Ace of Spades by Motorhead
Nisara, 12th of Frost Fall, 4E 201:
"Nisara, please tell me what happened to our cubs!" Dro'marash whines as I distribute the black steel armor to my legion, "You promised me that you were going to say."
For the past few days he's been pestering me about our daughters and their deaths. It has gotten to the point where I can feel his approach from meters away. I don't want to remember the nightmare, I want to treasure it. It gave me a purpose in life to kill all.
"Find my mother!" I snarl and finish giving the final suit of armor to my legion, "She knows; I don't want to tell it anymore!"
My last mate whimpers, and reluctantly leaves to find my mother, who is suffering from a weak heart. Why does all of this have to happen before the assault? I am second in command, but I have made use of Alduin by making him assist forging in his Khajiit form. He burned his flesh once; apparently while he's in the form he bleeds like a normal man.
"You should prepare for the attack of Markarth." One of my soldiers of fortune grins like any other Nord would, evilly.
I pull my lips back and threaten him with broken teeth. I wouldn't have broken teeth if I didn't have to fight. But I have to fight, for my daughters to rest peacefully by Mara's side. I was a devout follower of Mara, until her mate, Alkosh, took my girls.
As for the attack on Markarth, we need Dwarven technology to construct siege engines for the invasion of the Imperial City, a month's journey south with this many troops and dragons. Sotbronah, the first mother in the army, has volunteered to stay behind with several other females to guard the eggs and hatchlings.
I feel a jolt of energy circulate through my spine at the thought of killing one person, the man who made my life living Oblivion. Titus Meade II, my father; the one who brought me unto my mother, will feel the cold ebony disemboweling him in front of the masses. The Thalmor will be with him, and I plan to end it all.
"Nisara, troops are ready to move." The leader of the talon group informs me with a bowed head, "Wagons should get us there by Sundas. Two days from now."
Brushing her aside, I put my dragonscale armor on and sheathe my blade. The soldier leads me to the fifteen horse drawn wagons we borrowed from the city of Whiterun. My legion looks confused at the few wagons we have. Time to make them learn how it felt to immigrate to Skyrim.
"Mount up!" I shout to the troops, "Any who sit on the bench, you're lucky; those who don't, sit where you can! Alduin will provide support once we attack. They are awaiting us!"
They all rush to the wagons to take a seat, idiots. I arrived under the wagon, using my claws. For three days I stayed there, my claws bled for a week whenever I extended them.
Taking my position on a horse, I watch as my troops stare at me with resent and plotting. I will have to give them a message if they double cross me. They need to be taught a hero could become the villain, which they are. I am nothing.
I shout for the horses to move and so begins our long journey to the mining town. Laying my torso on the horse's neck, I close my eyes and attempt to sleep through the bitter weather. The deep slumber I succumb to takes me from this world to the one of dreams.
I stand in my old house and memories flood me as I hold the dolls I used to play with as a child. All the years wasted and stained by tears. I would rather be dead instead of hold the toy, but all the joy my daughters brought force me to carry out the attack. Alduin's roar echoes and I sprint to the cries of war.
My legion is locked with the Empire's in combat. Alduin lands and summons his true form and a white Khajiit stands behind the red soldiers. His thu'um forces the will to fight to deplete from the Imperial soldiers. I grin and run to the White-Gold tower, the place that all emperors stand when death comes to them.
I can already feel his blood coat my fur as my blade pierces his chest. He, however, doesn't fall. He laughs and procures the Blade of Woe. The dagger seeks my ribs and begins scratching at my armor. My empty hand attempts to force the blade dagger away from my body, but it is weaker than his.
"Shod vea nikar doh sah." He says in am unknown tongue to me and shoves the Blade of Woe in my side.
"Fuck!" I awake with a gasp and dismount the horse to regain myself.
My soldiers also awoke with a startle in the dead of night. We are halfway to the city of Markarth. What did my dream mean, and that language? Why is the Blade of Woe with him? No, it can't be? They would never, unless…