Chapter 9: Defending The Empire
Frostcrag Spire...
24 Frost Fall, 4E21
Aywin pulled out a map of Cyrodiil which had been marked with red ink. Just a short distance from the gate to each town was the marking of an Oblivion Gate.
"Nine cities. Eight truly, as Kvatch was destroyed," Aywin said. "Each city had just enough support from the Imperial Legion and their own troops to defend their cities. But they had no forces to spare for any sort of counter-attack."
"But if the tales are true, there was an alliance that marched on the Great Gate near Bruma," The Khajitt said.
"There was. In order for the forces to be properly mustered, these Gates would need to be shut first," Aywin said. "At this point, only a few had sprung up. The one near Cheydinhal and the other near Bruma. But before too long, every city in the Imperium would find themselves under attack."
"But the Gates opened up in other parts of Tamriel," The Breton said. "Solstheim, Skyrim, Morrowind…"
"And the forces would have to make do without any aide. With no ruler and the resources of the empire spread so thin, sending help would just be a waste of resources," Aywin explained. "With the knowledge that our meager forces would have to take control of this situation, we adjusted our strategy as needed to meet the rising threat."
"There is growing concern in Skyrim especially because of the lack of Imperial aide," The Khajitt said.
"They forget that it was our actions in Cyrodiil that ended the Oblivion Crisis," Aywin replied.
Cheydinhal, County Hall...
6 Hearthfire 3E433
Missing was a relative term. The painter Rythe had not gone missing. He had muddled with something that he shouldn't and was currently paying the price. Unfortunately, so was Will.
Rythe was not just any painter, but he was rather a gifted painter. His wife Tivela married him because of his genius with the work. Every painting of his went beyond mere paintings. They seemed to come alive, as though each of his painting was really another world.
And, in truth, that was a perfectly accurate description.
"A magical paintbrush?" Will asked Rythe when he found him.
"Yes," Rythe said. "I use it whenever I paint. It allows me to… well, do this."
Will looked around at the painted world around the two of them. They were, both of them, now trapped in his painting.
"I came here to rescue you, so how do we get out?" Will asked.
"Well a thief stole it. One of those damned trolls grabbed it. If we don't get it back soon we'll never get out of here," Rythe sighed.
Making a mental note to never again closely investigate a disappearance, as so far it had only brought him trouble, he wandered through the painted forest. Grudgingly appreciating the level of depth and clarity with which Rythe had painted the world, making it easy to make out his surroundings, he spotted a large painted troll, carrying the cursed thing that had gotten him into this mess.
The troll had caught on to Will's presence and began to attack. Will slammed his mace into the troll and it merely bounced off his painted flesh.
"Well, that didn't work," Will grunted as he leapt out of the way of one of the trolls jabs. "Painting, huh? Hey buddy, you look like you might be a good customer of mine."
The troll turned and howled.
"Here. Try a bit of my finest turpentine," Will yelled, pulling a bottle out of his satchel and throwing it onto the troll.
In a terrible shriek the troll melted, leaving behind a smear of white canvas on the spot where he died.
"And I thought there was no market in the artistic community," Will chuckled, picking up the magical brush and returning to Rythe.
Chorrol, Mage's Guild...
7 Hearthfire 3E433
The last lap of her pilgrimage had been more than enough of an adventure for Alessia. Only now was she starting to realize why so few in number were able to complete the journey. On three separate occasions she had nearly been killed, not counting minor incidents on the road, which she was at least prepared for.
The Chorrol Mage's Guild was headed by an Argonian fellow who seemed to not have any time to waste of the likes of Alessia. This was not at all different from how she was treated in Cheydinhal and Anvil, and was beginning to wonder if the guild truly cared about new mages at all.
Perhaps so many of them perished on the journey that nobody grew too attached until they proved themselves.
Teekeeus, as the chapter head was called, folded his arms at the very sight of her.
"Let me guess. You are looking for a recommendation," Teekeeus sighed. "I'm sorry but I really haven't time to waste on amateurs at the moment."
"Amateurs?" Alessia scoffed.
"Yes, little children who like to play at magic. I have a serious crisis right now and I've no time-"
"Listen to me," Alessia said, somewhat surprised at her own nerve. "You are the last recommendation that I require to gain access to the Arcane University. I have slain the bandit on the gold road, fought off a horde of marauders with some help in Fort Blueblood and have solved more complex magical concerns that I believe a mere officiator like yourself could have expected. I am no amateur."
Alessia was expecting Teekeeus to be angry, but apparently in Argonian culture, such boasting was the only way to get anything done.
"Really?" Teekeeus nodded. "Well perhaps you will be of some use to me after all."
"For a recommendation."
"Of course," Teekeeus replied. "There has been a woman pestering me for some time now, named Earana. I want you to find out why she has come here and report back to me."
"She didn't say?"
"She does not speak with me. Her mere presence disturbs me," Teekeeus replied.
"So if I find out what she wants, you will help me?"
"I expect you to complete the matter. But if so, then yes. Be careful. Earana is a former member of the guild, excommunicated for her roguish ways."
"That will not be a concern."
Finding Earana was not the chore that Alessia had been anticipating. She was, in fact, sitting on a bench just outside the Mage's Guild, reading from a tome. Alessia could tell at once that this was the person whom Teekeeus was referring to. She wore stitched robes that seemed to have recently been removed of their Mage's Guild insignia.
"You must be Earana," Alessia said.
Earana did not bother to look up from her book. Alessia was growing rather tired of being ignored. "Teekeeus can't handle his own work these days?"
"You might say that," Alessia shrugged. "He wants to know why you are here."
"Well, naturally, I'll reveal everything then," Earana smirked, still not bothering to look up from her book.
Alessia decided that she, too, had no time for amateurs. In her mind she felt the force of a boulder, its strength, its weight, its impenetrability. Weight is relative to gravity, and gravity like any force of nature can be fluctuated, especially to the magically literate. With a sudden thud, the book fell out of Earana's hands, and when she tried to pick it back up, it suddenly weighed as much as the great stone inside Alessia's head.
"I like your attitude," Earana shrugged. She then simply raised her hand over the book and within moments it floated back into her hands. "But you're still a novice."
"I'm just here to get my last recommendation, I don't want to waste any more time with you either," Alessia insisted.
"Then don't. Why join the Mage's Guild anyways? They have such fierce restrictions and don't truly appreciate the art of magic, except that which they can regulate and confine," Earana said.
"Would you suggest I learn from you instead?" Alessia asked.
"You could do worse," Earana replied callously.
"Very well then. Enlighten me," Alessia replied.
Earana closed her book and rubbed her eyes. "You really won't go away until I tell you what I'm up to will you?"
"I'm afraid not," Alessia shook her head.
Earana rolled her eyes. "Very well. I won't get anything accomplished with Teekeeus having me followed by his lapdogs anyways. I've discovered the location of a very powerful Spell Tome and was going to study more into it."
"What is this Tome?" Alessia asked.
"It documents a powerful lightning spell called the Fingers of the Mountain. Last I heard the book was in the possession of a traveler who, for some reason, took it up to Cloud Top," Earana pointed up to the summit of the mountain, visible even over the high walls of the North Gate. "Bring the book back to your precious Teekeeus and earn your recommendation, or return it to me, and you can learn a thing about true power."
Earana picked up her book and walked down the road towards the Gray Mare. Alessia returned to the Teekeeus and explained what she had discovered.
"Fingers of the Mountain," Teekeeus shrugged. "I should have known."
"What is it?"
"As Earana said, it is a very powerful lightning spell. It has been sealed away for good reason. In the hands of an amateur mage it would bring only disaster."
"Respectfully, Earana did not seem like an amateur to me," Alessia replied.
"You don't understand, girl," Teekeeus said. "Even the Arch Mage would think twice about attempting to use such a spell. Indeed Cloud Top is a ruin because the Mage who created the spell cast it without the proper focus and… well the rest is history as they say."
"So what should I do?"
"Even Earana has her limits of patience. She will try to obtain the book first, I am sure of it. She has been preparing herself for the journey no doubt. If you want to earn your recommendation, you must go to Cloud Top and recover that spell tome."
"I thought my task was merely to inform on Earana to you," Alessia scowled.
"I said you would be expected to see it through to completion. Besides, you say you have proven yourself to be no amateur, so the journey to Cloud Top should be nothing," Teekeeus smirked.
Alessia held her finger up to Teekeeus. "Fine. But I don't hand you the book until you turn in my recommendation."
"I will be writing it as we speak. If you return alive, I will be sure to send it on its way to the Imperial City," Teekeeus said.
Imperial City, Arena...
7 Hearthfire 3E433
Back at his usual profession, Borin had fought hard over the past days and had attained the rank of Bloodletter. He found himself growing quite comfortable with the matches. He did not feel any better about ending lives, although the enemy combatants fierce attempts at his life did make it a bit easier for him.
His current opponent was a rather irritating Breton wielding a dagger and sending magical attacks whizzing past his head.
"You think your spells are gonna do you any good?" Borin shouted as he rushed around the pillars on the side moving in to get a good blow with his hammer.
Lightning shattered the pillar just above his head and he ducked down to avoid the falling rock. The Breton stopped hurling his spells. This was Borin's opportunity. He rushed in and sent a clean strike into the man's chest. He fell back against the side of the arena wall, dead.
Owyn handed him his payment that evening as they sat down in the mess hall.
"You're doing better than I thought kid," Owyn grudgingly admitted. "But don't get cocky. The fights are only gonna get tougher from here on out."
"Eh, I have faith in the kid," said the Gray Prince patting Borin on the shoulder. "He handles a hammer better than most I've seen. Even amongst other Orcs."
"Years of experience is all," Borin shrugged, biting into a large slab of venison.
"Maybe you'll take on the Gray Prince someday," Owyn remarked casually.
"Yeah," Borin chuckled darkly. "Maybe when I want my head cut off."
"Don't be so hard on yourself," The Gray Prince exclaimed jovially. "It's true, but I'm sure you'd hold your own."
Borin and Owyn laughed.
Chorrol, Chapel Undercroft...
7 Hearthfire 3E433
Azeg-Rael returned that evening to the Chapel Undercroft where Motierre awaited. Leaning down beside the "dead" body before him, he applied the antidote that he'd been given to awaken Motierre. It took a bit longer than Azeg-Rael would have liked, but after a tense twenty minutes, the man slowly awoke.
"By Sithis," Azeg-Rael cursed. "Hurry up won't you? I wish to be rid of you."
"I'm sorry," Motierre said. "Coming back to life is quite an unusual experience. Which reminds me. There was something I may have forgotten to mention."
"And that is?"
"My ancestors will view my 'revival' as a desecration of our tomb. This Undercroft is… well quite haunted, you see," Motierre's eyes grew wide as he looked over Azeg-Rael's shoulder. "Oh my! Aunt Margaret!"
Azeg-Rael turned quickly and saw the reanimated corpse of a woman. He quickly dug his dagger into her head and kicked her over.
"Come with me!" Azeg-Rael insisted.
Two more Motierre zombies were blocking their path out. Motierre picked up a nearby torch and began wildly swinging it as Azeg-Rael moved in to dispatch the first.
"Uncle Ben! You're looking worse for wear," Motierre said stupidly while flailing the torch trying to fend him off.
Azeg-Rael thrust the Blade of Woe into the back of "Uncle Ben's" head and then scowled. "Hurry up, fool, before I leave you here!" The two rushed out of the Undercroft and into the streets of Chorrol.
They stopped running only when they arrived at the Gray Mare. They looked behind them just to confirm that they were not being chased by undead hordes, and then stopped to catch their breath.
"Okay," Motierre said. "I should be able to find safe passage from here."
"Where will you go?"
"Somewhere far from Black Marsh, I can assure you of that much."
Imperial City Waterfront...
8 Hearthfire 3E433
Cierra, Methredel and R'darra walked over to the now abandoned shack on the waterfront. Cierra looked around the place for a moment.
"And you say the previous owner no longer needs this residence?" Cierra asked.
"She's found," Methredel smirked. "Permanent accommodations."
Cierra shrugged. "Furnishings included?"
"Of course," Methredel nodded.
"How much?" Cierra asked.
"2,000," Methredel said.
Cierra set down her various artifacts and opened her satchel. She began counting out her septims. "I seem to be a bit short on funds."
R'darra walked over to her. "How much do you have?"
Cierra pointed to the coins. "Only about 800."
"Hmm," Methredel sighed. "Well that won't do at all. We can't just go giving away houses."
"Perhaps one of these artifacts you are carrying will fetch a handsome price?" R'darra suggested, running her hands along Azura's Star.
"No," Cierra said.
"Well then we may not be able to strike a deal," R'darra said.
"Wait a moment," Methredel said, examining the Skeleton Key. "Is that the Skeleton Key?"
"Indeed," Cierra nodded. "Won from Nocturnal herself."
"Well then perhaps we can make an arrangement after all," Methredel said.
"I do not intend to give you the Skeleton Key."
"No, no, not give. Just, perhaps, should we require it, you would loan it to us?" Methredel offered.
Cierra smirked. "Thieve's Guild. Of course."
Methredel nodded.
"I've no objection to that arrangement. I trust my other belongings will remain safe?"
"With this arrangement you would be under the protection of the Thieve's Guild. We don't steal from our own," Methredel promised.
"Very well. It is acceptable. Let me know if you should need it," Cierra put her gold back into her satchel and handed it to Methredel.
"No need," Methredel said. "With your generous partnership I should think we will earn back our gold in no time."
Chorrol, The Grey Mare
9 Hearthfire 3E433
Saryn had her fill of Skingrad and decided it was time to move on. While her initial plans were to head south and look for work, she decided it would be better for her to move north to Bruma as there was word spreading that the Imperial Forces were preparing a counter-attack against the threat of the Oblivion Gates. She wondered if she would see Ignin again.
She stopped in Chorrol's Grey Mare for the night to catch a rare bit of rest, and when she awoke the next morning, she was delayed yet again in her journeys. An old man in the pub was drinking faster than even some of the drunkards who were still awake from the night before, and his hands were shaking with nerves. Unable to see a man in such distress and not try to help, she sat down beside him.
"Are you alright?" Saryn asked.
The man hiccupped. "No, I am not. I'm sorry, but I don't want to trouble you with my burdens."
"Your burdens are my business," Saryn said, sitting up straight and extending her hand. "Saryn."
"Valus Odiil," the man said, shakily taking her hand.
"Well, what's this problem?" Saryn asked.
"My boys. We run a farm just on the outskirts of town. But recently its been under attack by a roaming pack of goblins. My two sons left about an hour ago to try and fight them off, but I am too old to wield a weapon," he said. "I fear they will lose their lives over our silly little farm, but they insisted on fighting."
"Do you have 50 septims?" Saryn asked.
"Beg pardon?"
"I need travel money, and you need a competent warrior. Know that if you don't have enough gold, we can negotiate a reward later," Saryn said kindly.
"I haven't any gold on me now. I suppose I could sell my old mace. I can't lift the thing anyways," Valus said.
"So be it. I'll return with your sons and your farm," Saryn said calmly.
"You mean it?" Valus asked.
"Of course," Saryn nodded. "I'll expect payment upon my return."
With that, Saryn rushed out of the Mare and through the front gate of Chorrol. With her speed and knowledge of the surrounding woods, it only took her an hour to find the farm. The two young men who must have been Valus's sons were valiantly holding a horde of some fifteen goblins at bay with their swordsmanship.
Saryn was not much for close-fighting, and pulled out her bow. She took down two goblins with as many arrows in a quick volley before moving closer to get a better view. She leapt on top of the farmhouse and loaded another arrow.
"Who are you?" Asked one of the brothers.
"On your side," Saryn replied as another of her arrows struck down a goblin.
While a pack of goblins can be a devastating thing to novices or travelers, the three warriors on the field that day were two experienced swordsman and a professional archer. The goblins had no chance, but they were not alone. As the last of the goblins retreated, a large wild Ogre stormed onto the field.
"Gods!" The first brother shouted.
"Keep your distance! Your swords won't pierce his skin!" Saryn shouted.
Indeed with one large swipe of his palm, the Ogre shattered the second brothers flimsy iron sword to pieces. The two men rushed back against the borders of the farm and the first drew his own bow.
"Aim for his neck, mouth and eyes!" Saryn said. "They're the only weak points on something this massive!"
"Aim for his what?!" The brother shouted. "How can we hit that?"
He rolled out of the way of one of the Ogre's massive footfalls.
"Like this," Saryn whispered as her first arrow flew, digging itself deep into the back of the Ogre's neck.
The Ogre turned Saryn, giving her all the time she needed as he rushed towards her. With one final shot, her arrow pierced the monster's left eye, and it collapsed in an enormous heap.
"That was incredible!" The second brother exclaimed.
"You all weren't bad yourselves," Saryn said. "Now come. Your father owes me some money."
Cloud Ruler Temple
9 Hearthfire 3E433
"More Oblivion Gates?" Jauffre asked.
"Yes. They are scattered about at the moment though. Aimless, without focus. I fear before too long the enemy will begin directly attacking the towns," Aywin explained.
"I agree," Martin nodded. "What would you have us do?"
Aywin pulled out her own map of Cyrodiil and reached for a quick. She pulled out a bottle of red ink and began scribbling furiously upon it.
"They will want to prevent us from forming a reasonable counter-attack. With Kvatch destroyed, we can assume at any moment now they will launch at strike on the eight cities that remain. The attacks will doubtless be very close to one another if not simultaneous."
"Preventing us from mustering forces. We would be stuck on the defensive," Ignin said.
"Precisely," Aywin said. "But there is a way around this. We've already seen that these Gates can be closed. So as they come up, we will need to shut them down."
"I cannot be everywhere at once," Ignin said.
"You don't have to shut them down yourself, silly boy," Aywin said. "We simply need to instruct the soldiers of the town how to deal with these gates as they pop up. And I will be making my way around to these cities to tend to their gates as needed. As a Vampire, I have certain abilities which you mortals lack."
"Very well," Martin said. "Ignin, please continue to the Mythic Dawn Sanctuary and recover the Amulet of Kings. Aywin, help prepare our soldiers for a counter-attack."
"I'll start here in Bruma and make the rounds as needed," Aywin nodded, heading out of the room, past the two soldiers who had tried to bar her entrance with a bit of a smug expression.
"Baurus, keep the Blades on high alert, and prepare them to aid Bruma at a moment's notice," Jauffre said. "But our first priority is Martin."
"Of course," Baurus nodded.
Jauffre turned to Ignin. "Are you sure you can do this?"
"It's our only chance," Ignin nodded.