4E, 201, 12th of Hearthfire

'I finally get to command a contingent of men. I forgot how long this took to get, or how many stormcloak bodies I needed to stack,' Imperius thought grimly.

Since he joined the legion, he has been rising through the ranks very, very slowly. The politics of the legion had slowed down his progress, and he found himself outwitted by more clever officers into positions of authority, and his lack of wit had cost him valuable time. However, eventually, he had gained enough prestige and clout to gain the command of a large portion of a legion. With said command came an assignment. Currently, he has a mission to lead a force of legionaries to conquer the Dawnstar fortresses before assaulting the hold itself. He has been defeating the stormcloak garrisons at the forts near Whiterun, securing the imperial's position in the northern regions of Skyrim. Now he was ordered to press the assault on the Dawnstar hold and put the rebels to the sword, while another legion commander was to defend the Whiterun territory from a supposed Stormcloak assault.

As he and his legion made their way to the rebel fort, Fort Dunstad to be exact, he had a feeling that something would happen. Imperius didn't know whether it was important or insignificant, if it was good or bad, but he knew that something was going to happen. He was pulled from his thoughts by a centurion running up to his horse.

"Tribune, our scouts have sighted the rebel fort. If we hurry we can be there in six hours sir," he said, saluting his superior.

"No. We need the men well rested and able if we are to take this fort. We can't afford unnecessary casualties at this important juncture in the campaign against the rebels. We will continue as we are, centurion."

The centurion saluted and made his way back to the column.

Fort Dunstad

After the stormcloaks took the fort from the imperial garrison, they immediately began fortifying the place, knowing an imperial counterattack will come soon. From crumbling moss covered stone walls, now stood high thick walls with watchtowers, ballistae of dwarven origin in the windows and battlements. The stormcloak commander Gamlin Bloodspiller, upon discovering the dwarven ballistarium underneath the fortress, immediately ordered his men to begin excavating the dwarven ruins, hoping for more weapons.

Gamlin sat at a desk looking over a map detailing the dwarven ruins, planning where they would begin mining next. As he was coming to a conclusion, a stormcloak new blood rushed into the room, carrying a note in his hand.

"Bloodspiller sir, I have some news that might interest you," he said, panting heavily.

Gamlin grunted in annoyance and snatched the note from the recruit's hand, ushering him away.

He had a reputation among his fellow commanders for being bloodthirsty, killing his own soldiers for being too annoying, or making a mistake. He couldn't help that most of his soldiers were incompetent idiots who didn't know when to shut up. Gamlin read the note, his eyes widening the more he read. It appears that his men found something of great importance in a block of ice, something that would change the war forever, something that could utterly destroy the Thalmor. He quickly made his way to the entrance of the ruins, shoving soldiers out of his way. If the report was true, then all of their fears and worries would be over.

He traversed the winding hallways, the temperature getting colder the deeper he delved. When he arrived, he was greeted by a block of ice, with a figure and a sword encased in the frozen liquid. The room in which the block of ice resided was large, easily able to house a hundred men under its roof. Carvings of ancient battles were engraved onto the walls and columns. He figured that a religious cult used to reside here before the imperials took over, but that wasn't important to him now.

"So this is the thing that I needed to see, a man frozen in a block of ice?" he asked incredulously.

A nord magi near the ice block spoke up, book in hand. "Sir, if what we think this is, if it's true, then the stormcloaks would be able to conquer all of Tamriel without much difficulty."

Gamlin looked at the magi, doubt clearly written on his face, then turned back to the figure in the ice block.

The figure seemed to have bronze like skin, his hair a fiery red, like red hot embers in a forge. It appears to have some type of chest plate, with large shoulder pauldrons with glowing blue gems in the centers. His grieves were of some ancient design, with pointed tips and with the same ocean blue glowing gems in the center of each grieve, like the pauldrons. The boots encased his feet entirely, providing ample protection from all attacks. The helmet had blue runes running along the top and sides, a blue gem at the center of the helm above the brow. It had a nose guard angling downwards, stopping just beneath his nose, with cheek guards on either side, angling downwards until they stopped right under his chin, leaving two slits for the eyes.

The sword in his right hand appeared to glow with a bright blue light, with blue energy running up the center of the blade until it reached the tip. It was about 5 ft long, the cross guard looked like a sun with blue energy tendrils swirling around the blue gem despite being frozen.

"Doesn't look like much to me," he harrumphed. The mage quickly made his way over to the general and pointed to a page in his book. Gamlin peered down at the page, and stared at him like he was joking.

The page in question read "The Guardians" which described beings of great power that protected Tamriel from all threats. It described beings known as the Titans, who were massive beings of awesome power, creating these Guardians to protect the world from...something. The text didn't go into much detail, but it didn't matter to Gamlin. He didn't believe in such nonsense, only those truly desperate for something besides the divines and daedra would believe in such hogwash.

There were different variations of the Guardians, and the one the page was describing was one with command of the earth, a master of the forge, with the ability to create endless legions of earthen warriors to fight whatever threat came its way. That is what the book says, but Gamlin thought he was just an ancient warrior trapped in ice. Nothing more. As the two began to argue, a stormcloak scout ran up to the squabbling men and handed them a letter, sprinting to deliver other important letters. Gamlin opened the letter. It appears a contingent of imperials are making their way here, their size numbering in the thousands.

'Well, hope all this entrenching pays off, because if it doesn't, many of us are going to Sovnguard,' he thought grimly.

The Legion

The legion of imperials has arrived at the fortress, ready to spill stormcloak blood. What Imperius had not counted on was the rebels finding the dwarven steam constructs and using them in the defense. In the past lifetime, the stormcloaks guarding the fort were easy pickings for his legion, being led by an incompetent commander who was inexperienced in leading men. This time however, it appears that this commander was more up to the task.

'This rebel commander has more wits than the previous one I faced before. Time to rethink my strategy,' he thought.

His initial plan was to besiege the fortress, starving the defenders out into battle. But with the addition of dwarven ballistarium, they would have to act before they could rain death upon his soldiers. A prolonged siege would put him behind the other legion commander, and he couldn't have that pompous idiot show him up. He called a meeting with his centurions, discussing and trying to come up with a plan that would ensure victory, but without horrendous casualties. He needed his force to be as strong as possible when he turned traitor to the Empire, to give him the best possible chance of holding out and gaining a foothold in the province. Casualty prevention was top priority for Imperius right now, and hoped that his subordinates could come up with something along those lines. This was also a test, to see whom among his men could be decisive, tactical, and logical. He didn't doubt that there would be loyalists among his number, and began to take note of several individuals for positions of authority should those in said positions not turn with the legion.

"I propose we strike from multiple sides, dividing up their forces and limiting their use of the ballistae, which would reduce casualties on our side. The rebels would be too few to defend each and every point of the fortress we attack, and our men would slaughter them with ease," one centurion said.

Another on the other side of the table slammed his fist into the table and raised his voice.

"If we do that, our casualties would increase dramatically because we would be dividing our forces! We wouldn't be able to break through any point of the fortress because there would be too few men to cut down the enemy. Lives wasted that could be better used in a more concentrated attack on the main gate!" he said.

Imperius turned towards his adviser in the legion, centurion Tribali Avanius, as the other centurions went back and forth.

"What course of action should we take, I don't want to risk high casualties, but we need to capture this fortress in order to retake the hold. Our window of opportunity becomes smaller by the minute," he spoke in a hushed whisper, the sound barely being heard over the shouting of the other centurions.

"We should use parts of both ideas, not splitting up our forces too greatly while not clumping into one giant mass. It might cost some lives, but I believe that is the best plan," he said.

Imperius mulled over the plans that were presented, but quickly discarded both of them. He made to stand, but an idea from a nearby centurion stopped him, the plan quickly catching his interest.

"We will not be using any of the ideas on the table. We will use our best scouts to go over the walls at night, kill the wall guards, and open the front gates. Then we will march in as quietly as we can, and surprise the enemy as they rest, ensuring the lowest possible casualties while guaranteeing our victory over the rebels. They will be caught unawares and will be easy prey for our blades," the young centurion said. The other centurions quickly dismissed his idea, but that was when Imperius stood, silencing the discussions, all eyes were upon him.

"We will go forward with the night assault. Assemble our best scouts and have them ready at dusk," Imperius said, the centurions sharing a look of skepticism, but nonetheless complying with the order.

For many years the imperial military was a force of strength, relying on brute force and skill of arms instead of tricks and night raids. To them, it was cowardly to not face the enemy in open battle, to not see the faces of your enemies and gut them face to face was dishonorable in their eyes. But their commander has not failed them yet, they trusted him, and decided to go through with the plan, assembling the best scouts of their legion and sending them into the wilds. They told the scouts to infiltrate the enemy fortress, take out the guards near the gate, and open the gates to the legion, giving the men the signal in the form of waving torches to take the castle. The scouts saluted and sped off into the snow, their trail of footprints quickly being covered with falling snow.

Nightfall at the Stormcloak fortress

As the scouts peered from the mounds of snow, they surveyed the walls.

'The guards on the walls are sparse, clumps of them here and there, this should be easy,' thought the lead scout.

He made a motion with his right hand and they ran towards the wall. Two scouts brought out rope with large hooks on the end, and tossed it over the walls, securing it before making their ascent. The first scout made it over the walls, slit the throat of a nearby guard, tossed his body over the wall, and motioned for the rest to climb up.

Once all the scouts were over the wall, they quickly made their way to the gate, sneaking past or killing any guards in their path.

"Okay, I need two of you to guard the entrance to the gatehouse while the rest of us go in and open the gate, got it?" the lead scout asked.

The two scouts clad in red cloaks nodded, drew their bows, and took up defensive positions by the gatehouse entrance. The three other scouts made their way to the mechanism that controls the gate, two heavily armored stormcloaks guarding it.

Suddenly, a stormcloak ran into the room, warned them to keep their guard up, for there were assassins in the fort, and ran off, leaving the guards.

'Well this made my job harder, going to have to resort to combat instead of stealth this time,' the lead scout thought.

He told the other two scouts to get into ambush position and await his signal. The scout commander stepped out of the shadows surprising the guards while giving the others time to get into position. The scout commander and the guards met each other with a whirlwind of steel, the twang of metal on metal filling the room. He blocked the attacks of both guards and pushed them back, slashing at their chests with his sword. It had little effect since the guards were wearing chain mail. The two guards recovered from his attack and went on the offensive.

The guards couldn't get a hit on their agile foe, while at the same time the scout commander couldn't pierce their thick armor. Then, the two scouts in hiding burst out, stabbing their daggers into the necks of the unsuspecting guards, letting them fall to the floor. Suddenly, a horn sounded out, and the scouts heard the thunderous footsteps of the stormcloak garrison rushing to the gate.

"Open the gate! We will hold them off, hurry!" shouted the commander.

The two scouts nodded, and proceeded to turn the mechanism to open the gate, slowly but surely lifting the steel gate. The commander rushed back down to the guards he had placed at the entrance and found them holding back ten stormcloaks, barely dodging the deadly blows. The commander rushed into the fray, hacking down a stormcloak soldier with his spatha. For the next few minutes in the gatehouse, it was a whirlwind of steel striking steel, blood spilled by the pint, and the grunts and moans of the dying. The two scouts working on the mechanism finally opened the gate, and rushed down to aid their comrades.

The five imperials held out for as long as they can, but one by one they were cut down until only the commander remained. He fought like a warrior filled with blood lust, hacking off hands, crushing rib cages, and shattering skulls in his fury. His defenses were slowly being worn down, with nicks and small cuts getting through, making him slower little by little. Finally, one lucky stormcloak got behind him, and stuck him in the back with a spear, allowing the rest of the rebels a chance to hack at their hated enemy. The scout commander fell, the last sounds he heard were the surprised shrieks of the stormcloaks, and the victorious cries of the legionaries charging in. The imperials chopped down their unready foe, the rebels falling to them like a tree to an ax. The stormcloaks tried to regain the gates, sending hundreds of their brethren to meet the enemy, but they were killed before they could swing a war ax. With their ballistae advantage taken away, since they fixed them outward to deflect a forward assault, the rest of the stormcloaks fled into the castle itself, barring the door and amassing behind it, leaving those left outside to fend for themselves, dooming them.

Imperials

Imperius led the charge into the fortress, clad in his segmentata armor and wielding his gladius, cutting down any stormcloak foolish enough to challenge him. They lacked form, swinging wildly and without restraint, their blows off balancing them, leaving openings for him to exploit. Foe after foe he met in combat, and everyone of them fell to his blade. It disappointed him that none provided a challenge. He was inconvenienced at best, and at worst he didn't even notice them until their body hit the ground. They fought until the last stormcloak outside the inner castle was cut down at the wooden gate.

"Bring up the ram, I want this fortress taken by morning and we don't have a lot of time, move it soldiers!" he shouted, the soldiers saluting and bringing of the steel ram. With the light of burning fires within the fort, it gave the ram a menacing look, slowly moving to crush the gate of the rebels.

'Make peace with Talos now rebels, your time has come,' Imperius thought, quickly shaking his head. He had to quit playing the part of loyalist. He would have to integrate these people into his empire sometime in the future. It would be best to rid himself of these attitudes. Easier said than done.

Inside the castle
Stormcloaks

Gamlin couldn't, no, refused to believe that his highly trained soldiers lost to some weak minded imperials. His defenses were fool proof, no one could successfully gain a foothold in the walls of the fortress, his ballistae would tear through any attacking force before they even got close to the walls, not to mention the actual act of assaulting the walls. The soldiers with him were some of the most highly trained in the Stormcloak cause. Jarl Ulfric personally gave them to him to guard this fortress. He raged in the chamber with the ice block, breaking anything close to him, even knocking out some of his soldiers.

"Sir, if we free this being, he may turn the tide in our favor," said the magi.

If looks could kill, the mage would have been dead ten times over, but Gamlin turned towards the block, seemingly lost in thought. Suddenly he barked at his soldiers to get back to digging, the men rushing to get pickaxes and began hammering at the ice. Gamlin himself joined in the mining, grabbing two pickaxes and bashing away at the ice, flecks of the ice block scratching his cheek as he did. When they heard the tell tale sound of a battering ram hitting the gate, they scrambled to break the ice.

"Move you dogs, the imperials are getting here, and we should even the playing field, eh? Dig faster!" he bellowed.

They worked at a pace unheard of, digging through feet of ice which would have taken regular miners weeks to complete. They were about to free the figure from his icy prison when they heard the sound of the door breaking, and the sounds of steel striking steel. This sound sent fear and dread into the men holding the pickax, all except for one. He threw down his pickax and grabbed his war ax from his belt.

"Never mind this lads, we go to Sovnguard, forwards!" Gamlin shouted, charging into the fight crying their battle cries.

Gamlin fought with a strength unmatched, tossing five men into the air with one swing of his war ax alone, easily crushing the armor of the legionaries, punching through their shields, and breaking their swords.

Imperials

Imperius stared at the mighty warrior defeating his veteran legionaries, even sending them flying into the back ranks of the formation. This one may yet provide some challenge. He certainly looked like he could. But looks could be deceiving. He may just be a savage masquerading as a warrior, his blood lust clouding his mind from any logical thought. Imperius despised such warriors. They had no discipline, no skill. Only savagery and brute strength. He sighed and made his way to the front of the formation, killing any stray stormcloaks that got too close. The warrior noticed his approach, and shouted.

"Look what we have here boys! A spineless imperial that thinks he can take the mighty Gamlin Bloodspiller!" he shouted laughing, the soldiers next to him laughing as well.

Imperius began to speed up, breaking into a jog, readying his gladius and scutum. Gamlin noticed this and readied himself as well, running at a breakneck pace towards him. The two met with a crash, Gamlin's war axe did not break Imperius's shield like he thought, instead it jarred the imperial's hands a little. Imperius pressed forward, slashing his sword and cutting through the riveted chain mail that the stormcloak wore, leaving a gash on his stomach.

This enraged Gamlin, who roared with rage and swung his axe wildly, killing a few imperials as well as stormcloaks in his fury. He swung the butt end of his axe into Imperius's chest, knocking him into a wall. The armor saved him from the wind getting knocked out of him, but it would bruise tomorrow. He rushed toward shim and bashed the mighty warrior with his shield and stabbed with his sword, one blow stunning Gamlin, and the other pierced his right arm. He cried out in pain and grabbed Imperius by the collar of his segmented plate armor, tossing him into the ranks of the legionaries, checking out the wound to see if it would render his main ax wielding arm useless.

When he couldn't pick up his weapon with the injured arm, he switched to his left just as Imperius found his way back to him. The two clashed once more, but Imperius noticed something when fighting with his opponent, his strikes were slower, more unfocused and more wild. He took advantage of this and rushed Gamlin, knocking the war ax out of his hand and thrusting his sword into the rebels chest, the tip sticking out the back. Gamlin fell to his knees, blood dripping out of his mouth.

"I just wanted my people free. Why would you deny them their chance to be free of the imperial yoke? Why?" he said as a lone tear streaked down his cheek. The stormcloak commander slipped off of his gladius and slumped to the floor, a pool of blood forming around his corpse.

With the loss of their commander, the rebels instantly broke, most being cut down while some surrendering on the pretext of information for their life. Imperius surveyed the carnage this conflict has wrought, bodies covering the ground so thick you couldn't see the stones of the castle.

'I had also forgotten how cruel this conflict is. These people are being manipulated, made to fight an enemy that shouldn't even be their enemy, not realizing who the true threat is. So many lives wasted, the amount of resources squandered over a petty grievance and blind ambition. I will end you Ulfric. Your self destructive campaign will end by my blade,' Imperius thought.

He was brought from his thoughts when a legionary came up to him.

"Legate, we found something you'll want to see."