Chapter 17
A New Discovery
Imperius awoke to muffled sounds, minor noises echoing in his ears. His mind felt murky, his thoughts a jumbled mess. If only he could get his thoughts together. He stood on shaky legs, legs that threatened to give out at any second. His world spun around in circles, making his mind even more a jumbled mess. He leaned on a tent post that was nearby to help balance his dead weight. A person entered the tent, making him wary in his unprepared state. He internally scoffed in derision. He was barely able to stand, let alone defend himself, oh how the mighty warrior was laid low.
He looked at the individual who entered the tent, though his eyes felt like they were being stabbed by knives. His head felt like a piece of metal a smith was hammering, the rhythmic pounding only worsening with the sharp pains in his eyes. It was a legionnaire, clad in the segmentata armor that distinguished his forces from the imperials. The man looked to be in his early thirties, though he was gaunt, his cheeks sunken, his arms like thin reeds. His eyes had a weary look about them, like he was on the verge of collapsing at any moment.
"Sir, we have visitors," the legionnaire said and exited the tent with tired, and heavy steps.
He looked around for his armor and found it laying near the cot he was laying on, complete with a helm that signified his status as supreme commander of the army. It had a forward facing crest, with white horse hair acting as a herald to his status, with two cheek guards. Imperius sighed at the weight of the armor on his frame. He had forgotten the side effects of being bitten by a lycan. He would never get a restful night's sleep ever again. Oh how he was tired. He unsteadily stepped out of the tent to find the rest of his legion in a similar state as the single legionnaire that entered the tent, haggard and gaunt, skinny men in place of fit, muscular men, with their armor seemingly too big for them.
As he made way to the front of the camp, knowing the way because he personally saw to the placement of tents, were the cooks were stationed, and where the exits and entrances were, he received hopeful looks from his men. He knew those looks, that type of hope. It was hope of men on the verge of defeat, and saw their supposed hero coming to their rescue, or at least, coming to turn the tide of battle when defeat seemed inevitable. He nodded their way and took surer steps, his unsteady gait soon fading despite the weariness clinging to his bones.
A legionaire being carried on a stretcher caught his eye as he passed him, with a multitude of crude arrows implanted into the steel plates of his armor. Soon three more followed their comrade. He heard the sounds of digging nearby and quickly glanced towards the practice range for his archers, and saw a number of make shift graves being dug, with a cart of bodies nearby, the men gently laying a body into each hole they had dug. A centurion passed by, and he quickly stopped the man.
"Centurion, what has happened during my absence of command."
"A large host of Foresworn attacked the legion in force sir. We defeated them, but with heavy losses. Only seven thousand, five hundred men remain."
Imperius was shocked. The Foresworn were savages, practicing black magic. Brutish and thralls to covens of hagravens, he saw no threat. Their weaponry was primitive, their armor mere furs and padded jerkins, heads of animals their helmets. It didn't make sense. He refused to believe such backwards savages not only to match his legion in skills, but to deal such casualties as to cause a withdrawal of the advance.
"The Foresworn killed that many?!" he shouted in disbelief.
"We were ambushed in the hills and narrow paths by large bands of the savages, Imperator. We couldn't form proper battle formations. They struck at our weak points, catching us off guard. We pushed them back, slaughtering a fair number of the heathens, but the Legion had to withdraw to prevent further casualties, we could push no further."
His mind pondered the information, and could see how it could've happened. His men were more at home on large battlefields, where the legion could properly outflank and outfight their opponent if the legion was sufficiently skilled. "I see. Thank you centurion, resume your duties."
The centurion saluted and made his way to his century, leaving Imperius to process the amount of soldiers they lost in just a few days. It reminded him of his defeat at Whiterun by the elves, and the subsequent slaughter that followed. He tensed, his muscles flexing to the breaking point as he tried to not break down in front of his men, the lump in his throat making it hard to swallow or speak. An emotional breakdown wasn't something his men needed to see, but it was so damn hard not to. A near instinctual need to grieve gripped him. However, his men needed the strong, fearless leader they have come to know him as, and he would fill that role. He was reminded of his previous venture with the sounds of the sentries giving an alert, and he resumed is trek, his pace increasing, compartmentalizing his emotions.
He glanced to his left and noticed that the camp was on the road to Solitude, not far from Rorikstead, or what was left of it. Imperius returned his gaze to the camp entrance, and was a bit worried at the low number of sentries on duty. But who could blame them. They were running low on supplies, most of the legion was unfit for duty, and their morale was at an all time low. When he made it to the entrance, two legionaries were awaiting him, and snapped to attention at his presence. He nodded to them and left the camp, with the two soldiers following.
He stopped a few hundred yards away from the entrance to the fort and took in the sight that greeted them. A force of four hundred Khajiits formed into a single line two soldiers deep facing towards the fort, in between the regiments were three metal tubes on wooden wheels, with round balls in a stack near the strange object, with a crew of ten manning it. The leader of the force rode towards him on a beast he was most befuddled by. It stood around six feet tall, had knobby knees, thick, cloven hooves, and had a hump on its back. The sounds it made, was disconcerting to say the least. The Khajiit who rode the beast wore a steel breastplate, intricate carving on the metal suggested that he was of a high status, coupled with a gold plated hilt attached to a curved scimitar.
"Greetings, I am Komiser Adjul Hasiid, and I bring a message from the Aldmeri Dominion," the Khajiit said, his accent like velvet upon the ear, unrolling a scroll.
The Komiser cleared his throat. "The time has come for this rebellion to end. Your meddling has cost the empire greatly. Turn yourself and your 'army' to the nearest imperial held position, or there will be dire consequences. You have been forewarned," he read, rolling up the scroll and placing it in a pouch on his belt.
"And I suppose you are here to help 'persuade' me into accepting this outrageous proposal?" Imperius asked incredulously.
The Khajiit nodded and gestured to the metal tubes that were pointed towards a plateau, with the crews loading the black spheres into the tubes and pushing them in with a long wooden pole. Once they finished, a Khajiit holding a torch held it near the rear of the metal object for a few seconds, then backed away and covered its ears. An earth shattering boom sounded, nearly destroying his ear drums, the pain making him drop to one knee.
The metal balls flew at tremendous speed towards the plateau, a high pitched whistling sound followed them. The ground was torn apart when the metal balls made contact, as if an earthquake was upon them, gigantic chunks of earth and rock were flung in all directions. The earth beneath his feet shook, as if it was about to give way. Eventually the shaking stopped, and he was able to stand on his own two feet. He saw the sentries who accompanied him shouting something, but the incessant ringing prevented him from understanding the words that were being said.
"What was that?" he asked with apprehension
The Khajiit chuckled.
"That, my friend, is a new weapon my people discovered four months ago, back when you just conquered Falkreath," he stated with pride, holding out his hand, which held a black powdery substance.
"This is explosive powder, when its ignited, it causes a roaring explosion unlike anything before. The weapon is of High Elf design, they were most interested with our discovery, especially with its destructive capabilities. The weapon we presented breathes fire like your dragons do, and spits metal, launching it farther and faster than any archer in the world. It can destroy castle walls, and demolish armies with just a single volley-" the Khajiit said, looking to the side and gesturing, lost in his own rambling.
As this was happening, Imperius silently ordered for the sentries to get the army prepared to charge as he stalled, and they were to wait for his signal to attack. One sentry jogged back and subtly nodded to him. Imperius gave a quick flick of his hands, and the sentry nodded and ran back to the camp. The legion was to leave the camp via the rear entrance, out of sight of the khajiit forces, and make their way into the surrounding woods and hills to await the signal. Once it was given by Imperius, they would rush the enemy force, overwhelming them with numbers. They should be able to overpower them and kill them. This plan of his was a long shot, the legion was in no shape to fight a seemingly well armed khajiit force, not to mention the unnaturally terrifying new weapons they unveiled. If his plan backfired, he could loose the entire legion. It was a risk he felt he had to take. He turned his attention back towards the Khajiit, who looked like he was nearing the end of his long winded tirade.
"-and can even knock a dragon from the sky. So Imperius, as you can see, you have no hope of succeeding. I suggest that you give up, and spare your men from a slaughter," he said with a smug grin.
Imperius returned the grin, making the Khajiit give pause, before drawing his sword and ramming it into the enemy commander's chest, the Khajiit giving a strangled cry as he fell. With the sound of horns blowing from the surrounding hills, thousands of legionaries poured forth, rapidly closing the distance between them and the new weapons. The weapon crews desperately tried to load a few of the weapons, firing off two shots that went wild and overshot the army before they were overwhelmed.
The regiments of Khajiit soldiers desperately tried to hold off the tide of legionaries, using their claws and strength in conjunction to their weapons, killing dozens of legionaries before they were taken down. As the legion cut down the last remaining regiments, centaur riders who were scouting the surrounding area found some carts loaded with food and drink, and happily hitched themselves to the carts to bring the much needed supplies to the army.
Men and centaur alike cheered for those bringing in the supplies, centurions distributing the food to the soldiers. Imperius had a few soldiers wheel the strange weapons into the command tent, and began to inspect them, along with the black powder that caused the damage to the nearby hill.
"Get a centurion in here Tribali," he said, the advisor saluting before exiting the tent.
A few moments later, the advisor returned with a centurion and saluted, leaving the tent to Imperius and the officer.
"Flavius Arcadias, I have an important assignment for you. As you know, since we defeated the Khajiit forces, we've gained much needed supplies for our forces. But we also acquired a new weapon, and discovered a substance that could turn the war in our favor even more so than it already is," he said, gesturing towards the cylinder metal weapon and black powder.
"This powder, when ignited, creates an explosion unprecedented in history. If the Imperium were to somehow master its use, we could conquer Skyrim within a matter of months. But to master it, we must first study it, which we cannot do here with our current resources. I am entrusting you Flavius, to deliver it to the Imperium, and to guard it with your life whilst on the trail. You won't be going alone, I will also assign a century and a contingent of centaurs to aid in the protection of the cargo."
The centurion saluted and raced out of the tent, collecting the pouches of black powder, and loading the metal weapons onto carts pulled by pack horses. Flavius mounted a horse and led the contingent out of the camp, the rest of the army cheering him on. He would not fail. Flavius was a legionnaire when he joined Imperius's legion, back when Imperius worked for the Cyrodillic Empire.
He was promoted to centurion shortly after the battle of Whiterun due to his valor and leadership skills. Since then, he couldn't be happier. Now with this mission, he was filled with pride. To think that he would be chose by Imperius himself to lead a mission, an important one at that, and completely trust his abilities. He smiled inwardly as his caravan began its journey to the capitol.
With the task of getting the weapon and black powder back to the Imperium taken care of, Imperius could focus on conquest once more. He decided to continue towards Markarth, but with more caution, with the goal of preserving the supplies they gained today in preparation for the siege ahead. Markarth did not have walls, but the underground catacombs would prove to hinder any invading army. So instead of assaulting the ancient dwemer city, he would starve the inhabitants out of their rat holes, and either force the mercenaries to fight, or surrender, preferably the latter. His soldiers are not in the best condition to fight, despite the supplies they gained.
Imperius was a man of both action and thought. He could determine if a situation needed brute force, or subtle diplomacy. But he was no diplomat, he had not the silver tongue needed to negotiate deals with other factions, nor does he possess the swagger of an accomplished politician. He was a leader yes, a leader of a young nation, leader of a nation that has his enemies run at the sight of their legions. But he was no politician. He actually despised politicians, with their honeyed words and false promises. He's lost many a centurion to the cut throat politics of the Cyrodillic Empire, he was determined to keep that from his people. However, he needed a diplomat, first and foremost. Imperius could see in the future how skilled diplomats could run him over with their intricate webs of deceit. He needed a person who could navigate the maze that was politics and come out on top.
As he was pondering his dilemma, a pair of ocean blue eyes were watching him from behind a stack of crates, a dagger clenched in a fist. Onyx hair covered her right shoulder, masking one eye behind a curtain of darkness. The companion fled the city after Imperius had left, leaving the bodies of her comrades to burn in dragon fire. She took refuge in one of the guard towers, abandoned when Balgruff gathered his remaining soldiers. As the days passed into weeks, her wound weakened her. Aela offered to teach her about making and tying bandages onto wounds and how to clean them in the past, but she was so enthralled with Farkas's skill with a blade that she forgot to ask her, now she will never get the chance.
She hissed as a bolt of pain raced up her arm. Her wound was getting worse by the minute, the skin around it a puffy red. She leaned against the crate as her mind began to swim, her thoughts growing foggy and faint. She relieved the growing fogginess that was besetting her by shaking her head. She refocused on the task at hand, taking revenge for her fallen comrades. She waited for a patrol to pass by before moving towards the tent, darting from cover to cover, keeping out of sight. She nearly gave herself away when she stumbled due to her wound taking its toll, but she hid behind adequate cover before the guards could see her.
She finally made it to the tent, getting so close as to hear him go about his business, shuffling papers, and the scratching sound of a quill. Her grip on her dagger tightened. It was now or never. She slowly crept from her position near the rear of the tent towards the entrance, reaching the opening flap. She tensed up, prepared to rush in, but stopped herself when she noticed a small detail. The quill had stopped moving. She cursed herself for making noise, and sighed silently. She rushed into the tent, dagger raised, but was knocked off of her feet by a fist to her face, and grunted when she landed on her back. She rolled to the side to try and get away from her target, but was tackled as she tried to get up. She struggled fiercely, resorting to scratching him when all else failed. She was finally pinned when Imperius roped his arms under her armpits and clasped his hands at the base of her neck, forcing her head downwards and rendering her arms useless.
"Look who decided to pay me a visit."
Here's the update you've all been waiting for. My apologies for the seemingly weak ending, as I just couldn't think of anything better at the time. If you saw anything that could be improved leave in the suggestions. And to answer Guest's question, I base Imperius on my play style. I don't use shouts often, as I see them as an excuse for the lack of swordsmanship and skill, so Imperius doesn't use them as often. Ciao