Skyrim: A Sorcerer's Tale

Chapter 359: Chapter LXXXII: Warding Winterhold



The house offers its deepest gratitude to one Lord Belly. They have earned their way out of the mineshafts... will you?

(General POV)

The guardsmen of Winterhold began scrambling the moment they heard the distant roars, those still stuck in the nearby tavern shoving their tables away without a care and even jumping over the big fireplace in the center as they hastily fastened their helmets.

"Move it, move it, move it!" The harsh voice of Garm barked, his hand lashed out and grabbed a man fiddling with his shield by the neck "Fregi, stop being an incompetent little shit and march! They will hit us in less than a minute!"

"A-aye sir" The man stammers and begins running towards the gate while muttering prayers in a panic.

"Children, I work with children." Garm grumbles and begins jogging after him, the axe the idiot left behind held within his hands.

His little group of five quickly grew as more and more guards joined the rush from the different sections of the city, the Captain alongside the Jarl's own retinue waiting for them near the gates alongside the mage Thane and the housecarls he managed to recruit after the battle of Windhelm.

Garm slammed the axe into the idiot recruit's grip with a frustrated grunt and looked to his Captain "Got any bright idea where we don't die Hjol?"

The Captain of the guard scoffs "Afraid to meet your ancestors, Garm?"

"Banter later, plan now." Thane Thorfinn snaps at them.

The roars come closer.

Jarl Assur's hand twitches in the beginnings of a shiver but he controls himself and speaks "It is far too late for complex plans. Spread out and follow me, today we die as heroes!" He does not wait for a response and marches out of the city, determined to at least distract the beasts and stop them from finishing what the seas could not.

"Well lads, you heard the Jarl!" Hjolmir grins despite the situation "Onwards to death and glory!"

And as if a flood gate had opened, the guards, soldiers, and adventurers begin flowing outside the city, a large number of the weapon bearing residents following after them mere moments later.

The Jarl felt like he was forgetting something but the moment had already taken hold of him so he shook his head and focused on the upcoming fight.

The admittedly suicidal men and women charging at the flying dragons did listen to their Jarl and spread out, some of them eagerly loosing arrows at the distant targets and doing expectedly little damage with their bows, the sheer power of the dragons' movements easily flicking any lucky shot away without the dragon even bothering to swerve away.

The closer the dragons came, the more their aura of terror spread, draining the spirits of the less experienced warriors and slowing their charge as their steps became heavier and their breathing labored.

The dragons looked upon their enemy with hunger in their eyes and disdained the use of their voice for the visceral pleasure of tearing their targets apart.

But, just as the two sides were about to meet, something in the air shifted.

"SOVENGAAA-aarde..." Hjolmir Ebon-Frost suddenly trails off as he sees a massive chain made of seemingly molten metal burst from the ground and almost grab onto all three of the dragons, two of them managed to veer out of the way but the central one was too surprised to react and was suddenly pulled downwards, the lone figure of a large man in his prime waiting for his fall and poised to strike with their bare hands.

Hjolmir's eyes widened further as the figure suddenly grew to the size of a massive troll, the spell too recognizable for him not to immediately guess what was going on as he muttered "Grandfather?"

His question would remain unheard as the flailing Dovah was met with an uppercut so powerful the sound of the cracking bone was more akin to that of thunder, almost deafening to hear.

The Nords hesitated only briefly, gaping at the scene before the Jarl himself broke out of his daze, hefted his greatsword, and once more began running at their target, the fatalistic expression he carried earlier replaced with eagerness to spill the blood of the beast who would butcher his people.

The other dragons fared just as well as their comrade as two other figures who shared in their disdain for the ground emerged from the nearby air, seemingly from nowhere, and descended upon their targets with almost gleeful efficiency.

The figure of the official Archmage of the College of Winterhold blurred through the skies atop a flaming mount, his rapid movements allowing him to run circles around the bewildered beast who could only breathe fire in all direction in an attempt to catch the annoying fly that had managed to penetrate its scales with a spell of purple light.

It was swiftly disabused of the notion as the "fly" slowly began dealing actual damage to it, resisting any attempts to shout it apart by teleporting and casting even more spells through its mount's mouth as if the bird itself was a conduit of his magic.

Still, as strong as Savos' spells were, they were insufficient in power to cut down a dragon in any reasonable timeframe so he kept at it, turning what would be a battle to the death of hundreds into a game of cat and mouse, never letting the dragon's eyes veer from his figure as he seared it alive, one bolt of magic at a time.

The final dragon, feeling the distress of his kin, immediately turned cautious and slowed his descent, his mind racing through the words of power he knew so that he may bring down any ambusher who would strike at him.

Sadly, he wasn't dealing with your average mage.

He did not even feel the air shift as a gargantuan mudcrab materialized beside him, his eyes widening in surprise as the massive claws pinched at his legs, the grip far too powerful for him to dislodge easily and the weight easily overpowering his wings and thus bringing him

down.

The dragon though his enemy found then, some transformed mortal he guessed as he began smashing his upper claws into the mighty shell of the crab in an attempt to crack it and break his enemy's hold.

Shalazar materialized near the distracted dragon, none of his usual flair present as he moved behind his target and waved his hand downwards in a chopping motion, cracking the very space in front of him in a line and severing the dragon's wing without even a hint of

resistance.

'Snip snip.' The Lizard Wizard grinned to himself.

The cut was so perfect it took the dragon a moment to even realize what happened, but when he did his roar of rage and pain drowned out the entire battlefield, making even Tolfdir, who up and until then was busying himself throwing his own target around like a toy, pause and

look up.

A group of the Winterhold Nords broke off from the central one, all of them looking to help the friendly? crab who was suddenly dragged below the dragon and clutched in his hands to

break his fall.

Shalazar attempted reenacting his spell but a sudden twist and a gout of lightning breath made him back off momentarily, long enough for his dear familiar to have its body slam into the dirt road to the south of the city.

Before the dragon could gather itself, the group of Nords had already reached it, the brave men and women throwing themselves at him with reckless abandon as they tried to bring him

down with swords and spears.

He lashed out with all his might and rage but to his endless frustration every time he came close to slaying one of his enemies, his claws would seemingly slide off their bodies without doing a thing, he tried shouting them apart but his perception seemed to twist as this happened, depositing his foes where they were previously not.

The tiny mageling who had cost him his wing appeared in front of his face, its hand already swinging downwards and cutting through the space before it.

Immediately he reeled back and to the side in an attempt to evade, straight into the clumsy swing of a young man's axe, the weapon somehow hitting the dragon's head with perfect precision and parting its skull in a killing blow.

The young man, who had so thoroughly embarrassed himself before his officer today could do naught but stare at the bloodied axe with wonder in his eyes, completely unable to compute what in Shor's name just happened.

In the end he had to be dragged away by one of his fellow guards, a blonde woman who was grinning at the younger man with a not so pure look in her eyes.

The other battle on the ground was also coming to a close, the massive form of Tolfdir more than enough to contest the dragon physically while those of a lesser magical inclination or just those of lesser power brought the thrashing beast to its demise one shallow slash by one. The beast was so thoroughly exhausted by the end that it could barely react as its main opponent suddenly grew even larger with a burst of visible Magicka and grabbed it by its neck. Tolfdir's massive form leans to the dragon's ear as he growls "You came to the wrong city, lizard." And snaps its neck.

Jarl Assur pulls his sword out of the dragon's leg and looks to the seemingly young archmage "My thanks for your help, honorable mage, but we seem to be missing one of our enemies?" A distant crack of air and a yelp of pain swiftly draws everyone's eyes westwards. The form of Savos blurs through the air, a lucky wave of unrelenting force having caught him in the open and sent him reeling towards the Winterhold force. Before his back could hit the ground and turn to paste, he disappeared and appeared a hundred meters in the air, righting himself and falling perfectly atop his passing familiar as if he was not just a moment away from death or at least crippling injury.

The final dragon was not far behind, his green form a blur in the skies as he followed after his

prey. His form was far less blurry as he stilled at the sight of his fallen brothers. He took one good look at the gathered defenders, then glanced at the bodies which yet held his brothers'

souls, and did the only thing he could.

He fled.

"We following it?" Savos asks his colleagues who had gathered around him as he landed. "Leave it." Shalazar shrugs "He knows better than to bother us now."

"Foolish." Tolfdir shakes his head.

Shalazar winks "Don't worry about it."

The young old man sighs.

The men and women around them had no such concerns though, as they all burst into a round

of cheering and loud praise to the gods and the ancestors, those unlucky few to be heavily injured receiving immediate care as the beginnings of a celebratory feast began forming long before the first defender stepped into the city, a massive celebration soon dominating the minds of almost everyone who participated.

Almost as if they weren't all just about to die in an inferno a literal five minutes ago.

"Hold on a second." Savos mutters with a smirk, looking at his colleagues. "Yeeees?" Shalazar's eye bulges upwards "Fearful of financing our delicate palettes,

colleague mine?"

The smirk widens "The bet was that the last one to kill a dragon would pay the drinks, yes?"

Tolfdir palms his face.

"Would that not mean Tolfdir is the one who lost?" The Dunmer Archmage claps his hands.

Shalazar stares at him for a long moment, gives Tolfdir an appraising look, and then grins "I

find your logic impeccable!"

The Nord just shakes his head, a slight smile on his face.

"Watch where you step." Rikke commanded calmly as she led a group of longbow armed

rangers and legionaries hefting heavy crossbows and javelins up a forested hillside "The dragon can't be far now."

They were following the distant roars for well over an hour now, a resident of Dragon's Bridge begging for their help as they were marching through the town on a regular patrol, and another telling them of odd roars atop a hill to the west.

A loud gurgling noise made them all miss a step, only their experience stopping them from

stumbling into each other like green recruits. They steeled themselves and stepped into a

clearing made from crushed and toppled trees, immediately coming upon a scene straight out of a nightmare.

A large blood red dragon was sprawled out on the ground, its chest slashed open and its heart

missing from the large hole its departure left. A lone figure stood before the dragon's corpse, covered head to toe in blood and licking her lips.

Rikke felt a massive headache appear as she realized just who it was. "Apologies, had I known I would have guests I would have left some for you." The woman

turned to greet them with a serene expression, her lips slowly stretching into a grin and

revealing a pair of vampiric fangs.

Your food is bland

your water tastes of sandn/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

just give me your stones and the curse will end!

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