(General POV)
The constant thudding of arrows hitting shields and armors and flesh was all that occupied Torygg's mind as he marched in lockstep with his men, their shields interlocked in front of them while the lines behind them rose them over their heads. He had abandoned his horse the moment the battle started in truth and rushed to join his housecarls in pushing toward the damaged gate.
The monstrous hail of arrows made him regret his life choices.
His men fell all around him, a lucky shot there, a small misstep here, his people died in the dozens as they advanced but not once did they slow down or hesitate, all of those heroes in the vanguard were volunteers, more than happy to die for their King if it came down to it.
None of them even contemplated the idea of retreat, for if there ever was a way to shame themselves and their ancestors in that moment that would be it.
The defenders were not doing that much better either, their hails of arrows were greeted with those of the legion, suppressing them and stopping the truly horrendous casualties they would have caused otherwise.
What few spellswords or magi the legion could scrounge up were focused on carpeting the walls closest to the formation with their magic, stopping them from using their pots of boiling oil as they set it alight with a concentration of bolts and balls of fire.
And as if that was not enough, the attacking force was bolstered by rows of blackened automaton spheres rolling out to their sides, all of them shooting with supernatural precision and ignoring all but the most grievous of strikes, for anything save for a javelin or the critical shot of an arrow simply went ignored by the emotionless machines as they continued on their inexorable march forward.
It felt almost as if a mere blink had passed as they finally reached the large battered gates of the ancient city, discarded siege bolts scattered all around the final section of the bridge, all of them twisted or shattered from the impact.
The imperial magi all drank potions and started ceaselessly bombarding the area above them, stopping any rocks from being dropped as no one was quite brave or suicidal enough to sacrifice their lives for a single toss.
A group of bulky 'legionaries' rushed out from the formation, all of them carrying large spears glowing with crimson runes. They awaited no orders as they rushed the gates and slammed the enchanted weapons as close as they could to the hinges and between the two wings of the gates themselves.
One of the nearby magi shot a bolt of fire into the skies and moments later the artillery fired off another volley, slamming into the gates and activating the enchantments on the spears, causing a deafening explosion which sent both rebel and legionary reeling back.
The noise died down as everyone looked to the still standing gate, it was battered and dented but somehow still standing even after all that... that is until a loud creak was heard and the gate started falling forwards, barely giving the legion enough time to pull back before many of them were crushed under the massive weight.
Before the dust could settle, those same bulky legionaries rushed forward, a good number of them screaming challenges to the 'mortals' as they threw themselves at the rebels with reckless abandon, buying time for their allies to reorganize.
"And this is where I will be leaving you." Battlemage Tiberius approaches Torygg's side and offers a light bow, a scroll of immense power held within his hand.
"Good luck Battlemage." Torygg gives him a nod of respect.
"Same to you High King." Tiberius grins "Wouldn't want to see how Reyvin would react if you went and got yourself killed." He doesn't wait for a response as he turns around and orders "54th with me!" And activates his scroll, molding the walls to the east of the bridge and creating a massive wide staircase straight to the docks.
Torygg chuckles at his parting words before focusing back to his front and slamming his sword against his shield a few times to draw attention "The battle is not over yet men, to me!" His people followed him eagerly as he led the charge against the still disorganized defenders.
-----
The battle in the streets grew more and more bloody with each passing minute, the Imperials held the obvious advantage in both numbers and equipment but the fanaticism of the defending warriors was so great that it almost made up for the difference.
Still, no amount of faith and fury would beet the merciless mathematics of war and soon many of the rebels found themselves on the retreat, their disorganized units gathering before the great Candlehearth Hall as the Imperials chased after them like bloodhounds.
Thrice had his men been rotated away in favor of fresh units, and thrice did Torygg refuse to rest as he led the march toward the center of resistance, only having to slow once as he punished a group of fresh legionaries who thought it was an acceptable time and place to start looting an old mansion.
Soon, the mead hall came into sight, and the numerous hundreds of warriors with it. Torygg's men did not slow down their approach as their enemies became visible, some of them even seemed to speed up and grow suddenly energized instead, their thirst for glory and victory blinding them to the obvious danger of the situation.
Hungry for his own glory he may be, but Torygg was no fool, and so he found himself stepping out of the formation, a mere five steps, just enough to be seen and heard but not enough to be ambushed, and he spoke "Whoever leads these brave warriors, come forth and speak!"
There was some hushed whispering before a tall old man pushed his way to the front "What do you want, boy King?"
Unbothered by the insult, even smirking at it slightly "A boy King I may be, but a Nord warrior I am too." He declared lightly and no rebel deigned to deny him as he stood before them covered in blood, his drawn blade still dripping "A Nord warrior..." He pauses "Killing other Nord warriors." A silence descends upon the battlefield as the words leave him.
"FOR SHAME!" He roars, some of the younger rebels flinching at his voice "For shame..." He shakes his head lightly "Do you not see what your so called King has wrought?" He asks "Brothers killing brothers, fathers killing sons, good Nords ruining each other's lives! And for what?"
"An imperial puppet like you wouldn't understand!" One of the rebels shouts back.
"A puppet am I?" He drawls, many of his men glaring at the offender "Tell me then, who was it that made the empire you so decry?"
None answered, for the answer was so obvious that doing it would be more shameful than remaining silent.
"What would Talos the Uniter say to us now?" Torygg asked, nay challenged, surprising many of the rebels by uttering the name of their god "Would he be proud to look upon us as we are, covered in the blood of our brothers?" He lowered his blade and spoke "Lay down your arms now, surrender and know that I will treat you with the honor and mercy you deserve as my kin! You need not die for a lost cause on this day!"
There are some uncomfortable looks amongst the rebels but most remain stalwart, the leader looked back to his men, gauging their reactions, and slowly shook his head before turning back "You speak well, King Torygg, but you speak falsely." He grasped his axe "King Ulfric promised us a path to victory if we were to but hold you back long enough, and we are not so easily swayed as to betray him so wantonly."
"Even if you were to win today." Torygg counters, his eyes narrowing "Would the deaths of so many more thousands be worth it in the end? How many tens of thousands of our own people would have to die before Ulfric's ambitions were satisfied?" With each word his voice grew harsher "Are you all so blinded by his false promises to not see what he has done!?
There is some uncomfortable shuffling then, but before any answer can be given the screams of battle and the clamor of rushing feet draws everyone's attention to a western passage, one leading to the great market.
Torygg's men all prepared for battle while many of the rebels grinned as they believed their brothers to be reinforcing them.
Both were right... and completely wrong.
Some two hundred Stormcloaks ran for their lives as whoever was left behind screamed in pain and terror, the massive form of Thane Harald bursting through their ranks as he slew them with both axe and shield, his men following closely behind.
He stopped briefly and those rebels lucky enough to reach their allies flinched as he looked them over. His eyes moved to Torygg and he grinned "Saving some fun for me, lad? What a good son I have!"
Torygg huffed in morbid amusement and turned back to the rebels holing up in the meadhall, much more confident now that Harald had scared many of them into hesitance if not outright submission "What say you then, oh misguided kin of mine, will you lay down your arms and accept peace?"
Once more, the leader turns to his men, and once more he shakes his head "I am afraid our faith in our King is stronger than our fear for our lives."
Torygg sighed then, in sadness and in acceptance "Very well then-"
"Out of my fucking way!" The familiar modified voice of Reyvin rings out across the battlefield as a nearby street is suddenly filled with flying, and very broken, rebel bodies. His massive bodyguard shattering any poor fool brave enough to attempt to strike them down.
Almost all of the rebels showed some kind of fear then, as the form of their boogeyman stepped into the plaza "Torygg, we have a problem."
Quickly understanding the weight of the situation the High King asked "What is it?"
"There is a massive necromantic ritual circle under the city." The Court Mage spoke without inflection "It is active."
"Perfidious lies, all of it!" The Stormcloak leader barked as he realized the unspoken implication "King Ulfric would never associate himself with filthy necromancers!"
Reyvin turned to him then, his emotions hidden perfectly behind his crown "Answer me this then, old man, why are they warded specifically against my type of scrying?"
"Why should we listen to any of your elven trickery?!" The older Nord spits out.
Before he could so much as blink he found someone tugging at the collar of his armor, it took him a moment to realize it was the mage himself, now bereft of his crown and glaring at his very soul as he spoke, the very ground shaking as he let his mastery of the thu'um slip out "Your so called 'King' has sold his soul to the enemy of all life, I do not care for your belief nor do I care for your acceptance. Lay down your fucking arms or I will turn this entire district to ash."
It was not a threat, they all realized immediately, it was a promise.
Torygg's face twisted into a wry smile then, as he saw hundreds of the rebels throwing down their arms without one singular moment of hesitation. His sudden desire to punch Reyvin in the face completely unrelated to the sting in his pride of course.
They wasted no time in disarming, literally or figuratively, those who still chose to fight, leaving a reinforcing unit behind to guard the now surrendered rebels and rushing toward the Palace of Kings.
There was no slowing down as they shattered any defense before them with a combination of might and magic, Akulakhan pretty much stepping through any and all barricades as if they were not even there.
On the way, what few units managed to push through this far joined them, numbering some of Reyvin's own and a small number of the Knights of Evermor, Reynauld and Abelard not hesitating even briefly as they directed their mounts to join the mad dash of Torygg's party.
As they stepped out of the noble district and before the Palace of Kings, they found hundreds of heavily armored men waiting for them, all of them the remnants of Ulfric's own hird of housecarls.
There were no offers of mercy then, as Reyvin teleported in front of them and wordlessly discharged a massive cloak of crimson flames, consuming dozens of screaming Nords in seconds before bursting out in a wave and slaying most of the rest in an instant. Whoever was unlucky enough to survive soon found themselves strangled and stabbed by their own shadows, their slayer not even deigning to look as he approached the grand gates of the palace and shouting them apart with a clipped "FUUS RO DAH!"
The entire face of the palace shattered before his voice, only to be stopped by the words of another, the shout dissipating as their gaze landed upon the furious snarl of Ulfric Stormcloak. But the hatred and ire drawn by the rebellious Jarl was nothing when compared to the absolute religious fury most of the Nords and Bretons felt as their eyes landed upon the floating lichly form of a Dragon Priest.
"What have you done..." Torygg's voice carried both disgust and disappointment as he looked to his self-proclaimed rival.
"What I had to." Ulfric ground out, clad and armed in the bones of a dragon, his entire being screamed power even as his eyes lacked the fire they once held.
The Dragon Priest went to speak then, his eyes focused on the Dunmeri Archmage before him, but before he could so much as rasp out a syllable, he found the Staff of Magnus pointed right at his mask, and a beam of sunfire shattering his passive defenses but a moment later.
Krosis was prepared though, and Reyvin felt the entire underground ritual stir then as the lich, who now missed half of his head, pointed his own staff at him and surged with immense necromantic power, an immense beam of darkness slamming into his enemy and covering him and his guardian in their entirety.
So stunned were the attackers by this development that none could react as Ulfric shouted "WULD NAH KEST!" And appeared before the gaping Torygg, dragonbone axe cutting the air heading straight toward the rightful King's face, and his arms too slow to stop it.
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