5th of Frostfall, 4E 965

Skyrim's Bane

Maengvor entered the city of Windhelm and looked out upon his followers slaughtering the city guard. An arrow was shot at him by an archer, and he stuck out his hand to stop it mid-flight, turned it around, and shot it back at the archer. Walking with an air of arrogance through the battle, he looked around at civilians fleeing and locking themselves in any shelter free from the destruction brought by Maengvor's forces.

"Do not kill the civilians!" He shouted. "I want the Arch-Mage found!"

Fireballs rained upon the city's protectors, and Maengvor calmly walked past the battle, with his sights set upon one particular place - Candlehearth Hall. He wanted to know where the Arch-Mage was.

Stepping into the inn, Maengvor was met by fearful drunks, raising their swords to him in half-hearted defense. Maengvor rose his hand and threw the drunks at the wall with a wave. The innkeeper stood behind the bar, looking into the eyes of Maengvor with a mix of fear and anger.

"First you come into this city, and start slaughtering people. Second you come into my inn, and disrespect my patrons with your magic. What do you want from me?" The innkeeper, who spoke with a heavy Nord accent, asked.

Maengvor stepped up to the bar and looked the Nord in the eye, and said, "Thonalf is the name, right?" The barkeeper looked surprised that Maengvor knew his name. "Tell me about who has been coming through here recently. Have you seen an old Nord - elderly - who walked around in a mage's garb and walked with the aid of a staff?"

Thonalf scowled. "I won't sell out anyone," he said, spitting in Maengvor's face as he did so.

Maengvor rose his hand and Thonalf was thrown against the wall behind him. As Maengvor closed his hand more, Thonalf felt a crushing force around his chest, and it began to be harder to breathe.

"Speak, or die," Maengvor said, his face darkening with every passing second. Thonalf seemed unwilling at first, but as the pain grew, so too did his willingness to speak.

"He came in almost two weeks ago. He was only here for two nights - didn't speak much. You're too late anyway - he's long gone." With that, Maengvor released his grip on Thonalf, and left Candlehearth Hall without a word.

Riften

The last of the Riften guard had surrendered, and were being taken to the barracks to be imprisoned indefinitely. The followers of Maengvor had successfully taken the Rift's capital, and were now in the process of taking political control over the city.

A young Nord with long, blonde hair, and a beard with a long scar running through the left cheek rose up the stairs to Mistveil Keep. The citizens were being gathered outside the Keep, and the Nord stood upon the stone to address them.

"Good people of Riften," he began, "on this day, your city's government has fallen. We have shown mercy to those who came quietly, and from this point onward we will be running this hold. I am your new Jarl, Irrondir."

The citizens of Riften looked at Irrondir, who wore a simple tunic with a sword on his hip, with some confusion. The man who stood before them was of the peasant class, and many wondered why he was being installed as Jarl.

"On this day, there is no royal bloodline that rules over you. Whether that be of the Empire, or of the now former Jarl's family - the tyranny of the elite is no more in The Rift. From now on, all citizens are given the same opportunity. If you have the power, or wit, or talent, to succeed, you will find yourself with what you deserve. No longer will there be a forgotten man, as long as one is willing to work for things. Good day, citizens - you may return to your lives." With that, Irrondir turned and entered Mistveil Keep. One of Maengvor's inner circle, Sernira, was inside waiting for him.

"Good work, Irrondir," she said with a tone of slight congratulation. "Lord Maengvor will be quite pleased with your leadership over The Rift, I believe, if you continue to listen to my advice. You do feel pleased with what has come of joining us, do you not?"

Irrondir sat in his new throne, seeming uncomfortable in its elegance. He looked to Sernira, and replied, "He did promise us that we would have a place under his leadership. Jarl of Riften is a considerable step up from what I'm used to, considering I was driven from this place when I was fourteen."

Sernira, not completely sure what he was referring to, was intrigued by Irrondir's statement that he was driven from Riften years ago. She assumed that he had found the Shrine of Malacath not long after, and wanted to find out what happened to cause that. Such would be, she decided, a venture for her to pursue privately.

As the new government got settled in Riften, panicked Imperial couriers were covertly moving throughout the city - trying to leave so they could bring news of the city's fall to the Empire. A few retired Legionnaires stared out their windows, wondering if it were possible to take back the city from the invaders.

Most people were simply afraid. They were afraid of what was to come after this day, and they were afraid of what else was going on in Skyrim.

Winterhold

Maengvor's followers were just inside the city gates when the guard started raining arrows upon them. College mages fought off some of the attackers, but the horde was much too large for them to contain.

People were starting to grow hopeless, in the intense blizzard of that day, of defending themselves from the vicious attack. The city guard, undermanned and with poor equipment, were falling left and right as Maengvor's followers stormed the city.

The College's mages, outnumbered two-to-one by the horde of darkness swarming the city, fell heavily on the defensive. Falling further back the main road, they were just holding off death when the invasion was interrupted by a deafening roar.

Everyone in the street held still for a moment. Suddenly, a red and blue scaled dragon swooped out of the sky and unleashed a torrent of ice upon Maengvor's horde, killing several. As everyone began the panic at the dragon's arrival, he stopped in the air to speak to the people.

"People of Winterhold," the dragon boomed, "My name is Odahviing. I have been called upon by Paarthurnax to prevent the fall of this city in the absence of the protector Lodiramor. Do not fear, unless you are volaan - invader - I am gro naal zin - bound by honor."

The College mages looked at Odahviing and, wary of fighting a dragon, retreated towards the college. The last few living of the city's guard too retreated, into their barracks. Odahviing was then left in the street with Maengvor's followers. Looking upon them with condescension, he growled.

"Los hi wah dir?" Odahviing asked in Dovahzul. "Or, in your tongue - are you ready to die?" Maengvor's followers, who were used to feeling invigorated as they were striking fear in others, were now starting to break as a collective. "Do you mortals even understand oblaan - to be destroyed? And yet you still face me?"

At that moment, about two-thirds of Maengvor's followers broke and fled Odahviing's wrath, as the rest stood in defiance of the storied dragon who stood before them. One of them sparked the battle by casting a fire spell at Odahviing, which he avoided with ease and flew with a ferocious intensity at the first attacker, taking him in his jaws and ripping the body apart. Maengvor's mages were strong, but they were not prepared for Odahviing, who shouted death upon them.

The College mages watched in awe as Odahviing tore apart the remaining forces of Maengvor. The ancient dragon danced around the air, dodging attacks and countering with intense frost and ice attacks - and occasionally swooped down to annihilate the mortals with his jaws.

As quickly as the battle began, it was over, and Odahviing landed on the ground, and out from the shadows crept some of the city guard, and the College mages returned to Odahviing, who stood calmly in the main road.

A nobleman appeared in the road, approaching the College mages and the city guard as they converged near Odahviing.

"The Jarl is dead," the nobleman said, solemnly. "And any of his potential successors were killed with him in the attack," he added. "There are no more invaders in the Jarl's longhouse, but there is not much left to govern Winterhold."

Odahviing turned his neck to look at the nobleman. "I will rule the City," he growled. As some of the people near him looked at him in fear, he added, "I do not plan on getting involved in much petty politicking, as is your kind's nature. I am here to fulfill what was asked of me by Paarthurnax - to protect this city until your Arch-Mage returns.

Odahviing did not stay long enough to hear objection - and the people were too fearful of the dragon anyway. Odahviing flew towards the College, and perched himself high upon the castle, looking down upon Winterhold. For the first time since the Merethic Era, a part of Skyrim was now - if only temporarily - ruled by a dragon.

Windhelm

Maengvor sat upon his new throne, in the Palace of Kings, as the Jarl lay in front of him, just barely alive. He was having fun torturing the aged Nord, as the city had already fallen to Maengvor and his followers.

"Did the Arch-Mage ever come to your court? In the past two weeks perhaps? Any meetings with your court wizard?" Maengvor asked the Jarl, who was writhing in pain on the ground after being tortured with lightning and fire magic. Burn marks now covered his left leg as he dealt with the aftereffects of being shocked repeatedly.

"No," the Jarl said, spitting out blood as he did so. "Just kill me, please." The Nord begged for death, and Maengvor stood up to walk towards the weak man.

"You want mercy?" Maengvor asked mockingly, pulling out a dagger to show to the Jarl. "In my world, there is no such thing." He kneeled down next to the Jarl, and pulled his head back by the hair. "Welcome to my world."

With that, Maengvor thrust the dagger into the Jarl's right eye, and a piercing scream erupted in the Palace. Maengvor dropped the Jarl's head, which fell to the ground and pushed the dagger further into the eye. Blood poured out onto the floor rapidly, and after minutes of writhing, the Jarl died on the floor at Maengvor's feet.

"One day," Maengvor said to the members of his inner circle who he had brought with him to Windhelm, "I'll make sure that Viator Mede will die more painfully than that. The weak have no place in my world. Someone clean up this mess - I must get back to my planning."

Maengvor stepped over the dead Jarl's bloodied corpse and exited towards one of the side rooms. In it, a map of eastern Skyrim with markings of potential entry points to Cyrodiil and Morrowind was laid on the table. Maengvor looked at it, pondering his next move. Whatever it was, he was sure the Imperial Legion would be ready to meet him at his next stop.