Qahnaarin
8th of Sun's Dawn 4E 205
It's been four years to the day since Durnehviir bestowed upon me the title of "Qahnaarin", or "Vanquisher" in his tongue.
I have certainly proven myself worthy of the name.
In the span of four short years, I've defeated hundreds of dovah and thousands of Men, Mer, and Beasts.
I brought the proud and mighty Volkihar to their knees.
Bards sing of my deeds in every court and tavern.
My tactics are now used as Basic Training for both the Imperial Legion and the College of Winterhold.
I have traversed the Soul Cairn, Apocrypha, and Sovengarde.
I have fought for love, for honor, and for profit.
So many battles fought and adventures had.
So many comrades buried.
Burgruk of Orsinium,
Alsiel of Summerset,
Lleryn of Mournhold,
Jeebza of Argonia,
Ysmi of Skyrim,
Ashtani of Elsweyr,
Bir'indi of Stros M'kai,
Valeria of Cyrodiil,
and
Selia of Valenwood.
They are but a few of my truest friends and most loyal allies.
And, I have buried each of them.
I know that they're in good hands.
Runil, while a former Thalmor Battlemage, is a true and honorable friend.
I knew that each of them wished to be interred at Falkreath, and I was more than willing to honor those wishes.
Now, I find myself back in the cold, back in the rain, drenching my blades with blood.
I stand with the Empire that once tried to execute me.
I stand against Ulfric and his Stormcloaks, because there's more at stake than pride and ego.
I'll try to rest, for now.
It'll be morning soon, and I already know that there will be a long and bloody road ahead of us.
15th of Sun's Dawn
Nothing like a week of forced marches to lift morale.
The men are exhausted and Procturus, our "Legate", doesn't seem to have the faintest idea of what he's doing.
I know that he despises me, due largely to the fact that I was given a field promotion to Centurion by General Tullius because of my combat experience and because I command the respect of the men.
Some of the Nords, who are Legionaires solely because they heard that I had joined, have taken to calling me "Son of Kyne".
I may be a Breton, but I know these wilds and where the game is bountiful.
I've been cutting the meat into strips and preserving it, then rationing it out to the men during the marches.
Several have marveled at how a Breton could be so hardy.
I "politely" informed them that many a Nord berserker had fallen by my hand.
Suffice to say, they got the message.
3rd of First Seed
DAMN HIM! DAMN HIM TO THE VOID!
I've told him, time and again, that Markarth was a death trap!
ALMOST AN ENTIRE MONTH WASTED!
I told him that there were Stormcloaks, Forsworn, dragons, and all manner of beasts between Solitude and Markarth.
Just as I had told him that we should utilize an advance guard.
Now, HALF of the men are wounded and we're trapped in Markarth.
At least we MADE IT to Markarth.
Time to lead a suicidal offensive and clean up this fetcher's mess.
AGAIN!
With the Nine as my witness, I have half a mind to kill that idiot myself!
As usual, my fellow Centurion, Proximo has already volunteered himself and his platoon to me.
As he is so fond of saying, it's time to work my "magick".
I pray that his trust in me isn't misplaced.
14th of Rain's Hand
Well, it worked. Somehow.
We threw the gate open a I let loose with my Fus shout.
Damn near destroyed the walls, too.
By luck, my time with the Dawnguard, and the blessings of Talos and Zenithar, I managed to acquire the materials to make forty five Enhanced Steel Crossbows and forty five thousand Steel Bolts.
I issued them to the men and had them form a broken semi-circle at the main gate.
As soon as the gates were open and I unleashed the full power of my Voice, I had them open fire.
It was a slaughter.
Within seconds, two hundred and fifty Stormcloaks lay dead.
We pushed forward and sent Ulfric's boys into a full retreat.
I thank the Nine for the foresight to send a courier back to Solitude with a request for reinforcements.
A detachment of the Seventh Legion, under the command of Legate Björd Storm-Caller, arrived in time to cut off the Stormcloak retreat along the Karth.
Proximo and our men made short work of the rest.
All told, we suffered seventy-five percent casualties, mostly wounded.
We lost thirty-five of the finest soldiers I've ever had the honor of serving with, during the counter-offensive.
They shall be avenged.
7th of Second Seed
Due to our actions during the "Siege of Markarth", Proximo and I have been promoted to the rank of Legate.
We've also been moved to the reserves, due to our losses.
We've taken this time to replenish our ranks and secure The Reach.
The Hold is firmly in Imperial hands.
We even managed to secure Hjaalmarch and Haafingar Holds.
Western Skyrim is almost entirely claimed for the Empire.
23 of Second Seed
I finally managed to broker a deal with Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun Hold.
He's agreed to "formally accept Imperial aid". Meaning that we don't have to bleed for the foreseeable future.
Proximo has jokingly begun calling me "Councillor" and "Your Grace".
Smart ass.
16th of Mid Year
North or south?
Falkreath is vital to our supply lines and troop movement, but so is Dawnstar.
Hmmm, strike from the south and take all of Falkreath and The Rift, or strike from the north and control the coast via The Pale and Winterhold?
Either course brings us closer to Windhelm, the prize, and the end of the war.
I need to think on this.
23 of Mid Year
I've made my decision.
We will take The Pale, Winterhold, Falkreath, and The Rift.
Simultaneously.
Björd and Proximo shall strike from Haafingar and Whiterun, respectively, whilst I strike Falkreath and then The Rift.
It's an insane idea, but Proximo likes it.
Probably because HE'S insane.
Ulfric has had time to prepare for an attack, but he seems to believe that we will strike directly at Windhelm.
This may, or may not, be due to my ordering our reserve columns to move within striking distance of Fort Amol.
I may be damn near psychotic, but I'm not stupid.
Any seasoned warrior worth their salt knows that the best direction is MISdirection.