Lord Naarifin
Lord Naarifin sat calmly on his saddle, covered by his light armor of moonstone, carved out of a great block of the ore. The armor was trimmed with satin, red as blood, and gold fabric. His bodyguards often used to admire such a masterpiece work of elven smithy, but that afternoon, they were far too concentrated in the slaughter on their front. The honor guard, composed of young men from the nobility, was remarkable in their own way, all coated in heavy plates of the traditional gilded elven armor. These weren't the kind of men that adorned themselves.
Then he turned his head and his gaze to the great walls of Leyawiin, once imposing, now highly burnt and pointed by deep holes, made by the huge engines of war bought all the way down from Valenwood. The commander of the garrison was a fool, and fell in each trap and trick that Naarifin tried: The result was the posing of a great ram at the thick gates, made of old heavy oak and reinforced with iron. The gates had the insignia of Leyawiin and the house Caro: the white steed. O, the irony. My steed is as white as theirs.
"Send the ladders." His squire, always alert of his master's wishes, took a horn to the mouth and sounded a complicated amount of notes. These were simple noise for untrained ears, but for a general as graduated as him, it seemed like someone was talking in a perfectly understandable language. Go-Wall-Ladders-Assault. It was simple, and more effective and deadly because of it. A detachment of infantry advanced, carrying heavy steel polearms in their hands and the heavy siege ladders in four columns. The enemy, completely concentrated in the gateway and trying to burn the ram, only recognized the danger when they heard the characteristic "thump" of wood against stone. A handful of them regrouped at the battlements, but with a sign from Naarifin, a cloud of arrows took the bulk of the defenders down. That battle was the third clash of forces, and the Nibenean garrison was decimated to one tenth of its original force. Taking advantage of an open way into the city, half of the army, commanded by less-ranked captains, hurried toward the ladders. Let them go. The Cyrodiilic think that they have Talos's protection. Let's wake them up.
The enemy was completely lost and confused. From atop the hills near the city he could see a handful of men, including the count, losing heart and retreating to the inner fortress of the castle, closing the graded portcullis behind them. A captain tried to make order in a square, but it was too late. The great gate broke, sending shards of oak towards a thin and weak line of spearmen that tried desperately to hold off Naarifin's swordsmen. Suddenly, the ram was burning, and his men retreated, taking the burning machine with them. Now, with half of his army advancing on the walls, he had more than two thousand mer at the walls, cleansing the battlements of any defender. It doesn't matter if we lose a machine. These can be replaced.
-Forward to the city. – Said the General, in a low voice that was heard over the chorus of metal clashing, men shouting and fire burning. Without waiting, Naarifin rode his horse through the narrow trail that went downhill. By what he could see, the battle was over. The only thing that could effectively delay the conquest further was the barricading of Castle Leyawiin. But even that wouldn't take too much to overcome, thought the elf, while he rode all the way against the breach on the gates, where a line of spearmen, a handful of levies clad in suits of padded armor and with forks and pikes at hand, held defense against a group of swordsmen. Looking to his sides, he saw that the bodyguard was already there, forming a large line of cavalry at high speed, and the fearful soldiers that guarded the destroyed gateway broke formation and ran away, forgetting that simply extending their weapons could make a bloody stop to Naarifin bold charge.
The men-at-arms, taking notice of the retreat, advanced further on the damaged gateway, and inside the city as well. Naarifin dismounted. He evaluated the situation: Two hundred swordsmen and thirty knights at his immediate command; The rest of the army was cleansing the battlements, firing the siege machines, or waiting outside the city, and would take too long to be amassed and brought to the gates in time. Until then, he knew that the castle would already be locked heavily and readied for another siege, and the lord wasn't willing to waste more time and mer. He finally made a decision. – You. – He pointed a moonstone clad footman – Go tell the captains to move their armies inside the city. Carver – That time he pointed the leader of his bodyguard – The command is yours; go with the messenger.
Naarifin sheathed his sword, and mounted his horse again. He looked at the walls, pointed with ladders. – Ten of you swordsmer, go out and take two of these ladders, then follow me to the castle. The rest of the mer, with me! – The lord went on his horse, in a quick trot, followed by the men-at-arms, through Leyawiin Main Street, once crowded, now awfully silent and empty. Mounds of bodies of citizens and soldiers, victims of arrows and catapults projectiles, were put at sides, their dried blood mixed with the fresh, spilt by Naarifin's troops that were now quickly sweeping across the city, putting any defenders down and securing elven control. They dissolved into the smaller streets, advancing over the mudded soil and gathering themselves on the richer district of the city, now deserted, with a large house now highly burned, result of a magical bolt of fire, made by the elite sorcerers from the Dominion's army. As they advanced over a natural bridge of stone and dirt, the swordsmen, that were also Altmer, and thus excellent magicians, gathered in a two-man thick line in front of the portcullis. The front line crouched, and the mages cast their spells; some used shock, others used nature's force, most used fire, and as a result, the thin wall of iron was shattered, broken and melted so hard that most of it dropped on the floor, useless. The courtyard, though, was filled with the rest of the garrison, though the well-known count guards, clad in ebony, were nowhere to be seen.
- To battle! For the Thalmor! – Shouted Naarifin, and his own troops were bolstered by the incursion troops, coming from the city's inside. The troops charged, brandishing spells, blades, bound or elven made, and wearing moonstone, and were blocked by a large round shield wall, where the despaired imperials held, fearfully. The captain, though, a huge Nord clad in the traditional Cyrodiilic plate, swung a large greatsword, and shouted to his men to take heart and attack. Then, the courtyard from Castle Leyawiin became a bloodbath, with both warbands clashing and killing themselves, with the magic and blade skill at his side and the numbers and armor at the imperials advantage. Naarifin was on his early fifties, but still he danced through the enemies, tearing their pads and chainmail with his strong, sharp ebony katana. A man came with a spear, and buried it on Naarifin's steed, and the old mer jumped from the saddle to avoid getting stuck under the horse's massive weight. He landed, and when he got up, he saw the captain.
By the eight, what this man lacks in intelligence, he surely has in strength. The man's armor that he mistook for steel was made of orichalcum, molded in a Cyrodiilic plate, and his blade was a sharp piece of ebony.As Naarifin watched, the Nord broke the pauldron of an elf, and tore his arm off. The lord, watched by the irate captain, answered tearing the throat of a guardsman, breaking mail and cutting boiled leather. The Nord gave a roar, and charged at Naarifin. The soldiers stopped the fight, and retreated to the courtyard's sides, watching the epic fight.
The old strength from his golden days was coming back to the lord, and Naarifin evaded the initial blow, dodging sideways. The lord stabbed with his blade at the man's back, but the orichalcum didn't give in. The captain, feeling the blow, made a half circle with his left feet, and swung the hard greatsword on his shield. Naarifin, winded, staggered backwards, and swung his blade on a slit on the Nord's shoulderpad. The captain parried with his weapon, and putting his huge strength on one blow, he descended his blade on the lord's shield, breaking the relatively soft moonstone and shattering it. Naarifin, though, found himself at an inch from the Nord shoulder as he evaded right to escape from being crushed, and stabbed furiously at it, sliding the metal on the breastbone and turning it to avoid pinning it to the bone. The elves cheered with delight, and charged with a renewed vigor, pushing the daunted imperials over the inner walls of the courtyard.
Naarifin fought harder, along with his fellow mer, until the guardsmen routed, desperately hitting the gates with their weapons and fists. Some turned around, and threw their weapons on the ground.
- Execute all of them. I don't want slaves. – A knelt man shouted, cried, and in their voices was something inhuman, the pitch of a pig on the butchery. – Nor prisoners. - Naarifin knelt, restriped the strips the loose strips on his cracked boot, a gift from an enemy warhammer, and took off his helm. His long and dark hair was sweaty, and his face was bleeding from a cut on the right cheek.
- Hey, lad. Bring me a bottle of water, and tell a bodyguard to ride back to the walls and bring Carver and the rest of the army in. – The Lord took the bottle, drank a sip, and poured the rest over his head, taking pleasure on the cleaning of the dirt. He found the steed on the floor, breathing hard, with a bloody hole on his right side. The horse was quiet, and Naarifin uncovered his head, to show the place where the unicorn's horn had been cut off. He found himself sitting at the horse's side, calming him, comforting him, and singing a healing spell. The spell had no grammatical notion; it was an instinctive song of flesh, bones and life, of courage and intelligence, of skin and leather. Naarifin stopped it, seeing how the large hole where the spear had lodged being filled with flesh and covered with silver leather. He stood on his feet, and realized that the spell took more than he had thought. The advanced age was taking his tool on him. There were tales of old times, when old elves would live for centuries, even a millennia, but these days were long gone, since the day when the Crystal Tower crumbled on its own weight, put down by a daedric horde and its dark wizardry.
The horse was too weak to be mounted, and the maximum it could do was simply stand up. He wouldn't need a horse inside the castle, anyway. There was still work to be done. The oaken gates, a perfect copy of the outer wall's one, reinforced with old, but not rusty iron, and emblazoned with the white steed of House Caro. The count was surely inside, planning his escape with his ebony guard. The army didn't take long to be moved inside, and the mer-at-arms that swept across the city were amassed on the courtyard. Naarifin requested an audience with the Count and the Countess, but received no other response than a bunch of badly fired arrows. The courtyard was filled with mer, and took long to make space enough for a ram to pass, and be posted on the massive gates.
So much time lost. By now the count might be running away on a secret passage. But by his knowledge of the Count's courage, he was sure that he would take his men and defend the castle until all of them fell. The gate was broken, then, and the horde of mer rushed to take position inside the main hall. Naarifin himself entered through the shattered gates, and his man took position on the pair of stairs that surrounded the throne, reading arrows and preparing spells. By what he saw, though, that would be useless, for in two high thrones were a warrior and a mage.
- Count Darius Caro and Countess Mary Caro. How wonderful to make your acquaintance. I am honored to meet you under such fine circumstances. – The count wore a fine ebony armor, with the helmet molded in the form of a steed's head. The result was ridiculously grotesque. The countess, though, wore robes of a wizard, and had a warding wand on a hand and a staff on the other. Around them, though, was the fearsome Nibenay Guard; man covered in clothes that depicted the white steed, but under adorns Naarifin knew that they were armored with the best ebony money could buy.
- How dare you come talk to me like this, your elven demon? Your people will pay for this war, and the emperor will have your head on a pike and adorn the top of the Imperial Palace! – Caro's head was red as a tomato on his fury.
- Surrender now, Count, and I will forget this insult and assure you that you and your retinue will be well treated.
- No. You will not have Leyawiin. Not while I live.
- Your little fool. Leyawiin is already mine. And about your life, that can be easily arranged.
The count let out a barked laugh, and with a sign, his men covered the thrones on a round and nigh impregnable wall of ebony. – Try to break through ebony, Naarifin. Show me your strength.
Naarifin smiled. He knew exactly what to do, and the idea gave a honey-sweet taste to his mouth. Yes, yes… It is perfect.
- You know, Count Caro, the secret of our old and proud mountains? The old Ehlfolney, the bones of the earth, were scattered through the world. Some, though, united themselves and formed a nation, the New Ehlfolney. But when the wild ones came and asked for a place in the country, they were denied. And a huge war took place, and this very war reshaped the world, formed oceans, rivers, plains… And the Ehlfolney who survived were so weak, that they hid under the earth. Their form was still visible, and so came the mountains. But their fingers… They used fingers to communicate with their brothers, and with the skies of Aetherius. When they did so, a beam of energy would appear. That's why some parts of a mountain are called the Fingers of the Mountain. Do you recognize that name, Countess?
She did. He knew she did. She shrieked, wildly, and shouted at the guardsmen to break formation and run to the inner castle. They did not even have the time. The last thing that the noble lords of Leyawiin saw was Naarifin, and his hands filled with lighting.
