-And we're back with the next part of the Stormcloaks' invasion of Whiterun. What exactly will transpire? Read on and find out! -
Lydia's sword was brought down as hard as she could, ending the life of the Stormcloak before her. The male opponent of what she could only guess thirty years or so put up a good fight, but she ultimately prevailed.
She was exhausted by this point, but as much as she wanted a moment to rest, now was not the time she could. All around her was nothing but battle and chaos. Stormcloaks and Imperials were locked in combat with each other with more than a few casualties on both sides. And while she herself was still alive she wasn't without injury herself, that Stormcloak's sword managed to cut the outside of her arm enough to draw blood.
She glimpsed beside her to see a legion soldier cut down a Stormcloak, only for that same legion soldier be quickly felled by another Stormcloak that came up from behind him. At this point her ears were ringing so loudly from the sounds of shouting and weapons clashing that screams were beginning to sound muted.
'Keep fighting, Lydia!' she urged herself mentally, 'Just... keep... fighting!'
Another Stormcloak chose this moment to rush forth upon her. This one was also sporting a full helm that covered his face and armed with an axe he held in both of his hands. He was rushing towards her, shouting, and raising his axe over his shoulder for a savage downward strike towards her.
Lydia quickly held her shield up to block the attack. The axe fell down hard upon the shield and Lydia's arm positively rattled with the tremors of the impact. Unless she was hearing things, she also heard the sound of wood splintering as well, though she dared not attempt to verify for fear that it might be true. Waves of pain practically vibrated along Lydia's left arm, but she grit her teeth and bore through it.
Seizing a moment of opportunity Lydia focused her strength to her right hand and aimed her sword to stab straight forward. The Stormcloak's midsection was unguarded and now was the perfect chance for her to get an attack of her own in.
Unfortunately, her attack was seemingly deflected. Lydia watched as the Stormcloak at the last minute shifted the butt end of his battle axe and used it to deflect her sword to the side. While this in turn ruined Lydia's chance for a quick stab, at the same time it freed her left hand from being assaulted upon by the business end of that axe.
The housecarl took this opportunity to take a step back, panting and grunting the entire time. She couldn't see what her opponent's face looked like, but from the way his shoulders were shifting up and down she could only imagine he was panting just as hard as she was.
"Ha-ha! I love a challenge!" he declared, a contradiction to Lydia's perceived notions of him being tired.
"Come on, then!" Lydia fired back.
Rather than wait for him to attack she pressed her own attack this time. She swung her blade at his side, only to be promptly blocked by the body of his axe. She quickly pulled it back and swung at him again, but that was blocked again. Swipe after swipe was blocked again and again.
On her fourth strike the Stormcloak once again deflected her blade, but this time angled his axe's body in a rotating motion. This essentially caused Lydia's blade to be forced to the side, and worse, leaving her body open for counterattack while she still held onto it!
The Stormcloak was quick to follow up as well.
Lydia grunted in pain as what felt like the strength of a rockslide suddenly crash into her. The world around her was moving but in her mind, she somehow was able to piece together that the Stormcloak had shoved his entire body weight into hers. The sudden impact had not only thrown her off balance but caused her to stumble backwards a few steps. Thankfully she remained on her feet the entire time.
Lydia felt a sharp pang in her chest area around her ribs. The man's body slam into her surely must have hit her hard, but as far as she could tell that was about the worst of it. The more important thing was that she was still standing, and it was now her turn!
Instincts suddenly screamed at her for a specific action. She quickly raised her shield out and away from her in an outward bashing motion even before she could afford herself a look to see if that was warranted. Her action earned her a sudden impact as the shield collided hard into the body of the Stormcloak in turn, followed by a grunt of surprise and pain. He must have tried to rush her again; thank the Gods that she bashed her shield out when she did!
Lydia reoriented herself upon her feet and looked forward again. She could see that the Stormcloak had stumbled in place almost as she had. It also appeared that he was shaking off his dazed state. The housecarl decided to move quickly act quickly and counterattack.
She swiped out her shield-bearing left arm until she heard it smack against something solid. Her strike hit true and the head of the Stormcloak's battle-axe was knocked to the side. The man lost grip on the shaft with his left hand but quickly reached his right hand out to maintain his grip on it. But for Lydia, that opening was all she needed. She reached forth and stabbed her blade forward into the Stormcloak's chest.
The tip of the blade bit into the outer armor and into the man's chest. Her opponent cried out in pain and inadvertently released his hold on his weapon. Lydia quickly pulled her blade out of the man's chest; the blade slid out fairly easily as it had not pierced all the way through to the man's back. One final horizontal slash across his chest sent the man sprawling down to the ground. A small death rattle could be heard from his body until he remained motionless and quiet.
Lydia then refocused her attention back to the battle that surrounded her. All she could see before her was the ground... The ground soaked red with blood. Wherever there wasn't a patch of red soaking the ground there was a body. Red and blue bodies... some were even still moving. Every breath she took had a faint smell of smoke in the air as well. Smoke, fire, and blood; three things that filled her nostrils and mouth with every breath she took. Past that it began to get a little fuzzy. As fuzzy as the distant horizon appeared to be. Why was everything beyond the field of battle harder to see?
She almost hadn't noticed but the battle itself seemed to have 'shifted' across the plains. She recalled earlier when the two sides joined in battle almost directly outside Fort Greymoor, now suddenly the fort was further away, and the invaders' catapults were closer. Thunderous impacts from catapults occasionally rang out, though Lydia had no way of knowing who was shooting and at what.
Everywhere she looked an Imperial and a Stormcloak were locked in combat with each other. She watched as both sides struck down someone from the other side. How many Stormcloaks had she killed so far herself? Aside from the one that she just killed, one... two... three... four?
Instincts suddenly snapped Lydia out of her dazed state and forced her to glance to the side. Another Stormcloak announced his presence to her by screaming as he attacked. She shot her left arm up to block the incoming strike from his war-axe.
There it was again- that splintering sound. And it definitely came at the same time as that war-axe hitting her shield. Lydia could no longer deny it: the wood of her Whiterun-issued shield was weakening with each hit it absorbed. If this kept up, she most likely would end up losing it at a worst possible time!
She forced her shield arm down to her side which had the unintended effect of bringing the attacker's war-axe along with it. As she raised her sword arm to attack, Lydia was caught off-guard by the Stormcloak's left fist flying towards her!
The fist collided with the side of her face. Lydia could feel her cheek bone being struck hard and even the side of her nose too! The man may have been wearing one of those fur gauntlets, but the force of his punch still hit as hard as if he were bare-fisted! Pain quickly shot up her nose and along her cheek, but Lydia quickly shook her head with a grunt and focused up again.
She could feel the man's war-axe was still lodged into her shield, so she swiftly waved her arm to the side to 'shake it off'. Once it was free, she brought her shield up to bear again. She bashed it forward once, striking the man in the face, then swinging her arm out again with all her strength. Lydia was certain she could see blood practically spraying out from the man's face as he fell backwards. He hit the ground on his back where he spasmed in place for a moment before lying still.
'Another... another down...' she thought to herself. She looked back around her to behold only more haze-filled battle, 'By the Gods... how much more...?!'
"An opening! Men, advance further!"
A woman's voice rang out across the field. Lydia's ears perked up; somehow that voice should've sounded familiar to her, but for the life of her she couldn't remember whom it belonged to. In that same instant movement before her made itself known. The 'flow' of people on this battlefield could be seen gradually shifting. There were more people moving in a specific direction, and a smaller number of people moving backwards...
Realization hit Lydia as to what exactly was happening. The flow of battle was in fact changing! Somehow the Stormcloaks' numbers had been hit hard enough that they were actually falling back! Specifically, towards their own catapults! Now the Imperials themselves were surging en masse upon them! Forcing them backwards! The tide really has turned!
Lydia shook her head to shake off the dazed feeling in her head. That punch to the face really hurt even now. She then proceeded to charge forward along with the Imperials, advancing upon the Stormcloaks instead.
Eventually she and the red-garbed soldiers reached their destination, the catapults! The large, wooden contraptions stood at least thirty feet tall, and that wasn't even with their 'arms' stretched up high either! One of them managed to let forth one final fire shell before they had arrived in full.
The Stormcloaks manning the catapults were forced to divert their attention to the Imperials. There were far fewer standing here compared to how many there were at the start, just as there was a reduced number of Imperials as well. In spite of that however, there was a noticeably greater ratio of Imperials to Stormcloaks by this point.
The Stormcloaks quickly and hastily brandished their weapons and moved to attack the Imperials. One of them turned her attention towards Lydia. This female Stormcloak was armed with but a single mace in hand. Almost easily Lydia blocked an overhead strike from the mace with her shield and dispatched the enemy with a quick stab of her sword through her chest. The encounter was over as quickly as it had begun, and Lydia focused her attention on her next foe.
Only to find that the Imperials around her had already made short work of the other Stormcloaks. The air filled with cry after cry, grunt after grunt from Stormcloak being dispatched. Finally, upon the last Stormcloak in the area falling, the Imperials let out quick cheers.
"Huzzah!"
"That'll show 'em!"
"For the glory of the Empire!"
For a moment, in her half-battle dazed state, Lydia almost mistook the cries she was hearing. She'd nearly interpreted them as battle cries, a herald towards a battle still being joined. Her senses kicked in however and told her that was not the case. This wasn't cries of battle, but cries of victory. Sure enough, with no more Stormcloaks in this immediate area, it almost appeared as if they had in fact... won?
"We... we won?" she softly spoke. She glanced back up and side to side hastily, "We won? Did we do it?!"
"Housecarl, we beat them!" a voice said beside her. Lydia turned to see the purely gladdened face of an Imperial beaming back at her. The woman was initially surprised by the action; realization finally came to her as reality set in. The battle was over, the enemy was felled, and she was still alive. That in itself had to count as a victory.
Gods, why was she feeling so tired all of a sudden?
"No time to rest, soldiers!" Legate Rikke's voice suddenly rang out, "You men, secure these catapults! Everyone else, to the city! Let's clean up any stragglers!"
The city. Whiterun! Lydia shook her head and turned towards the city in question. Whiterun could be seen in the distance, a gentle glow of orange yellow from within the city's walls. There was a dark red glowing along the horizon as well that helped to contrast the shade and light. Morning, it was almost morning time as well.
Lydia followed after the Imperials making their way toward Whiterun. A slow walk at first, a power walk, a short dash, a full-on run. Adrenaline coursed through her veins to give her the boost she needed. She had to get to the city! She had to make sure everyone was alright!
Including her thane... Siffre...
Fire... chaos... and screaming...
That was unfortunately what Illia was experiencing within this city at this time. Everywhere she looked, went, listened in for, it was all nothing but fire, chaos, and screaming. Fire and smoke stung her eyes and choked her lungs, and screams of all kinds flooded her ears until they were deafening.
Where had she even gone? After encountering those initial three Stormcloaks and dispatching them with her Frost Atronach she ran along the right-side path. A not-so-distant memory reminded her that buildings were in this area with a stone well in the center. A marketplace if she were to guess.
Now however the marketplace looked anything but what it was supposed to. At least three impact zones of raging flames could be seen in this area alone, having caved in what structures were before them and ruining their images.
The entire time she searched, Illia couldn't see anyone. Not simply that it was that hard to see through the thick smoke, but there was simply no one around to see. She was very much alone here. That didn't make sense! She'd followed a whole bunch of those Stormcloaks in when they'd crossed over that drawbridge! How could they have simply 'vanished' into the city already?!
"Drgh! Calm down, Illia! Get a grip...!" she berated herself.
In the same moment she let out a harsh cough from the smoke. This smoke, and the fires all around her... she could feel their scorching embrace on all parts of her body. Her face, her neck, through her robes and onto her body... Even her bandaged left arm.
She could feel her heart racing and pounding in her chest as she became aware of this. Her arm was the way it was because it had been burned yesterday. And now here she was a warzone of fire...
"Right... right, I'm starting to think this was a bad idea..." she said to herself. She quickly and hastily took steps away from nearby patches of fire. She looked down at the palm of her right hand again, then flexed it with the familiar ice magic. What harm could there be in trying?
She aimed her right hand and let forth a small but concentrated burst of frost from her hand. The small wave of cold air rushed forth straight upon the fire patch and almost instantly quelled it.
Illia's eyes widened in surprise. She clenched her hand to cease the frost spell and investigate what she'd done. Sure enough, there was no more fire. All that remained was a small patch of black where the surrounding stone was scorched with black soot. Now that there was no more fire the Imperial could see that it was in fact a broken wooden barrel that had in fact caught fire in this spot.
"I can't believe that worked!" she said, her hand clenching in victory, "My frost spell actually extinguished the fires?!"
She looked down at the soot spot again. Granted this patch of fire was only about as wide as a foot and a half, but still! There was the slight chance that something could be done about these fires!
Illia turned to find another fire to extinguish herself, when a sound filled the air,
"Help! Help me!"
Her ears perked up at the sound; something was strange about that call for help. It didn't sound like Stormcloaks, or an Imperial. It didn't even sound like an adult's voice at all! In fact, this voice sounded a lot younger...!
"H-hello?!" Illia called back as she looked frantically from side to side. She'd heard the voice but wasn't able to discern where it had come from, "Who's there? Where are you?!"
"Please! Is anyone there?! I'm trapped!"
The voice was heard but was unfortunately mixed in with the cacophony of distant cries of battle as well as crackling of fires all around her. Raging fires were all around her and absolutely no one else as far as she could see. The voice was still crying out for help, and Illia had no means of doing anything about it. It sounded so close too; almost taunting her...
Curse this fire, and this heat! It was all so suffocating at this point! Illia found herself rubbing the sides of her arms as her anxiety began to spike. The air was so thick and hot with smoke it was almost hard to breathe, let alone see. Illia practically staggered from here to there in this barely recognizable marketplace.
"Help!"
The voice was heard again, but this time the source sounded a little clearer. Amidst the crackling of flames and wood being burned, Illia could almost trace the source... nearby...?
Her head looked to the side, amidst one of the buildings, and that's when she saw him. Someone was lying prone in the doorway of a burning building. His upper half was reaching out with both hands and desperately trying to pull forward. The only reason he lay like this in the first place is because a large amount of burnt wood lay on top of his back and kept him pinned in place.
There was no doubt that this man, this rather young man of at least his early twenties, was the one calling out for help! His eyes soon locked onto the nearby Illia,
"Please! Help me!"
Illia quickly dashed over to the man's position. The man instantly began to grab desperately for her, causing her to instinctively jump back.
"Whoa! H-hold on!" she stammered.
"Please! Get me out! I can't feel my legs!" the man cried.
Illia's heart began to race and sweat began to pour across her forehead. The man clearly needed help, but she wasn't immediately sure how best to help him. She quickly shook her head and quickly assessed the situation.
The man was laying on his front in the doorway of this building, which was burning, and a pile of burning wood was laying on top of his body. Thankfully the burning appeared to be confined to the topmost wood upon him, for all the good that meant. Looking all around at the pieces of wood there was no way she could hope to lift this burning debris to free the man-
This was insane! Wasn't there someone around nearby?!
Illia took a step back and frantically looked from side to side.
"Hello! Hello, is anyone there?!" she called out, "I need help! This man need's help! Please, anyone!" Unfortunately, while distant sounds of battle could be heard, no one could be seen in the immediate area. Not a guard, not a Stormcloak, not even a local townsperson. No one.
"Please! You've gotta get me out of here!" the man called back for her.
Illia was once again forced to glance back down at the man's absolute horror-stricken face. She had never seen such pure terror on a person's face before; this man was staring death in the face, and likely would meet it if she did not do something!
"A-alright, alright! Just..." she tried to assure him.
It was then however that Illia was flashed with both light and heat. A burst of flames suddenly erupted before her; fire had begun to spread along the doorway and on top of the debris that kept the man immobilized. The man in question was beginning to scream loudly as well; the flames likely were getting to him ever faster. Time was running short, she needed to act NOW!
"Curse it! Here goes nothing-!"
The mage gathered the energies of ice in her hand and thrust it forward. Instead of an Ice Spike she opted for a concentrated stream of a Frostbite spell.
"What are you doing?!" the man pressed.
"I'm trying to cool down this stuff here!" she hastily replied. The cold air blew forward towards the flames... with no noticeable effect?
Illia's eyes narrowed at this; why weren't the flames being suppressed? The flames seemed to flicker against the onslaught of the cold air, but no more so than a lit candle remaining lit after not being blown on hard enough. It worked before, so why not now?!
Her eyes squinted and teeth grit in intense concentration. She poured every bit of willpower into this simple frost spell as she could muster. Damn if it ended up draining all of her magic, she would not fail here!
Instinctively her left arm shot up to join her right arm in casting a spell. As it suddenly joined in with the intensity she was demonstrating, Illia was once again reminded of the dull pain that practically radiated along the skin of the left arm beneath the bandages. She winced at the pain despite maintaining her concentration... but still to no avail.
Slowly, Illia glanced down at her left arm, her bandaged left arm, with the reasoning for its condition flooding back into the forefront of her mind. Dravynea had bandaged this arm after it was burned by that dragon, and it was still bandaged after all this time...
These bandages... they were holding her back, weren't they?
With a roar she reached over and ripped the bandages off of her left arm as swiftly as she could manage. They were wrapped in a circular motion around her entire arm all the way up to her hand. The entire process took a handful of seconds; seconds that really should not have lasted so long.
Eventually the bandages were off, and her left arm was bare again. Almost immediately her skin was assaulted by the sting of hot air, producing a tingling sensation all the way up to her shoulder. Illia looked down and almost cringed at what she saw. Her left arm was now marred with burn marks on all sides, the top and the bottom. The same was said of her hand, with flesh having been 'reshaped' from the flames of the dragon especially on the upper palm. Yet despite this garish appearance her arm remained largely flexible at the elbow and the fingers.
'That had to be it! The bandages had to be taken off! she mentally screamed, 'Sorry Dravynea, but I had to do it!'
Her eyes once again fell back to the trapped man on the ground at her feet. He was still looking back up at her, practically raving and pleading for his life.
Illia then gathered ice energy in both of her hands and thrust them forward. The two hands were working in tandem to each provide a stream of Frostbite upon the burning debris.
The difference between the two however was a stark contrast to each other. Her right hand was pristine in appearance and produced a hard, steady flow of ice from her palm. Her left hand however was a marred mess of burn marks with only a reduced flow of Frostbite flowing from that palm. No matter how much concentration of willpower she placed through her left hand, the flow remained drastically reduced...
Illia spared a brief moment to glance back at the 'work' she was attempting to do. Her eyes widened suddenly as miraculously, the entire mass of debris that had been previously alight with fire was now reduced to embers, courtesy of the very thin layer of quickly melting ice.
"I-I did it! I did it!" Illia exclaimed before attempting to compose herself, "A-alright sir! Let me just..."
She moved herself next to the man's prone form and to the front of the debris as best she could. The intense heat of the fire from inside still whipped at her skin, sending ripples of pain that singed her nerves. She reached down to one corner of the debris with her unburnt hand and secured her fingers upon it. The palm of her hand was met with sharp pain from a hot surface but was otherwise manageable. Her grip unconsciously tightened as she began to lift as hard as she could.
The man on the ground had been strangely silent the entire time, and for a brief moment Illia feared that she might have been too late. Thankfully she could still hear panicked breathing coming from his mouth. This quickly turned to groans of pain as the debris slowly creaked upwards.
"Urgh! Come on...!" Illia grunted as she lifted. The debris was really heavy, and she dared only lift with her good hand! Where was Siffre, or even Lydia when she needed them?!
"H-hey! I can feel-!" the man said. Illia forced her last bit of strength into her arms and legs as she forced the debris up as hard as she could. It was now or never at this rate...
Looking back down again she witnessed the man begin to actually crawl forward! He clawed at the ground and pulled himself away from the house. By now his thighs were well and clear from being trapped, with his shins following very slowly behind.
Illia could feel the strain in her arms and her fingers weakening with each passing second. Any second now she'd lose her grip and drop the debris right on top of the man's legs!
Eventually, after many agonizingly long seconds, the man on the ground crawled forward enough so that his feet were completely clear and outside of the building. Illia looked down at his legs, and wished she hadn't. One of his legs was bent at an angle that frankly should not bend that way!
The sight alone sent a wave of shock and horror through her being, which in turn resulted in her actually losing grip on the debris. The piles of ember wood fell back down with a thudding crash. As it happened though a sudden burst of heat erupted from inside the building dangerously close to the mage. The sudden crash of burnt wood in her hands impacting on the ground as it did must have set off some larger conflagration inside the building.
Purely on instinct Illia jumped to the side and ended up tumbling to the ground, coughing hard as smoke nearly filled her lungs. She spared a glance back at where she was just standing to find the doorway- wait, there was no doorway! It had completely caved in by the fire! She couldn't believe it! The both of them had actually gotten out of this with their lives!
The sound of the man's whimpers drew her attention back to him again.
"Gods, bless you...!" she reached a hand out to reach towards her. His face immediately contorted with pain as a sharp wave of pain shot through his body, "Arrrgh!"
"Oh! Hold on, sir!" Illia hastily said. She reached into her satchel on her side to fish forth a couple of items. Thank goodness this satchel of all things was still intact and not burned completely. Both hands retrieved a single potion in each as she brought them before the man. One held a potion for health, and another for magicka.
"Here, drink this, hurry...!"
She quickly uncorked the small pink potion and brought it close to the man's lips. The man continued to whimper but otherwise gave no attempt at resistance. The potion's contents slowly poured down his throat with relative ease with the man coughing from the bitter taste.
Once that was done Illia quickly uncorked the other potion meant for herself and her magicka. The taste of the potion held that familiar taste of tangy yet with no lingering aftertaste. She could almost feel the subtle effect of her magicka reserves refilling within her as she shook her head to steady her nerves.
"Alright, sir! We should get you out of here!" she said to him. The moment she said that though she found herself at a loss. Looking all around was again nothing but burning buildings and raging fires. Where really was any place that could be considered 'safe' at a time like this?!
"The Temple... Temple to Kynareth..." the man breathed, drawing her attention again.
"What?"
"I was trying to get there, when I had..." he panted, "Please... it's up those steps over there!"
Illia glanced up towards where he pointed. The steps indicated were in fact the same steps that she'd remembered walking up when Siffre, Lydia, and herself had arrived here yesterday. Of course! She'd remembered seeing another set of large buildings on that elevated section of land, one of them even resembling something of a temple!
"Ah, alright! I-I'll get you there!" she assured him, "Now um... do you think you can-?"
"I... I can..." the man proceeded to try and push himself up to his knees. The moment the knee of his mangled leg touched the ground however he let out a wail of pain before collapsing a little.
"Here! I got you...!"
Illia rushed over to the man's side and gently ushered him to lift his arm. Thankfully the man seemed to understand what she was meaning to do and allowed her to do it. With his arm placed around her shoulder she gently rose him back up, this time avoiding placing any pressure on his bad leg.
The results were more successful this time. In a mere handful of seconds Illia had supported the man to stand back up on his feet, his arm draped over her shoulder for further support.
"Alright, let's go!"
The two then proceeded to walk slowly towards the stairs. In the midst of raging fires all around them the sounds of groans could be heard from the man's lips right next to her ears. Thankfully he wasn't all that heavy, or perhaps not all of his bodyweight was required to be supported at this time. Step by step they advanced closer towards the stairs.
Right before they reached them however a thought crossed her mind that in turn filled her with worry and concern. Her left arm was supporting him by wrapping around his back, while her right hand held on to his own that was draped over her shoulders. At the moment this essentially kept both of her hands occupied and unable to cast any sort of Destruction spell should the need arise.
What if they get attacked? What if some Stormcloak were to come out and try and kill them while they were walking?
'Urgh! Get a grip, Illia! Can't worry about that now!' she mentally berated herself, 'Focus on the more important thing!'
The steps were now before the two of them; the next daunting challenge as it required stepping with feet. Feet that Illia was fairly certain the man had only a single good one at the moment.
"Here we go... can you make it?" she gently asked her charge.
"I... I can try..." the man grunted.
Illia placed her feet on the first step before stopping. She paused for a second to allow the man to follow up as best he could. She could see him focusing all of his weight onto the foot that wasn't severely broken. He let out a couple of pained grunts but otherwise maintained what footing he had. This process repeated itself literally step by step, Illia leading and the man following. During the entire time they remained alone, no other assailants as she'd feared earlier. They might just make it at this rate...
A minute or two later the pair finally reached the top of the steps. As they proceeded to walk forward, they gazed out upon what could only be described as an actual warzone.
The Cloud District was a scene of a massive battle. Numerous warriors and fighters could be seen clashing weapons with weapons. Flames from nearby buildings and stray fires still set the world alight with its hard orange glow, but the striking blue of some of the warriors still managed to stand out. They in turn fought against yellow-garbed Whiterun guards in the large circular center of the decorative water streams.
In the very center of these streams stood the massive tree, the Gildergreen she'd remembered it being called. However, to her horror, the tree had caught fire upon various branches. Not a single leaf could be seen anymore, leaving the whole of the tree barren and almost skeletal in appearance. Out of everything Illia had seen today she felt a heavier pang of sadness at the sight; that tree was one of the most magnificent things she'd ever seen, and now it was suffering indirectly as a victim in itself!
Off to the side on the right stood the elevated building of Jorrvaskr, which was also the scene of a massive battle. Blue-garbed Stormcloaks fought against warriors, but these defenders were dressed drastically different from even Whiterun guards. Some were dressed in the most basic of cloth armors like hide and leather, which in turn helped to emphasize their rather large muscles. Others were dressed in a rather strange looking steel armor; gray in color with what looked like heads of wolves serving as adornments. The vast majority of the battle cries originated specifically from there as opposed to the rest of the Cloud District. Illia didn't know who those people were, but they were sure keeping those Stormcloaks occupied alright!
On that note even now the two of them hadn't been seen by anyone, especially not any Stormcloaks. Illia and the man made their way forward, closer towards the Gildergreen.
"Which... which way was it again...?" she spoke up.
"There! That's the temple, right there!" the man pointed out. Illia looked up to see the man pointing past the Gildergreen at one of the larger buildings to the left of it. Sure enough, out of all these rather common buildings she'd seen so far this one stood out as looking something close to resembling a temple from the outside.
Miraculously this building appeared to be untouched by any flames or impact shots from the flame shells!
"Alright, just hold on! Not much further...!" Illia assured him. Her reply came in the form of more pain grunts from the man with each step taken.
The two of them rounded the large trunk of the Gildergreen on its left side; the bulk of the fighting seemed to be taking place near Jorrvaskr and Illia did not want to risk being pointed out by anyone involved. While the base body of the Gildergreen itself wasn't on fire, Illia could still no doubt feel the heat of flames from the fires that were burning from the branches above.
Another burst of heat hit Illia and the man, and it was at this point of rounding the tree that the mage could see why. A large pile of burning shells had impacted one of the wooden decorative vine holders that surrounded the tree. Thankfully the fires didn't seem to be spreading as the impact had actually hit within the water, leaving flames to remain on the very top.
Illia coughed a couple of times as some stray smoke managed to pervade her lungs again, but otherwise pressed on with her daunting task. The warriors on all sides were still engaged in their own fights and hadn't pointed her out yet.
"Hey! You there!"
Illia's heart sank as she heard the voice. She immediately assumed the worst and a Stormcloak had likely seen her. In response she flexed her right hand and prepared to summon what magic she could through it in an attempt at defense. The voice had come from directly in front of her, so she slowly pulled her gaze up...
... and found a pair of guardsmen standing there at the entrance to the temple.
"By the Gods! Sigurd! Is that you?!" one of the guards called out. One of the men hastily sheathed his blade as the two of them rushed forward.
"Please! He's injured!" Illia said.
"Here, let me take him...," said the unarmed guard. He took Sigurd's arm and traded places with Illia. In no time the man was in better hold physically as the guard easily supported the man's weight compared to Illia.
The other guard with his sword drawn dashed back to the temple door and opened it. The guard and Sigurd were quickly seen inside before attention was turned back to her.
"Thank you, citizen," he said. Even amidst the chaotic sounds all around her Illia could hear and understand gratitude when she heard it. The man was absolutely sincere with what he was telling her.
"O-of course. I did what I could do, but... I hope it was enough," she admitted.
"The priests of Kynareth will see to healing him further," he explained before cracking the door open again, "Now, I'd suggest you do the same and take refuge with the others. It's crowded, but I think we can fit you in."
His offer surprised Illia. Such an offer of safety was not what she was expecting; she almost didn't know how to immediately respond. That is until she happened to glance back down at her left arm, her burn scar-marred left arm. If what the man said was true, maybe something could be done for this as well?
She glanced behind her one more time at the battle that raged all around her. Somewhere amidst this fire and chaos, Siffre and Lydia were out there, probably fighting like any other battle-hungry Nord.
"I... Alright. Thank you, I'll come in..." she finally accepted the man's offer. The guard silently nodded and held the door open to allow her hastily to slip inside the temple before closing it behind her.
The sounds of metal clashing on metal filled the entire space of Dragonsreach's throne room. This had happened in mere moments following Vignar Gray Mane as well as his son and two others having entered the room with the clear intention of challenge. Balgruuf's guards and housecarl Irileth were surprised but nonetheless quick to leap to action. The Dunmer and the guardsmen themselves focused their attention on the Gray Mane son and his followers, leaving the Jarl to contend with the Gray Mane head.
Swords clashed against each other in a deadly dance of steel. Balgruuf hated to admit it but Vignar had definitely not lost many steps in his old age when it came to fighting. He had at least twenty years on himself and was managing to hold his own relatively well. It was hardly surprising since the both of them fought in the Great War, plus he did frequently spend most of his days with the Companions at their mead hall.
The Jarl then caught Vignar in a deadlock of blades directly in front of him. He pressed both his sword, as well as much of his body weight, into the sword as best he could to hold him in place.
"You'll not have my city, you damned old fool!" he spoke low and dangerously with how close their heads were.
Vignar's response was to suddenly push off and free his arm from the deadlock. He then followed up with a front kick with his right foot to the Jarl's midsection that sent Balgruuf stumbling back. The Jarl's back collided against the large table behind him with a couple of the cups clattering as they fell over from the impact. Fortunately, he was able to stabilize himself as he looked back up at Vignar.
"And your 'rule' is ending soon, boy," he shot back, "You're no more fit to rule Whiterun than that puppet-king Torygg was fit to rule Skyrim!" Balgruuf regained his footing as he stepped away from the table.
"I'm not the High King, but neither am I a 'boy'," he said, "And this 'coup' of yours is ending, here and now!"
He then proceeded to dash forward, sword tip pointing straight for Vignar. The Gray Mane met his blade with is own in a parry to avoid a direct stab at his shoulder. Balgruuf was quick to follow up with another slash that was blocked by his opponent's blade.
This time Vignar pressed his own assault by gripping his sword handle with both hands as he attempted to swing hard at Balgruuf. The Jarl was quick to duck and allow the blade to sail over his head. As he regained his stance, he quickly held up his blade to block Vignar's blade as he brought it directly back to strike again. With this positioning he suddenly forced his blade down low, cocked a fist back and let it fly into Vignar's face.
The effect of the punch was immediate as it sent Vignar stumbling backward in place. He maintained hold of his sword the entire time however, even as he regained his footing.
"Drgh, lucky hit..." he muttered. He wiped his mouth of a stray bit of blood that the punch had produced and rubbed it on his shirt.
As Balgruuf kept his eyes locked squarely on his immediate opponent, he could sense out of the corner of his eyes the other battle that was taking place in his throne room. His son Avulstein and those two other fellows were still locked in combat with Irileth and his guards. Metal clashing on metal could be heard along with various grunts, cries, and whooshes of a heavy weapon being swung. A couple bodies could be seen on the ground as well, but Balgruuf dare not tear his eyes away to verify who it was that had fallen. Not when he himself was presently engaged in an important fight himself.
Vignar stepped forward again and prepared to strike from overhead. Balgruuf held his own blade up to catch the overhead strike. The clang of metal striking metal rang out loud throughout the throne room. This was followed up by another overhead strike and a clanging sound, the Gray Mane patriarch nearly pounding with his blade upon Balgruuf's own.
The Jarl caught occasional glimpses of his opponent's face during his swings. Vignar's face looked relatively composed, but momentary breaks of his pursed lips showed just how hard he was gritting his teeth.
With another attempt at an overhead strike Balgruuf quickly angled his blade to allow Vignar's blade to redirect and swing down and to the side. The Gray Mane patriarch was once again thrown off balance, but this time he was even quicker to recover. He spun in place and Balgruuf was nearly met with the tip of his sword aimed right for his chest.
The Jarl jumped out of the way in time to put some space between himself and his opponent.
'Blast it, this is going on for far too long!' he thought to himself, 'I need to end this, here and now!'
He angled his sword in his hand again, prepared to swing at Vignar. Before he could do so a voice called out amidst the fighting.
"My Jarl!"
Irileth's voice reached his ears. And from the looks of it she had gotten Vignar's attention as well. The two Nords turned to face her direction and were surprised with what they saw.
The fighting off to the side had ceased completely. Irileth stood along with a few remaining Whiterun guards with their weapons pointed straight at their opponents. There was no more fighting in itself because they appeared to have been disarmed! Avulstein was without his large battle axe and the other Nord without his war-axe. Both of them held their hands up in surrender to the weapons that were pointed right at them.
On the ground were the bodies of a couple of Whiterun guardsmen and the other individual that had accompanied the attackers.
"No! Avulstein!" Vignar suddenly declared, "Don't you dare touch my nephew, damn elf!"
Balgruuf could sense it in that moment: the tide had unexpectedly shifted! He quickly turned and pointed his own blade directly at Vignar, just as Irileth and the guardsmen themselves were doing. The old man saw this and his face betrayed a look of surprise.
"Drop your sword... now," he spoke once. There was hesitation from Vignar, and Balgruuf was afraid he'd have to repeat himself, or worse. However, his command appeared to register with the man; he dropped his sword, allowing it to clatter to the ground.
Balgruuf carefully reached his foot over and slid the sword closer to him and away from Vignar completely. Vignar could only look back and forth between Balgruuf and the rest of his attendees. The look on his face was one of absolute seething!
"Uncle Vignar, no!" Avulstein called out, "Don't worry about me! You've got to keep-!"
"That's enough from you!" Irileth swiftly stepped forward and pounded the hilt of her sword to the back of Avulstein's skull. The hit didn't knock him out, but the man grunted in pain and recoiled from it all the same.
"You-!"
Vignar made a motion to rush to his nephew's side but was immediately halted by Balgruuf's blade pointed at his direction. As such, he could only remain in place with his teeth openly barred. The Jarl was almost certain the man was actually snarling from how angry he was, from how much hatred was pouring off of him. The hate was practically palpable.
"It's over, Gray Mane. Make no mistake there will be a reckoning for this," Balgruuf spoke in his authoritarian tone that he usually reserved for public speeches. His own eyes remained leveled and focused on the older man; as a fellow Nord it wasn't likely he would resort to dirty tricks, but Balgruuf wasn't about to take chances.
"This... is NOT over!" the patriarch practically screamed, "Even if we fail here, the Stormcloaks out there will oust you and the Empire! Skyrim will be free! The Empire and their puppet-master Thalmor will-!"
"Guards! To the dungeons with them!"
The guards that remained standing were quick to move. At least three were present to secure each one of the attempted usurpers with their hands behind their backs.
"Gah! Get your hands off me, milk-drinker!" Vignar pressed as he thrashed in place momentarily. He seemed to relax himself as the guard held his own grip on his secured hands and proceeded to march him towards the stairs leading to the lower levels. Before he disappeared out of sight the old man's voice could still be heard raving,
"BALGRUUF!"
With the thundering sound of the basement doors closing, Balgruuf exhaled a deep breath he didn't even know he was holding. He panted hard and he panted deep, deep breaths. That was a hard fight he had just fought in, not simply for how strong his opponent was. Though admittedly that was a factor as well. No, what winded him even more was 'who' his opponent was.
Vignar Gray Mane, head of one of the two great families of Whiterun. The man and his nephew had blatantly attacked him in his very throne room in the midst of a larger Stormcloak invasion outside. Could the two have been related? Were signs of brewing conspiracies he was never even aware of? Every possibility that flooded his mind only filled him with more worry, more distress, and more despair.
"My lord?"
Balgruuf turned to his side to see Irileth approach and place a hand on his shoulder.
"Urgh, I'm fine, Irileth," he said.
"Are you injured at all?"
"I said I'm fine. Just... let me catch my breath," Balgruuf took a couple more deep breaths. After a few more seconds he felt he was largely in control of himself once more.
"This was... well, I don't think even I could've seen this coming," the Dunmer admitted, "And I'm supposed to be ready for 'any' possibility."
"Nobody could have. For Vignar to go so far as to actually stage a coup...?" he glanced at his Dunmer housecarl, "The people of Whiterun will not be happy to hear of this, at all. Yet at the same time they will NEED to hear of this... What should I do?"
"My lord, I understand your frustration, I really do," Irileth said, "But now is not the time to discuss this. There is still a battle for your city going on out there. We can discuss recovery efforts 'after' the fighting has ceased and when we're able take stock of who's still alive." There was wisdom in the Dunmer's words, and Balgruuf nodded.
"I really am getting too old for this... Help the guards in the dungeons secure the prisoners, then bring them right back up here," he indicated towards the dead bodies that still sprawled on the floor and stained the carpet red with blood, "These pour souls will need to be taken care of as well..."
"Yes, my Jarl, I'll return quickly."
With that Irileth hastily rushed off to follow after the guards down to the basement levels of Dragonsreach, leaving Balgruuf alone. The Jarl almost stumbled in a half-dazed state as he made his way back towards his throne, dropped his blade haphazardly to the ground, and took his seat in his chair. The only thing he was left to do was stare straight forward at the expanse of his hall, various furniture that was knocked over in the scuffle, and the dead bodies that now littering the ground. How had it all come to this...?
As bad as things were in here, he could only imagine just how worse things just might be out there, in his city. His thoughts drifted towards people he knew of.
'Dragonborn, Lydia, Hrongar... Gods be with you all.'
"YAAAAAAA!"
Siffre vocally grunted as she brought her sword down to cut down another Stormcloak. The invader cried out in pain before falling to the ground. Just as before there was a large splatter of blood as Siffre's blade cut through the armor and into the flesh beneath. She could feel the blood spray her in various places, though for the life of her she couldn't tell exactly where she had blood on her. Something like that was far from important.
The once Stormcloak hit the ground and writhed in pain for a few seconds before lying still. As with many times before Siffre did not stop to relish in her recent victory; she turned to quickly meet her next foe.
To her mild confusion there were no immediate foes rushing to meet her at this time. While there was still fighting raging all around her it was all Whiterun guards locked in combat with Stormcloaks. Fighting, fire, and smoke; her senses were practically overloaded with these three things. Everywhere she looked a weapon was being swung. Every bit of her skin felt singed by nearby fires. Every bit of air she breathed felt tainted by smoke.
And yet somehow, she was still standing. Standing and ready to keep fighting. Was she tired? She honestly had no way of knowing. It felt like she should've been, yet she felt all the more filled with energy and fight in her.
One other person stood out from the group that wasn't immediately fighting. This was due largely in part that just like her the man had slain his own foe. Hrongar ripped out his own blade from the belly of his unlucky foe, letting the now lifeless body fall to his side. He too glanced up and met her own eyes; unspoken acknowledgement was made between the two.
The two of them looked out and practically dared anyone to challenge them. Both of them gripped their great swords in their hands, the metal of both blades practically drenched and dripping with blood as they themselves were.
And that's when they saw it. Before them, up along where the stone of the path met the wider expanse of Whiterun's plains, a Whiterun guard was being struck down. He was felled by a rather fearsome looking adversary. The man was dressed in rather thick looking brown armor yet bereft of sleeves to allow his bulging arms to be seen. Upon closer inspection the brown of his armor wasn't simply a dye, but rather an adornment! His shoulders and even the top of his head were covered with the dark brown, thick fur of an actual bear! The head of the beast gracing the top of the man's head as an improvised hat.
In this man's hands he gripped a fearsome looking steel warhammer. One end of the hammer's head was a solid blunt shape, while the other side was a sharpened point. He promptly brought this weapon down hard upon the unfortunate guard that was fighting him. Even from here the sound of the impact upon flesh and steel could be heard. Metal scraping on steel and flesh being ripped seemed to pierce through all other sounds around. Needless to say, the poor victim did not rise from his execution.
The bear-garbed warrior raised his war-hammer and turned to his side, eager to meet his next foe. What he saw however made him pause; the Stormcloak locked eyes with both Siffre and Hrongar, both of whom had watched this entire scene take place.
"Is that... Ah, Kjarngar Steel-Heart," Hrongar spoke sardonically. The slightest hint of bitterness could be heard lacing his voice as he spoke, "Fancy seeing you again, old friend."
"Kjarngar...?" Siffre spoke. For some reason that name sounded familiar, but why was that? Where had she heard that name before?
Her eyes widened as she suddenly remembered. She had in fact met a 'Kjarngar' yesterday, when she and Illia had been taken to Windhelm!
"Hrongar," the man, Kjarngar, replied, "Figures I'd find you here, fighting for Balgruuf and his land."
"Kjarngar..." Siffre voiced again, a little louder this time, "Wait... Are you Kjarngar 'Ice-Veins'?"
"Ice-Veins?" Hrongar questioned.
The question in turned caused the man to regard Siffre fully now. His narrowed look he'd leveled at Hrongar softened ever so slightly upon seeing her.
"Dragonborn? You're fighting on the side of the Imperials as well?" he said before giving a sigh, "I honestly hoped it wouldn't come to this. After our meeting yesterday, you having stood before Jarl Ulfric himself... You're here now? Fighting against us, and him?"
"I'm here protecting Whiterun!" Siffre challenged, all reservations regarding her Voice completely disregarded, "You're the ones who have come here, attacking this city and killing its people!"
"We do what we do for the good of Skyrim!" Kjarngar shot back, "Jarls and anyone else that do not support Ulfric Stormcloak MUST be cast aside! That is the only way Skyrim will be free! But what would you know about that, seeing as you fight for the enemy?"
The Stormcloak's comments actually ignited a feeling within Siffre. A feeling of warmth felt within to match the feeling of warmth that the fires all around her whipped at her skin with. This was a feeling she had felt not too long ago in fact.
Siffre was right angry.
She was angry, now at this man. This man and his claim to know anything about her. For what he and his army were doing right now. And for what the conquest of his leader would mean for this not only this city's people but also those she knew that were protecting it. What if Lydia...
Siffre steeled herself. No more would such intrusive thoughts cloud her mind. After all they'd been through together, she refused that the worse could ever come to pass when it came to her.
"It is you, Kjarngar, with your cheaply held honor, who are wrong here," Hrongar fired back before indicating to her, "She is the Dragonborn! There is no higher honor in all this land than what she represents! I for one am honored to fight by her side in driving the likes of you out!" Hrongar held blade with the tip facing outward, the challenge of his gesture made clear.
Siffre also gripped the hilt of her own blade ever tighter. By now she was beginning to take notice her surroundings. The nearby raging fires illuminated the area with an orange yellow glow, but also the distant sky was beginning to turn red. With all this surrounding light, the dark, silhouetted form of the Stormcloak officer appeared highlighted even further. He appeared as little more than a target to her; an obstacle, a great hurdle that she needed to overcome.
So easy as it was to simply Shout at this man, the need to cut him down by blade outweighed that notion.
Kjarngar returned the challenge of the other two with a challenge of his own. He gripped the shaft of his hammer and slammed the head of it down once against the ground.
"Come then, Dragonborn and brother of Balgruuf; let's end this," he called out. With that the Stormcloak officer charged forward. Siffre and Hrongar did the same, both of them letting out cries of their own.
Upon reaching close enough distance Kjarngar quickly raised his warhammer and swung it horizontally towards the duo. Siffre quickly ducked and rolled clear and out of the way of the weapon. Hrongar instead was quick enough to catch the head of the weapon at the base of his great sword and deflect it. With the Stormcloak's weapon momentarily thrown off balance Hrongar quickly raised his own great sword up to counterattack.
Kjarngar unfortunately was quicker and raised his own booted foot up to kick the burly Nord back. Hrongar stumbled back a couple steps; the grumbling that escaped his lips more of surprise and frustration than from any kind of pain.
The man then quickly gripped his war hammer with both hands and prepared to swing in the opposite direction. This of course meant that Siffre, who had just gotten back up, was forced to jump back to avoid being struck square in the side by the sharp side of the weapon.
Seizing his chance Hrongar quickly rushed in and attempted to slash at the unguarded Stormcloak. As his blade swung close the bear-garbed man suddenly thrust his gauntlet-covered forearm out. There was a clanging sound as the sword collided with something hard, almost metallic sounding as well. The Stormcloak's hand was completely fine, the sword having struck the metal of the gauntlet and deflecting it yet again.
Siffre also came in to swing her blade towards Kjarngar, an opposite motion and direction from how Hrongar himself had done so. The Stormcloak instead opted to hold his warhammer vertically and block the blade against the shaft. There was a small, dull thudding sound as steel met something vaguely wooden. Siffre frowned from this knowledge being made known to her; it wasn't likely this was a weapon she could simply 'cut' through.
Before she could follow up any further however Kjarngar angled the length of his weapon to the side to force Siffre's blade downward. The blade slid off of the length of the blade and bit into the ground. Instead of following up with a hit against her the Stormcloak quickly swung himself to catch Hrongar's blade before it could strike him as well. With his forward momentum he pushed off of Hrongar's strike and spun in place to put distance between himself and his foes.
Siffre pulled her blade loose from the ground and held it at attention again, panting hard the entire time as well.
"This... this is no... no good!" she panted, "He's deflecting... everything! How can we-?"
"I think... yes. Even he'll be overpowered by our combined strength bearing upon him," Hrongar replied. He quickly glanced to his side where his eyes met Siffre's, "Let's go, Dragonborn. We'll take him at the same time as one!" Siffre nodded in affirmation. The two warriors held their weapons to bear, prepared to strike again.
Kjarngar then gripped his own hammer with both of his hands again and raised it above his head. He then leapt forward and swung it down towards where the two were standing previously. While the weapon did not hit Siffre nor Hrongar, it did leave a small impact crater as it easily broke the individual stone of the walkway.
"There! Now!"
On Hrongar's mark he and Siffre raised their blades above their heads, just as Kjarngar himself had done, and brought them down. The Stormcloak barely had enough time to lift his hammer from the ground, angle it horizontal to the ground, and hold it above his head.
Two simultaneous thuds of metal on wood filled the air as the two blades fell upon the hammer's shaft. Siffre and Hrongar held their deadlock upon Kjarngar hard, refusing to let up or relent their assault. They essentially pinned the Stormcloak in place since the edges of their weapons did 'bite' into the wood of Kjarngar's. Both of them managed to strike just outside of Kjarngar's own hands, just narrowly avoiding taking off a finger from either end.
All three warriors grit their teeth, each one attempting to push harder against the opposing side. Hrongar and Siffre's hands pressed downward upon the hilts of their swords, while Hrongar pressed his fists upward to support his hammer in its improvised defense. From the look in his eye, it seemed he was recognizing the pair had him pinned. There was little he could do for risk that the deadlock would be broken and leave him wide open.
"This is it, traitor," Hrongar spoke in between his own grunts, "The end for you!"
"Urgh... Not... yet!"
The Stormcloak's defiant line momentarily confused Siffre, but this was quickly overshadowed by what happened next.
Very slowly Kjarngar edged the fist of his left hand closer to the center of the hammer, away from Hrongar's blade. This action drew mild concern from Siffre but had no idea what was happening. Eventually Kjarngar's left hand was relocated to the dead center of the war hammer's shaft... and he slowly released his right hand.
Siffre and even Hrongar's eyes widened by at what was happening: the Stormcloak was now basically supporting the combined weight strength of the both of them upon his warhammer with only one hand! This meant now that his right hand was open and free! It was now free to...
The fist suddenly launched out and collided with Siffre's side. In an instant, Siffre's world flashed in pain, causing her to cry out. As her own hands were unable to block the punch to her unguarded side, she had expected the punch would hurt her a little. What she was not expecting however was what felt like actual stabbing pain! Why did it feel like she had been stabbed just now?!
In her pained state she released her grip of strength through her sword upon Kjarngar's hammer. One hand quickly rushed to her left side to hold over where she'd been punched... and felt wetness?
Looking down Siffre was further surprised to find her hand coated in a layer of blood. There was not only a bruise on her unarmored side but also was bleeding from three separate punctures in her skin! How!? How did that happen just now?!
Her gaze shot back over to Kjarngar's fist, and her unasked question was answered. There, gracing the top of his metallic gauntlet lay a trio of sharpened spikes that oddly resembled claws. Suddenly, the faint visage of the man's appearance changed in her mind: the man was dressed every part like a a bear, and even had claws like an actual one as well!
In the process of looking back at Kjarngar she was unfortunate to witness something else take place. Having taken advantage of Siffre's surprise injury the Stormcloak swung his hammer-wielding arm in hand to his side, in the process taking Hrongar's blade along with it. The Jarl's brother's sword bit into the ground, but Kjarngar wasn't done. He used the continued momentum of his body to spin in place, bringing the sharpened point of his hammerhead and lodging it deep into Hrongar's side.
Various sounds escaped from Hrongar and Siffre's mouths, the man's cry was of pain and Siffre's was of surprise and terror. The Jarl's brother was too late to prevent the sharpened point of the hammerhead from piercing through his armor and his body. Siffre couldn't see his face from this angle but the cries that escaped from his mouth told her all she needed to know.
Kjarngar on the other hand violently ripped the hammer loose from Hrongar's body. This harsh motion created a larger amount of blood being spilled from the wound, significantly larger than Siffre's own wound to her side. Hrongar's hands released from his blade and snapped over to hold the bleeding as best they could.
But Kjarngar still wasn't done.
The Stormcloak had quickly raised his hammer above his head again, this time with the blunt side of the hammerhead facing down. With a mighty whoosh of air the hammer was brought down, resulting in a sickening crunch.
Instantly, Siffre's entire world went silent. All other noise around her seemingly became muted in a matter of seconds. Meanwhile the sound effect of the crunching sound seemed to echo within her mind. Absolute horror and terror gripped her very being.
Any hope there might've been that Hrongar could've survived that was dashed just from looking at the way his head was tilted. The hammerhead may have just barely missed his head, but a heavy portion of his left side shoulder was caved in, a sickening visual to look upon.
Siffre let out a massive cry of protest. All her feelings of shock, horror, and anguish bottled up into this cry. However, the stranger thing was that she couldn't exactly remember screaming; she didn't hear anything escape her lips. Did she even scream? Had she...
Had she lost her voice again?
With a sound of flesh being rend Kjarngar ripped the hammerhead loose from Hrongar's body. The now lifeless body of the once Jarl's brother fell to the ground where it did not move. It was then that Siffre became aware of sounds entering her ears. She heard everything again somehow; perhaps she had screamed at the time with her actual voice. There was no way of knowing for certain.
Kjarngar turned his attention back up to her. His hammer gripped in both hands with blood dripping from both sides.
"You're next... 'Dragonborn'," the man challenged as he began to stalk towards her.
Dragonborn... Dragonborn. The Stormcloak's comment a stark reminder to her. Yes, she was Dragonborn, and thus could use the Thu'um. The Thu'um that could make a difference in any battle. And a difference that she should have taken advantage of a few seconds ago!
Why hadn't she stopped him from killing Hrongar!?
Siffre's eyes leveled their narrow stare at the approaching Stormcloak. Her breathing almost remained ragged and irregular until she finally got back into the steady flow. That wound on her side momentarily forgotten about. Her mouth remained opened with teeth barred and flashing. No, no more... no more holding back.
Kjarngar would truly become 'Ice-Veins'!
Siffre opened her mouth and exhaled,
"Fo-KRAH!"
As before a massive wave of freezing cold air burst from her lips. Even Siffre couldn't deny that from this distance between them there was little chance the Stormcloak officer could evade her Thu'um fast enough. He was standing in almost point-blank range and would take the full force of her Frost Breath!
To her credit Kjarngar didn't even make any effort to evade the fearsome blast of pure cold air that bore towards him. As there was no chance he could jump clear he instead opted to turn his body as best he could so that the 'bear-armor' shielded the brunt of the force.
"Drgh!"
Groans could be heard escaping from his lips. In addition, the man ended up taking a few steps back anyway from the sheer 'force' of the Frost Breath. Siffre vaguely noticed the surrounding fires from behind him had been almost instantly extinguished from the Thu'um that had reached them. In the end however, it appeared that Kjarngar Ice-Veins remained standing despite taking her Thu'um head-on.
'Good.'
Siffre didn't even bother to hide her voice as it let out a vicious cry upon swinging her sword. Kjarngar barely had enough time to turn himself back around and block the strike with his hammer again.
But Siffre had gone through this similar motion before, and it would NOT stop her again!
Before Kjarngar could make any effort to counterattack Siffre was already moving again. She lifted her sword again and reangled it to strike from horizontally. Once more Kjarngar was forced to block with the shaft of his hammer.
This was repeated again and again and again. Siffre raised her sword to strike at the Stormcloak and forcing the other to defend himself. Never once did she even recall relenting or ever allowing the other to get in a hit of his own. None of that would be happening while she felt this need, this desire, this absolute urge to see this man dead! He killed Hrongar, and by the Gods above she would avenge him! She would make this man PAY!
Suddenly, in a moment that almost thoroughly surprised Siffre as much as it likely did Kjarngar, her sword cleaved straight through the shaft of the hammer! With a loud crack the sword cleaved the hammer in half! Siffre's surprise quickly gave way to relief, then joy... rather sadistic joy.
Kjarngar's hands spread apart unintentionally while still gripping the two halves of his now useless hammer. The man was completely defenseless now; no more of that damned hammer to save him from getting what was coming. An opportunity had opened up before the Dragonborn, and this time, she would take it!
She quickly rushed in and shoved the full force of the hilt of her great sword into the Stormcloak's gut. A deep cough burst from Kjarngar's mouth as he took the full force to his midsection. He remained bent over at the waist while also dropping the two halves of his hammer to the ground.
Bent over with his head sticking forward... Time to capitalize.
Siffre raised her sword above her head one last time, and with a mighty cry brought it down as hard as he could. The blade easily cleaved through fur, leather, and more importantly through flesh.
Blood positively erupted from the neck stump of the once living Stormcloak as the head itself fell forward and rolled to the ground. In the process the head fell separated from the Stormcloak 'bear-helm' as well. Both the severed 'heads' rolled about somewhere, but Siffre paid neither of them any mind.
The body meanwhile slumped and fell forwards with a thud. It was then that Siffre became aware of wetness upon her front and her armor. Blood had again splattered on her body and even a little on her face. None of the crimson fluid had gotten in her eyes thankfully. Kjarngar may be dead, but the heavy feeling in Siffre's body still was present.
Glancing over at Hrongar's body, the burly Nord still lay dead as well. That wasn't going to change either. Kjarngar's death did nothing to change that Hrongar was also dead. Siffre hadn't really known him for that long, but still managed to feel a sense of comraderie with the Jarl's brother. He'd helped her earlier with her bladework, given her confidence and reassurance with who she was, fought alongside her against a powerful opponent.
And now he was dead, because of her.
That heavy feeling inside her bubbled further and further to the surface. All that pain, anguish, regret, feelings of inadequacy, all of it bubbled and boiled until it reached its peak.
Siffre turned her head to the heavens and let out a might cry. She positively screamed as loudly as she could; all notions of restraint for controlling the volume of her voice abandoned. The air absolutely rippled from the vibrations that ripped through the air. Was she shouting a Thu'um or just plain screaming; Siffre did not know, nor did she care.
She had to let it out.
-Wow, I actually shocked myself with how 'visceral' I made this chapter! I knew this was gonna happen of course, but to see it put into words and on paper like this...!
Anyway, review, favorite, all that good stuff, and keep on reading! -
