Alarys Drethen stood atop the hill that overlooked the plantation grounds, watching the unfurling chaos from a safe distance. Fiery rage burned in the Dunmer lord's crimson eyes, hatred simmering within him. The shrill ring of clashing metal echoed through the night air as the battle upon the fields below raged on, rivers of blood spilling to the ground in a sea of red. Columns of flame towering to the black sky burned uncontrollably all across the plantation grounds, the thick wall of smoke all but entirely blocking any view of the horizon.
With brooding silence, Alarys continued to observe the anarchy unfolding below him. More and more of his guards poured onto the fields to squash this slave rebellion, rallying together and forming rank as they attempted to launch a counterattack. Alarys looked then to the revolting slaves, his eyes narrowing into a scowl as they fought on in what was unarguably the most egregious display of defiance this plantation had ever seen. Acres upon acres of Alarys's land were now engulfed in flames that only continued to spread more wildly with each passing second, reducing countless of his crops and produce to smoldering ash.
When this is over, every one of these wretched slaves will be cursing the very day they were born, thought Alarys, his gaze remaining firmly fixed upon the ongoing battle. To the Dunmer's immense ire, the slaves continued to maintain the upper hand as they breached further through the lines of his guards. Pathetic, ungrateful wretches, the entire lot of them. No punishment in the world would ever adequately repay disobedience of such severity, but Alarys Drethen vowed all the same to make each and every last slave of his plantation suffer immeasurably for daring to rise against him. This mindless rabble stood no chance against his superior force of trained guards. Soon enough, this futile revolt would be crushed, and order restored once more. These lands had first been established by the Drethen family all the way back in the Merethic Era, when the Chimer first inhabited Resdayn. Countless generations of Drethens had owned and sustained this land ever since, and Alarys had absolutely no intention of letting the ancestral estate of his family fall to this unruly mob of slaves tonight.
"My lord!" a voice called from behind. Alarys turned around as three plantation guards hurriedly approached him. "My lord, the last of the guards have left the barracks, and are on their way to reinforce the others against the rebelling slaves." Lord Drethen turned back around, his focus returning to the bloody battle at hand.
As Alarys keenly surveyed the continuing carnage, it became glaringly clear to him that this revolt was not some impulsive, spontaneous endeavor. As much as Alarys might have hated to admit it, the slaves were proving with each second that they were a force to be reckoned with. This attack was much more organized and coordinated than Alarys would ever have expected from mere slaves. As the Dunmer continued to look on, he knew with all certainty then that this was a meticulously planned, and calculated effort. He knew that somebody had to be at the helm of this uprising. A leader, a mastermind. And as Alarys recalled in his mind the punishment of that Imperial girl who had tried and failed to escape his plantation, he had a very strong gut feeling as to who that leader could be.
A forced grin crossed Alarys's face.
"Well, Treads-Marshes," he muttered to himself, "it appears not killing you when I had the chance was a grave mistake on my part." When this chaos was brought to an end, that damned lizard would be made an example of.
"Do you have any further orders, Lord Drethen?" asked the same guard who had spoken before. Alarys was silent for several moments as he pondered this entire situation.
"This uprising needs to be subdued as swiftly as possible, but I do not want any more slaves killed than necessary," Alarys answered firmly. After all, the more slaves that died tonight, the more money he would have to spend replacing them after this was all over.
"The slaves fight with admirable ferocity and zeal," Alarys continued, "but they are untrained, undisciplined. They are driven by nothing but blind rage, and this will work to our advantage. All we must do is put a large enough dent in their numbers, and that rage will extinguish like a doused flame. If we can kill enough of them, I guarantee their morale will shatter, and they will lose heart. At that point, any slave with even marginal sense will surrender and lay down their arms."
"Understood, my lord," the guard complied.
"Where's Malisarr?" Alarys then inquired.
"Your wife sent for him, Lord Drethen," replied the guard. "They were headed outside together only moments ago."
Alarys whipped around towards that guard.
"What in Dagoth's name is Valarya doing out here?!" he demanded with a raised voice.
"I…I do not know, my lord."
A battle is no place for a woman with child, Alarys thought. The Dunmer lord gestured to the other two guards standing idly.
"Find her, and ensure that she is safe," Alarys ordered them. "I don't know what she's up to, but you two are to see to it that nothing happens to her." The other two guards simply gave a brief bow before hurrying off. The first guard remained with Alarys.
"Today is our three hundredth wedding anniversary," Alarys remarked to the guard, both of them watching the mayhem taking place before them. "Dealing with a slave revolt is not how I envisioned spending our special day."
"The blame for this lies entirely with us, Lord Drethen," spoke the guard with shame. "Somehow the slaves were able to plan, and launch this attack right under our noses. We should have seen this coming, and nipped it in the bud before ever reaching this point."
"They will pay for this," Alarys proclaimed with a scowl, pure wrath and fury boiling in his heart. "By the blood of my ancestors, these slaves will suffer dearly for this."
And so Alarys stood there atop that hill, watching the flames as they utterly eviscerated his lands to a blackened, charred crisp. These accursed slaves had already wreaked extensive and severe damage to his property. Damage that would cost tens of thousands of drakes, and countless months to reverse. Once this rebellion was quelled, Alarys would grind the remaining slaves to the very brink of death itself, until every last patch of soil was restored, and every last crop they had destroyed was replanted.
Upon the fields below, the chaos endured, pools of blood painting the ground crimson as bodies littered the earth. The plantation guards upheld their defense, pushing back against the mob in an attempt to halt any further advance. Even still, the slaves remarkably still held together, pressing their vicious assault all the same with relentless vigor. The guards struggled to gain the upper hand, and it was not clear how long they could defend against this mob. Chimes of clashing steel and screams of death polluted the air, mingling together into an inharmonious dissonance that resounded across the smoke-ridden skies.
"I…I don't understand," spoke the guard, standing beside Alarys. "For every slave we kill, they just kill two or three of us in turn. We just cannot seem to break through their lines, my lord. If we cannot turn this around, the slaves may very well overpower us at this rate."
Lord Drethen remained calm, his eyes sweeping all across the vast fields, his mind stirring inside him, calculating. The Dunmer lord knew the guard spoke true, as he also knew that a change of tactics was in order if he was to swing the tide of battle.
"The slaves outnumber us by nearly a two-to-one ratio, and they have the advantage of surprise," stated Alarys. He let out a brief sigh, still ruminating on how to turn this around. "The slaves set a trap for us, and we fell right into it, hook, line, and sinker. If they do not decimate every guard of this plantation, then the flames will. So long as the battle stays on the field, the slaves will maintain the upper hand. If we are to end this revolt, we must coax them into a vulnerable position, and strike back from a place of strength."
"And just how do you plan to do that, my lord?" asked the guard. Alarys was quiet for several seconds, his gaze not diverting from the battle below. In that moment, he knew exactly what needed to be done. His mind now made up, the Dunmer lord issued his next command.
"Sound the retreat," he ordered.
"My lord?!" the guard exclaimed, visibly perplexed.
"You heard me. I said sound the retreat," Alarys reaffirmed. "Every guard is to pull back from the plantation grounds at once and regroup." The guard hesitated, but quickly nodded his head compliantly.
"As you command, Lord Drethen," he obeyed. "Might I ask what is going to happen after that?"
"These n'wahs think to defeat us with their clever trap," said Alarys. "I intend to show them how dreadfully mistaken they are."
Reaching for his scabbard strapped to his right side, Lord Alarys Drethen drew his Daedric longsword. He looked to the revolting slaves, his eyes narrowing. A devious, sinister grin crossed his face.
"I think it's time we set a trap of our own."
Svigny Frost-Heart raised her blade just in time to deflect the incoming attack from her opponent. A harsh ring of metal carried through the air as their blades met. Svigny gave a forceful shove of her arm, sending the guard staggering back several steps. Not about to give her opponent a chance to recover, the Nord woman lashed out in a series of quick strikes, sword and axe whirring through the air. The guard successfully parried several of her blows, and Svigny then delivered a firm kick to his abdomen. Although her opponent's armor absorbed most of the impact, the sheer force of Svigny's kick sent him careening to the ground. Not wasting a moment, Svigny closed in, kicking her opponent's raised sword right out of his hand. One sure sword thrust through his chest ended his life only a second later.
Svigny took a fleeting moment to catch her breath afterward. She gave her weapons a cursory glance, both her sword and war axe utterly coated in blood. While far from the best weapons she had ever used, Svigny was no less glad to be holding true steel in her hands once more. All around her, Svigny's fellow slaves fought valiantly against the plantation guards, their courage, heroism, and spirit worthy of song. More and more guards fell to the slaves' assault with each passing second, their pained cries of death further fueling the intense battle lust burning like fire through the Nord's veins. Nothing brought Svigny greater joy right now than spilling the blood of these scum slavers, to be taking a stand against the shadow of tyranny and oppression, and those who propagated it. Many had fallen already by Svigny's hand, and she hoped to see every last one of these milk-drinkers a rotting corpse by the end of this.
The Nord returned to the fray soon after, twirling her weapons as she sought her next foe. Seeing around the plantation had grown difficult due to the billowing curtains of smoke from the rapidly spreading flames. Svigny spotted a guard charging straight for her, wielding a katana. Upon reaching her, the guard raised his blade, delivering a vertical strike.
Svigny crossed her weapons above her head, stopping her opponent's attack. She lashed out her leg, hoping to stagger the guard, but he leapt back in the nick of time. He followed through with a forward thrust, which Svigny easily batted away with her axe. Not giving her a moment of respite, the guard whirled his katana, delivering a rapid flurry of fluid attacks. Svigny parried each one, sidestepping the last. The guard closed in on her again, and Svigny felt her heart pound like a drum in her chest as she glared into her opponent's eyes.
Twirling her axe again, Svigny charged her opponent with a fierce battle cry. The Nord brought back her sword, feinting her next attack. As expected, her opponent lunged forward to block her strike, and that was when Svigny smoothly spun on her heel around him. The guard clumsily stumbled forward, his momentum thrown off. Seizing the opening, Svigny buried her axe into the guard's exposed side, blood spurting as the blade cleaved right into flesh. The guard gave a pained cry, falling to his knees. Coming up behind him, Svigny promptly removed his head from his shoulders with a smooth crisscross motion of her weapons. The now headless corpse plopped to the ground, blood spewing from his neck.
All around her, the ferocious battle raged on. Svigny gave a grimace as she spotted another swarm of guards pour in through the plantation gates to reinforce their comrades. Upon their arrival, the guards swiftly organized into an attack formation before advancing against the slaves in an aggressive counteroffensive. Numerous slaves were cut down only moments later as the guards punched through their lines, bodies quickly piling to the ground in droves. Clenching both weapons firmly, Svigny charged ahead with a roaring battle cry.
With her blood boiling like lava in her veins, and the strength of the Companions flowing all throughout her, Svigny fearlessly engaged the guards directly, singlehandedly slaying several within a matter of seconds. The Nord woman fought like an enraged beast, her weapons practically a blur from her sheer speed.
A guard wielding a shortsword came straight at her, opening with a horizontal slice. Svigny ducked in the nick of time, thrusting her blade forward and plunging it straight into his abdomen. One swipe of her axe sliced his jugular open, his blood spraying onto her face. As that guard fell to the ground, another was soon upon her, this one armed with a sword and shield.
Svigny delivered a quick slice with her sword, the guard easily deflecting it with his shield. The two exchanged several blows, neither seeming to gain any sort of advantage. The guard unleashed a powerful vertical attack, mildly staggering Svigny as she parried with her axe. As her foe prepared his next blow, Svigny launched herself into a leftward roll, lashing out with her sword in the hopes of hitting his leg. The guard was too quick however, whirling around and blocking her attack.
Shooting back to her feet, Svigny then took the offensive, sword and axe swirling and slicing with dazzling speed and ferocity. Her opponent retreated back several steps, raising his own weapon as he then charged at her. As the guard closed in, Svigny began to raise her weapons in anticipation for the incoming attack. Their blades met, and Svigny promptly prepared her counterattack, delivering a mighty downward swing of her axe.
The guard raised his shield, firmly connecting with Svigny's axe as she struck. The Nord attempted to pull back her axe, only to realize it was now stuck right within the shield. Her foe gave a sinister laugh.
"Now you die, n'wah!" he gloated, striking Svigny right in the face with the hilt of his sword.
The Nord woman plummeted to the ground, her vision dim and hazy as her entire head throbbed in searing pain. She spit out several spurts of blood that had pooled at the back of her throat. As she rolled onto her back, greatly disoriented, Svigny then felt the guard's heavy boot pressing firmly against her throat, crushing the very breath from her lungs. The Nord squirmed and thrashed on the ground, reaching for her dropped weapons as she struggled fruitlessly for even a single breath.
Svigny's senses swam chaotically inside her like a whirlpool, her head spinning haphazardly. The Nord flailed her arms and legs in a desperate attempt to free herself, and the guard pressed his boot even harder into her throat. Svigny was now lightheaded, her very consciousness now ebbing away like a candle as she suffocated more and more. Svigny gave her foe a heated glare, enraged that he would kill her in such a cowardly, prolonged manner.
The guard laughed again, only to be replaced by a scream as a sword pierced straight through his chest from behind. The guard clutched at his chest, blood spewing from the wound like a fountain. The screams ceased soon after as death claimed him, and Svigny watched as Marsh kicked the now lifeless guard to the ground.
"You looked like you could use a bit of help," the Argonian quipped, hurrying over to Svigny. The Nord could only give a weak smile, unable to speak as she gasped and panted for breath. Marsh reached down his hand, Svigny grabbing it readily as he then carefully pulled her back to her feet. Svigny grasped her throat, massaging it lightly as she regained her breath.
"Than…thanks, Marsh," she said, coughing several times. "I owe you my life."
"Think nothing of it, Svigny," Marsh smiled. The Argonian retrieved Svigny's weapons off the ground, handing them back to her. All around them, the slaves and guards continued to fight on, the ringing of steel nearly deafening as both sides remained locked in a seemingly endless struggle. At this point, the massive inferno had now easily devoured at least half the plantation grounds, the hunger of the raging blaze unending.
"I wish my brothers and sisters in the Companions could see me right now," said Svigny, a proud smile written on her face. "The heat of battle is what we live for, and I know every one of them would be smiling upon me. This night, I fight not only for myself, but for my homeland of Skyrim, and for everyone I hold dear."
"I pray that you live to return to them, Svigny," Marsh replied. "At least you have loved ones to return to." The Argonian hung his head, sorrow written across his face.
"The only thing on my mind during all this, is what I'll even do if I come through this alive," Marsh muttered glumly. Svigny saw what she thought to be a tear glistening in Marsh's eye. "I've been a slave for so long now, it feels like it's the only life I've ever known. As much as I've loathed this life, at least I had some sort of purpose here, some sense of security. But being back in the wide open world again…I'm not sure I could even survive out there after all these years. I ask myself what I would do with the rest of my days, what I would live for. Since the day I was enslaved, I have yearned for freedom. And now that I'm so close to it, the very thought of it suddenly terrifies me."
Svigny placed a hand on Marsh's shoulder, neither of them speaking a word for several moments. For a second, the Nord had almost forgotten there was a massive battle surrounding them. Then, Svigny suddenly had a thought.
"Come back to Skyrim with me, Marsh," she said, looking at him. The Argonian returned her gaze, raising an eyebrow in surprise.
"What…what do you mean?" he asked, his voice quiet.
"Once this is over, I intend to return home to Whiterun, to the Companions," Svigny said. "Come with me, Marsh. You would fit right in with us, I know you would. You are a fierce fighter, and you demonstrate a level of courage and valor that any Nord would admire. You would have a brand new life with the Companions, Marsh. You would have a purpose. Please, come with me." Svigny gently grasped Marsh's hand, gazing into his eyes.
"That's a thought certainly worth considering," Marsh answered. "I suppose mercenary work carries far more honor than thieving."
"This is the least I can do for you, for saving my life."
"We can't get ahead of ourselves though," Marsh warned. "We still have a rebellion to win. Should both of us emerge from this still living, I will come with you to Skyrim, Svigny, and see what these Companions are all about."
Svigny gave the Argonian a heartfelt smile. "That's what I want to hear, Marsh."
Just then, the sound of a horn suddenly blared across the fields. Svigny and Marsh whipped around, their eyes darting in every direction. The horn sounded again several more times, and the plantation guards abruptly ceased fighting.
"Marsh, look!" Svigny cried, pointing ahead. "They're retreating!"
"What in the Hist?" Marsh muttered.
As the horn boomed again and again, the entire guard force suddenly turned tail and hurried off the plantation grounds, filing through the gates. Svigny could hardly believe what she was seeing. Could they truly be running away so easily? Had the slaves won already?
"Why…why would they just run?" Marsh inquired skeptically.
"They run because they're cowards," Svigny asserted. "They run because they know the battle is lost for them. Why else? We should chase them down and finish this now!"
Marsh shook his head. "No. I don't like this at all."
"Marsh, this is our chance! We can end this right now!" Svigny proclaimed eagerly. "The scum flee because they know they cannot hope to defeat us. We need to give chase, and kill them all before they can regroup!" If Marsh intended to give any further argument, he did not have the chance. Svigny sped off in chase after the fleeing guards, and it was not long before the rest of the slaves followed her lead.
The last of the guards fled through the plantation gates, and Svigny watched them hurry up the steep hill that led towards Drethen Manor. The Nord woman quickened her pace, weapons held tight at her sides as her pumping blood spurred her onward.
Svigny passed through the plantation gates, joined by Marsh only seconds later as he caught up with her.
"Decided I was right after all?" quipped Svigny.
"No, but this revolt was my idea," Marsh retorted. "Whatever happens next, I shall face it with honor."
"Noble last words, Treads-Marshes," a sinister voice suddenly called. Marsh and Svigny looked up to the top of the hill, both letting out a gasp as they met the fiery gaze of Alarys Drethen. Svigny's heart nearly leapt in her chest at the sight of the slave owner.
"I had suspected this pathetic excuse for a revolt was your doing, Treads-Marshes," said Alarys, his face a glower. "A valiant effort. But now it ends."
Svigny clenched her axe with a death grip, her face contorting to a snarl. She envisioned the axe buried right in this Dunmer scum's heart. One sure throw, and this whole thing could be over in seconds.
Before she could make such thoughts reality, Alarys raised his hand. A massive swarm of guards, as if from nowhere, suddenly emerged behind the Dunmer lord, all of them armed with bows. The archers, easily numbering close to one hundred, took position all along the wide steep hill, standing in a semicircular formation. Svigny and Marsh looked back at the rest of the slaves, who were coming up behind them, dashing madly for the plantation gates.
It was only in that moment, that they both realized their catastrophic mistake.
Lord Drethen raised his hand again, the surrounding archers nocking their arrows. The rest of the slaves began rushing through the gates at just that moment, with no idea of the trap they had just blundered into. The guards' retreat from the fields was nothing more than a feint to lure the slaves to the plantation gates, which was effectively a choke point. And as more slaves tried to pour through the narrow gates, they quickly became congested, trapping themselves in a bottleneck. By the time they realized their folly, they were already too crammed to have any hope of turning around.
The swarm of archers atop the hill drew their bows, all taking aim at the now trapped slaves. Severely overcrowded at the bottom of this steep hill, and with all means of escape blocked, the slaves of the Drethen plantation were sitting ducks for these archers. Marsh and Svigny could only stand there in utter dread, and helplessly await the incoming massacre.
Lord Drethen raised his Daedric sword high in the air, his archers awaiting his order to fire. Puddles of sweat poured down Svigny Frost-Heart's head, a massive pit dwelling in her stomach as she eyed the arrows that would be headed for them in a matter of seconds. For the first time during all this, the Nord woman was genuinely afraid. Her lust for battle and complete lack of foresight had led everyone into this. This grievous error in judgement was about to cost countless lives. And as far as Svigny could see, it was entirely her fault.
"You were right, Marsh," she said, a tear forming in her eye. "This was a trap. Shor's bones, how could I have been such a fool?" The Nord and Argonian looked back at the cluttered slaves trapped at the gate, knowing that within mere seconds, many of them, most likely even themselves, would be nothing but corpses. Facing the archers again, the two could only wait for their owner to give the order that would spell their doom.
"Loose!" commanded Lord Drethen, pointing his blade towards the mass of slaves. Svigny instinctively tightened her grip of her weapons, her heart feeling as if it could burst from her chest.
The archers fired, the shrill, deathly song of one hundred hissing arrows filling the air.