Chapter 2: The General's Meeting

The General stood at the head of the large wooden table, attempting to make eye contact with the other leaders in the room. They all expected a well thought out, elegant, and powerful response to their reports, and he intended to give them no less. His mind raced quickly, praying secretly to Talos that he wouldn't be forced of hand into war. The General swallowed deeply, and began.

"Ladies and gentlemen. Leaders of the New Imperial Legion. I have brought you here requesting reports of your increased border patrols in response to the increasing Thalmor threat. I understand that not all hold have been ordered to increase patrols. I only ordered this for your areas because I do not want the people getting scared of increased Legion presence in their daily lives. We can do more with sweet rolls than we can with bowls of salt. Legate Darvo, I believe you are first."

And with that, the General sat, crossed his arms, and awaited patiently the report of the Legate.

Darvo rose pridefully but with a little hesitation, or perhaps nervousness. He gathered his multitudes of papers, reports, and maps, and began his presentation.

"Thank you, General Fire-Born. Legates, Commander, Admiral. Upon the General's request, all inland patrols have been doubled in the recent days, and reports of Thalmor scouts have been received from Riften, Falkreath, and Markarth. After attempted arrest and detainment under the suspicion of spying, the scouts violently resisted, and were dispatched quickly with extreme prejudice, despite some escaping over the border to Cyrodiil, where they could not be engaged further due to our pact with the Old Empire."

The Legate paused a moment to catch his breath and gather his thoughts as well.

"Upon recovery of the bodies of the slain scouts, a missive detailing orders from Thalmor headquarters indicates that they were ordered to obtain information on various military aspects of the New Empire, including guard patterns, shift changes, number of guards, and suspected ability of the guard. We believe that the Thalmor are using the ancient White-Gold Concordat, and perverting it to use Cyrodiil as a staging ground for subversive activities within our borders, which may lead to a possible invasion. Attempts to contact the Old Empire for confirmation of these suspicions have been fruitless, and no replies have been received. That concludes the report from my division."

And with that, the Legate returned to his seat, seeming to be pleased with his performance. He turned his eyes to the General, seeking a gaze of approval. But the General was staring past him, seemingly out of focus. Suddenly, the General snapped back to reality.

"Thank you Legate. That information is very important to our cause, and we will act upon it when we have compiled enough intelligence to mount a stronger defense or possibly a counter-offensive. Legate Phyrior, your report from the East?"

Phyrior, with is seemingly youthful energy and cockiness, bounded to his feet, and began his report.

"Thank you, General. Unlike my comrades to the south, border activity with Morrowind has remained constant, with no major changes in Thalmor activity, although there has been an increase in immigration. Immigration from Morrowind has been put on tighter restrictions as a precaution, but nothing is expected to come of it. I recommend that my resources being allocated somewhere more useful, such as counter-spying or something of the sort. Immigration is a joke, and-"

Before he could finish, the General spoke up.

"Pardon me Legate. But immigration and acceptance of outsiders is the foundation of our Empire. Are you seriously questioning the value of a position you have been given? A place the High Queen herself requested you be given? That's borderline treason, Legate."

That statement, along with the deathly gaze that the General gave him, made Phyrior do a complete 180, and the now terrified and humbled Legate spoke with the softness, or possibly defeat, of a surrendering soldier.

"No...no sir. Not at all. I apologize sir. To conclude, I report that activity in the East has not changed, but I will report any changes as soon as I am aware, sir."

And with that, the Legate quickly sat, nearly falling out of his chair. A minute smile danced across Darvo's face. It felt good to see him put in his place. But as he studied Phyrior, he noticed the hint of a unique emotion on his face. Was it embarrassment, or resentment? Darvo couldn't figure which, or even tell a difference….

The General motioned to Legate Kareturek to begin his presentation next. He prepared himself, attempting to dig up any ability to speak that he could, but even that was small.

"After increasing patrols along the High Rock and Hammerfell borders, guards for both the New Empire and our neighboring allies have reported increased number of caravans hailing from the Summerset Isles and other Thalmor controlled holds have increased dramatically, but no violent incidents have occurred. Investigations on these caravans-"

Kareturek paused suddenly to regain his strength, this effort at speaking taking a visible toll on his body.

"Investigations on these caravans have recovered shipments of valuable gems, useful ores, weapons, and other supplies normally consistent with military caravans. The contents of these caravans were seized, but the proprietors were allowed to return to their respective homelands. These caravans, while not an open act of war, should recommend further investigation."

And with that, Kareturek sat down. He motioned for a guard to approach him, and once the guard did, the Legate whispered something in his ear, and the guard nodded quickly, rushing out the door. The whole room had stopped for this interruption, but eventually returned to meeting status.

"And with that," the General continued, "we shall resume reports. Admiral Ruuz, I await your status, being that your sector worries me the most." The General relaxed slightly, interlocking his fingers and resting his elbows on his knees. The Admiral slowly rose from her seat, preparing to give the most important report of the meeting. She seemed to shake, a trait not common of Admiral Ruuz, as she rose.

"Thank you sir. My ships have increased their patrol area size, especially to the north. Thalmor ships, while not actively engaging our fleets, have gotten dangerously close to our waters, tempting retaliatory action on our part. While we are more than capable of defending our borders from a naval strike, a full force invasion from the sea may prove out defenses inadequate. Our ships are being retrofitted with fire-ball rounds, and our coastal defenses are currently being upgraded to fire more shells per shot, but we are still heavily outgunned. I suggest studies into Dwarven metal cannon technology, to further our firepower. Also, salvaged Elven ships have returned plans of massive warships on a scale we could not imagine before. It is recommended that these plans should be further studied, and a prototype ship be built before the end of the year. Thank you."

The Admiral returned to her seat, seemingly satisfied. The General, contemplating her idea, stood up to conclude the meeting, but not before he gave his speech, that none of them knew about.

"Thank you Admiral. I suggest turning your report over to Commander Redorn for further study."

The General paused to collect himself. Before he spoke though, he rose his head and motioned for the guards by the doors to excuse themselves to the exterior of the room. Quickly and efficiently, the soldiers showed themselves out, the doors slamming behind them.

"Comrades, we face a threat of epic proportions. The Dominion all but destroyed the Old Empire in the last Great War, and I fear we are on the verge of another. But we are strong. We must choose. Will we fight, or will we stand down? Will we be like Emperor Titus Mede II, rest his soul in Sovengarde, and submit to the Thalmor threat. Or like the virtuous but misguided Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak and fight for our values? This is the question that need to be answered, and I'm not going to stand idly by while my people are under the looming threat of invasion. I understand many of you are Mer, so this conflict must cause much turmoil in your minds. Do you stay loyal to your kind, or loyal to your cause? This is the choice you must make. I do not ask for you to kill your kind, but I ask only that you do what is needed to protect the Empire. We are the new dawn of an age that Akatosh has divined upon us."

The General paused. What he was about to say next would either make the New Empire the most powerful military ever, or bring his downfall.

He began again.

"My friends…"

This phrase was one never used by the General, and the officials in the room were taken a little aback, not expecting their commander to be so informal.

"Many years ago, the Battle of Windhelm was raged for control of the rebel stronghold and to end the bloody civil war which took the lives of thousands. Near the end of this battle, myself, the General emeritus Tullius, the late Legate Rikke, and another Legate, whose identity I've yet to discover, stormed the Castle Of Kings. Ulfric Stormcloack, learned in the Voice, met us immediately with a powerful blast of the Voice, blowing us against the walls. Well, all but one. That unknown Legate, he…stood fast in that wave. Barely even phased, the Legate unleashed his own voice, practically flying like a dragon toward Ulfric. His sword glowed like Atherius, and was faster than the wind beneath Alduin's wings. But Ulfric met him blow for blow, his steel sword clanging against the Legate's unusual dragonbone sword. As they went at it, I recovered, and stumbled over to General Tullius. He was kneeling, and breathing heavily. I tried to talk to him, but he didn't respond. And then I heard it. The mystery Legate unleashed another Shout; one I had never even heard existed. It filled me with a new power, a new amount of energy, and a new drive to fight. My sword felt like a feather in my hand, and my armor glowed with a golden shimmer. My vision heightened, my ears became more sensitive, and my strength doubled. All that happened next was a blur. My arms moved like I didn't control them. I slashed through the armor of Galmor Stone-Fist, who tried to keep alive from my fury. When he raised his gauntlets to protect himself, I slashed at them and broke the plating. When he raised his Warhammer to protect his head, I sliced the wooden handle in half. I shoved my blade deep into his chest, and ripped upwards, splitting him in half from chest to his head. When I turned, the Legate had subdued Ulfric. Tullius and Rikke had regained their strength, and each held their swords at arms-length, the tips holding in front of Ulfric's throat. They looked ready to strike, but reserved at the same time…"

The General paused. The Legates seemed interested, but worried too.

"After we dealt with Ulfric, I tried to find that Legate again, but he had disappeared. I wanted to know the power he had brought to my body. That Shout; I strived for it. And now, my comrades, I have studied years upon years, consulting with the greatest minds of the Voice that live. I have found the shout. The Leader's Shout."

The General took a step back, and walked to the door. Opening the grandiose door and beckoning for a guard to enter inside, the General smoothly placed his hand upon the soldier's back, pulling him in like a bird pulls in its child. He guided the soldier, a young male Nord, to the head table, chatting with him along the way.

"What's your name son?" Asked the General.

"Quaestor Jorn Ice-Blood, sir." The young soldier seemed to shake in his armor.

"Jorn, what would you do if I told you that you would kill a Dremora?" The General's question made the commanders curious, and a little worried for the young blood.

"Sir?" The soldier seemed even more afraid than before.

"Stand there, son. Draw your sword, and trust me." The General guided the young Nord to a spot just adjacent to the table.

"Commander Redorn?"

The Commander jumped to his feet, quick to meet the General's question.

"Yes sir?!" The Commander seemed eager.

"How is your skill at summoning?"

"I've studied it, but not yet perfected it."

The General thought for a minute.

"Summon a Dremora Lord for me, and free him from his oath of service to you."

The Commander froze. He had never been given an order like this. But he wasn't about to disobey the General. He prepared his spell, drawing all his might. He cast a dark sphere infront of the soldier, and a Dremora, black like the night and red like the fires of Oblivion, stepped out of the portal, a greatsword that would destroy the mightiest of mortals upon his back. His fiery but soulless eye terrified the young soldier, as they burned into him with the fires of Mehrune's Dagon himself.

"Thank you, Commander." The General said. The smile he held only frightened the young man more.

Then, the General's face changed. A look stoned his face, a look of drive and determination. He breathed in deep, and let out a deep, booming sound.

"UTH MUL GRAH!" He shouted at the young man. A visible golden flame burst from the General's mouth. The Dragonspire shook with power, and the young man was flattened on his back. Worried that the boy had been killed, Legate Darvo jumped out of his seat and rushed to his side. Upon reaching him, the Legate placed his hand upon the boy's neck. He had a pulse. And it was getting stronger.

And stronger.

And stronger.

And stronger.

And then, in one fluid motion, the soldier jumped to his feet, nearly bowling over the Legate in the process. A fire burned in the man's eyes, hotter than any dragon's flame that ever burned. His sword, a steel work of home-craftsmanship, glowed like Merida's Dawnbreaker. This new appearance enraged the Daedra, who immediately roared in return, and drew his own greartsword, charging the young man. Every Legate in the room jumped to their feet and drew their swords, preparing for a battle. But the General silenced them, motioning for everyone to sit down. The young man counter-charged, and the two met, swords clanging against each other like thunder. The Daedra was fast; but the new soldier was faster. His swings flew like a swarm of a million bees, and he nearly became a blur. As he sliced faster and faster, the Daedra moved slower and slower. Finally, in a flurry of a thousand swings in less than a minute, the battle stopped. Both the Nord and the Daedra were motionless, standing facing each other. Then, suddenly and quickly, the Dremora disintegrated into millions of particles, each one cut by the sword of the young man. A demonic smoke emanated from the pile of ash-like dust, and then all was quiet. The young soldier, now in return of control, collapsed to the floor, his sword clanging to the ground. Two medics charged in, grabbing the soldier by the arms and the legs, carrying him out of the room. His sword remained on the ground, dripping with the black blood of the Dremora. William walked slowly over, and gripped the blade by the handle, holding it for all the leaders to see.

"This sword just massacred a Daedra with ease. A steel sword, cutting through the evilest of armors. If you do not believe this power, please draw your own sword and prove me otherwise."

No-one dared to move, fearful of the consequences that would follow.

The General motioned for everyone to sit: an order had never been followed so quickly.

The General walked back over to the round wooden table, laying the sword on the table, placing both hands on it, allowing it to support all of his mighty weight.

"This…power, my colleagues. This could be the deciding factor between whether we would survive…or whether we would thrive."

The General zoned out, looking into the realms of Atherius beyond. He had brought a power that would change warfare. Forever.

The General snapped into consciousness once more. "Legates, Commander, Admiral. I, General William Fire-Born, order a full inventory and restock of war supplies. All weapons need to be refined, rebuilt, reshaped, whatever it takes. I want full preparations for an attack. Commander Redorn, I want you and Admiral Ruuz to work side by side with the scholars of the College to get a prototype of that Dwemer ship by the 1st of Morning Star. You are all dismissed." The General stood up straight, hands clasped behind his back.

Slowly yet swiftly, every Legate stood and filed out in rank, saluting the General as they passed. Each couldn't take their eyes off the pile of black, simmering, evil ash that lay where the Dremora once did. The Commander and the Admiral followed suit, also eyeing the pile as they passed. After they had left, Holo began to rise. As she passed, she placed a gentle but firm hand on the General's arm. Her eyes met his, and her eyes showed a level of concern and care that rarely showed. She slowly left go, her eyes dropping to the floor as she exited. The General had just started a series of events that could not be stopped.