Chapter 1
A Breton and a Redguard stood upon a hill that overlooked the Gold Coast. The Redguard seemed to be the leader of the two, Saen noted as he spurred his horse forward to report the results of his scouting expedition. The young Imperial was sent to spy on the movement of daedra in the Hammerfell region of Tamriel. The generals of the 31st Anvil Infantry received disturbing news that a large squadron of dremora was marching southward, intent on burning every city, town, and encampment until they reach Kvatch, where they were to meet up with their leader, a high standing representative from the daedric cult Mythic Dawn. Saen swiftly dismounted his steed and walked briskly towards the generals. As he approached the two, he overheard a heated discussion.
"I do not care about the mages we sent out to distract the squadron, Traven. What I care about is getting my men out of Bruma before they become well acquainted with that damnable siege engine that they bring with them!" the Redguard snarled viciously.
"I know that you value your men, Baurus, but if we are able to bring those mages back and position them upon this hill, they would have an incredible vantage point in which they would be able to destroy any part of the coming doom at will or whim." The Breton replied soothingly, as if trying to calm a raging Land Dreugh.
Saen waited, intent on listening to the conversation, imagining his comrades expressions when they learn about the plan that was hopefully coming from the commanders' mouths. Finding a comfortable looking stone, he settled down, his steel armor clanking slightly.
"Once that bastard scout returns with those field reports, we will discuss this in more depth, mage." Baurus seemed to spit the last word out of his mouth, as if it were something extremely unpleasant. Turning on his heel, he began to stomp off back towards camp when he saw Saen sitting on the rock, listening intently to what was transpiring.
"What are you doing, sitting there like a two bit dandy? Get up off your ass and give me that report, scum!" Baurus snarled, turning a deep shade of crimson.
"Er… t-the daedra are a-a-about 50 leagues from the b-border of Hammerfell, s-sir," Saen managed to say through his fear of the enraged Baurus. "They s-should be within view o-of B-Bruma within a w-week."
"How many are there? Speak!" Baurus growled, his control over his temper snapping. He was growing tired of the timidity of the insignificant being before him.
"About ten thousand strong, sir. This is an army bred for a single purpose: to level our world and turn it into a more suitable home for their legions." Saen said, more confident than before. Upon closer inspection, he saw the lines of age on the Redguard's face. His eyelids sagged due to the hours of sleep lost over the war that was wreaking havoc on this plane. His shoulders drooped, his footsteps heavy. He is tired, Saen thought, tired and weak. There is nothing to fear from him.
Sighing, Baurus shook his head. "There are too many for just our little group of fighters. Most of them don't even have any experience with a blade. Maybe the Breton was right. I just don't know anymore. The death of Jauffre just makes this harder. Why did control over the army fall into my hands? Surely there was someone more suitable. Caroline, Achille, any of the other Blades would have been better than me." Heaving a shuddering sigh, Baurus suddenly straitened, unsheathed his sword, and threw it with all his might at a nearby tree. The finely wrought Akaviri Dia- Katana embedded itself into the base of the trunk, quivering. Throwing his head back, Baurus shrieked into the heavens.
"Curse you, Jauffre! Curse you, Akatosh! Curse you, Stendarr! Curse all of the gods! Why did you choose me?! I cannot do this! Give me a sign that this will all end! I demand that of you!" He continued to cry this at the top of his lungs until he was hoarse and could not speak. Even after that, he continued to throw various stones and rubble up at the heavens.
Suddenly, a bright white light shone in the fading dusk. It began to dim, slowly but steadily, until Saen could make out the figure of Jauffre. Beside him stood an imposing figure. Long hair, broad shoulders, and the ancient armor of Tiber Septim covered his breast. Gasping sharply, Baurus fell onto his knees. Tears welled in his eyes. Mouthing something, he lowered his head.
"Martin…" he rasped.
Chapter 2
The man Baurus called Martin nodded slightly, smiling.
"It is good to see you again, too, my old friend." Martin said with a chuckle.
"And what of your old commander, Baurus? Have you no warm welcome for me?" Asked Jauffre with a stern gaze, not unlike marble. "And why is my old blade part of that tree?"
Baurus was just about to cry with pure joy when there was a heavy cough from behind Martin. Stepping aside with a solemn expression, he revealed two other spirits that Saen did not recognize. One was a Breton, the other an Imperial. The Imperial was a woman who held herself with quiet dignity even in death. The other was a male who gave off the impression that he would quickly kill you without thinking of the consequences. Upon seeing these other two ethereal beings, tears began pouring down Baurus' face and he began to sob violently.
"Glenroy… Renault… my friends…. y-you have returned to help?" he said through his racking sobs.
"Yes, Baurus," said Renault with a caring smile. Her expression turned harsh as she continued talking. "The gods you have been so kind to in your little rant have granted permission that we join in this little… escapade of yours."
With a jerk of his head, Baurus glared into the lifeless eyes of his fallen comrade.
"Escapade?" he whispered. "Escapade?! That is what you call this? An escapade? The lives of all the people of the world are at stake, and you call our last stand against what is sure to be the end of the world an escapade? In all the years I have known you, I never thought that you would have the audacity to say such a thing. Apparently, meeting an assassin's dagger has made you think that you are now safe from what transpires in the world beneath you. Well, the gods seem to have a cruel idea of a blessing, for you will have to die again! So, is this 'escapade' worth your time yet, oh mighty spirit?" his voice rose with each word until he was screeching incoherently.
Saen never thought he would be able to see a ghosts face change into a different color. To his great surprise, Renault's face became a deep shade of gray. Glenroy shook with rage at the words directed at his commander.
"You will not talk to my captain like that, filthy Redguard! I would cut off your head, but then I would have to deal with you in the afterlife!" Glenroy spat, pure loathing shining in his undead eyes.
"You filthy son of a--"
"ENOUGH! Stop this madness!" Jauffre yelled over the clamor. "What are you, old comrades or old enemies? We cannot have such futile accusations amongst our ranks, or else the daedra will have close to no resistance as they destroy this land. Put aside your differences and prepare for the coming battle."
"Um… I hate to be intrusive, but may I inquire as to what we are going to do about that?" Saen piped up, pointing a shaking finger towards the west.
Everyone turned to where Saen was pointing. In the distance, there was an oval shaped piece of stone that was spewing out fire and beasts of incredible size. One of the beasts, which resembled a man, pointed right at the group just as Traven came sprinting towards them screaming "Daedroth! Daedroth! Run for your lives! No way do we have the numbers to best them in battle!" he ran eastward, towards the camp. Behind him, Saen could hear the sound soldiers calling for weapons, armor, horses, anything they might need to keep these behemoths at bay.
"So… what should I be doing? I'm technically not a soldier, so…" Saen asked, turning towards the incarnation of Martin.
"Have you any skill with conjuration?" Martin asked in reply.
"No…"
"Alteration?"
"Sorry."
"Mysticism? Restoration? Illusion?"
"No, no, and kinda. I can cast a decent Chameleon spell, but that's about it." Sean said, slightly embarrassed.
"Well, it's a start. How well can you make poisons?"
"Quite well, actually." Saen replied, perking up.
"Do you have any skill with a bow?" Martin asked, slightly excited at a chance to inflict damage on the enemy.
"I can split a marsh fly from 50 paces away." Saen said proudly. His ancestors had been notorious archers, a trait that he modestly announced to anyone new he met.
"Excellent!" Martin exclaimed. "What you can do is make as many poisons that you can. Poison your arrows and cast the strongest, most potent Chameleon spell possible to your skill level. Climb a tree near the walls of Anvil and await my signal. Then open fire into their ranks. Keep changing your position, though. Take a shot then move on. Either jump to another tree or retreat onto the barracks. You won't be able to kill them all, so don't try to. Save your shots until you are sure that they will find their mark. Just make sure it isn't the back of an ally, yes?" Martin instructed.
"I will not fail you, sir." Saen replied.
"I hope you don't. This battle depends on you."
"Oh sure. No pressure or anything…" Saen muttered under his breath.
"Fall back to Anvil! Man the battlements! To arms! To arms! Protect your homes, your families, and your country!" Baurus called. And within minutes, their camp was empty.
Chapter 3
All of Anvil was in chaos. After the arrival of a hysterical wizard proclaiming that a large army of Daedroth was approaching, mass hysteria broke out among the people. Many fled to the harbor to attempt to find safe passage by boat out of the city, only to find that the vessels were full with other citizens. Some fled to the castle, hoping to find safe haven within the deep tunnels that led under the city. And some just stood in the middle of the street, staring open mouthed at the sky, which was turning a dark shade of sanguine. It was to this warm welcome that the 31st Anvil Infantry arrived. Amidst the chaos, Baurus was able to direct his men to their proper places.
Saen, with a sigh, sidestepped, ducked, jumped, dodged, and otherwise avoided catastrophe as he meandered around the outside of the wall. His arms full of ingredients he had managed to salvage from the havoc in the city, he looked at his surroundings. There were plenty of trees, sure. But either they were too close to the ground, had no branches within reach, or were not even remotely close together. Shaking his head, he cursed the sky. It was too early to be sundown, but the gods thought differently. He noted that it was turning a deep red. In all his years, he never thought he would see that.