"Hey you, Redguard, you're finally awake." a Norse accent called out to the Augment, Jon Noonien-Singh, from the void of unconsciousness, "You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that horse thief over there."
Jon's eyes shot open and he began to analyze his surroundings. Where he was isn't where he currently is, and his Augment mind when into overload trying to reason out how he went from the mountains in the middle east, to being bound in the back of a cart surrounded by a pleasant smelling and looking evergreen forest nestled into a high, snow capped, mountain range. His superior vision picked out all manner of insect, bird, rodent, hare, buck and doe.
He cast his eyes upon the men setting in front and beside him. They were harsh, appraising, and heterochromiatic, one a piercing emerald and the other a deep hazel, both complementing his dark olive colored skin and jet black hair. His eyes spied a Warrior, a King, and a Coward in the cart with him.
The Warrior setting across from him, the one who roused him from his unwilling slumber, had strong facial features, flowing blond hair replete with braids, and a matching blond beard tied into a knot. He was wearing medieval era chain-mail armor fitted over a blue quilted jacket, and covered by yet more blue regalia featuring the snarling bear of his army.
The King next to Jon wore much the same but more ornate, better quality, with leather boots fit for any noble. His hair was a darker blond then the Warrior and his mane and beard were well trimmed. While all were bound, this man was also gagged, a hard stare of lost kingdoms and failed ambitions sat in his eyes.
The Coward was clothed in simple rough-spun rags much the same Jon was. He was shifty and nervous, his beady eyes darting from place to place looking from any way to escape from their iron cage. His hair was auburn with no beard, his face as grimy as his hands and feet.
The Coward continued the conversation, more like bickering, that first roused Jon, "Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. The Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell, you there…" the Coward motioned to Jon with his bound hand, and Jon humored his incessant complaining by meeting his gaze, "You and me, we shouldn't be here. Its these Stormcloaks the Empire wants!"
"I don't think you would have fared any better in Hammerfell, Horse Thief," the Warrior said to the Coward and motioning to the so far silent Augment, "I hear his people cut off all your hands and feet for horse thievery, so you can't ride another again for the rest of your days. That's if they don't hang you outright. Either way, it's a moot point; We're all brothers brothers and sisters in binds now, thief."
The man driving the cart was a league away from the men in the cart. He was slightly smaller then the people bound with Jon. When the man turned Jon made out softer, rounder features. When he spoke it was with a somewhat posh, almost English accent, but still with the deeper undertones of a foot soldier all the same. He wore red regalia, a mail shirt, and layered strips of steel to form a chest plate with solid pauldron. The Legionaries' helmet was round at the top and swept down to cover the sides of his face and flared out around the back.
"Shut up back there." he banged on the cage to extenuate his point. He was sick of hearing the traitors prattle on. At least the big Redguard was being quiet.
The convoy continued to meander down the mountain on the rough cobble road as Jon continued to take in the sights around him. This was an alien world he found himself on after a flash of light during an assault on Khans last fortress in Afghanistan. He honestly thought he got hit in the square in the face with a nuclear device. After all it would be just like Khan to spit his last breath at his enemies from the cold heart of hell, Jon thought. He welcomed that kind of death even. A hell of a way to ride to Valhalla to his waiting comrades.
The Coward once again annoyed Jon with his chatter, "So, whats wrong with him huh?"
"Watch your tongue Thief," the Warrior spat back. "you're speaking to Ulfric Stromcloak, the true High King."
Abject terror played across the cowards face, much to the Augment's and the King's amusement, the King even grunted though his gag in a small chuckle. Jon smiled warmly at the doomed soul.
The Coward stammered out, "Ulfric, the Jarl of Windhelm?" His face fell even further into fits of realization and fear. "You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they've captured you… Oh gods, where are they taking us!?"
"Probably to Helgan, based upon where we are, Thief. Sovngarde awaits us all after we get there." the Warrior said not too proudly.
"No this cant be happening. This isn't happening!" The Coward replied.
The Warrior felt some pity for the Thief. He was a fellow Nord after all, and was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was obvious he wasn't handling this well and the Warrior made an attempt to distract the Thief from his impending doom.
"What village are you from, Horse Thief?" He said.
"Why do you care?" the Thief asked, his eyes never once leaving the floorboards of the prison cart.
"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home." The Warrior said, also looking down at his well worn boots.
"Rorikstead. I'm from Rorikstead." Was the sad reply the Warrior received.
The prison convoy began to creep into the town they were heading towards, the final destination for many that comprised it. Jon saw sturdy stone walls greet his sight, covered with Imperial soldiers, and large stone towers that rose from behind it, no doubt a keep and guard barracks. Banners hung lazily on either side of the gates into Helgan. They were a striking red with a black diamond shaped dragon in the middle, the symbol of the Roman cosplayers about to deliver him to death it seemed.
Atop the lead cart sat a man, no doubt of great import. Jon saw that his armor was of an even better quality then the King setting behind him. A full chest-plate, instead of mail and segmented armor, a deep bronze color accented in gold, with the Dragon-Seal proudly in the center of his chest. His robes underneath and over-top the man's armor was much finer than the common soldiers, with a tighter weave and brighter dye. While he was far away at the head of the convoy, Jon's eyes had no problems picking these and other small details that told him one thing.
This man about to order his death was a leader, one that was never afraid to get stuck in the mud with his men no matter how high his rank was. His armor, and no doubt his sword, were well maintained and well used. Jon wouldn't have been surprised if this leader personally lead the ambush that captured the so called "true High King" of this strange land he found himself in. He also wouldn't be surprised if this leader was common born and rose though the ranks based purely on merit.
The leader was finally given a name. "General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!" A legionnaire yelled out to his commanding officer from his position above the main gate.
"Good, lets get this over with!" General Tullius ground out back at his subordinate.
The Convoy crept ever closer to the end of its occupants. Several inhabitants and their children watched the doomed men and women roll past, the kids asking their parents what was happening and the parents trying to usher them back inside and away from the grim affair.
The Coward once again broke Jon away from his internal revelry, "Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please help me! Anything! I'll do anything!" The Coward blabbered out, apparently praying to every god of this land.
"Look at him, General Tullius, the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him." The Warrior said. Jon saw the figures in black robes trimmed with gold, some hooded and some not To his surprise they were Elves like from myth. Pointed faces and no doubt pointed ears under their hood and helms.
"Damn Elves. I bet they had something to do with this," the Warrior said with bigotry and malice in his voice.
His tone became softer as the Warrior took in his own surroundings, "This is Helgan. I used to be sweet on a girl from here." He began to smile at his own reminiscing, "Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in." He slowly looked at the walls and the legion occupying it, "Funny, when I was a boy, Imperial walls used to make me feel so safe."
The carts finally made their way to the destination and came to a jarring halt as several hundred pounds of momentum slammed into several hundred pounds of sturdy Imperial warhorse that was commanded to stop its gait by its driver.
"Get these prisoners off the carts! Move it!" An imperial officer yelled with authority that would put any task-master Jon had met to shame. She was a sturdy woman, packed with muscle, and with the same stronger, but feminine all the same, facial features that the men in the cart next to Jon had.
Why are we stopping?" the Coward, now named, Idiot asked.
"Why do you think? End of the line. Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us." The Warrior replied, taking a final breath before shuffling to the back of the cart and hopping around into the dirt that made the foundation for the cozy imperial outpost.
Jon soon followed, not wanting to cause trouble with his captors. At least no one could say he was impolite about his coming beheading. Some thoughts played out on his face for a second, and he came to terms with the fact that he would have likely been put to death one way or another had he stayed on Earth anyway, by court order or assassination. Augments weren't invincible after all. He, like the Warrior, took a centering breath, and schooled his face once again, giving everyone and everything around him the trademark augment stare.
The Idiot proceed to completely piss himself, "No! Wait! We're not rebels!"
"Face your death with some courage, Thief!" The Warrior nearly yelled.
The Officer brooked no bullshit, "Quiet! Step towards the block when we call your name! One at a time!" Augment ears were many times more sensitive then a normal human and thus proportionally susceptible to damage, albeit temporary thanks to the extraordinary healing abilities his physiology gave him. Jon felt his hearing drums pushed to their limits to not perforate and start bleeding, all from the cry of the Officer.
"Empire loves their damn lists." The Warrior muttered under his breath. Jon nearly missed it from the low pitch hum in his ears that was slowly fading away.
The Officer modulated her voice some, but was still strong and husky as she begin calling out names, "Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Whindhelm." The Jarl, defeated, stepped forward, with still enough pride to meet the Officer in the eye as he got in line for the block.
"It has been an honor, King Ulfric." The Warrior solemnly said.
"So much for his death or glory reputation." the Officer muttered, heard only to herself and Jon's enhanced ears.
"Ralof of Riverwood." Ralof too stepped towards the line, a little more proudly than his king, again meeting the eye of the Officer and the Adjunct next to her. They obviously knew each other if the expressions on the Adjunct's face were anything to go by.
Lokir of Rorikstead." the Idiots shifty eyes made one last analysis of his situation. He decided to make a break for it.
Jon was curious to see this play out, and he had a near prophetic vision based on his own analysis. Archers were covering every square inch of the place and the Idiot would not make it. However, one could never discount the surprising and unexpected. Jon had had a couple close calls. One to a kid with little training, a favorite of a few of the Tyrants.
"I'm not a rebel, you cant do this!" the Idiot cried and took off running down the dirt road and towards the still open gate. His speed actually impressed Jon, but it was not long before the Officer once again tested the sensitive bones in his ears.
"Halt! Archers!" The Officer screamed, not giving anytime for the swift Idiot to comply with the first order; She was merely going though a motion.
He had signed his death warrant a few minutes earlier than expected, and the archers quickly drew their strings and fired, peppering the Idiot. Several arrows stabbed though the man's back, with a couple hitting his neck and head. Lokir of Rorikstead was dead before he hit the ground.
The Officer looked around at the gathered prisoners, "Anyone else feel like running!" the Nord woman challenged, and Jon realized an attraction to her. He wondered if he could request that she swing the ax, and then thought better of that.
"Wait, you there. Step forward." the Adjunct said to him. The had the same facial features and Norse accent that most of those around Jon had. Jon walked up to the two with military precision, and at 6'5, stared down only slightly at the Imperial soldiers in front of him.
"What're you doing here Redguard," the Adjunct took in the Augment's Pashtun skin and complexion, "You a sell sword? A sailor from Stros M'Kai?"
Jon spoke his first words since arriving on this alien world, a flat and level answer, "I am Jon." He said, and then somewhat hesitantly added, "of house Noonien-Singh. I am not a Redguard. I am a foreigner to these lands. One of the men in the cart mentioned a Hammerfell, this is also unfamiliar to me." His voice had a bit of growl, from one of his close calls that resulted in a neck injury that healed fully, but never quite right. It would have necessitated going under the knife, which he simply never did.
It wasn't technically a lie, trying to pass himself off a foreign noble by implication. He was an Augment, made by and for Khan; As a second generation and legacy. 'Princes of the universe,' he called his creations during his visits to the creche. Khan considered his house and bloodline the noblest of royalty. Khan declared himself the Emperor of Earth, and attempted to militarily enforce that opinion. Khan, for a time, was successful in doing so, conquering nearly half the Earth before being driven back by coalition forces to his fortress outside Kabul, the capital his empire.
The fact that Jon renounced his 'birthright' was immaterial to the current proceedings. He was simply making one last attempt to negotiate for his life, since he was being given the courtesy. If that didn't work, then he would join his brothers-in-arms in Valhalla with a hell of a story to tell. The first man from Earth to meet alien life, before they promptly executed him.
"Captain, what should we do?" the Adjunct said sympathetically, "You heard him, he sounds like he's from a noble house, and he's not on the list."
"Forget the list. I've never heard of his house, he's probably a spy anyway. He goes to the block!"
"By your orders captain." the Adjunct said with a hint of sorrow on his voice. Jon truly appreciated what the adjunct had tried to do for him, but orders were orders and Jon understood that from his upbringing and eight years of service to Uncle Sam's Green Berets.
"Thank you, friend." Jon said just above a whisper.
"Hadvar, for what its worth. Wrong place, Wrong time. I'm sorry, Jon, of house Noonien-Singh."
"I understand." Jon said, again at a low din.
"Are there funeral rites in your lands? I'll personally see them upheld." Hadvar asked.
"Simply cremate my remains and spread the ashes on this beautiful mountain-side." Jon replied.
"It is a sight, isn't it. Majestic just like the rest of Skyrim. As I said, I'll see to it personally."
Jon gave a small smile and nodded as he took his place in the death-row before him.
General Tullius began a short speech as he did. Jon noticed he was a spitting image of Caesar, "Ulfric Stormcloak! Some here in Helgan call you a hero! But a hero doesn't use the power of the voice to murder his king and usurp the throne!"
Ulfric muffled a response, probably something along the lines of 'fuck' and 'you.'
"You started this war when you tore apart boy using sacred power he couldn't hope to match! You plunged Skyrim into chaos! Every death as a result of it is on your head! In the name of the Empire and the peace it represents, I sentence you all to death for the crimes of murder and insurrection!" Guilty as charged, Jon thought.
His Augment ears heard a faint roar in the distance. Judging but the total lack of reaction to the noise, he assumed no one heard it, and also assumed it was a normal part of daily life here. Some beast, dangerous but avoidable with enough caution and respect.
"Priestess, please give the prisoners their last rights." the Officer asked, showing the holy woman more respect then she had shown anyone else.
"Of course, Captain," the priestess said. She continued, "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight upon you, for you are the salt and earth of Nirn, our beloved…"
She was cut off by one of the storm cloaks, "For the love of Talos, shut up and lets get this over with." he walked up and promptly knelt in front of the block and assumed the position. The flinch from the Elven Thalmor at the mention of this man's god did not escape Jon's notice.
"I haven't got all morning." The Stormcloak finished.
"As you wish." the Priestess relented.
"My ancestors are smiling on me Imperials, can you say the same?" Were the man's final words before the Headsman's ax neatly bisected his head from the rest of his body. At least the Headman was good at his job.
Various cheers both for and against the act rallied from the prisoners and surrounding populous, "As fearless in death as he was in life." Ralof punctuated.
The Captain cut though, "Next! Tall dark and handsome!" Jon smiled internally, maybe he did have a chance.
He passed the Priestess and she asked, "Do you require funeral rites? Or are you just as impatient?"
"Just some last words, if it's permitted." he asked, staring straight at General Tullius.
The General nodded.
Jon spoke loud enough for everyone to hear, his voice even unintentionally carrying itself up and down the mountain. People that heard it that day, both inside and outside the walls of Helgan, would remember it as the first words of the Last Dragonborn.
"The warrior afterlife of my homeland is called Valhalla. My only regret is that I do not ride there over the corpses of my enemies."
A pact was sealed then and there between one Augment, a man with a regret and the will to rectify it, and with two Dovah. The first pact, chronologically, was with Akatosh. The Father of the Dovah, Lord of Time, Chief of the Divines, quietly infused the wayward augment with the immortal soul of a Dragon at the very moment of his unnatural conception.
It made him more than he already was, with the power to become more than he ever could be. If he wished to ride to a warrior afterlife in covered in blood and glory, then he would be given an enemy to fight there, the greatest enemy Mundus had ever known, with the power to match.
The second pact, chronologically, both preceded and happened simultaneously to the first. Such as the way of things when the Lord of Time is Involved. Alduin's first call was to any who would challenge him and his returned rule, a matter of honor even his evil spirit could not ignore.
Two Dovah heard it. One kept silent upon his mountain waiting to see if the prophesy was true, and the other spoke in the presence of the Divines, retroactively answering a call to fate with warrior words. There would would be duel between Dovah, the stakes as high as the heavens themselves. The First and favorite of Akatosh against his Chosen. The forces of time and life versus the forces of entropy and ruination. Alduin held no fear, and he would answer the Dovahkiin's challenge post-haste.
As Jon too assumed the position, the Stormcloaks gave a couple quiet 'hear-hears,' and even the General his subordinates were nodding at his words. Both sides coming to agreement, however minor, at the very end of a bloody conflict.
The roar had made itself known this time louder and closer. Jon put his head down on the block.
"What was that?" Hadvar asked, everyone turning an eye upwards.
"It's nothing, proceed headsmen." the Captain said with command in her tone.
The ax came up as the headman prepared for his swing, and this time the roar was deafening. Chaos took hold of the poor town as Alduin, the Word Eater, slammed down on the tower from the low hanging clouds. The near earth-shattering quake knocked stones from the side of the sturdy tower and threw the headman completely off his feet, sparing Jon the execution, but delivering him straight into a cluster-fuck.
"What in Oblivion is that!" General Tullius cried out.
"Dragon!" A nameless Stormcloak answered.
Jon slowly rose to his feet with fear greater than any in his life. Not even while he was potentially about to face the infamous leader of Augments did he feel this way. Augments had an ability to proverbially 'flip the switch' and drain their emotions to the point of sociopathy; it's what made the so prone to, and proficient at, violence. Even that was little against this evil beast staring him down, though his facial expressions were schooled anyway. That he still at least controlled.
Jon was not the only one who refused to flinch in the face of overwhelming danger, General Tullius took what control of the situation he could, "Archer, Mages, Hit that thing with everything you got, keep it off the ground, if its maneuvering to avoid your fire then its not attacking the townsfolk!" A sound order, Jon thought. This General had obviously never seen a dragon before, but still instantly adapted his tactics to fit the new threat.
"Legionaries, Guards, Get the civilians to safety! Get to the keep!"
Alduin gave an and unintelligible roar in answer to the feeble mortal, the beast's voice cracking out from his fangs and calling forth an unholy storm of fire and meteorites. He then leveled his red gaze at the Dovahkiin, the eyes of two predators meeting, all but ignoring the pitiful arrows and magic being thrown at him. His next roar was not so unintelligible.
"FUS, RO, DAH" The World Eater opened the vigorous debate between himself and the newest Dovah.
Blue force swept forth, striking Jon and sending him back a dozen feet and into the side of one of the prison cart the procession came in on, nearly breaking it in half and bruising some of his bones. The wood was splintered from the blast and the heavy Augment slamming into it, and it was only held together at all by the iron cage that made its roof and sides. A second was all it took for Jon to blink and reorient himself though the pain. In that second, the town around him to turn from a somewhat manageable, if chaotic affair, to a complete and total apocalypse.
Jon could only stare at the magnitude of destruction unfolding around him. He was no stranger to atrocity, but this was something different, new. The sky was inky, tinged with evil red lighting, rocks wrapped in fire fell from the heavens and ravaged homes and towers and people alike. Jon looked around and saw over two dozen bodies in the broken streets just from the opening seconds of the engagement, no discrimination between the Imperials, Stormcloaks, and civilians. A major street connecting the to main gates were blocked off but rubble from an inner archway and adjacent building. Everything, simply everything, was on fire.
Alduin swept high and low, shrugging off every arrow and spell sent at him, giving is own reply in the ancient tongue on the Dovah. Sometimes he would immolate, sometimes he would freeze and blast, sometimes he would simply kill with the very force of his thoughts, all the while taking joy in the slaughter. Jon could swear he heard laughing.
This dragon, nay, Worm was the embodiment of every abuse delivered at the hands of the Tyrants. Every crime, every death. Only this time the Tyrant in front of him had the power to control the very forces of nature, stronger no doubt than even the atom, power not found in even an Augment's wildest dreams, even Khan's wildest fantasies of avarice.
He heard the desperate cries of the still living in the town, "What in the Nine Divines is that thing!" The Thalmor within earshot not caring about the heresy.
A small yelp as a child no older than 10 was hit from the falling projectiles.
"My daughter!"
"How in Oblivion do we kill that Thing!"
"It's Still Coming!"
"By Ysmir nothing kills it!"
"Divines help us!"
Brave men and women trying with all their might and will and power and courage to put out the billowing flames and save those trapped within the buildings, ultimately meaningless as Alduin targeted the brave souls with his power. It didn't stop the work parties. Even the Thalmor were tending to peoples wounds. They refused to give in, refused to quit.
Jon heard and saw crying, praying, and heroism of all manner as he once again. Stood by. And. Watched. He was simply unable to do anything about it, this time physically at least, and not emotionally or socially.
He wouldn't stand for it. Not anymore. Not after he was once again being plagued by inaction.
"Cold vengeance is all you deserve for these crimes, Worm. I will deliver it." The superior man said at a rageful wispier. A small tremor shook though the town and got lost in the din of battle and slaughter, even to the Augment that caused it, even to the Worm.
Ralof grabbed his attention from the oath Jon was taking, "Hey! This way! The gods won't give us another chance!" he motioned, free of his binds. Jon didn't have really any options if he wanted to live to see his newest ambition fulfilled; The slow death of the Worm. Every other outlet was blocked off either by rubble or soldiers. The Stormcloak probably already had half a plan in place to avoid the Imperials, and coincidentally where the Worm's attacks were most concentrated.
Jon jogged over to Ralof in a half crouch, head low, his superior eyes, spacial awareness, and predictive ability working overtime to help him avoid the destruction raining down. His maneuvering wasn't perfect however, and a couple meteorites impacted near him, singeing his rag clothes and exposed skin with hot silica shrapnel.
He paid the pain no mind as Ralof motioned to the nearby tower, "The tower! Its the only cover!" he yelled over the cacophony.
They both burst though the doors of the tower to a few surviving Stormcloaks, half of them injured, and Ulfric standing there looking less defeated then he previously was. They each met the other's eye.
"Powerful final words." Was all the Pretender King said.
Ralof cut in, "Jarl Ulfric, what is that thing!? Could the legends be true?"
Jon answered, "Legends don't burn down villages."
An explosion rocked the tower and Ulfric responded, "We need to move, now!"
"Up though the tower, Move!" Ralof all but commanded.
Jon decided to be the second one on the stack up the stairs. While he would never think this about his comrades, sometimes teamwork is good for giving the enemy someone else to shoot at. He was dealing with to many unknowns to try and be a point man.
As they ascended the tower, his caution was warranted as the Worm ripped though the feeble stone wall and flooded the inside with his power. Jon forced himself back down the stairs, pushing everyone behind him down to a near tumble away from the dragon's fire that immolated the first man up the stairs. The Worm then contemptuously plucked the charred corpse into his mouth. There was little fanfare and he soon flew away to find other targets. So far the hunt, for Alduin, was becoming boring as the Dovahkiin had yet to properly meet him in debate, and not even the Pretender King challenged Alduin with his own Thu'um.
Jon once again began climbing to the opening that the Worm had made and saw a mostly intact building a short jump away. The thatch roof was singed and an opening that revealed a second floor. While his denser musculature and naturally occurring carbon-fiber bone structure would allow him to simply drop down the side without injury, he would be sacrificing valuable concealment. He also had his temporary allies, and their capabilities to consider. He also didn't want to reveal too much about his own capabilities to potential enemies.
He turned to the surviving group, "There's a building just across the alley, the second floor is open, but you have to jump to safety! Tuck and roll people!"
He made his point by jumping the short distance and into the remnants of the inn. Death and hellfire hung heavy, nearly overloading his sensitive smell. He continued on ahead of the group. At this point they would keep up or die standing. SERE training was at the forefront of his mind after mentally processing his immediate surroundings and situation. Jon had to survive, evade, and then escape so he could resist. Confirming no one was looking, he jammed his bound wrists into his body, using it as a wedge to compound the pressure placed on the restraints. His Augment strength provided the necessary force need to complete the simple physics equation and the hemp rope tore apart. The Augment was finally unbound.
Coming down to the first floor of the ruined inn, he spied out the door and saw the town was in even worse shape as more bodies and ruin piled high. The Worm was capable of achieving destruction on par with industrialized warfare, Jon decided. Just as fast. If there were more dragons, then Divines help this realm.
He saw an opening. A straight, clear, shot to the main keep, and the Worm was currently pillaging the other side of the town. Jon could make the hundred or so meter dash in a few seconds. He firmly stepped off the porch and began a sprint to the keep, only to be cut off by a meteorite striking the ground just in front of him, throwing him back a couple feet, singeing his tattered rags and skin even more, and ending his dash to his target. He was being picked up a moment later by the strong hands of a soldier.
"Still alive Jon? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way." The voice of Hadvar greeted him from his disorientation.
He got back under his own weight and followed Hadvar back to the alleyway directly under the tower he jumped from, a cruel irony. The Stormcloaks were nowhere to be found and Jon wasn't even going to try and reason where they went. Huddled next to what was left of the wall was a young boy, and a couple older men with swords in their hands. Their eyes never left where the dragon was.
The Worm landed nearby, the next street over and let our another cheer of destruction, "YOL, TOOR, SHUL"
An unfortunate soul caught in the street was incinerated to ash. The young boy next to Jon in concealment, to his credit, wasn't whimpering in fear even if tears were filling his eyes.
"Gunnar, Toroif, get the boy to safety, I have to find Tullius and join the defense!" As Hadvar said this the Worm heaved its wings to once again take to the sky, kicking up dust all around the small group of survivors.
"Gods guide you, Hadvar." Gunnar said as the Adjunct and Augment slipped away back though the ally.
"Stay close to the wall." Hadvar ordered and they both crept along the remains of the town around them. Here and there were Imperial Soldiers but they were becoming few and far between as the Worm continued his slaughter.
About to cross the main street leading out of the northern gate and finally be at the keep, the Worm made his presence known again, the quake from his landing on the wall directly above them nearly throwing Hadvar off his feat. Jon remained righted as he stared pure rage and malice at the underside of the massive dragon. Showing ones belly was either a sign of submission, or arrogant challenge among predators; Especially intelligent ones. The Worm was toying with the Augment.
"YOL, TOOR, SHUL" the Worm cried out in fire and fury, immolating half a dozen of the surviving legionaries. Alduin lifted off, happy with the continued death. Every soul sent to the afterlife was another he could draw on for power. Power that he would eventually use to destroy the Dovahkiin, and then all of Mundus so it could be remade in his image.
Hadvar and Jon finally crossed the perilous no-mans-land and ducked into another alleyway. They just happen to stumble on General Tullius trying to stabilize the wounds of one of his Legionaries so they could be moved. Jon's assumptions about him were correct.
"General, what are your orders, sir?" Hadvar asked after kneeling down to take over the General's task.
Tullius waved him off, "Get to the keep, Hadvar, its every man for himself right now!" An assessment the General was proud to say that he never once had to give until today.
"Yes sir! With me, Jon."
the Imperial plan to escape was so far going better than the Stormcloak one, seeing as how he was actually close to escaping, though that may be due to his rookie mistake of getting hit in the face with a meteorite. A classic blunder, really.
"Some last words, huh?" Tullius shot at Jon as he and Hadvar continued their now short trek to the keep.
Emerging from the final alleyway, the men entered the small courtyard and mustering ground in front of the keep. They both picked up the pace to traverse it when the Worm once again crossed their paths with an angry retort, cutting a perpendicular swath in front of them with dragon-fire. They came to a halt and watched as the Worm flew another circle around the town; After all, Dovah couldn't stop and turn on a dime. If the Dovahkiin made an escape, that would mean the debate would continue at another time, which suited the World Eater just fine. This was only the beginning of the conflict. Allies would have to be recruited on both sides of the argument, rebuttals properly prepared, plots enacted, as well as times and places to meet agreed upon.
War, wrapped in fury and dragon-song, is what Alduin would bring upon these insufferable mortals for their crimes against his rule. When his wrath was sated he would turn his attention to the Divines and other so called 'Princes.'
The dragon-fire died down, Jon and Hadvar preparing to make the crossing, when Ralof, Ulfric, and two surviving Stormcloaks came from another alleyway. Except for Ralof, the blue-man-group paid the Imperial no mind, simply running and jumping over the smoldering path of destruction and into the main door of the keep.
"Ralof, you damned traitor." Hadvar said to the Warrior and former best friend.
"We're escaping, Hadvar. You're not stopping us this time." Said Ralof to the Adjunct and former best friend.
"Fine, I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde." The Imperial said to the Stormcloak, before running though the still flaming ash up to a side door on the keep.
"You can come with us, into the keep!" Ralof offered to Jon.
Jon motioned toward Hadvar with his chin. "That man showed me sympathy where there was none, and promised to carry out my last request. I believed him. No offense, but all you did was talk my ear off."
"HA! I can't hold that against you." The Warrior laughed while pounding his open hand on Jon's shoulder, almost triggering Jon to react, "If you want to join the cause then you're welcome in Windhelm, if not, then perhaps we will meet with steel one day." Ralof said with equal mirth.
A twinkle took his eyes that spoke of guts, glory, drink and song, "May the gods watch over your battles, friend." They would watch with great interest.
Ralof took after his king and Jon followed his new friend up to the side door while Alduin gave one last challenge to the retreating Dovahkiin, "Hin sil fen nahkip bahloki"(your soul will feed my hunger).
The World Eater had won the first debate. Alduin would linger in the skies here, enjoying the stretch his wings were getting, for a couple more hours to prevent an easy getaway for the Dovahkiin.
The small room on the other side of the door was damp and musty, always being in the shade of the main tower. In other words the perfect place for a barracks room. Jon's enhanced eyes took in the dark room, and he spied a dozen beds, racks for weapons and shields, shelving for food and books, and a chest at the end of every bed.
"Good the barracks, and it looks like most of the equipment is still here. Have a look around. I'm going to try and find something for these burns." Hadvar said, finally relaxing somewhat, although in pain, and looking like he just got attacked by a dragon.
"Both a relief and a damn shame. A vicious cycle all around. The people needed what was in here, desperately, yet it wouldn't have made one bit of difference. Now we benefit." Jon said as he took a full stock of what he had to work with, eyeing a steel with straight sword with a bastard grip, standard Imperial. "Feels dirty."
"You speak the truth Jon, as much as I hate to admit it." Hadvar took a second to sit down on one of the beds for rest while he rummaged though the nightstand next to it. "Here, a potion of resist fire, in the battle-mage's nightstand. Only one bottle so far, we can split it and it should still work."
He continued to explain for the benefit of the self-professed foreigner, "Imperial doctrine allows for rationing potion doses, in fact they're made strong for it. Try half the bottle, it's usually is enough, if not take the rest. Imperial alchemists also mix all fortifying and health potions with disease resistance." Hadvar took the swig of his half and handed the other to Jon.
"Keep it," Jon said, "you got it worse leaping over the flames, actual dragon-fire. I'll be fine, truly." He didn't really feel like trying an alien concoction before he knew more about it, and even if he did need it, it probably wasn't strong enough to overcome his own robust physiology so it could actually do its work.
"Thanks. You're still carrying yourself like a soldier after all of that, so I believe you." Hadvar said dejectedly and downed the rest of the bottle.
Jon took his own moment to rest, and sat down at the mess table, gnawing on the food left there. It was one of the few disadvantages of being an augment, the fact that they needed more fuel for their bodies than the normal person. About two to three times more. Sure, they could go extended periods without food and water, but at two weeks to dehydrate, six to starve, that was a slow and painful death for a superior man. Even eating a standard diet they would only barely survive, and never maintain their weight.
"You're doing okay Hadvar, and we're both still alive." He ate a wedge of the local cheese, finding it exotic and delicious, picking up the flavor of almost everything the creature responsible for this cheese ate to produce it. The tangy, earthy, fare melted any facial control he had as he savored it.
He began to cut another wedge off the offending wheel, "Survival is a mental game. Never giving up the will to survive, no matter what, is the key to it. Once you do that, you're dead. And if you never had it to begin with, then you aren't long for this mortal world anyway."
"You're right. Thanks, I needed to hear that. I just wish me surviving didn't cost so damn much!" Hadvar got up and kicked an empty foot-chest with the side of his boot, just hard enough to make a point as his burns soothed.
"I know." Jon locked eyes with Hadvar.
He took a couple bites of a half loaf, ensuring to leave behind some saliva, and tossed it to Hadvar. The guy needed a boost, and augment bodily fluids were, uh…weird was the only way he could describe.
"Get some food into you, ill grab my own supplies." He said
Hadvar didn't question it, and began wolfing into the bread and what was left of the food. In a couple minutes he felt better, attributing it to the sustenance and a ration of mead. Not technically a lie.
Jon made for the straight-sword, held it up, and turned to Hadvar, "There a sheath anywhere?"
"On the shelf over there," he pointed, "that's standard Imperial, so it will slide right in. you can also have your pick of the armor laying around."
"I'd rather not impersonate an Imperial soldier, under any circumstance. That's a hanging offense in my homeland, and I'm already on thin ice here. I will swipe some boots however, and perhaps some gauntlets." Jon spoke, as he walked over to the shelf and picked up one of the harnesses.
"You have a point. Even with my word this might be too crazy to believe to give you a pass." Hadvar said between mouthfuls.
"If we're the only two survivors of this fuck-fuck show-"
Hadvar, incredulous, asked "A what?"
Jon didn't miss a beat, this was first contact after all, "A cluster fuck goes FUBAR."
"FUBAR?" Hadvar reasoned out what a cluster fuck was.
"Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition. Sometimes FUBAR just happens, and some times it advances from a previous cluster fuck. A fuck-fuck show." Jon Explained.
"Anyway, if and when we make it out of here, we might be the only two people that survive. All the Empire knows is that the capture and execution of one Jarl Ulfric was botched, and that their general and his guard are now missing, presumed dead. They also know the Thalmor are involved. The Elves are likely required to give some official notice by treaty for their operations, such as observing the execution of a rebel leader. Your two factions obviously have a cold war simmering and is probably the reason for this rebellion in the first place. Then in comes the only two survivors of the slaughter, and they claim a creature of myth did everyone in at the cusp of Imperial victory that would have given them the chance to pivot towards the Elves strategically. An AWOL soldier and a foreigner in rags befitting a death row inmate, or an impersonator if I take the armor, would be spinning this yarn."
"They're probably spies anyway." Hadvar quoted the Captain. Jon nodded.
"That's a pretty good assessment. Even down to guessing at the treaty provisions of the White-Gold Concordat and the simmering hostilities. I'll go face the Empire either way, its my duty to do so as a Legionnaire, and a Nord. You'll be free to go your own way once we get out of here, Jon"
"Thanks, Hadvar. We should get ready to keep moving through the keep." Jon said.
He turned his attention back to the harness in his hand, and the extra pouches on and around it. To his surprise, the pouches had a familiar looking clip on the back of them made of springy iron, and the leather harness had holes worked into it to accept them.
"MOLLE clips." Jon said thoughtfully.
"Is that what they call those in your homeland?" Hadvar asked.
"Modular Lightweight Load-Carrying Equipment. The harness itself is something the previous generation of soldier would wear, but the clip system on these pouches is new even by current standards." The people of these land were obviously inventive, john thought.
"We've had them as standard kit since the war. A consortium makes them and sells them to everyone. When the empire needed faster and more mobile formations, they looked to what the best adventurers were using and negotiated bulk prices for certain pieces of equipment. The things became so cheap that even fair-off common folk can buy them and use them for other purposes than military. Its made from sturdy material and the pouches have been enchanted for holding." Hadvar explained.
Jon responded, "Economy of scale," perhaps proto-industrializtion he thought before continuing, "Market based military procurement. interesting. Two questions, first, what necessitated the change in doctrine?"
"The Dominion kept flanking us, so I'm told, with horse and on foot. They wore light armor, and their enchanted blades cut though heavy armor anyway. The old doctrine saw us through the Oblivion Crisis," more questions Jon thought, "but the first couple battles of the Great War were devastating to the empire. The war basically ended as stalemate anyway. By the time we could match them strategically and tactically, both sides-"
"Manpower shortage." Jon finished.
"That the right of it, you don't miss much." Hadvar said, impressed.
"I try not to, which leads me to my second question, enchanted for holding?" Jon asked.
Hadvar answered the question with another, "Do you not have wizards in your homeland?"
"No." Was Jon's simple answer.
Several emotions played out on Hadvar's face before settling on a response, "You really are foreign here. Just how far have you come?"
"A place called Earth, and that's all I want to say at this moment." It was all he could say, really.
"Never heard of it, I thought maybe you were from the Akaviri continent but that wouldn't be possible if you don't know of enchantments and have no wizards." Hadvar said.
"Magic, Dragons, and Elves are relegated to myth and fantasy. I know of these things, but I do no know them." Alduin chose that moment to remind everyone that he was still there.
Jon threw the harness on and slipped his new sword in as Hadvar quickly answered the question, "Holding means that the only limit to what a container can hold is the weight you can carry and what can actually fit though the opening. Something stationary like a chest can practically hold an entire armory if its enchanted. The bigger a container, the harder it is to enchant, so I understand. That's were the real cost for the harness you're wearing is." Jon could carry a lot, he thought, but there wasn't too much he wanted to grab in the room that could fit into the pouches adoring his waist and chest.
"What about food? Is magic a factor there?" Jon asked.
"Most food holds well when cooked, the magic in the ingredients preserving it. For fresh you can either salt it, or use a frost enchantment to keep things cold. The cold also helps the cooked food too, doesn't hold forever after all."
"Good to know." Jon said.
He began picking up his chosen supplies. A pair of lightly armored Imperial boots that fit, all the coins he could see into their own pouch, and several wedges of that delicious cheese, bread, mead, and fruit into one of the larger belt pouches. It had a blue frosty rune on it and felt cool to the touch. The items disappeared into an impossibly deep void as Jon tried to keep some order to things. He would hate to try and root around in there.
Feeling the increasing weight to the load as he picked things up, Jon decided that conservation of mass, and thus energy, must be upheld somehow despite the nature of magic. At least the laws of physics were the same, thus ruling out transportation to a different universe. He finally found an iron dagger and used spare clips to attach it to the small of his back as a holdout weapon.
Hadvar grabbed his own harness and supplies and they both made their way to the back door of the barracks. Jon gave a hand signal to wait as he slowly inched the door open to peer down the even damper hallway. He couldn't see anyone due to the turn the passage made, but he heard people down at the terminus of the hall.
"Two shooters." Jon whispered.
"Can you hear them?" Hadvar whispered back. Jon nodded, and Hadvar was once again impressed.
"There's a gate at the end of this passage. We wont be able to sneak by." Hadvar said as both men crept into the dark.
"Come on, we have to keep moving." An unnamed voice sounded.
"Please, I have to catch my breath." A more feminine voice panted.
"Do you think we can reason with them?" Hadvar quietly asked as it became apparent the people were Stormcloaks.
Jon shrugged and motioned for Hadvar to actuate the gate blocking them and, to the Imperial's surprise, he stepped into the room with both hands up.
"Evening gentleman, lady." Jon opened the negotiations with, Hadvar following behind with his hand on his sword.
"Imperial bastards!" The helmeted woman said, her and her partner drawing steel.
"Easy," Jon said, "I think you know I'm not an Imperial, they did try to take my head after all"
"Then why are you with that dog?" The un-helmeted man demanded to know.
"Alliance of convenience. I went down, and he picked me up. That fucking Worm out there wasn't discriminating." Hadvar had to wonder if Jon's words about convenience were true.
"He's right, maybe we should just all walk away right now. We'll meet in battle another time." There was a reason Nord women lived longer.
"And what about your words that seem to summon the beast!? What of riding to Valhalla over your dead enemies, huh!?" There was a reason Nord men lived shorter lives.
Jon's hazel eye twitched and the fight almost started then and there, but diplomacy won the day.
"Solemn words. Powerful, I'm told." Anger crept into his voice, "One day I will ride there, shiny and chrome, but you are not my enemy today unless you make yourself one, and he," Jon motioned to Hadvar, "has proven himself not my enemy."
The Nord man stared at the Augment for a few more seconds, never flinching at the predator and taking pride in it. His partner made one final plea, "Harik, let's just let them go, please, there's been enough blood today."
Jon let the illusion continue that they were going to 'let' him do anything. Harik finally relented, and the Augment and the Imperial slowly walked around the side of the room and out the opposite door to the stairs that led deeper into the keep. Not once did either side show their backs to the other.
"You have honeyed words, Jon."
"Thanks Hadvar. I was bluffing when I said this was an alliance of convenience, just so you know. I've been frank with you. We've both been though something together that only those that lived it will ever understand. We're comrades now. If there are any Stormcloaks that can't be reasoned with, then you have my recently looted steel." Jon warmly reassured Hadvar's unspoken qualms.
Hadvar simply nodded in response with a small smile on his face. They continued down the stairs and Jon could hear the scuffle and smell the death before they reached the bottom of it. He signed to Hadvar to hold his rear and not move until he did. Hadvar gave a single nod, trusting his new battle-brother. As he did Jon pulled his steel and crept the edge of the stairwell, peaking around the entry way.
A torture room greeted him. He counted no less the six corpses in various states of decay. Two of them were simply skeletons on the wall. There were also various pools of blood, wet and dry, that were not from the battle happening there in the low light provided by the torches and oil lamps.
An old man, wearing a black hood with an evil grin under it, was dancing around one of the Stormcloaks. His dagger was flashing back and forth against his sword and shield wielding enemy. The gray and feeble looking man impressed Jon given how old his sinewy form and facial marring made him look. Jon also heard the sounds of another engagement around the corner of an alcove in the room but he couldn't see it. He Heard the swing of a weapon twice the size of his and the desperate flailing of a mace against it, probably one of the torture implements.
A seventh corpse added it self to the waste of life the room represented when a final swing of the big weapon caused, and then cutoff, the final cries of its opponent. The Stormcloak came out from the around the wall, walking confidently towards the final engagement, no doubt intending to finish it. The blood of the imperial stained her massive broad sword and would only be sated by the blood of another. As she began to lift the weapon against the old man, Jon made his move.
With a massive cry, Jon charged once more into the breech. In half a second he was upon his first enemy of this strange world. His superior speed propelled him across the chamber faster than than the Stormcloak could react, his superior strength pushed the tip of his blade past any armor and into her rib-cage.
The war cry, intended to cause a distraction the cunning old man can and would capitalize on, caused also a small quake in the room that everyone silently assumed was from the dragon's attack. Jon pulled his blade from the Stormcloak's lungs and heart, before lashing it at her exposed neck. Her head mostly stayed in its place before gravity claimed it, while the rest of her body fell in the direction of his savage swing. The old man's dagger finally found the throat of his own distracted enemy, who then fell over clutching his neck, sputtering blood on to the dirty floor. The small plan had worked perfectly.
The old man smiled at the fate of the dying Stormcloak, his grin becoming wider each second the whimpering man suffered. Jon could tell at an instant that his cut was precise and meant to prolong the death from drowning in their own blood rather than losing it, and induce fear into the person approaching it. It made Jon sick. The affair would have continued for at least another two minutes had Jon not calmly walked over and stomped on the mans neck, breaking it in mercy.
"Aww, no fun." the torturer said with an exaggerated frown. "Can't say much though since you two stumbled along just in time. Thanks for the distraction." He made the mistake of turning his back to Jon, no doubt to inspect and appreciate the new carnage added to his sanctum, "These boys and girls seemed a bit upset with how I've been enter-"
Jon had had enough and killed the man then and there with a lazy swing of his sword, taking his second head, so far.
"I'm not going to shed any tears over that Monster and his Rat." Hadvar said grimly.
Jon had to make sure, "Hadvar, you know tort-"
Hadvar cut him off, "Doesn't work? Yeah, I know. I've walked into more than one 'cluster fuck' because information provided by people like him." Cluster fucks always involved loses, so that part was left unsaid.
"Good. I'm glad I don't have to explain that to you, though I suspect I will have to explain that to others, probably emphatically. Where I come from its seen as ineffective and barbaric. A relic of the past, not that it stops anyone from doing it. There are far superior interrogation methods." Jon said.
"You're not wrong. By the way, where in the Oblivion did you come from anyway? You said Earth, and look like a man, but never seen any man move that fast without enchantment or magic, even then." Hadvar half demanded to know.
So he could move even faster, "Well, ill have to keep confidence eventually; I doubt I'll survive this land alone from what I've seen. I might was well start by trusting you and the dead." Jon offered while motioning towards the corpses.
"On my honor, Jon. The Swift." He promised with a chuckle.
"That will not stick." Jon gave a smile in return, before becoming deathly serious again.
"I'm an Augment. A superior man. A result of perfected genetic engineering."
Hadvar tried to sound the last part out before Jon Continued, "To put it in terms you can understand, my 'Grandfather,'" he air quoted, "Dr. Noonien-Singh was a powerful alchemist."
"The Patriarch of your house. An Arch-Alchemist, who didn't use magic or magical ingredients." Hadvar reasoned. Jon nodded, not technically lying.
"Yes. He and others created the first generation of Augments, among them Khan Noonien-Singh. When his first, favorite, and the greatest among us requested he create another, he was only too happy to comply and work side by side with his superior son despite his age at the time. We were his crowing achievement, and man's next step after all." Jon stated before pausing a second.
"The way you speak, it sounds like it didn't turn out to well." Hadvar said.
"There's a saying were I come from. Superior ability breeds superior ambition."
"There was a war. The Augments of house Noonien-Singh tried to conquer your homeland, Earth, for themselves. Found an empire I bet, or take one over." Jon nodded again at Hadvar.
"You don't miss much, do you? My first mission, after coming of age in this 'Great Effort,' was the massacre of of an innocent village. A few weapons for hunting and self-defense was enough to have them declared insurgents and put to death. I stood by and watched. Didn't do anything to stop it. It was obviously to get the kids their first taste of innocent blood." Sorrow ate at Jon's voice.
"You were going to let yourself be executed because of guilt. You could have gotten out of the whole mess. Oblivion, probably could have busted the cage door on the cart, and ran off faster than anyone could catch you." Hadvar said, only slightly changing the subject.
"Yeah. Between that and wiping out most of my own kind afterwards. Only were ever 500 of us. Officers to legions."
"500 good warriors, actual brothers and sisters in arms, is enough to conquer a realm, two even. 500 of you and your house, with the strength of ten men behind each..." Hadvar let his words trail off, also thinking about the implications of killing so many of your own people.
"They wanted to conquer an empire, like you said. It was their right by might to do so." Jon said.
"Arrogant, like the dominion." Hadvar hesitated somewhat, "Look, you're possibly the last of your house and line, Jon. You have a chance to redeem its name, and there's no better place for Great Heroes to do so than in Skyrim. It's a land of heroes, myths and song, tales and legends, beasts and men of ill repute to slay, honor and oath to uphold, warm honey mead and good food for when the day's battles are done. Then, when we've drank to our youth, to our days come and gone, when Sovngarde finally beckons us, then, every single one of us dies. What they say about you when you do is only yours' to command in these fabled lands."
"Thank you, Hadvar. I need to hear that. I just wish me surviving it all didn't cost so damn much." Jon echoed his friend's words with a single tear in his eye.
"We should check this place for supplies and keep moving." Hadvar got up from the small table next to the dead Rat both men found themselves at.
Jon rummaged around and found a few more gold pieces first thing. Behind the counter of the torture chamber he picked up some potions he couldn't read the labels on, despite somehow being able to speak and understand the local language from the moment he woke. The body of the monster yielded a more gold, and a higher quality steel dagger with sheath, which he promptly switched out with his iron one. Not wanting to waste, he slid the iron implement into one of his still mostly empty pouches. He also saw lock-picks and picked them up for any locks he would shortly encounter.
Hadvar broke in, "Look, the cage, there's a wizard in there. The log says he 'died from questioning' only this morning. Rot hasn't had the chance to seep into his robes yet, they'll be good, especially after a wash. For right now its better then your rags and I imagine a man from a land without magic will want to learn some."
"What can I expect?" Jon asked.
"The robes, or magic...wait...probably both. For the robes and hood, novice by the looks of it, a small boost to your magika reserves and to help you channel it more efficiently."
"Enchantments." Jon Stated.
Hadvar continued, "Enchantments. Now for magic, I'm not sure, but I can tell you even a magic-less nord like me can conjure a small flame." Hadvar accentuated his point, with a spark coming from his hands. Shot a small gout a flame at a bare wall lasting no more than a second. "That's about all I have in me, But everyone has at least a small reserve of magika."
"That's probably good for starting a campfire and as a last ditch diversionary tactic. Christ, the magika is probably in everything, the food, the water, the fucking rocks. Force rules." Jon reasoned.
"Correct on all accounts. That's specifically why they teach it in basic training. The ones that show more natural aptitude and reserves become battle-mages. What's the Force though?" Hadvar asked at the end of his response.
"One our myths about magic. From a play. The hero serves the light, the villain serves the dark, good guys win in the end with a big explosion. A straight ripoff of an ancient formula." Jon answered.
"Sounds like a play then. Its good to see our homelands aren't so different."
"The more things change-" Jon intentionally left hanging.
"The more they refuse to. You ever pick a lock?"
Jon answered as he absentmindedly picked the lock and pulled the dead wizard out too loot, "Yup. Pulled off a small infiltration of the General's office in the facility they took me to after I defected. She had a company attached to her command called the Green Berets, the people of found me wandering after the village massacre. The only thing that saved me from an immediate and illegal conscription, so I could be court marshaled and shot, was the extensive report I wrote on exactly how I did it."
"Which your Green Berets used to prevent the enemy from doing the same." Hadvar said, sharp as ever.
Jon stripped the man of his clothes and, too his relief, the dead man had simple undergarments on under the tight, yet surprisingly stretchable pants, "Uh-huh. They didn't really trust the obvious enemy plant, but I was given a task to prove my loyalty to the Bald Eagle and her most special of forces. We were sent to infiltrate an enemy compound during a meeting between various section leaders in theater. Five augments died that night, three by my hand, and over 100 of their auxiliaries from the blasts of our sabotage. My real age was scrubbed, I was given a rank of second lieutenant, and when I left, when I came here, I was, am, a captain. Don't ask me how I got here and into that ambush because I don't know. Flash of light right before the last battle of the whole fucking war, and there I was in the cart."
Jon had finished putting on the robes, boots, gloves, and harness when Hadvar said, "Fair enough. If there's anyone who could figure that out, they be at the College of Winterhold. That's the place to go for anything magical in nature. Maybe that's what brought you. It would have to be from our end if Earth doesn't have magic. Also your rank is strong and carries respect, just like being from a named house, as you are. Doesn't matter if its foreign. Once deed back word, people will believe it without question. Don't be afraid to flaunt it some if it can get you ahead. You earn title and rank, and the right to boast of it."
Hadvar walked over to one of the tables along the wall leading to the stairs and pointed out, "Here, the wizard's pack. Enchanted of course. Probably some good stuff in here. Even has a tent roll."
"Thanks, and I'll keep your counsel in mind." Jon picked up and strung the pack on his shoulders. Throwing his new hood over his head, he said, "Lets go."
Both men crept down another stairway, Jon yet again taking point, his super-human senses missing nothing in the dark passageway. He heard more fighting up ahead.
"The cistern should be up ahead." Hadvar said.
"I hear fighting. Don't know how many. Echos and moving water throwing me off. Archer for sure." Jon said before Hadvar could hear the same.
"What's the plan this time," Hadvar whispered, "run in, bellowing like idiots, and cut everyone's head off?" Both men had to contain their laughter.
"I believe the proper term is 'Madman,'" off in the cosmos mutual laughter was heard, a pause, then mutual growling, "I'm going to take this dagger and throw it at the one with the bow, then we run in like madmen and cut everyone's head off."
"As good as any." Hadvar replied, trusting the skill and confidence of the warrior in front of him.
Jon grabbed his dagger and came to a stop just before the torch and brazer-light broke the shadow on the steps. His eyes and his ears could now fully make an assessment of the situation in the room. To Jon's continued relief, the room didn't smell that bad, probably because of magic he thought.
He could see a scrum of four in front of him, two and two, taking place over a small bridge that passed over the outlet of the place. The Stormcloaks, unfortunately for them, had their back to him. The archer was good, Jon thought. They weren't firing into close the close quarters battle for fear of hitting their comrades. Instead the archer was only taking potshots on either of the Imperials that would retreat too far, in effect surrounding the Imperials and cutting off them off. A nick to the helmet or pauldron here or there, to let the ax and sword wielding compatriots gain their glory, told Jon what needed to know. A priority target that could and would take him out in an instant. Augments weren't invincible after all. He was living proof of that.
Jon gave the order with a swipe of his left dagger hand. He popped out and heaved the dagger towards the archer kneeled across the cistern. His assessment was almost prophetic as the archer was able to snap an already drawn bow to him and let fly and arrow towards his head before the steel dagger could reach its target. Time slowed for a moment as his full reaction speed took over to dodge the incoming projectile. The dagger passed the arrow and penetrated the right eye of the archer, while the arrow passed the dagger and continue towards Jon. Hadvar began his own war cry and started charging into the fray.
The arrow technically connected with its target. Jon moved his head out of the way slightly to slow, the archer strong, distance short. Instead of braining and killing him, the arrow grazed his cheek, took a chunk of his left ear, and exited out the back of his new-to-him hood.
His blood stained the hood and ran freely down his face for a moment before the wounds fully clotted. Completing the look, he took after Hadvar with a mad gaze in his eye and shout in his lungs, causing yet another tremble assumed to be the Worm's power. The psychological warfare came naturally to him, but didn't matter as the two Stormcloaks died in a second after being flanked and destroyed. Jon's target became his third head, and Hadvar skewered his in the back while the Imperial woman skewered hers in the throat.
"You two all right?" Hadvar asked.
"Yeah, we will be. Who's he? Wasn't he on the convoy, with the famous last words?" The Imperial woman with a posh accent asked with her sword tip, her Nord partner also keeping ready.
"He killed those Stormcloaks and that's enough right now. I wouldn't be here without him and neither would you." Hadvar half ordered. He was just an Adjunct, but no one was going to pull rank at this point. Jon nodded his head respectfully towards the Legionaries and they both put down their swords.
"Yeah, I suppose it is. My apologies, wizard. Surprised you didn't use magic though." The Nord said while sheathing his blade, his partner following, Jon and Hadvar following.
Jon technically told the truth, "Didn't want to hit you. I'm also bone tired right now." His unconsciousness wasn't restful and he had been awake and battle active for almost 72 hours straight trying to finish the Eugenics Wars.
"Yeah I can relate." the Imperial woman said before continuing, "We're going to have to rest a while after that. Up ahead is a cave system the builders kept the cistern open to for natural drainage. It should lead out further down the mountain, but no one has been down there for a while, so expect hostile fauna. It's where we were heading when those damned Stormcloaks came from one of the outlets."
"Thanks for the information, legionnaire."
"Here take these." Jon reached into his food pouch and gave the two a couple bottles of mead, and slices of cheese.
The Imperial gasped, "Goat cheese, my favorite! Its got a strong bite, just the way I like it, big guy." She winked. So that's what it was. It didn't look or taste like any goat cheese Jon had ever had, and he grew up in a land of goat herders.
The Nord respectfully said, "Mead is better warm, but I'm not one to complain, especially after what's happened. What of your name, fair wizard?"
"Jon, of house Noonien-Singh."
"I thank you Jon, of house Noonien-Singh." the Nord inclined his head.
"We should keep moving. You two make sure you get back to the Empire when you can move and report this. I don't want to be the only one babbling about a dragon rising from myth and prolonging this Divines-damned war."
"Yes sir!" They both said despite the man's lack of rank. An officer was born, Jon saw.
Jon and Hadvar continued down though cave, cautious to any threats that might lie within.
"Look," Hadvar said, "webbing, Frostbite spiders."
"They shoot ice out of their fangs or something?" Jon asked.
"Venom that chills you to the bone and can cause frostbite. If they get a good bite on you then you're paralyzed. They eat you alive, nasty way to go. They can be small when young, but they average the size of a dog, and the biggest a horse."
Horse sized spiders, and Jon didn't know if his augment physiology could resist their no doubt magical venom.
"Great." Jon said flatly.
"Don't have spiders that big back home, eh?" Hadvar replied.
"All manner of beast that can kill you quick, some big, some small, but no horse sized spiders." Jon somewhat nervously admitted. Jon was never afraid to feel fear when required. There were some-things, like himself, like the Worm, like horse sized spiders that shoot ice from their fangs, that you would be a fool not to show a healthy respect to. So many of his enemies had some variation of the line 'I do not fear you...' and it's why they were dead and he was still alive. The Augments had ambition and little else. Jon a had a will to survive that they fundamentally lacked, when he wasn't being somewhat fairly sentenced for his crimes of course.
"Check your pack. Maybe the wizard had a fire-scroll. They're weak to fire." Hadvar suggested.
"That's intuitive." Jon quickly pulled his pack off and began rooting though its compartments, confirming his fear that he would have to keep the enchanted voids organized. His hand got lucky and grazed a piece of parchment. Grabbing it, he pulled it out of the sack.
"Perfect, Some luck. You should be able to use it, Jon. All the magika needed for the spell has been infused in the seal. Break it, and you'll have a fireball in your hand that you can cast just like you saw me do." Hadvar happily said.
"Good, recommendations?" Jon asked, trusting the experience and skill of the legionnaire in front of him.
"The spiders like to drop from the ceiling, especially the big ones. Hit the biggest one first and kill it fast. Don't worry about me getting hit with venom. I'm a Nord, we're resistant to the cold. As long as I don't get bit ill be fine. Then watch out for the egg sacs bursting, especially if you try to pick some alchemy ingredients. Other than that, don't let them swarm on you." Hadvar, came up with the plan this time.
The men walked up to the passage way blocked by spider webbing. Jon cracked the seal on the Fire-scroll. Hadvar brought his Imperial steel down upon it and cut it forthwith, opening the abode of the Frostbite spiders.
Jon spotted the biggest one instantly, spinning itself down to the cavern floor. There was an opening to the outside he saw above the malignant looking spider. If the light coming though, and outlining the hideousness of it, was anything to go by then it was mid afternoon. That's if this planet used a 24 hour cycle.
He didn't hesitate when faced with the horse sized spider. Jon didn't know how fast the fireball would travel, but he could probably assume it wasn't relativistic, so he gave just a bit of lead before shooting his hand out like Hadvar did, intent to fire in his mind in case that was relevant. Now was not the time to properly experiment and eliminate variables.
The missile of fire screamed out and detonated the beast still trying to put itself in engagement range. The blast also killed several of the dog sized spiders coming down with it. A couple more were heavily injured and fell from their webbing, not splattering thanks to their exoskeleton, but dying all the same; The fall being a final nail. None of the bigger spiders made the decent, and only one egg sac burst, sending forth the final reply to this invasion of their home. Hadvar let lose his meager flame, incinerating all but one, and Jon crushed the last under his boot. He didn't feel too bad about the affair, given the man sized cocoons laying about and hanging.
"I'm not picking ingredients from those things." Jon reassured, himself or Hadvar didn't matter.
Hadvar chucked at this warrior he's seen take three heads, as easy as he breaths, so hesitant about something, "Best you don't. Wouldn't know what to do with them anyway. Not yet at least. I don't know whats up ahead so lets keep moving slow and quiet like. That scroll was powerful, probably experimental, who knows what got stirred up down here."
"Got it. Taking point." Jon said flatly, his switch flipped in the face of the spiders, and whatever in Oblivion else is down here.
They kept following the natural stream cutting though the cave, Jon finding and looting a bit of gold that was laying around. The skeleton found with it clutching it as its final act. He put the gold in its proper pocket. It wasn't a great long term strategy in case of pickpockets taking all of his hoard in one go, but it would do for now until he could get some proper rest and think straight. While he accepted his situation, that didn't mean he'd fully appraised it.
The narrow stream finally opened to a cavern in the small cave system. Jon let out a small breath when he saw what was resting there.
"Just a bear. A big fucking bear, but just a bear." Jon said.
"What do you want to do? We can sneak past it, but the others would have to deal with it themselves. No way they would try the surface at this point. There's also a bow there. Good with one?" Hadvar said at a low din.
"Haven't shot one in a while, and I'd probably break the thing anyway. You said that scroll might be experimental, right?" Jon asked.
Hadvar said, "Good thinking. If it is, then he'd have more for testing. We know it works. Oblivion, he probably got caught going though the sewers to get to his proving grounds in the first place. A small cave with a few beasts is perfect for it."
Jon rummaged though the sack, preforming his own experiment. He thought of the scroll and fate seemed to guide it to his hand. He kept thinking about scrolls and pulled three more out before his hand found no more. The key to keeping the enchanted bags organized was remembering what you had, and the enchantment called forth what you ask of it. He would hate to not know what he had, and not be able to find it in a jumble. He did feel random objects in the sack while looking for the first scroll, after all, so it should still be possible to empty the enchantment by hand to take stock.
Jon took a scroll up and put the rest of them back in a side pocket of the pack. There was a gem attached there but he would figure that out later. He offered the scroll to Hadvar, who gave him a suspicious look. Nord's weren't the most trustful of anything magical. Even Nord mages tend to be a cautious lot.
"I was thinking we would each fire one for the kick-ass factor, but then thought better of it, given the cave. You want to try one? We know it works. Its raw power in your hands and I don't even have magika." Jon said. He smiled at the thought of attending the College of Winterhold. Even if he couldn't cast his own spells due to deficiency, perhaps he could craft them by other means. They would no doubt help him on his new mission, nay, quest to defeat the Worm.
Hadvar's look changed to a smile, "Sure, never really used a destruction scroll, and you saw my flame. Only used healing ones when I had too. Emergencies."
Hadvar took the scroll and cracked the seal on it, the parchment burning away and leaving a ball of fire in his hand. Jon was right, this was raw power. The scroll connected to his own reserve, something he never felt a scroll do before, and gave it a small boost over even what Jon's flame was. He held out his hand and fired the scroll at the hibernating cave bear with no concept with what was about it hit it. The slumbering beast was no more as it too detonated in a gory splash, throwing pieces of its pelt and viscera nearly back to where the two men were standing.
"Yeah, I think those scrolls are 'very' experimental. You should have them looked at by the College before you use them all and cant recreate them. Court wizard could help as well." Hadvar punctuated. He wasn't to bent out of shape over the affair, given the amount of man sized skulls in the cave.
"Good advice." Jon said.
The men made the final trek thought the cavern, Jon cleaning his face along the way and finding some more gold, Hadvar calling him Jon the Goldfingered, Jon laughing about a joke that Hadvar would never get, and out in to the beckoning fresh air of Skyrim. Jon, of house Noonien-Singh, The Augment and Butcher of the same, trekked forth boldly into lands no man from Earth had gone before.