207 Chapter XI: Cleaning House
Having offered their insults and challenges, both the rebels and loyalists focused on the only thing that mattered more than their motivations from that point on. That being making their enemy very, very dead.
Thorfinn wasted no time in aggressively slashing at Thorgrim while attempting to slip his dagger in between his armor plates. The old guardsman was skilled and experienced but his disdain for magic put him at a massive disadvantage when facing his former comrade.
Yet for all his aggression, the young Nord could only inflict the barest of wounds with his magically sharp blades, swiftly covering his elder in many a surface cut but doing no great damage in truth.
Realizing that he has no great advantage in melee Thorfinn tried destruction magic, a wave of flames lashing out toward the traitorous guardsman but being hateful of magic did not make Thorgrim stupid.
The old man dodged the flames with practiced ease and whatever flames managed to catch his form were absorbed by his rune covered shield, ancestral runes of protection, of course, nothing to do with magic.
Thorfinn ground his teeth in frustration and prepared himself for a prolonged battle, the loud twang of a crossbow and the pained screams of a traitor on fire swiftly assuring him that time was most assuredly on his side. Besides, those numerous cuts ought to add up at some point, right?
On the other end of the chamber, two far more powerful combatants were quite literally making waves in the battle as their weapons clashed against each other and spells blasted the ancient hall all around them, only the enchantments set by the Jarl's ancestors allowing the structure to remain standing.
Hjolmir's mace smashed into the blade of the Stormcloak only to be redirected aside and crash into the nearby wall with an explosion of force. Wasting no time, his opponent attempted to retaliate with a rapid upper thrust but that was swiftly forced aside by Hjolmir's pauldron as he went in for a shield bash which was then promptly evaded by a supernaturally swift dodge to the side.
The duo of veterans glared at each other for but a moment before they once more engaged in their thunderous duel, none of them seemingly being able to hurt the other. But what the Stormcloak failed to account for was the sheer breadth of Hjolmir's skill at magic as each time the Guard Captain managed to score the tiniest advantage he would use it to burden the traitorous guard fighting the housecarls.
It was a bunch of slight things, a telekinetic tug here, a blast of paralysis there but it all swiftly added up to over a dozen dead traitors before the Stormcloak noticed.
"You would mock our battle like this?!" The agent of Ulfric snarled.
Hjolmir openly rolled his eyes "I am not one of you idiots who think we should return to running across the snows with no more than a mere kilt and good intentions, and you seem to have forgotten something traitor."
"And what is that?" He asked as he took the opportunity to calm his breathing and prepare for another clash.
Hjolmir smirked as he sensed a massive aura approach "This was never a battle to begin with."
Before the Stormcloak could question what his foe was on about a side door to the room was utterly incinerated before anyone could blink and over a dozen heavily armored Dunmeri warriors surged in, all of them following a figure that caused no end of worry to the Stormcloak cause.
Reyvin Flame-tongue, the near-legendary Court Mage of Skyrim looked over the scene that greeted him with barely hidden disdain before he spoke, his voice pulled straight out of a nightmare "Well, this sure is a nice party." A blade radiating such power it sent shivers down the spine of all those present flicked into his previously empty hand "Why was I not invited?"
(Reyvin's POV)
Before I could utter another word the Stormcloak looking motherfucker pulled out an intricately written scroll and activated it without a hint of hesitation, my hand shot up immediately, sending out a blast of laser-like crimson fire at his head but he was gone before it could reach him, instead, the spell blasted out a good chunk of the enchanted walls and the room behind them.
While I was 'distracted' Thorgrim, the old fart who once helped me defeat both Thalmor and Telvanni, attempted to throw himself at me axe first but simply ended up flying helplessly due to me grasping him with telekinetic tendrils and holding him up like an unruly child.
As Scorch went to work healing the young Jarl and my warriors positioned themselves to assist the loyalists I looked at the collection of stunned rebels with harsh scrutiny, most of them had the good sense to immediately drop their weapons when I blew off the wall and those that did not were either skewered by a halberd or killed by the remaining housecarls.
Instead of pontificating at them I simply called out "Davos."
Only the slightest shadowy movement atop the room's ceiling informed me of his position as he soundlessly flopped down right next to me, his crossbow still aimed at the enemy "Hey there boss."
The rebels glared at him with barely restrained fury, the many people-shaped scorch marks on the ground easily informing me as to why.
Before I could speak once again Thorgrim decided to remind me of his existence "You filthy fucking knife-!" His jaw slammed shut just in time for him to bite off the tip of his tongue as I raised my hand dismissively.
"Shush, the adults are talking." I didn't even look at him and instead focused on Davos "Is this all of them?" I asked.
"All of the combatants from what I gather." He replies calmly "The only leader left unaccounted for is the priest but he should be somewhere in the streets from what I remember."
"Mhm" I nodded while staring down an enthusiastic rebel guardsman "And the rioters?"
Another shadowy figure appears next to Davos and whispers something to him, he nods and says "They were mostly detained, only a group around the abandoned Talos temple remains."
The sound of the Jarl thanking Scorch for his healing and the bird responding with "You are welcome lordly n'wah" drew my attention back to the room.
"Jarl Assur" I spoke to the young man, distracting him from Scorch's shenanigans "What do we do with these traitors?"
He looked over the now disarmed traitors with a mix of pity and anger "Have them all chained, we will hold a trial as honor demands."
I had to admit, seeing him force his fury down like that did give me a bit of respect for him "Very well." I nod and my warriors swiftly get to work "Do you wish to join me in hunting the priest down?"
He thought about it for a moment before shaking his head reluctantly "I better remain here and ensure order, you should take someone with you though."
I nodded and immediately turned to my friend "Oi, Thorfinn. Wanna beat up a priest?"
He sighed "Why must you word it like that."
"Because it is fun." I snark back "Come on then, Davos you stay here and make sure no one does something funny." I trail off and suddenly turn to a now bound Thorgrim "Before I forget, a parting gift for you, you complete and utter failure of a person." I make a twisting motion with my grasping hand, leaving behind the sound of a crack followed by animalistic screams.
As we exited the keep Thorfinn asked "Did you just..."
I turn to him with a raised eyebrow "Do you really want to know?"
He gulped, his face paling a bit "No, I think not."
"Wise." I quip as we walk deeper into the city, toward the old temple.
'Oi Scorch, remind me to make a countermeasure for teleportation.' I mentally message my familiar who was still busy healing the wounded loyalists.
'Should have thought of that already you complete and utter dumbass' He chirps back.
'Fuck off, I was busy setting shit on fire.'
'Understandable'
It took us very little time to reach the old temple, Winterhold being relatively small for a city and all that, everywhere we went we could see a bunch of guards questioning the unruly locals and sometimes outright beating the non-compliant rioters.
Human rights? What is that, some kind of food?
Speaking of an utter lack of human rights, the moment I stepped near the old temple the sight that greeted me caused me to let out an uncontrollable "What in the actual fuck!?"
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(Minor Flashback, General POV)
The rabble rousing priest led the rioters in storming the city just as planned, and when the guards started suppressing them he started retreating them toward the temple, all the while encouraging them with word of their gods.
It was a delaying strategy and he knew it. If his associates failed to capture the Jarl in time and secure the city before the mages got impatient he would no doubt be shipped off to the Thalmor out of sheer spite.
Soon they truly were pushed all the way back to the temple, a bunch of lesser magi blocking off escape routes that would allow the rioters to cause further chaos while a shieldwall of wooden bat wielding guardsmen kept punishing any who would try and fight back.
As they were finally surrounded the priest chose to give his flock one final speech, to embolden them into resisting for as long as possible. But the moment he tried to speak his words caught in his throat and he couldn't utter a sound.
Soon he noticed that all of the rioters had fallen onto the ground, he knew not why and he had no time to ponder as he found himself completely and utterly locked in place by an invisible force.
His answer came swiftly and without mercy as the ground split and a living legend stepped out in front of the guards. The priest could admit, rather easily, that seeing Tolfdir Ebon-frost in the flesh glaring at him would have made him shit his pants on the spot if he were able to do it but the spell that held him prevented even that.
The ancient mage stepped toward the priest, or more accurately insurgent, and spoke in what was barely a whisper yet carried across half the city "It would seem" Each word he spoke was like a hammer striking the mind of all who heard him "That people have forgotten what I did to the last batch of fools who thought they could make trouble in MY city."
His eyes held no mercy as he muttered "Kindly allow me to remind you."
And then as if he were taking apart a roll of parchment Tolfdir ripped off the priest's jaw in one swift move.
The man couldn't even scream as he was quite literally disassembled on the spot.
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(Reyvin's POV)
The perfectly clean and pointedly not bloody form of Tolfir turned in my direction "Come now Reyvin, manners make the man as they say."
"I am Mer." I quip back.
"Don't get cheeky with me." He smirks, his voice his carrying all of his usual kindness all the while he utterly ignored the sea of gore and queasy guards surrounding him.
"Wha-?" Thorfinn usefully added.
"Come on then" Tolfdir clapped his hands, wisely deciding not to explain himself "All this hard work so early in the morning calls for a nice meal, my treat of course." He turns toward the part of the crowd he didn't decide to murderify for whatever reason "I am feeling rather hungry after all." He mutters with a wicked grin.
As he walked off I heard Thorfinn mutter "Remind me to never, ever piss him off."
I scoff and start walking "If you need reminding of that then it is just natural selection at that point."
He flips me the bird and starts jogging after Tolfdir, I cast one last look at the scene of carnage, think of the words 'natural selection', shrug my shoulders, and follow after them.
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The traitors have paid in stone, and so shall you!
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