Skyrim: A Sorcerer's Tale

Chapter 295: Chapter XXI: Battle of Dawnstar: A Broken Fist, A Shattered Rebellion



We did not slow down as we emerged from the forest canopy, whatever few reserves still remained outside were cut down just as swiftly as their comrades before them.

My emotions were a numb mess as I simply continued advancing toward the main enemy base, lazily batting the hastily redirected artillery shots coming from that direction. At this point, I was completely focused on simply being done with this whole fucking thing once and for all and any poor fucker who thought it a good idea to get in my way would get his just reward for such a glaring display of intellect.

My frustration grew as more and more of the fuckers redirected their hastily assembled ballistae toward us in some foolish attempt at slowing us down. I did not even bother holding back as I summoned Magnus' Staff and proceeded to rake the entire wall of dirt and wood with crimson lightning, creating an opening and completely demolishing a good chunk of their defensive positions.

Even as panic started to spread and the troops still engaging with Tullius' forces started to notice, I did not stop casting my increasingly destructive barrage. A unit of mages who were held back in reserve tried countering me with their pitiful wards but those were cracked through without pause by the divine implement, they did not even get to scream as they were simply removed from existence.

An officer of downright heroic bravery attempted to lead a sally out with three hundred men at his back, all of them readying throwing axes as I came into their maximum effective range. This did not avail them as I ruthlessly pulled my free hand back and snapped their necks with their own shadows.

That did take a massive chunk out of my Magicka, but at this point, my regeneration was so utterly unnatural even by the standards of Tamriel that by the time another group of fools, who still refused to retreat, was incinerated my tank was already back to being half full.

Even more Stormcloaks stormed out of their by now utterly shattered defenses, even my ruinous spells not being enough to slow the desperate tide.

Thankfully I was not alone.

The troops assigned to me, while balking at the sheer death tool at first, fell upon the demoralized enemy like an avalanche.

The warriors of Winterhold cut through armor like paper with their enchanted weaponry while taking blows that would have cleaved them in half if not for their alteration enhanced bodies, their hands blazed with fire as they made up for their pitiful numbers with sheer skill and power.

Enemy flanks were constantly assaulted by the Morthal contingent, the light troops knowing well that they were not built for this kind of engagement but they were more than happy to abuse the heavily armored rest of our contingent to hold the enemy in place long enough for their javelins and throwing axes to cause havoc in the enemy lines.

And when that failed, the marshmen were more than adept in hit and run tactics, their lighter armor allowing them to run for far greater lengths of time than the rest of us.

The 54th almost seemed to be competing with me for how quickly they could bash through enemy defenses, Tiberius being too stuck in the moment to slow down and Zarok being duty- bound to not stop him from dying like an idiot.

Indeed, this was all a scene from a tale of glory to the young Imperial as he leveraged his newly acquired skills to completely ignore any missile coming for his life and used his small army of Dremora to utterly butcher anything around him.

His hands moved almost like a conductor as he cast conjuration specific empowerment spells in the most opportune moments, allowing his 'troops' to do more damage than I even thought possible for such low level Daedra, and when that was not enough he straight up teleported them around, shattering any attempt at a cohesive response from our enemy.

My house guard contented themselves with marching behind me, their formation held in perfect order as Oren organized them into something that vaguely resembled a Spanish tercio formation, the wall of steel and death stopping any of the more enthusiastic Nords from swarming me.

It was almost adorable how the Captain and his Paladin friend kept themselves as close to me as possible in some funny attempt of protecting me.

'As if we were the ones in need of protection here.' Scorch muttered darkly as I saw him flying above a group of retreating archers, the fire in his eyes looking particularly cruel at the moment.

As I ascended the shattered walls, much of their height now being made up of rebel corpses, a furious roar caught my attention and I suddenly stopped, just in time for an elaborately armored man to sail by my position, his two handed blade missing me by a hair.

I naturally immediately recognized him as Ulfric's son, the same idiot I'd met in Helgen. Unwilling to listen to the child's bluster I simply kicked out as he was turning around, my Magicka enhanced foot meeting his armored face and crumpling his helmet with a loud CRACK.

He was blown back, wounded, and unconscious but not dead.

'There goes my good deed for the day.' I grumbled to myself and, letting the rest get to clearing out the enemy fort, turned to look at the wider battle still going on.

In the distance, I could see Tullius' wooden fort barely standing, no doubt battered to hell and back by Ulfric and what remained of his tongues. But the fort still held, and I could see their lines slowly starting to break as smoke started to rise from our position.

In fact, when I looked just a bit harder my eyes met with those of Ulfric. He was probably unable to see me from this distance but my sight was sharp enough to catch the dreadful realization entering his eyes as his entire cause slowly crumbled all around him.

As he stood in that bloodied field of fresh spring grass, his mind no doubt supplying him with the fact that his retreat was nearly cut off and that his bloodline was most likely ended, he made the only decision he could. He grabbed a horn hanging from his hip and sounded a fighting retreat.

To the east, I could vaguely make out Galmar's advance stopping, and almost grudgingly starting to wilt as the veteran commander realized something catastrophic must have happened on the other fronts.

Slowly, the rebel forces started pulling back, likely hoping that they would at least be able to retreat from this place if they managed to punch through our position, relying on the fact that the Imperial forces were all just as tired out as they were.

Tullius and I would not permit them such fantasies.

With a mental apology to the poor fuckers I rose a hand upwards and sent a blast of bright golden flames into the skies, and watched with a mix of glee and regret as the cohorts still in the fight stilled completely, before slowly backing off and moving to the sides.

The Stormcloaks were briefly confused by the movement, but that only lasted them until they saw a full quarter of our forces arrayed for battle and charging straight at them, all of them fresh and motivated, and as if that was not enough the charge was led by the madman Reynauld, the knight's lance shining almost excitedly as he and his fellows dove into the now outright panicking ranks of rebels.

The ordered retreat lost cohesion in minutes, the rout followed after only ten... the slaughter that came after lasted for hours.

The dumbest of the rebels made a beeline toward their only retreat path, a singular passage from which they arrived in the first place. A place now very much positioned behind our backs. Hundreds and then thousands were cut down or incinerated as some were so panicked they straight up tried just running through our ranks like headless chickens.

Thankfully for whatever remained of their dignity, Ulfric and Galmar managed to organize whatever was left of their forces and led them in much the same direction, only this time they had an actual chance of punching through as their pursuers were still a few minutes away, briefly distracted by another large unit surrendering.

'Fucker probably planned it too, fed them something about honor in helping their brothers escape no doubt.' Scorch's analytic drawl broke me from my musings briefly, even he was

done with this shitshow.

Shaking my head at his very likely statement, I prepared to show the irritating fuck the folly of his ways when he and a quartet of heavily armored men ran ahead of the formation and as one shouted "FUUUS RO DAH!"

The shout of unrelenting force, weak as it was in comparison to my own, was directed straight at me, and my personal troops behind me, and this... infuriated me.

My own voice boomed as I responded with my own unrelenting force, just barely dispersing the combined voice of four enraged Nords, but I did not stop there.

No, just as the vibrating wave of force left my throat I breathed in once more, the familiar bubbling of flames scratching against my chest as Flame-Tongue made his name known once again "YOOOL TOR SHUUUUUUUL!!!" The dragonfire seemed to have actual weight as it completely rearranged the ground it passed, glassing the whole damn thing and slamming into the rebel lines and consuming hundreds in a mere instant.

Ulfric survived just barely as his fellow tongues focused fully on protecting him, paying with their lives in the process.

I did not wait for words to be exchanged, nor did I need to offer any kind of command to my men as both sides decided it was well and truly time to end each other's lives.

Bolts flew all around me, one even coming close to hitting me in the back but only bounced off my armor as I angled slightly to the side.

'Well, that cunt is getting his pay docked.' I thought with some annoyance as I burst in front of Ulfric and wordlessly swung out with Blasphemy.

The Stormcloak had already finished invoking elemental fury with his voice and went to parry my attack but I simply blinked behind him and slammed the blade into his back, his enchanted armor the only thing saving his life as multiple ribs were shattered on impact and he was sent flying away.

Immediately I went to finish him off but was forced to back off when a massive bear of a manNôv(el)B\\jnn

slammed his equally massive axe into the ground where I would have been had I continued. Galmar Stone-Fist glared at me with hatred I probably deserved at this point and with a bestial growl and bloodshot eyes, Ulfric's right-hand man started wailing at me.

I had to focus all of my skill and power onto defense as the crazy motherfucker hit harder and

faster than Harkon, whatever berserk rage fueled him bringing out every single possible iota of strength the man possessed. I was gripped with genuine fascination as I could watch his muscles tearing themselves apart in real time, only to swiftly be repaired with a downright deadly dose of regeneration potion currently sloshing through his body.

The two of us became a storm of slashes and parries as my combat precognition battled his sheer unending rage, Galmar Stone-Fist definitely earned his name as even when his axe was shattered his bare fucking fists managed to keep up with me, even if it did ultimately cost him

the battle.

My muscles burned under the onslaught, even as a wall of both wind and flame skinned him alive, and my bones creaked even as the berserker was almost drained of blood by the dagger

jutting out of his thigh.

Suddenly I felt my foot slip on a pool of blood, and for the briefest of moments my guard slipped with it. I almost sighed with resignation as the burned fist sailed for my face, no doubt about to cause me a whole lot of pain... only to suddenly stop as a sword of golden

moonstone slipped under his armpit.

Paladin Anondor kicked the now corpse of Galmar with barely hidden contempt and looked at me "Are you well, my lord?" He asked calmly.

Shaking myself out of the surprise the sudden intervention took me by I nodded, before my

eyes narrowed in suspicion, I soon found my target and saw four or so thousand remaining Stormcloaks pushing through the lines of the men of Morthal, a prominent group among them dragging Ulfric between them.

Thinking about it briefly I shrugged and turned to the rest of the battle. His time will come, and the more he fled, the lesser the impact of his death would be.

"We were too busy holding off another retreating group to aid them, my lord." Anondor

escapes hastily as the rebels ascend the passage and a duo of still living magi collapse it behind them.

He must have expected me to scold him for what happened because when I just started

laughing my ass off his expression turned from shame to confusion and then to worry. Finally finished with my sudden fit of laughter I wiped the tears from my eyes with a final

chuckle and shook my head "Fucker is a better escape artist than he is a leader, that much is

for certain."

Before Anondor could speak again I found a nearby tree stump and plopped my ass down with a tired sigh "I don't care he escaped, he is only waiting for his execution now." "The rebellion... is done." I proclaim wistfully, startling many of the men and women

unsubtly listening in "I just hope it was fucking worth it."

Oi chief, you got some of that... stone?

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