A/N: Uhh… well it's been more than a hot minute since I last updated. All I can say is that life got pretty busy for a while but I'm hopeful that this will be the start of more consistent updates. Let me know what you think of this, entirely-too-long-awaited chapter and I hope that everyone is doing well. Thank you for taking the time to read this story, it means a lot to me.
*Disclaimer*
*As always, I own only my OCs. The main plot and recognizable characters are from the brilliant minds of Bethesda's Elder Scrolls franchise writers*
Chapter VI- They're Going to Need Therapy, Your Honor
Martin tossed a fireball after a retreating clannfear, watching with satisfaction as it was engulfed in flames with a shriek. All around him, the city burned. The flame atronachs had come soon after the imps and clannfear, setting the city ablaze with their attacks. He turned, shooting a bolt of lightning at a dremora that was coming up on the unprotected back of a guard. It fell as the guard continued to fight, oblivious to how close to dying he had just come. Martin sighed, falling back to the doors of the chapel. No matter how many daedra he killed, and he knew it had to be in the dozens by this point, more came to replace them. The guards were slowly being pushed back by the relentless tide of daedra. Akatosh, please give us a reprieve. Send us aid. Do not let us die here. He prayed silently as he felt his magicka slowly replenish. Too slowly. He should have been practicing his spellwork more, instead of letting it fall to the wayside. The life in which I learned to wield magic is behind me, but I should not have abandoned a means of defense. The thought was too little, too late. He had quit using destruction magic for a reason. But now, with lives on the line, Martin felt foolish for letting such a valuable skill go without maintenance for so long.
Beside him, a guardsman by the name of Florus fired arrow after arrow into the enemy ranks. The man was unrelenting in his volley, raining steel-tipped death into the daedra. Garth's words echoed in the back of Martin's head.
'Use extreme prejudice.'
Calling on the flagging reserves of his magicka, Martin stepped out of the protection that Florus' arrows provided.
"Florus, I need you to cover me while I go to the commander. We have to retreat and secure the chapel. We've gotten as many refugees as we can but there is no way to hold the courtyard with so few of us!" He spoke quickly, barely wasting time to look at the man beside him, too busy sending out fireballs and lightning bolts. Martin heard Florus curse before pausing his volley to risk a glance at the priest.
"Okay, I've got you. Just don't dawdle."
Martin nodded, reaching out to clasp the man's arm.
"Thank you."
"May the Gods help us all," Florus murmured as he turned back to the oncoming daedra.
Martin wove steadily through the fighting and rubble, dodging elemental blasts from atronachs and sword strikes from dremora. All around him, battered soldiers fought with desperate hacks and angry cleaves. An imp laughed from atop the body of a merchant that Martin recognized. The merchant had specialized in cloth orders. Grief threatened to overwhelm him. Martin raised his hand, giving the imp no time to react before it was incinerated by a fireball. The feeling of his magicka leaking away was a continued reminder that they needed to finish this and quickly. Near the rapidly folding front lines, the commander of the guards left with them stood defending another soldier. Out of the corner of his eye, Martin saw another imp crawling behind a chunk of debris. Its eyes were trained on the two men with fierce intent, the claws on each finger wicked sharp and curling reflexively. Racing forward, Martin quickly withdrew a dagger from his belt and thrust it into the back of the imp. It fell with a shriek that made the ears of all three ring.
"Commander, we need to retreat to the chapel! There are too many daedra for us to hold the courtyard any longer. We must regroup!" He shouted, eyes scanning the square for more threats.
The commander looked around, blinking away the battle haze that had engulfed him. Martin watched as he realized that they were indeed being pushed back. If they didn't retreat soon, they would all die. Without speaking, the commander nodded, thrusting his sword at an approaching dremora. Turning to face his men, the man raised his sword.
"Kvatch, fall back! Defend the chapel! To m-," the commander cried out, only to be cut off as an arrow smashed him in the face with a wet thud.
Martin watched in shock as he crumpled to the ground. From the back of the advancing troops, a truly massive dremora lowered a horrible black and red bow, its face twisted into a cruel smirk as the men around the commander screamed in shock and panic. The man that had been fighting with the commander cried in sorrow, falling to his knees to grasp at the dead leader. Martin felt bile rise in his throat but forced himself to remain calm. He couldn't afford to be distracted. The dremora looked at him unblinkingly as he stood tall, dodging the blow of a flame atronach.
"You heard the Commander! Fall back! Defend the chapel!" Martin yelled, blasting another daedra that came too close to the grieving man.
The priest glared at the dremora, before turning away. He had to focus to avoid stumbling over rubble as he made his way to his still living companion. With more force than he intended, he grabbed the crying guard, forcing him to move toward the cathedral. For every step backward that the men and women took, the daedra were advancing two steps forward. Martin could barely see through the haze of smoke as he continued to call on his rapidly dwindling magicka to send ice spikes and fire balls at everything not wearing monk's robes or snarling wolves.
"Nearly everyone has reached the interior of the cathedral. We need to secure the doors." Florus jogged over as soon as Martin and the commander's man had reached the interior courtyard.
"Anything in mind?" Martin gasped as he dodged a nasty looking red sword. Florus grinned savagely.
"You aren't going to like it." The archer fired reinforced arrows directly into a dremora's face, eyes full of satisfaction as the growling daedra fell to the ground in a heap.
"What is it?" Martin grumbled, shooting bolts of chain lightning into the never-ending stream of daedra.
"Unless those doors are warded it won't matter how reinforced they are. A metal bar has nothing on a ward and you're the only mage we have," Florus explained.
Martin scowled, glaring at his fellow Imperial as a brief lull in fighting gave the two a chance to breathe.
"You're right, Florus. I don't like it."
The priest took a deep breath as he considered Florus' suggestion. The archer was correct that a strong ward would hold off the daedra longer than the blackened iron bars they had ready to reinforce the doors. The only thing stopping Martin was his low level of magicka. He wasn't sure he had the energy to cast a strong enough ward on the door. But if he did… They had to hold off the daedra until help could arrive. There was nothing else for it. Martin glanced at Florus.
"I need you to cover me again. All my focus has to be on the doors if this is going to work." His words were nearly lost in the din of battle but Florus nodded.
"On the count of five, be ready to start casting," the archer ordered, facing the daedric forces.
One.
Martin breathed in, focusing his magicka, pooling it in his center and willing it to regenerate.
Two.
He felt the familiar tingle in his veins as he began to gather energy for the ward.
Three.
Exhaustion began seeping into his limbs as his hands gained a blue glow.
Four.
An arrow whistled past his ear, but Martin barely registered the breeze it caused as he closed his eyes.
Five.
The blue glow in his hands exploded outward and hit the thick wooden doors of the chapel. Within moments the doors resembled a miniature blue star as they absorbed the waves of magicka being thrown at them, waves of excess blue slowly seeping into the surrounding stonework. Martin forced himself to ignore the pounding in his head and the sweat dripping down his neck. His fingers burned like they were being dipped into a fire, the raw flow of magicka stripping the flesh from his digits. Just a little more. He thought, forcing himself to use every ounce of his power. The ward had to work.
Martin felt a sharp pain in his thigh but refused to waver as he neared the end of the spell. The door changed from glowing blue to a bright and searing white that traveled across the building as, with a final cry, the ward was put into effect. The priest stumbled as the flow of magicka in his body was suddenly cut off. All of his remaining magicka burned through his limbs as it refused to settle. The best comparison Martin had was how the tongues of flame licked up a piece of wood, biting away at the fibers. His magicka was similarly biting at his body from the inside as it was forced back into his core. Jin would surely have his head later. The thought nearly had him crying with relief.
As the pain in his chest and gut faded, a new pain made him look down at his legs. An arrow was sticking out of his upper thigh, just shy of his femoral artery. He glared down at the offending object before calling out to Florus, who was gleefully shooting his remaining arrows into the hissing mass of daedra.
"It's done! We need to get inside with the rest of the guards!"
At his words, the last of the men rushed to the doors, pushing them open. The magic fueling the ward made their hands tingle, even as they let go and were pulled past the entryway and into the narthex by the other guards. Anxious murmurings replaced the screeching of daedric laughter and for a moment, Martin shamefully wished for the latter, if only so he could do something to silence it and reassure the people huddled in scared clusters around the nave and transept.
All around was evidence of the battle. Refugees huddled together, with children being guided to the center of each cluster. The cries of babies were an uncomfortable backdrop to the screams and moans coming from the injured. Already, guards were placing more objects in front of the door, trying to block it even further. The hum of the shrine was faint but still noticeable to Martin, who had spent the last ten years beside it. Some of the younger priests and acolytes sat with the older children, telling them stories while their parents and grandparents soothed infants and toddlers. Martin didn't want to think about how few refugees there were in comparison to the city population.
Father Garth stood at the head of the ambulatory with a handful of guards and priests. As he and Florus walked, or in Martin's case, limped, to join him, Martin saw Jin and Oleta working furiously to stem the bleeding in a woman's flank. The golden glow of Oleta's magicka illuminated the salves and poultices Martin had only ever seen Jin use on scraped knees and bloody noses. He had never thought to see them used on anything worse than a deep cut from a tool. Oh, how realities can shift in mere moments. Garth looked up as the two men approached. Relief softened the harsh lines etched into his face as he nodded to his companions before stepping down to greet the two battle-weary men.
"Thank Akatosh you're alive yet." Father Garth pressed each man's forehead to his own in greeting. He pulled back and the softness faded into grim determination.
"Status report."
Florus spoke first, voice hoarse but level.
"The daedra have completely overrun the city. The other guards closest to the gates will have done what they can to get citizens out but until they can reach us, we're on our own. We have gathered all of the refugees that could be found and brought them here."
"I've used my remaining magicka to place the strongest ward that I could on the building. As long as it holds, nothing with intent to harm us will be able to enter here," Martin continued, ignoring the ache and burn of his hands at the mention of the ward. He would deal with it later, once everyone else had been seen to and they were free of this place.
"Then we will do what we can to fortify the rest of the building and assist the healers in any way that they require," Garth declared, earning approval from the remaining guardsmen who were eager to have something to do. As the soldiers dispersed, Martin clasped arms with Florus once more, the blond Imperial smiling tiredly at the priest.
"Once this is over, we should get a drink sometime," he offered.
Martin was surprised as a deep belly laugh escaped him.
"I'd love to, as long as you aren't a clingy drunk."
Florus guffawed, playfully shoving Martin before walking after the other guardsmen. Garth watched in fond amusement before clearing his throat. Martin's sharp grey eyes snapped to his face immediately. The younger man stood patiently as he waited for Garth to speak.
"Martin, I want you to get that leg treated before you do anything else."
The priest made to protest but was stopped by Garth's raised hand.
"If you think for a second that I will believe you saying that you're fine then you have another thing coming. Jin would have my head if I let you wander around with a damn arrow in your knee!"
"It's in my thigh, not my knee," Martin grumbled.
"Congratulations, now go to one of the healers and if I catch you scampering around before that is taken care of I'll make what Jin does to you look like a pleasant dream," Garth threatened, unimpressed with the younger man's glare.
Martin sighed.
"Yes, Father," he acquiesced.
"Thank you, Martin. I know that you would rather be helping heal but by letting others heal you, you are making yourself fit to help more people in turn. Give it time and you will be right back to puttering around, annoying Jin," Garth grasped Martin's arm comfortingly.
The younger man felt a brief warmth from the kind, if stern, words. Garth was right. One didn't live as long nor rise in ranks as he had, without possessing wisdom. He just wished that he could have avoided the arrow entirely. Oh well. Every wound is a lesson in its own way, I suppose. Now if only he could avoid letting Jin know that he'd been shot. That would be the true miracle. Martin dipped his head in parting, and began looking for a healer that wasn't quite as swamped with patients.
As he passed back through the narthex, the priest heard a small voice that he recognized as one of the children that had asked for stories that morning. It feels like eons have passed since dawn and yet the sun has yet to finish setting.
"What do we do now?" The child murmured, their mother clutching them fiercely to her chest.
Martin's chest ached at the confusion and fear in the little one's voice. No child should have to experience this. It was wrong. All of it. The child's mother smoothed their hair, kissing the little girl's temple softly.
"We wait, dear one, and pray to Akatosh. Help will come, I know it," her mother whispered confidently, her eyes looking at everyone and daring them to say otherwise.
No one did.
The light faded, leaving Lumi blinking her stinging eyes rapidly. All around her, bruised men and women wearing the Kvatch wolf stared at her in shock. Or rather, she noticed, at the space behind her. The last Oblivion Gate was closed, leaving a huge patch of scorched earth in front of the entry to the city. A familiar Imperial rushed over, relief practically radiating off of him in waves.
"Hey, Savlian," Lumi waved, causing one of the straps on her bracer to shake wildly. I'll have to fix that.
"You absolute, ice-brained idiot," Savlian growled out, examining her for wounds. "Waltzing into an Oblivion Gate? You have to be the most foolish Nord I've ever met."
"It's good to see you, too," Lumi joked, bones aching underneath her torn armor.
Savlian looked her dead in the eyes, anger melting away. She was shocked as he pulled her in for a fierce hug.
"Thank you, we were starting to lose hope that you would make it. Now that you're back and the gate is closed, we can start moving on the offensive," he whispered, grinning tiredly at the frazzled Nord.
Lumi nodded, returning the hug for a few moments before they both stepped back. She fiddled with her bracer while watching as the Imperial turned to face the remaining guards, who had gathered nearby and were watching them.
"The gate is down! This is our chance to launch a counterattack!" he shouted, voice echoing across the hill. The guards cheered, faces full of bloody grins that made Lumi glad to be on their side. Savlian turned to look at her, voice quieter.
"I know it's too much to ask, but I need you with us. You've got far more combat experience than most of these men. We've got to move quickly, before they have a chance to barricade the city gate. What do you say?"
Lumi rolled her shoulders, pushing the ache in her muscles aside. There would be time to let her body complain later. For now? She grinned.
"Let's do this."
Savlian nodded, turning back to the gathered guards. He lifted his sword high into the air.
"For Kvatch!" he screamed, running to the gate.
Lumi charged after him, feeling a new strength flow through her limbs. Behind her, she could hear the guards cheer war cries as they joined the two leading the way. Together, the company ripped open the doors and raced into the city.
She was momentarily shocked as the company entered Kvatch. Everything was flaming rubble and for a second, Lumi was back in Helgen. A dragon roared and Hadvar's panicked eyes looked at her pleading face as a woman's harsh voice cried out unforgivingly.
'Forget the list! This one goes to the block.'
Lumi shook her head, blinking away memories of a headman's blood-soaked axe falling to the ground inches from her face. Now wasn't the time to think about the past.
"Nord, duck!" A female voice shouted behind her and she immediately fell to the ground. A fireball flew over where her head had been, making Lumi curse as she felt the heat ripple past overhead. She needed to pay more attention to her surroundings. Turning back to nod at the guard who had saved her life with the warning, Lumi rose to her feet. Another guard was struggling to fight off a daedroth nearby, calling out for help as they began to be overwhelmed. Lumi rushed over, unsheathing her swords.
The daedroth roared as it swiped, dagger-like claws ripping through the air. Each strike tore into the shield that separated the guard from certain death, taking chunks of wood and leather with it.
"Hey, you snaggletooth milk-drinker!"
A crocodile-like face snapped toward Lumi as she shouted at the daedroth.
"Yeah you, you mangy piece of scale-rot!"
The daedroth growled, stepping over the trembling guard to face the nord woman. That's it. Come to me, not the guard. With careful movements, she stepped away from the guard, luring the daedroth and incensing it further with each insult. By some divine intervention, no other daedra tried to attack her, allowing Lumi to focus on the monster in front of her. She watched as the guard shot her a grateful look and stood up, raising his battle axe determinedly.
"You're a real minnow, aren't you? Too scared to fight a Nord?"
That seemed to do it, as the daedroth hiss-roared and charged for her, claws outstretched. Lumi grinned, teeth glinting sharply as she rolled to the side. A light sting on her shoulder told her that she had not fully escaped the beast's claws but it didn't matter as she pushed her twin swords up and into the softer underbelly of the scaled daedra. It screeched with pain as blood welled from the deep tears in its hide. The creature turned to face her and screeched again, swiping at her in a noticeably slower attack than before. She bit back a smirk as the guard's axe pummeled its back and neck. Together, the pair sliced at the daedra relentlessly before it finally fell with an aborted hiss.
"Thanks for the help. Thought I was a real goner there!" The guard laughed before diving back in to help another fight.
All around her, similar battles played out, the guardsmen fighting with a renewed fervor. At the head of it, Savlian stood tall, swinging his longsword like a man possessed. Soldiers rallied to him with every passing second as more and more daedra fell to their blades.
"For Kvatch!" a female guardsman screamed, slamming into a clannfear and sending it flailing back.
"For Kvatch!" Lumi shouted, throwing herself back into the battle, determination filling her.
They would win this.
"Do you want us to flush them out, my lord?" A lesser dremora looked up at their leader. The imposing figure of a giant, armor-clad dremora lord stared ahead at the now sealed chapel, bow at his side. Imps, clannfear, atronachs, and other daedric forces scattered themselves across the square and courtyard, searching the ruins and rubble for any living stragglers to finish off. His own handiwork was visible in the thick, black arrows poking out of several corpses. The lord bared his fangs in a mockery of a smile, red eyes blazing like twin suns. The lesser dremora felt a cold shock of fear and grinned back at his lord. Thank Dagon the general was on his side, he thought. His sharply-cut face turned in the direction of the castle.
"Let the rats burn in their stone huts. I have more important targets."