"Honestly" I mutter dejectedly as I needlessly clean the already pristine blade of my staff "That was incredibly disappointing."
A small sea of dead Falmer lies in front of the fortress, most of them punctured by an arrow or an automaton's crossbow bolt. The attack consisted only of a couple hundred of them and considering our ridiculous amount of overpreparation they died without me even getting a swing in.
"Are you actually pouting right now?" Minthara deadpans.
Marco begins to snicker but one look from me shuts him up. I turn back to the redhead and nod seriously "Yes." I flick a lazy hand toward the ancient Dwemer city "I know this was just a scouting party but I at least hoped to get a spell in before they all died like bugs." I blink at a massive chaurus impaled by an equally imposing bolt "Well, you get my point."
A beat of awkward silence passes.
"Welp" I clap my hands as my staff disappears and I get up from my seat "I guess I will go and continue tinkering with the centurion carcasses, might as well make something out of all this waiting."
Just as I am about to start walking away I feel a light tremor in the ground and slowly turn around, quickly activating clairvoyance I get the impression that a scout actually survived and informed the rest where we were.
I blink "Huh I really should not tempt Murphy like that." Now I feel kinda bad.
Soon the alarm bells are sounded and those still busy looting the corpses and recovering ammunition quickly return back to our fortress. Like a well-oiled machine, courtesy of yours truly, the adventurers quickly position themselves atop the walls in anticipation.
Minthara grabs her hammer and leans it on her shoulder then smirks at me teasingly "You were saying?"
I shrug nonchalantly "Let us see you retain your newfound smugness after we get smashed by four thousand of the fuckers."
"Four thousand..." She mutters absentmindedly and then it clicks "WHAT!?"
If there is one thing I have learned during this expedition it is that clairvoyance combined with inherent precognitive abilities is completely and utterly busted.
(General POV)
The horde of Falmer quickly surrounded the fortress that somehow sprouted under their notice, after everything that happened in the past week or so it became rather evident to even the slowest among the current residents of Blackreach that they were under attack by something far more dangerous than what they were used to dealing with.
The more magically adept among the tribes, those who managed to live a relatively long life due to their talents and attained wisdom beyond their unfortunate limitations, quickly decided that the threat had to be dealt with as swiftly as possible.
Most of the tribes grumbled at the shamans' insistent urging, their petty rivalries stopping them from fully committing to driving out the invaders. Still, all of the chieftains agreed that a unified force needed to be sent forward and they all ordered a sizeable portion of their warriors to follow the shamans in their preemptive strike.
An ancient among her kind, Nightshade gazed at the small fortress with her rudimentary perception spell, she could feel a relatively small number of invaders, and only a third of them were even properly armored. What did give her pause were the three massive presences within the camp, compared to their fellows who looked like candleflames flickering in the wind, the trio looked like the false sun itself.
Immediately she understood that many of her kind would die today, but if that ensured their continued survival then so be it. Still, she wouldn't just throw her people at the walls, she was no furious child after all... No, a plan needed to be hatched.
(Reyvin's POV)
The ranks of Falmer stop just outside what they presume is our range, even still we hold back our attacks in hopes of preserving our strength for when the time comes.
"How often can you use the thu'um?" Tolfdir asks calmly as he observes the enemy force, he lazily cleans his beard causing breadcrumbs to scatter onto the stone below him.
I tap my helmet in thought "One big fire breath or two force waves, after that I am down to minor shouts. I can push harder but at that point I start to take damage." I explain simply.
Tolfdir nods in satisfaction "Good, wait for their most powerful to start joining the battle before destroying them." He smirks "That should cause them to break" A light chuckle "If they even survive, that is."
I was already going to do that but it is good to know even the old man agreed.
Our attention is drawn by a shifting within the enemy ranks, the Falmer warriors split and make a path for... a bunch of other humanoids shambling like zombies and wearing what can barely be classified as a potato sack. Some of them were even armed.
"A psychological attack" I say, almost in praise.
"Indeed" Tolfrid's voice is far harder than moments ago "Whoever leads them is no fool."
"We need to act quickly if we want to avoid whatever it is they are planning."
Tolfdir lets out a tired sigh and looks at me almost pleadingly "You once told me that they brainwash their thralls, are you certain that there is no saving them?"
My thoughts immediately turned into a blur, I spent a long time reading up on the different enemies I might end up facing in Skyrim and the Falmer were easily among the most numerous. Their thralls were generally considered unrecoverable without intensive restoration and alchemy, something that we had no reasonable access to.
Deciding that Tolfdir's trust is far more important to me than any potential losses among the adventurers or workers, I say "They can be saved in theory, but it would require a great and concentrated effort from multiple equally great healers." I look at him regretfully "I do not believe we can afford such a risk right now."
Tolfdir huffs and looks at me sternly "Go and dig a three meter deep hole under the central tower, make it big enough to hold all of them, and make it fast!"
I blink "Master Tolfdir, I understa-"
He raises a hand to interrupt me "Do as I say Reyvin, it is about time that you learned there is more than one Archmage in Winterhold." And with those slightly ominous words, he walks toward the gate.
I shake off my bewilderment and get to work, at least whatever was about to happen was bound to be interesting.
(General POV)
As the thralls weakly march toward the fortress a lone figure leaves its gates. The wizened Nord man, looking to be easily in his eighties and wearing simple-looking yet richly appointed robes, raises his hands like a conductor about to begin a symphony.
The thralls continue on, Nightshade tempering her giddiness with caution as she notes the lack of arrows striking them. That is until she feels the veritable sun of Magicka gathered at a single point.
Tolfdir's raised hands descend downwards as a massive burst of green Magicka envelops the thralls, causing every single last one of them to fall to the ground as if their strings were cut.
Once more the old Master spreads his hands forward, Magicka wafting off his form almost like a gas leaking from his very body, and with a powerful yank pulls toward himself. As one, the paralyzed thralls fly toward him and with another wave of his hands continue beyond him.
Just as Reyvin finishes pulling his final spider worker out of the massive square hole that he just had dug in the middle of camp, hundreds of motionless bodies fly inside, neatly stacking atop each other while also being positioned in such a way that none get hurt.
Tolfdir stares in the direction of the enemy commander, his experience allowing him to easily identify their position and with a stomp launches a spiraling boulder toward their position. As the projectile strikes its target the old man clears his hands and lets out a disdainful "Hmph!" Before turning back and walking into the fort, not a bead of sweat on his brow.
Nightshade quickly awakens only to find herself half-buried below the rock that suddenly smashed into her well-hidden position. She tries to wiggle out but soon realizes that it will take her a while to magic her way out of her current predicament.
She observes her force's reaction only to find them in a mad dash toward the fortress in an idiotic attempt to avenge her. She tries to warn them off but her pleas go unheard, she is too deeply buried and the mess of movement ruins all chances of anyone finding her.
All she could do now was lament her folly as she felt the first of her people get burned alive.
(Reyvin's POV)
As Tolfdir enters the fort he quickly sits down on the ground and starts breathing heavily, I offer a Magicka potion but he waves me off "No, that would only make it worse." He chuckles "I channeled a bit too much and my old bones need rest, go and lead the defense I will make sure the thralls do not hurt themselves."
I nod and shadow walk atop the gatehouse, some of the adventurers look at the approaching army with shaky hands but my presence at least manages to focus their attention on me. I cast amplify voice and speak up with confidence and authority "Prepare bows and await my signal." Not being one for speeches I settle on merely giving the command, my confidence in the face of danger combined with my reputation serving as enough motivation for the adventurers to calm down and prepare.
The Falmer walk over the corpses of the scouting party, not slowing down for even a moment as they feel the bodies below their feet. They get closer, easily within bow range but I still remain silent.
Finally just as their archers get into position behind the warriors I send a mental command, and as one, forty Dwemer spheres focus down on the approaching archers, and as one they loose their bolts each and every one hitting their target.
The Falmer approach falters as a small hole opens up in their formation and I see my chance "NOW!" I yell and toss a massive fireball at the surprised warriors, turning them to ash.
High above me, a loud cranking noise resounds as Gatecrasher starts lobbing the simple steel bolts I had made for this kind of situation, whenever it doesn't target arrows rain upon the Falmer, our height advantage and lack of blindness allowing us to shoot them with reckless abandon.
The ground below the fort becomes a storm of death as conventional weapons mix with elemental magic, killing the Falmer by the hundreds.
Still, their numbers are far too large for us to push them back with only ranged weapons and they soon manage to cross the moat, by climbing over the bodies of their comrades, and start climbing up the walls.
The first among them get cut down far quicker then I remember the Forsworn dying, the speed at which we reap the disgusting creatures making me almost pity them for their weakness.
Soon their elite warriors began appearing, their bodies almost fully covered in chitin and some even carried lightly enchanted blades. I got the feeling that many of my own would die if they were allowed atop the walls.
Neither their strength nor their equipment would save them from what was to come.
Just as the first armored warrior was about to start climbing I took in a deep breath, some of the degenerated elves flinching as their instincts screamed for them to run. But it was far, far too late for that.
"YOL TOR SHUUUUUL!"
A massive blast of fire, far larger than what I achieved at Haraldstead covers the oncoming army, I almost stumble when my clairvoyance informs me I had just killed close to a thousand in a single instant.
The battlefield quietens down for a moment, and then the Falmer rout, screaming and whimpering as fear overtakes even the bravest among them, the adventurers cheering and some of the more vindictive ones still firing arrows at their fleeing enemies.
(General POV)
Nightshade finally manages to dig herself out of her stony prison, just in time to feel IT.
The dimmest of the three suns brightened suddenly and as three simple words left its mouth she felt as if the world itself decided that her people would burn... and so they did.
And she could do naught but watch.
Understanding her utter defeat, Nightshade prepared to retreat only to feel two claws suddenly grab her shoulders and lift her in the air. Whatever held her was searing hot, causing her great pain as it carried her toward the fortress.
The last thing she heard before she lost consciousness from the immense pain was a young, cheerful voice chirping "Yoink!"
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