The Imperial galleon Kintyra II gracefully floated in the frigid waters off of the coast of northern Morrowind. The ash-covered wasteland jutted out into the Sea of Ghosts, dully ending the enormous blue expanse of water that the crew had grown used to. The Kintyra II was accompanied by two smaller ships, the Magnificent and the Heartlander. These navy cutters were smaller and faster ships, but they were armed enough to serve as escorts for the Kintyra II. Unlike most Imperial naval fleets, the Kintyra II was protected by two – as opposed to five – ships. But this fleet was not a standard Imperial fleet, this fleet had been assigned to hunt Dunmer rebels, revolutionaries who were attempting to throw off the perceived yoke of Imperial rule.
Aboard the Kintyra II, the two hundred man crew moved about, roaming around the wooden deck and scurrying about like mud crabs. There was a sense of uniformity to them, and they were dressed in a similar fashion; a standard gray, iron-plated cuirass accompanied by a pair of equally gray gauntlets, greaves, and boots. None of them paid any real attention to the dull, ash-covered wasteland staring back at them from across the Sea of Ghosts. The only one among their number who had the spare time to focus on the land was the ship's commanding officer, Captain Octavian Gratus.
Octavian stood on the command deck that overlooked the entire ship; his perch gave him a hawk-eye view that enabled him to watch each of his crewmen with his cold, blue eyes and make sure each of them carried out their respective tasks appropriately. While he was leaning on the railing, Octavian's height was difficult to discern, although when he stood he easily towered over an average adult Imperial male – standing at two meters in height. Octavian's bulky, white and gold officer's armor contrasted his tanned skin and dark brown hair, which had been let go in the windswept style and extended to his shoulders. On his belt, a silver long sword was situated in its scabbard – even though it was against military regulations for the commander of a vessel to possess a weapon on duty.
Octavian had only recently become captain of the Kintyra II, evident by the darkened bags that formed under his eyes due to lack of sleep – he had not rested very often since he had taken command of the ship. The bags exaggerated his thin nose and gave him a visage of wisdom, even though he was not a day over twenty-nine. He was pleased by his promotion, in fact, he had been appointed to serve as the captain of the Kintyra II by Admiral Curio Avellan, the commander-in-chief of the Imperial navy, himself. However, the position had exhausted him and he grew bored of these wild bat hunts; every time he and the Kintyra II had been sent to capture and execute Dunmer rebels, the lead turned out to be fake or they had arrived too late. His crew had not tasted the fine cuisine of battle for several weeks, and they had grown sloppy and impatient.
"Sir," spoke his first mate, a lithe, bronze-skinned Redguard, as he approached Octavian from behind. "Our scouts believe they have located the rebels, but they are hiding among the barrier islands. Our helmsmen are hesitant to enter, lest we are ambushed."
Octavian scowled at his first mate's report. Rising from his position against the railing, he towered over his subordinate, and Octavian hoped to inspire fear in the naïve officer. "Ambushes don't concern me, Kurt. I want progress not complaints. Begin the advance."
"But sir…" the first mate tried to argue, his voice uneasy. Octavian's stature and position had served its purpose.
"Now, Kurt! If the helmsmen do not comply, you will tell me immediately!"
"Sir, yes sir!" yelped his first mate.
Useless soldiers, they are always whining! Octavian thought to himself. If he could run the Kintyra II by himself he would do so without a second thought. However, since that was not possible, he was convinced that if he was going to have underlings on his ship, they would serve him obediently.
Walking from the command deck, Octavian descended the stairs that led to his cabin and then emerged onto the main deck. Octavian marched through the rat's nest of crewmen that had formed on the deck. Every officer and crewman he passed on the deck saluted him as he walked by, showing the respect he had earned as the captain of the Kintyra II. The prodigious captain made his way across the wood-planked floor, his iron boots clinking with each step he took, until he reached the station that belonged to the helmsman. Approaching the helmsman, a Khajiit almost twenty years older than him, Octavian placed a hand on his soldier and beckoned him to stand.
"What is it, Captain?" the Khajiit asked, sneering as he stressed Octavian's title.
"I heard that you complained about my orders, Ra'mathra. Needless to say, I'm displeased," Octavian replied, his voice taking an authoritative tone in response to Ra'mathra's insolence.
The Khajiit hissed and growled under his breath, evidently displeased by the revelation. "If I would have carried out your orders, the entire fleet would have been in danger."
"Insubordination is a dangerous crime and can ruin your career, Ra'mathra. It would be a shame if I had to report you to my superiors," Octavian said maliciously.
"Funny," Ra'mathra muttered. He scratched the back of his head with his dagger-like claws, sending scraps of oaken-brown fur onto the wooden deck. "I believe Admiral Modius told you something similar off the coast of Black Marsh, if I recall correctly."
Octavian's blue eyes glared at Ra'mathra, and his eyes met with the Khajiit's green eyes. He was infuriated by Ra'mathra's argument, considering he was right. Bassus Modius was the previous captain of the Kintyra II and was the mentor of Ra'mathra and Octavian. Octavian had once refused to carry out Admiral Modius' orders off the coast of Black Marsh when they had fought a group of pirates there a year before.
"Get back to work, Ra'mathra. You will be punished for your impudence," Octavian managed to say, his voice still wounded by being called out by a lower-ranking officer.
"Of course, Captain," Ra'mathra hissed. Saluting curtly, Ra'mathra turned his back to Octavian before returning his attention to the ship's wheel.
"Absolutely useless," Octavian muttered, already returning to the command deck that was positioned above the chaotic mess of soldiers that were struggling to keep the ship running smoothly.
Amidst the ash-covered barrier islands that were gathered above the northern edge of Morrowind, a single Dunmer ship was hidden; the converted passenger ship took shelter in a cove of a large, abnormally shaped barrier island. On the deck of the small ship stood a Dunmer male, twenty-four years of age. His skin was an ashy-grey pigment, the standard coloration for a Dunmer male, and he wore a tattered blue cloak over his gleaming, green ebony armor. Upon his head was a chainmail helmet, adjusted to fit upon his head and not irritate the war-mohawk that rose from his skull. In addition, the helmet served to protect his blood red eyes from large amounts of sunlight.
Fiddling with his iron war axe, the Dunmer was waiting for his comrades to emerge from the lower decks where they were discussing the strategy for the upcoming battle. Although the ship was in plain sight, the ship was protected from being seen by the Imperial navy by several tree-covered hills. Their skills in scouting and naval warfare were not helping them now. Scanning the ash-filled but still beautiful sky with his dark red eyes, the Dunmer failed to see any of the stars that would let him know what time it was. Swearing under his breath, the Dunmer was about to give up his search when he saw two sets of red eyes emerging from the lower decks at the corner of his eyes; apparently, they were done discussing strategy and were coming to talk to him.
Turning around to face the two Dunmer coming towards him, the Dunmer spoke, "How did the meeting go? Did we decide on a course of action?"
"No, Ralas. Baltis and I tried to convince them to stand and fight, but we couldn't convince them. It's almost like they don't want to fight for their freedom," Sarel Hlaalu explained in detail, his voice gruff, deep. Ralas could tell that he was obviously displeased with the outcome of the meeting.
"Get one of the Telvanni to contact the other ships, then. Tell them to start the retreat so we can get out of here before the Imperial navy gets any closer," Ralas replied.
"Very well. I'll go back below deck to find that blasted Telvanni. I'll come back when the orders have been relayed."
While Sarel went back below deck, Ralas gave orders to the helmsman, and the ship began to make its way deeper into chain of barrier islands, back towards Vvardenfell. Wading through the frigid water and ship rubble, the Wave-Render began to leave the cove that it had taken shelter in. The Wave-Render gracefully swam through the remainder of the cove and met up with the Eternal Voyager and Wild Wave – which were also converted passenger ships – inside the heart of the barrier island chain.
Ralas' gazing at the sky was interrupted by Llervu placing a hand on his shoulder. Ralas turned to his fellow Dunmer and listened intently as Baltis said, "So, Ralas, how exactly did the Archcanon know the Imperials would be attacking from this direction? How can we trust him?"
Ralas thought on the question, allowing it to linger in his mind before he answered Baltis. "The Archcanon has the reputation of being a highly-skilled magister, even among the Telvanni. He was one of Vivec's right-hand men. Presumably, his skill at manipulating magicka was second to none save the members of the Tribunal."
"So if he's so strong and special, why isn't he out here fighting alongside his soldiers?" Baltis shot back.
"Shut up, I wasn't done," growled Ralas, his anger getting the best of him for a brief moment. "The Archcanon hired the Morag Tong to infiltrate the ranks of the Imperials and gather intelligence on their military movements. They were later found out and executed. Their last message indicated that the Imperial navy was going to strike from the Sea of Ghosts."
"So that's why we're here," Baltis pondered.
"Yes, that's why we're here," Ralas repeated, still agitated by the interruptions. "But obviously this fleet is too experienced and well-armed for us to defeat. So we're retreating to meet up with Admiral Velandas' fleet. No reason to stick around here."
Ralas heard the faint whine of bows being released from the west. A brief explosion was faintly heard across the water and a gout of fire rose into the air.
Ralas ran up to the command deck and yelled up to the crow's nest, "Lookout! Galvon!" Ralas raised his voice when he did not get a response. "What happened?"
"We have Imperial ships entering the islands! An Imperial fleet is here and it's spotted the Eternal Voyager; they're attacking it with bows and magicka!"
Ralas' face scrunched up, expressing his own concern. "Damn, keep watching. I need to warn Sarel." Ralas hurried down the stairs to the lowest deck of the ship where Sarel and the Telvanni were no doubt arguing as usual. "Sarel, we've got an Imperial fleet! It's attacking the Eternal Voyager and it's going to destroy us if we stay here much longer. Let's get out of here before they spot us too!"
"What in the name of oblivion…" Sarel began. Once he realized the Imperials were assaulting the Eternal Voyager; however, his focus deviated quickly. "I see. Well, Velandas is entering the islands from the south now, and should be here any minute. His flagship is being escorted by three cutters. We'll be fine."
"Should we help the Voyager out anyways, and give Velandas a heads-up?"
"Yeah," Sarel responded. Now his voice was getting jittery.
The Wave-Render took off first, propelling forward and racing through the frigid water. The Wild Wave sluggishly followed the fleet's flagship, although it wasn't as maneuverable or as fast as the other ship. The two Dunmer warships traversed the small sound side-by-side before meeting up with the damaged Eternal Voyager which had slowly managed to limp away from its pursuers. Once the three ships had been united, they made their way around a larger island and increased their speed, hoping to reach the Imperial fleet before Velandas and his fleet arrived.
"Captain!" Octavian's Redguard first mate called to him from across the command deck. "We seem to have found the rest of the rebels! Three unidentified vessels are exiting the island chain; they're probably the rebels we've been searching for."
Octavian leaned uncomfortably against the railing; the wood of the rails was causing his arms to bruise. Nevertheless, he tried to appear as pleased as possible when his first mate gave him the news. "I see. You have permission to engage. Give no quarter," Octavian said, shrugging off the news.
"Yes sir, as you wish, sir," his first mate said nervously.
Although the first mate tried to be as respectful as possible, his nervousness caused his words to become jumbled and slurred, causing Octavian to despise him even more. As the Kintyra II, the Magnificent, and the Heartlander raced through the icy water like three angry slaughterfish towards their unsuspecting prey, Octavian felt relieved. Once these Dunmer are defeated, he thought, I'll finally be done with these ridiculous missions.
As soon as the Imperial fleet began to advance; however, the Kintyra II rocked violently; the unexpected quake sent the captain flying from his position against the railing and causing him to collide with the wooden planks of the command deck. The rest of the ship was also thrown into chaos; once the Kintyra II began to tremble, nearly every crewmember on the ship was either thrown off their feet or began to scamper to cover, as unorganized as mindless rodents.
Wiping away the blood that had begun to flow from his forcibly squashed nose, Octavian forced himself to his feet and cried out to his crew, "Back in line, vermin! What in the name of oblivion just happened?"
The first mate was the first to speak, although his voice was still mired with fright. "Sir! A Dunmer galleon has just arrived from the direction of Port Telvannis with three navy cutters; their mages hit the rudder with fireballs."
"Damage report?" growled Octavian.
"They fireballs only made contact with the top of the rudder so it can still be maneuvered!" called out the scout in the crow's nest.
"All crew members to your stations! Return fire!" Octavian bellowed. "Kurt, prepare a lifeboat for the officers, and inform the second helmsman that he is in command of the vessel now. We need to get back to Firewatch, immediately!
The nimble Wave-Render rocked as large waves conjured by the Imperial mages buffeted its portside hull, damaging the mast and flooding the lowest deck. Although the damage was extensive, Ralas was still smiling underneath his helmet. Using his sweaty, cramped palm, Ralas summoned his inner reserves of magicka, sending two tendrils of lightning at the Imperial galleon. As the galleon continued to advance towards the Wave-Render, the tendrils of lightning collided with the massive Imperial galleon, ripping through several Imperial archers and causing them to devolve into fiery piles of ashes. Cheering at the deaths of the Imperials, the Dunmer archers began to take aim at the opposing ships.
The battle was set: the myriad of Imperial cutters flocked around their flagship – the Kintyra II – while the Dunmer vessels were scattered about, with no clear focal point, however, most of the ships were still clumped together around Velandas' galleon and its escorts. The Dunmer forces moved first and clashed with the majority of the Imperial cutters. Magickal energy and arrows flew from the Dunmer and Imperial forces, and soldiers and ships met them with distraught, yet open, arms. While the majority of the magickal attacks collided with the ships' masts and hulls, some arrows found their targets and sank into the flesh and armor of the soldiers, their lifeless bodies quickly becoming impediments to the survivors.
Ralas took cover behind the railing on the side of the ship, coming out of his cover every few minutes or so to fire fireballs or lightning at the Imperials on the opposing ships. In the delay between his magickal attacks, the Imperials responded in kind, unleashing a wave of deadly, fiery arrows in the direction of the Wave-Render. Performing a quick roll, Ralas managed to dodge the incoming arrows and protect himself from harm. No matter where he turned; however, dead bodies littered the ship's deck; not everyone could escape the horde of arrows and magickal energy. Focusing his attack on the Imperial archers directly opposite him, Ralas launched three simultaneous waves of crimson fireballs toward the top of the captain's cabin, which the archers had taken up positions on top of, disintegrating two archers in a single attack. As the two archers desperately tried to put out the flames that were engulfing them, they collided with the remaining archers stationed on top of the cabin, lighting them on fire and; eventually, killing them as well. Ralas avoided another swarm of incoming arrows and joined a pair of Telvanni mages that were preparing to assault the nearest Imperial cutter.
Ralas trembled as the Wave-Render approached the Imperial navy cutter. The Wave-Render had already taken extensive damage, and the cutter's mages and archers would no doubt tear through their crippled ship. Nevertheless, he joined his new partners in their assault, and Ralas felt a lump in his throat as he peered over the ship's railing at the Imperial cutter. Watching the ship's archers and mages like a panicked beast, Ralas was so distracted by his increased pulse that he barely heard his allies tell him to open fire on the vessel. Ralas and the two Telvanni mages unleashed a heavy downpour of white lightning on the cutter and its crew, sending burning fragments of damaged wood sinking into the ocean and killing several dozen Imperial archers.
As the trio began to duck back down into cover, Ralas watched with a helpless sense of horror as the highly-trained Imperial archers that had survived opened fire on the mage to his left. It only took one arrow in the forehead to end the mage's assault on the ship, and; thus, his life. Startled, Ralas barely had time to react to the fireball flying towards him, conjured by an Imperial mage seeking revenge for the death of his comrades. However, his combat training served him well and he managed to roll and lay prone on the deck, dodging the attack.
Ralas recovered his own bearings quickly, although he had trouble getting up due to the slippery blood that covered the deck. Once he managed to stand up, Ralas attempted to locate the other mage – they had gotten separated by the bombardment of arrows and magicka – but he couldn't identify him amidst the thick swarm of Dunmer soldiers on the main deck who were clashing with their Imperial foes.
During the chaos of the most recent fighting, Ralas had not noticed a fellow Dunmer tapping him on the shoulder, trying to get his attention. Ralas turned around, and spoke to the Dunmer though his voice was dry and ragged. "Who are you and what do you need?"
"Calm down, Ralas. You sound horrible," a voice that he recognized said. "It's Sarel. You don't recognize me?"
"Barely," Ralas admitted sheepishly.
"Heh. I believe it," Sarel said jokingly. "We're joining up with the Eternal Voyager and the Wild Wave near the Canyon Crawler. We're planning a raid on the Imperial staging point, Firewatch, while their ships are distracted here; we'll need your assistance."
"Understood, I'll be ready," Ralas responded quickly.
After the destruction of the Imperial cutter, the Wave-Render surged through the wreckage-filled water. Wading by both enemy and friendly vessels alike, the Wave-Render made its way through the confusion that had since swept the battlefield and approached the Canyon Crawler, one of the cutters that had joined the Tribunal in the battle as an escort.
As the Wave-Render broke free of the myriad of ships engaging each other and began to approach the Dunmer cutter, Ralas noticed a ragged looking Telvanni mage standing beside him. Ralas turned and talked to him, since he was curious to know what he was doing.
"Ordinator Ralas, Llervu Telvanni reporting for duty," the Telvanni mage responded. "I fought alongside you during the assault on the cutter. Don't you remember?"
Ralas nodded as recognition dawned on him, even though the mage looked completely different as half of his face had been singed by a fireball. "Ah yes, that's right. I thought you had died."
"No sir. I just felt like killing a few more Imperials. I hope you'll excuse me, sir."
Ralas chuckled. "Of course, you're excused, Llervu. Glad you're okay. Stay here with me, we're about to assault Firewatch."
"Excellent," Llervu replied. "It's been quite a while since I've fought with the ground beneath my feet. Why, I remember Ald'ruhn during the Oblivion Crisis..."
Ralas was not in the mood for war stories, nor was he prepared to be distracted while being lectured by some old war-veteran. Returning his attention to the battle, but still partially listening to the Telvanni, Ralas watched as the Wave-Render slowly moved toward the collection of damaged, Dunmer ships that had gathered around the Canyon Crawler. Once the Wave-Render arrived, Sarel emerged back onto the main deck.
As the rest of the crew began to make temporary repairs to the ship, Sarel and Ralas began to heal the wounded in order to ensure that they would perform optimally in the upcoming assault. They knew they would need every man they could get if they were to succeed. Even though he was not a master of the school of restoration, he could cast simple healing spells. Patrolling the deck, Ralas healed several of the wounded before joining Sarel on the command deck.
"That's the best we can do," Sarel said, his voice was now overflowing with confidence. "Here we go, for Morrowind!"
Once Sarel had given his rallying cry, the rest of the Wave-Render's crew cheered and gave their own shouts of approval. Starting on its way towards the Imperial fortress at Firewatch, the Wave-Render – followed by the Eternal Voyager and Wild Wave – parted from the Canyon Crawler they had situated themselves around. The Wave-Render took point, since it was the only vessel participating in the attack that was still near its pre-battle strength. Sneaking away from the raging battle between the rest of the Dunmer ships and the Imperials, the three Dunmer ships slowly began plowing through the waves toward, Firewatch, leaving the battle behind in the process.
"We're nearing Firewatch, Sarel," the scout in the crow's nest called down to Sarel. "Are you ready?"
"Of course, I was born for this moment," Sarel muttered, reassuring himself. His gauntleted hand was sweating while it gripped his steel long sword. He was switching it to-and-from each of his hands, struggling to maintain his composure. A feeling of euphoria clenched his chest; the euphoria of the moment was gut-wrenching, and it caused Sarel's vision to falter.
Before Sarel became too distracted; however, he accomplished his mission; his gauntleted hand conjured a firestorm on the on the Firewatch docks. As the fiery wave of death soared through the air toward the Firewatch docks, the three Dunmer ships continued their inexorable advance. As the firestorm collided with the Firewatch docks, the entire port shook violently and the remaining Imperial ships that were docked there were destroyed beyond repair
Sarel and Baltis began screaming into the air in triumph like madmen, exhilarated by the debilitating display of magickal prowess and destruction. While the three Dunmer ships surged forward, Ralas noticed that the Wave-Render was experiencing trouble; the ship was becoming slow and increasingly difficult to maneuver. However, the helmsman was very skilled and the Wave-Render slowly boosted forward, wading through the remnants of the ships in the Firewatch harbor as it approached the docks.
The Wave-Render and the Eternal Voyager carefully waded through the immense amount of wreckage from the destroyed ships and made their way to the docks; the Wild Wave was destroyed as it ran up against the partially-concealed hulk of a destroyed ship at full speed, knocking a huge hole in the Wild Wave's hull. The crewmembers of the Wave-Render and the Eternal Voyager watched in horror as their allies met their end in a head-on collision with the wreckage; a huge snap and crack was all they heard as the Wild Wave sunk into the frigid waters of the Sea of Ghosts.
The Tribunal was oddly quiet. There was no cheering, no groaning, not even the chatter of gossipy soldiers dared disturb the serene silence that had swept over the Dunmer galleon. The crew – each donned in the traditional armor of the soldiers of House Redoran: tan bonemold armor – soundlessly proceeded with their tasks, marching around the ship with in a simultaneous manner and carried out their duties at their respective stations. At the center of this disciplined uniformity stood Admiral Velandas, the commanding officer of the Tribunal and the leader of the entire Dunmer fleet stationed here. Unlike his youthful officers, Velandas' skin was a lighter shade of grey and wrinkled, even his unusually round face was stretched extensively due to age. His red eyes and balding white tonsure created an aura of experience and age-honed skill around the old admiral, who was watching the cutters brawl in the waters around him with intense fervor.
The air surrounding the ship was cold, icy like the water the ships were fighting on. Velandas' body could no longer keep itself warm under such conditions, so in addition to his ebony armor and cowl, Velandas wore a thick blue robe to keep himself at a comfortable temperature while he commanded his troops. His gauntleted right hand clenched a wooden walking stick; his feet were too weak to support him in armor for long periods of time, and his walking stick was keeping him upright like a decayed wooden puppet.
Velandas' aide, a Dres officer about half of his age, broke off from his discussion about the battle with a group of Telvanni mages and approached the admiral. Walking up the steps that led to the command deck, the member of House Dres approached the admiral from the left and saluted as he got within two meters of the wizened admiral. "Sir," the Dunmer began. "Our mages have confirmed that our strike force has landed at Firewatch."
Velandas smiled, his wrinkles rising with his lips, and he turned his focus from the battle to his first mate. "Is that so, my son? Well, they should be assisted. We have to distract the Imperial fleet while they take the fortress, no?"
"Yes, sir," the Dunmer agreed. "Shall I inform the Omenwedur and Chun-Ook to attack the Kintyra II, then?"
"Indeed. Good thinking, Indoran," Velandas replied slowly, turning his attention back to the battle. "Inform the rest of the cutters to attack the Iron Fist. We need their support ships taken down."
"Of course, sir," Indoran said. Saluting his superior officer once again, the Dres aide stepped away from the admiral's vantage point and headed back to the Telvanni mages in order to have the admiral's orders relayed to the other ships.