The sun was setting, and darkness slowly swooped down on Whiterun. A gust of cold wind hurtled through the woods, bringing with it a layer of fog, and the silence of the dusk was broken by the sounds of the footsteps of horses.
A group of six knights trod upon the meandering path. Unlike the burly, blond Nordlings, these knights were slender, and the one in the lead wore a black silk robe. His face was long, and his cheekbones were prominent. His chin was sharp, as were his ears, and the look in his eyes was cold and arrogant. His entourage was equipped with swords and light but durable elven armor, and they were looking around cautiously.
In the middle of this entourage, a short horse was pulling a wooden cage, following the knights. Locked within the cage was a Nordling, his hair dirty and unkempt, and his face was covered in grime and soil. Underneath his clothes, the man's skin was covered in bruises from the interrogation he underwent. He lay in his prison, staring ahead with despair in his eyes. He would've looked dead if not for his heaving chest.
On a verdant alder tree yards away from the knights, a silhouette stood on its branch, staring at them, and cold fury glinted in his eyes. "Ah, so that's the Thalmor." The ones who made the empire sign the White-Gold Concordat and forbade the Nordlings from worshipping Talos. The one who riled Ulfric up into a rebellion and defected from the empire. The ones who caused the infighting in Skyrim.
All the Thalmor here were High Elves, and they had a different set of talents compared to Nordlings and Dark Elves.
'Regality: High Elves are born with immense talent for magic. Maximum Mana increased by fifty points. Regality can be used as an active skill. Recovered fifty percent of mana over one minute. Can only be used one time per day.'
They were talented in magic, and yet only two were spellcasters: the one in the lead, and the one on his left. "Two spellcasters and four swordsmen. Good. I can test out my new skill."
Now that the witcher had decided to meddle with this affair, he would not falter anymore. Right away, he summoned his hand crossbow, and he aimed it squarely at the Thalmor who knew healing spells.
A bolt arced through the air, and a thud reverberated within the group. Caught by surprise, the Thalmor on the left was hit in the waist. His armor caved in, and he fell from his horse. As if by coincidence, he hit the back of his neck, and it bent at an unnatural angle. Just like that, the Thalmor died.
The other elves leapt off their horses in shock and took cover behind the beasts, but then another bolt was fired off, and this time, it hit the Thalmor in the lead. However, the bolt was deflected by a green shield, and the spellcaster leapt into the air before falling, gasping and screaming.
Then his eyes went wide as a slender figure in fur armor and a mask tore open the space before him, appearing out of nowhere. The spellcaster's battle instincts pushed him into action. Without hesitating, a ball of magic appeared at his fingertips, and he launched a magical ball at the assailant.
Roy felt heavier, and the black light on his skin disappeared as Heliotrop was crushed. At the same time, a surge of resilient magical power subdued him. It felt like a great hand was closing in on him, crushing his limbs. Every inch of his skin felt numb, and he couldn't even move a finger.
The witcher went red, and breathing felt hard, but he still looked calm.
The swordsmen unsheathed their blades and charged at the witcher, swinging their weapons down on him. The spellcaster fell on his rear, and he crawled backward like a scared little toddler. At the same time, he gesticulated frantically, forming a white rune the shape of a snowflake.
The rune was tossed at the witcher, and a surge of frost nova burst open, bringing the temperature down drastically. A freezing chill came from Roy's feet, and he saw icicles forming on his boots and pants. His teeth chattered, and he gasped for air.
The swordsmen were near enough to attack him, and they swung their blades down on their enemy.
The witcher's face fell, and he cast Fear. A great shadow bulged from the ground, then an octopus with crimson tentacles appeared from the void. Blood dripped from its tentacles, and their suckers expanded and contracted as the tentacles lashed out at the incoming attackers.
The Thalmor were wrapped up easily, and the tentacles ate up their weapons, then they held their victims up, bringing them closer and closer until they merged into some sort of meat shield protecting the witcher.
The spellcaster was already five yards away, and he chanted an ear-piercing incantation. Even though he had fear in his eyes, he gesticulated as fast as possible, then he pointed a finger at the nightmarish creature.
An arc of white electricity danced out of his palm and turned into an electric snake that lashed out at the octopus, and one of its tentacles burst into pieces. Balls of flame leapt and jumped across the night skies as the Thalmor danced and pranced around. They yelled and screamed and rolled in a desperate attempt to put out the flames, but alas, it was not to be.
The witcher appeared from behind the flames, holding a fireball in his hand, then he locked eyes with the spellcaster.
Roy tossed Furyfire at the spellcaster, but the flames were stopped by the same green shield once more. The spellcaster responded in kind, shooting out a stream of flames from his hand, burning the area before him in a conical shape as he slithered backward, keeping the flames up.
The burning hand was an offensive and defensive mechanism. If Roy wanted to get close, he had to pass the stream of flames and endure the heat. Most people would die before they could even get close to the spellcaster.
However, Roy took a deep breath, and then space itself seemed to ripple as the silhouette of a gigantic black dragon appeared behind the witcher. And as the witcher opened his mouth, so did the dragon.
"Fus!"
The ground trembled and rumbled, the flames blown back to the spellcaster by a screaming gale, burning the caster himself. Before he could even scream, he felt a great impact crashing into him, and he was sent flying into the distance.
Then he fell with a sickening thud, but he did not move. He couldn't. His face was swollen, and his body was mangled. Blood trickled out of the corners of his mouth, and chunks of his innards fell out, while his bones and flesh were crushed by the roar. Flames licked the spellcaster's corpse, burning his remnants silently.
'Foltalo Ieven killed. EXP +200. Level 12 Witcher (1020/12500). You have killed enough living beings. Massacre (Level 7 → 8).
(Bloody Aura: Any enemy that is within three yards of you has a twenty percent chance of being Feared by Massacre. If the enemy's Will is lower than yours, they will lose control of their body for up to three seconds.
You now permanently deal (30 → 35)% extra damage to creatures you have hunted before.
Fear: You may use Bloody Aura as an active skill to Fear single, multiple, or all targets within three yards of you. Mandates a Will check. If the enemy's Will is lower than yours, they will lose control of their body for up to three seconds. Cooldown (2 → 1.5)minutes.
Note: This skill levels up the more types and number of creatures you kill.'
"Gods, I killed so many back in Cintra, and it only levels up now? I'm going to use a skill point to level this thing up next time."
Roy stomped his feet and shook the frost off his pants. He could feel the chill from his knees down, and he thought he had a little frostburn. Quickly, he summoned his hellhound, and it spat fire, burning up all the corpses with Furyfire. Even the grass was charred at the end of it.
Roy broke a few alder trees and the carriage with Aard, then he slammed the ground a few times. Dust flew in the air, and a vague shape of a dragon footprint appeared on the ground. Alright, this'll make it look like a dragon attack.
"Who are you?" Thorald held the bars of his cage, his eyes wide. With delight in his voice, he said, "Save me! I will reward you!"
Roy smiled and cast a Sign. Thorald spaced out, and all he saw in his mind was a cruel and horrifying scene. A moment later, he fell unconscious. Roy looked at the elven armor the Thalmor was wearing, and then he left. Shame I can’t loot that.
***
"Alright, deep breath." A moment later, Jon hopped off his horse. He stared at the broken bodies of the Thalmor and the wreckage of the battle. The air was filled with the scent of blood, charred flesh, and burning wood. He noticed that the alder trees around the path were struck down. "By Talos, did a god finally punish these bastards?"
He charged toward the cage and found its key, then he opened it up and dragged Thorald out, and he smacked Thorald's face. "Oy, wake up. I'm here, mate!"
"It's a dragon! A dragon!" Thorald leaned on Jon's knees and swung his arms around. There was genuine fear in his eyes. "I saw a dragon!"
"I don't see anything. You're safe, Thorald. The Thalmor can't hurt you anymore."
And then he heard sounds of clopping hooves coming from Rorikstead. Two groups of people armed with battle-axes and battle-hammers closed in, and the pair in the lead were the sullen Olfrid and the silver-haired Eorlund, keeper of the Skyforge.
They looked around and froze for a moment.
"Thorald! Thank Talos you're alive. I knew it!" Fralia held up her dress and ran to her son, crying. She then held her boy in her arms. "I'm sorry we came late. Are you hurt? By the gods, you've lost so much weight. Those bastards must've tortured you hard!"
"Fralia, Eorlund, Avulstein, I'm fine. I just feel a bit weak…" Thorald forced a smile and looked around, then everyone checked the dead bodies.
"Thank the gods you're alright. Do not do anything like that ever again, brother." A beautiful young woman came ahead and hugged Thorald, then she turned to Jon, her eyes glistening with tears. "And how dare you come alone! Are you stupid? Do you have any idea how worried I was? What would I do if you… if you died?" Olfina stared at her lover and pounced into his arms, not caring if she was seen by the clans. Jon hugged her tightly and patted her back.
Olfrid did not look happy at all. "Have you forgotten the family rules, Jon?" Olfrid charged ahead and grabbed his son by his collar, his eyes flaring with fury. "How many times do I have to tell you to never bring trouble to the family? Haven't you listened? How dare you attack the Thalmor? You think you're smart enough now? Or did all the ale get to your head? How dare you turn your back on the clan. I hereby ex—"
The burly Eorlund pushed Olfrid's hand away and interrupted. "So you knew where my son was going to be taken to, and yet you kept it a secret! As if being the empire's dogs isn't mortifying enough, you're bowing to Thalmor? So what if your son killed them? I say he did good. Now no one can accuse us of anything."
Eorlund patted Jon's shoulder, his eyes glinting with approval for him. "Jon, I used to think you were a coward like your clan members. A merchant who cares for nothing but coin, but you changed my opinion. You killed six Thalmor on your own. I confess I did underestimate you. You're a true Nordling." Eorlund looked at the couple. "Now that you're exiled, why don't you join my clan? We have room for one more, and I'll marry Olfina to you."
The young lady was delighted, but Jon looked bemused. He had no idea why he came after the Thalmor. He was like a man possessed by nothing but his repressed rage.
"Enough, Eorlund! You're trying to convince my son to join the enemy right in front of me?" Olfrid glared at Eorlund.
"Oh, you haven't had enough on the way here? Hey, you said you'd exile him."
"I didn't finish." Olfrid looked at his son, who was hugging the enemy's daughter, and he sighed. What will we do now that he's gotten on the bad side of the Empire and Thalmor? "You must pay the price. You are not allowed to leave the residence for a year. Think about what you did."
"Olfrid, Eorlund, you're missing something. I…" Jon hung his head low, but he hugged Olfina tighter. "The battle was already over when I came. I didn't kill them."
"What?"
"He speaks the truth." Thorald looked at everyone. "Take a closer look."
Everyone looked around the battlefield as well. It was covered in flames, holes on the ground, and broken trees. This was not something a human could achieve.
Thorald looked into the night sky, his eyes flaring with fear, and he started to shiver. "It was a dragon. It swooped down from the skies and killed all the Thalmor. It was as big as a mountain and as black as the darkest night. One breath. One fire breath, and it killed most of the knights off. And it breathed fire at the spellcaster, a-and the dragon shouted something strange. That shout blew the spellcaster away, burning him to ash."
Olfrid and Eorlund froze. They were veterans of the keep, and they knew what that shout was. Thu'um.
Avulstein said in awe, "The envoy's bones are all crushed, and by some sort of special power."
"I was still in the cage, and the dragon probably thought I was dying, so it didn't kill me." Thorald shuddered. "In any case, I survived."
"That's too much of a coincidence. Why'd the dragon attack Thalmor?" Eorlund frowned.
"So it wasn't you, boy?" Olfrid heaved a sigh of relief. He bought the story of the dragon attack.
"In Talos' name, I swear I did nothing." Jon looked at his father with determination.
"Good. You can still make up for what you did. Now come back here."
"No, I…" Jon exchanged a look with Olfina and smiled at her gently. "I'm not hiding this secret anymore. I've been seeing Olfina for years, and I'm telling you, I'm marrying this woman. This is what Talos has decreed. We will no longer hide our love. "Eorlund, Father, please give us your blessing."
"Um…" Eorlund and his wife exchanged a look. They were in a dilemma. They thought Jon had betrayed his family and the empire by killing the Thalmor, so it was fine if Olfina married him, but now they knew that wasn't the case. The real killer was that mysterious dragon. Still, Jon risked his life to save Thorald, and that meant he was serious about the marriage.
"You want to marry a Grey-Mane? Do you have any idea what that will do to us? Our relationship with the empire will be irrevocably ruined." Olfrid shook his head adamantly. "If you still see yourself as one of us, you'll give that plan up."
"Come back, Jon. You've already made a mistake once, so don't do it again," someone in the Battle-Born group said.
"The Grey-Manes are our enemies."
"Marrying one of them is just going to make you suffer."
"Enough! Stop with your political standings! I will not stand for a life of secrecy anymore, and I can't live without Olfina!" Jon roared, his face red. "I came all the way to bust Thorald out just for her, and I might do even worse things just for her!"
"You think you can live after this?" Olfrid looked at them coldly, and he clenched the hilt of his sword.
"Father," Idolaf Battle-Born said, "give him some time. He's still affected by the ale."
Olfrid harrumphed and put his blade down, then he fiercely shouted, "You have one day! I want to see you at home and kneeling after that, or else!" He shot Eorlund a look and asked his men to retreat.
"Please, Eorlund, we need your blessing." Olfina's eyes glistened with tears.
"Your mother and I need to think about this." Eorlund picked Thorald up and helped him into the carriage. "That old git has a point. If my daughter marries an empire supporter, what would the Stormcloaks think? That we abandoned our honor and values? Come home. When tomorrow comes, you can do what you want. This is your last chance. Seize it." Eorlund looked at the couple.
Jon and Olfina hugged each other, determination flaring in their eyes. They then hopped onto a horse and followed the group back to the keep.
***
"We're really just going to let the bodies rot?" Fralia stared into the night.
"Bah, not like we killed them. We did nothing, and we know nothing. That's the dragon's fault, so if Thalmor wants someone to take responsibility, tell them to talk to the dragon. Ah, but this is also a warning to us. Rorikstead isn't that far from Whiterun. The dragon appeared out of nowhere and killed these a*stards. It could've been our house it attacked." Eorlund added, "The lads are right. We should be helping the keep with its defenses. Once we get back, I'll start the work."
***
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