Chapter LXIX: Putting Them To The Sword (Part 3/The Assault)

(General POV)

Three Forsworn found themselves guarding a small section of the walls of their new holdfast, the place that should have been the hope of their people and a path to their ascendance was now mired in an aura of despair evident to even the least sensitive among their number.

A younger man elbowed his elder who was gazing at the perfectly built fortified camp their attackers had risen overnight "How many heathens do you think we'll get to kill, old man?" the other youth nodded along, his eyes aglow with youthful eagerness.

'Youthful ignorance' thought the elder as he shook his head "You would be lucky to dent their armor before they split you apart." he said gravely.

"They can't be that tough, can they?" The youth scoffed "I heard the priestesses tell they are all weaklings and fools, unworthy of even their heathen gods' blessings."

The old man turned to the two youths, showing a heavily scarred face still covered in bandages and salves, the scars around his missing eye and ear appearing as if he was hit with extremely powerful lightning, only surviving due to pure luck. "Just make sure to survive, there is no winning this battle." He said earnestly "Even if we could somehow defeat their warriors, the witch following them will reap us all."

"I see" The other youth said mockingly "You are a coward!"

The older man did not react to the provocation, merely shaking his head in disappointment "You boys are still young, there is no need for you to die in this foolishness."

Before the youth could respond his brother-in-arms called for their attention while pointing at the enemy camp "Look there!" He looked to the veteran "Is that the scary witch you were on about you old fart?"

The veteran looked to where he was pointing and flinched in terror when he saw the witch writing something on the ground with his dreadful polearm. He saw the witch nod to himself and clap his hands and after a flash of violet light, his terror turned into pure panic.

He turned back to the youths who were looking at the murderous contraption in curiosity "Run" He said gravely.

Something in his voice must have shaken the two young men. They shared a look with each other and looked back at the older man with wide eyes. Before any more could be said a metallic *TWANG* resounded across the field.

The next thing they knew they were being pushed off the wall onto a bale of hay by the old man, the last thing they saw before the air was knocked out of them was a large green bolt penetrating the wall they were just standing on and a massive explosion of crimson lightning consuming it and the veteran that had just saved both of their lives.

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(Forsworn youth's POV)

I blink myself awake as I feel my brother dragging me off the bale, finally managing to balance myself after standing up I take long greedy breaths as my eyes meet those of my brother.

He looks as shaken as I feel, there is no winning against such force. The priestesses must have lied to us, knew I shouldn't have trusted the greedy hags!

"What do we do?" I ask my brother as the sounds of battle echo around us.

His hands shake erratically as he thinks "We must save our families!" He says with certainty after a moment.

I nod and we run to the southern portion of our city, as we move away we look at our previous position one last time, only to see a massive blond Nord leading a host of armored men cutting through our hurriedly assembled brethren like a scythe through grass while roaring in what I to my horror realized was glee.

We rush through the sea of emptied tents, no one paying us any mind in the chaos of battle. Soon we find our families huddled in one of the tents, foolishly hoping it would protect them from what is coming.

I quickly tell them to follow me and without waiting grab my shaking sister's arm and start dragging her with me while my mother follows after us screaming at me to return to the safety of the tent. My brother-in-arms soon joins us while dragging his own old mother with him.

We carefully dodge any of the bigger groups as we make our way to the prisoners, at least we will have a chance there, hopefully the Nords will hesitate if we are near their own people.

As we pass near the ruined gatehouse I see a massive fireball fall from the temple onto the shield wall pushing our warriors back with ease, only for it to be batted aside with a bright blue barrier appearing above them.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see an extremely pale witch standing atop the ruined gatehouse, surrounded by butchered corpses of my brethren, lazily waving the priestess' magic away.

There is a sudden stillness among the veteran warriors fighting for the gate, and I notice a couple of them flinch in terror. That is all the warning I need as I yell for everyone to run as fast as possible, I would remain proud of that choice for the rest of my life.

As we scramble off of the central road a cold voice sounds from the attackers' lines "FUUUUS RO DAH!" For a moment I feel the world itself shake and then a geyser of blood and bones covers the road, my mother narrowly dodging a flying leg bone.

I urge everyone to move faster, there is no defeating such a force and we must survive.

Else the old man's sacrifice would be for nothing...

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(Torygg's POV)

My loyal housecarls clear the way of enemies as quickly as to allow me to walk leisurely toward my goal, a fact that would make me chuckle if not for the grave situation we found ourselves in.

The initial attack was perfect, Reyvin's animonculus destroying the walls with utmost precision and efficiency, all that was left was for our troops was to cut down the far weaker, if numerically superior Forsworn and the day would finally be ours.

A part of me was annoyed I would have to delay my wedding further due to the new need to organize the resettlement but it was a small sacrifice if peace was to finally be ensured in my lands.

Peace... what foolishness!

There will be no peace in my lands as long as the Thalmor and Ulfric exist. But I was the one chosen to lead the people of Skyrim, and even if Reyvin explained quite clearly that most did not see it that way I would not allow my people to suffer needlessly nor for long.

The sound of an arrow deflecting off Bolgeir's shield brings me back into the present as I take a deep breath and start running into battle, much to my guard's protests.

My family's skyforge blade sings as I decapitate a Reachman attempting to protect one of his fellows, a war cry leaves my throat as I rush into the enemy lines, my guards and the fresh legionaries placed under my command following me eagerly.

We push through the southern portion of the settlement with ease, making sure we reach the prisoners as quickly as possible without overextending.

An Orc wearing light legionary armor covered in chainmail and wielding twin axes roars as he charges into a group of forsworn archers attempting to target us, his berserk state evident to all.

One of the ex Freemen? Zarok, if memory serves.

The archers fall like twigs to his furry of blows and without even looking at the fallen he rushes at the next group, not slowing down remotely.

Interesting. He might yet prove himself a useful figure in the following years.

Half an hour later I find myself standing in front of a large enclosure housing many of my own people, surrounded by families of Forsworn and with two young men standing before me, still armed but their weapons lowered.

I approach them slowly, while my guards tense and follow me.

The boys shiver at the sight of me, I am completely covered in blood making my armor look fully crimson instead of its original ebony color.

I really should ask Reyvin how his robes remain perfectly clean at all times...

The sounds of battle around us die down as I stand before the two men silently.

They share a look and the one that seems to be the older turns to me and speaks "Why aren't you killing us?" The other one's eye twitches and he looks ready to strangle his fellow.

I barely hold back a snort and calmly state "Because you are not fighting."

Their eyes bulge at my statement and the older one speaks again "So you aren't here to kill us all?"

I stare at him for a moment and laugh a dry laugh, making everyone look at me weirdly, shaking my head I say "If your people didn't attack my lands I would not have even realized you were here for years."

Most of the Forsworn look completely devastated upon hearing my words, I believe my Court Mage would describe them as 'completely done with life'

"Now" I say sternly, once more bringing all eyes to me "As the High King of Skyrim I offer you the chance to surrender, none that lay down their arms with the exception of Daedric priests will be harmed, your future will be decided when the battle is finished but I assure you once again, no one is getting killed or enslaved."

Many of the hundreds (or thousands as I would later learn) of Forsworn share looks between themselves, the two boys that somehow found themselves leading the civilians whisper among each other. After a while the older one steps forward and says seriously "Swear it."

I notice Bolgeir tense for a moment and raise a hand to calm him "I High King Torygg do hereby swear on my crown and seat in Sovengarde that I shall honor my previous offer if you all surrender. May Stendarr strike me down if my words prove false."

Once again they seem stunned by my willingness to let them live. What in the name of the Divines did their witches tell them about us?

It takes them close to an hour to come to a decision, many of my fresh legionaries growing tenser by the moment with only Rikke's strict training keeping them in line.

Finally the two youths nod to each other and turn to me "We accept your offer King Torygg" and they slowly lay their bone swords onto the ground.

I nod and turn to my men who snap at attention "Slowly approach them and gather their arms" I look at the housecarls "Make sure the prisoners are fed and watered, we don't know their state"

Bolgeir looks ready to protest but Ingvar grabs his shoulder and shakes his head.

I look to the legionary officers "I am tripling the usual punishment for any unjustified indiscretions in this situation. See that you do not sully my honor."

Every single one of them shivers at the mention of 'usual punishment' and they quickly get to work.

Rikke really takes her job too seriously sometimes...

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(Reyvin's POV)

I approach the gates of the temple of Namira with cautious steps, my party not far behind me. On our way here we passed by a small shrine to Hircine, but I found no need to anger yet another Daedra, so I left it there after butchering the warriors guarding it.

The guards in front of the main temple did put up a bit of a fight I will admit, even if Scorch was the only one that fought them.

Apparently he didn't like them for the 'disgusting not-bird degenerate' they were guarding and I found myself not willing to deny him his fun.

The doors seemed to be barred from the inside, they likely piled as much as they could on top of them to buy time for whatever idiotic ritual they were performing inside.

Minthara gave me the closest things she could muster to puppy eyes as she eyed the gate and I sighed "Very well"

She almost jumped in joy as she stood before the temple and took a deep breath. Marco sent me a very confused look while Davos merely took a step back, perfectly shielding himself from any debris.

"FUS!" a crack of air and the gate blew inwards, sending chunks of wood everywhere.

Marco was gaping, Davos was nodding to himself like this all made perfect sense, and the Dunmer, like usual, just didn't care.

"Knock knock" Was all the gleeful demigod had to say.

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Throw your stones upon the heathens!

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