it.

The creature was powerful, this he could admit, but he was the apex of his species, blessed by both Hist and lineage, and he would not fall to a mere minion, no matter how mighty.

The Argonian giant hissed out a battle cry, his hammer finding the weak point in the automaton's glaive arm and cracking the crystalline metal holding it together even as one of his egg brothers was rent asunder to buy him the chance.

Retaliation came immediately and he felt his ribs cracking and his heart temporarily failing as he was thrown back dozens of meters, his own weight serving to make his hurtling form into a projectile that lead to just as many deaths.

He had won out in the exchange, of this he had no doubt. While the creature was powerful it would not heal anytime soon, and Valezar already felt his bones reconnecting, his feet already moving on their own as he ignored the pain and readied yet another powerful strike.

Only to feel the fingers holding his weapon crack as the automaton simply punched down with a closed fist, ripping the appendages apart with immense force and immediately following through with a powerful headbutt.

Valezar snarled as he felt his snout breaking and bit down on a powerful healing salve given to him by the shamans, speeding up his healing to an even more ridiculous degree as he simply punched the metal beast, throwing it back much like it did to him.

Their dignified battle soon turned into an outright brawl with metal cracking and bone breaking with each second that passed.

And unluckily for the automaton, in a battle of attrition Valezar could outlast a dragon.

The Great Warchief roared in triumph as he rose his hammer and prepared to finish the thing off, only for his hand to fly away and his arm disintegrate in an instant as he instinctively leaned back.

He felt a familiar magic tugging at his back and saw the ragged form of the shaman standing behind him, his eyes snapping to the enemy leader but a moment later.

He saw as the automaton stood up and calmly retreated up the siege tower, moving just as swiftly as he did during their battle, damage be damned.

"Greetings, little farm tool." The one he was told was named Dagoth spoke "How nice of you to finally show yourself after watering the ground with thousands of your own."

He held back a snarl at the familiar slur "Why do you talk?" He asked in ill practiced Tamrielic.

The masked elf tilted his head "I suppose I am just curious, you remind me of a friend of mine... however vaguely" He tacked on with a fair bit of disgust "Only you seem to be far less wise than he."

Valezar scoffed "Whatever games you play do not interest me. When I am done killing you, your friend will soon follow."

"Is that so?" He could not see it but he could definitely feel the elf raise an eyebrow "I am sure dear old Shalazar will be quite disappointed by that."

Hearing that name, Valezar's sight instantly went red, his regrown arm drawing a blade from his belt in concert with his hammer, his form blurring as he struck at the elf with newfound strength.

Only the elf did not feel like playing fair at all.

Each step Valezar took was followed by an explosion of a rune set below him, each swing was returned with weapons enchanted to kill a god, and soon he felt himself weakening as even his regeneration reached its limits. The only thing that saved him from what he thought would be instant death was the interference of the Great Shaman, who threw all the power she could at his foe, and still left him to suffer grievously.

And to make things even worse, the damnable elf had taken no damage whatsoever.

"What use is having all that vitality" The elf spoke with utter disdain in his voice "If all you are going to do with it is bleed all over me?" As if listening to him, all the blood covering his robes flowed away, leaving even his robes pristine.

Valezar, for the first time in his life, felt utterly terrified by what he saw, which is why when Xelnara grabbed him by the shoulder, and he felt himself being tugged back, he did not resist at all.

(Reyvin's POV)

Who just charges at a literal archmage and expects to survive? "Fucking dumbass" I shake my head. Even if he practically confirmed he had some kind of connection to Shalazar I was half tempted to remove him so that the Great Lizard Wizard would not be forced to face the disappointment.

The two of them fell back and I allowed it. I wasn't quite so retarded as to charge after them as even if I could theoretically win on my own, being surrounded left far too many variables for my paranoid ass. That and one did not grow nearly as much in political power by butchering thousands as he did in leading others to do the same.

A big shame I did not have a force to strike back at them while they were demoralized too...

Feeling a light buzzing in my passive clairvoyance I looked to the east and felt a grin spreading on my face.

(General POV)

As horns began sounding out all across the battlefield, and the enemy began an ordered mass retreat, wherever they could that is, Yrel felt his exhausted hands falling to his sides, and his tired grip slackening.

He still held onto his spear though, Lord Faren taught them to never lose their weapon, whether they had a sidearm or not.

Once Lord Dagoth decided he would face a portion of the enemy army alone, Yrel and his force were redirected to the western flank where the rest of the militia were stationed, the fighting atop that particular wall was the bloodiest and only the flanking charge of Yrel's brothers in arms and the flames summoned forth by the Lady Karvanni allowed them to push the enemy back long enough for the lines to stabilize.

The Redoran needed no such help of course as they butchered anything and anyone appearing on the eastern flank with the skill of bloodied centuries. Their losses were reportedly low but Yrel was understandably not high up on the priority list when it came to sharing information.

The young cobbler grunted as he felt his rear hit the dead body of an Argonian, his tired lungs breathing greedily of the filthy air around him. It took him a few moments to calm himself down and all around him those who yet held the energy cheered at their enemy's retreating back.

He felt his eyes moisten as the realization that he would survive yet another day finally began setting in, and he turned to find Grey and share in his happiness... Only to see the old veteran laying face down atop the wall, his saber buried deep in a massive Argonian's throat, neither he nor the animal breathing any longer.

The moisture around Yrel's eyes was no longer one caused by relief.

---

Valezar glared in every each direction as the Histspeaker dragged him back into camp, he still had the presence of mind to give out the command for an ordered retreat back to camp but he could not do much beyond that.

The elf's casual use of his distant ancestor's name was not something he could so easily settle over.

"How many?" He found himself asking the Great Shaman, who had convened a meeting of the Warchiefs in his stead.

She looked at him with both fury and disappointment "Over nineteen thousand."

He felt his heart stop due to sheer shock for a few second, his regeneration kicking in a moment later "Oh."

He did not flinch as the clawed hand of the shaman struck his face, sending him sprawling back with a surprising amount of force.

"We will be pulling back to Andrethis as soon a the wounded are ready to move." Xelnara told him in no uncertain terms "There we will see about our next moves, and how to deal with the enemy reinforcements."

Valezar sat up immediately, his eyes narrowed "Reinforcements?"

"Our western flanking force was pushed back." She informed him tersely "But not by any force we were aware of, instead there was an entire army waiting for them. Only four hundred returned from the five thousand you sent there."

A cynical part of Valezar was quite thankful at that moment, that his was only an expeditionary force.

He was not terribly enthusiastic about convincing more of his people to join the fight now though.

----------------

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