Chapter XX: Battle of Dawnstar: A Slaughter

Two more days had passed since the initial big clash of our armies with neither side gaining all that much ground from the other. The Stormcloaks were still resting and Ulfric was likely scrambling to repair his side's still flagging morale while Tullius felt that taking any ground we did not hold in the first place was tactically unsound and quite frankly a waste of lives.

We were the defenders here, and attacking an enemy when time was not in their favor was just plain idiotic.

That is not to say there was no fighting happening all over the place. Both sides kept engaging in minor skirmishes with the only real major fighting happening around the forest and the eastern fort guarding the besieged city. Hundreds of men and women still died as each day passed but this naturally failed to come even close to the utter bloodbath the mere three hours of battle had brought days earlier.

The Dawnstar garrison was almost relentless in their attempts to break out but sadly, whoever was commanding them now was unfortunately intelligent enough to leave all of his flanks fully staffed, else we would have just stormed one of the flanks once they attempted another breakout and taken the city with barely any resistance.

Another batch of reinforcements, mostly made up of old veterans from what I managed to spy, had arrived in the Stormcloak camp overnight but the news of Ulfric's shameful retreat had already spread throughout the ranks, taking the wind out of the sails of Ulfric's downright hysteric attempts to motivate his people for another clash.

And so I found myself sitting in the middle of a neat forest clearing, pondering my orb while a miserable sod barely held himself back from begging for mercy as crossbows discharged all around him, knowing damn well it would only earn him more torment.

[Big D: Anything new happening over in the college? Busy burning rebels atm so can't really come personally.]

[Savos: The new batch of students seems promising, and the previous year's generation has almost universally cleared their adept exams so nothing unusual if I am being honest.

Also, must you word it that way?]

[LizardWizard: If they didn't want to burn, why so flammable?]

[Savos: ...Of course, how foolish of me.]

[SugarFromHeaven: How does this thing work? Is it on?]

[Big D: You already made it work Hakan, just think what you want written and the orb will interpret the rest.]

[SugarFromHeaven: Ah! Most excellent! I thought you might want to know that we got a message over from Morthal asking for a new Court Wizard, my apprentice decided to accept it provisionally.]

[Big D: ...While I am impressed Idgrod decided to stop being a fucking idiot about running her hold I am genuinely surprised Morrigan went for it, what with her whole obsession with wealth and luxury, that place is a shithole.]

[SugarFromHeaven: Well, she was finally finishing her apprenticeship anyway and the bogs are a good place to source ingredients so it isn't that bad of a decision.]

[Big D: Quite, especially if she invests in proper magically enhanced housing.]

[Skeletor: There are other forms of housing?

Also, why does my name keep changing to this? It isn't even spelled out correctly.]

[Big D: Your lack of enlightenment disappoints me, Phineas.]

[Skeletor: Ah yes, the butcher's wit strikes our crotchety old assholes once again!]

[I Cast Fist: I personally find it quite humorous.]

[Skeletor: Of course you would you old fart... Never you mind that, you should come up to my labs soon, I think I am close to making a breakthrough with the whole skin generation stage and I need your ridiculous sight to help me out.]

[Big D: Finally cracked it, eh? Sure, I will come by just as soon as I am done soothing the dreams of the people I butchered.]

[Skeletor: Fine, as long as you don't get stuck doing something inane like discussing philosophy with a dragon I can wait.]

[LizardWizard: I will have you know, young man, that dragons are excellent philosophers!]

[Skeletor: ...Please tell me he is fucking with me?]

[Big D: ...]

[Skeletor: Reyvin.]

[Big D: Gotta go! See you all whenever bye!]

I cut off the flow of magic from the orb just as Phineas starts stringing curses in increasingly morbid ways. A bolt whizzes dangerously close to my face as Tiberius forces another blast of wind from within and falls over, his Magicka completely spent.

"Excellent work men!" I clap my hands "Give him five minutes and then start again."

My marksmen let out a gleeful cheer and start tossing coins amongst each other, all of them having made bets on who would get a hit and how many.

Surprisingly this was the first time no bolt reached the mentally scarred Imperial as he glared at me from his comfy little bed of dirt and grass "To think it would take you close to twenty six hours of practice to finally not get hit once." I tsk and shake my head "Faralda would be appalled."

Even as he twitches reflexively at the memory of the name the bags under his eyes seem to grow deeper as he realizes just how long he had been at it (with breaks of course I am a monster but not quite that big of one) He takes a deep breath and his glare slowly moves to my side "This can't be legal."

Zarok, who was standing next to me, pointedly looks anywhere but at my hand currently using the General's written orders as a fan to cool myself "I am afraid the General has made it legal... sir."

Thorfinn and Garm were too busy laughing their asses off to comment.

"How can this be called training? This is torture!" Tiberius complains despite the consequences "And why is that asshole not included!" He points at a wheezing Thorfinn.

"Because, Battlemage" He uses the title mockingly "I kept up my fucking defenses."

"Imagine dying to a fucking javelin." I lament "A mage from Winterhold, the only college in the civilized world that is worth a damn, dead to a fucking javelin!"

"Alright, fine!" Tiberius tries to snarl but his tired voice just makes him sound defeated "I will keep practicing defensive magic regularly, satisfied?"

"I am indeed very satisfied that you will take your life more seriously." I nod a couple of times "But I also told you what happens when you complain so..." I pause dramatically and slowly turn to the marksmen "Boys, round sixteen!"

Another cheer breaks out amongst the crossbowmen but Tiberius had at least learned that little lesson already so he was well and truly running by the time the first clip of bolts was inserted.

"More mead, my lord?" The Handmaiden of Azura under contract with Tiberius asks almost cheerfully.

"Certainly." I accept happily and watch the entertainment play out.

---

The following morning greeted me with a sense of foreboding, whatever I had dreamed was not pleasant at all and I sensed it was not limited to merely my imagination. Our forest encampment shuffled slowly as people started getting up from their rest, we were posted deep in the woods so as to avoid the debilitating sea fogs and were hidden enough to allow our men to rest well after each day.

That slowness was thoroughly shattered however, as a messenger burst into the camp's center carrying a request from Tullius and giving it to me without a word.

Just for the sake of being paranoid, I gave it a quick scan and once that showed no fuckery to be present I flicked the scroll open and gave it a rapid read.

The Stormcloaks were posturing for another attack and Tullius suspected that it wasn't just the usual saber-rattling of the past couple of days. Another big battle was about to break out but to my surprise, the General bid me to remain in the forest as Ulfric seemed to be trying to drown the trees in people with how many forces he was investing in pushing through.

Likely predicting my concerns, the old Imperial told me they would just have to deal if Ulfric decided to take to the field once more. I was much more needed down here because he had decided it was time to finally be done with this slaughter.

My orders were simple, I was to turn this forest into a proper charnel house and butcher any poor fucker unlucky enough to be anywhere in an approximate radius around me. Once I was done, I was to push out of the forest and strike their base camp, forcing the rest of the army into retreat and then into utter defeat.

The gambit, if it can even be called that, was a rather simple one. Kill the enemy with high-intensity attrition tactics involving elite forces and then punch through, following the momentum all the way unto victory.

Utterly idiotic in most cases, as you usually did not have troops so far above your enemy in quality on demand. Unfortunately for the rebels, I was here, and more than willing to follow through.

True, it would be my first true mass slaying of the intelligent living but in the long run it would greatly diminish how much 'food' Alduin would get out of the war, so if I was being honest the thousands of lives, and likely souls, that would meet their end today were perfectly acceptable compared to the alternative.

For the first time in a very long time, I offered an idle prayer for the souls of those I was about to bring utter destruction to, and after taking one last fortifying puff of my cigar I straightened up and called out to Oren.

''Twas time for grim work' Both Scorch and I decided as one.

---

(General POV)

A column of highly alert warriors of Skyrim marched through the thin forest paths, and at their head marched a full unit of the heroes of the Great War, the veterans only convinced to join the fight after their reluctance started to cause 'accidents' for their families and the authorities all seemed to be incredibly oblivious about everything that was happening.

None of them were idiots but understood that politics were neither clean nor honorable so they simply accepted their lot and took up their old arms and armor once again.

At least that went for the actually reluctant ones, the rest were more than happy to 'finally' be taken out of the reserves so they could fight for their liberty against their no doubt PTSD-induced hatred for all things elven.

The path seemed to widen by a large margin as they stepped out into a vast forest clearing, their eyes met with only vibrant green grass and a lonely figure standing atop the slight rise in the clearing's center.

The figure was leaning on what looked to be a glaive with a long purple strip of cloth attached to just below its blade and waving freely in the wind.

Even the slowest-minded among the rebels took only a moment to recognize the terror they were unlucky enough to behold and the entire five hundred man strong line froze.

The silence seemed to stretch for what felt like years as no one was quite brave enough to speak before the visage of death before them gave leave.

Was it only fear or did the Nords feel actual respect for the one to face down heroes such as Ulfric and Grimnir?

Finally, a light voice resounded across the field, almost reluctantly "I will give you but one chance." Glowing red eyes opened and sent further terror down the spines of every man and woman present "Surrender yourselves, or be slain to the last."

Silence once more descended upon the lines of rebels, many of them wanted to take the offer but none was quite so brave to face the peer pressure of being the first to accept.

But their chance was soon snatched away as one of the veterans was bestowed with an unfortunately firm spine, as she grabbed her axe and bellowed "SOVENGARDE!"

The figure of Lord Dagoth remained perfectly still as ravenous winds descended upon her and shred her to pieces.

A sound, almost akin to a defeated sigh, resounded across the battlefield and the entire unit was assaulted with the sudden urge to blink. By the time they did so, the figure was gone...

Fifty men were already dead by the time they realized just where their target now was.

Soon the entire forest erupted into battle, with perfectly positioned imperial forces descending upon their foes with immense efficiency of slaughter, all of their movements and even losses were pre-planned as if they were merely following a path outlined for them by a higher power.

Such a slaughter would have been a thing of eternal glory... had they not been killing their brothers.

(Reyvin's POV)

By the time I buried my sword into the gut of the two thousand five hundred and sixty eight Stormcloak, the blood seemed to almost be trying to resist my robe's enchantment, trying to stick to me almost like some kind of curse.

The sash, gifted to me by Torygg all those years ago, seemed ten times as heavy as I waded through the sea of corpses, my house guard and the rest of the forest detachment following behind me, finishing off everyone who was unlucky enough to still live.

No one spoke, or even made much noise for that matter, as we stepped out of the woods in all our bloodied glory, the Stormcloak camp and thus victory firmly in our sights.

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

Swiftly my pretties, we must reach Reyvin's kill count with stones before we are left behind!

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