Roots: The Battle of The Red Ring

The battle is well known as the most important and decisive of the great war. There is ample material on the exact logistics of how the battle played out but for the purposes of this tale, it need only be known that at this point in time the Dominion had sacked the capital city and the remaining legion had been divided into three parts and sent to different areas to retake the capital. Breela was assigned to a garrison led by General Jonna. Ashled, Aslan, Alcedonia, and Tor were in an army led by Emperor Titus Mede II. Leading up to the battle, an assassination attempt had left the emperor too injured to partake in the battle. To boost morale, a substitute was put in the emperor's armor so that the men believed the emperor himself would still be in action. The four didn't notice as they were all placed on the front lines and were far too preoccupied with the coming battle. When the signal was given, Hell was released. Ashled's face calmed; he still wore his familiar stern brow but the kindness in his eyes evaporated away and was replaced by a frozen, focused glare. Aslan swallowed all his worry and looked to his brother. Ashled was a pillar of unrivaled sturdiness that he knew he would always be able to lean on. Alcedonia felt no fear. She had lived in the imperial capital her entire life and to see it sacked by elves enraged her to a degree she never thought possible. She would remain collected, but the embers of hatred still burned in her heart. Predictably, Tor wore his usual devilish grin. He looked not at, but through each and every soldier lined up across from him. His arms shook with excitement while his legs stood firm like trunks of hundred year old trees. He didn't care if this was the imperial city, he didn't even realize he was being led by the emperor. He thought only of the satisfying crack Altmer spines made when struck with his hammer, the metallic taste of freshly spilled blood on his teeth, the pitiful gurgling attempt at last words drowned out by the clashing of steel and the battle-cries of proud Nord soldiers. Never did Tor feel as alive as he did when he was surrounded by the dying.

Whereas Tor lived for the thrill of deadly battle, Ashled took pride in his composure. Tor snaked his way through Dominion lines with many thunderous strikes, cackling like a madman the whole time. Ashled moved so quickly, so efficiently, and with such composure, that it would look to an untrained eye as if the Dominion soldiers had lined themselves up so that Ashled may kill them all with an elegant and tirelessly rehearsed dance of blades.

As the armies charged in and men began to fall, Ashled made a habit of checking in on Alcedonia and Aslan. The battle grew chaotic and after hours of continuous conflict, even the mighty Ashled felt his body fatigue. He managed to find a gap and get a short break from the fray. How many elves had he killed in this battle? He asked himself. He had grown used to killing as the war continued; the thought of getting used to killing scared him. He remembered Aslan and his dreams of distant beautiful lands. He had seen such beauty over the past 5 years. His mind drifted further from the skirmish in front of him before realizing the sun was now setting on the first day of battle. If he didn't locate his friends he might not be able to find them until the morning. He looked out across the battlefield for Tor, who was easily located near the city gates at the front lines a full head above the other soldiers, still howling with joy. He continued to scan the battlefield's standing soldiers refusing to believe his proud brother or wife-to-be could have fallen on the first day of battle. Sure enough, Alcedonia was toward the rear of the front line. She had made her way back when she noticed herself tiring. Ever-aware of her own strengths and limitations, she was looking to find a place to sleep for a few hours to regain her strength. Ashled called out to her and the two made eye contact across the sea of leather capped legionnaires. She put up her shield and began walking backwards. Volleys of arrows rained down across the battlefield so with the caution of a hunted rabbit, she crept over to Ashled. By the time she made it to where Ashled had sat down, the sun was sinking into the horizon.

"I'm so happy to see you here," said Alcedonia as she took a seat next to Ashled. "How are you holding up?"

"My bones ache." replied Ashled

"Just the bones? Well that must be nice. I'm quite certain both of my bottocks will fall off frostbitten any second now." Ashled saw how her hands glowed red from the cold before seeing his own breath rise from his mouth. It was getting cold, and it was getting dark. Ashled was not so naïve to think the fighting would stop merely because it was too dark or cold, however he thought perhaps the fighting would die down enough for him to get a few hours in as well. He looked out one last time at the battlefield hoping to see his brother fighting before he drifted off.

"Looking for Aslan?" asked Alcedonia.

"I know he's doing fine, I just hope he finds a place to rest tonight," replied Ashled.

"I saw him about an hour ago, he was as fast as usual." The two slid closer together and drifted to sleep for just under three hours when they were abruptly snatched from their seated position by an ecstatic Tor who tugged both of them a few feet before smacking the confused face of Ashled.

"Pick the crust from your eyes you torpid milk-drinker, we need you on the front lines! We've broken through the gates!"

As soon as Tor's words entered Ashled's ears he was ready to do battle. He looked down at the frenzy pouring into the now open gate and knew that if Hell existed, it did so at that gate. He looked back at the still sleepy Alcedonia and decided to leave her from the battle at the gate. He picked up Yggdrasil and looked again at the battle he and Tor bolted into. He reached down and grabbed the standard issue imperial sword left by a fallen comrade and looked at Tor's hammer, then up to his face. When Tor saw Ashled pick up a second blade, Tor's lips curled into the slimiest, wickedest grin that had ever carved itself into a man's cheeks. He reached down while running and grabbed one for his left hand as well, then looked back at Ashled expectantly.

"Tor, you didn't sleep at all last night did you?" said Ashled. Tor twirled the imperial sword in his left hand before saying

"And miss the opportunity to cause all this carnage? Come now you know me better than that. You know after we win this war i'll never get a chance to kill this many elves legally" The two chuckled and looked one last time at the front lines before entering it. Ashled clenched his jaw then said

"Do you think-"

"He's fine," interrupted Tor, "Saw him this morning, he looked tired but who doesn't?" Ashled smiled. He knew it was wrong to be happy in war times, but he had truly enjoyed these past five years. He saw distant lands, met his wife-to-be, bonded deeply with his brother, and found a best friend in Tor.

Thirteen steps away. At their current speed, Ashled would reach the first Dominion soldier in thirteen strides. He continued to scan the field. In an instant he had already picked out the first seven soldiers he would want to take out, anticipated their moves, and prepared his legs to fire him in the direction of each enemy soldier. On the eleventh step, as Ashled anticipated, Tor broke his stride to leap at a battlemage who was preparing a lightning spell to their ten o'clock. Tor didn't swing the hammer, rather he punched his right arm just to the right of the battlemage's unprotected face, allowing the cinder block sized mass of Stirk steel to shatter the skull of the poor elf. Rather efficiently, he followed the hammer, allowing the momentum of his punch to pull his body through the blow and down to the ground so that he could catapult his left side over his right and cleave the next soldier through from shoulder to hip with the sword in his left hand. Ashled lunged with his left first on the thirteenth stride, just as planned, and followed by dashing left and right, dodging arrows, and splitting soldiers. There was a certain twisted satisfaction you get from setting up an attack by moving in a specific way, and then watching enemy soldiers step exactly where you need them to for a swift and cathartic kill. Battle kept him sane. Another feigned step, another neck exposed, another head severed. How many had he killed now? Fifteen? Thirty maybe? It didn't matter anymore, Ashled's mind was almost blank, he simply relaxed and watched as his body moved without him needing to move it. That is, until he heard Tor cry out

"Retreat you fools there's still time!"

"Tor, what are you talking about? We're gaining ground!" called back Ashled

"I'm not talking to you ice-for-brains, I'm talking to these damned elves!" he yelled back with a chuckle. "I'm not getting tired of this! Your blood only makes me stronger! Kakakaka!" he continued.

"You're really having fun with this aren't you?" Ashled yelled at him.

Tor paused for a second to make eye contact with Ashled.

"I wish you'd stop acting like you're not too." Ashled was taken aback; He knew he fought well, and when he was being honest with himself he knew he enjoyed the thrill of battle but he never thought of himself as someone who had fun killing. To hear it out loud was unsettling. He thought on it a moment, the world around him slowed down, all of the events of this war played over in his head thousands of times in an instant before he recollected himself, looked down at the blood dripping off of his swords, and followed the fullers up to the hilts clasped in his blood stained hands. In this instant he realized that the greatest part of his life thus far had been battle. He did love it. He looked back up at the back of his friend who had already begun tearing a path through the lines again, and right then, that same wicked smile that Tor had always so proudly worn sat on the face of Ashled The Fleet. He was doing what he loved.

The two fought for the next 16 hours without rest. The Dominion commanders refused to believe the stories told by the runners who brought news of two men fighting day and night killing hundreds of elves single handedly. Finally, as night fell on the second day, the two agreed they wouldn't be able to keep it up much longer. Ashled still hadn't seen Aslan since the first day and wanted to find his brother before he rested. Reinforcements were ordered to take Tor and Ashled's place in a few minutes so Ashled asked Tor to help him look. Tor ran to ask a commander while Ashled spoke to nearby men. None had seen him. Ashled knew Aslan would have wanted to be one of the first men to charge into the city so he ran to the gate they breached. As he arrived, Tor did the same with news from the other legates that Aslan hadn't checked into any of the imperial camps. Ashled didn't want to validate his fears by saying them aloud, but he worried his brother may have died or deserted the battle.

"Hey, what are you thinking? where would he be?" asked Tor. Ashled choked on his own sadness before saying

"Check the bodies."

"Hey, come on now don't say shit like that. I'm sure he's fine we just need to think where he would set up for the night." Tor's voice lost its friendly warmth. "You know him best, where would he set up camp?"

"He would have checked into a camp."

"Well then what would be his seco-"

"And we would have seen him in the battle by now. I don't want it to be true but it's likely he is dead." Ashled maintained his grim, statuesque look, but his kind eyes now strained to hold back his emotions. For the third time he looked for his brother, but for the first time he looked for him among the fallen bodies.

It only took 20 minutes to find him. An arrow had found the small gap in his armor and lodged itself about four inches deep in his torso between the top of his collarbone and the base of his neck. Beside him sat his axes, he took great care to keep them polished throughout the five year war. Ashled couldn't tell how long ago he had died, nor could he find anyone who was there when his brother died. Ashled was unsure how to feel. He had lost his brother. Naturally he despaired at the thought of never being able to see him again.

"I couldn't even be there for him, he died alone" he said.

"We all do, friend. Be it by arrow in war, or old age; surrounded by enemy soldiers, or family; no one gets a guide on the path to Sovngarde." replied Tor. "Go get some rest, a full night of it, I'll watch over you and take the body to camp."

"No," Ashled stood up with his brother's axes in hand. "I'll deal with this the only way I know how." Tor watched as Ashled walked into the front lines and proceeded to turn what had become a very minor skirmish into a bloodbath. With tears streaming down his face, Ashled murdered every elf in the capital near single handedly. He didn't leave injured or even take so much as a second to reconsider killing those who were sleeping or already wounded. He could not bring himself to rest until he had done everything in his power to ensure his brother's killer did not walk free. When the city was finally cleared he had been 63 hours without sleep. The tears had stopped and he dropped in the streets of the now liberated capital city. What was left of the Dominion forces in Cyrodiil retreated over the next few hours and the great war would be ended with the signing of a treaty known as the White-Gold Concordat. After Ashled dropped, Tor carried him, as well as Aslan's body, to an imperial camp where they all rested and eventually met with Alcedonia and Breela. In the following days, Alcedonia said goodbye to her parents and prepared to board a ship for Stirk along with Ashled, Breela, and Tor. The funeral was to be a traditional burning in which the body was loaded onto a boat and shot with flaming arrows until both the body and boat were set alight, so that the body would have the boat to take them to Sovngarde. As his brother, it was Ashled's duty to shoot the arrow, however, he requested Tor also shoot an arrow as, in Ashled's eyes, Tor was a brother to both him and Aslan.