4E 202, The Rift
Gerron Ironbreaker
The march towards Riften did not take long.
The roads of the Rift, once infamous for bandits and cutthroats, were now eerily quiet.
Stormcloak patrols had moved through the forests and hills in disciplined numbers, blue cloaks cutting through as they hunted down the last remnants of lawlessness.
Burned camps and abandoned hideouts were aplenty, places where raiders once ruled.
The only real threat came from above.
Occasionally, a dragon would descend from the Velothi Mountains, its shadow sweeping across the trees before fire and fury followed. Yet even those encounters had grown rare. Gerron could count the sightings on one hand.
Some said it was a good omen—that the dragons were thinning, that the unified strength of Skyrim was finally forcing Alduin's kin into retreat.
Gerron didn't believe so.
No. Alduin's threat would never truly fade while the World-Eater still lived. Fewer dragons in the skies did not mean fewer dragons in existence, it meant restraint. Calculation. Alduin was waiting.
His forces were also far from being depleted. Odahviing of the Kruziik and the four Dragon Priests still remain, Otar the Mad, Nahkriin, Krosis, and Morokei.
Alduin is planning something, intelligence suggested as much. Scouts and informants believed Alduin was watching the capitals, searching for weakness. When he struck, it would not be at a lonely village or mountain pass.
He would send his most powerful lieutenants to reap souls where they were most plentiful.
A single city could feed him thousands.
It was only a matter of where he's going, which none of them are sure of. The Blades were still out there somewhere, scouring every inch of Skyrim in search of his hideout, but they haven't heard from them for months.
'Then again, they could already be dead at this point and we wouldn't know about it.' Gerron thought grimly.
Gerron shook away the negative thoughts. Delphine was capable. Esbern's knowledge of dragonlore was unmatched. Mjoll, Aerin, and Fultheim were seasoned fighters. If anyone could survive long enough to matter, it was them.
If Alduin ever recovers to the point that he regained his original strength, then that would not be a fight that most of them would return from.
Gerron would make sure they were prepared when that day comes. Part of it depended on having expendable automaton Guardians, which was why retaking Riften was important.
Riften was more than a city—it was a node. Trade flowed through Lake Honrich and downriver to the sea near Windhelm. Control it, and supply lines tightened. It would also serve as a proper testing ground for his Automaton Guardians.
The Automaton Guardians marched beside him, all forty constructs of dwemer steel. They were expendable by design, meant to stand where flesh would fail. Against dragons, they would form the vanguard. Against orcs, they would teach him what worked, and what broke.
Testing them against a unified raiding force under a single warchief would yield valuable data.
Thus, he and Ralof marched down the road onto Riften, accompanied by two dozen members of the Shor's Guard.
"According to the Stormcloak scouts," Ralof said as the road dipped downward. "The warband consists of thirty warriors at most, led by their new warchief Gularzob."
"Not a large force by any stretch," Gerron replied calmly. "But decently organized if the reports were accurate. The Guardians should be enough to handle this."
Seeing the walls of Riften appear in the horizon, Gerron smiled as a large horn sounded from within. Not long after, figures appeared atop the battlements.
One of them, which Gerron assumed was Gularzob, was screaming out orders as archers and spearmen scrambled for their positions.
He was younger than Gerron had thought him to be. His green skin was marked by tribal tattoos, mostly visible beneath the orichalcum chestplate. A spear rested across his back, its craftsmanship noticeably superior to the others.
Gerron's eyes strayed to the broken gate. It had clearly been shattered beyond repair, now affixed with wooden stakes and crude battlement to reinforce its weak points.
'The work looks shoddy. Perhaps most of the Orcish smiths died off in the initial attack by giants….'
Whatever the case was, there was no place for mercy here. Gerron had seen the reports. These orcs had raided struggling and vulnerable villages for their resources.
A few Stormcloak patrols had even died off to them.
Gerron could understand desperation. He understood what it meant to lose a home. But raiding villages under his protection was not a path that could be excused.
"Orders, my Jarl?" Ralof glanced at him, his newly made Ebony sword and armor gleaming in the sunlight. A proper upgrade fit for his new position as Housecarl. "Despite their numbers, Riften's walls still stand strong."
"They certainly are." Gerron agreed, smiling faintly. "But they're not facing regular soldiers."
At his signal, the Automaton Guardians surged forward.
They moved in a loose formation, hydraulics hissing as their legs carried them in sharp, erratic patterns.
Gularzob barked orders as the orcish archers raised their bows.
Arrows rained down, most of them missing due to the quick movement of the automatons. The ones that did land merely bounced off the thicker plates of the Guardian's armor.
A few fell from lucky arrows striking vulnerable seams, some of the Guardians dropping as a result. But Gerron noted each failure with a critical eye.
Data mattered more than pride in this instance.
Crossbows snapped open from the Guardians' left arms, bolts screaming upward. Most of the orcs ducked down. Some were struck, staggered, thrown off balance.
That was all the time the Guardians needed.
They reached the wall and dropped into synchronized crouches.
"What are they doing, my Jarl?" Ralof questioned. The other Shor's Guards also had confused looks.
Gerron just smiled. "Didn't I tell you? These things were designed to combat dragons. Meaning they need some way of dealing with the flying bastards."
The Guardians leapt.
With explosive force, they vaulted the wall in a single bound, landing among the defenders atop the battlements. Orcs fell screaming as hybrid blades—half sword, half axe—tore through armor and flesh.
Gerron could see the look of shock in the eyes of Gularzob. That shock quickly turned to anger and determination as he reacted fast, too fast to be merely lucky.
He speared a Guardian through the chest, punching through its armor with brute strength and quality steel. Gerron's eyes narrowed.
'Interesting.'
The next strike failed—the spear sliding across the plate, leaving only a long gouge. Gularzob adapted instantly, smashing the butt of the weapon into a Guardian's head and shattering it.
'Despite my precautions, blunt force registered by a powerful foe could still penetrate the armor easily.' Gerron mused once more.
The fight continued for about another minute before it ended.
Gerron, Ralof, and the Shor's Guard walking through the broken gate as the Guardians all descended from the wall, covered in blood.
Only twenty-eight Guardians remained, the Orcs having fought better than Gerron had thought. Gularzob lay among his fallen, having taken down five Guardians before being overwhelmed.
"They certainly live up to expectations," Ralof stated, giving one of the Guardians a look. "Taking a walled city like Riften usually requires at least three times the number of the defenders. They did it with forty and only lost less than half."
Alyn, a young Bosmer of the Shor's Guard, acclaimed. "We would've needed ladders and siege engines usually…"
"Aye." Orgal, an older Nord warrior agreed, "But these fuckers could jump the wall easy. Never anything like 'at before."
Gerron just smiled as more and more chimed in with their thoughts. 'Impressive for this, sure. But the dragons are another thing entirely.'
Gerron instead surveyed the city around him.
It was incredibly rundown from months of neglect. A few buildings were crumbling and their roofs caved in from the snow that had no doubt piled on top of it back during the winter.
There were even streets that bore scars where Rahgot's Thu'um had torn through stone and timber alike.
But even so, most of the infrastructure was still intact. Gerron could see the Temple of Mara out in the distance, the Mistveil Keep as well was largely untouched.
He allowed himself a measure nod.
It obviously needed some work, but most of it was salvageable, which should be more than enough.
…
4E 202, Solitude
Kiera Fendalyn
The ceremony was going well.
Kiera eyed the many nobles and Thanes dressed in fine clothes as they talked and mingled amongst one another. Fine silks brushed against polished boots, jeweled rings caught the sunlight, and the air was thick with the scents of perfume and wine. It grated on her enhanced senses.
She spotted Legate Rikke without her helmet, speaking with a Legionnaire while subtly surveying the perimeter. Mixed among the Imperial soldiers were the unmistakable figures of the Penitus Oculatus, cloaks drawn close, hands never far from concealed blades.
Kiera herself wore no dress since, unlike Gerron, she didn't have the luxury of having a convenient storage space that would allow her to quickly change her outfit.
Instead, she had chosen a tailored formal suit from Radiant Raiment, cut precisely to conceal her armor beneath. The fabric draped elegantly enough to pass noble scrutiny, but the weight on her shoulders grounded her.
Call it paranoia, but the recent battles had made her quite trigger happy. She would feel much more comfortable with at least one layer of steel on her at all times.
Dawnbreaker rested at her side in an ornate sheath, gemstones worked carefully into its design to soften its presence. It didn't fool anyone important—but appearances mattered, even if only a little.
She knew she stood out, but she wasn't bothered since standing out was inevitable when you were the Dragonborn.
The wedding of Vittoria Vici was being celebrated all across the Hold of Haafingar, the regular folk lauding it as a symbol of the coming times.
The rather bleak existence of Skyrim in the months past had wormed its way into the hearts of many people. Too many went to sleep not knowing that they would wake up the next day, that an army of dragons would descend from the sky and destroy them.
The feeling had reduced in recent times with news of victory and successful dragon hunts from the Legions. Stories and songs were shared through tavern and markets alike, rekindling the small embers of hope.
The Emperor himself had walked among the people of Solitude, proclaiming that the Empire endured.
Her mind went back to the conversation they both shared. The Emperor had marched openly to the Thalmor Embassy with Penitus Oculatus at his back, Legionnaires flanking him. Not to beg, but to demand.
The details of the conversation were kept private, not even Kiera knowing it in full, but Titus had shared enough.
Delegate Estodil was nowhere near high-ranked enough to make decisions for the Aldmeri Dominion as a whole. So they used a device called the Vox Matrix, a rather powerful artifact capable of communicating with a person located even thousands of miles away.
They had found one in Ancano's chambers and had given it to Gerron in hopes of studying and recreating it. To be able to communicate with their other generals and armies was a boon that the Empire couldn't ignore.
Negotiations with the Aldmeri dominion stretched to nearly two hours then. Concessions wrung from the Dominion not by force of armies, but by leverage and inevitability.
The Thalmor would withdraw all their forces from Skyrim and leave, no military sanctions allowed within its soil.
Surprisingly enough, the Thalmor agreed. It didn't take long for Kiera to realize why.
The reason the Thalmor even bothered with the whole Civil War was to keep supplying both sides, letting the Empire weaken themselves overtime under the pretense of enforcing Thalmor worship.
But right now, they were safe. Distant. They were content to let the empire bleed against Alduin and learn from it.
If the Empire succeeds and Alduin is defeated, then the dragon threat has ended without any Thalmor blood being spilled.
If Skyrim falls and Alduin wins, then they would learn all the mistakes done by the Empire's troops and plan out their own actions against the World Eater.
'Highly conceited and arrogant,' Kiera thought, which perfectly describes the Thalmor at large.
Nevertheless, there was a reason why the Emperor now had the confidence to demand compensation from the Thalmor, it was the simple fact that they were no longer alone.
Seven champions now stood with the Empire, each one being capable of monstrous potential.
Given time, Gerron could outfit entire armies with artifacts that rivaled legend. Kiera herself was devastation given form, and her partnership with Vermithor made her worth double in size.
Isran, Serana, and Aela were no slouches themselves, and that was before they were blessed by the Gods. A battlefield paladin, master-level wizard, and prodigious hunter were boons to any force even without any of their blessings.
That wasn't even mentioning Karliah and Aranea, who both had their own unique talents in stealth and future sight.
Their numbers were thinning, sure. Thousands died back during the Civil War and thousands more perished during the numerous battles after. With the new batch of Voice-wielders being trained by Paarthurnax, their strength would be greater than it had ever been, even during Tiber Septim's reign.
The only known champion that was unaccounted for was Nelkir, the son of Jarl Balgruuf who both Carcette and Isran had deduced to be the champion of Mephala.
Was he there during the Night of Convergence? He had to be, since all the known champions were drawn together like iron to lodestone.
Before Kiera could dwell further, a familiar voice broke through her thoughts.
"How are you enjoying the festivities, Kiera?"
Jarl Elisif stood beside her, radiant and composed. As the Jarl of Solitude, appearances had to be kept and she more than delivered.
She wore a form fitting red dress, the wolf of Haafingar resting proudly upon her cloak. Her brown hair was done into an elaborate braid, revealing the bejeweled circlet resting above brow.
"It's… fine," Kiera replied honestly. "I was never used to gatherings like this. You nobles and Thanes sure do things differently."
Elisif laughed softly. "I heard you spent time in the Imperial City. Tell me, how does Solitude fare in the supposed grandest city in the world?"
Kiera smiled, memories of her time training for the Vigilants of Stendarr running through her mind. "Imperial City is grand, but Solitude has… heart. It feels lived in. I like it here."
"I'll take that as a compliment," Elisif said warmly.
Heralds soon emerged, their voices ringing clear as they announced the ceremony's beginning. Guests moved to their seats, attention turning upward toward the balcony where Vittoria Vici and her husband would soon appear.
Kiera remained near the front—close to Elisif, and close to the Emperor himself.
Attendants began circulating the venue, offering drinks atop silver trays held carefully in practiced hands.
One of them, a rather well dressed Imperial man approached them and offered a drink.
Kiera politely refused. Elisif accepted hers with polite grace.
Something then put Kiera on alert. Her senses flared. There was a sharp, acrid scent that cut through the perfume and wine. Her nose twitched instinctively.
Without hesitation, she slapped the goblet from Elisif's hand. Crystal shattered against stone.
"Don't drink that!"
The courtyard froze.
Elisif stared in shock. Rikke and the soldiers tensed. The attendant recoiled, eyes wide.
Then he laughed.
"Oh no, oh no! The poison was smelled?" His voice turned sing-song, unhinged. "Stupid, stupid Festux Krex! Naughty fingers, clumsy hands! And Cicero—oh sweet Cicero—should have known better! Mother will scold, yes she will!"
Before anyone could react further, smoke exploded across the balcony above. Screams followed. Steel rang against steel as chaos erupted.
…
AN: This chapter was great, though relatively mild all things considered.
The Gerron segment basically just showed the prototype automatons could do. These are their final versions, for that would come later. Even then they've already proven to be much more powerful than their Dwemer counterpart, short of Centurions themselves.
Kiera's segment was pretty fun to write all things considered. The Vittoria Vici incident had been teased since a long time ago, and I'm glad we're here now.
I hope you enjoyed this one, the pace should be picking up now.
More chapters are available on my Pat_reon. Chapter 102 should be available by the time this chapter is posted. Just look up my name, TeemVizzle, and you'll find me.
Cheers!