The War of the four Shezarrines
Chapter One: Agent 1: 4e201
The Knight of the Numidium
In a moment, the old world fell away.
Even I, 34 year old ex-mercenary, sworn blade of the empire, nobleman and liberator of the orcs and a whole bunch of other titles thrust upon me, could only stand 2 minutes against that ancient dwemer creation beneath Mantella Crux.
Wherever the Numidium walked, the entire world would shake it it's path.
I was tasked, nearly twelve years ago, to do two things. Discover who killed King Lysandus, a friend of Uriel Septim, and the king of the city state of Daggerfall. The other, to discover what happened to a letter sent by the Emperor to a spy within the King's court.
Things... Spiralled out of control. I killed the king of Worms, Liberated the Orismer, got knighted and given lands and titles.
And of course, help awoke an ancient dwemer artefact.
Why?
I...
I looked up. Currently, I was nowhere near the ancient crypt where the Numidium had stood for nearly a thousand years.
Instead, I was laying down in a grassy field. The sun was shining with a autumnal glow. The wind was gently blowing, wiping lightly through my hair.
I sat up. I was near nothing, not a soul, landmark or man.
Was I dead? Was this the Dreamsleave? Had the eight Divines taken me by Arkay's side?
Last thing I did was fight against a berserk machine that had brought down kingdoms on my own, with only my spear and magic.
Death was quite likely.
I would not stay sat in the grassy field.
I stood up, noticing my spear sat beside me. At least that had came with me when the world shattered.
I picked up Crystaspear, the weapon I had reforged for myself many moons ago, and set off away from the rising sun. If I was still in High Rock, then I would be making my way to the coastline eventually. If I was anywhere else in Tameriel, or indeed beyond, then west is as good a direction as east.
For two days I walked. I had little in the way of food, but cooking sparrows and ravens with a fire ball soon sorted that out.
Near the set of the second day, I happened upon a small village. The Village's name was Goatacre. A farming village if I had ever heard of one.
The people were a little confused by the well armoured knight walking though their small village, but had carried on with their duties.
I still had no idea where I was. The majority of the people here were of the races of man. Breton's seemingly, a few imperials and Redguards dotted between. Meaning I was more then likely in some part of Skyrim, Cyrodil or High Rock.
I made my way to the tavern. For every tiny village and town I had visited during my long years on the road, Tavern's were crucial. Something to do after dark if the serfs weren't too tired from the day's work, a place for travellers to sleep comfortably, and a place to gather simple information. Like where was I, what had happened whilst I was out cold and such.
The sign above the door suggested that I leave my weapons with a bar maid, but I elected to simply place the adamantium Spear by the door. In a moment I could use telekinesis to snatch the weapon as needed if something terrible should happen. That or I kill most of the men in here with destructive arts as required.
I sat at the bar. The options were "Beer" and "Wine." Which spoke a lot of the poverty of the place. Still, I hadn't too much gold on me, and I was loathe to barter with my armaments. They were quite literally priceless after all.
"Mug of beer." I requested, noting to keep my posh Imperial city breed accent out. No doubt that would fail me soon enough, and my armor and spear noted me as a man of some wealth and standing anyway.
"Don't get many knights through these parts." Said the Tavern owner, as he signalled for a bar maid to pour me a drink.
"I wouldn't know where these parts are. I woke up two days ago in the middle of a grassy field."
"Hah! Sounds like one hell of a night to not even remember a thing." Said the Tavern owner with mirth.
I smiled.
"Yes indeed. So, I know the name of the Village, but I know not where that Village is."
The Tavern owner smiled. As the Bar maid, a comely looking women, with a face that suggested Imperial descent, despite her obvious breton height, placed my mug of frothy, likely warm and disgusting swill tasting beer, I placed 10 septims down.
"Tell me what has happened since I was out cold."
I had charged what was likely twice the amount for the watered down urine that constituted beer here, I should get something resembling coherent information.
"And when was that sire?" Said the tavern owner, greedily taking the septims.
"9th of Frostfall." I said simply.
"Wow. That was quite a while back." Said the tavern owner.
"Indeed? What is the current date?"
"Today is the... 17th? Yeah, the 17th of Last seed." Said the owner, struggling to remember the date as if he was a child learning to count on both hands instead of a single.
"I've been out for 10 months? That is shocking."
"Well, here in Wayrest, most of us are getting ready for winter, so it's a busy time of year as you may appreciate. We'll be celebrating Appreciation day soon. Most of the news is north, in Skyrim."
Ah. I am in the Kingdom of Wayrest, within High Rock. Good to know. That puts me only a few weeks ride from Cyrodil, or about a month's ride north to my keep.
"What news from the north?"
"Well, the Stormcloak rebellion is really kicking off. Rumour has it even the High King himself wishes to declare independence from the Empire."
I balked.
Stormcloaks? The Nords rebelling against the Empire? The Nords were some of the most loyal men within Tamriel. Something really terrible must've happened in the last ten months to inspire open rebellion.
Then again, the Empire decaying and falling apart was why I was sent after the Numidium in the first place. And since the Numidium went berserk and attacked me...
"I didn't think High King Edmure was harbouring great anti Empire sentiment."
"Edmure? King Toyrrg rules Skyrim. Though I heard this morning that may no longer be true. Jarl Ulfric apparently slew him in a duel by shouting the man apart." Said the Tavern owner with a raised eyebrow.
Wait. Has Skyrim changed King's in ten months? Edmure had no heirs with the name Toyyrg.
"Right. Of course. Forgive me, I'm not much of a current affairs kind of guy."
That's an outright lie. As a Blade, sworn in service to Uriel Septim VII, It was basically my duty to keep informed of the ins and outs of the politics of the Empire.
"S'allright. Still, all this talk of rebellion means we might see more legionaries moving through our lands heading north." Said the bar owner.
I nodded.
"How far are we from the village of Wendwater? I have family there."
Wendwater was the small village I had been gifted by the crown in slaying the necromancer Mannimarco. It was a seaside village in the forests of Anticlere. I had no idea where in Wayrest we were, and I wanted to know how far I was from a decent port city.
"Village? Wendwater ain't no village mate. One of the greatest cities in the Kingdom of Wayrest."
What? Wayrest was over 200 miles from Anticlere.
"You must be Mistaken. If we are in Wayrest we are in the estuary of the river Bjoulsae river."
"Lad, Your maps must be over two hundred years. The kingdom of Wayrest stretches from the old state to Ykalon, Daenia and Anticlere."
No. That's not possible. Wayrest may have been the second most powerful city state in the Iliac bay, but even their armies couldn't occupy that much land in ten months.
Unless they had the Numidium...
None of this made any sense. Skyrim a new king, Wayrest claiming hundreds of miles of land, Wendwater now a city...
"What year is it?" I asked, fear and trepidation in my voice.
"Wow. Are you daft?"
I withheld my childhood instinct to draw my knife and hold it to his throat as my voice lowered.
"What year is it."
The man gulped, looking at my hands as I slowly stretch them, preparing the mental power to snatch Crystaspear from the door and slay the man where he stood.
"It's the Fourth era, year 201 of Akatosh."
I let go of the mug in my left hand, it's contents spilling on the floor as I stared into this man's eyes. They held no humour, no jest.
I was truly at least 200 years in the future.
Agent: The Lord of Wendwater
4e202- 21st of Last Seed
It had been a long year. Travelling the width of the Illac bay on horseback, learning everything I could about the new world I had found myself thrust into.
About the Fall of the Empire. The Oblivion crisis and the Nerevaraines Return. About the Aldmeri Dominion, about the Pretender sitting in the imperial city, about the fall of the kingdom of Orsinium, the Kingdom I had help build.
And I had learnt about current events. The Stormcloaks successful rebellion. The return of Dragons. This "Dragonborn" warrior of the north.
The empire was no more. Without a true Septim on the throne, I had no oath to uphold. My empire died when the Bastard son of the man I served sacrificed himself. It was a hollow shell of it's former self.
I had made a decision.
No man deserved to lead me. I was the firstborn of a drunk and a witch. I had clawed my way from Mugger and mage to a knight of Daggerfall, to a spy for the greatest empire ever built. I was the man that started what I had learnt was called "The Warp in the West."
I had read the book. My entire history, everything I had ever done in service to the empire, was denoted to a minor mention in a book no one read.
The ruling family of my holdings were descendants of mine, after all, I had a daughter with my shrew of a arranged wife before I left to complete the Numidium. Now the Family in charge of my city were named Vanne.
I was Tristane, of the new house Masterly.
It was for that purpose that five sell swords stood behind me, as I stood on a grassy hill awaiting the arrival of Lord Dumac Vanne of Wendwater.
I stared over the city that was mine by right. A great port city, near where the sea ends and the river begins. Great forests to the north fuelled the shipyards and fertile lands to the east feed the people. A fine city. A fine start.
Behind me stood 3 thousand sell swords. Orcs, Redguards and Bretons. Interest on the hundreds of thousands of septims I had hid in banks across High Rock made me a very wealthy man, yet I had yet to access all of them. Plus, I couldn't carry that much gold on my person. What I had withdrawn paid for the army behind me. It was unlikely I needed them. The holdings of House Vanne were mine, by right of blood.
Eventually, a stout man on a brown horse approached me, followed by five Bretons dressed in light armor, bearing the sigil of a black ship on a red sea.
"Tristane Masterly." Said the man.
I nodded, my hand resting upon my Spear Cystraspear, as much proof of my identity as anything else.
"Your house is descended from my blood. I began the house that built these lands. The city, your holdings and everything the family of Vanne owns is mine by right."
"You'll forgive me if I don't pay heed to the words of a mad man pretending to be an ancient hero."
I rolled my eyes.
"Lord Dumac Vanne. I am the rightful heir of Wendwater, I am the Warp in the West, the slayer of Mannimarco, the sword of the evening, blade of the emperor and Knight of the Dragon. Pledge allegiance to me, strike your banners, and you will have a place in the world I will build." I said, an absolute confidence born of complete understanding was in my voice. "Deny me and you shall be destroyed."
"I will not surrender my lands, my inheritance, to a madman." Said Dumac. "If you are who you claim to be, you have been dead for centuries."
I gritted my teeth. So rather then by right of blood, I shall have to take this city by blood. No matter.
"Hold your family close to you and prepare your last writs. By the dawn of the third day. This city shall be mine."
By the setting of the second day, there was little left of their guard. Magic had considerably changed since my time. Apparently the Mages Guild had banned Levitation and now none lived that were trained in it.
I had taught all magically inclined men and women the skill, and we easily flew over their defences, cutting them down and opening the way for the more martially inclined.
By the first day all but the keep had fallen to me. We slew the family inside, the guards easily surrendered. I sat upon the Lord's chair. Crystaspear still covered in the blood of my descendent, Lord Dumac. Wendwater was mine, by right of conquest and blood.
My Sellsword army stood ready, and I had made them an attractive offer. Stay loyal to me, and gather all the riches we can get. Betray me and I'll slaughter them to the last man.
And So, by the second day, I was made Lord Tristane Masterly of the Wendwater.
"My Liege."
A Court mage, a breton male of late middle aged bowed to me. He had been one of the many inside the keep to surrender to me, and I had yet seen little reason to kill him.
"Mage." I responded simply.
"The other lords of Wayrest will not be happy with this. Such unrest is ill wanted. There has been no talk of civil war, and this is breaking the empire's peace..."
I stood up from my seat and ran a hand through my hair.
"The Empire is a dying cancerous lung that is approaching it's last breath. The other lords will bow to me soon enough."
"Bow to you? If you are... The Tristane Masterly of legend then you have right to this land, but what claim do you suppose to the throne of Wayrest? Perhaps make peace and marry off your heirs..."
"Did you speak in such simpering terms to my descendent? No wonder the city fell so easily. The Throne of Wayrest lost all claim when it broke my peace. Mine."
"Sir?"
I glared at the court mage.
"Over 200 years ago I liberated the Wrothtail mountains and helped the Orcs build Orsinium. And what has Wayrest, High rock, and the countless other kingdoms done? They drove out the orcs, slew the men, women and children. I gave my life to create this peace, to strengthen the empire. And now... I shall recreate the peace."
"...Sir?"
The mage sounded terrified.
I sat back in my chair, gazing across the great hall. Crystaspear resting in my hands.
And I allowed myself a grin.
I straightened in the chair.
"Gather the other lords of the Anticlere. Tell them the Emperor has need of them."
Welcome to The War of the Four Shezzarines. In case the title didn't give it away, this fic concerns a four (?) way war between the heroes of the last four mainline elder scrolls games.
Most of the history of the four heroes shall be given in the fic, but in case...
-Skyrim: Dragonborn sides with the Stormcloaks
-Daggerfall: Agent has taken control of his former holdings and has gathered the lords of the former kingdom of Anticlere. He seeks to name himself Emperor
-Morrowind: Current Location of the Nerevarine unknown, presumed in Akavira
-Oblivion: Could be Sheogorath, could be dead