Skyrim: A Sorcerer's Tale-Chapter 447 - LXVI: Lightning Strike (Part 1)

The humidity in the air split around me as I patiently tapped my foot on the forest floor, it was odd how certain biological tendencies remained even when I theoretically should not have them.

I could feel the pre-battle jitters spreading across my mostly silent troops so seeing me relaxed should give them a small boost in confidence. Or at least that is the excuse I gave myself for my lack of discipline.

Another soldier cleared his throat and I was reminded as to why they were mostly silent.

The humidity in the air was starting to feel downright unhealthy for a Dunmer to live in, and I was not one bit surprised that the Hist did its best to invasively spread its influence all the way to Mournhold.

It was almost parasitic in a sense, as the plants visibly started taking on a shape more aligned to the tree-god creatures and the very land felt unwelcoming to us.

Something I would deal with in due time, but also something that would affect the troops now.

A presence closed in and my eyes met those of Davos "Is it time?" I asked.

"Looks like it." He nods and walks up to me, a few of his fellow guildsmen moving behind the ranks instead of following him. He removes his helmet before handing me a written report and adds "Guards should be changing soon enough."

"And how is the evening affecting them?" I ask as I rapidly consume the information written.

Davos makes a 'so-so' gesture "They are starting to look drowsy but that is it."

"Still an advantage" I note simply. Attacking is best done either at dawn or in the dusk, when the enemy was not yet woken up or when their bodies began asking for rest. That the Dunmer took it as me seeking Azura's blessing was just a bonus.

Shaking my head at the 'complete coincidence' I focus back on my right hand Mer "And what of your other task?"

His eyes practically shine with vindictive glee as he grins "It was an interesting challenge."

"Excellent" I mirror his expression and slowly turn around, coming face to face with fifty of the least combative Telvanni attached to my army "Are you prepared?"

Their leader, being one particularly grouchy old fart, scoffs "What do you take me for?" The way he simply ignored his helpers would have usually made them furious but they learned to ignore his constant jabs, even if it did take them a few days.

"Someone millennia out of practice, Fyr" I snark.

He rolls his eyes "Yes, yes, would you like us to begin now?"

"Go right ahead" I smirk "And try not to fall asleep before the wounded start coming in."

This time he does not bother responding and simply turns to the large ritual circle between him and his lesser peers, raising his hand and calling on his Magicka as the rest followed suit.

Moments later, a mist started flowing upwards, before slowly falling towards the enemy camp.

I almost felt sorry for the Argonians as I summoned my blade and crown, and took the first true step of this war.

(General POV)

Warchief Sayekar stormed out of the Shaman's tent with a by now familiar fury in his eyes, his egg brothers instinctually stepping out of his way as he marched back to his own lodging.

'Now they decide to give their support?!' He fumed internally, remembering his earlier conversation as he forcefully took deep long breaths and slowed his stomps into a more reasonable walk.

It did not matter in the end, for he was getting exactly what he and his bloodsworn fellows wanted, even if it came a few months later than they desired. He knew his troops would rejoice as well, all fifty thousand of them, when he told them they would be the tip of the spear aimed at the hearts of the greyskins.

His slowly improving mood was ruined almost immediately though as he took a few sniffs of the air and stilled, before growling in irritation "Damn mist, just what we needed now."

Thoroughly annoyed he finally stepped into his tent and went to relax with a bit of sap... only to still utterly as he saw a distinctly Dunmeri style knife stabbed into the wooden pillar of his temporary home.

With a newfound chill in his blood, Sayekar ripped free the tiny letter held up by the knife and began reading it, his eyes narrowing and his mouth twisting into a snarl as he did.

Dear An-Xileel and Co.

It would seem my little warning at Kragenmoor was not enough to get through to your thick little heads, so it appears I will have to enlighten your beastly selves of your mistakes the good old fashioned way.

Let it be known that from the moment this note reaches its destination the Kingdom of Morrowind hereby enters a state of war with the nominal Kingdom of Argonia. One that shall not end until all rightful Morrowind land is returned under its aegis.

You have fucked around, and now foolish beast, you shall find out.

Signed by: Dagoth Reyvin, Lord of the Sixth House, Slayer of Alduin, Chosen of the Good Daedra, and Hortator of Morrowind.

Sayekar barely had the time to finish reading and for curses to start forming on his lips before the mist passed him by and the smell of blood struck him like a hammer.

(Reyvin's POV, mere moments prior)

The mist roiled before us, the ritual guiding it to move exactly as to hide our approach without affecting our own eyesight.

My troops kept eerily quiet as we approached the enemy camp, the noise being the stomping of boots and the release of crossbow bolts whenever an enemy forward scout felt adequately paranoid and came to ensure the mist hid nothing but wet air.

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Too bad it hid their worst nightmares instead.

Already, Regnild's artillery was being set up behind us and my other sub-commanders were also reaching their attack positions with appreciable synchronicity. Faren had our right flank, Fyr and Zadir had our rear, Indoril had our left, and I had the center.

All the while Demnevanni, Savos, the Ashlanders, and a majority of the automatons moved to block off any reinforcements from Mournhold itself.

Soon enough, the wall of mist stopped moving and so did we, still silent I rose my sword and my troops tensed.

And then the mist dispersed, moving from the enemy camp to cover Mournhold in its entirety.

There was a quiet moment as the Argonian lookouts were startled by the sudden shift, and being a generous Mer I even gave them one more for realization to start entering their eyes.

And then I charged.

The first lizardman tried bringing his spear up but I was already a blur, appearing right next to him mid swing with a mix of physical speed and space magic. His head flew into the air and his comrade soon followed him as I allowed the lack of resistance to carry my blow.

My free hand flew up and the scrambling fools behind them were turned to dust in one burst of chain lightning, soon followed by a trio of firestorm sized fire walls that began snaking throughout the enemy camp, immediately closing off most of their flanking routes as I and my Sworn Mer marched over their charred corpses.

Some fools still tried jumping us through their tents, or straight up jumping over them for the most idiotic ones but they were soon met with bolt and halberd and were put down like the terminal retards they were.

More of them began throwing themselves at us even as I heard fireballs detonate all across the front and the rest of the army begin clashing with our confused foe. I could feel the front getting pushed back near instantly, my own army using their advantage in both experience and surprise to take as much ground as possible as quickly as possible.

And they were doing an incredible job of it.

Panic was spreading through the camp and a number of the Argonians were already starting to hesitate in their advance, some of the more cowardly ones actually fleeing due to the sudden scramble.

A light tingle in the air drew my sight back and I focused back on the fight.

Finally they brought up a group of Shamans to counter my magic, all of them collectively raising a protective ward that stopped my firestorm from simply cooking the next two hundred fools that tried rushing me.

Or so they thought.

More and more of the Argonians rushed my positions and were cut down by my soldiers or the deathly trio of Nerevar, Akulakhan and Anondor, the lizardmen seemingly emboldened as I pretended to focus on blocking off their other attack routes.

Once their number climbed up to five hundred despite the casualties they were taking, I swung down with Surge and the ward popped like a balloon.

The enemy assault stopped as the Argonians' instincts screamed at them and they looked up at my levitating form with pure terror in their eyes.

Without a word of my usual mockery, I simply snapped my fingers and they were all instantly incinerated.

Varen, who was in charge of my detachment, promptly stopped his subordinates from gawking and soon we were advancing further into the enemy camp.

But it was simply too massive.

There were tens of thousands of the little bastards encamped here and while we were cutting them down by the hundreds every minute their panic was already starting to soften.

Even as their fortifications were scythed through by scorpion bolts, or swarmed by spider automata, all the enemy needed to do was throw enough men at us to buy some breathing room and our sudden assault would turn into a proper battle.

Something we could certainly win, if we wanted to take greater casualties that is.

Silently, I plopped myself back on the ground, drawing the attention of my three companions "They are regrouping too quickly" I inform them "We need to disrupt them."

Akulakhan and Anondor remain silent but Nerevar huffs "So rush the enemy commander and destroy their center?" He leans Sunder on his shoulder pad "Almost feels like the good old days."

I grin below my crown "Oh you certainly will be."

He raises an eyebrow and I tell him of my cunning plan.

(General POV)

"What do you mean you cannot stop it?!" Sayekar hissed at the Shaman.

The older egg-sister narrowed her eyes "I told you whatever is going on there is too powerful to contain." She pointed at the wall of smoke almost frantically "We are simply not powerful enough to go against that without massive casualties."

The Warchief contains another furious growl and focuses back on the rapidly moving frontline, the burning center of it all specifically "It seems you will have to make an attempt no matter what."

His left and right flanks were holding well enough, bolstered by a constant stream of reinforcements they would buy time for the rest of them to reorganize and strike back at the greyskins with their lives, an unfortunate strategy but such was their situation.

It was the center that truly worried him however, as over three thousand egg-brothers had already rushed into that storm of flame without a single one coming back out, the mere sight of the rapidly moving wall of destruction serving to demoralize his army just as much as the sudden attack did if not more.

Oh there were certainly enemy shamans, or 'magi' as they called themselves, on the other flanks but none came even close to the sheer destruction brought by what Sayekar guessed was the enemy Warchief.

And now that destruction was moving their way.

'His' Shaman curses and rushes to her apprentices.

And as if that was not enough...

"Warchief!" One of his runners rushed to him, panic in his eyes.

He nearly growled but held himself back, that kind of thing would be counterproductive now "What?" He asked even as he signaled his subordinate chiefs to gather round.

"Another enemy force appeared between us and the city!" The runner exclaimed far too loudly "We are completely cut off!"

"What?!" Sayekar scowled "Do we know who they are?"

The runner twitched in fear "M-metal beasts and shamans, Warchief."

Sayekar's eyes snapped to one of his subordinates and the egg-brother nodded before he even spoke "Have the salamanders move out to deal with them, the troops in the city should see you and crush them between you."

The Chieftain saluted and ran off to his mount.

"Now" Sayekar grinned even he swore he could hear another group of his kin be incinerated "We prepare an ambush."

---

Indoril Nerevar, a name he carried throughout all his lifetimes, tore yet another Argonian with Sunder, breaking him in half with his immense strength and braining his comrade with his armored fist, stepping back a moment later as Anondor cut through the throat of yet another of their mages.

He and the snow elf, and was that not a thought he never believed he would think, were cutting through the enemy ranks with such efficiency that the halberdiers that followed them barely had to do any work, leaving most of the true fighting to them and their crossbow armed fellows.

Oddly enough, at least to Nerevar, they did not seem to mind the lack of glory one bit, especially their commander who he learned was rather laid back in most of the things he did except when it came to the preservation of his soldiers' lives.

Then he became another person in his entirety.

Nerevar found that he could respect that, these were after all different times.

The Automaton Dagoth left with them stayed behind the lines, using numerous scrolls to keep the firestorm effect going even as more and more of the Argonians rushed into what they knew was certain death.

Nerevar found he could most certainly not respect that, even as one of the fools managed to survive a strike to the chest from his hammer, which only bought him a moment of suffering further as he was stabbed by a halberd once Nerevar simply stepped past him.

Soon, after having waded through thousands of the fools, they reached their destination and found the large opening in the center of the camp to be filled to the brim with heavily armored Argonians accompanied by their mages.

Their leader, who was mounted atop a quadrupedal lizard just as heavily armored as he, stepped out in front of their band with his spear raised "Which one of you calls himself Hortator?" He asked challengingly.

Nerevar grinned at the decoy, nearly chuckling at the irony of it all.

And then he blasted him with lightning.

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Raise your stones for our brave soldiers!

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