My negotiations with the Ayleid remnant turned out rather brief after I properly introduced myself and they realized the weight of my presence.
For all their self imposed insularism, whoever founded their little town a few eras back was smart enough not to make it an absolute rule or something equally insulting, which meant they still got news from the wider world.
Thus making it near impossible to miss a god slaying, and more importantly the slayer.
My mandatory (and deserved) patting of myself on the back aside, they quickly agreed to "defect" to the Empire's side after a quick round of assurances and enticements, especially since their people had suffered all manner of harassment from their Bosmer "allies" since time immemorial and held no love for them.
Essentially, all I needed to do to no longer worry about the Ayleids was touch up on their wards, and have a bunch of supplies delivered to the town just in case it fell under siege due to their 'cloak turning' as our enemy would no doubt paint it.
Completely fair and balanced, methinks. As all things should be.
There was some back and forth about the Empire's leadership being mostly Cyrodiilic (Read: the descendants of the same people the previous Ayleids treated like less than slaves) but I assured them all that so long as they did not go full retard, they would be under my personal protection.
And frankly speaking, as much as hating on the ancient Ayleids was only right and proper, even for elves it had been many generations since they possessed the ability to do as their ancestors did.
Retaining that kind of hate after such a long period of time would ironically be a thing of only those more academically inclined, as the rest of the world had long since moved on to fresher issues to occupy their minds.
I did get my hands on a small unit of Ayleid spellblades under Hural himself, who excused his inner adventurism by using the excuse of "wanting to earn his people's place properly" and "proving themselves to the humans of the empire"
He also proved himself to be masterful in the art of the polearm after one of my more melee capable whitecloaks joined the local warriors' training session on a dare and got himself thoroughly trashed for the effort.
Hopefully I would have enough time to pester him for some pointers before we marched out again. Sure I could crush him with ease if we were ever to actually cross our glaives, but getting better at the base technique would never hurt.
Some eyebrows among the legion were raised as we marched back into Greenhill but just as I predicted, no grand hatred awaited our new allies, and many of the legionaries mirrored Titus' own words about the dream of Tamriel as they welcomed the newcomers.
Those who were apprehensive simply accepted my word and that was that.
Sadly for me, that was all the exploration I could justify doing for a time, as the proper integration of Greenhill required my own special brand of intimidation and charisma to go smoothly and without near future problems, something I was generous enough to ensure Tullius and his fellow soldiery did not need to suffer.
Nearly a full week did we spend reinforcing our supply lines and defensive positions, and only then did we march out west towards Silvenar and ultimately Falinesti, the Bosmeri capital, the previously tired troops now eager to cut down more of the Bosmer and their Altmer masters.
Oh and word had just arrived from the east, Dune was ours, and Minthara was moving south.
Despite the good news, my gut told me things were going to be getting interesting soon, and not in the fun way.
For the mortals anyway...
-----
(General POV)
The official writings of Lord Alor of Dagoth during the Valenwood campaign:
The late summer of the year 201 of the fourth era saw the Western Expeditionary Force of the Empire crossing the river Xilo, the final navigable tributary of the river Strid to the north, and the greatest obstacle to our path west to Silvenar.
To our utmost surprise the Dominion army stationed within the city did not challenge the crossing of the many magically risen bridges immediately, but waited until we were halfway over the waterway to spring their trap.
We would later learn that a large dam had been constructed many leagues south, and destroyed on command by what was agreed to be a teleporting mage.
Despite the scare of the river going from calm to raging, the legion kept marching in good order as the Dunmeri frontline formed up to fight back against the now sallying Bosmer and Altmer.
I was blessed with the distinct honor of observing Lord Dagoth as he stood atop one of the bridges he himself raised, and faced the great wave formed by the Thalmor gambit.
In his familiar wisdom, he made sure the enemy could see him as he faced the threat only halfway, and allowed the fools to observe the other, before he simply crushed the approaching wave into submission with a pure application of telekinesis.
It was said among the legions that this marked the moment many a self proclaimed Archmage of the Altmer soiled themselves and fled the battlefield in shame.
The Dominion legion proper gave honest battle after that, but were insufficient in facing the ferocity of the Nords, or the seasoned discipline of the Dunmer, their Bosmeri skirmishers falling to the far more armored crossbowmen of the Sworn Mer, while the Alinori infantry found themselves unable to effectively pierce the spearwalls of the Dunmer.
Their lesser magical abilities were swiftly overwhelmed by the hundreds of Telvanni present, the Dunmeri magi all too eager to prove themselves to their Hortator and thus earn his favor.
Those Alinori magi with a greater gastral fortitude than their cowardly comrades who tried helping their less powerful kin soon found themselves unable to do anything as they faced the true elite of the expeditionary force.
By either automaton blade, or potent magic of our own, the Altmer mages were crushed and humiliated, and all of it in plain sight of the Alinori legionaries.
Their morale broke quickly, and their discipline shattered, allowing the imperial cavalry force that had been held back in reserve to crush them as they fled in disorder.
Before the day was out, a full legion of Alinor had fallen, and many of their allies besides.
It was rather disappointing then that when we marched into the city of Silvenar, we found the majority of the civilian population had already fled, and were replaced with what my lord would name guerilla skirmishers.
For days we tried establishing ourselves within the city only to have our positions attacked constantly and unrelentingly, but never enough to truly provoke a great response.
Not from most people anyway.
Lord Dagoth in his wisdom, perceived what the enemy was doing, and after a few days of waiting, just enough for the supply lines to right themselves behind us, he descended upon the enemy bases personally, and granted the many Bosmer cells their due rewards.
We were not raided again, even as we marched out of Silvenar, and towards the great city of Falinesti.
-----
From the personal diary of Marco of Solitude:
I think I've discovered something about myself ever since joining this campaign.
I fucking hated sand!
The damned thing got everywhere, and heated the air up to the point even my magic couldn't stop me from sweating like a pig. How a furred people like the Khajiit can live here I will never understand...
Best stop complaining before Junes sniffs it out of me again. I love that woman but damn, does she get snappy sometimes.
Anyway! We should be reaching Lynmount soon, so at least there will be some shade to hide behind. Hopefully shade that isn't one of the recently reawakened dragons...
Those guys were assholes.
-
There was no damned shade! It was a gods damned tent city (for the most part) and while hiding out was possible there was still no escape from the scorching heat.
I swear to the gods, if I ever get an offer to join an army and they are marching into the desert, I might just tell Minthara to go fuck herself.
....
Hah!
-
The edges of the page are tainted with dried blood.
Can't believe this damned thing survived.
So! Good news and bad news.
Good news, Rimmen is surrounded by lakes and even light forest. No more fucking desert for Marco!
Bad news, Rimmen is the capital of Anequina and the greater Elsweyr Confederacy.
Which meant that taking the damn place was a slog, and we couldn't simply repeat what happened in Riverhold since the dragons were going to be wrung out for a while longer.
Thankfully the legions didn't complain about this, seemed eager even! The bloody idiots.
And out of all of them no one was more eager than the new legion of Skyrim, as they missed both the fall of Riverhold and Dune.
The overeager madmen under General Rikke of all damn people rushed at the walls like rabid idiots and worst of all their 'plan' worked!
Well, they still needed saving but their idiocy did give us the opening to butcher the Thalmor so I guess it was a good plan since it worked?
Never mind that, the city fell after a few days of constant fighting, a right miracle if that smug cunt Tiberius was to be believed.
Am I spoiled by being used to them falling within a day?
If yes then good, fuck normal sieges.
We even managed to catch the Mane as he was escaping!
The big cat looked like he wanted to do nothing more than get out of this whole situation, as he was apparently just a convenient figurehead to both the Dominion and his own people.
Sadly for him, he was the only Mane in existence, so he was inevitably forced to rule instead of knitting or whatever he actually wanted to do.
And the only way a new Mane would ever be born was for the previous one to die so it wasn't like he could ever abdicate.
Almost pitied the dumbass.
Hopefully capturing him will be enough to pacify the entirety of Elsweyr. I really do not want to spend more weeks marching.
-
Well... I suppose it was almost enough to pacify Elsweyr.
The northern Kingdom of Anequina surrendered easily enough but Alinor was too close to Pelletine for it to fall that easily, especially since my fellow Altmer pumped reinforcements into the damned place as quickly as they could now that they were no longer reeling from our invasion.
And now I am thinking about the amount of Altmer I killed just in the past day...
I hate war.
Going to go find Junes now.
We are marching out to besiege Corinthe in two days, and I am not going to spend that time moping.
-----
(General POV, proper)
Captain Gravus of the Leyawiin Guard stood atop the refurbished walls of his beloved city, frowning deeply as he waited for the garrison fleet to return, having sallied out to chase down a squadron of Dominion raiders in the morning.
"Bloody fools" He spat on the stone below him "Those things are too quick to catch easily."
'Not like we can just let them reave though' He scoffed at his own words 'Would make the populace unruly.'
He saw movement at the horizon then, and nearly sighed in relief before squinting at the odd shape of the approaching ships...
Those were a lot of approaching ships.
And in all his years he had never once seen the banner of a blue serpent they all flew.
That was more than enough for the old Captain as he immediately shouted "Alarm!" His voice echoed by the other guards quickly enough.
But they were not facing another Altmer raid, not this time. As the approaching ships practically skipped across the water, ignoring the vast majority of its resistance as they rushed for both the bridge and the docks of the great city.
Long before the guards, auxiliaries, and mercenaries protecting the city could form up, figures clad in blue scalemail and wielding either axe or cutlass, leapt from the ships, and began laying ruin to all they could reach, setting fire to the more flammable buildings and spreading true chaos throughout Leyawiin.
By the time the first imperial response caught the first group of the blue clad invaders, the construction site of the just barely unfinished bridge fort fell under attack, the few fortifications falling quickly to the surprise attack and soon the bridge of Leyawiin itself was breached, parts of the invading fleet immediately surging onto the Lower Niben river even as the city burned behind them.
---
Emperor Titus Mede II kept his face utterly flat as he listened to the messenger relate his report, the young new Count of Leyawiin having just sent an urgent message through the orb he was given prior to the war.
"The temple district still stands, as well as the noble district." The young man takes a sharp breath and goes on "The Count is unsure of the other side of the city but judging by the smoke and noise our forces are still holding."
"Too many troops on our side to get killed that quickly." Marshal Valenicus delivered his own opinion "Besides, surprise attack or not, even our auxiliary troops are trained to not break at the first setback."
"I see" Titus frowned "And the bridge?"
"Breached" The messenger winced "A few ships have already sailed through, their suspected destination is Bravil."
For a moment no one spoke, and the air around the Emperor grew heavy. The Chancellor was just about to interject but a raised hand halted him in his tracks as he quickly noticed his liege's other hand gripping the hilt of his sword to the point his knuckles turned white.
"Maro" Titus spoke gravely.
"Your Majesty." The Commander saluted.
"Fetch me my armor."
-----
Far away to the north, where the war yet to truly ignite, and where the grasping claws of Wayrest were finally being challenged by the drunken lashes of Daggerfall, the so far untouched region of Rivenspire was host to yet another conflict.
A stocky, well armored, orc armed with shield and axe grunted in exertion as he blocked the backwards swing of his opponent's spear, the great weapon threatening to sap his strength once more if it so much as touched him.
He roared out in fury, shield slamming the hand of the young orc facing him and forcing him to drop the heavy weapon, only to regret it but a moment later.
The far larger young'un twisted to the side and within the blink of an eye, the elder one's shield was shorn to pieces by a pair of scimitars, the force behind the blows sending him stumbling back and allowing his axe to be cut in twain as he flailed it upwards.
A thunderous kick, and he was on the ground.
The large orc stood above his defeated foe, and for a moment all the cheers and jeers in the open arena died down, the observers eager to see how the defeated would die.
But the young orc did something none of them could have ever expected.
He removed his helmet, sheathed one of his swords, and offered his hand "Killing someone of your skill simply because I can would be a waste" He grinned toothily, the expression both friendly and threatening at once "We cannot build a home for our people if we keep butchering each other."
The fallen warrior glared at his foe, enraged that his way to Malakath had been denied. But the young one's expression, the assurance in his eyes, and the pure earnest honor he carried himself with stopped him from lashing out.
'Maybe' a small traitorous part of him thought 'Maybe he is right...'
It was not the first time he had listened to the young fool, he laughed and jeered with the others when he first arrived after all! But as the victories stacked up and more and more warriors were spared the spear's dignity, the jeers were forgotten, now replaced with a grudging respect for the idealist's conviction.
Before he realized it, he had grasped the offered hand and was dragged up with great ease, nearly stumbling over himself as he regained his bearings, and quickly realizing that the entire gathering of Orsimer surrounding him was now staring straight at him.
Ah, but one did not reach the ripe old age of forty like he did without gaining some wits to themselves, and the defeated orcish chieftain grabbed the young un's arm and rose it into the air before roaring "Warlord Durrak!"
Before the rest of the orcs could realize what the had done, they too were echoing his words, and a new Orsinium was born.
-----------
The new Orsinium mine is going brrrrr
get to work!
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