Cearbhail:
Well, the second chapter is finally here. It took me longer than I would have liked, but it's finally here. Now, time to focus on other stories.
"You remember Castle Dour, don't you?" Rikke asked me as she led me up the staircase leading to the castle I was stationed at probably 30 years or more ago. I forget exactly how old I was when I first set foot in Skyrim, but this was my first permanent duty station. I spent the majority of my wide-eyed youth complaining about the cold and bitter summers. I wanted to be somewhere tropical, somewhere with girls in bikinis. Hammerfell was nice during the winters, but unbearable during the summers. Elsweyr was good year-round, but the mosquitos are the size of your hand. And they loved the scent of my blood.
As we reached the top of the stairway, my eyes immediately fixated on the smithy to the right. A man almost as old as me was smacking down on a sheet of metal, and I knew I knew him. He was a smithy apprentice at the very same smithy when I was a fresh recruit. He was tasked with making my very first sword and shield. They were both crap at the time. Seeing how he's folding the metal now, I'd say he's just as experienced at smithing as I am at killing things. If I had time, I would go catch up with him.
The two of us walked over to Castle Dour, which upon passing under the entrance arch to the outer area, I could see several Agents running the newer recruits through some basic survival skills. Things like, use your shield to block things coming at your face; that spear in your is to stab things with, like soft fleshy bodies; and my favorite: people who are dressed like you are probably not your enemies. The last one was a cautionary tale though. There are people who will dress up like the enemy, infiltrate their ranks, and when the opportunity presents itself, reveal themselves to their enemy, usually in the bloodiest way possible. I did it with a bandit troop once. Killed the majority of the bandit troop by using explosives and bringing down the tower while they were all inside eating. I only had to kill ten disoriented bandits as I exited the ruined building.
I stopped as I watched the fresh recruits going through their training exercises. The Agent in charge of them was a crisp Nord lad. He was standing in front of the troops, holding his shield. "Everyone, if I can get your attention. We, Nords, are not going to stop charging at a shield wall just because you put spikes on the front. If I can have a volunteer." He plucked an Imperial out of the crowd, placing him in a shield wall pose. "Now, see here. This…" He bashed his sword on the shield wall, all which caused the kid to lose his poise. "Does nothing for me but tire me out. So, what we Nords like to do is this…" He pulled out a wedge knife, and I was becoming curious. This was a lesson I don't think I've ever heard. He stabbed at the shield, which drew no response by the kid. The knife imbedded itself in the crevice where the barb sat. The Nord screamed as he snapped his plated foot out, kicking the knife through the shield. The shield split as the wedged knife went right through it. I heard the Imperial scream as the knife penetrated the shield, stabbing him right in the arm strapped into the shield.
The Agent nodded to the injured Imperial, saying, "This is why we wear plates on our forearms. I see only half of you have decided that it is necessary. This will remind you… wear all your equipment. If I see any of you without it, I will show you why you need it. Understood?" He looked at the injured man, bleeding down his shield. "Go see one of our healer, son." The Imperial nodded as he ran off to the infirmary.
Rikke only sighed. "Ragnar, don't kill my soldiers." She screamed to the Nord.
Ragnar only smiled, waving to Rikke. "Of course, ma'am. They wanted to fight Nords. I'm just making sure your Imperial branch know what they're up against. How long until we get some real Nords to join us?"
"We're actively recruiting, Ragnar. Just wait, I'm sure the people here will see we're in the right, and decide to join our cause." Rikke looked over at me, gesturing to Ragnar. "That's Ragnar. He grew up in Falkreath. He served in the Legion for 5 years." Five years, huh. That's not a long time. What would he really know about combat and fighting?
I sighed as I looked over to Rikke. "I'm going to teach him a real lesson."
Rikke only glanced at me, wide-eyed as I walked away from her. "Flavius… oh… shit." She started chasing after me, but I wasn't going to let her stop me from teaching this whelp how to properly treat his soldiers. Five year veteran? I would clean his experience off my butt with a piece of butt tissue.
"Hey, soldier." I called out to Ragnar. "You seem to know how to bypass Imperial shields. Now, how would you fare in a situation where you are up against a solo spearman? Shield on his back, spear in both of his hands." I said as I walked past a raw recruit, snatching up his spear, and grabbing his shield, slacking the arm strap, converting it to a back loop. I slipped the shield over my shoulder, properly guarding my back. It's not the most conventional method of wearing a shield, but the crossbow units wear their shields like this to protect their backs while they reload their next volley.
Ragnar looked at my odd approach to wearing a shield, almost smiling because he clearly thought it was insane for an old man to wear a shield on his back, exposing his chest and stomach to an armed combat veteran. Spears are useful, and are always used with spears, and when in shield wall, we normally have a second person in the back controlling a long spear, pointed out through the cracks of the spear wall to impale the dumbasses who think the spear wall will just stand there and wait for the advancing wave to crash into them.
"Flavius, don't kill him." Rikke screamed with a hint of amusement, and that only made Ragnar angry and hot in the face. She just called him out, and now he had to defend his honor in front of his troop.
Ragnar gripped his sword tightly as he approached me. "Ok, rooks, we have a volunteer. So, you are going to have a lesson on how true Nords will deal with your spearmen." He sheathed his sword, pulling out two axes. "This is how the Stormcloaks will tear apart your spears. So, this Imperial is going to approach in what I assume is a standard charge."
I gripped my spear tightly as I walked up to the kid. "Sure, we'll go with that." The spear in my hand wasn't exactly to my liking. It was heavy in the front, maybe a bit wobbly too. Was the top even dug in deep enough and secured with proper adhesive? Eh, won't matter. The spear is just for show.
I charged the kid, already knowing what he planned on doing. As I thrusted my spear at him, in typical fashion, I might add, Ragnar caught the spear with his first axe, pulling it away from him. Good, he can at least defend himself. "Now, rooks, this is how a true Nord will catch your spears. By capturing it with their axe, and twisting it like this…" He tightened the hold on my spear, locking it in spot. "The Nord will catch your spear, preventing you from withdrawing it. With my other axe, I could snap the spear, but what would be the fun of that? You'd just have a splintery stick to smack me with. What we like to do is pull the spear away from us." And this was what I was waiting for.
As Ragnar pulled the spear, I pulled myself in, using his weight and mine to push him while he pulled me. Doing this gave me a quick charge at him, and knocked him off his balance. I quickly turned myself around, using the shield on my back as my charging attack, and I slammed my shield into him, effectively knocking him on his ass. I quickly pulled my spear from his lessened grip, snaked my foot around, twisting my hips, planting my foot on his chest, and I thrusted my spear at Ragnar's throat, just shy of piercing him.
"Your enemy will be stronger than you." I replied to the Imperials. "They have brute strength and will try to use it. So… instead of a tiring fight of controlling your weapons, you let your enemy have them. Use their strength against them, and they'll never expect it. Only the survivors know how to win fights, and your enemies must never be allowed to learn from your example. Do not let your enemies gather new techniques on how to improve their form of combat. Let them continue to trap spears and pull them away. If you charge in just like I have, you will always knock them on their asses, and with a spear or a knife, you can finish the fight." I turned to the troops. They looked surprised that I just put this Nord on his back.
I looked down at Ragnar. He looked just as surprised at how easily I defeated him. I smiled as I bent down, offering him a hand. "Don't take it personally, son. I served for 30 years. I've seen more combat than anyone here combined, likely. There was a slim chance you were going to win any demonstration with me."
Ragnar took my hand, nodding. "The Stormcloaks will not be easily crushed by a charge like that, though. It may work in singular combat, but in high numbers, it seems too risky."
What he said was true. I looked at the fresh troops, yelling, "Use this technique only when facing one of these… Stormcloaks in one-on-one engagements. Stick to your shield-brothers and you'll never need to. Understood?" The troops all 'hooah'ed and saluted me.
I nodded to Ragnar. "Continue teaching them what you know about the enemy." I patted him on the shoulder and then turned to face Rikke. She was trying her best to hide the smile on her face. I shrugged as I approached her. "Well, that was easier than I thought." I said as I turned to face the troops. Ragnar was dusting himself off, explaining how swords could be used to kill someone by stabbing them with the sharp pointy side. "Is he one of those Stormcloaks?"
Rikke shrugged. "He's teaching our boys, isn't he?" She sighed. "His father is a Stormcloak, as is his brother. But he saw what they did to a local family of elves, and he didn't want anything to do with it, so he joined the Legion. He told us about his family's involvement, even told us where to find his father and brother, in exchange that they didn't end up as a pin cushion. His father wouldn't go down without a fight, his brother did. Now, his brother is locked up until this war is over, and only if he agrees to be on his best behavior." She looked over to me. "And there's something I wanted to discuss with you. Follow me inside."
We made our way inside Castle Dour, where there sat a full map of Skyrim, covered with red and blue painted metallic chess figures. She gestured me to look at the map. "This is our situation. The Stormcloaks seem to own almost half of Skyrim. They have sympathetic Jarls in each of the holds: here, here, here. And of course, Windhelm." She pointed to Dawnstar, Riften, and Winterhold. General Tullius seems to think that the Stormcloak Rebellion will just quit after we express a significant amount of pressure on their army, but…"
I nodded. "Yeah, I remember. The locals in Stormhaven weren't exactly willing to comply with our wishes back then either."
She chuckled. "Actually, I was thinking of that mission in Dune. Remember the Mane's Advocates?"
I nodded. "Sure that their belief in the Mane protected them from actual harm."
She sighed. "Now, imagine that the Mane was a God of War and that their military movement was the will of their forgotten god."
Yeah, nothing scarier than a pissed off Nord that believes Talos will support every hack and slash. "And I'm guessing the more Stormcloaks present themselves, the surer that other sympathetic pissed off Nords will join their movement."
Rikke nodded again. "This is only going to get worse, and I have documents here that show that Ulfric, the leader of the Rebellion, is going to make a march up to Whiterun. Now, General Tullius left on a mission to intercept him, but I don't know if he will be successful. If General Tullius does not return from his mission… this entire operation falls to me. And I can't do this alone, Flavius. I need someone I can rely on. A fellow tactician, and experienced in all means of warfare. That's you. And if General Tullius does not capture Ulfric in time, or if… gods forgive me, if General Tullius falls in combat to Ulfric, and he marches up to Whiterun, capturing the whole territory… then it's only going to get worse. Impossible to win, worse. He'll hold the center, and can deploy troops in any direction in a timely order. We could gain ground in one area, and then his forces take two more elsewhere. I can't have that." She turned to me, punching the table. "Flavius, I need your help."
That was a tall order. "I moved to Skyrim to get away from the war. I'm retired; I'm old; I'm still a stacked man muffin." I flexed my loaded crossbows.
Rikke smirked lopsidedly. "I'm glad to see that your tongue still works in other ways too." Her grin disappeared as she walked over to me. "You saw what happened in the inn. Those spies might have gotten lucky if I didn't have you there to defend me. If the Legion in Skyrim loses… then all of Skyrim loses. If the Stormcloaks are allowed to prosper and thrive, the Legion officially defeated… then the Aldmeri Dominion will turn their attention to Skyrim. They will demand that the Legion step in and solve this problem… or they will. And that might begin the Great War, all over again. Flavius, this isn't about fighting some war… it's about preventing an even deadlier one."
Rikke had a point. I could already see the consequences in my head, playing out like the many revolutions I've helped put an end to. The fresh recruits outside in the training yard were examples of how stretched out and depleted the Imperial Legion really was. And if it was allowed to continue, the Legion would waste countless lives containing this rebellion, all the while the Aldmeri Dominion would be counting every dead soldier as a golden opportunity to finish the Empire off, once and for all. My beloved country would be reduced to ashes in one final battle…
I couldn't have that.
I glanced down at the map of Skyrim. I only wanted to find a plot of land, build my home, and enjoy my senior years. I guess I can't have Stormcloaks walking on my grass, now can I. I glanced back up at Rikke. "Do you have any authority to grant me my rank back?"
Rikke nodded. "If General Tullius is no longer at his post, I'm allowed to temporarily recruit new members, but once General Tullius returns, I will have to present you to him, and he'll have the final say. Any missions you do for me now will only strengthen my argument in your favor."
I'm not exactly on the best terms with the Empire right now, and the Legion has a lot of issues with the way I retired from it, even fighting it on occasion in Hammerfell. I don't know if Tullius is aware of how I retired from the Legion, but I do remember that the two of us have met on the battlefield once or twice, sometimes on the same side, sometimes on opposing. What I mean to say is that, during field operations, he and I have led our own legions into combat against each other. I rarely beat him in a strategic match, but in personal combat, I won every time.
If Tullius was here in Skyrim, then this war would not last much longer. Not sure why it's taken so long, honestly. If Tullius left to capture the leader of the rebellion, then it was already over. I wouldn't need to join the Legion. This will just be a mop up operation.
I looked over to Rikke. "If Tullius has left to capture Ulfric, then the war is already over. Tullius does not make mistakes in field operations. The only way Tullius could possibly mess it up is if something huge interfered. Something along the lines of…"
"A dragon." I heard the door to the war room burst open. Speak of the Daedra, and he shall come. Tullius clambered into the room, his armor burned, covered in soot. His once proud cape reduced to strips of cloth. He looked like he climbed out of Oblivion. "Rikke, I failed my mission. Ulfric escaped."
Escaped? How? "Are you not the genius tactician of the Western Gate?" I asked as I walked over to Tullius.
Tullius glanced at me, squinting. "You look familiar. Wait… only one person calls me the tactician of the Western Gate. Flavius? It is, isn't it. What are you doing here?" He didn't look pleased to see me, but he did not look angry either. He just looked tired. Tired and too shocked to read properly.
I shrugged. "I'm retiring, but… Rikke wants me to rejoin the Legion. She thought if you didn't return, she would need me to help her reclaim Skyrim. I can see that you still draw breath, so I am not needed."
"Oh, you're needed." Tullius said as he limped his way to us. "I had Ulfric, dead to rites. We were at Helgen, ready to chop his head off and send it back to the Imperial City to be adorned on a spike. Right as we were about to kill his Stormcloaks, there was this distant roar. We thought it a sabre cat and preceded to chop off their heads. And then… this massive black form falls from the sky, shattering the tower behind us. With a mighty roar, the sky was torn asunder. Rocks fell from the sky, flaming and exploding. The Stormcloaks, in the chaos, escaped, while I ordered the Legion to lay down their lives to help the civilians escape all while that black dragon tore through our forces. I watched my whole legion fall to one invincible creature. I barely escaped. I believe Ulfric did as well."
A dragon? That sounded impossible to believe, and yet… I felt something. A secret calling to me. A gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach. He was telling the truth, and that was perhaps the scariest thing today.
"You left the Legion. You killed many of my friends, Flavius." Tullius began. "But you are also an experienced soldier, and I fear that Ulfric has somehow acquired his own dragon, whether impossible or not, it was there, and it all it did was attack my legionaries. It let the Stormcloaks flee, and that means one thing to me… just one more headache to endure while we end this rebellion. So, if the rebels have a dragon on their side, I'd like to have my own dragon on my side. So… Dragon of the Western Gate… we need your help. I hope you will do the right thing."
A dragon? First, it was just a rebellion that might end up with Skyrim being put to the Thalmor's blade. Now… all of Skyrim was danger. Dragons are not predicable. Entire cites are at risk. Everyone, including children, are at risk. I felt my hand tighten. This has gone on too long. Time to finally finish this.
"I have some of my armors in my ruck. As well as one of my swords. Give me a minute to get dressed." I replied. "And someone fetch me a horse." I glanced at Rikke. "Where are we heading first?"
Rikke smirked. "I'll tell you about it on the way. First, we must introduce you to the rest of the squad."
Tullius glanced at me, nodding. "Welcome to the Legion, auxiliary."
Auxiliary? "No… I'm a Legate."
Tullius shook his head. "You quit the service. Your rank was stripped from you when you went AWOL. You are an auxiliary. If you perform admirably, your rank will be returned to you in due time." Tullius limped his way over to me. "I look forward to seeing you take orders from a 20 year-old whelp. But first, I need to retire to my chambers. That dragon did a real number on me." He nodded to Rikke. "You do what you need to do, Rikke. Inform me to your success once you return."
She nodded. "I'll return with the crown, you have my word."
He grunted. "If the thing even exists. I need a bath." He limped down the stairs to the washroom.
I looked over to Rikke. "So, what's this thing I hear about a crown? Why are we going after it?"
"It will make Ulfric look like a loser if we own it." Rikke shrugged. "And right now… we need a win, even a small one like this." Well… I guess attrition will have to wait then.
