(General POV)
Within a hidden clearing, situated atop a hill to the east of the Icevein River sat a fortified camp, its walls either raised by magic or mechanical labor and its interior filled to near overflow with warriors from three different groups.
At the camp's center, a small gathering of what looked to be officers and leaders were sitting around a fire and discussing their plans.
In one corner sat idly Thane Thorfinn of Winterhold as Lieutenant Garm of the Winterhold Guard, the actual leader of their force, kept questioning a nearby Dunmer elite about the capabilities of his fellow elves.
The Imperial contingent occupied the next corner, their Orsimer leader glaring holes into the back of his compatriot's head as the young Imperial was currently being fed and pampered by a divines damned Dremora of all things.
And finally, the last group was represented by the stoic figure of Captain Oren of House Dagoth, flanked from one side by a Paladin of Auri-El and by a cloaked figure and one of his veterans on the other.
Their moment of relative peace was crushed without a hint of mercy as the air beside them cracked, a tall form appearing in a flash of magic and kicking up the dust left from the construction.
The elves reacted immediately, the entire camp seemingly stopping for a split second before, faster than even the most stuck-up of Imperials could manage, the surroundings of the dust cloud were filled with two hundred and twenty Mer standing in perfect formation, already mid salute.
(Reyvin's POV)
My mask hid the satisfied grin on my face as I observed my troops acting in such magnificent concert, my eyes quickly snapping to the gathered leaders of the camp. I offered a quick nod to the guests but left them for later as I focused on my own people and the... extra.
"Captain." I greet "I sense losses, your report?"
He offers a crisp salute, a simple 'fist on heart' gesture, and speaks "We arrived in Winterhold as ordered and gathered our supplies. As we were about to leave Jarl Assur ordered his own soldiers to join us and I saw no reason to deny them." He pauses briefly, almost as if waiting for judgment.
He is given none "We are allied so your decision is perfectly acceptable." I turn to Thorfinn and Garm "I am surprised you managed to scrounge up so many" A good four hundred if my sight did not suddenly fail me "Considering how surrounded Winterhold is."
Thorfinn shakes his head but before he can speak he is interrupted by Garm's loud snort "You may not be one of us on parchment Flame-Tongue" He chuckles "But there is no true Nord of Winterhold who wouldn't fight at your side when called." A series of loud 'Aye!-s' spreads through the Nordic ranks.
"And I am honored by your friendship." I incline my head at them, a gesture they return "But we can share our greetings later." I decide and turn back to Oren "Continue."
"By your will." He bows "After we left the city we spent three days on a mostly peaceful march, the only annoyances being snowy saber cats which were dealt with swiftly and appropriately." Idly, I notice a couple of my marksmen donning new cloaks of white fur "It was on the fourth day that we were presented with an opportunity."
He gestures to the cloaked figure beside him, the Mer not reacting in the slightest as his eyes were focused fully on mine since I arrived "This kinsman." Oren goes on "Offered us information on enemy raiding camps... in return for a meeting with you." He finishes with a slightly weary tone.
"We can discuss the presence of the good Champion later." I wave the whole thing off, the little shit still not reacting "Finish your report, Captain."
Suddenly a lot more uncomfortable he does as he is commanded "We followed his information and checked up on it with our own scouts, this led to us destroying four entire companies of Dawnstar Raiders with minimal losses on our side. After gathering the spoils we marched for one more day and then set this camp up, and were soon joined by the 54th Solitude Cohort." He finishes "That was yesterday."
I hum lightly, the silence stretching for uncomfortably long and almost making the devoted Captain squirm. But I could not expect him to perform on my level of information and the decisions he made were generally wise with every intention to serve me as best as he can... So I finally settled on a simple "Very good, Captain. You do the house honor with your deeds."
The Mer straightened up at my praise but I was done with him for now.
I looked at the still seated Tiberius and snorted as he gave me a challenging look "Still a lazy twat, eh?"
The Imperial looked up at me... well, imperiously "What you call lazy, I call enlightened."
"Uh huh." I deadpan and turn to the orc "Zarok, I see the promotion stuck."
"It did... sir." He salutes somewhat awkwardly, the mix of fear and respect he had for me warring within him "The men thank you for saving our asses back at Helgen."
"It was my genuine pleasure." I grin behind my mask and going by his slight shiver he must have felt it as well.
Letting out a satisfied hum I decided it was time to address the big issue here "If that was all..." I pause briefly, and once no one speaks up I continue "Could someone kindly inform me why in the ever loving fuck is the Champion of Boethiah sitting in the middle of my camp?!"
The reactions were instantaneous as the entire camp immediately went to high alert as everyone pointed their weapons at the still seated hooded elf. Oren looked especially ashamed by his perceived failure to identify him but as I've said, this went beyond him.
As for why even the Dunmer were up in arms about this? As much as they may worship Boethiah, even they knew the absolute murder machine one had to be to become her Champion.
"You cry out in alert." A calm, aged voice came from the cloaked figure "Yet you stand before me unmoving."
"Correct." I state simply.
"It is as I expected then." He scratches his chin "I was sent here to be slain."
Getting his meaning immediately I snort "Boethiah is quite the bitch."
A light, almost amused, scoff leaves him as he gets up "That she is." The cloak falls off, revealing a truly built Dunmer clad in the famous ebony platemail of Boethiah, a long blade of the same metal hung from his hip, paired with a dagger made to punch through armor.
"So." I begin after a brief silence "What does miss murderdeathkill want?"
"I was sent here to challenge and slay you." His answer carries neither hesitation nor hostility "And in return, I will finally have my freedom."
"Got tired of the constant butchery?" I ask "Unsurprising."
He just shrugs "It is what it is."
"And what do you offer in return for me giving you the chance?" I ask, almost eagerly.
He pulls out a fat stack of paper, all of it neatly rolled up in a scroll "A full report on what I managed to get from Stormcloaks camp, their plans included." He immediately gives me an amused look "And I trust you aren't naive enough to think I did not make sure you could just take them. Even if you are the enchanter you wouldn't get there before the paper was turned to ash."
"Masterfully done." I clap my gauntleted hands "But you forget one very important fact..." I trail off.
"Your guildsmen wouldn't have access to this." He shakes his head immediately, giving me the feeling of blunt honesty "Their camp is as tight as a Meridian cultist's arse."
Unable to contain the snort at the comparison I cannot help but say "You know what, I think I like you Terryn."
His eyes widen "How do you know that name?!"
"Come now." I smile lightly "You should have done your homework if you decided to face me."
He takes a moment to calm down "Right."
"So, is that it?" I ask "You die and I get the reports while Boethiah gets to think she has a new plaything? Why does she want to replace you anyway?"
"I grow tired of the constant killing." He declares and a number of the Dunmer give him looks of genuine astonishment "I wish to create, not destroy."
"A smith?" I 'guess' "A worthy alternative if you ask me."
"So yes." He ignores me as he pulls his blade free of its sheath "If I must kill you to finally be free I will do so without hesitation."
"And what if..." I pause ominously "I offer you an alternative?" Blasphemy flashes into existence in my hand.
(Terryn's POV)
My eyes narrow as I instinctually take a defensive stance, my dagger already firmly in my left hand as I take a step back and find us both surrounded by a wall of shields. "An alternative?" I grit out, buying time to plan around the suspiciously confident child.
He twirls the artifact blade, either completely unaware of the malice he was projecting or simply uncaring "How do you feel about both spiting Boethiah and getting an opportunity for gainful employment?"
'Must he be so irritatingly dramatic?!' I almost snarl as my nerves are tested by the standoff "And what? Exchange one master for another?" I ask, slowly circling around him, he had yet to so much as take a step "I already said it, I will have my peace or I will have my death."
"Your death which would swiftly lead you to Attribution's Share." He informs me in a self assured drawl. I was indeed aware of the fact the Daedric realm awaited me after death but at this point, I just wanted it all over with.
"But what if that was not the case?" The intensity of Dagoth's eyes almost burned "What if I could free you from the Daedra?" He asks "All it would take is your allegiance."
"I already said, I do not want to continue the killing." I stop him firmly, his words were as tempting as honey but I knew of his patron and his high standing with the Webweaver, he would not cheat me so easily.
"And who said anything about killing for me?" He tilts his head, almost amusedly "I am in need of a master weaponsmith, and that blade was forged by you, no?"
For a moment I am both stunned and distracted with the pride I felt for my work but I quickly got myself together "Is this all a game to you?" I cannot help but ask, the ease with which he let go of the opportunity to get a warrior of my caliber almost stunning me on the spot.
"To me?" He asks "No." He shakes his head "But it is to the Daedra. And I really like spiting those who see me as a piece on their board."
"Your offer is good." I admit after a brief silence "But it is also too good to be true."
I hear him sigh, a staff which felt even more dangerous than the sword appearing in his hand faster than I could react and a wave of Magicka far more potent than any I felt in my two hundred years of life exploded off him.
And then, as if he was not satisfied he used the Nords' magic "TIID!" I could not even hear the next words he spoke and before I could so much as twitch to the side I found a sword piercing both through the Ebony Mail and through my side, perfectly missing my vitals.
The moment the blade pierced my flesh I felt all of Boethiah's power leaving me, making me feel weaker than I did in years. And as those twin burning flames looked into my very soul, the realization hit me 'I never stood a chance, did I?'
"I am afraid." The now far deeper voice of Lord Dagoth rumbled from below that dreadful crown "That I am no longer asking."
He pulled out the blade and my consciousness slipped.
==========
(General POV)
Three Dunmer-looking Daedra looked at the confrontation intently as it was brought to a swift end.
The one sitting in the middle scoffing loudly "Fine, I concede that he can not be brought to heel."
A disappointed exhale could be heard from the one wearing the flower crown as she handed her frustratingly smug chitin-clad counterpart a brilliantly glowing gem filled to the brim with soul energy.
"It is decided then." Boethiah spoke to Azura and Mephala "Once Anu's child has been punished for its tantrum we will..." She pauses before forcing out "Request the blasphemer's aid."
Azura frowned but nodded.
Mephala cackled like an absolute madwoman and both of her counterparts held back groans. She was going to be so insufferable about this.
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I fiend for stone!
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