(Zarok's POV, before the battle began)
My irritation grew with each moment and each step. It was always the silence and anticipation that got to me, not the fighting itself, at least I got to wet my axes when the chaos began, now all I could do was worry about a stray spell ending me before I could react.
"You good there sir?" Percy whispers from my left.
I grunt, letting some of the frustration out if only barely "I'm fine."
"Getting all jittery are we?" Tiberius voices amusedly from my right, looking far too relaxed for the usually cautious brat.
My eyes trail to his face and narrow "Know something we don't?"
"Come now my friend, what is a little pre battle jitters to veterans like u-" His boast is cut off by a thunderous roar in the distance.
Most of my men do their best impression of a scared child and I am not ashamed to admit I felt the tiniest trickle in my groin before I gathered myself. The very air felt terrifying and a lot of us could barely breathe as we looked up to the pitch black monstrosity.
Tiberius himself was outright shaking, his cockiness as dead as an alleyway skooma addict.
I hear a rustle and the man behind me stumbles back, falling onto his ass "What the fuck..." Ah, Gunnar, if he lives I am going to make him regret ever being born.
Forcing my own fear down I round on him with a scowl "Get your ass up legionary! We have a job to do!"
He gets up almost immediately, the brief fearful hesitation easily overshadowed by training and discipline as his face turns completely blank and he stands behind me, breathing slowly evening.
I allow myself a satisfied grunt and a nod before turning to the rest, all of them sporting a rather... diverse array of expressions going from 'Pissing himself' to 'Scared shitless' and the latter was quite literal "We've already seen what these beasts can do, and I understand that all of you are terrified."
A number of them shuffle but no one talks back.
"Good." I voice "If you weren't I'd consider you a fucking idiot."
A couple of forced chuckles come in response.
"It's a good thing we aren't here to fight the ugly fucker then, isn't it?" I try and relieve some of the tension "No, we are here to kill the dumbasses who decided that following the thing was a good idea. A bunch of cowards so pathetic that they'd follow the World Eater rather than face the world without trembling like the weakling little twigs they are!"
"So quit shivering like a bunch of milk drinkers and stop thinking about the damn dragon, that is for the mad elf and Dragonborn to worry about, you are starting to look greener than I am." I snort "Now get back in formation and check your weapons, if I find any of you have dropped your weapons by the time we march out you will regret everything."
My suddenly bloodthirsty expression manages to kick them into gear and all of them begin scrambling back into some barely acceptable sense of order. 'Bunch of fucking amateurs the lot of them' I shake my head, pretending I wasn't just as terrified.
The General's war horn sounds and I am already moving forward, no room for doubt now Zarok, just keep marching forward and things will work out, right?
Another roar makes the entire bloody hill shake.
Right...
My men begin falling in behind me, our formation was weak and haphazard but were quick to start getting back into the rhythm of things once the familiar one two one two of the shield wall step ingrained into their instincts began settling back.
Good thing the palisade did not have many platforms for archers or we would have been in big trouble, those damn walls looked way bigger up close.
Though I did notice someone missing and looked back "You coming brat?" I smirk at the still terrified Battlemage "Or is your magic only good for fighting weaklings?"
He begins to sputter indignantly and before long he is already marching in front of me.
A light chuckle leaves me 'Nobles.'
It took the lookout only a moment to notice us and by the time the cultists got their heads out of their asses we were already halfway across the field, the other units made up of the damaged veteran cohorts that came with us trailing just slightly behind our own.
'That'll teach you fuckers to call us a bunch of thieving scum.' I smirk.
Said smirk immediately falls off as I see a group of robed cultists climb up to those oh so harmless platforms I noticed earlier and bring out a scroll each. I was just about to roar an order to scatter but the familiar metallic noise of ballistae bolts releasing delayed that, and just as I hoped a moment later a trio of utterly massive bolts smashed into the walls, the ensuing explosions spaced perfectly as to create the greatest opening in the walls.
Tullius really liked his new toys to no one's surprise. Unsurprising, seeing as they couldn't talk back.
We kept moving without pause, all of us long since used to Tullius' preference for artillery, so used in fact that I allowed myself a foolish moment of laxity. The dust before us cleared and a small group of the apparent magi still stood, all of them wounded and disheveled but still holding onto their scrolls.
We were close, dangerously close in fact "TIBERIUS, WARDS! NOW!" I bark.
He almost stumbles but manages to grab onto his 'staff' or the mace/rod that passed for it, a thin shimmering barrier forming in front of us to meet with whatever the fuckers were about to throw at us.
It didn't take a genius to see the wards were too thin for all of us to survive.
The cultists readied themselves and without even the slightest hesitation activated the scrolls. I steeled myself for the upcoming losses, but they never came as the scrolls lit up with power... and promptly exploded in their hands, enveloping the front rows of the enemy with ice and fire.
'Fucking Dagoth.' My mind promptly supplied and I grinned, my thirst for blood and butchery beginning to simmer in my veins, they were disoriented and disorganized now, terrified even, so there was only one thing left to do "FORWARD!" I command and gripping my axes throw myself head first into danger.
Of course the brat's summons arrive before me, the Daedra already cutting down rows of staggered cultists and burning those trying to run away but I did not care for any of that right now.
The moment I found the strongest enemy present, a tall lanky Nord cunt wearing steel plate, I descended upon him like Malakath himself, the pitiful parries and genuinely baffling attempts to swing at me with his shield slowing me down only long enough for my own men to catch up and begin cutting down the others.
The way his helmet split under my strike made me grin like a lunatic.
My instincts warned me to step back, only for a bodkin arrow to wiz past my face and hit Hilderbrand's shield, startling the old fucker "Archers on the roofs!" I call out immediately.
But before I could tell my boys to grab their javelins I noticed the brat pointing at them and one moment he was in front of me and the next he was stepping out one of the archers' shadows, braining the poor fucker with his mace before summoning his scamps around him and turning the position against the enemy in short order.
Say what you will about the arrogant little shit but he knew how to lead a battle "Keep moving forward!" I bark as the cultists begin to flee "Give them no time to regroup!"
We step past the now burning tavern and move to follow them up the cliff, only to be met with a counter charge of a bunch of half naked bloodshot-eyed lunatics armed with axes and hammers screaming about Sovengarde as they smashed into us.
My left hand whipped out to deflect the hammer stroke going for my head, only to nearly buckle under the force of a man who should definitely not be that strong 'Right, the fucking potions' I grunt, my right hand swinging out and cleaving the man between the jaws.
My men were less efficient in killing their opponents though, but were thankfully smart enough to play defensive and wait for someone to bail them out.
That someone became me as I descended on the crazed motherfuckers like only an orc could, my axes swinging left and right and up and down in a fluidity I could barely recognize as my own. Arms flew, heads were severed, and bodies cleaved, and before long I was panting behind the battle line as my men moved past me to keep pushing the suddenly very tired cultists.
'Didn't know berserk potions made your veins black' I idly noted as I kept trying to force air into my lungs, the enemy suddenly beginning to fall and convulse not even registering with me as the mountain began to shake again, dragon shouts going back and forth as images of Windhelm began playing in front of my eyes.
I slapped myself awake and shook my head, now was not the time!
Taking a quick sip of a stamina potion I jogged up to the battle lines
As we climbed up the hill we were joined by another unit, just done with cleaning up another center of resistance, or so the heavily armored Breton knight said, and without even consulting me the glory hungry cunt threw himself up the incline to the mines with his greatsword in hand and the dumbfucks in his unit following behind him without hesitation.
When he started cleaving the entire shieldwall on his own I just spat on the ground, accepted that life was unfair, and threw myself back into the grinder.
A stupid ass cultist, his eyes red with the receding berserk potion and his veins bulging black enough to stun him but not kill him, had the bright idea of trying to surrender and threw his chipped axe to the dirt.
He was justly rewarded by my axe disemboweling him without a second's hesitation.
The Dragon Cult began throwing more and more of their useless idiots at us to keep the incline but they were not soldiers. There were actual warriors among them of course but nowhere near enough of them to put up an actual fight against a properly trained formation.
The brat's summons made their task that much more difficult as every single chink in their armor was exploited to its maximum by a towering Dremora appearing in every single breach in their formation.
Some of the fucking Daedra even exploded when they died, just adding to the horror show.
With one last push we finally burst into the central mining area and all I could do was ignore the massive dragon currently chasing a flying elf with murder in its eyes and hope that a random shout didn't catch me in the face.
Almost as if summoned by my thoughts I felt its gaze pass over us, not even acknowledging us but still flying in the exact position to make us unfortunate casualties, it went to shout, the dreaded words which shattered half of my unit already on its lips, only for Dagoth's massive bodyguard to grab a discarded spear and toss it at its neck, the force of the blow almost breaking the weapon before it connected.
Unwilling to find out just how far my luck stretched I barked out "Spread out and move! Secure the mines and remain in cover!"
The Breton ponce almost seemed offended by my words but his wits won out in the end and he followed me and my unit as we moved behind a large outcropping of rock.
Just in time to witness an undead wearing what I heard the vestments of a Dragon Priest looked like get his head exploded with a bolt of lightning and then get bisected with an odd looking sword just in case.
"Halt!" The knight, I really should ask his name, calls out "Who are you?"
The swordswoman looks just about ready to ignore us but the old mage answers in a relaxed, almost kindly voice "We serve the Lady Minthara, our current task is decapitation strikes as you can see."
"Ha, as if I would believe that." The Breton scoffs and his men at arms tense.
"Come off it you ponce." Tiberius steps out of a nearby shadow, his eyes gleaming in that way which told me he was having way too much fun for a battlefield "They just killed a Dragon Priest. If it were some kind of ploy I'd be amazed by the cult's wastefulness."
The Breton seems dissatisfied but not being an idiot relents "As you say Battlemage."
"Right." I cut in, uncaring for the tension "You find out where they put their actual warriors?" I ask the old man.
The greybeard looks around and points to a caved in mine entrance "They were being housed in the mines, Lord Dagoth seems to have found the idea entertaining enough to reward them for their folly."
An unimaginably loud roar of pain snapped us out of our conversation and before we could even consider what happened the numerous blockages on the mineshafts exploded outwards, disgorging what looked to be those mummified Nord undead they kept around the province for whatever reason.
And as if that wasn't enough, the Divines decided to reward our efforts with a duo of distinctly non-World Eatery dragon roars in the distance. What joy!
I want to go back to the slums...
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