{ === + === }
Allllrighty.
So. It took us a day to reorganize the armies properly and begin our march onto Whiterun.
Problem: it took us a day to reorganize the armies properly, and there's this thing in front of Whiterun called a 'river'. In short: Oh shit a bridge.
The time it took for us to unfuck ourselves allowed the Stormcloaks to dig in on the opposite side of the river. While they have no siege equipment to really make our day worse, the fact that they control the riverbank with emplacements (however temporary) doesn't do us any favors.
We could go around, but that adds precious days and honestly doesn't make our situation better: the river flows from west of Whiterun to the east. The current part (the part in front of the city) is, y'know, a real river. Swimming it is possible but, again, Stormcloaks. The west side runs along the plains and has multiple crossing points, buuut, again, Stormcloaks. Also parts of those crossings are kinda whitewater, so fording it would be slow and would shatter cohesion. The east side is definitely Stormcloaks, plus there's another bridge, so going that way is remarkably silly.
…in retrospect the emplacements were probably built over a period of time longer than a day. But I get to feel superior and blame Orson like this, so it works out.
We're sitting here watching our archers do some skirmishing so we can cross the river. Notably, Stormcloak archers are not returning fire, and I'll bet my foot the bridge has been mined with magic. The rest of the troops are arranged in assault formations, ready to break through (read: die) at any moment.
"You could just jump the river." T'Mare notes as we watch the fighting since we're not at the front of the formation. "Would make it go a lot faster."
It would. "Trying not to do that right now." Our superhuman abilities are good aces in the hole. Like…real world history does indeed have a track record of monarchs rewarding good fighters with land and incentives to stay around. Real world history also notably lacks enchanted items of a Charm nature, so…yeah. I'm probably overthinking this, but I'd really like to avoid making a berserker-only reputation and then having our reward be an enchanted circlet of mind control.
Anyhoo…the arrows cease and oh god that's not smart
Imperial heavy troops lock shields and advance. A team of battlemages embedded into the ranks put up wards. Stormcloak defenders put arrows into the shields but do preciously little. The soldiers make their way half way past the bridge. Additional troops start marching onto the bridge.
Oh, it wasn't trapped. Well, good thing nobody took my bet.
The Imperial Armor continue moving across the bridge, and at the last moment, right before closing into the Stormcloak defenders, they break the shieldwall and charge.
The Stormcloaks are not nearly as armored, so they get pushed back…a lot. Wow they're getting pushed back.
Seeing this, the imperial commanders order more troops forward.
They're putting their best foot forward with regards to this attack: the levies and mercenaries are kept pretty much to the very back. I guess they wanted the shock?
As the reinforcements cross the halfway point and start merging with the front, the Stormcloaks firm up their line and the fighting starts to stalemate.
…This feels like a trap.
The imperial commander, now seeing the tide turning, calls his cavalry to him and, with the General's permission, charge into the fray as well.
Yeah, this is definitely a trap.
The Stormcloak battlemages make their appearance and take out scrolls.
Fuuuuck this is a trap.
The Stormcloaks cast fireball.
JESUS
The fireballs hit and easily overwhelm the Imperial battlemages' wards through sheer numbers and impact the Imperial Armor. Damage-wise the effect was minimal, but the shock and weight of the bombardment tears the formation in tatters, and the more heavily armed Stormcloaks cut into the breach with savage efficiency.
Yiiiikes. The rear of the formation has reformed and are retreating under heavy magic and arrow bombardment, but they do cross the bridge and return to our side. The Stormcloaks, having scored an overwhelming victory, reform their lines and watch and wait.
That was…about two hundred people? A big chunk of Army One just got eaten.
Notably, Orson's Uncle doesn't seem fazed, just annoyed, so I guess that means he expected this? Hmm. Still, a sizable loss for no real gain.
…
Two hours later, round two!
Orson's taking command, and he has his personal cav, a line of Imperial Armor, and us mercs behind him. For some rather obvious reasons, most mercs are not happy with the arrangement.
I've only tasked myself and Jake for this, the rest of Warwolf are to standby as needed.
"Rip and tear?" Jake asks with a grin.
"Rip and tear."
The Imperial Armor advance forward, and we, the two of us, follow very closely behind. Orson's in command and he's not really giving commands, so…nobody seems to mind.
Seriously, I think the uncle's trying to get him killed.
…
Halfway across the bridge.
The enemy position is split into two zones, more or less. The forward zone is a mix of static defenses of wooden walls and stakes, defended by dudes with two-hander axes. The back zone is carts and crates, and the mages and archers use them to get a good vantage point to shoot.
I should also point out that the bridge is not exactly long by any means: from where the stone paving starts, I'm thinking it's maybe around fifty meters or so? This is one of the narrower parts of the river, after all.
Still, it's fifty meters of engagement and as we arrive near the far side of the river, the Stormcloaks open up with arrows and fireballs. Not even bothering to bog us down this time.
Aiight.
"Jake, you're up." I tap him on the shoulder. "Bless." Applying effects: Calm, Fury, Courage, Barrier, Protect.
Barrier: Warwolf special, the mix of wards and -skin spells.
Protect: Cyrodill special: essentially bonus hitpoints. In Oblivion it raised your armor, much like -skin.
"Ready whenever." He levels his greatsword.
"Break in on the left." I say and start focusing mana. "Three, two, one…go."
We are in no way being subtle about this, by the way.
…
[3rd Person Camera]
…
Upon hearing the signal, Jake suddenly charges past the line of Imperial Armor off to his left, striding onto the low stone barriers the bridge has for railings, he pushes off and sails clear past the ten feet or so of open space between the bridge and the shore. Flanking him are two massive and scary looking pillars of ice.
The ice pillars, faster than Jake, slam into two pieces of wooden walls and explode with tremendous force, snapping the walls at the base. Jake, taking the opportunity, charge into the breach with his greatsword and start running and cutting.
Understandably, pandemonium reigns in the Stormcloak lines. Jake, knowing full well that his perks are less than ideal in an environment where he has to fend off multiple targets, keeps himself on the move. Always picking single targets and staying close to the back line, he hacks away at the archer's weapons if possible, the mage's arms if he must, all the while dragging his sword against every possible object to make incredible noise and draw near total attention.
The Stormcloaks, dealing suddenly with a very loud and dangerous sounding threat behind them and the impending wall of Armor before them, are understandably confused and flustered at this development. The Imperial armor, taking the advantage, slam into the Stormcloaks and, as before, cut deep into their ranks.
This time, however, the cavalry is on site to begin with rather than arriving at the tail end of a very deep formation. They pick openings in the defenses and drive through the Stormcloak ranks, creating massive gaps for the Imperial infantry to dig in and chew.
A roar from the imperial side of the camp signals the incoming of reinforcements, and both Stormcloaks and Imperials push the breach as hard as they can, so that their side can have the biggest advantage once the fighting is properly joined.
Jake, for his part, found a Stormcloak captain squarely in his sights and, making himself the biggest target possible, beeline for the man.
The captain, seeing the thorn in their side charging directly at him, order his men to make some room and draws his greatsword. Jake, coming in at a full sprint, aims a nearly flat slash to maintain momentum. The captain counters with a parry, intent on forcing the incoming attack further towards the sky.
Jake's blade cleaves through the sword, the captain's armor, the captain, the shield on his back, and, with Jake leaning into his momentum to spin and deliver another slash, three of the soldiers near the captain, gear and all.
Jake's sword, a stubborn and hefty frankensteiner of a combination of (what Ash believes are) titanium, tungsten, mithril, and copious amounts of magic, can be provided with magic to artificially increase the 'weight' of the sword. This bullshit capability allowed it to keep an edge and speed of a lighter weapon while having the force equivalent of a concrete telephone pole.
The increased weight also makes recovering from swings something only Jake can do. With but a moment of magic right before making the first swing, Jake's entire second swing was just him recovering from the sheer momentum of the weapon as the magically-gathered kinetically energy bled off.
Regardless, the sword had done its work: eyes were drawn to the four top-halves of people that suddenly popped into the sky. Jake, now somewhat more bloodied than when he started, takes the opportunity to disengage and return to the allied side.
…
[1st Person Camera]
…
Nice.
With Jake back (to avoid accidental ally hits), we merge properly with the Imperial front line and push. The Stormcloaks inherently lack the training for a symmetric fight even if they have the equipment and position for it, so after the Imperials overcome the hideous defensive position of the bridge, the fighting becomes straightforward and stubbornly in our favor.
A short while later, the Stormcloaks pack up and fall back to their second defensive line. They retreat behind the moat in front of Whiterun, overwatched by defenders on the walls. The Imperial Cavalry gives some chase, but the Stormcloak cavalry heads them off before they could do any significant damage, and honestly the suburbs outside the city would have to be cleared house by house before a true attack can be made anyway.
With that, we've crossed the river, and are reforming our ranks.
To recap, the city of Whiterun does have buildings outside of its walls (aside from the in-game Stable). It is mostly logistical with some housing thrown in, so the density isn't very high. Also, there exists that semi-permanent Khajiit camp, but for the most part it's sufficiently out of the way to be a nonfactor. Most of it is far enough away from the walls that they provide no cover against defenders on the walls, and the ones that could be useful hardpoint have already been either pulled down or set on fire.
…The fact that we have to basically start urban fighting as soon as we get close is a problem, though.
…Also, not 'we'. 'we', the Army that Warwolf is attached to, is detaching to hit the enemy fortress. Once the main army reorganized after crossing the river and the house-to-house clearing had begun, Orson separates his army off from the main force as planned.
So we're going. To our left, Whiterun, and the farms that sit at its foot. To our right, Whiterun's fishing industry (ish), the river, various houses, and the river. It's a very pretty river, not gonna lie. Back when I still lived in the Clover and when I had downtime I'd take the girls out and go swimming. Now, it's cold as shit, so instead of people swimming there are instead Stormcloaks on boats. We're too far away for them to be of any danger to us, but the fact that we're constantly in danger of having fifty-odd dudes just flank us as we set up for an attack on the fortress is not ideal.
In any event, we throw some archers for skirmishing against the boats and advance onto the fortress, and we arrive at its gates about two hour later. The fortress…it's the one that's northeast of the city in-game, and one that I basically only ever visited, like, once, in all of my playthroughs. The gates are shut and I imagine it's just bigger than it is in game. I have no reference for this thing.
The fortress, by local standards, is pretty small: it has only one…turret? The part of a castle that looks like a rook. It's got one turret on top of what I believe it's the gatehouse, over the gate. The rest is just wall. I think pieces have fallen off. It's not a very particularly high wall, either…even without special skills we can probably scale it just by providing a boost to the climber.
The walls of the fortress are sporadically populated with archers, and there are Stormcloak cav outside the walls. Close enough that we can see them, but far back enough that engaging would be dangerous to our cav. In a nutshell, this sucks.
We don't even know how many troops are inside the fort, either: they could have all left and we would have no way of telling whether if they'll be
A horn sounds behind us
Motherfucker
…
[3rd Person Camera]
…
Stormcloaks, masters of asymmetric and guerrilla warfare tactics as they were, had done one very simple thing: they took refuge in the houses and storerooms that would have made up the livelihoods of the fishermen, hid their weapons and armor, and simply waited for the Imperial army to pass through before dressing back up and giving very slow, deliberate chase. As the attention of the second imperial army was focused entirely on the Stormcloaks on the river, nobody noticed the substantially larger, if separated, ground force.
As such, once the Imperial army arrived at the fortress and became boxed in almost immediately. The fortress itself had a skeleton defense, but the doorway was littered with debris and spells, Runes of the exploding kind. Between the fortress's size and ability to project power via the 'threat' of having more troops, the cav, the ambush forces, the Imperials were in a bad way.
Or, at least, until Jake jumped like a hundred feet into the air.
"Alright, yeah, the fort's just got the guys on the wall." Jake says loudly as he lands. "We don't have to worry about it."
"My thanks, Warwolf." Orson says. "Infantry! About face and form ranks! Warwolf, take over the fortress."
Ash frowns. "Alright. Jake, we're up."
The heavy imperial infantry moves to form ranks in front of the Stormcloak troops on the rear as the cavalry reforms to face, if not necessarily engage, their Stormcloak counterparts. Warwolf moves to the new rear of the formation, facing the fortress.
"I mean, what you see on the wall is kinda what you get?" Jake says with a somewhat doubtful tone. "There might be extras to make the fort seem more populated than it is."
"Would make sense." Ash says and starts to focus. "Alright. Warwolf, here's the plan. Jake's team will break through over the wall on the left side with archer support. I'm going to break through the front entrance. Remember to disengage if things get dicey."
"Aye aye." Erik readies the rest of the group. While Orson did say 'Warwolf', as Warwolf was given command over all of the hired mercenaries, Erik was thus leading all the mercenaries not attached to Jake or Ash. "Going on your signal."
"Aiight." Jake draws his sword and also start to focus.
"Ready." Erik and the T-sisters all focus as well, and cast barrier (ward+skin) on themselves. "Allies, stay close, we'll keep you safe." They ready their own swords as well, with minor grumbling from the ones that tend to be less sword centric.
"Aaand…" Ash readies his arms in front of him, palms towards the Fortress gate. "Go." A bullet of fire discharges with a reverberating shockwave. It closes the distance to the door hideously quickly, and slams into it with surprising physical force. "Advance!"
"Magic really shouldn't sound like that." One mercenary mutters as they start marching towards the fortress, having been well outside arrow range until now.
As they close into range, Jake raises his arm and makes a fist. Ash casts Bless on him and his squad. Jake then gives the order, and his squad of a dozen men break into a full charge. They arrive at the wall well ahead of everyone else and, given that the walls are more or less scalable, jump and grab onto the wall and pull themselves up in one swift motion. A few eats arrows, but the shots bounce off of their magical defences, to the extreme surprise of both the attackers and the attacked.
Except Jake, who just clears the wall in one leap and starts laying into the archers with the flat of his sword.
"Is everyone in Warwolf like that?" One young mercenary asks Erik. "I mean, that dude can fly." He points to the Jake who, at the moment, was in the middle of his anti-gravity jump.
"Ash and Jake are special." Erik says with a light laugh as he bats an incoming arrow with his sword. "I advise using them as references rather than comparisons for us normal folk." He bats another one, his eyes glowing with a light purple hue.
You're not exactly normal either. A few of the mercs think. Their advancement is slower, more measured, and thus subsequently drawing more fire. No magic, though: all of the Stormcloak's available magic assets were reserved for defending the city.
"Well, that makes things easier." Ash says, a bit disappointed at the lack of incoming fire damage. While Jake's team wreaks havoc on the walls, he and the ground team arrive at the gate. "Yeah, that's trapped." Ash says with one look at the short hallway of debris and vaguely visible bits of rune here and there. He draws more mana, then incinerates the debris in the hallway with a plume of flame. A few seconds later, various explosions can be heard from the hallway. "It's probably safe now."
"Probably, he says." Erik sighs. "Alright, first unit, we're going in." He charges into, and through, the hallway without much hassle. It wasn't a very long hallway to begin with. Once through, his group starts attacking the walls opposite of Jake. In reaction, pockets of soldiers start appearing from the gate into the fort's keep, and engage the remainder of the mercenaries.
"Remaining units, get into the building and secure the fortress." Ash commands as the fighting stabilizes. Taking a moment of freedom, he targets the gate and rams it down with an oversized ice spear, then following up with blasts of fire into the unlit interior of the keep. "Breach and enter!"
"By your order!" T'Ma grins in a very feral, Jake-like way. "Break and enter, lads! Keep to pairs and wipe 'em out!"
…
Following this, the fighting becomes straightforward. Having lost the bonus that the fortress and its archers confers, the Stormcloaks fighting the main Imperial army are thus forced into a standard symmetric fight. As Stormcloaks are subpar at these kinds of fights, they stay and duke it out for about ten minutes or so and then break off. Notably, the cavalry stayed and fought for much longer than needed in order to give the infantry more time to break off.
As before, the Stormcloak cavalry proved itself notably superior to their Imperial counterpart, and the Stormcloak soldiers retreated while keeping most of its strength intact. Thus, with the objective achieved, Orson reorganized his army to return to the front lines while keeping a garrison and his cavalry at the fortress.
As they travel, Orson motions for his aide. "How's Warwolf?" He asks in a low whisper.
"They live up to their reputation, and then some." The aide whispers back. "The vice-master in particular seems to be significantly more powerful than the rumors suggested."
"The mage…" Orson's gaze falls on Ash. "Elaborate."
The aide nods. "From what we've gleaned in Markarth, he's very skilled at everyday magic and backline support. However, today, he's shown a power on par of master-rank destruction and alteration mages." He scowls. "The difference is staggering."
Orson thinks on it for a second. Following the Oblivion Crisis, the Empire's Mage Guild was dissolved, with the College of Whispers and the Synod officially taking over. The Arcane University remained in name, but the loss of the supporting guild turned it into a little better than a research library. The Aldemari Dominion did re-establish the Mage Guild, ostensibly under independent leadership, but everyone knew who they answered to. Between all of that and houses of nobility, aspirations of nobility, or just in possession of a ton of money, magical talent for the army was hard to come by.
Assuming the talents in question did not lie about their skill, Journeyman mages could expect to be scouted by every noble house the instant they walked into a city. Expert mages would be wined and dined for weeks on end. Double Journeymen could sell their time for a significant fortune, and Double Experts would be showered with their pick of titles, prestige, and more than enough money than they knew what to do with for the rest of their lives.
Masters? Freelance masters were a myth. Anybody claiming to be one was uniformly lying, because anyone recognized as a Master of a branch of magic was already in employment for a major noble house or as a significant figure of the government, to the point where anybody with recognition as a true Master would be a household name across the entire continent, so few they were.
A Double Master? Impossible. Anybody claiming to be one stopped doing so after they turn eight.
Orson keeps that note in mind. "And what of their gear?"
"Differentiated by rank, though all are of exceptional quality." The aide says. "The rank and file have standard steel weapons, and the leadership have a specially tooled piece. The guildmaster in particular is equipped with heroic presence."
"Is that so?" Orson's eyebrow flicks upwards. 'heroic presence' is their personal code for 'that kit will take a substantial amount of money or effort to obtain'. "And their mage is the one who crafted it?"
"It's unknown." The aide says. "Ash has a history of being a weaponsmith, and he is one of the possible creators of the rumored Glowing Sword in Whiterun. However, we're aware that they made common journeys beneath Markarth, so it's likely that most of his equipment are artifacts from beneath the city."
Nevermind that success of that caliber is unheard of. Orson adds in his head. "I see, what else?"
"The silver-haired girl isn't with them." The aide says. "She's gone north; our eyes in Whiterun tracked them until they were out of sight."
Orson barely convinces himself to make a note. "Interesting."
…
"Sounds like they're talking about us." Ash murmurs.
"What about?" Jake mutters back.
"Our performance, our gear…" Ash says as the conversation between Orson and his Aide continues. "…sounds like they've been keeping tabs on us." He makes a face. "No surprises there, honestly."
"Aiight, so we going with the plan?" Jake says.
"More or less." Ash nods. If they've been keeping tabs on us since Markarth, then our job of getting rank and land's a lot easier than expected.
…
…
Orson's army returns to the camp without further incident.
"Welcome back." Orson's Uncle greets him. "I trust you succeeded?"
"Yes, sir." Orson salutes. "The fortress and its contingent has been scattered. The infantry still may prove to be a danger to our rear should they reorganize."
Orson's Uncle nods. "I see." His gaze turns to the walls of Whiterun. "Now we just have to do something about that."
A mischievous grin spreads over Orson's face. "About that, I have a suggestion…"
…
[1st Person Camera, Next Day]
…
I'm doing what now?
We've been called to the commander's tent, along with all of the other battlemages or mages of any training in the army.
There's about a hundred of us, with roughly forty being of mercenary affiliations. We're currently all standing at parade rest outside the tent. In front of us is a table with little wooden blocks and flags to denote Whiterun's defenses and our forces. Arrayed before us is Orson's Uncle, his entourage, and Orson.
"As I noted, we're on a short schedule." Orson says. "As such, we're going to bombard the gatehouse of Whiterun with all of our magic and then make an assault with infantry and climbing gear." He smiles. "To that end, high-end destruction magic would be preferred." His smile turns a little sinister. "There will be a reward for those who do well." Prettty sure he's meeting my gaze. Hrm.
One mage raises his hand. "What are we expected to do, sir?"
Orson rolls his eyes.
LOL
"Do what you do best and clear the gatehouse." He snaps. "That should be obvious."
Oh I shouldn't laugh. Dude's got an ego for being a fuckhead.
I raise my hand. "What's the reward?" I can tell he's expecting me to do something.
"It depends on what you can achieve." Orson's smile turns dark again. "Should you do something to clear the way of entry and force the Stormcloak surrender, we're willing to entertain some rather lavish rewards."
A little muttering from that. Hmm… "Like, say, land and title?" I ask next.
"That we can do." Orson's Uncle's...friend? I don't think he's an aide. Says. "I, specifically, can guarantee a reward from Falkreath." …and who the fuck are you? "I am Vikar, the eldest son of the Jarl of Falkreath." He grins.
…I don't remember the Jarl of Falkreath very well but I distinctly remember him as being, y'know, a bit on the young side. He'd need to have been, like, ten, to have a kid this old.
Welp. "Alright, I'll hold you to it. We'll hold you to it." All we can possibly have is his word.
So, with that, we're all dismissed and take the...slightly side step necessary to get eyes at the Whiterun gatehouse, I guess.
"Use magic, he says." One veteran battlemage mutters as he returns to his unit. "Do miracles, he says." He shoots me a pitying look as he passes.
The camp itself is far enough to be untouchable by incoming fire, but also close enough to be useful. The Stormcloaks don't have any siege equipment to mess us up, so we effectively have free rein to hit with magic as we feel the need. Assuming we can hit, obviously.
"Well, hey, a title and land sounds good." Another battlemage notes. He rallies a few of his shieldsmen friends and try to get within his magic range, shorter than arrow range, and pulls back after a few seconds. "Trying this is dumb, though."
Over the next few minutes, we see the other battlemages do some planning, but mostly just eyerolling, as we get back to the Warwolf camp and share our new mission.
"I take it you have a plan for this?" T'Mare asks. "Because this seems like the thing you were planning for." Our camp is sitting on one of the higher points of the terrain, because it makes the camp drier and easier to sleep. We have a great vantage point, plus a nice big cushion and wooden box for me to sit on.
That said. "No plan." I shrug. "This is a good opportunity, so let's see what happens." I sit, cross-legged, on the cushion. "Help me out."
"Yep." T'Mare and her other two sisters take semi-defensive positions around me, so that if I were to be shot with arrows, they would be able to respond and shield me after I take like two or three shots. Am I not paying them enough?
Anyways, since I'm now sitting and comfy, I take out my pocket notebook, flip to the page denoting Charm, cast it on myself, then close my eyes and begin to knead my mana.
Over a period of two hours, our magic starts to take hold.
With all of my time in Markarth, I've had plenty of time to brush up on my magic. I don't remember when it happened, but at some point my fundamental understanding of magic shifted to regard magic as 'an alternate power that leads to a physical reaction'. Fire? Magic into physics. Ice? Physics. Lightning? Definitely physics. Calm? Fury? Courage? Biology, but physics.
To that end...the most common usage of magic in a combat setting is to simply use it to generate energy. Thus it follows that magic which affects the molecules and atoms that make up the world would be the most efficient. There's no need to create a secondary effect, just energy.
Unfortunately, there's a fundamental difference between having an academic understanding of the world as a world of molecules and atoms...and actually perceiving it that way. Thus, I basically have to charm myself into a trance in order to do magic on this level and not have the cost be astronomical.
But, once all of the preconditions have been cleared...
…
[3rd Person Camera]
…
As the two hours pass and Ash sits stock still, Jake, with one glance at the sky, starts chuckling. "Hooohoholy shit."
Everyone sees what he saw: the clouds have started to swirl over Whiterun. Rolling, billowing clouds, seemingly being pulled from the edges of the world. All the clouds of sky, being drawn over Whiterun, spiraling and darkening ominously.
T'Mare snaps around to stare at Ash. Ash, his eyes still closed, was now emitting magicka from every pore of his body, in concentrations so dense that the blue wisps of power were faintly visible. "Ok, what the fuck?" She says in a low tone to Jake, completely abandoning her semi-defensive position. "Has he always been able to do that?"
Jake, having had a significant hand in writing the documentation on the magic in question, winks at T'Mare. "It's not done until it hits."
An hour later, and the dense clouds start to coalesce, and even the most unassuming observer could see that they were starting to swirl faster and become even more dense. The ones close to Warwolf could tell based on how much they were concentrating upon Ash that he was the cause, and their eyes keep flitting between Ash and the sky.
"So…uh…" Erik laughs nervously. "Is he gonna be ok? 'cuz that looks like bad news."
At this point, the magicka discharge from Ash almost looks like a flame, and he, now with his eyes open, had a rather pained expression on his face. As the onlookers watch, he raises his arm in front of him, palm open towards the swirling sky, and the discharge lessens slightly.
"So, what's going on over there?" Orson asks his advisor about Ash, the fact that he seems to be on fire, and the apparent end of the world above their head.
The advisor, a little bit lightheaded, takes a moment to compose himself. "That mage is using an impossible amount of magicka. To the point where it's negatively affecting his control. I guess he's in charge of the sky."
"I assume from your tone that this is wildly abnormal." Orson says. He's never seen magic on this scale before, but his experience would say that a force that can move the clouds to that level would cause high winds for anyone who can see the formation, yet...the camp was perfectly fine. "Should we be taking cover?"
"I...have no idea." The advisor says flatly. "But I assume caution would be warranted, yes."
"Alright, see to it." Orson says. As the advisor leaves, he takes a moment to muse on the scope of the spell. Well, if things go well, I think we can all afford two hours before sunlight in a siege.
As the camp comes to life and begin to secure itself against a possible magical effect, Ash was starting to lose control. He had, at this point, gathered far more power than he was capable of managing. "I guess this is it." He say through clenched teeth, and then closes his hand into a fist, and drags it down to Whiterun.
The swirling, massive rolls of dark clouds circling over Whiterun suddenly plunge downwards in a rolling column, as if the gods were intent on digging into the earth with determined fury. With a earth-shattering roar, it crashes into the gatehouse's killing zone and digs like a vengeful tornado into the ramparts. The force of the tornado causes the gatehouse to degrade, then break down entirely.
The wooden gates securing the walls rips from its hinges and sails into the sky upon the wind, to be seen a good hour later as they land and explode inside the Skyforge. The defenders on the city walls, cowering against the wind, could feel the stones underneath their feet shift and detach uncomfortably, but hold fast. Some of the soldiers, not having taken cover in time, is thrown into the air and land, at great personal injury, some distance away. The ones manning the outer walls of the gatehouse are not so lucky: the force of the spell, concentrated as it were in the killing zone, tear down the walls, the stakes, the gatehouse, drawbridge, everything.
The effect of the spell lasts a good five minutes, until it finally dissipates with an explosive finality that clears the sky into a crisp, crystal clear blue. Were it not for the fact that the entrance to Whiterun was now a mess of stone, wood, bodies and water slowly rolling into a twenty-feet-deep hole, it would be positively delightful.
The Imperial Camp, much like the Stormcloak one, stare aghast at the sheer scope of damage. The ones in the know slowly shift their gaze between the starkly different appearance of Whiterun and Ash, breathing out slowly to pace himself.
"Shit." Jake mutters to himself. "Fuckin' wind caller."
Orson's Uncle was the first one to get his bearings again. "The eight above, that's utterly absurd." He says, still a little shaky. "Form up! Form up! Assault formations!"
…
[1st Person Camera]
…
Assault formations isn't happening for a while. By the time the troops have been roused and reformed into something that can pass as a formation, the Stormcloaks have reformed their defensive lines too. Warwolf is stationed at the back, behind...behind a line of Imperial Elite infantry.
"Looks like we're MVPs for the day." Jake muses. "Nice going."
The walls still have archers though. We can probably still do something about that. Incidentally, the spell cost me about all of my stored mana, which leaves me with a full tank. With my full tank, I charm myself and start blasting out wind over the walls. Predictably, the strong winds cause the Stormcloak soldiers on guard to panic and, if not necessarily evacuate their defensive positions, then at least they take cover rather than shooting.
The moat to the gatehouse and the gatehouse itself have been filled partially with the rubble of the gatehouse, but is functionally unwalkable. Well, shit.
"Nicely done, Windcaller." Orson says from the front of the line, loud enough for me (I assume) to hear. "We can't go forward from here."
Aiight, plan B. Honestly, really should've just done this from the beginning. "Jake, plan B." We veer off the path and approach a section of the wall.
"Yep." Jake jumps up onto the wall, because, y'know, we're basically gods. "Uh, guys?" He say to the Stormcloaks up on the wall, numbers unknown from our vantage point down here. "Can you move over, like, that way? I'm gonna bring down this part of the wall."
The Stormcloaks, understandably confused, does as they're told. They snap out of it fast enough and return to engage, but at the point Jake had already descended down to the floor again.
"At some point we stopped questioning just how insane this is, huh?" T'Ma remarks.
Jake squares up to the wall. "Aiight, Ash, give it to me."
Okie dokie. "Assault Combat Action, landing in three...two..." cast. It's the effect on Jake's sword.
Jake puts on a pair of gauntlets and begins to punch the wall. With each fist, the wall reverberates until, ten blows later, a section of it collapses. Jake gets out of the way as the rubble turns into a reasonably navigable slope.
Orson's Uncle and Vikar gets together and is like 'we're definitely giving them land at this point'.
From that point, the fight is more or less over. Facing a literal fucking tornado and a man that can punch through walls, the Jarl, defending with the troops in the front lines (yay propaganda), quickly negotiates a surrender.
It's worth noting that this surrender is very similar to the one that happened after Alduuin's attack on Whiterun. That is, a defeat to a supernatural force as opposed to a traditional victory. In other words, a return to the old status quo. I imagine it was on purpose. Unlike the Stormcloak victory, the Imperial Army held a definitive advantage this time, and so the Stormcloaks were allowed to leave, but as prisoners of war to be transferred to a more strongly held Imperial location.
Much like the previous treaty, despite the...uh...Battlebeards? Grey-Mane! Wow I got that hella wrong. Despite the Grey-Manes having their patriarch on the throne of Whiterun, they were allowed to stay in the city and continue to operate like the Battleborns were before them.
The Stormcloak soldiers were sent out in medium sized groups over the next two days, where, I assume, the Stormcloak cav rescued them somewhere along the road. Again, I assume the haphazard defensive measures were due to Thalmor interference, since neither Orson nor his Uncle were happy with the arrangement.
Anyways, by doing this, the Stormcloaks managed to save their defeat from being defeated by the 'Imperial army' to being defeated by 'incredible magic', which is, understandably, significantly harder to believe and, honestly, sounds very much so like a dragon attack. Thus, there wasn't exactly a mass celebration.
That said, it wasn't as if there was an appetite for one.
As soon as Balgruuf got set back up in Dragonsreach, he called in Orson, Idolaf Battleborn, Vignar Grey-Mane, Danica Pure-Spring, other lesser nobles, and Warwolf.
"So, as you know, Whiterun is in need of some muscle and sweat." Balgruuf says with a grin. "Let's get out there and rebuild this city." He stands from his throne.
…
wait, that's it?
"Good to have you back, Balgruuf." Idolaf says with a genuine smile. "Vignar was useless."
"Speak for yourself." The ex-Stormcloak-Jarl-of-Whiterun Vignar grumbles. "Keeping the damn rabble under wraps was harder than expected." He nods over to one of his followers. "If it weren't for Thorald, keeping them in check would've been even harder." Old, grizzled Nord. Some years past his prime.
"You didn't give me much to work with." Thorald, the ex-taken-by-Thalmor Stormcloak, says. "Also, is this fine?" He asks, gesturing between himself and Orson.
"I have no idea who you are." Orson says dismissively. "Nor do I care. The Thalmor can shove their requests up their ass as far as I'm concerned."
"Hey, we have something in common." Balgruuf laughs. "Now get your boys together, we have a city to build."
…
Well, thus, everyone joins hands and rebuilds the city of Whiterun...or, at least, begin the rebuilding of the city. Balgruuf's incredible charisma and the usage of the Thalmor as the 'other' to orient the city against helps mend wounds. They're still there, but every little bit helps.
Honestly, Balgruuf's actions aren't so incredibly different from what Vignar did after coming into power, but the fact that he moved significantly faster makes all the difference.
Warwolf in specific is mostly dealing with work in the Clover district, our old haunt. We don't have a building anymore, so we just set up camp where we could find the space. I specifically do my healing business, with my best heal being Adrianne, who was injured some time before the siege and lost her left leg.
That was a fun one, not gonna lie: I had to bring in two chickens and half a pig to have the material to build her a new leg, mirrored from her right. Also, and I'm keeping this shit to myself, healing Adrianne was made rather more complex than expected due to the existence of a second source of magic in her tummy.
That aside, I also spent significant time training the Imperial Battlemages...and slowly coming to grips that, as the days pass, more and more people keep calling me 'Master Windcaller'. Which, given Skyrim lore, is a serious fucking problem. There's nothing I can do about it for the time being, but hell.
…
After around two weeks, Whiterun has been rebuilt enough to consider itself secure. The giant hole that was the killing zone has been rebuilt...ish. Part of the reason why it became a huge ass hole was because the spell compacted the dirt to levels that physics considered impossible, and physics eventually takes its due. After recovering the corpses from the rubble—about thirty people in total—I loosened up the dirt and refilled the hole. The part where we breached the wall was also repaired, though without Warwolf efforts.
With all that work either essentially done or recognized as long-term projects, the rewards for the battle could take place at Dragonsreach.
Notably, Orson's Uncle gets top credit for being the commanding officer for winning the battle, capturing Whiterun, and defeating two Stormcloak armies in the process. Warwolf gets credit for assisting 'in great effort' on those three previous points, and Orson gets credit for defeating a Stormcloak army, more or less.
The ceremony itself is held with everyone relevant in attendance dressed as well as they could per their station. Orson's Uncle, for example, is in his Imperial armor but with an extra layer of flamboyance on top. Orson's in upper class but otherwise civilian clothing, other captains are in just their armor but cleaned up some, so on, so forth…
Me and Jake are in modern parade uniforms (full black with gold shoulder pads and tassels) along with Warwolf livery. It really helps that modern male formal clothing is basically military derived, so apart from the neatness it fits in reasonably well with the surrounding environment. Small, over-one-shoulder capes always helps give that 'noble' air.
Anyways, as the rewards are announced, the person in question goes up to the small step in front of the Jarl's throne, and then get their reward from the assembled imperial army officials. The Jarl is there, but since this is technically an 'Imperial' victory Balgruuf gets to act as if he's somehow subservient to the officials present.
Eventually, it gets to our turn. "Warwolf's Jake, step forward. For your efforts in assisting the Imperial Army in the capture of the city, the army awards you the position of Baronet, as well as these gifts. The city of Falkreath awards you the title of Thane, as well as territory in the Lakeview region." He brings out a moderately sized chest. Jake salutes, receives the representative reward (an ornamental dagger), and backs down. The material reward has already been distributed to the Warwolf camp.
Also, baronet? That's a weirdly medieval term for an army that gave you the very Latin rank of Quaestor in the game.
"Warwolf's Ash, step forward." The official says next, and I step forward. "For your efforts in assisting the Imperial Army in the capture of the city, the army awards you the position of Baronet, as well as these gifts." Also a moderately sized chest, plus…scrolls? "The city of Falkreath awards you the title of Thane, as well as territory in the Lakeview region." No differences there. I salute and take the ornamental dagger. "In addition." He brings forward the silver plate with some scrolls laid on top of it. "In recognition for your arcane prowess, the Arcane University grants you the title of Honorary Instructor, and the Imperial Mage's Guild grants you the title of Honorary Warlock."
So they're split, huh? Weird.
Also, he keeps going. "You are also hereby granted the title of Honorary Warlock by the College of Whispers, the Synod, and the Aldemari University of Arcana." How high is Warlock? Also, never heard of any of them. "Finally, the Emperor Titus Mede the Second gives you his personal thanks for demonstration the advancement and power of the Imperial Military's Might and Magic.
A hero of might and magic, even.
"Lastly, Warwolf's Jake, come forward." Jake does, a little confused. "Per your elevations into nobility and in recognition of your efforts, the Imperial Family Registry shall grant you both the Family name of 'Windcaller'. Accept it with our complements."
Fuck.
We accept it and back off because that's what we're supposed to do, but...I knew the spell would draw attention given, y'know, tornado, but the fact that the information would not only leave the province, but also get back results within just two weeks was very surprising. We were being watched, fine, that makes sense.
That we're now officially being called Windcallers is significantly beyond my expectations. In retrospect, the fact that I didn't see this being a possibility was definitely a sign of my innocence with regards to factional politics. This...this puts us inside the crosshairs of Skyrim politics, because, as a reminder, the Windcaller name has significant historical weight in Skyrim.
I assume, based on my immediate, five-minute read of the situation, that this action was done by the Imperial Court outside the control of the Thalmor, because the fact that 'the heirs of Jurgen Windcaller is allied with the Imperials' is a definite swing to the Imperial army's favor in ending the civil war.
Fuuuuuuck I just want to sit and make guntrucks to kill dragons nooooooo
…
With the ceremony over, the two of us leave Dragonsreach and down the stairs.
"Alright, shit just got real." Jake says in a low tone. "I feel like I was responsible for starting that Windcaller shit."
"Nah, man." I shake my head. "If it wasn't you, it would've been somebody else. I should picked like a giant fucking space rock or something." Not that I could, but...
"This aside, we're still on track, yeah?" Jake asks. "You got like a shitton of titles, but everything else flowed like we hoped."
Honestly? I don't know. "Here's hoping."
.
.
.
{ === + === }
Author Notes:
I guess we can say that this is the end of the first arc?