Fires of Akavir

[SansSword]

Thanks! Nice to see a comment finally, haha.

 

Having fun writing it, have a lot of ideas of where to go, I think most TES fans will be satisfied with the events. Trying to make it what I personally would want a grandiose, epic TES game to be, albeit more character-driven, of course.

 

Keep reading. It gets better. Real juicy.

[SansSword]

The next morning came—Hoffstaff rose early to catch his caravan back home—he carried minimal goods, his prior heavy load already deposited here in Cheydinhal with the buyer—he had with him two smallish packs, a satchel for provisions, and his ‘special project’ hanging on his back hidden under his cloak

He was not alone on the caravan—three other riders had purchased fare for travel up north; one married couple, apparently, and a lone woman—the lone woman seemed to be of upper-class stock, carrying with her several large cases and trunks—Hoffstaff did not know why she hadn’t booked a private charter but it wasn’t his place to ask prying questions—had she beckoned him with any curious glances, Hoffstaff would have happily engaged her in conversation but she seemed supremely distant, a typical upper-class condescension, he thought—the Nord was content to ride in polite silence, looking out the window at the countryside galloping by

It was on an upward slope that it happened—the carriage stopped sharply, horses neighing to a halt, the driver shouting angry and worried orders to his team—Hoffstaff craned his head out the window, curious as to what the problem was

Not a bear this time, far worse, in fact—blocking their way, standing in the middle of the road was a huge blue-skinned ogre, tattoos shimmering off his muscled arms, bellowing at something up a nearby tree

The women tried to muffle their screams as they became aware of the obstruction, unsuccessfully—the married man shoved his hand and arm over his wife’s mouth, mostly stifling her shriek, but the other woman’s cry whisked far into the hills before Hoffstaff’s hand found her mouth

This alerted the giant beast who shifted his head downward, eyes beginning to bulge over the appearance of new, easy targets

Petrified, the driver attempted to coax his horses backwards in an effort to turn the carriage around, but the horses refused to obey his commands—they jumped and neighed, increasingly unmanageable

Suddenly the horses broke their harnesses and took off down the hill towards what they hoped was safety, leaving their passengers behind, stranded—the cart wheels had been shifted to the side, against the slope when the horses broke free, and there it stayed, adrift on the hillside

The ogre threw back his head and roared, a classic, throaty war cry, and began thumping down the hill towards the isolated carriage full of fearful, meaty creatures

The driver panicked and ran, following the horses—the married couple followed, leaving behind all their wares as they fled headlong down the slope

The remaining woman looked to the Nord for help, suddenly losing all vestiges of privileged pomp as she cried and begged her fellow traveler to save her—the dress she was wearing was not made for flight and she knew it—Hoffstaff watched her grow redder and redder, clawing at his clothing; then she fainted, slumping down to the carriage floor, hands breaking loose from the Nord’s tunic

Great Malacath’s minions, he thought, choosing an oddly appropriate expression, what to do? I am no match for that beast, even a competent archer runs the risk of it shrugging off repeated arrow strikes to its armor-like skin—the ogre grew ever closer to the carriage, still thinking it contained a full complement of squealing, meaty limbs ripe for the taking, its poor eyesight hiding the image of the escaping humans

Carefully, Hoffstaff stepped out behind the carriage, making sure to cover his exit with the bulk of the vehicle—he knelt down, pulled his experiment from behind his back, looked at it, and prayed to his ancestors—metal bits from a pouch were stuffed into the muzzle, powder emptied into the ignition mechanism, and a single, burly Nord stepped out from behind the carriage with the barrel leveled at the onrushing titan

Edited April 12, 2013 by SansSword

[SansSword]

Zeel watched the action with intrigue—he was hidden in some weeds off to the side of the road where he had been tracking the caravan from Cheydinhal —he had no interest in helping the victims, only to see what he could see relative to this Bruma smith who apparently cherished his secrets

The northern brute stepped out with what looked like a long metal tube, open end facing the raging ogre—Zeel momentarily sucked in his breath

The end of the tube exploded towards the ogre, dousing the hill in smoke—a cool breeze blew over the Dark Elf’s face and proceeded to clear away the smoke as rapidly as it had appeared—it revealed a shocking sight

Hoffstaff was slowly walking towards the ogre, now fallen flat on its face, its midsection nearly bisected from metal pellets, bluish blood streaming down the slope—the Nord stepped around the downward flow, his barrel still pointing at the body—he reached the body and believing it contained no life, set aside his weapon

But this was an ogre, famous for its tenacity and durability—even a grievous wound as this did not take the life from it fully—its head shot up, making a grab for Hoffstaff’s leg—the Nord, taken by surprise, stumbled and fell, the ogre’s grip pulling him forward toward the now bloodily foaming maw

Zeel’s heart raced, instinctively not wanting any harm to come to someone as talented as this but also knowing he must remain silent and unseen—must have been a soldier at some point, the way he conducts himself, this is magnificent!

But Zeel had no need to worry—sure enough, Hoffstaff was always prepared—sitting up, he brandished a knife, driving it home just behind the burly ogre’s skull deep into its backbone—the grip slackened

Hoffstaff attempted to revive the woman in the carriage, splashing her with some cold water—she eventually came to and couldn’t stop staring at the scene around her

The Dark Elf smiled to himself and slipped away down the hill—a few minutes later he played the innocent passerby, walking by himself, accidentally stumbling upon quite a scene, indeed!

While Hoffstaff cleaned up the scene, he noticed a figure approaching from down the hill—he squinted in the light, thinking he recognized the individual—sure enough, the familiar pair of glowing red eyes from the previous night walked up, grinning broadly

‘Hail there, friend Nord,’ he spoke brightly, surveying the locale from this new angle—‘By the Nine, what happened here?’

Hoffstaff was a bit suspicious but he put that behind him, for now—‘Hello, yes, we’ve had a bit of an incident here, ogre attack—I hate those blasted things’

‘Looks like things are fine now, though,’ Zeel noted—‘Was it you who...did that?’ gesturing to the seeping blue body

Hoffstaff coughed and said ‘Yes, it was me, had it not been so, there would have surely been…well, a different outcome’

‘Indeed—that doesn’t look like any arrow wound I’ve seen,’ the Dark Elf prodded, ‘did you use something else?’

Hoffstaff relented, knowing he couldn’t keep it a secret any longer—he pulled out the canister, held it flat in both hands to show the inquisitive Elf—‘This is it’

Zeel was overcome with wonder, taking in every inch of the device—the instrument was made of metal, crudely fashioned, welded at certain joints but still functional, very functional, obviously—‘What is it called?’ he breathed

The Nord pouted his lips—‘I haven’t decided yet’

Zeel sensed he was witnessing a very important point in history, a potential revolution in the way things were done, right before his very eyes, probably only the second person to encounter this spectacle

‘Would you, perhaps, show me how it works?’ Zeel queried

Hoffstaff considered this—the powder was easy to make and there was plenty of it—he wouldn’t run short anytime soon—the metal scraps, well, he certainly had plenty of those, being a smith—he consented, planting the weapon on the ground vertically, emptying a few scraps into the barrel, then righting the weapon and filling the small powder hatch with powder—‘Stand back,’ he commanded—Zeel obeyed

Hoffstaff pointed the weapon at a tree and pressed the ignition switch—razor-sharp shards flew out the barrel at high speed, a tremendous CRACK filling the air—Zeel covered his ears instinctively, unprepared for such a noise at close range—the weapon bucked upward while the tree was peppered with a dozen small lacerations—smoke covered the two figures

After it cleared, Zeel’s mind raced—he was already thinking of the ramifications of this bit of technology upon the world—if this thing did that do an ogre, what could it wreak upon a human…or elf…

‘Friend Nord, it is time I was honest—I represent the Dark Brotherhood—no, no, do not worry, I have no intentions upon you, for if I did, you would already cease to exist,’ Zeel calmly stated

‘I knew you were something else! Something dirty, vile…’ Hoffstaff gritted—he had no respect for such an infamous group as the Dark Brotherhood, vile dregs of society, killing and maiming for pleasure and fun—the fact that the Dark Brotherhood was an Imperially sanctioned guild and had quite an important place had no bearing on his opinion—to him, they were simply worthless animals, castoffs, unprofessional, and very, very undignified—they were the anachronism of a noble soldier, doing his duty for king and country, only taking life when necessary and certainly not reveling in it—‘You dogs disgust me!’

Zeel sadly shook his head, smiling a wayward smile—‘I’m sorry to hear that, friend Nord—the truth is that we take care of many of the more unpleasant aspects of civilized society, things most people would not care to touch—without us, life would be far less civilized and far more dangerous’

Hoffstaff pointed accusingly—‘I am no friend to no stinking Brotherhood scum, you begone from my sight! I don’t want to see or hear from you again! Ever!’

Zeel nodded consentingly and stepped back—‘Fair enough, sir, I will not bother you again—I do thank you for the education, however, it has been very worthwhile’

Suddenly the truth dawned on Hoffstaff—‘You…you’ve been following me, haven’t you!? From Cheydinhal, you…bastard!’

Zeel realized he was the target of a very angry Nord, not a good place to be—Zeel smirked and responded quickly, ‘Well, sir, I am the Brotherhood and we do rely on intelligence gathering, no matter who, no matter where…no matter what method—We will get what we need, what serves our purposes—but enough, I will leave you to your destiny—good luck in the future, may the Nine bless you…and your useful new tool,’ and quickly backed down the hill and away from any fast-moving metal scraps that might elect to follow him

Hoffstaff watched the Dark Elf retreat, still fuming, red in the face—he was more angry at the deceit than the attack—the attack had just been happenstance, accidental, and Hoffstaff had responded in kind—but the deceit had been planned, deliberate, and now his secret was out in the world, in the worst possible hands—an oddly ironic Dunmer vulgarity seemed appropriate

‘S’wit!’


Down the hill, Zeel grinned to himself—Mission accomplished, he thought, pursued target and acquired knowledge, now what to do with it

Heavy thinking lay in his future, back at base

Edited April 12, 2013 by SansSword

[SansSword]

Far to the east, over the snow-capped Valus and Velothi ranges lay another situation—the city of Tear lay on the Morrowind coast, its day nearly half gone, the sun at its peak—Tear also doubled as an Imperial coastal outpost, a large and well-equipped fort facing the eastern Padomaic Ocean—upon one of its many towers a soldier gazed over the waters and down the coast, his aging eyes squinting in the shimmering light

The soldier’s identification read Iodin Tempo, but he was more than a mere foot soldier—Iodin was Fortress Commander and as things went, he was the central figure here—the Empire was the law and he was a tool of the Emperor, making him the law

Iodin had no compunctions about battle, however—if conflict arose, he himself would be out on the frontlines, leading his men into battle, defending the land he so dearly cherished—rank meant very little to him when it came to fighting; Iodin had skill and experience and like any soldier, relished the opportunity to use it on an enemy

That chance may come soon, he thought as his eyes wafted over several black plumes of smoke on the horizon to his north—raiders had been attacking the shoreline at many points, terrorizing the populace and ransacking whatever they could find—Iodin had gotten word from his regional commander that raiders from the east could very well be the first phase of an Akaviri operation and that his fortress needed to be ready should that eventuality commence

The possibility of a foreign incursion gave Iodin some innate excitement, as it did any soldier—he had enough experience to know the viciousness of battle, although he knew it was not simply heroic tales told at home in safety in front of a warm fire—people died to make those heroic tales, something the commoner usually forgot—soldiers carried ugly scars on their bodies and in their minds the rest of their lives as symbols of what war could do; he himself had some of his own symbols—Iodin was no dreamer; he knew the risks but he also could not deny the glory

Iodin was very patriotic, almost insular, and hated foreigners, especially mutated beasts, as he viewed the Akaviri—strange, mythical, demented beings bent on slaughter was how he thought of them and frankly, how they were portrayed in Tamriel—history said Aka-vir, literally ‘Dragon Land,’ had tried several times to conquer Tamriel and had failed in each attempt, thanks to a combination of strategic skill and good luck—but luck could run out and battlefield commanders could always make mistakes, sometimes critical ones—Iodin knew reality

A watchman came along the parapet to join Iodin—‘Greetings, sir,’ saluting

Iodin returned the salute—‘Hello, Corporal, how go things?’

‘Nothing to report, sir, same as always’—discipline here at the outpost wasn’t as strict as in some locales— being so far from the central authority, things tended to be a bit more lax—but Iodin kept his iron glove over everything and demanded at least basic respect, up and down the chain, enough to keep things working

‘Well, that’s good, let’s hope nothing starts up’—as much as he was itching for some action, Iodin had no desire to have an enemy fleet appear on his horizon—‘Action reports for the bandits been filed?’

‘Yes, sir, both of them from earlier today—those bandits and raiders really been acting up, haven’t they? Wonder what’s going on’

‘Hopefully just some local greed, a few overeager swine drooling for gold’

‘Indeed, sir, but something’s got them all riled up’—the watchman joined his commander in gazing out on the water—‘Sure is beautiful today, bit warm though’

‘Bah, this is the equatorial region and you’re not used to the sun yet?’ Iodin scoffed good-naturedly

‘Grew up north of Chorrol, sir, I’m used to things chilly’

‘Well hopefully it’ll do you some good—sun’ll darken you up, give you a nice tan, maybe get you some dates’

The watchman laughed—‘Yea, I suppose that could happen, sir—hey, what’s that?’ He pointed off to the east, to a single point on the water

Iodin strained his eyes—it looked like a boat, a small fishing vessel careening through the waves at high speed

‘Hmm,’ he grumbled, not liking the uncertainty—fishing boats almost never made haste, except in cases of storms, pirates, or the occasional randy wife at home—continuing to squint, he couldn’t…quite tell…

The younger man’s eyes outshone his commander’s in this case—he suddenly sucked in his breath as a ragged line appeared on the horizon, first in just a few spots, then filling in the gaps, creating a solid black crease behind the lone fishing boat—‘What in Talos’ name is that?’

Iodin saw it now, too—and a lifetime of soldiering told him the answer—‘Son, alert the fort—get word to your superior and tell him to wake all resting officers and their men—take two men into town and grab all off-duties you find—tell the locals to board and shutter their houses, bring in their animals, and prepare as much drinking water as they can’—the commander’s mind raced

‘Yes, sir!’ the watchman countered and turned to run—he half-turned back and asked over his shoulder, ‘What is it? A storm?’

Iodin clenched his teeth before responding—Those bastards!

‘A storm it is…a storm from a distant land…and it’s comin right for us’

Edited April 12, 2013 by SansSword