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Chapter 14:
In The Blackest of Reaches

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12th First Seed, 4E200
Castle Dour, Solitude
General Tullius
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When he'd first heard of Khepri, General Tullius thought his Legate was either an imposter, or had too much mead. A woman who could control every insect in a town? Who could command and understand the horrific Chaurus? To top it all off, the idea that such a woman was not only not a Daedra worshiper, but a valued member of the sleepy community of Dawnstar?

It was madness, Tullius was sure of it; no doubt the seemingly kind woman was playing a nefarious game of some sort with the townsfolk, would sacrifice the entire population to Namira or whatever dark god she was truly serving. That, or she was some secret mage Ulfric Stormcloak found in the wilds, who was being told all sorts of anti-Empire nonsense from that same dissident Jarl's supporters.

Thing was, neither estimation had come to pass.

As the days and weeks went by, and more reports found their way to the General's desk, he began to wonder… who was Khepri, where had she come from, and what had she fought, to truly, by all appearances, seek to lay down her weapons and turn her skills to peaceful pursuits?

Both Tullius and Elenwen – whose counsel he reluctantly sought – were in agreement: Khepri was not someone to cross. The bandits who tried to raid Dawnstar found that out the hard way; most of them were working the mines, having surrendered after being subjected to the one-armed woman's ability.

Furthermore, in the past hours Khepri revealed – through no intention of her own – that she was a one-woman army: she could scout, plan, and assault, with great effectiveness, virtually any fortification of Tamriel that Tullius knew of, the only exceptions being the Battlespire and White-Gold Tower – one was inaccessible, the other was the most redoubtable fortress in Tamriel.

And maybe not even those, he reluctantly admitted to himself. Granted, in the last four hours, he, Elenwen, and the High King and Queen of Skyrim, along with their respective – trustworthy – retainers and Skyrim's High Priestess to Akatosh, had been given a blow-by-blow account of just how dangerous Khepri could be, when stirred to violence.

"Fighting in the second hall has concluded; final casualty report is one Proven, one Vigilant, three Legionaries, five Stormcloaks, three Thalmor, and fifty-two Chaurus," reported Kee-Ra, the leader of Imperial Communications in Tullius' Legion, reading from a letter that'd arrived by messenger candle but a moment before, "Falmer casualties are total, estimated at five hundred-twenty; all halls are under Muster control. Calcelmo, the Dunmer sappers and the Arch-Mage's retinue are acquiring artifacts and loot by the pound. Mjoll the Lioness and Drevas of Mournhold have dispatched the Dwemer Centurion Dreadnought in the Gatehouse; supporting members of the Muster have located a cache of weapons and arms there that date back to the Second Era, at least. An access point to Blackreach has been found as well; Katria has enlisted the help of the Thieves' Guild and Calcelmo in her attempts to unlock the gate."

The Argonian woman looked up at the General with a toothy grin, "Khepri is formal: all other tunnels leading to Blackreach are blocked by Chaurus pickets or are filled with the outliers of her swarm. Mzinchaleft is secure."

"Excellent." Tullius' satisfied statement was nearly lost in the applause and other expressions of relief and pleasure that went around the war room, particularly from High Queen Elsif, a known fan of Khepri's deeds.

The General was indeed pleased with this latest report: casualties were light, and other than the Falmer's heavy resistance in the second hall – requiring the Arch-Mage's interference to turn the tide, on top of every Proven, Rikke, Galmar Stone-Fist, the Dawnguard, and half the Vigilants, along with dozens of others and hundreds of Chaurus – the siege was progressing smoothly.

Elenwen, however, was still pensive, and Tullius understood why: the progress' smoothness was owed almost entirely to Khepri.

With her Chaurus Praetorian, Skitter – the sketches of whom made everyone in the war room gape – at the head of the advance, and a swarm of insects numbering in the tens of millions at least, Khepri had not only slaughtered at least half the Falmer herself, but ensured communication between the command elements, acting as a runner that was everywhere. With great effect.

Skitter, with a detachment of Legion siege specialists, along with at least fifty lesser Chaurus and a hodgepodge of Muster volunteers, including Katria and the Thieves' Guild, managed to take the third hall with only token resistance from the Falmer, who clearly hadn't been expecting such a move. After securing the area, they'd supported the fighters in the second hall while the remaining Vigilants, the Companions, and the Thalmor, along with the Legion effectives, a cadre of Stormcloaks and various auxiliaries from all over Skyrim, laid siege to the fourth and final hall.

The timing, where the second hall fell before the fourth, allowing those still with strength in them to support the final push, which Khepri herself was present for… it was a magnificent stroke of tactics and battlefield control, one which the Falmer certainly weren't prepared for: there was no retreating into their holes, as was the case with past expeditions; this time, the Chaurus were waiting in force for their enslavers… with a sizable cross-section of Khepri's Swarm supporting them.

Tullius almost felt bad for the Falmer. Then he got over it. This time, it was the Falmer being eaten alive, instead of Legionaries.

It was all due to Khepri, who revealed the ability to talk through her swarm, using said skill to coordinate strikes and direct reinforcements – and evacuations for the wounded, aided once more by Chaurus stretcher-carriers – to where they were needed, while also tearing at the throats and ears of those waxy scamps.

At this point, Tullius wouldn't be surprised to hear reports, later, of the woman using her bugs to help archers and mages aim at priority threats, or evacuating the wounded with the Chaurus…

But it was all troubling news, to the General.

Khepri was powerful, a force all by herself. Yes, she could be kind, she could be gentle, but in every man and woman lived the potential for violence; in his career, General Tullius knew this only too well. That she had laid down her arms and sought a life of peace proved nothing. All it would take would be one attack, one prod of this… titan of battle, and whoever wronged her would have songs sung of their utter demise at her hand; or, in this case, swarms.

That she proved the Chaurus weren't mindless beasts, but intelligent creatures with a rudimentary society of their own… well, there weren't words to express how he felt about that, only that he wouldn't – even if ordered – try to arrest or otherwise harm Khepri. He wasn't about to subject his men and women to that kind of battle, Concordat and Elder Council be damned.

Nevertheless, her simple presence at the Muster was enough to force even Stormcloak's Nords and the Thalmor, mainly by pointing them at an age-old enemy and basically asking, 'Do I, a cripple, have to do your jobs for you?' (Jarl Skald's words, not his Legate's). Khepri was clearly used to command and comfortable in the role, and with the way the assault was going – like a well-oiled machine, pun intended – Blackreach would be cleansed before the week was out.

Which was good; the shorter the siege, the better it would look in the General's report to the Elder Council, and if a few dozen more Thalmor died in the process… all the better.

A flurry of congratulations, questions, and answers were exchanged, then, between Solitude and the Muster: the attack had been halted, due to the complexity of the Dwemer lock on the outer gate to Blackreach's entrance; the Muster leaders were using this to gather and rest their soldiers, and Khepri was gathering information on the deep.

The news on that last front, however, was sobering to the war room's attendants.

Blackreach was large, a cavern the size of a Hold, with many buildings and cubbies for the Falmer to hide in; the preliminary report – that is, before the attack on Mzinchaleft began – estimated at least two thousand Falmer might be present, but that number was, clearly, conservative: Khepri reported nearly fifteen-hundred of the corrupted things were digging in near the entrance the Muster was going to use. And that wasn't all, either.

"Khepri also reports Falmer… slaves, in the form of the races of Tamriel," Kee-Ra read with a touch of disbelief in her words, while the various leaders' faces went stony. To everyone's disgust and horror, there was more, "She also states that these slaves seem to use the same screeching language as the Falmer, and are paler than their surface equivalents. Some females appear pregnant, and the Falmer are casual in… taking liberties with those that aren't. No children have been discovered, but the Chaurus have memories of such hybrids being raised further into Blackreach; Khepri surmises that this area is the same as where she senses the Tyrant, which she says is 'restless at her presence'," she cleared her throat and went on, "Calcelmo of Markarth, Drevas of Mournhold, Keeper Carcette, Dawnguard Isran, and Arch-Mage Savos Aren are in agreement: the possibility of the Falmer breeding with the races of Tamriel is not outside the realm of possibility, as they were once Mer, with all that this entails. However, no reliable report exists of these hybrids, at least not in the College of Winterhold; therefore, the expedition will go on, and discover the truth of the matter…"

'Hybrids… of Falmer and…'

While Tullius' hands curled into fists, the resident priestess to Akatosh gasped, Elenwen's eyes narrowed dangerously, the High Queen covered her mouth in obvious shock, and Torygg looked ready to grab up his axe himself, the Argonian woman read to the end of the letter, then stood at attention, speaking to the gathered leaders.

"…with your blessing that Oblivion Measures be in effect for any and all found artifacts of the Dwemer, corrupted Falmer, or known races of Tamriel."

"Granted." and Torygg indeed had the power to do that. The High King added stonily, "Keeper Carcette, Arch-Mage Savos Aren and Calcelmo of Markarth, with assistants, will examine all potential relics. Otherwise," he took a deep, tired breath, and finished strongly, "whether or not they exist, if you can communicate with them, or if they're children, whether hybrid or Falmer, spare them if you can." The High Queen put a hand on his, favoring her king with a smile.

"And the rest?" asked Elenwen unnecessarily.

Tullius grunted and looked at the 'Ambassador', "One of the primary objectives of this is the utter destruction of the Falmer in Blackreach, right?" no one argued this, so he told Kee-Ra, "The High King's recommendations, and add, 'If they resist, cut them down.'"

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13th First Seed, 4E200
Forward Command Post, Blackreach
Legate Rikke

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Rikke returned to wakefulness at the sound of another Falmer ambush. One that failed, obviously, from the sounds of buzzing, screeching, and flesh sizzling from acid and flames; rising from her bedroll with a groan and smacking her lips, the leader of the Legion's efforts at the Muster went about her 'morning' necessities, only one thing on her mind.

By the Gods, the Falmer were monsters.

They also should not have picked a fight with Khepri the Beekeeper, of all people.

Every person they'd liberated from the Falmer's clutches weren't coherent at all; worse, they fought tooth and nail against anyone who wasn't a Falmer. Even the pregnant women and what were clearly teenagers. Both Rikke and Galmar, after a private discussion, gave their greener soldiers to Carcette, Skjor, and Katria, ordering them to secure strategic points in the vast cavern of Blackreach. As for the hardened veterans, like Isran, Drevas, Galmar, and Rikke herself… they did what was necessary.

The thirty-years-young Legate splashed cold water over her face, and thanked Arkay there wasn't a mirror in the small tent she was afforded. The nightmares were bad enough.

Shaking the negativity from her thoughts, Rikke donned her sword and called for a report; one of the guards loudly marching away from her tent's entrance said one might be forthcoming. Her shout may have been lost in the distant rumbling of thunder and screeching, as the Falmer tested other parts of the line and the Muster encircled the foul creature's fortress.

Rikke didn't expect any unfortunate developments, in the three hours she'd slept. Other than the Falmer's continued existence, and the Tyrant's conspicuous absence, the entire adventure was going quite swimmingly.

…although, Rikke mused with a dark grin, the Falmer leadership were probably kicking themselves, for giving the order to slaughter their own Chaurus. When the Muster's outliers found the mass graves, just beyond the trenches closest to Mzinchaleft… well, the result was… educational, to say the least.

To put it shortly, the Falmer were utterly routed by the Chaurus, the large insects ferocious and brutal in their quest for bloody vengeance; and this was as nothing to Khepri's fury, the woman actually drawing her sword and trying to go to the front herself!

It'd taken six Legionaries, two Chaurus Hunters, and Companion Farkas to hold her back. In her place, Praetorian Skitter tore through trench after hole after hut, the Hunters joining her in dragging the Falmer out, breaking the spines of the shrieking things and tossing them to the younger Chaurus to be torn apart, their bodies piled high to be burnt, and that's if the Muster didn't get to them first. The Vigilants, Dawnguard and Stormcloaks were particularly vindictive in their ruthless slaughter of the Falmer, not that Rikke could blame them; she'd grown up in Skyrim, learnt at her mother's knee of the Falmer's penchant for kidnapping those who strayed out in the night.

Tired of waiting for a report, and eager to get back into the fray with her boys and girls, Rikke exited her tent, leaving the comforting brown walls for the blue-violet glow of the main camp, situated at the foot of a quarter-mile-high purple mushroom, which was on top of the largest outcrop for miles around. Most importantly, it gave the Muster's leadership a fine vantage to observe the great Dwemer fortification the Falmer were using as their final redoubt.

And what a sight it was, at that! A brass lamp the size of a large house glowed like the sun in miniature in the middle of the keep; towers rose up, like the many stone pillars around Blackreach, to touch the blue-white-red speckled ceiling, a full mile into the air. As far as Rikke could see, there were hills and valleys of blue-violet stone, strange grasses and house-sized crystals and Vvardenfell-like mushrooms aplenty, with the odd Dwemer work or sky-scraping pillar or turquoise-watered river to border these scenes. Coupled with the strange, high-pitched keening at the edge of everyone's hearing, these sights gave the feeling of walking somewhere not of Nirn, or even Oblivion, but somewhere… other.

It was still beautiful, a marvel of the Dwemer and the natural world, but Legate Rikke was already sick of it.

It was the smell, worse than any ruin she'd ever plumbed. She couldn't wait to see the sun again, and not have to worry about stepping in Falmer shit every twenty paces.

Walking over to the command tent, she found Khepri… glaring with hatred at the map, ignoring a rather well-made breakfast on her left; without preamble, the swarm-controller – and Queen of the Chaurus, as Rikke's men were starting to dramatize – addressed the still-sleepy Legate, "The Falmer are using some kind of measure that keeps insects out of their keep. Calcelmo believes it might be a pest-control feature of the Dwemer, and I am inclined to agree, as it doesn't keep out the Chaurus. It's still a deathtrap inside, however; both I and Mr. Drevas have tried infiltrating the sewers under the keep with swarm and what sappers aren't with Calclemo, but the place is full of Falmer and their slaves, to say nothing of the number of traps they've laid between pickets. You'll be happy to know that one of the Vigilants spotted children, being moved to the largest tower. The sappers laid their own traps and pulled back; nothing that'll break the keep, but nothing pleasant to experience either, if the beasts try coming from the sewers.

"The other commanders are seeing to their forces, getting them ready for the final push, and the Keeper and Grand Proven are preparing a strike force to liberate the youngest hybrids; they have given their recommendations for the Legion contingent there." After rubbing her eyes and yawning, Rikke noticed the woman indicating a slip of paper… that was held down by a steaming cup of coffee on a saucer. It wasn't there a moment ago.

"Mara bless you," Rikke replied gratefully, not thinking about Imp, who was known to do such things, and grabbed some hardtack someone – likely Galmar – had left out, asking through her impromptu breakfast, "How are the Chaurus?"

"Furious," then Khepri blinked, and shook her head with a tired sigh, "But they've always been furious of their treatment. Skitter found a group of survivors near that odd tower with the golden barrier, and Judas liberated a good number with Katria and Calcelmo near the Alftand entrance. In addition to another three hundred commons and eighty Hunters, we've located the final laboratory of the Master Alchemist Sinderion, author of The Nirnroot Missive."

"Oh? Anything valuable?"

"Some ingredients and recipes that Jarl Ravencrone's daughter seems rather excited about, including a new type of nirnroot that only grows down here, and an intact Dwemer studio apartment, but little else seems to have survived the millennia since the Dwemer vanished; so far, the best discovery is Ranger Garnag's find of a Snow Elf diary behind a false brick, which he needed Chaurus assistance in locating."

"Which will likely end up in Calcelmo's museum, once everything's said and done," Khepri only gave a tired nod, not looking up from the map or smiling, "When was the last time you slept, Khepri?"

"I dare not sleep down here, Rikke," the young woman replied softly, not meeting her eyes, "The Tyrant is constantly trying to subvert me to its will, and it is… quite practiced at its job. If I sleep, it's likely that the Chaurus will fall back under its control."

"You are their shield." Rikke observed, feeling as though she understood a little better. Still, when Khepri nodded again, the Legate huffed, "Still, you are no use to anyone like this. Have a Chaurus ride you to Mzinchaleft, just for half a day. We can delay the attack that long."

Khepri chuckled, and finally met her eyes; though she looked tired, there was a bright fire in her expression, "I once fought for two days while suffering from multiple burns, an arrow in my shoulder, and blind due to an explosion. I'll be fine, Legate."

Rikke blinked, then groaned as she remembered Khepri was a veteran of some horrible conflict, one that thankfully didn't touch Tamriel's shores, "By the Gods, don't say that in front of the men."

"Don't say what?" asked the Thalmor Justicar, Olquar, arriving through the thankfully soundproof tent-flap, the sound of fireballs being exchanged once again thundering in the distance. His armor had taken dings, and was dirty; she could say what she wanted about the Thalmor, but Rikke thought Olquar was one of the better ones, as he lead from the front and wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty. She still didn't trust him around Khepri, or her men for that matter.

"Nevermind, it was stupid," Rikke waved off easily, giving Khepri a subtle warning glare; the young woman simply sipped her tea with a serene expression, "How are things out there?"

"Getting worse," Olquar spat, but didn't have much time for a further report…

As Drevas of Mournhold walked into the tent, with an arrow sticking out of his bare shoulder and half his body covered in blood and filth. He also looked quite angry about something, not that Rikke cared; couldn't he have at least jumped in a river or something?

Khepri's cup went clack on its saucer, the Beekeeper saying bitingly to the berserker, "Why did you not heed me and go to the healing tent?"

That pulled Drevas up short, the old Dunmer replying icily, "The servants of the Divines wouldn't heal-"

"So you're saying a potion and a bucket of water won't work on you?"

"O-Of course it would-"

"Then go get healed and cleaned up."

"It'll ruin my ability to sneak around."

"Sneak arou- I can feel you with a moth from halfway across this cavern!"

Olquar and Rikke, along with Arch-Mage Aren, Keeper Carcette and Galmar, who'd just arrived after Drevas, watched with hidden amusement as the Queen of Swarms dressed down the quite smelly and bloody Grand Proven, someone who Rikke never wanted to face in battle. That mace of his could send a fully-armored Falmer flying over twenty yards with a single swing, and the mad Daedra worshipper wielded it like it weighed nothing.

That he seemed to be losing an argument with a cripple was rather funny.

"The Falmer can't!"

"If I can smell you with a moth, the Falmer can smell you too; or are you underestimating their ambush capabilities? Or, rather," her voice took on a faux-offended tone, "my observational skills?"

"What are you saying?" asked Drevas dangerously.

Khepri chuckled, "How many ambushes have you walked into since leaving the front and ignoring my suggestions?"

"Bitch."

"When I need to be," replied the young woman smoothly, "Go get cleaned up."

Fully shown-up, the Dunmer warrior stomped away, grumbling under his breath.

"Were it anyone else, Khepri, I'd ask that you mind your words around the Proven," Gunmar informed the young woman slowly, with a touch of rare humor in his gravelly voice, "But, honestly, I think he respects you too much to do anything other than gripe."

"If I may?" Olquar interrupted the pleasant distraction with a sour tone, reminding them of the Thalmor's presence, and the job that was yet to be completed. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, the Justicar informed the other leaders, "The Falmer are stepping up the ferocity and frequency of their attacks every hour. Even with the Chaurus bolstering our lines and the efforts of the mages," here, he nodded at Khepri, then the Arch-Mage, "I fear a larger attack might come soon."

"Agreed," nodded Keeper Carcette, who'd been on the 'night' watch with Olquar and Mournhold; all the same, the Vigilant looked fresh and ready for a fight, "Skjor is of the opinion that, as they're backed into a corner, the wretched things might try something dastardly and desperate."

"I agree," intoned Khepri, wincing and glaring at the map, "The Tyrant has been growing more restless, too. The Falmer can't feed it like they used to, and all the Chaurus in Blackreach are under my protection; they no longer listen to it, and that makes it angry. I fear it might try attacking in the next sally."

"Well, if it makes anyone feel better," said the Arch-Mage breezily, holding up an official-looking letter before handing it to Rikke with a smile, "It seems the High King agrees with the severity of the situation. Oblivion Measures have been approved, Legate, with conditions."

Reading the missive quickly, Rikke waited until it'd been passed around once – and the Grand Proven returned, with Companion Farkas in tow – before laying out the final plan, "Calcelmo will be happy, once he's informed. At any rate, Galmar, Drevas and I will accompany Keeper Carcette in clearing that tower; with the Divines' blessings, we'll be able to liberate a few children for you, Arch-Mage. Everyone else will focus on making sure the Falmer are slaughtered to the least and last."

No sooner did she stop speaking, did Khepri stand up, looking grave, "The Tyrant is coming."

The next moments were a whirl of running, shouting last-minute orders, and getting into position; all around, the thousand-strong army of Chaurus – with Skitter perched on the highest and nearest rock to the Falmer Keep – hissed and buzzed in challenge.

Rikke had just arrived at the nearest lines, and was telling one of her Centurions how the battle would go, when it came.

Over the outer wall, a many-legged horror of chitin crawled into view. Twelve legs, each long as a phalanx pike, dug furrows into the ancient stone. Its head was large as a cart, fronted with four huge mandibles around a fell, drooling maw of gleaming teeth. From end-to-end, the thing was long as a Jarl's longhouse if it was an inch. Worse, all over its body were machines, clearly of Dwemer origin, puffs of steam and unholy blue lights glittering in the misty dark of Blackreach.

As its front of the Tyrant's bulk reached the foot of the wall, it screeched, the sound sending chills through Rikke's blood; a second later, it spat a stream of acid at the front lines to her left. The Chaurus and men there barely had time to scream, before they were simply gone, melted, armor and all.

Above and behind Rikke, Skitter howled, and the Chaurus surged forward to meet this fell beast, a screaming swarm of countless insects filling the air to join them; on the walls, the Falmer poured toward the defenders like a pale tide of death.

Yet Rikke knew no fear; this was why she'd come to the Muster, barring her orders and the oaths she'd sworn. A fight against enemies worthy of the Red Legions.

"KILL IT!" shouted Rikke over the din, similar orders being issued from the other leaders, the Muster meeting these foes with arrow and blade and spell; the Falmer were as malleable to these tactics as ever, but the Tyrant ignored all blows, even shrugging off Skitter's steel-rending claws and Khepri's all-consuming swarm, as it scuttled right for Olquar and Savos' section of the line. "FOR THE LOVE OF THE EMPIRE AND TIBER SEPTIM, KILL THAT BEAST IF IT'S THE LAST THING YOU DO!"

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Oh yes, I am evil.

Note on Khepri's admission to Rikke: Khepri says 'arrow' out loud, but thinks 'bullet' in her head.

Next time: The Tyrant