AN: A new chapter, huzzah! Drop me some stones if you like it pls, I am a machine that turns positive feedback into more words and chapters.
I appreciate you and enjoy the chapter!
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4E 202, Bthardamz
Balgruuf the Greater
The interior of Bthardamz was not like what he expected. Dwemer ruins were often called such for the legacy they inherited, yet they were actually far from being a collapsed wreck their name describes them as.
An entire city buried beneath the mountain unfolded like a twisted labyrinth of brass and stone. Hallways curved into other hallways, rooms connected to hidden stairwells, and great brass pipes snaked along the walls like veins in some colossal buried beast.
Districts bled into other districts. Chambers opened into yet more chambers. It was easily the largest Dwemer ruin he had ever been to, not that Balgruuf had been to many.
They had entered through what appeared to be the upper districts. Judging by the mess of bedrolls, crates, and crude living spaces scattered through the chambers, this had once served as the living quarters for the Mythic Dawn.
And it was crawling with enemies.
Dremora soldiers filled the corridors like black-armored statues come to life, their burning eyes glaring from behind horned helms. Cultists in crimson robes darted between them, shouting prayers to Mehrunes Dagon as they hurled spells or lunged with bound weapons like swords or axes.
The fighting here was dogged, for their numbers mattered little in a ruin filled with chokepoints. Doors, hallways, narrow staircases. Even small rooms like storage closets or pantries became miniature battlefields where two or three warriors could hold back an entire line.
One of those rooms held a kitchen-like area, where a particularly bold cultist had swung at Farkas with a brass kitchen knife with the fury of a cornered rat. Of course, the kitchenware clanged harmlessly against Skyforged steel, and Farkas grabbed the man by the collar and smashed his skull against the wall with a dull crack.
The sight had affirmed Balgruuf that there were also regular folk amongst their number, those that believed in the cause of Mehrunes Dagon, but lacked the magical talent to be considered a member.
The upper districts stretched deep into the mountain, and before long even Balgruuf lost track of their path through the twisting corridors.
Left turn.
Down a flight of stairs.
Across a bridge of Dwemer metal pipes.
Another chamber.
Another hallway.
Thankfully, he was far from alone.
Stormcloak soldiers moved ahead of the column, marking the walls every fifty steps with chalk and charcoal.
Without them, Balgruuf suspected even the most experienced scouts would struggle to find their way back.
"This place is a Talos-damned maze," Galmar grunted nearby, his axe tearing free from the chest of a cultist with a wet squelch. "Just how big do these Dwemer ruins go?"
"As deep as the mountain, I reckon," Tolan replied with a snort as he wiped black blood from his mace. "This isn't my first time in Dwemer ruins. Though the clear lack of Dwemer traps is telling."
Balgruuf nodded grimly.
Indeed it was. Arlnyn had done his job well.
The old Whiterun guard and the four scouts who accompanied him had repeatedly warned them of ambushes ahead. They had lost two men during the first encounter with waiting Dremora, but their sacrifice had allowed Ulfric and Balgruuf to reform their ranks before entering the trap.
Because of them, the ambushers had instead found themselves crashing against a prepared shield wall.
Speaking of Ulfric, the Jarl of Windhelm was sitting atop one of the massive brass pipes running along the wall. He looked composed enough to the casual observer. But Balgruuf was not fooled. The man looked exhausted. There was a subtle tension in his shoulders, and the usual brutal strength behind his swings had dulled.
Balgruuf shook his head. 'The Thu'um took quite the toll on him it seemed.'
Using the Voice again and again in battle was no small feat. Even the Greybeards rarely did so.
Still, Ulfric rose the moment the soldiers began moving again, joining the line without complaint.
The fighting continued then, hour after hour, room after room.
They had to take it slowly, for no stone could be left unturned. Should Mankar, or even one cultists escape and survive, then this entire campaign would be considered a failure.
Their goal was the total eradication of the Mythic Dawn, and that is what they would do.
His grip on Bonebiter tightened and he gave Irileth a nod as they continued on.
The next hour flew by just like that. Slowly, steadily, the army pushed deeper through the ruin. Dremora and Cultists lurked in every corner. Some lied in wait to ambush, while others simply charged as the hallways turned to a bloody slog.
Bonebiter in hand, Balgruuf found himself at the tip of the wedge of flesh. It was a deliberate thing, for few in this army bore armor as high-quality as his. Dragonplate was near impenetrable, and he would be the tip of the spear that would break the Mythic Dawn.
They advanced steadily, with more and more Dremora and Mythic Dawn cultists trying to stop them. In the upper levels they had faced lesser Daedra—Kynvals, scamps, and hulking Churls wielding crude weapons.
But the deeper they delved into the ruin, the fiercer the resistance became, and they were met with towering warriors clad in full suits of blackened Daedric plate. Carcette called them Dremora Lords, each one fought like a monster on the battlefield, capable of holding off near a dozen soldiers at once.
Yet here the Vigilants of Stendarr proved their worth as senior Vigilants engaged them head-on, meeting their infernal blades with blessed steel.
Balgruuf and Irileth had to team up together to kill one of them, while Carcette herself cut one down with frightening ease. Beside her, Tolan crushed another's skull with a beam of light that nearly blinded Balgruuf from its radiance.
Balgruuf began noticing something else as well. The deeper they went, certain pathways were defended more heavily than others. They were heading somewhere important.
At one junction, a pack of Clannfears burst from a side tunnel, shrieking as they charged. But the narrow halls worked against them.
The creatures could only approach two at a time and the twisting pipes cost them the speed and momentum that would make such beasts fearful on the battlefield.
Their charge was met with little success as Vilkas, Farkas, Ulfric, and Galmar made short work of them, their weapons easily cutting through the armor-like hide of the Clannfears. Within seconds the beasts lay butchered across the floor.
Balgruuf had to shake his head at the absurdity of it all.
A good smith truly was the backbone of any army. Usually, an artifact-level weapon or even basic enchanted ebony barely made a difference in a formation, but when they had over a dozen of such swords?
Bonebiter, Elegance, Wuuthrad…Any and all defenses would be cut through like a heated blade through butter.
In one particularly long hallway, they finally encountered a proper defensive line. Dremora soldiers held long pikes while Mythic Dawn mages gathered behind them.
It became a game of thrusting spears as Balgruuf's bodyguards formed up beside him. The Dremora soldiers had good discipline, yet their armor was lacking and could hardly compare to one made by the Champion of Zenithar himself.
Balgruuf's own shield was crafted by the man, with the Resist Magic enchantment allowing him to disperse the bolts of fire or lances of ice that were launched by the mages.
Slowly but surely, the demon's losses mounted, pushed back by the wave of Skyrim's best. Upon Ulfric's command, the first line split and opened, letting the Stormcloaks who brought javelins to come forth and pepper the enemy line, breaking their formation.
Once their lines wavered, Skyrim's ranks quickly reformed. Farkas ignored the spearheads bouncing off his Skyforged plate, stepped forth, and swept them away with his enormous greatsword, allowing Vilkas to lunge forth.
"FOR JORRVASKR!"
Wuuthrad cleaved through steel and flesh, uncaring for the sprays of blood that covered its wielder from head to toe. The Harbinger of the Companions looked like a wolf amongst sheep—which he probably was, considering the Inner Circle's worship for Hircine.
Balgruuf fought beside him, Bonebiter buried in the gut of a young cultist—barely twenty winters old.
The boy gasped once before collapsing, the light in his eyes disappearing as Balgruuf moved to another opponent.
When a few of the Dremora attempted to tackle Balgruuf in desperation, their path was blocked by his Housecarl as Irileth precisely cut them down with her enchanted ebony longsword.
'The Jarl of Whiterun's ever present shadow' was what the men often called her.
Balgruuf just laughed. There was something primal, something satisfying in participating in a melee such as this. His blood was singing in his veins as he felt the old berserker fury rising.
Slash.
A Churl with a poleaxe fell like a sack of turnips, its throat opened, before disappearing back into its plane of Oblivion.
Slash.
A shield flew, and so did the arm holding it. Yet despite the injury, the Dremora Churl didn't utter a sound as he countered with a riposte to Balgruuf's neck. Balgruuf trusted in his armor, and sure enough, the sword bounced off the gorget, and Bonebiter answered by removing its head.
Slash.
Slash.
Slash.
By the time the fighting slowed again, Balgruuf was soaked in blood.
Eventually, they reached another great staircase descending deeper into the mountain. At its base stood a set of massive brass gates.
Around them, the sound of churning water could be heard.
"Is that a blasted river inside a mountain?" Vilkas muttered.
"Probably one of the sources of the Karth River," Ulfric said idly. "One that flows from the western peaks down toward Deep Folk Crossing."
Balgruuf nodded slowly.
This was it.
They had fought through hundreds—perhaps thousands—of Dremora to reach this point. Mankar Camoran had to be beyond those gates.
"He's there."
A sudden noise had everyone reeling, Balgruuf most of all, nearly jumping out of his armor. Appearing by his side like a ghost was Karliah, clad in the silver nightingale armor.
At one moment, the spot was empty. The next, she was simply there.
"By Talos!" Balgruuf pressed a hand to his chest. "Don't do that, lass!"
Weapons lowered as the warriors recognized her, slowly letting out a breath of relief. Even Irileth relaxed slightly, though her eyes remained narrowed and shoulder tense at the sheer fact that someone pushed past her senses.
"I've closed the Oblivion Gate." Karliah stated, her voice calm. "It was being held open by ten senior cultists in another chamber they called the Arcanex. They had this with them."
She pulled out a thick, gray tome, with the daedric letter "Oht" on the cover.
"The Mysterium Xarxes!" Carcette exclaimed.
Karliah snorted. "I thought that's what this was. Here, you would know better what to do with it than I."
She tossed the book toward the Vigilants, Tolan stumbling to catch it out of the air. He let out a sigh of relief before carefully wrapping the tome in cloth and tied it tightly before hanging it from his belt.
Karliah turned back to the two Jarls. "Mankar is all that's left."
"Very well." Balgruuf said, "It's time to end this."
This time, it was Carcette who stood at the forefront, her face was stone as she led their grim walk to the set of double doors.
Once they were there, burly members of the Whiterun guards and Stormcloak soldiers stood in a line and pushed, the doors slowly opening with a groan.
The expected rows of Dremora guards and cultists were nowhere to be found.
All there was was a simple room, braziers burned softly as a small hearth glowed in the corner.
And in the center stood a bed. Mankar Camoran lay upon it.
He looked… withered.
His pale skin clung to his bones. Sweat soaked his brow, and two bandaged wounds marked his shoulder and thigh. He was alone, his body shrivelled as if he hadn't eaten in weeks.
Yet his eyes were as cold and sharp as any other.
"So," he rasped. "You're finally here."
"Mankar," Carcette replied as she approached the bedside.
Balgruuf inclined his head and Ulfric nodded. Their men swiftly combed the room of any potential threat as he and Ulfric were content with simply observing.
"You look pitiful." Carcette eyed the shriveling Altmer. Her eyes focused on the bandaged wounds, with the scent of herbs and poultices. "What happened to you?"
Balgruuf had the same question in his mind. They had charged through Bthardamz, carving their way through the Dremora army expecting a terrible final battle. Instead they were met with a dying man.
Mankar chuckled weakly. "What do you think? The Champion of Hircine is…a cruel woman." He sucked in a ragged breath. "She claimed it was a paralytic, yet weeks later I continued to grow weaker." His eyes drifted across the room. "The Night of Convergence had taken more than just my children. Dagon's champion is lost and I struggle to lift my own hand. Azura's Priestess warned me of it…and yet here I am all the same."
Balgruuf grimaced. A lesser man would have broken a long time ago. For good or ill, even Balgruuf's heart had turned colder with every passing day without news of Nelkir. Despite everything, a sliver of respect for the bedridden man appeared in Balgruuf's heart.
From beside him, he saw the same in Ulfric's eyes. Despite it all, chained as he was to his bed, Mankar held the bearing of a king.
Vilkas snorted. "Aela was never one with mercy in her heart, especially for prey."
The handful of companions that were here nodded.
Carcette said nothing. She slowly unsheathed her sword.
"You have committed many crimes in your life." Her voice echoed through the chamber. "From the Oblivion Crisis, to the attack on the Hall of Vigilants. The Night of Convergence and the many raids upon the Reach. Thousands down by your hand, from your known and unknown atrocities."
Her blade pointed downward.
"By the light of Stendarr and the name of Titus Mede II, Emperor of Tamriel, I sentence you to die. Any last words?"
Mankar snorted weakly. "Just make it quick."
She did. One clean swing, and his head separated from his shoulders.
…
AN: Whew, finally got this chapter out.
Only a single POV, but I realized it was necessary to end it here since it's thematically filling and already hit the word count of 2700 words. Thus ends the threat and plotline of Bthardamz and the Mythic Dawn. I'm not sure how many people would like such an end for Mankar, who no doubt expected for him to go out guns blazing.
But I think this was the better end, one where he dictated the circumstances of his own death as much he could despite metaphorically being chained to a bed. I've subtly clued in about his absence in the previous chapters, and this is the reason why. So I hope you like it.
In other news, I found that writing out sieges and army battles to be really really fun. Probably my favorite bits in the last ten chapters or so. The cavalry charge, the defenders of the walls, making camps outside of castles…it's giving me the itch to write a fic on the A Song of Ice and Fire or Game of Thrones series, since they have quite a lot of them.
I've been thinking of doing it for quite a while, but always put it off. Now that I had a chance of writing this kind of plotline, I enjoyed it immensely. Will definitely see if I can continue with it in the future.
More chapters are available on my P-word. Chapter 119 should be available by the time this chapter is posted. Just look up my name, TeemVizzle, and you'll find me.
Cheers!