"Epics of Mehrunes Dagon, Volume 2
by High Chronicler Valentine Liore of the Order of the Waking Flame
Tales of Mehrunes Dagon
Since the last volume of this book did not result in my immediate death (though for the arrogance of transcribing the works of our Puissant Lord my life should have been forfeit), I have decided to recount more tales of Mehrunes Dagon. Should these written works fail to inspire or displease the machinations of the Prince of Destruction, I will once again willingly surrender to the flames of His anger when called upon to do so. May Lord Dagon show no mercy in my eventual punishment.
Let us now turn to Mehrunes Dagon's incredible prowess in battle. There are a multitude of tales that inspire no shortage of reverence for the Lord of Flood and Fire's skill. Mournhold's people remember the destruction they suffered after becoming the focal point of Lord Dagon's wrath. Instead of recounting famous past victories and harping on the well-known stratagems of our Prince, I will recount a new tale. One of battle, blood, and victory. A tale where Dagon rose in fearsome combat and freed His loyal subjects from the enslavement of Molag Bal.
Deep in the recesses of Coldharbour, a group of true believers toiled away under the watchful eye of their Daedric overseers. Their every waking moment was filled with pain and suffering but still, they knew Mehrunes Dagon was with them. They drew on the warmth of His fire and burned with the desire to enact destructive change upon their captors. None of this group of devout and far-seeing mortals expected to leave Coldharbour, but they knew that they could carry out incredible feats of sabotage and carnage if only given the opportunity. So, they wiled away their time: scheming, praying to the Prince of Blood and Destruction, and waiting for the moment to strike.
Some of the group lost faith, their resolve crumbling like hollow sea shells. Others, however, the most righteous of the group, held fast to their convictions. For their determination and devotion, they were gifted with an incredible explosion, a feat of magic that sent spasms through the ground and rattled the implements of pain out of their overseers' hands. The group leaped forward as one. Flames rose in the wake of their attack and other prisoners, seeing the success one devoted group could have against the bringers of pain, rose to join them.
Above the mortals, looming over the heads of the Daedra and the mountains of Coldharbour, was the Father of Cataclysm. Dagon swung His blades, arms blurring together with the speed and finesse of each strike. Molag Bal's fiendish tail whipped across the ground, swatting away mortals and minions in his frustration. The Princes clashed, each blow struck sending ear-shattering thunderclaps throughout the realm.
Eventually, it seemed as though Molag Bal would be victorious. The Harvester of Souls reared his goatish head and let lose a furious bray. For a second, everything fell quiet. The skirmishes on the ground ended with the enslaved lying among their Daedric overseers, hands clamped to their bleeding ears. Some unfortunate creatures nearest to where the Princes fought lay among the rubble, their bodies broken by the power of that bray.
But Dagon's true believers were not among the fallen. Instead, they opened their eyes to the heat of the Deadlands. Not only had the Most-Exalted One freed them from the clutches of Molag Bal, but He accomplished it while fighting a Daedric Prince using only a projection of Himself. And that is why we follow the Prince of Destruction."
To the east a great storm was rolling through to Windhelm, toppling leagues of mountainous stone and thundering down the cliffside. The Daedric Army was encroaching on the gray city rapidly. Their master's powerful aura stirred up a large whirling veil of snow and mist as the vapour was melted under his thundrous footsteps.
Each step was a bolt of lightning crashing down, splitting stone.
Eastmarch was nothing more than a stomping ground to the Daedra. Mehrunes Dagon had his sights set on the eastern capital. Windhelm was about to become his first example.
"If those outsiders wanna go and die for Windhelm, it's no skin off my nose." Rolff Stone-Fist laughed to Agrenor and Brunwulf as Inigo, Serana and Lucien passed them by, rejoined from their labours and ready to reach the exit.
There was a bit of unrest beneath the city of Windhelm as its citizens had great difficulty growing accustomed to the underground environment. The idle hands were complaining while the workers were finishing fixing up the dwelling space.
Elda Early-Dawn was beginning to have a change of heart the more she spoke with Suvaris and the others. As of this point in time, they all shared the common interest of riding out this storm. It was something she, and most of the others could understand. Windhelm, aside from the environmental complaints and groans of soreness and remarks of how different the world was now, seemed harmonious for the most part.
Even the citizens of Wretched Spire were beginning to fraternize with the modern folk, sharing stories of the world back in the First Era.
Stighelm was still rendered useless by the shock of seeing the ruins of his old homeland. Though, given his unusual circumstances, the Nords around him and others saw no reason to bully him for his weakness.
After all, none could relate with the man at this point in time.
Jora, the Priestess of Talos, tried to offer him consolation, as well as offered a few lessons about her Divine to the foreigners. She explained the life of Tiber Septim, who had come to be long after their time, who united Tamriel under one banner. A man made a god, with a voice to sunder the mountains.
Stighelm raised his head upon hearing that, recognizing the "voice to sunder the mountains" as the mighty Thu'um.
Vilja agreed to stay behind and care for the children, and wished good fortune to her friends as they departed. The Fighters from the Pit Arena were standing as Guards outside the door, and they allowed the trio to exit.
Inigo, Lucien and Serana were ascending the stairs leading upwards to the dungeons to join the Stormcloak army in the attempted defense of the city.
Lucien broke the deafening silence. "I've heard stories about the Oblivion Crisis since I was a boy, you know. It wasn't a nice time. The Daedra were utterly relentless. Kvatch was never the same since what happened to it at their hands. Whole city was up in flames, and walls were torn down. Oh, it was a grand disaster indeed!"
"Oh, gee, that's a comforting thought." Serana walked behind her friends with a sulk worn across her chest.
Inigo shook his head. "Well, we will do our best to make sure Windhelm will not be Kvatch 2.0!" Behind the cat's bravado was a great strain of anxiety. Were the Dragonborn with them, he would have had more confidence in this endeavour.
"Er, Inigo... I admire your confidence, and all, but I'm not quite so sure." Lucien confessed his own sheepishness about the idea.
The Khajiit did his best to reassure his friend. "It is okay to be afraid, Lucien." Any minute, any hour, any day now, Mehrunes Dagon was coming. His army was going to catch up with them. It was inevitable. They didn't know when exactly, but the coming of Rynkyus and the Bladebearers and the citizens of Wretched Spire signified that they weren't too far away.
It was only a matter of time. They prepared the best they could. They just hoped it was enough. All they had was hope at this point. There was nothing else.
The group silently traversed the darkness, and the fear was palpable. Perhaps it was time for Inigo to come out with an air-lightener. "Hey, Lucien. Do you know what's the difference between a snowman and a snowwoman?"
Lucien paused to give it some thought. His mind was occupied on so many things at the moment that he wasn't fast enough to catch it. With an anxious sigh, he responded. "I don't know, Inigo. What is it?"
Inigo threw up his hands. "Snowballs!"
That elicited some sort of response from the worried Imperial. He turned to his left and shook his head at his cat friend. "Okay, that wasn't bad."
"I do have others." Inigo shrugged as he pried open barred doors.
Serana chuckled. "Go on, then. Let's hear another. I could use a pick-me-up."
Inigo thought for a short time before they came up to the Windhelm Dungeon door. He placed a hand on it and turned around, serious at first. "Why did the tomato turn red?"
Serana smiled. "Why?"
"Because it saw the salad dressing!"
The three of them began to chuckle as they passed through the door. Inigo's jokes seemed to have successfully put them into a better general mood, at least for the time being.
"So simple, but funny." Lucien enjoyed the fact that his jokes were easy to grasp, even for the uninitiated.
When they passed the door, Inigo saw the statue of Lamae still there, blocking the entrance. A bittersweetness crept up on him when he looked at her. At the end of the day, that was one victim beyond his help.
As he crushed the skulls of Daedra, he would think of her, and do it in dedication. Sure, Molag Bal's forces were different than Mehrunes Dagon's, but they were closer to his blade at the moment.
Cura. How he wished she were here. To have her at his side right now would certainly make this war much easier. If there ever was a time when her destructive voice could come in handy, now would be it.
Then the idea came to him. Cura.
Inigo tapped Lucien on the shoulder. "Can we talk to Cura again, Lucien? Now that there is a moment of calmness?"
"Talk to Cura again?" Serana was confused. When had they spoken to Cura? Were they planning on reanimating her body? What nonsense.
"Er, yes. We were able to speak to her for a few minutes before you arrived to help us deal with Lamae and the vampires." Lucien confessed. "Unfortunately I wasn't able to hold the Long Distance Call long enough for you to see her. But we can try it!"
Serana scratched her chin. It was a fascinating development. When she and Lucien devised that spell under Phinis Gestor's tutelage, she hadn't anticipated just how far it could transcend. It was meant to connect one side of Mundus to another, but fascinatingly enough, it could peer even into Oblivion. Though, perhaps it was due to their close friendship that it was possible.
"Give it a shot, Lucien." Serana requested.
"Allll right. All right. Hold on a second..." Lucien slowly tapered off into his meditative state and outstretched both of his hands. With a small incantation he spread them out wide and clashed them together forward. In a vortex of purple energy, a link was established, revealing Cura, Savos Aren, Mirabelle Ervine, and Sir Amiel. The four of them were standing in a desolate wasteland covered with sand, near a corpse impaled by a sharp spike, surrounded by jagged, gnarly rocks and rusted fencing.
Serana's eyes widened. She really was in Coldharbour! The landscape sounded like that which was described to her long ago.
Cura's eyes widened with surprise as her friends manifested before her. Then her face grew joyful. "Hey!" She waved happily to her friends.
"Hey, pretty girl." Serana teased with a courteous wave. "I... must admit that between the two of us, you were not the one I'd expected to end up in Coldharbour."
"Oh, I was in the Deadlands first. Turns out I'm an Oblivion tourist these days." Cura laughed.
Inigo chuckled in response. "And I see the Arch-Mage and Mirabelle. Hello! I am sorry you ended up there. Who knew the Eye of Magnus could do that?"
"I don't think it was the Eye." Lucien admitted. Truly, he was surprised to see them there with no explanation, as well. "Why are you there?"
Mirabelle smiled at the group. "We've come to help Cura from Aetherius. As long as it's possible, we shall do our part. And we expect you to do yours, as well."
Savos Aren concurred. "Terrible times are ahead. I want all of you to fight as best as you can. This is no longer the College of Winterhold - the dangers you will face are worse than Ancano."
"I see you're wearing the Master Wizard's mantle now, Serana." Mirabelle gestured to the badge depicting the sigil of the Eye of Magnus that Serana wore on her dark gray variant of the Master Robes, binding her cape to it.
Serana touched the badge with her index finger and thumb. "Yeah. And Tolfdir is the Arch-Mage now. I... don't know how you feel about that."
"Tolfdir was always my second choice." Savos laughed.
"Really? Who was your first?" Lucien asked.
Savos pointed at Mirabelle, certain that it should have been an obvious decision. "Had she survived, Mirabelle would be the Arch-Mage now."
"Does that make you feel a bit... bitter?" Inigo asked. Probably not, since she basically ran the College anyways.
Mirabelle shrugged. "I'm not so sure, to be honest. But it does relieve me to know that its future is in good hands." She gestured towards Serana, and of course, the unpresent Tolfdir.
"That was Cura's idea." Serana pointed at her friend. After all, Cura elected Tolfdir to run the College.
Cura blushed and rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly. She was happy that her judgment call was well-poised, seeing as Savos would have chosen Tolfdir.
"And who is this fellow?" Lucien pointed to the rugged knight with rusted armour standing to the side. The Imperial lad almost seemed envious of the rugged knight when he jabbed his finger in his direction.
"Oh, you wouldn't believe it if I told you!" Cura felt a shock of excitement at the prospect of her friend seeing this. But where could she begin? "This is Sir Amiel, leader of the Knights of the Nine!"
Sir Amiel bowed forward and cast a hand across his chest. "A pleasure to meet the allies of the exalted Dragonborn."
Lucien choked for a second and took a step backwards. It took a few moments to register, but when it did it was monumental. "Wait... Sir... Amiel? Sir Amiel? The Sir Amiel? The Knights of the Nine?! What? In Coldharbour? By the Gods..."
"It is a long, sordid tale." Sir Amiel explained. "When we touched the red stone, it burned us. Part of our souls were seared, and when we perished, we were marked for Coldharbour. Once we aided the Champion of Cyrodiil the Divine protection that bound us released us and our souls were pulled into this terrible realm."
"What?!" Inigo exclaimed. "This is crazy! A Red Stone, you say?" The vivid memory returned to him of the vision he'd had during their pursuit of Lamae where he was beckoned by a red, ovular rock that seemed burning within with fire. "I... I see."
That was his chance to join Cura, and he didn't take it. Though, perhaps it was for the best, because eternity in Coldharbour was not an appealing idea.
"The Red Stone, you say?" Lucien began to wonder about it.
"The Red Stone." Serana seemed to know what it was. "Curses."
"Red Stone? The Amulet of Kings?" Cura asked.
Serana shook her head. "No. The Alessian Order's stone. I'd heard something about it, long ago. Back in my day. It was from the First Era, when they were at the uphill climb to power. The Imga Prophet Marukh spoke to St. Alessia and she gave him the Red Stone. The Order sacrificed people to it. They believed Akatosh would grant their prayers if they sacrificed nonbelievers in his name."
"Wasn't that when they erected the Tower of Fate?" Lucien asked. "Do you remember, Cura, when we went to the Forgotten Vale, they had the Chantry dedicated to Auri-El? And he looked like an Elf on the statue? Well, the Tower of Fate was where the Alessian Order danced and chanted over the Amulet of Kings and caused the Dragon to break! They committed the ultimate blasphemy by corrupting Akatosh's nature. They split Auri-El's elven nature from himself."
Cura considered the weight of what he was saying. Then perhaps the Dragon Soul within the Amulet - which took its home in her blood - was that remaining piece of Auri-El, torn from him by the Order.
What if the other half was Alduin? The shadow of the corruption?
What if they used the Red Stone with the Amulet of Kings together? Maybe Cura's Dragon Soul is enacting vengeance for that.
An interesting theory.
Serana turned to Cura, who seemed to be taking in the information with the occasional nod and ponderance. "Cura, what's going on there in Coldharbour?"
"The Alessian Order is here." Cura stated. After what she'd just learned, it suddenly made a lot of sense. "I've met an old Inquisitor, and seen some of the madmen in their garb wandering the wasteland. It's really depressing. Oh, and apparently my Dragon Soul has caused Dragon Breaks in the realm, and Jyggalag is invading. Lots of insanity going on here."
"So THAT'S why Carcette left!" Inigo snapped his fingers. It suddenly made even more sense, now. She was telling the truth. Jyggalag was her vehicle to reach Cura!
The vision was beginning to static and blink, and they knew there wasn't much time left.
"Cura, be careful in there! My father and the others will be there!" Serana exclaimed.
Cura nodded serenely. "I know. I'm going to hide my identity sooner or later. Don't worry about me - focus on protecting Skyrim until I get back."
The others were surprised by the content of her words. Lucien raised a hand. "Until you get back...?"
The vision flashed one final time before they were all cut off.
"No! Get her back! I want to know what she meant! She can come back?" Inigo shook Lucien, who wormed away.
"I need to save my energy for the battle, Inigo." Lucien reminded him of what was coming, and the Khajiit relented for the moment.
"Ugh. Yes. I'm sorry." Inigo apologized for his overexcitement.
Serana considered her words carefully. "Her Dragon Soul... Dragon Breaks... the Alessian Order... the Red Stone... Knights of the Nine... wow. That's quite the adventure! Almost makes me wish I were there with her in Coldharbour."
"Don't talk like that, Serana! We need you here, on Nirn!" Lucien exclaimed.
Serana scoffed. "Don't worry - I wasn't hinting towards anything drastic, I promise. I was just cogitating. Fate always seems to find ways to toy with us."
Inigo laughed. "Isn't that the truth!"
For now, they decided that it would be best to continue moving. Whatever Cura was planning, she was in good company.
"I still can't get over the fact she met a Knight of the Nine!" Lucien ruminated as they passed the Guards' quarters. "I wish I could have gotten his autograph! That's incredible!"
"And he called her the 'Exalted Dragonborn.'" Inigo laughed. "Our friend always seems to find a way to the top."
"It's in her nature as a Dragonborn. They're destined for greatness." Lucien explained. "I mean, by Shezzar - the Dragonborn! The Dragonborn! She defeated Alduin, remember? That's no small feat."
They reached the Palace of Kings and headed outside into the city. The entire Stormcloak legion was crowding the streets, waiting for the Jarl's order to charge into battle.
Ulfric saw Inigo, Serana and Lucien and approached the three of them. "You... you're going to help us fight for Windhelm?"
Inigo confirmed as much. "Well, I am one of your Thanes, remember? I must defend Windhelm against the enemy!"
Galmar confronted the group. "A Khajiit, an... Imperial... and a Vampire, by the looks of it. By Shor, what the hell is even going on anymore?" He was uncertain as to what to make of it all. By all accounts, neither of the three should be welcome in Windhelm, let alone be in a position to want to help them fight for it.
"Desperate times, Galmar." Ulfric said simply before returning to the others. "You three were Cura's best friends, if I am not mistaken."
"Yes, sir." Lucien admitted gingerly.
The older Nord examined them and came to a serene compromise. "I want the three of you inside the city boundaries. You are mages and an archer, I take it?"
"Something like that."
"Then you three will man the city walls. You will stand on them and fire projectiles towards the enemy. As we well know, there is only one way into the city, and that is the main bridge. I want your eyes on that bridge." Ulfric planned out.
Carene, Nurelion and Nafyromir exited the Palace and began to pass out Health and Stamina potions to the soldiers around. They'd been procuring them for hours, now.
They weren't sure when precisely the Daedric invasion would begin, but they used every second available to prepare for it.
Ulfric Stormcloak crossed his arms and addressed Galmar. "Again, Galmar. The great bridge. Are the charges prepared in case?"
"They are, my Jarl." Galmar held a fist to his breast. "We will fight, and we will face victory, or Sovngarde."
Serana had to question immediately. "Wait... charges on the bridge? What do you mean by that?"
"We cannot, under any circumstances, allow them entry. I've had my men tie explosives to the end of the bridge. A contingency plan, if you will." Ulfric explained.
Lucien shook his head in startled disbelief. "What? I..I'm sorry, but... if it comes to that, how do you intend to get out of Windhelm? The bridge is the only way into the city and out of the city for commonfolk!"
A loud explosion was heard off in the distance, and the roaring of soldiers filled the air. The skies above them began to turn an ominous red colour as the dark clouds swirled and swooned over the landscape.
The sudden change cut the conversation short and Ulfric was immediately alerted. "Look at that. They've finally come." He scoffed in attempt to trivialize the enemy. He walked past Inigo and headed to a large, armoured gray stallion bearing the Stormcloak Blue mantle that stood by the Palace rampart, and Galmar mounted a brown one nearby.
Author's Note: For this battle, "Elder Scrolls Oblivion - March of the Marauders". Thanks for reading! :)
Rynkyus led the Bladebearers in charge against the coming Dremora Horde. He made a promise to Cura, and a proud Dremora would never withhold on a word once given. He drove his blade deep into the chest of one of his scorned kin and yanked him off his horse, tossing the fiend to the ground.
Stormcloaks near the stables had catapults in place at the ready, and loaded them with explosive barrels. One lit the fuse and his cohort cut the rope. The mechanism flipped forward with a blinding snap and hurled the explosive barrel high into the blizzard that obscured most of the invading horde.
"This is my opposition? How easily I shall crush them."
With a swing of his mighty axe and with a roar that shook the landscape, Mehrunes Dagon swatted the explosive barrel as he made a direct charge forward. His legion split in twain, half of them curving east and half west to avoid the stampeding four-armed crimson Daedric Prince.
The Stormcloaks trembled with fear as his mammoth form transcended the blizzard. With one swing of his battleaxe, Dagon cleaved twenty soldiers in half, separating their upper bodies from their legs and various parts splattered all about the snow.
Inigo and Lucien were lifted up onto the walls by Serana and the three of them witnessed the sheer scope of horror in the fields. The mountains that divided Windhelm from Kynesgrove were no more - Dagon had smashed them in his wrathful storm.
Inigo shuddered. That was Mehrunes Dagon. Death incarnate. Lucien's lip quivered at the sight of him. This was indeed the beast that nearly destroyed his homeland centuries ago.
Serana was just about sick of Daedric Princes, herself. She tapped Inigo on the shoulder. "We fought Harkon. You saw Alduin face-to-face. Look at Dagon as just another power-thirsty asshole."
A rumble shook the walls below them as the soldiers mounted the nearby stored horses. Ulfric led them in procession. A cold sternness rested on his sullen face as he marched onward. He was the very image of a great warrior - it was no wonder so many people rallied behind him. He raised his hand and Ralof and another Stormcloak opened the doors.
"THEY WILL NOT HAVE OUR HOMELAND! FOR SKYRIM!" The Jarl thrust his axe into the air with this declaration. "VICTORY, OR SOVNGAAAAAARDE!"
Ulfric and Galmar roared with violent intent as they rushed out the city gates and rode the inner soldiers out to battle.
Hooves stamped over the ancient stone bridge as they rode out gallantly. Ulfric was willing to lay everything on the line, for there was no other choice to be made. His ambitions, his fight, his country, it all hung in the air of this war. It was not a battle he could afford to lose, and yet the crushing blow of defeat was mere inches from his neck.
He stormed out into the field with his greater legion in tow, and they came pooling out like water from a broken dam. Ulfric met Valkyn Methats directly, and the two jousted, Daedric Pike colliding on shield and waraxe missing the enemy's head.
Ulfric rounded his horse about and slapped the reins. "HYAH!"
The horse sped forward and he readied for another shot. Instinct called him to pull the reins and cause his horse to flail its front legs violently as a flaming arrow cut the distance between himself and the Dremora.
Methats arced around and spun his pike angrily and shoved it forward, stabbing Ulfric's shield again.
"This is not your land. This land is OURS!" Ulfric declared. He pulled his warhorn off the horse saddle and blew it loudly.
The artillery - archers, Inigo, Lucien and Serana - began to open fire from the walls. Spells and arrows tore through the air and pierced the skulls of the Daedra horde who were unfortunate enough to be pinned.
There was a set range now - as long as the others could keep up the fire, Ulfric and Galmar could sandwich them. A line of fire was drawn behind Methats, and an arrow hit Galmar in the right arm.
Thorald and Avulstein rode together like centaurs, driving their blades through the enemy archers. In an impressive display of grace and technique, they intersected eachother's paths and diverted two Dremora Riders' spears into each other when they attempted to stab the Nord men.
Serana flew overhead, abandoning her position at the wall to fire dispersing balls of lightning throughout the horde of Imps that were firing bolts of dark energy at the Stormcloak infantry.
Lucien launched Firebolt after Firebolt after Firebolt, but he had to take care to avoid the Stormcloak soldiers. He fired into areas where he saw large congregations of Daedra - Scamps, Spider Daedra, Daedroths, and Dremoras.
Ulfric leapt off his horse as Valkyn Methats' Pike impaled it through the back of its head and nearly caught the Jarl's cape. He tucked and rolled along the snow-covered ground and pulled himself upright.
His horse wailed one last time as the pike was pulled out of it, and then hurled right for the nobleman. Ulfric held up his shield, taking the blow, but falling backwards due to the strength of the throw.
Methats came back around on horseback, and conjured a sword to strike Ulfric with.
An arrow, fired by Inigo, stuck the Daedric Horse in the neck, causing it to flail about in panic and buck its rider off.
Ulfric took the opportunity to attack, dropping his waraxe down towards the Daedra's throat.
Methats was no mere adversary, however; he rolled over and evaded it skillfully. He charged forward and clashed with the mortal's shield once more. Ulfric blocked each attempted swing and parried the beast backwards. With a glint in his eye, he did something that Inigo, Serana and Lucien recognized and confirmed that there was no doubt he was Cura's father.
"FUS RO DAH!"
A powerful blast of violent air decimated Valkyn Methats at so close a range, tearing him to pieces as the familiar Shout tore open a gap in the horde. Dremora went flying in all directions and attentions were grabbed.
A wide smile spread across the Jarl of Eastmarch's face.
He hadn't felt this alive in years.
The denizens below the city shivered with fright as streams of sand came falling from the subterranean roof above. Pebbles bounced off the decrepit rooftops as the surface quaked under the heat of battle. Explosive rumbles filled the air, drowned out by the hundreds of layers of stone between them.
"Wh-what on Nirn was that?" Viola Giordano blurted out with fear.
"Mehrunes Dagon." Tarvyn shivered.
Rolff Stone-Fist was growing restless in his small corner with his friend Agrenor. He was extremely anxious, and knocked his knees together to reduce his stress while he glared accusingly at the Spire refugees. He bit his lower lip as his eyes narrowed down on their Dark Elf leader in the green tunic with scorn.
"It's our sign to join the battle." Delphine stood up from her stone seat near the entrance and beckoned the Skyguard who were able to fight to join her.
Marcurio was reticent. A small grunt told her of his fear as he stood upright. Erik joined him next, then Mjoll, then Stenvar, then Cosnach.
"Can I have one more ale? If I'm gonna die here, I don't wanna understand it." Cosnach whined.
Delphine glared at him sternly for a mere moment before her face softened. "Sure. Go ahead. I think it's a good idea." She reached into her satchel and pulled out a bottle of Ale. She popped the cork and filled a number of tankards, and gestured for everyone in her faction to take a shot.
The others were surprised to see such lenience coming from the old Blade, but it was not unwelcome. Even Esbern had to question her motives. "You, Delphine?"
Her eyes told him everything. Esbern could see the sorrow and regret hidden in plain sight. He could see the hopelessness, the knowledge of demise; the resignation. There was no longer any bravado in this half-elven woman - just a sad calmness.
"Our ancestors defeated them, Delphine. Don't you recall?" Esbern tried to help her see the bright side.
As Delphine looked to the large groups of frightened people, scattered around the decrepit underground space, all she could see was death. Her heart was blackened with this cursed vision. "Martin Septim defeated Dagon, when he used the powers of Akatosh from breaking the Amulet of Kings. Our only hope... our Dragonborn... is gone. This isn't a fight we can win."
Esbern considered her point. "So, what do you think, Delphine? Should we just give up?"
"To hell with that!" the fire returned to the Grandmaster. "I wasn't saying that! If we're going to die, I'm going to make sure I take down as many of those bastards as I can!" She pointed to the terrified children, who were being consoled by Vilja. "Them. They're so young... they're just kids, for Mara's sake! If we die out there and the city falls, what happens to them?"
Cosnach immediately grabbed the bottle of ale from her hand and chugged the entirety of what remained, and dropped it to the floor. "Let's go kick some Daedra ass, eh? We'll talk about that later. Ready to die now!" he wobbled out the door.
"Hey! Cosnach!" Delphine roared after him, unnerved by his haste.
The others followed her quickly.
Rolff Stone-Fist walked up to Tarvyn and pointed at him, as well as Sunel, Ninette, Faltonia, Decanus, and the others from Wretched Spire with a sweeping finger. "You bastards. This is all your fault! You outsiders brought this evil into our land. Should'a known better than to let freaks, Imperial scumbags, and Grayskins into our city." He proceeded to lunge forward and shoved Tarvyn off his seat and onto the floor.
Author's Note: "Skyrim - Steel on Steel" here
Tarvyn was stunned for a second, but swiftly pulled himself upright. "That's it! I've had enough of you. I think it's time someone surgically removed the foot from your mouth." He spun around and clocked Rolff with a heavy hand across the head, knocking the blowhard down.
Agrenor saw this as a provocation. "FILTHY GRAYSKIN!" he lunged forward and threw a punch at Tarvyn, knocking him backwards, only to be yanked backwards by Brunwulf Free-Winter.
Rolff massaged his aching forehead and pulled himself back up furiously. "That wasn't a fair swing."
"Stop it! This isn't gonna help matters!" Brunwulf warned.
"You! You're always helping those damned Grayskins! Damn Dark Elf-lover." Rolff elbowed Tarvyn in the ribs and threw a punch at Brunwulf, connecting with his forehead.
Brunwulf released Agrenor due to the force of impact, and the homeless Nord turned on him, punching him across the face. Then Rolff rushed forward to punch him in the chest, and Agrenor shoved him to the ground.
Faltonia cupped her hands on her cheeks with horror at the display. "For the love of Mara! Someone stop them!"
"Finally, something interesting." one of the orc citizens laughed.
Ninette and Sunel were both enthralled by the brawl, already placing their bets.
Tarvyn involved himself, pulling Agrenor back with his arms closed around his chest and on his shoulders from behind. "Stop it at once!"
Agrenor was far stronger than him physically, and broke out of his grasp with ease. He grabbed Tarvyn by the shirt and forcefully threw him backwards into the bonfire.
The Spire residents weren't afraid for their leader, as he was a Dunmer. Fire had very little effect on them.
Rolff continued to kick Brunwulf in the head repeatedly, and he attempted to cover his head to guard against the repeated blows. The Nord champion's vision was beginning to blur.
Jora, the priestess, commanded a stop to the fight. "Is this how you honour your homeland? By beating up one of your own? By Talos, I command you to stop! Stop!"
Her pleas fell upon deaf ears.
Malthyr Elenil and the Windhelm Dunmer were terrified by the fight in the distance instigated by Rolff, and focused on protecting Suvaris and their own in case it should spread their way.
Elda slapped herself in the forehead. She couldn't exactly see what was going on over there, but it was looking rough. "If the Daedra don't kill us, we'll beat 'em to it."
Tarvyn came up out of the fire, his tunic scorched, but his flesh perfectly fine. A look of unspeakable fury spread across the Dark Elf's face. He lifted a stone off the ground and held it over his head. He threw it straight at Agrenor, and the former soldier took it in the right shoulder.
"Gah!" Agrenor grunted as he felt the sturdy blow. He turned around and rushed to pound on Tarvyn vengefully.
Decanus, who was seated nearby, stuck out his foot and caused the attacker to trip and fall flat on the ground. His head hit a long wooden board and he fell unconscious.
Rolff continued to attack Brunwulf mercilessly. "You're done! Finished! Filthy Dark-Elf-loving piece of trash!" Blow after blow came down, some connected, some were blocked, and some missed their mark.
The others were either enthralled by the battle, or too fearful to intervene. After looking around helplessly, Faltonia had enough. In an instinctual movement, she grabbed a broomstick from the Candlehearth Hall and swung it over Rolff's head, the wood cracking on impact.
Sunel and Ninette were both stunned by this action. The Innkeeper was never a fighter, but it was an interesting turn of events.
Rolff's knees buckled and he fell forward. He instinctively touched the back of his thick head. He looked over his shoulder at the source of the hit and growled like a wolf. "Filthy Imperial Bitch! I'll rearrange your face!"
Faltonia held the broom defensively over her chest and slowly backed up as he closed the distance between them. Rolff raised a hand to belt her in the face with a firm slap.
"Leave her alone, you milk drinker!" came Brunwulf's voice. The warrior grabbed Rolff by the legs and pulled him to the ground. When Rolff hit the ground with a harsh thud, Brunwulf hit him square in the forehead by driving his face into the stone floor, knocking him unconscious.
The other people around watched with surprise, and Suvaris scoffed in her corner next to Elda. "Good. I thought that blowhard would never shut up."
Brunwulf huffed and took a seat to recover from the nasty beatdown he'd received. His face ran red with blood and his breathing was rugged. Tarvyn walked over to check on his helper's condition. "Hey, thanks for that. You really didn't have to step in on my behalf."
Faltonia began to examine the Nord's injuries. "Ooh... yeah, that's..." she winced as the swollen injuries bulged over his left eye and his forehead was riddled with painful welts. "I last saw something like that when those Dremoras were fresh with Lyranth two centuries ago. She and Rynkyus basically rearranged their faces." She took a rag and began to wipe his blood for him. "You really shouldn't have gotten involved."
"It's how we Nords are, my lady." Brunwulf explained. "While some of us look down on the other races as weak to be bullied and pushed around, others hate to see people being picked on when it's undeserved. Then, you end up wit' fights like these."
The Imperial woman scoffed as she dipped the cloth into a basin of water that was brought down. She ran the blood out and wrung the fluid out of the fabric. "We Imperials are quite different. Growing up, it was always, 'If the fight isn't profitable, avoid it.'" She returned to Brunwulf and instructed him to keep the cloth pressed on the open gashes.
Brunwulf smiled. It was wise advice, but sometimes life needed a little recklessness. He looked into the Imperial woman's eyes as she continued to treat his wounds. "Thank you."
Rolff truly did not hold back. He unleashed all of his panicked fury on the poor fellow. All because he tried to maintain the peace.
Tarvyn laughed. "And 'If you can't win it, no point in showing off' would be the moniker for us Dunmer, I suppose." He patted Brunwulf on the shoulder. "You're an all right man, Brunwulf. I wish more people in this era thought like you do. That fool would have a few less concussions if he did." He craned his neck in the unconscious Rolff's direction.
A Dremora fired an explosive arrow at Serana as she soared overhead, causing her to fall to the ground. Immediately, she scurried to evade the strikes of Daedric blades, but felt one impale her in the right leg.
"GAH!" the vampiress cried out.
A fireball soared overhead, summoned by Cosnach. It missed everybody, but it redirected their attention from Serana.
Delphine and the Skyguard entered the fray, and began to engage the enemy. Without hesitation, the Breton engaged a Daedroth with two Akaviri swords. When Mehrunes Dagon saw her armour, and Esbern's, and the others, he growled.
"The Blades... they squirm upon the face of the world still."
The Stormcloaks attempted to hold a large gathering of Dremora between Dagon and themselves. They hoped it would halt the Prince's progress forward. Mehrunes Dagon stomped on members of his own legion and tread over the Stormcloaks like they were ants. He towered over the battlefield like a fortress.
"Oh, Gods!" Mjoll cried out when she saw him up close.
Cosnach stuck up the middle finger at Dagon. "Come get us, ya four-armed bastard! I bet you must have a lotta fun in the sack wit' four arms! Got four of somethin' else under your skirt, too? Or do ya just like to play with axes all day?"
"Impudent mortal!" Mehrunes Dagon exclaimed with fury as Cosnach spun around and exposed his backside.
"Come get me, lard ass!" Cosnach quickly leapt on an unoccupied Daedric Horse and began to race westward.
Mehrunes Dagon was filled with blind anger and gave chase.
"Cosnach! What the hell are you-" before Delphine could attempt to reign in the rebel spirit, Stenvar pulled her backwards. When she looked at him, his eyes were somber, and he simply shook his head. Then she understood what he was doing.
The Blades returned to the battle, clashing against the monsters. Stormcloak soldiers were being cut down mercilessly by the enemy, and some were quickly losing morale.
Ulfric was stuck through the right side of his chest by a pike belonging to a Dremora Churl, through his back.
Inigo's heart skipped a beat when he saw this and he leapt from the wall and onto the bridge. He cast Drop Zone for a safe landing and hurried as fast as his catlike legs could carry him.
Ulfric turned around and grabbed the pike, which was protruding from his chest. He thrust his body with all his might to the side, causing the Churl to lose his grip of the weapon and stumble. Then Inigo cut his throat.
"What are you doing, cat? I told you... hng... to guard the city wall!" Ulfric grunted as he leaned on his shield for support.
"I will not let you die here." Inigo assured him. He was Cura's father.
Inigo couldn't save her, but he would never allow them to never see each other again. He was robbed of a reunion with his parents - he wasn't prepared to see that happen to Cura too if she should find a way back.
Lyranth had time to prepare a barrier, which she cast over their area so that Drozu could give Ulfric a Healing Potion and pull the pike out of him. Serana took the opportunity to get behind the barrier and heal as well.
"They're... much tougher than I thought." Serana exclaimed as she cast Necromantic Healing on herself.
Thorald Gray-Mane's pained yell travelled far and wide as he was lifted up on a pike by a Dremora rider. He was speared through the center of his chest and held up like a flag. As he kicked and squirmed and tried to wrestle free, he was only pulled down by gravity. The Daedra laughed as the man struggled.
"THORAAAALD!" Avulstein cried out to his brother as he tried to break through the horde to reach them. His horse was hit with an explosive bolt and he slid across the frozen ground. A Daedroth rushed at him and clamped its massive jaws around his upper body and chomped down, segmenting his body, which splattered messily to the ground.
Ralof watched in horror as his men were cut down around him. He managed to wiggle between two axes and blocked a third strike. His back was to the stable's pillar. He ducked under a sword strike, which wound up embedded in the wood and he impaled the foe through the neck.
Rynkyus came to his aid, beating back a few other Dremora. "We stand with you, mortal!" He gestured to Gykkah, who was blasting Spider Daedra with Fire Storms and with a tilt of his head, gestured him to attack the Daedroths on the left flank.
Ralof nodded. "Right. Thanks." He hurried to reconvene with other Stormcloaks who were driving the enemy forces northward.
Mjoll roared as her battleaxe clashed against a Dremora's battleaxe. Her steel weapon grew more and more brittle with each blow against the shaped ebony and then shattered on the ninth blow. She was hit with the tenth, which carved open her cuirass and cut her flesh underneath.
That was when she felt it, boiling inside her.
"GGRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHR!" came her Battle Cry.
The Dremora suddenly grew very fearful, as well as those supporting him from behind. Mjoll reached onto her hip and drew Grimsever - her elven malachite sword. She blacked out and began to thrash violently against anything within range.
It was the blind fury she'd unleashed in the Ratway Vaults.
Inigo saw it from where he was with Ulfric and shuddered. He remembered that madness well. However, he found amusement in the knowledge that it was the Dremora facing it this time.
Mjoll cleaved heads off and arms off and impaled hearts and attacked relentlessly, like a mad badger. This encouraged Galmar to do the same.
"Let's remind them why we Nords are meant to be feared!" the berserker exclaimed as he unleashed his Battle Cry, as well. With adrenaline pumping through every muscle in his body, he ceased to be a man, and was now a monster. Galmar swung his battleaxe through every Daedra within arm's reach of him. Their arrows that pierced him in the side and leg and shoulder meant nothing. They were pebbles to him. He was a sawblade.
Other Stormcloaks took heed and allowed themselves to lose themselves in their Nordic wrath, as well, and quickly began to turn things around.
Lucien was happy to be on the city wall at this point in time; all was chaos. All was insanity.
It was hell.
The beautiful white lands of Skyrim were no longer. The dark fumes released by the corpses of slaughtered Daedra filled the air like thick smoke, and the snow was red; coloured with the somber sky's reflection, and painted with the blood of the slaughtered sons and daughters of Skyrim.