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Chapter Text

Twist of Fate

4E, 223, Third of Midyear

22 long years ago, the dragonborn slayed the world eater Alduin, preventing the end of the world. Peace soon followed the dragon's death, the ever-present layer of fear lifted, and life once more returned to normal. However, the peace didn't last for long with the Thalmor invading soon after and declaring war. All hope hangs on one man to halt the Thalmor advance, to end their incursions and to restore peace to the empire. However, fate has something else in mind.

The dragonborn Imperius looked out from atop the walls of Whiterun with his personal army of Imperial Legionaries, watching with impassive faces as the elven host drew ever closer, knowing that these were their final moments on this earth, but this did not shake them. They knew their end was near, and they were ready. Imperius looked to his left and his right and saw not the fearful men you might would've thought in this situation, but men who are ready to die for the cause, ready to die for their lands, their people, their families. By this one glance, this one singular glance in their direction, he knew they were willing to fight with all they had, and he was proud.

They were elite soldiers, the best of the best, soldiers whom you could count on to hold the line or secure a victory from the jaws of defeat. He had come to know some of them personally and considered them good friends. He fought numerous battles with them and had come to trust them utterly in times of great need. He had seen them grow from the raw recruits oh so long ago to the elite battle-hardened soldiers of today. While he kept his legion at peak efficiency and made sure they were well trained, Tullius was given the short end of the stick after the quelling of the rebellion, having his veteran legions that he worked so hard to train, to make battle hardened repossessed by the old emperor before his death, only to be replaced by raw recruits whom did not know the right end of a sword to hold nor how to fight. However, this did not shake Tullius's faith in the old emperor, his faith in the new emperor only intensified, and he went into training what soldiers he was given with abandon, giving his fresh soldiers some experience at the expense of Stormcloak rebels.

The Thalmor, seeing an opportunity to finish what they started all those years ago in the weakened but united empire under a new emperor that had dethroned the Meade Dynasty after the civil war's conclusion, launched a surprise invasion of the empire, taking swaths of territory before being stopped by the legions in Cyrodil and pushed back to the border, neither side being able to invade each other, unable to break the stalemate which formed. With this dilemma in mind, the military leaders of the thalmor send three legions of soldiers to invade Skyrim via the sea, thinking it an easy target to provide another front to the Imperial war machine. What resulted of this invasion was a long, brutal campaign that tore the land of Skyrim asunder, destroying most of the countryside and leaving barren ground devoid of life in its wake. The Thalmor slowly drove back imperial forces from Winterhold, then utterly crushed the imperial garrison at Riften, beating back every imperial army that came to challenge them until they came to Whiterun, besieging the town, trapping the imperial garrison inside. Imperius was ordered by Tullius to defend the town of Whiterun at all costs, they must hold their advance until reinforcements could arrive.

"Legate, Jarl Balgruff sends word. He and his guards are evacuating the city, but there are simply too many, he needs time to get them all out to safety," a runner said.

Imperius nodded. He knew that this would happen and had planned accordingly. The city of Whiterun had grown so much since he first came to Skyrim that it was almost unrecognizable. It would take time to evacuate such a large population, and the elves weren't too keen on giving the citizens a chance to escape, so he will provide them one. Even if it cost him dearly.

"We will give him time. Send word back to Balgruuf that we will hold them off as long as possible to provide him time. Tell him to not expect us to meet him at Markarth," he said to the runner who nodded and sped towards the jarl with all haste.

He quickly called for his centurions and ordered that his legion be moved from their positions in the city to man the walls. He was a man of his word, he would buy Balgruff time if it was the last thing he would do. As his men raced towards their positions atop the walls and various battlements, he saw a single rider coming towards the wall, holding a white banner aloft. When the rider came within yelling distance, thousands of arrows were drawn and aimed at the rider.

"May I speak to the commander of the city garrison!" he yelled.

" I am the commander. What is it you want, elvish scum," spat Imperius. He had no respect for the elves, despite him being a loyal servant of the Empire. Their holier than thou attitude, superiority complex, and an ego to rival that of a dragon had all but deprived him of any semblance of positive thoughts towards the elves. The war had all but driven those emotions further, spawning hatred and rage against the elven hosts and lords that assailed the Empire.

"I am here asking for your unconditional surrender. You will not be harmed, but will get the treatment you deserve," said the elf.

Imperius scowled, he has heard of how the elves treat their prisoners of war, like slaves, working the soldiers and civilians to death in forced labor camps. The elves considered themselves superior to all other races, and as such viewed those who were not thalmor as inferior, using prisoners of war they didn't execute as free labor for tasks they felt were beneath them. He would offer them no terms, no surrender, and no mercy. He would flay every elf in his sights until the ground turned red with blood, only a fraction of the lives stolen by the Thalmor in their campaign, but it would satisfy him nonetheless

"Tell your commander that all he will get is imperial steel!" shouted Imperius. The men along the walls yelled in agreement.

"You will regret those words imperial dog, the Dominion will show you and your men no mercy," said the rider as he turned to ride back towards the high elf army.

Imperius gestured towards the elf, a nearby archer seeing this nodded and notched an arrow and loosed it at the elf, the arrow flinging the thalmor off his horse to the ground as it struck its target.

"Well that ends negotiations," a centurion beside Imperius said, a few of his comrades snickered lightly beside him. Imperius couldn't help but smirk slightly, then his face turned to one of hard discipline once more.

A signal horn blew from the host before the walls, the low-pitched sound echoing throughout the city and the surrounding area. The army began to assault the walls, some regiments carrying ladders, others lining up to draw and fire their bows, and one heavily armored regiment pushing a battering ram, bearing the divine Akatosh as its figurehead, the metal glinting in the summer sun as it was slowly pushed towards the gates of the city.

"Men, we have trained for this our whole lives, this will be our finest moment. It's time to show these elves that they are not superior as they think they are. You are the finest legion in the empire, nothing has stood against us that we could not beat in open battle," Imperius shouted as encouragement to his men.

The men prepare for battle, shuffling into formation and drawing their weapons, sweat dripping off of their faces onto the stone walls below under the midday sun, their confidence rising with his words of encouragement. A loud, droning note from the elvish host sounded out and the thalmor soldiers began to pick up the pace, jogging towards the walls as the regiments carrying ladders pushed to the front of the formation.

"Remember our first victory over the rebels at the Battle of Markarth, where we slew them in droves, and by the battle's end none where left standing. Remember our conquest of the Forsworn, where we decimated them in battle, without losing a single legionaire to the heathens."

The legionaires were silent, but Imperius could feel confidence practically oozing from his men, prompting him to speak further. The anticipation was nearly overwhelming, the energy in his body nearly uncontainable, the wait nearly unbearable. The adrenaline was coursing through his veins, nearly making him shake with pent up energy, like a thick poison, working its way down from his chest to his arms, then down into his legs. He knew that he might not survive this battle, that his end might come by the blades or arrows of these elves assaulting the walls, but he was fine with that. No warrior should fear dying on the battlefield for a cause he deems worthy. He was also a soldier, defending the Empire he served with every ounce of his being. It was his duty to die in the defense of the Empire. Expected even. He was afraid, however. Not afraid of dying. It was pointless to fear an eventuality, so why bother. He was afraid he would die in disgrace, to die without honor was the ultimate failure of a soldier.

"These elves are no different than the rebels, easy prey to our swords and arrows. Let them come and impale themselves on our blades, let them come!" shouted Imperius, a thundering roar rivaling a shout from the greybeards themselves followed his speech. He turned to the defensive catapults stationed on the walls, the crews nodding at him, signaling they were ready. He turned back towards the thalmor army approaching, and with a sadistic smile, began the battle.

"All catapults, FIRE!"

With practiced ease, the catapult crews released a volley of stones into the advancing army, killing hundreds and wiping out entire regiments if they were lucky, but the host marched on undaunted, unfeeling to the slaughter of their kin. Imperius raised his sword, the archers on the walls drew and notched arrows, aiming at the ladder crews. He knew that if they were to stand a chance against the overwhelming odds, he would have to funnel them into one spot, where their numbers wouldn't give them an advantage.

"Archers, fire at the regiments carrying the ladders!" he exclaimed. A volley of arrows rained down on the elves carrying the ladders, taking out a fair number of them in the first volley. By the second volley the regiments were shattered, completely wiped out. However, two regiments split from the main host and rushed to the fallen ladders, ignoring the cries of their wounded and carrying the ladders to the walls.

When the mer got close enough to set up their ladders, the legionaires were ordered to tighten the formation, creating a wall of rectangular curved tower shields and heavily armored bodies. An elf soldier, who was first to climb the ladders, climbed with haste as he was eager to be the first into battle. He had been told by his commanding officer that the imperials would break under their assault, and to not expect much resistance. Because they were after all, superior in every way.

' I will earn the glory and fame as the first Aldmeri soldier to climb the walls and take this hold for the Thalmor,' he thought

With the thoughts of everlasting glory, an easy victory and fame in his mind, he quickly climbed the ladders and jumped onto the walls, only to be met by imperial swords being thrust into his abdomen. He cried out in surprise and shock, clutching the swords buried in his stomach, catching the unfeeling gaze of an imperial soldier.

As the unfortunate elf fell to the ground clutching his stomach, more Thalmor climbed up the ladder and began hurling themselves at the legionaires, faring far better than their comrade did. The battle for the walls was favoring the imperials, but only just, with the elves being replaced faster than they could be killed. Imperius threw himself into the fray, stabbing, slicing and hewing his way through the elves that came at him. The ram was finally pushed into place and began hammering the main city gate. Imperius, noticing this, quickly impaled an elf, and ordered a regiment that was not needed to head to the main gate.

He dodged a fireball thrown by a dominion battle mage and sprinted forward, raising his shield to block the rest of the blasts and thrust his sword forward. The elf dodged it and drew a dagger, stabbing at his shoulder, the blade becoming lodged in the thick shoulder pauldron. Imperius quickly seized his chance and head butted the mage, sending him stumbling back into the battlements. He withdrew the dagger from his shoulder plate and tossed it over the walls, the blade never to be found again.

The thalmor mage paled when he saw his only melee weapon tossed over the side of the wall, quickly returning his attention to the imperial commander. He began throwing fireballs and bolts of lightning rapidly in the hopes that it would distract the imperial long enough for him to find a weapon. However, Imperius was undaunted, raising his shield to block the magical attacks and rushing forward, ramming the boss of his shield into the elf's midsection, knocking the wind out of him and quickly thrusting his sword into his chest.

"Savor your victory imperial dog, for it will be fleeting, soon all of Tamriel will be ours," the elf said with his dying breath, slumping to the ground, his corpse lying against the battlements. He withdrew his sword and went to the next opponent, dueling with his adversary in a whirlwind of blades.

His men were faring well, their extensive training and experience from countless campaigns had more than prepared them for the battle at hand, and their armor was better than most, defending against attacks that would lay low lesser soldiers, but the near inexhaustible waves of elves assailing them made the battle harder than anything they've faced. Imperius danced around the blades of the elves, helping his men whenever he could, dodging and parrying any strike that came his way. A spear in his field of view nearly sliced his cheek, but he leaned back at the last second, the spear slightly whistling as it passed by. He sliced the spear in half and cut the throat of the elf wielding it and threw himself back into the fray.

Suddenly, an ear shattering boom filled the battlefield. Imperius looked over to see the gate in splinters, with Thalmor soldiers flooding the regiment defending it.

"We need to head to the main gate, our forces there will soon be overrun!" a centurion shouted.

Imperius nodded at the centurion before ordering the men to kill the rest of the elves on the walls and to head to the main gate. The legionaires on the wall shouted in acknowledgement and killed off the remaining elves assaulting the walls and broke the ladders, rushing to the main gate. Imperius, leading the charge, crashed into the elvish contingent surrounding the defensive force stationed to guard the gates. He and his cohors praetoria hacked and slashed their way to the surrounded men.

"Thank the divines, I thought we were done for," said the centurion in charge. He was beginning to fear that they would be slaughtered before help would come, but his commander showed up in the nick of time.

"Regroup and fall back to the keep, we're abandoning the defenses here. Make your way to Dragons Reach, and set up defensive fortifications, we will hold them for a short time," said Imperius.

"Your will is my command Legate. Men, to the keep!" shouted the centurion.

The contingent of men under the centurion's command followed him to the keep, wishing the legionaires in battle good luck as they passed. Slowly, the elves were gaining ground, killing more and more legionnaires as the battle wore on. His men were losing more and more of their comrades as they were beginning to tire. Their arms, training and armor made them the best that the Empire could offer, but they could only do so much against so many. He knew they would have to either retreat or die fighting, and he wanted to prolong his men's lives for as long as possible, and buy more time for the civilians to evacuate, but he didn't know how. Suddenly, a smirk replaced the concentrated look on his face as he had an idea. Imperius hadn't used this in a while, he simply had no need, but this situation was an exception. He needed to use his gift, to remind the world why he was called Dragonborn.

Imperius made his way to the front of the formation, inhaled and shouted, "FUS RO DAH!". The shout sent elves flying over their comrades, the first few rows of elves were thrown to the ground violently and it temporarily halted the Thalmor advance. The shout while powerful, would only hold them back for a short time, so he had to be quick.

"To the keep men! Archers cover the retreat!" he yelled.

The archers on the walls rained volleys of death on the elves trying to get back up, killing hundreds and thinning the Thalmor ranks, slowly retreating to the keep as they did. The elves desperately tried to shield themselves from the onslaught of arrows that befell them, but there were simply too many and they couldn't get up and form an effective formation as there was simply too much confusion. Elf officers tried to restore cohesiveness and order in the mass confusion, but many an arrow found its mark in their throat or chest, lower ranking officers not even trying to give orders in fear of their life. The elves were taught a lesson in archery today by their lessers, and it infuriated them despite the current feelings of terror and fear gripping their souls.

"Corcinies, sound the retreat!" shouted Imperius.

The sound of battle horns filled the air as the legion fell back to the keep. Their pace quickened when they turned to look back and saw the massive force of elves getting back to their feet. They knew their commander had bought them time, and they weren't going to waste it.

"Ballistarii, fall back to the defensive catapults!"

The catapult crews and their guards saluted and made their way to the catapults towards the keep killing any stray Thalmor that got in their way. When most of the legion made it past the gates near the statue of Talos, the archers fell into a dead sprint towards the keep. Imperius used the Whirlwind shout to catch up to the legion but stopped at the statue of Talos to glance at the Thalmor host noticing their retreat.

"After them, kill them all!" shouted an elf officer, the rest of the army had gotten to their feet and now rushed after the fleeing imperials, some tripping over the corpses of imperial and elf alike in their mad rush for revenge. Seeing the wall of elves rushing towards him prompted Imperius to sprint towards Dragon's Reach, the elves right on his heels. He couldn't help but openly laugh in excitement as he was being chased. The adrenaline and the thought of getting caught excited him to an unhealthy degree. He suspected that he was mentally damaged for a while, but this only confirmed it. He saw a few centurions standing near the gates of Dragonsreach, directing the legionaires inside. As he got closer, they saw him and nodded and ran into the keep.

As the last of his soldiers made it into the keep, he turned, filled his lungs with air, and shouted.

"OD...AH VIING!"

After the shout, Imperius quickly sealed the reinforced doors. The Thalmor rushed forward, eager to kill their foe and take vengeance on the lessers that had humiliated them. Their advance ground to a halt when they heard a familiar, haunting sound, a sound that struck fear into the hearts of men and mer alike. They turned to the sound's origin, some shrieking in utter terror, some dropping and their weapons and fleeing and others making peace with the deities they believed in. As a shadow passed over them, a stream of hellfire followed in its wake, killing all it touched. Only one creature possessed such destructive capabilities, only one could lay low entire armies and kingdoms by itself. A dragon. The elves quickly sprang into action after their initial shock had faded and when survival instincts overcame fear, archers rained arrows that more or less did nothing against their target, the distinct 'ping' of their arrows bouncing off of the dragon's scales did nothing to harm the beast. Battle mages shot fire blasts and lightning bolts, all of it making little effect on the death dealing monster. The dragon landed onto one of the buildings, and shot forth a storm of hellfire, incinerating a large contingent of elves in an instant.

"Dovahkiin thuri, spring your trap!" he shouted as he snapped up an elf in his jaws and crushed him, armor and all, and tossed him aside.

The defensive catapults whom were silent for the retreat came to life and hurled pots of boiling tar upon their elvish foe, the dragon sending those unfortunate that got hit ablaze. The elves tried to move into battle formation, but the flaming tar pots, coupled with the appearance of a dragon kept them from doing so, confusion soundly woven into their rank and file. The gates to the keep opened and out of it poured the imperial legion, refreshed from its rest while in the keep. With Imperius at the head of the force, it smashed into the out of position Thalmor forces, slaughtering many in the charge. Imperius cut down foe after foe, the elves falling to him like wheat to a scythe.

"We are routed, fall back!" shouted a high-ranking elf who soon fled from the battlefield.

Seeing one of their commanders abandon them quickly took their spirit to fight, and with the imperials slaughtering them and a dragon helping their enemies to boot, the rest of the army broke and all but sprinted to the smashed gates, trampling a few of their own who tripped and fell. Imperius watched the elves retreat and listened to his men shout with victory. He honestly expected greater losses than what he had suffered. Suddenly, an elvish horn sounded in the distance, this time it was a high-pitched sound. This stopped the legion in its celebration and caused Imperius to give pause.

As this occurred, fresh contingents of elves poured into the city, slamming into the disorganized lines of the legion. Imperius parried an overhead strike from a Thalmor soldier and disarmed him, slicing off his arm as he did so. He blocked another strike with his shield and thrust his blade into the abdomen of another elf. He thought that was the entire Thalmor host, that they had thrown everything behind the attack on the walls, but apparently, he was wrong. He grimaced at the sight of his soldiers being cut down, the elves wolves amongst sheep.

As Odahviing was taking off from his perch to assist in the defense, a catapult stone struck his chest and he was sent flying into the walls of the city, elves swarming his crash site. The dragon tried to right himself, but his efforts were being hampered by the elves who hacked and slashed at his scales. He flailed his limbs with the hope that he might strike a few, and smirked when his clawed foot met an elf, who was sent flying by the force of the kick. He spied Imperius amongst the chaos, dodging and sidestepping strikes from elvish soldiers before striking them down in turn. He was reminded of his predicament when an elf managed to pierce his armor and slice his stomach.

With his elite soldiers being cut down in droves, Imperius fought like a madman, cutting off heads, slicing bodies in two and crushing elves' skulls with his shield, helmet and all, desperate to turn the tide so that his men could survive. But it was for naught. No matter how many elves he killed, no matter how many of his men he managed to save, there were always more elves to fill the gaps, more soldiers being cut down far from his reach. It was maddening, how he tried and tried with all his might, but it amounted to nothing. When Imperius heard the death scream of his dragon ally he turned to look, but as he turned, a Thalmor soldier thrust his spear into his side, piercing deeply.

As he gasped in pain and shock, another elf ran up to him and swung his battle ax into his chest, knocking him off his feet. He turned his head and was greeted with the sight of a dead centurion, the very same centurion he saved at the entrance gate an hour earlier. With the elvish forces streaming past him, slaughtering his soldiers like cattle, his vision slowly darkened until he could see nothing.

'So, this is where you go after you die. It's kind of empty if you ask me,' he thought. It was a vast empty expanse of space, with no light to speak of. In the place of light was the all-consuming darkness, moving in a similar manner as a wave would when crashing onto a beach and then receding to begin the cycle anew. He walked around for a minute, looking to see if there was anything other than the ever-present darkness, but found nothing.

A voice chuckled with mirth, and as if it had read his thoughts, said '' No, this is not the afterlife Dovahkiin, I brought you here to make you an offer."

Imperius turned in the vague direction he thought the voice was coming from.

"And pray tell, who am I speaking with? I will not make blind deals with daedra or princes of oblivion," he said. A light shone through the darkness, too bright for his liking, revealing the form of a dragon standing in front of him.

"I am Akatosh, father of the many dragons you slew in your time in Keizaal and the greatest god amongst the mortal pantheon of gods and goddesses," Akatosh said. Imperius looked at the dragon/divine, secretly wondering if the divine was going to kill him for slaughtering his children. If he were in the divine's position, he wouldn't have even hesitated, not even giving it a second thought. After waiting for a moment, and seeing as he was not dead, he took it upon himself to ask the deity a question.

"What deal do you wish to make with me?" he asked.

Akatosh looked him in the eye and said, "A deal in which you rewrite history and change the fate of Keizaal forever."

Imperius was skeptical, as many should be. He would never publicly admit this, but he was an avid reader, always fascinated with legends and stories. And with such avid attention to the legends of the past, he made sure not to fall into any traps as many heroes of old have done, be their situations realistic or pure fantasy, and this situation would be no different.

"What does this deal entail, I don't want to make any rash decisions without knowing what's on the table first," he said.

Akatosh nodded. " Wise decision Dovakiin, many mortals would jump at the chance to go back in time and change their fate, without knowing what they must do to complete their tasks. You will be transported back to the moment where you fight against the dragon Mirmulnir. You will retain all memories of your past exploits and knowledge of the events that transpired in your old life. You will know and be able to use all your shouts you have learned in your life, even the ones you get from Herma-Mora during your quest in Solstheim. Prove the strength of your Thu'um to Mirmulnir, without killing him, and I will reveal your quest to you, mortal."

Imperius sharply looked at Akatosh. "What quest will I undertake?" he asked.

A smile spread across Akatosh's face.

"To rule all of Tamriel."

Chapter Text

Awakening

Imperius paused at Akatosh's words and stared at him in astonishment. He expected for Akatosh to ask him to perform a task along the lines of changing a small, inconsequential event in the chain of events that was his life, as was the norm in folklore and legends, but to rule an entire continent was near insanity. This was unbelievable. He probably wouldn't believe it if it weren't staring at him straight in the face. He couldn't even begin to imagine how he would start this powder keg of an event, let alone plan an effective strategy to carry it out. He needed to know more.

He turned to him and asked,"How would I accomplish this task you have given me?"

Akatosh chuckled. "All in good time Dovahkiin, do you accept my offer?"

Imperius hesitated. While he had experience as a leader of soldiers, he had no knowledge of leading civilians, everyday people whose lives could be changed or drastically altered by his decision. It frightened him that he would be expected to hold so much power, let alone know how to properly use it. While he waged war with those expectant of hardships and the brutality of conflict, he never took the time to consider the civilian perspective. It simply wasn't at the top of his priorities at the time, and to now suddenly be thrust into the role of protector as well as conqueror and general, with their well-being near constant in his thoughts, it made him nervous. He needed time, he desperately needed time to think on this. He didn't want to jump into the task without a clue and wing it for the entirety of his second chance, hoping against all hope that he wouldn't screw up. Imperius needed a plan of action.

"I only ask that I have time to ponder this quest you would have me undertake."

"Take all the time you need, for there is no hurry or rush in the divulgence of your answer in this plane of existence," the divine said with a wave of a golden, celestial wing.

He wandered off a distance from Akatosh, sat down, and began to think. For many days, or whatever was considered days in the plane he was in, he pondered all the possibilities, ramifications, and planned how he would conquer Tamriel. Scenario after scenario he ran through, thinking of how he would deal with each situation, the situation sometimes demanding that he completely rework his entire strategy. It frustrated him, how often he had to rethink his overall plan when a new variable popped up in his head, such as how to deal with possible counter attacks by either the Empire or the Thalmor, or both, proper legislation so that his new nation would prosper and not fall into poverty and decadence. It made his head hurt sometimes. He constantly doubted himself as he came up with his plan, often wondering if fading into the afterlife would be much easier than being thrust back in time to change the fate of the world, and he had no guarantee that he would even succeed. Sure he could change the fate of the world no problem, he was the Dragonborn, but would it be for the better? As this was happening, he also considered the people he will encounter on his world conquest, and pondered on how to deal with those in closest proximity to himself and his new nation.

The Khajiits were, to his concern, rather unknown to him. He couldn't properly prepare for what he had no knowledge of, and that halted his planning and scheming. For long period of time he pondered how to deal with this unknown, the issue making him feel like he grew a few new grey hairs, though he couldn't tell because he was dead nor did he have a mirror on hand to ogle himself with. Then he remembered something. It was a faint memory, but a memory nonetheless. Imperius recalled the Khajiits were trade partners/military allies of the Thalmor during the days of the Stormcloak rebellion. This gave him an idea. The Dominion protected official trade caravans that belonged to the Khajiits, and in return they would accompany the Thalmor in any military campaign or venture, regardless of the risk or the faction they were fighting. If he were to somehow raid the Khajiit's caravans, enough so to prove to the Khajiits that the elves were no longer capable to properly protect their investments, he could potentially remove an entire faction of would be enemies from the equation. Imperius entertained the thought of making the Khajiits allies in his conquests, possibly making them a vassal, but he pushed those thoughts aside, as he had more pressing matters to ponder.

The Imperials when he first came to Skyrim were power hungry individuals, who's military and political leaders would betray one another in order to gain power or attain a higher position. This made stability very hard to come by in the empire. It was one of the reasons there were so many civil wars in the empire's history, making it weak to outside threats and would be conquerors. This weakness would be crippling the empire when he would arrive in Skyrim, a ripe opportunity for him to take full advantage of, so he pushed the Imperials to the side, not really worrying about them as potential rivals. If he were to attain a legion from the Imperials and train the soldiers as he did his previous legion, with the same equipment and tactics, the Imperials would be no threat to his new empire.

With the Imperials checked off the list of potential enemies, he now turned to the Stormcloak rebellion. It was in full swing when he arrived, securely entrenched in the citizenry. The Stormcloak leader preyed on the nationalistic spirit firmly rooted in the nordic people, gaining support for his cause by stirring the people's want for independence, for autonomy. It didn't hurt that a good portion of nords, particularly those in Winterhold, were somewhat xenophobic to those not of nordic origin, something that Ulfric took full advantage of. It would take near herculean efforts or extreme military and political blunders on Ulfric's part to destabilize the image of the Stormcloaks. The Stormcloaks in his past timeline were easy enough to defeat, their narrow set of tactics and somewhat poor equipment would make them easy prey for his legion, once he acquired it. Though dealing with the rebellious populace was a task he had loathed doing the last time he was in Skyrim, and he wished not to do so this time around, so he made preparations for bringing down the near unshakeable heroic image of Ulfric Stormcloak and make the nordic people see how he was the better alternative, one way or the other.

Imperius then had to consider the main threat to his conquests, the main opposition he would be facing after the utter defeat he would hand to the Imperials and Stormcloaks. The Dominion. The elves wouldn't allow a lesser species to rule the continent, they would rather die than allow that to happen. The Dominion would hinder his plans every step of the way. They were strong in the magical arts that related to battle, but other than that, they were less proficient than your average mage, though they didn't believe so. Their military was and still is the largest military force in all of Tamriel. Though their numbers were vast, he could use their large numbers against them. If they didn't catch wind of his actions while he was still in Skyrim, they would definitely get word once he besieges and secures the capital of the Empire and dethrones the Emperor, replacing the vassal of a ruler with himself. Their response would be swift and decisive, as was their attack the previous timeline. He would have to act fast and be at least two steps ahead of the Thalmor if he had any chance of succeeding in this effort, and planned on securing many spies and allies to aid him in that effort.


With all the possibilities considered, he returned to where he was with Akatosh. Imperius approached the divine with surety and confidence in his step, though Akatosh could detect the slight nervousness in his gait.

"Have you considered my offer in full, or do you have doubts about how you will accomplish this task before you, Dovahkiin?" the divine asked, though he already knew the imperial's answer.

Imperius shook his head. "I have considered you offer, and I accept wholeheartedly."

Akatosh nodded and began to chant on the language of the dovah, a ring of light surrounding Imperius. As the chanting grew in volume, so too did the intensity of the light, hampering the dragonborn as he tried to stare at the divine. As the chant reached its crescendo, the light blinding him, the ancient chant rendering him deaf to anything but the chanting itself, he was gone, swallowed by the pure white light that had surrounded him, and then he was gone, an empty space took his place.

Akatosh stared at the spot the mortal was just a few seconds ago, and sighed.

"What have I done? Have I doomed the cosmos with this act of selfishness?" he said as he shook his head with frustration and apparent anxiousness, walking a few paces away from where he was.

"I only hope that the mortal will have the strength and fortitude to face what is coming," he said, creating a mirror with a wave of his winged forelimb. He lightly touched the surface with one of his clawed fingers, watching the surface ripple like a pool of water. The image of Imperius flying through time and space towards his destination filled the mirror. He will observe this mortal and help him along his path for as long as he could. The mirror flickered for a moment, showing an image of destruction and green fire engulfing all of Tamriel, before refocusing on the Dragonborn once again. 

4E, 201, 19th of Last Seed

As the light transported him to the farmlands just outside of Whiterun, the voice of Akatosh rang clear in his head. 'Go the watchtower and wait, you will meet Mirmulnir soon', the voice echoing as his armored feet touched the grassy plains outside of the trade city.

Imperius looked around and finally focused on the city he had come to love in his past lifetime, and he barely recognized it. It was hard to look at it without the high and mighty walls he and Balgruff had built, without the expanded quarters of markets and inns and places of industry. Without the watchtowers on the walls that served as beacons of light to travelers and allies alike. He had personally oversaw the construction of the watchtowers and high walls. It brought him great pride to be the architect of such glorious architecture. He was gladdened by the expansion of the markets, grateful for the broadened variety of trinkets, fruits, vegetables, and works of iron and steel. Professions he never knew existed came to Whiterun to take part of the extra business, such as florists and pewter smiths. He dreamed of restoring the city to what he perceived as its former glory.

But now was not the time to daydream, so he shook his head clear of memories of past splendor and began trudging to the watchtower which began his destiny as the Dragonborn, again. On his way to the watchtower, he began to question if Akatosh really gave him all of his shouts he had learned throughout his time in Tamriel.

'Now is the time to test his claim, let's see if he made good on his end of the deal'.

He stopped and turned to where to his knowledge a bandit hid.

This particular bandit scared him the first time around, as he had steel plate armor and an enchanted battle axe which helped it pierce heavy plate armor, and possibly dragon scales, or so he claimed. As it was his first time outside of his homeland, and he had never experienced this before, he was scared nearly out of his boots. But now, he was expecting him, as the bandit had expected him. He walked into the spot where the bandit wanted him to go, and lo and behold, said bandit came running out with the axe in hand, shouting demands and death threats if he didn't comply. Imperius turned, inhaled, and shouted, "Fus Ro Dah!" The thief went flying towards a nearby giant camp and landed next to a mammoth calf, startling the infant mammoth. The thief's leg was twisted at an awkward angle, bending backwards , with a sliver of white bone sticking through his mail trousers.

The brigand moaned in pain and the calf cried out for its mother, said mammoth and its giant caretaker ran to the bandit and smashed him into mush before he could even scream. With the test out of the way, he resumed his trek to the tower, feeling satisfied.

As he made his way, he noticed off to his left a skirmish between imperial soldiers and stormcloak rebels. The rebels were making mince meat out of the imperials, and he couldn't help but feel some sort of sympathy for the soldiers. While he was going to overthrow the Empire, he sympathised with the soldiers that served it. With an annoyed but happy sigh, he made his way to the skirmish. He waited for a good opening to jump into the fight, ramming his sword into the back of one of the three stormcloaks when they strayed too far from the group, catching both the stormcloaks and imperials off guard. As he cut down a second stormcloak, the imperials quickly realized what was happening and sprang into action, surrounding and gutting the last stormcloak rebel. As Imperius turned to leave, he was called over by the imperial soldiers. They thanked him for his help and support for the imperial cause, which he accepted their thanks with grace.

"I cannot thank you enough traveler. We would have been goners if you hadn't shown up," the commander of the patrol said.

"It was no trouble, anything for the imperials. The rebels needed to die. I only helped them meet their fate," Imperius said.

"If you need anything or require help of any kind, ask for Propontus," the commander, who Imperius assumed was Propontus, said, gesturing to his men to head back to wherever they came from.

Imperius made a mental note to take the commander up on his offer, and resumed his trip to the watchtower. He remembered this place vividly, for it was the start of his quest to save the world from the world eater Alduin. He paused in his thinking. He had completely forgotten to consider the dragon in his plans, and his mind was racing a mile a minute to make up for the lapse in planning. He had the framework of a plan as he reached the watchtower, but he needed to get the finer details in order at a later date. But for the time being, he would focus on the here and now. Imperius looked around for any sign of the dragon, and found none. He saw a large slab of rock sticking out of the ground and made his way over to it, sitting down on the mildly uncomfortable seat.

'I hope when Mirmulnir gets here, we can meet on better terms than last time. I would be saddened if I have to slay him,' he thought as his eyelids began to sag. He tried with all his might to stay awake, but with the time spent in the empty plane of existence, and the transportation through time, he was fighting a losing battle and promptly fell asleep, sliding off the slab of rock and face planting on the ground, bottom in the air.

He awoke from a dreamless sleep to the familiar sound of a roar. The roar of a dragon overhead. This didn't cause panic like before, he had gotten used to the sound with all the dragons he's slayed, but it made him wary. Then he tried to open his eyes, and he found himself looking at dirt. Apparently he had face planted when he fell asleep while waiting for Mirmulnir to arrive. He abruptly flung himself from the ground, dusting himself off as he did so. Imperius sincerely hoped no one saw him in such an embarrassing position. He was reminded why he awoke with an earth shattering thud that nearly sent him to the ground. Imperius turned and saw a dragon, the dragon he had been waiting for. Off to the side of his field of vision, he saw a group of soldiers that were sent by Jarl Balgruff in his previous lifetime to kill the dragon, led by the same thane as before. Only this time, someone different was accompanying them. It was a nord of medium build, with leather armor covering his chest and legs, leaving his face and arms free of protection. He was right handed, carrying his iron shield in his left, while gripping a steel sword with his right.

The group was attacking the dragon, the archers firing arrows at the ancient beast, while the ones with melee weapons rushed in close to hack at the dragon. The dragon snatched an unlucky guard from beside his comrade with his jaws and shook him like a dog would a rat, the limp, lifeless body being tossed to the side a few moments later. The beast then turned to the side and spewed a large stream of hellish fire onto another guard, turning the unfortunate soldier into a charred skeleton, the scale armor melting onto the bones, forming a metallic sheen. The nord charged forward towards the dragon, hacking and slashing at the scales of the beast, leaving nicks and groves in the hard material. The dragon looked at the nord and flung him away with a push of its wing, returning its attention back to the fight.

Imperius couldn't help but be in awe at the raw power this dragon exuded. It radiated majesty and terror. The way arrows and swords harmlessly struck its thick scales reminded him of how dangerous these creatures were. It was a familiar feeling, one he relished in. It reminded him of the previous timeline, where he met this dragon for the very first time. He would be lying if he said he wasn't scared of the ancient being. That feeling of terror faded however as he grew more efficient and skilled in slaying dragons, but now the feeling returned full force, and he was overjoyed, a smirk the only thing on his face that betrayed said emotion.

The dragon then took to the air, flinging all but Imperius to the ground. He took off after the beast, sprinting past the downed soldiers who were shakily getting to their feet. He made a mental note to himself to find out who that peculiar nord was once he was done with his task, but pushed it to the back of his mind. Once he made sure he was a good distance away from the soldiers, he prepared to confront the dragon.

He shouted the dragonrend shout, shout flying towards its target, making the beast flinch when it hit its mark. The dragon tried to stay in the air, but the effects of the shout were slowly forcing it to descend to the ground below. Once it landed, the dragon began to furiously search for the cause of his affliction, upending boulders and digging great furrows into the rocky soil of the plains outside of Whiterun.

Mirmulnir looked around, searching for the cause of his inability to fly. His previous encounters with mortals had him under the assumption that most, if not all, were too weak to be able to confront him, let alone defeat him. His fight with the mortals garbed in yellow only confirmed this assumption. No mortal could challenge him. The mortals of this time were not the warriors of old. Warriors who provided a challenge, who could defeat his kin, but at a cost. As he searched for his quarry, he heard armored footsteps headed his way, and turned towards the sound. He was met with the sight of a mortal clad in outlandish armor walking towards him with a confidence he had yet to find in any mortal he had come across. He assumed that this foolish mortal was the cause of his inability to feel the winds of Keizaal, and his anger grew. How dare this puny, weak mortal have the gall to challenge him! He was a dragon, the rightful ruler of this world. This short lived creature knew not its place. He would remind him.

"You are either brave to the point of insanity or extremely foolish to challenge me, mortal," he said.

Imperius stopped twelve feet away from the dragon, remaining silent as the grave. This act of insolence only furthered Mirmulnir's ire. This mortal either has a death wish, or is unbelievably brave, for he smelt no fear emanating from him. Mirmulnir decided that this mortal has lived long enough, and reared back to burn the mortal to a crisp. He breathed fire onto the mortal, bathing him in a golden shroud, the ground beneath his feet turning blacker than the void itself, the ashes of grass being swept away by the force of the flames.

Once he was certain that the mortal was nothing but a charred skeleton, he relented, but was surprised to see that the mortal was still standing. The only indication that the mortal was even affected by his attack was the metal on the shield the mortal wielded being a bright red. As Mirmulnir was pondering as to how the mortal could possibly survive the flames, Imperius charged the dragon, bashing its face with his shield and slashing its snout with his sword.

Mirmulnir reeled back in shock at feeling the sword easily cut through his hard scales. How could this be? His scales were harder than the hardest steel. No blade or arrow could pierce his hide. None have ever left a mark upon his visage. Yet this mortal, this outlandishly garbed mortal, cut through his hide like a hot blade through butter. His surprise quickly turned to anger and he spewed forth a wave of hellfire, the mortal barely dodging the rolling wall of death. He snapped his jaws at the mortal, his teeth scraping against the wood and metal of the mortal's shield, quickly drawing back as he was cut once again by the impudent mortal. This will not stand! This mortal will grovel, and plead for mercy upon his death, but he will be denied this luxury. His visage will be the last thing he sees. He. Will. BURN!

Imperius leaped out of the way of another wave of dragon fire, the flames scorching the ground where he stood. He charged the beast, stunning the dragon with his shield before quickly delivering a few well placed strikes, the sword tearing and slicing through the dragon's scales. The dragon roared with rage and breathed fire in Imperius's direction, who once again dodged the deadly flames. Imperius had gotten the drake's attention, and now began the task of bending the mighty dragon to his will. He rushed the drake, stunning it once again with a bash from his shield, and then sprinted away to a spot a few feet from the dragon.

"Gol...HAH DOV!" he shouted.

The shout made the dragon flinch when it hit, the drake desperately fighting the effects of the words of power. The power this mortal displayed was beginning to frighten him. No...he was not frightened, because dragons do not fear mortals in the slightest, but was merely unnerved at the power this particular mortal wielded. If this mortal were to win, to bend him to his will, then his master's plans would be hindered, and his master was not the forgiving type. It would be an affront to all that he is if he were to cave to the wishes of a mere mortal. He ruled over the mortals for eons with his kin, it was his birthright. It would not be taken from him by a worthless, insignificant human. Though he regarded his foe with derision and scorn, he couldn't help but be reminded of the warriors of old as he fought this human. He fights with the same ferocity, the same determination, the same level of skill and power. He respects those worthy of being respected. But that doesn't matter now, what matters is killing the mortal so he could establish his master's rule over Keizaal once more, to fulfil his master's will. Once he was sure that his mind was free of the effects of the shout, he returned to the fight with an enraged roar, wildly snapping his jaws at the mortal, desperate to end the mortal's life to preserve his own.

Imperius blocked a strike from the dragon's tail, pleasantly surprised by the dragon's unpredictability. The dragon's he faced in his previous lifetime, including the one he is facing now, were horribly predictable in their attack patterns. It turned the blood pumping, adrenaline rushing activity of hunting dragons into an outrageously boring chore. As he blocked and dodged the dragon's various attacks, he noticed a hint of desperation in the way the dragon attacked. Perhaps the beast realizes the gravity of the situation, or perhaps it is a different reason altogether, he had no way of knowing. He once again was waiting for the perfect time to use the shout. However, the dragon was careful not to let him use the power of the voice, keeping him on the defense, never letting him stop for even a moment.

As the titanic battle between the two combatants raged on, the soldiers and nord from earlier watched on in unabashed awe of such power and skill. The nord was astounded by the level of skill and dexterity that the imperial possessed. He even regarded him as a clearly competent warrior, even though he was an imperial milk drinker. This display also reminded him that he was woefully unprepared to fight a dragon. These were beasts of legend, creatures who nearly tore the world asunder during the Great Conflict between man and dragon oh so long ago. How could he have thought that he was even close to being ready to fight it.

He felt so sure of himself, so confident in his skill. He had slain warriors that were greater than him in single combat. But those victories, those tests of skill were all but meaningless in the face of the force of nature that was a dragon. He was so confident when he accepted this quest, but now he wasn't so sure. The guards around him were muttering to themselves, wondering who this mysterious warrior was and how he had survived this long against a bloodthirsty dragon, and what was that shouting they were hearing.

Imperius was impressed by the persistence of the dragon and the intellect it possessed when it came to combat. It clearly had a mind for combat, perhaps even strategy. This dragon will make for a fine ally, perhaps even more. An hour had passed since he used the bend will shout and he had yet to find an opportune moment to finish off the dragon, as its unpredictable attacks kept him on his toes. He dodged the incoming forewing of the beast, being pelted by dirt and rock flung by the force of the attack. He quickly slashed at the forelimb with his sword, causing the dragon to roar with pain and anger. Imperius barely raised his shield in time to block the deadly stream of dragon fire, the flames licking at the edge of his shield, promising a savage, painful death should he let his guard down. He panted heavily as he tried to keep his shield up to block the attack, feeling his forearm slightly burn from the heat of the fire. He charged the dragon once the flames had stopped and stunned the beast once again, retreating a ways to deliver the final blow. He enjoyed the fight with the dragon, it was a nice change of pace from the muscle memory bouts he had before this meeting, but it was time to get back to business. He had a world to conquer, and he couldn't waste time indulging in his urge for combat.

The dragon, either sensing that the battle was at an end, or knew what he was about to do, tried desperately to recover from the mortal's attack, charging at the mortal in the hopes of stopping him. But it was in vain. Imperius shouted for the second and final time, stopping the drake in its tracks, its head bowing in reverence to the power he wielded.

"Y-You have proven the strength of your Thu'um mortal. I now serve you thuri," Mirmulnir said.

Imperius walked up to the dragon, standing only a foot away from the immortal creature. He never truly appreciated the astounding strength and ferocity of a dragon, their visage a sight to behold. In his past lifetime, in his fervor to learn all the shouts known to users of the voice and to rid the world of a supposed threat, he had killed every single dragon in Skyrim. His life became boring with monotony after the great drakes were gone. Granted he had to deal with rebellions every now and then, and then the Thalmor invasion soon after, which helped alleviate the boredom somewhat. But nothing came close to the excitement of facing down a beast that could burn you alive in a blink of an eye, even if it became somewhat of a chore. He thought them mindless beasts, slaves to their instincts and base desires. But now, he knew better. With this knowledge, he became somewhat saddened at the senseless slaughter of the dragons. Saddened that in his original timeline he had driven them to extinction for the final time in his ignorance of their intellect.

Then his spirits lifted. He was in a different timeline now, his actions beforehand meaningless. The dragons were around in this timeline, and he promised to himself that he would keep them alive, either by ensuring their neutrality or by adding them to his ranks, but he would keep them alive.

"I have a task for you, Mirmulnir. You are to go to Bleak Falls Barrow, and clear out the infestation of bandits and looters. Once that is done, you are to await my arrival," he said.

"Your wish is my command, thuri. I shall clear the barrow of mortals as you have asked, in preparation for your arrival," Mirmulnir said. He was surprised that the mortal knew of his name, as many who knew had long since passed. Many of this age were ignorant of dragons beyond their legends and myths. But this mortal seemed to know more than he first suspected. This one was strong, stronger than most in this new age, perhaps rivaling the warriors of old, but he couldn't be sure. He took to the air, relishing the feel of the icy winds on his scales. The task that the mortal gave him was child's play. Killing mortals was easy, but apparently there were still a select few who could provide a challenge. Nevertheless, he would perform his task with dignity and efficiency.

Imperius smiled slightly when he heard Mirmulnir roar, the sound echoing throughout the plains. Oh divines how he missed that sound. He now turned his attention back to Alduin. In the previous timeline he would be at the Greybeard's beck and call for the first few quests he would have to deal with in regards to the black drake. He thought it would be the excitement he would be looking for when he heard the voices shout his title, but it was meaningless pacifist drivel. Granted he didn't care for Delphine's brutal methods either, but he preferred action over inaction. Speaking of Delphine, he knew that either he would have to convince her to join his side, or he would have to remove her from the equation. The latter option he had no problem with, in fact he would relish the chance to take her out, but the former would require some work. With this in mind he began his trek from the watchtower to Riverwood, not noticing the group of soldiers gaping at him in fear and awe.

He stopped before the gates of the quaint, quiet village. He remembers the first time being here. The new sights, sounds, and smells. He smiled in nostalgia. He walked by the blacksmith's place of business, giving a friendly wave to the blacksmith himself. In his past lifetime he and the blacksmith became good friends and business partners. Imperius would get him materials he needed, and Alvor would repair the armor of his soldiers for next to nothing. There was a slight drawback to this new timeline thing. He didn't have the relationships he had in his old timeline, and as such couldn't rely on the same people he used to. But regardless, he would secure alliances and strategic players to secure his place in Skyrim.

Imperius walked up to the tavern, excitement and anxiousness nearly clouding his thoughts. He had to get himself under control before he did this. He needed a clear mind in order for this to be pulled off without too much trouble. Sighing once he cleared his mind, he entered the tavern, slightly smiling at the smell of smoke and ale, of men who might not have bathed in a few days. It was all familiar to him and yet in a sense, he was experiencing it for the first time in his new life.

He surveyed the tavern as he walked to a far corner shrouded in shadow. It was pertinent that he remain anonymous at this point in time. Becoming known to the people would come later. Right now, he needed to be able to be forgotten if a person was to see him, like a passing face of a traveler. He pulled a chair to the corner, and grabbing an unopened ale from the table, watched the tavern for his target. He lightly sipped from the bottle, snatching a piece of bread from some poor drunk's plate, nibbling on it to minimize the drink's effects. He wasn't much of a drinker, preferring honeyed mead and wines over ale and other stronger alcohols, but he would drink one if it would help him blend in.

It didn't take long before he spotted his target. She was idly cleaning a glass, a front to take attention away from her searching eyes. She scanned the tavern, but for what he didn't know. A few minutes of this went by, Imperius watching Delphine, and Delphine searching for something or someone. Then snippets of conversation reached his ear, and the topic piqued his interest.

"...the outlander was like nothing I've ever seen. He fought the dragon like it was child's play-"

"...garbed in outlandish armor he was, stood as tall as a giant. I seen him with my own eyes-"

Ah, the rumors have already started. News apparently traveled extremely fast in this timeline. This did not bode well. If he were to stay around longer than necessary, he would be spotted and this whole escapade of secrecy and anonymity would be pointless, wasted time. He stood up from his dark, yet comfortable corner, and made his way to the counter, placing his ale and bread on an abandoned table. He heard the door open and close, but he paid no heed to the noise. He walked up to the counter, leaning on it as he got Delphine's attention.

"What's your poison?" she asked as she idly cleaned an already spotless tankard.

He didn't have time for small talk. He was already getting queer looks from the men at several tables, some gesturing towards him. He already exposed himself, and now he needed to get this done as quickly as possible.

"Are you Delphine?" he asked. She momentarily tensed, her hand cleaning the tankard still as the grave. She put the tankard down and turned towards him with a steely gaze full of suspicion and a tiny hint of fear.

"Who's asking?"

"Someone with information regarding a certain someone called the Dragonborn. I'm sure you are familiar with the title, yes?"

She scoffed. "The Dragonborn? The Hero of Legend who would save the world from destruction? That's a myth. A legend. Nothing more," she said with a neutral tone that belied a tone of wistful sadness. "Now if you have nothing more to offer, I have other patrons to attend to," she said with a sudden brisk tone, moving to another spot down the counter.

So tempting her with info on the Dragonborn didn't work. Imperius guessed that he would have to try a more meaningful approach.

"I have information on the location of Esbern, if the name rings any bells," he said.

He smirked at his less than tactful execution of his plan, but it worked nonetheless as she stopped dead in her tracks, whirling towards him with a guarded look. It was a look he had seen many times in his past lifetime, and he wasn't all too fond of it. She quickly walked to where he was, silently gestured towards a room he was all too familiar with. She told another person manning the tavern to take over for her, receiving a noncommittal grunt in reply. He followed her to the room, walking past her as she closed the door. He turned to speak, but was shoved against the far left wall of the room, and felt a cold, sharp blade press against his neck.

"Who are you? And how do you know about Esbern" she asked in a fierce tone.

"I would advise that you take this knife off of my neck before things get ugly," Imperius said in a tone that promised pain if she didn't listen.

She glared at him with the intensity of the sun, but sighed in defeat and removed the knife from his neck. She loses her target in the tavern, and then this man, this outlandishly garbed man comes barging in asking about the Dragonborn and spouting that he has information regarding her old friend Esbern. So far it has been a rough day. She wanted to slit the man's throat for talking to her in such a tone, but if she wanted to find out where Esbern is, he had to be kept alive. Once she had the information, he was of no use to her, and she certainly didn't want him in the blades. She smiled inwardly at the ways she imagined killing him, but refocused on the outlander.

"You said you have information regarding Esbern. Spill it," she demanded.

Imperius raised an eyebrow at her demand. He had known her to be impetuous and arrogant at times, but this was new. While his ire was raised by her insolence, he had to make sure she would either aid him in his plans, or stay out of his way. He needed to make sure she wouldn't cause trouble for him later on. Imperius didn't want to deal with rebellions and insurrections while he fought to control the entire planet. It would place way too much stress on him for it to be possible for him to function right.

"Mind your tongue, lest you want it cut from behind your teeth. Regarding the information on Esbern, I will not divulge the secrets in an unprotected tavern room. If you can provide a more secure location, I will be happy to tell you everything I know. But until then, my lips are sealed," he said, inwardly smirking at her annoyed expression.

Delphine looked to her left, internally debating as to show this stranger her safe room, where she kept priceless artifacts from the age of the Blades, back when they were at their most powerful. Why should she trust this total stranger with a secret that could get her executed on the spot for being a Blade. However, the information regarding Esbern was important, and she needed every Blade that could be found if what the reports have said were true. Dragons were returning, and it was up to the Blades to stop them. She sighed once again, and nodded her head towards the secret passageway that led underground to her base of operations. She sincerely hoped that she made the right choice.

Everything was going as planned. He had gained access to the hidden room under the tavern. As they walked down the stone stairs, he couldn't help but wonder as to how this will turn out. On one hand, he would kill her and be done with it. On the other, she would join his forces in his conquest of Tamriel. He would see how things played out. Once they reached the bottom of the stairs, Delphine went to one side of the table and he the other. He told her everything. How he had died. His deal with Akatosh. His travel through time. Him being the dragonborn, and everything regarding Esbern. She was silent throughout his tale, secretly moving closer to the man, clenching a dagger in her left hand behind her back. She was waiting for the information regarding Esbern, since it was the only thing keeping the man alive. And now that she has it, she was glad to finally be able to rid herself of this annoyance.

When Imperius was through speaking, she had moved so that she was close enough that he could see the colors of her iris. How she had moved without him seeing, he didn't know. As he was waiting for her to respond, he noticed that her left hand was behind her back, and had some inkling as to what she held. He was proven right as she suddenly tried to stab him with a wicked knife clenched in her left hand, Imperius grabbing the offending limb just moments before the blade could make contact. She struggled to make the blade meet its target, but this man's strength clearly outmatched her own. She looked up to the man's face, only to see a chilling grin seemingly etched onto his face. He leaned in close, close enough to feel her rapid breaths caress his face, and whispered in an equally chilling tone.

"You shouldn't have done that, my dear."

Her left arm was wrenched to the side, the limb bending at an unnatural angle. She grunted loudly in pain, the feeling of her muscles ripping only worsened as he bent it even further, causing her to drop the knife. When she heard the blade clatter against the stone floor, she knew that her death was upon her. She was picked up and slammed onto the floor, knocking the wind out of her. She rolled out of the way just in time to dodge a blade stabbing into the rock, the owner yanking it out. She desperately tried to get to her feet, hoping that once she has that she would be able to grab a sword off of the racks, giving herself a chance to survive this. But her hopes were dashed when she was kicked in her midsection, crying out slightly when she felt some of her ribs crack.

Imperius watched her fall back to the ground after his kick, the blade clutching at her ribs. She had caused him hell in the past timeline, and she was going to pay. He grabbed her by her hair, and slammed her head against the table. He watched as she fell back with a dazed expression, her hands covering her head in an attempt to lessen the pain. He didn't give her that reprieve as he slammed his fist into her solar plexus, feeling some of the bones give under the pressure. Imperius then took out his sword, the metal blade glinting in the candle light. He grabbed her hair, and holding it up to get a better view of her neck, rent her head from her body, watching as her eyes stared blankly with terror.

Imperius looked upon her corpse with barely veiled disgust, and left back the way he came, leaving the tavern. What he failed to notice was the nord from earlier, nursing an ale with a loaf of bread in his hands, watching him leave the tavern with a suspicious look in his eye. The nord got up, and followed his quarry, determined to get some answers.

Chapter Text

Sins of the Past

As Imperius made his way out of the inn, the voice of Akatosh spoke in his head.

'What caused you to so brutally slay the woman? She would have made a fine ally in the upcoming war,' the divine asked. He was a bit shocked at the cruelty and brutality of her death. Akatosh wondered why he killed her. In the past timeline she was a fine warrior, facing down dragons and men alike with a fearless demeanor. She killed almost all who stood in her way. So when the dragonborn slaughtered her instead of taking her on as an ally, he was certainly befuddled by his actions.

'If you are to understand as to why her death was brutal and as to why I killed her, I must show you something. Something that has haunted me for the entirety of my life,' he responded.

He pitched his tent and lit a fire, sat down, and focused on a single memory that would forever haunt him. It made him loose hours upon hours of sleep, sent chills down his spine, and caused him enough grief for a lifetime. The mirror rippled, the scenery changing as Akatosh was pulled into the memory. The setting was Rorikstead, a little farming village west of Whiterun that had not experienced the turmoil and destruction of the civil war, or the dragon crisis. Overlooking the small village were twenty blades armed to the teeth, with Delphine at the front with Imperius beside her. The look on her face was one of sadistic glee and excitement. Her expression would send chills into even the most battle hardened warriors. She turned to her soldiers and raising her sword, began to speak.

"All right blades, we have received rumors that there are dragon cultists who worship and harbor dragons, hiding them from our sworn duty to kill all the dragons in Tamriel. We must show them the right path so that they may turn from their sacrilegious ways to the true path. They will help us, willingly or otherwise, and if they put up resistance of any kind, we must strike them down, for they are too far gone to be saved from the dragon's curse!"

A myriad of agreements and shouts that wished for the death of dragons and their worshipers filled the air. Imperius looked at Delphine with shock. How could she be so callused and detached to even consider, let alone proclaim it as one of the mission goals. They were investigating a report that local villagers had sighted a dragon to the east of their village. The blades were to deal with the dragon menace and make sure that it would not return to harm the people. This village seemed to happen on their march to the area reported to have a dragon. For the entire contingent of men to stop here because of rumors baffled him. He suspected ulterior motives, but he couldn't be sure. Despite his uncertainty, Imperius knew one absolute truth. If what he thought was going to happen happened, there would be consequences. Harsh consequences.

"Delphine, might we reconsider our options on how to deal with the townspeople? They might not be harboring any dragons or their worshipers. If we were to attack them without provocation, we could lose the support of the people," Imperius said.

She turned to the dragonborn. Delphine was in the midst of planning her revenge on those who wronged her people, and the dragonborn just had to interfere. No matter. He was under her thumb, he couldn't do anything to stop what was about to happen. So she decided to ease his mind on the matter, fabricating a lie that was sure to convince him. "Dragonborn, I've dealt with dragon cultists before and have methods to deal with them. Don't forget our true purpose on Tamriel, to destroy the dragon menace and their supporters and sometimes we must go to extreme measures to accomplish that goal."

Imperius, under the sway of the blades, believing their goal was a just one but not willing to go to the extreme measures his partner was, caved in at her convincing. He wasn't one to argue with someone who clearly had more experience in these type of situations by the way she barked out orders with authority and familiarity. However, he had a bad feeling about all of this. This claim that this village is housing dragons and those who worship them seemed farfetched. But nevertheless he accepted their reasoning.

"Yea, forgot that, go ahead, but please be merciful on the townspeople"

Delphine, with a cruel smirk on her face, said, "Oh don't worry dragonborn, we will be "merciful" if they check out, but I can't promise anything if they resist our cleansing mission of Tamriel."

She turned to the village and started walking down the overlook, her twenty blades in tow, Imperius bringing up the rear. The bad feeling worsened as they marched towards the village, causing him to dart his eyes around in search of the cause. He soon refocused his gaze forwards, seeing the town getting closer and closer. The bad feeling soon tripled in intensity. He knew what they were doing was wrong, but he felt powerless. It wasn't right. The blades were to serve the dragonborn. Delphine herself said so. So why did he feel like he wasn't in control of the men that marched ahead of him. He didn't hold their loyalty. Delphine did.

As Delphine and her bodyguard made their way to the village, a militia guard spotted them and raised the alarm, stirring the townsfolk into action, some opening old family chests with weapons and armor that have been passed down since the days of Ysgrammor, others outfitted themselves with imperial chain mail shirts and gladii, grabbing the distinct oval shields of the auxiliary branch of the imperial military.

As this was taking place, Delphine grinned . 'Time to unleash savage vengeance upon this generation of traitors, the betrayal of their forebears to the blades will be met with blood!' she screamed mentally. She couldn't wait to wet her blade with the blood of these traitors. Even though she knew that the ones who had betrayed the blades have long since passed, she didn't care. Her thirst for vengeance would be satisfied by the slaughter of their successors. When the host of blades stopped at the gates of the village, an armed host of townspeople stood to opposed them, in front of the militia stood the acting leader of Rorikstead, known as Galmar the Mighty.

He was of the elven race, that much the townspeople could discern, but of which type he was, he would not tell, so they assumed him a high elf for this skin color. But he was actually a dwemer, a race thought to be extinct long ago. He was the last survivor of his race, there was no question. In his youth, when he was still new to the world and still had hope, he had searched for his kin, going through ruin after ruin in his fervent quest. However, he soon realized that his people were gone, for good. Abandoning the ruin he called home, he made his way inland, finding this quaint little village. He didn't settle down, as he didn't feel the need for propagation. He grew fond of this village and its people over time, and had become its protector.

He stood and sized up the opposing force, noticing the similar style armor the unknown foe wore to the ancient Akaviri people he had read about in the old tomes and texts of his forebears. 'They must be Akaviri, looking for dragons and conquest. I must halt their advance while I still can,' he thought. He knew of the Akaviri's blood lust for slaughter and conquest. And if they were to take this village, which would resist them, he didn't want to even think of the horrors they would suffer.

"So, the Akaviri come to conquer us at last! Well you will be sorely mistaken of you think we will bow willingly!" The population yelled in agreement. The townspeople didn't know who or what these 'Akaviri' were, but if they were the ones threatening their village, they would defend it from these would be conquerors.

'The fool, he doesn't know about the fall of the Akaviri,' Delphine thought. She decided to play along, since the fool will already be dead by the time she was through. "That's right, and we offer you a choice, surrender yourselves to us, and we will spare you. But if you resist, we will use force deemed necessary for you to submit," she said.

At this proclamation, Imperius got a perplexed look on his face.

'Weren't they here to find dragon cultists, what's this about conquest?'

He began to make his way to the front of the host, the blade soldiers impeding his progress at every turn. He gave those who slowed his progress a nasty look, and hurried to get to the front. He had to stop this. This had gone too far. He would not let this stand.

This proclamation riled up the dwemer into battle frenzy, exactly as Delphine had planned. She knew the dwemer were a proud race, never willingly submitting to anyone, even their own kin.

"IF IT'S A FIGHT YOU WANT, 'TIS A FIGHT YOU'LL GET!" the dwemer bellowed. He turned to inspire and rile up his forces into a battle ready state as he was.

As he was riling up his soldiers, Imperius made his way to the front of the bodyguard next to Delphine. "Delphine what is the meaning of this?  We were supposed to be on a quest to root out cultists, what's this about conquest!?" Imperius shouted.

She pointed her finger at the battle ready mob and said "They are putting up resistance, and I must act accordingly, now stand aside and let us blades handle this"

He stood in front of Delphine and said, "Wait, let me call my troops. We can settle the matter peacefully and be on our way."

She scowled. If he were to call in his imperial legion, then her plans would fail. She would not allow him the chance to mess everything up. "No dragonborn, this is a blade matter, not an imperial matter. Now stand aside. I will not say this again."

Imperius suddenly remembered the words of Arngeir, back when he was still learning the basic words of power from them.

"Remember dragonborn, the blades may claim to serve the current dragonborn, but they serve only themselves". He blew them off as comments born of anger, seeing the animosity between the two groups. But now, he began to see why he said such words. Imperius, with rage and anger born of just reasons, began to reassert his authority as chief dragon slayer.

"Delphine, as dragonborn, I order you to sta- uhck!" He fell to the ground, clutching his throat where Delphine just hit with the handle of her sword. She grabbed the breastplate of his armor and brought him close to her face. She had enough of this fool's whining and pleading. If he were to stop her plans for righteous vengeance, she would have to kill him. And while he has been an excellent tool to use, he was just a pawn. A replaceable pawn. She didn't need him now. He was kept for appearances.

"Look, you may be dragonborn, but we are in charge. We have been controlling you since the beginning, you belong to us. Now just lay there and be a good dog and let us handle this," Delphine spoke through clenched teeth.

She dropped him to the ground, where he was still clutching his throat, and turned to her soldiers.

"Blades, our moment of vengeance has finally come, today we can wreak havoc upon the spawn of the betrayers, to let all of Tamriel know what happens when you betray the Blades!" she shouted.

The blades began howling with blood lust and battle fury, eagerly awaiting the spilling of blood that would come very soon. As she turned to look at her prey, the militia charged the blades, Galmar leading the charge with a dwemer war hammer in hand. The moment before the battle, the moment before two sides met in bloody destruction, seemed to stretch on forever. But at last, the militia crashed into the lines of the blades, Galmar hacking and crushing his way to Delphine who stood at the center of the formation.

For a moment it seemed like the blades would break under the furious charge of angry townsfolk, seven blades falling in the initial charge alone. Galmar cleaved his way to his quarry, the blades leader Delphine, sending one blade flying with the sheer force of his hammer. He dodged the swing of a blade soldier, and brought his hammer down hard on the helm of the unfortunate soldier, pieces of skull and brain matter splattered onto the blades surrounding him. For a moment he relished the gore and blood of the battlefield. It was a glorious sight to behold. He smiled at the blood coating his war-hammer. This felt great. But as he saw members of the village he knew well be cut down, his blood lust fell, and he regained his mind. He needed to focus.

But as the battle drew on the better trained, professional soldiers that were the blades began cutting down and brutally killing any militia soldier in their reach, pushing the townsfolk towards their village. Even though his battle prowess boosted the moral of his militia, the losses were too high to continue, so Galmar called the retreat.

"Retreat, fall back to the village, protect your families!" he shouted.

As he was making his way to the town he called home, swinging his hammer and knocking aside any blade that got in his way, he was stabbed in the back, the sword piercing his lung and exiting out the right pectoral, blood dripping off of the tip of the blade.

"The last of the dwemer, dying in disgrace at my hands, so pitiful," said Delphine, with a grin that would send a shiver down anyone's spine. Galmar turned to look at her, a smirk on his face which gave her pause. He should be writhing in pain at the moment, yet here he was smirking at her as if he held all the winning cards. Her blade was especially coated in a concoction that was designed to make her opponents feel enormous amounts of pain. The fact that he was smirking at her puzzled her immensely.

"If I'm going down, then you're coming with me!" he shouted, swinging his war-hammer into her chest, sending her flying into the stone wall that guarded the entrance to the town. As he laughed in triumph, several blades soldiers thrust their swords into his chest, killing him instantly. He fell onto his back, with a smile on his face. The rest of the blades rushed towards the town, and the broken militia that defied them.

As this was occurring, Imperius finally was able to breathe properly without problems, and ran after the bloodthirsty blades. He had heard the battle progress as he was incapacitated, and from the looks of it, it was a pretty short battle. But there was still time to fix this. Still time to right a grievous wrong that the blades have committed.

"Stop! Stop this! You're better than this!" he shouted, but it was to no avail as the blades rushed into the town. They ran from house to house, dragging out townspeople, and killing those who resisted. They lined up the captured townsfolk and began burning the village to the ground. The acts committed upon the people of Rorikstead made his face twist in horror and outright astonishment. He had hoped that they were honorable soldiers. At the very least he had hoped they wouldn't behave like barbarians. But apparently he had his hopes too high.

As he watched in horror, he heard a cough behind him. He turned and found himself seeing Delphine walking towards the captured villagers, seemingly without a scratch on her visage. He had seen her lying on the ground in pain, and looking at the corpse wielding a war-hammer, he connected the dots pretty quickly. But it astonished him that she seemed to be perfectly fine, her injury seemingly non-existent.

"Delphine, why are you doing this!" he shouted at her.

She turned to him, eyes filled with rage and hate. He had seen her angry before. It was like a raging fire, burning all in its path before it sputtered out. This however, was different. If her anger was a raging fire, then her rage was a volcano, an unstoppable force of nature that could destroy anything and everything in its path, and there was nothing you could do to stop it. This side of her stunned him. He never knew that she had this much rage and hate towards anyone, let alone an entire village of people. Perhaps he didn't know her as well as he thought he did.

"Their forefathers were once blades, helping us in our quest to kill all the dragons. But when the empire and the dominion came to blows, and a thalmor host was at their door, they betrayed us, gave them the location to many of our bases, thousands of blades were slaughtered!" she screamed.

She then calmed down and turned to a nearby blade soldier. "Is this all of them, besides the ones that we killed already?" she asked.

"Yes grandmaster, these are all that remain. What are your orders?"

She pondered for a moment, hand on her chin, as she walked up the line of scared and crying villagers. She enjoyed their looks of fear and terror. Delphine relished in their suffering. It was only a fraction of the pain their forebears caused the blades, but she couldn't complain. She stopped at one elderly man, pulled out her sword, and plunged it into his skull, shocking the townspeople.

"Slaughter every last one of them till nothing is left alive" she spoke with malice.

With that order, the blades began systematically killing the villagers, with atrocities ranging from dismemberment of the bodies, to children being tossed into the flames of burning houses, the parents being cut down as they watched their children burn. Imperius fell to his knees, dropping his shield and covering his face with his hands, tears freely flowing down his face, dripping onto the blood soaked soil. All the while Delphine looked at him with disgust, her face morphing into a sadistic smile as she turned towards the carnage.


Akatosh was pulled from the memory and was speechless, whilst Imperius had broken down completely during the memory, silent sobs wracking his body, a pressure in his throat prevented him from speaking without crying, so kept silent.

'Now do you see why I killed her like I did? That woman was a monster to begin with. With the power that came with me, she had gone mad with that power, stealing lands from Jarls of either side and forcibly conscripting the population into her personal army, brainwashing them into ruthless killing machines. I was foolish and naive to think her reasons were just, but I was horrified at her actions. That is why I killed her, to rid this world of a monster before it could inflict its horrors on others.'

He waited for a response from the being that has helped him in his quest, but got none. He curled up into his sleeping bag and stared at the roof of his tent, his puffy eyes slowly drooping until he fell into sleep's embrace.

The Next Day

4E, 201, 20th of Last Seed

Imperius awoke to the sound of a chicken at the entrance to his tent, pecking his foot that stuck out of the tent. As he shooed away the pestering fowl, he began to ponder on what dragon should he add next in his quest.

'The nearest one is Nahagliiv, he's a Rorikstead,' Akatosh spoke.

He sounded tired, the type of fatigue that comes when releasing bottled up emotions, he's had enough personal experience to know. But he wished not to bother the divine, not wanting to upset him and cause him to curse him with hunchback or something of that sort. So he packed up his camp, put on his armor, and set out to his destination, hoping the dragon would be more cooperative than Mirmulnir.

A little ways from Riverwood, Imperius came upon a Thalmor inquisition team coming up the path, with a nord prisoner in tow. As Imperius walked passed one of the mer, he gave a quick glance at the elf and quickly shifted his gaze forward again, but his slip had not gone unnoticed.

"You there, stop," said the justicar.

He stopped and turned to face the Thalmor. Great, just great. He had hoped that he wouldn't have to deal with this crap, but apparently today wasn't his day. His anger towards the elves began to resurface, and he had a hard time restraining himself from simply slaughtering them outright. He would never forgive the Thalmor for what they did, even if these elves did nothing. He didn't care.

"What is your name?" she asked.

"Imperius ma'am," he said.

"You have a guilty look in your eyes, is there something you would like to confess?" she asked suspiciously.


He remembered the treaty the empire made with the elves, the "White-Gold Concordat". One of the terms of the treaty was that the empire ban the worship of Talos, the man turned divine. Now he didn't believe in that certain divine, he worshipped the eight, but he had always hated how they thought themselves superior to everyone else. You could practically see the superiority complex in their eyes. He had to deal with many pompous elven officials back when he was a centurion in Whiterun, always talked down to and insulted at every turn, but he had to reign in his emotions every time in order to keep the peace. He decided that he needed some excitement after the dreary moment yesterday. It would also help him deal with his emotions, so it is pretty much a win-win situation.

"Why yes, I have something to confess. I am a Talos worshipper, and I will free my brother in arms in the name of Talos!" he shouted almost comically.

Imperius pulled out his gladius and scutum, and charged one justicar. He moved past the elf's guard and thrust his sword into his chest, tearing through the breast plate, the tip just poking out the other side. He pulled his blade out of the corpse and quickly blocked a strike from another justicar. He pushed the blade to the side and tried to get inside the elf's guard like the last one, but this one knew better. As Imperius thrust his sword at the justicar's chest, the elf batted his sword away before quickly slashing at his neck. Imperius ducked under the strike and swept the justicar off of her feet, and moved in for the killing blow. As he raised his sword to bury it in the elf's chest, he was blasted off of the justicar by a lightning blast, flinging Imperius into a thick tree.

He groaned in pain as he picked himself up. He HATED lightning blasts. They were the bane of his existence. Nothing seemed to hate him more than lightning blasts. He faced more than his fair share of battle mages, and they all seemed to favor that thrice damned spell. The battle mage who fired the blast seemed pretty proud of himself with a smug look that could curdle butter. He had the sudden urge to cut that look off of the elf's face. He smirked as he faced the two elves. They hadn't seen him serious, and now he figured that they deserve that chance. He slipped into a crouched stance, bringing up his shield to cover most of his body, leaving his face open. As the other justicar picked herself up from the ground, he waited for the elf to fully recuperate. The elves would need every ounce of their strength.

He charged the elves as soon as the justicar picked up her weapon. He blocked the justicar's slash with his shield, pushing the blade away to deliver a kick to the elf's shin. He smirked when he saw the leg bend backwards from the force of his kick, sending the justicar to the ground, clutching at her leg. He then turned his attention back to the battle mage, barely dodging a lightning blast. He sprinted towards the elf, raising his shield to block another lightning strike as he charged, tiny arcs of electricity stung his arm as the energy bubbled and cracked. The battle mage dodged his stab at his midsection, but it had been a feint as Imperius slammed his shield into the elf, knocking the elf over. He quickly finished the elf mage off by slitting his throat, silencing its cries for mercy and forgiveness, and now he turned to the incapacitated justicar.

The justicar was leaning on a nearby tree, trying to get onto her feet. As Imperius began to walk towards her, her face twisted to a grimace as she watched him come ever closer. She gripped her sword tightly, her fist shaking with the amount of force applied to the grip of the blade handle. He paused. Instead of pleading for mercy or her life, she was willingly risking her life by continuing to fight. He admired that. Then he refocused on her blade as it came close to taking his nose off, making him jerk his head back to avoid the deadly strike. For an elf, she wasn't as bad as her kin. Maybe it was some sort of bias clouding his usual feelings, but he held not as much hatred and disgust towards her as he did towards elves in general. He didn't know, but a certain divine was influencing his thoughts, as he saw huge potential in the high elf for the upcoming campaign. He quickly blocked another strike with his shield and disarmed the wounded elf, leveling his sword with her neck. Her fierce, defiant gaze met his without fear.

"Go on imperial! Take my life! Fulfill your treachery by killing me. You will join the stormcloaks soon enough in death!" she shouted.

Imperius looked from her to the tied up stormcloak, who was watching the exchange with baited breath and a prospective gaze in his eyes. He then looked back to the elf and lowered his blade, making the Thalmor give him a confused look, the stormcloak sharing the expression. He walked over to the stormcloak and examined him. The stormcloak asked him why he was waiting to end the elf's life, why he was prolonging the harlot's rightful punishment. Imperius responded by bringing his blade to bear and swiftly relieving the stormcloak of his head, surprising the elf.

He then turned back towards the elf, who was staring at him with a questioning look.

"You wonder why I spared your life when I took the lives of your comrades and the rebel, yes? " he asked.

When he received no answer he continued, sheathing his sword in the process.

"I actually admire your willpower. Your willingness to fight me to the death caught my attention. Unlike your comrades, you have a backbone. You didn't wail and cry, begging me to spare you. You held your sword and didn't back down. Brave, for an elf," he said.

He then walked towards the elf who suddenly tensed at his approach, pressing herself to the tree in an effort to lengthen the distance between her and him. She didn't know what he was planning to do. She figured that he was another rebel hell bent on slaughtering the Thalmor and expelling any foreign presence out of Skyrim. A typical Stormcloak. But when he killed the tied up Talos worshipper and called him a rebel it puzzled her. The imperial said he was a Talos worshipper earlier, yet he had not killed her or saved the stormcloak. He was an enigma. He possessed the confidence and skill of a well trained soldier, and looked the part, but he carried no insignia of any known military in all of Tamriel. She didn't know what to make of him, and that terrified her.

She relied on being able to read people and know how they will act, how they will think, and who they were. It's how she landed the position of a justicar. Her ability to read people and determine who they are and what they believed in was an extremely valued skill to the Thalmor military and foreign ministry. She was offered a position as a diplomat but she turned it down, preferring to take a more active role in the empire. If only she had taken the offer. Then she wouldn't be in this divines forsaken place, in this divines forsaken job, with her comrades dead and her life possibly next. She didn't believe a word that came out of the man's mouth. Such a lesser race was expected to lie in order to make themselves seem equal to the Thalmor. They couldn't be trusted. That much she knew for certain.

Imperius continued to walk, getting so close that he could feel her panicked breath on his cheek. She had the typical facial features of an elf. Pointed ears, yellow eyes, high cheek bones. But she differed from the many elves he had seen in his lifetime. Her eyes weren't as slanted as the usual elf, only halfway. Her lips weren't as thin, rather they were more full, more noticeable. Her hair wasn't the usual color either. It was a light brown rather than the typical blond or dark brown or black. Her skin differed slightly now that he noticed. It was a light tanned color in place of the usual yellowish skin tone of her kin. She was more feminine than her counterparts. Softer expressions instead of the chiseled marble features of her brethren. Her breath smelled of mead and mutton. Which was an odd thing to notice at a time like this but oh well. He saw the potential in this Thalmor soldier, and he wouldn't waste it by killing her. No, she could be of some use to him. Even for a foul elf, she could aid him greatly in his efforts. Then he would rid himself of her once it was over.

"You have admirable and respectable qualities. I like that in a person. Which is why you will help me in my endeavors."

"If you think I will help you with anything you scum, you got another thing coming!" she shouted, spittle spraying onto his cheek.

"You will see things my way, in time," he asked while wiping the saliva off of his cheek.

He reared his fist back and punched the justicar in the face, knocking the elf out, leaving a bruise on her face. As Imperius was cleaning his equipment of elf blood, he realized a flaw with his plan. He would have to carry her. In full armor. While Thalmor armor generally didn't weigh as much as human or dwarvish armor, it still weighed a good five pounds or so. And he was wearing armor that weighed a lot too. Granted he was used to it but still. With a heavy sigh, he picked her up and tossed her onto his shoulder, carrying her like a sack of potatoes. And he would know. In his youth his father was a potato farmer. Yeah, not the most glamorous career a father could have. He always helped with the yearly harvest, carrying around a sack and harvesting the potatoes his father planted in the planting season. He planted them, and Imperius harvested them. Anyways, he groaned at the added weight he put onto his shoulder.

"Great Divines! How much does she weigh?!" he asked incredulously.

He huffed a little as he adjusted to the extra weight, but nevertheless he continued his journey. He knew that he couldn't tote her all across Tamriel with him. She might escape or do something that could jeopardize his mission. Then he had an idea. He knew the perfect place for her.

He quickly went up the steps of Bleak Falls Barrow, ignoring the queer stares he got due to him carrying an unconscious, and possibly dead, Thalmor justicar, but he paid them no mind. He reached the top of the stairs and reached the entrance of Bleak Falls Barrow. He didn't see Mirmulnir anywhere, but he did see the charred and mangled bodies of the bandits that used to live here. The dragon was thorough in his work, that much was certain.

He placed the unconscious justicar next to a pillar and quickly tied her hands together with a leather rope he had made from scrounging up some leather strips from the corpses. He made sure that the rope went around the pillar so that she couldn't simply leave. She would be stuck here until he returned. As he made to leave he noticed her slightly shiver, and a small pang of pity seeped into his heart. Imperius looked around for a corpse that wasn't too mangled or charred and found one with fur armor. Perfect. He relieved the corpse of its apparel, it didn't need it anymore and covered the justicar with the furry material. Even if it was soaked with blood in some areas he figured it would keep her reasonably warm while he was gone. His theory was confirmed when the justicar stopped shivering and snuggled into the material slightly. He didn't worry for her safety. With the dragon nearby, nothing would come near this place in fear of its life, guaranteeing that the elf would be left alone.

Now that that is taken care of he can continue his quest. In the previous timeline, two dragons were near the village of Rorikstead. Perfect candidates for his army. As he was descending the steps, a certain divine made himself known.

"Dragonborn. While I don't mean to intrude onto your thoughts and tell you how you should accomplish your task, I would like to ask you a few questions. My eldest, Alduin, will you include him in your ranks? I know he can be arrogant and brutish at times, but I think he can be an asset to your quest," the divine said, making Imperius pause in his descent.

"My answer is no Akatosh. While Alduin may be useful, the cost would outweigh the benefits. He would constantly cause trouble and may even convince a few drakes to revolt against me in favor of restoring him to his 'rightful place' and frankly I don't want to deal with that. I will make sure that he will not hinder my plans."

"Not the answer I would have liked, but it's an answer nonetheless. In the previous timeline, the first dragonborn, Mirrak, tried to take over Tamriel from Solstheim. How will you deal with him once he returns?"

"I will deal with Mirrak when the time comes. The first dragonborn will know his place as a subordinate or as a corpse. But for now I will focus on gathering forces to my cause, and then conquer some territory to call my own. Until then I will not worry about threats outside Skyrim," he said.

With the matter settled, he resumed his trek down the barrow's steps towards Rorikstead.

Chapter Text

4E, 201, 20th of Last Seed

The trip to Rorikstead was, if anything, uneventful. After his skirmish with the justicars, and the subsequent capture of one of them, nothing else of great importance happened. The walk to the village was a long and boring one. His sights usually consisted of rabbits scurrying away from him and deer watching him with guarded gazes. But once the village was in sight, he was greeted by the sight of a bronze colored dragon, resting on a stone outcrop near the village. Imperius noticed that the snout of the dragon differed from Mirmulnir, and that the ridge of back spines were shorter, and were colored black instead of brown. Instead of fighting the dragon and making him submit by force, he wanted to try and see if he can reason with it. Granted it might seem crazy and highly unlikely it would work, but he will try nonetheless. He didn't want to fight every dragon that he came across, and frankly it was time consuming. Time that could be used to further his goal. However, there was one small problem. He couldn't think of a proper way to greet a dragon, since in his past lifetime he didn't really talk to many of them, but a suggestion by Akatosh seemed promising.

"Drem Yo Lok Nahagliiv, Zu'u Lost Aan Laan Fah Hi," Imperius said.

Nahagliiv, who seemed surprised, turned and said, "Wo Tinvaak Fin Tinvaak Do Dii Fron Ahrk Laan Wah Wahl Aan Laan?"

He was surprised that he said the words offered my Akatosh properly, though it sounded choppy and some sounds were hard for him to make, but he managed. Unless he spoke words of power, he usually butchered the dragon language, to the point that the Greybeards practically begged him to stop when he studied at their temple. But he wasn't complaining. Anything that made things easier. He would ask the dragons to teach him their tongue so he could speak it proper later down the line, as he didn't want to sound like a stunted child when he spoke the tongue of the dovah. As dragonborn, he supposed he needed to learn the language of the great drakes. It would make him sound legitimate to some, and he figured it was high time for him to learn anyhow.

"It is I, Imperius, and the offer I wish to make is this. You join my army and we will conquer Taazokaan together," he proposed, switching to the mortal tongue for convenience.

Nahagliiv seemed to be pondering for a moment. As he waited for the dragon's response, he was distracted by the sight of two drunken villagers fighting outside the tavern. He was silently betting on the beefier man against the smaller, thinner man. The beefy man seemed to be winning, landing a lot of hits on his smaller opponent. He soon cashed in his bet with himself when the beefy man slung the smaller one onto the ground and slammed the man's head onto the ground. The smaller man didn't get up, but he was still breathing. He was reminded as to why he was here when the dragon seemed to be coming to a conclusion.

"Zu'u Los Hin Wah Uth. Hin Uth Thuri?"

Imperius was stunned. He had thought that the dragon was going to fight him fiercely. Dragons never willingly submit to anyone or anything, unless they know it wields vast amounts of power, far beyond their own. He suspected that the dragon had heard of his clash with Mirmulnir from earlier by way of traveler, and had come to a decision to not oppose him, but he wasn't sure. He would ask him later. For now he would give him the order he gave to Mirmulnir. Minus the bandit killing of course. He needed to gather as much of his forces together in one place as soon as possible so he could properly execute a campaign of conquest

"Wahl Hin Way Wah Ahrk Saraan Dii Uth. Zu'u Fen Kos Til Maltiid," he said. It was becoming easier to say, but it still sounded horrible to his ears when he spoke.

Nahagliiv nodded. This mortal was powerful, if the rumors he had heard of were true. He didn't want to fight him to see if they were true. It was in his nature to avoid conflict whenever possible, despite most of his kin being the polar opposite. So when the outlandish mortal asked him to join him, he acquiesced without much fuss. Though the mortal sorely needed to work on speaking the dragon tongue a little more fluently. It was like metal scraping against metal when he spoke, his speech sloppy and broken.

"Hin fen los dii uth, wah Veyd Mah Staag Zu'u bo."

The dragon took to the air, breathing fire as he went.

'From what I remember of my previous time here, there should be one more dragon around here somewhere. Maybe near one of the giant camps,' he thought.

He wasn't sure if this was the area that the dragon could be found, but he had to start somewhere, so he set out in search for the beast. He walked around the village, searching for any sign of dragon activity, garnering a few strange glances from the local villagers. He couldn't blame them. If he were tending to his farm and saw a strangely garbed man walking around the village for seemingly no reason, he would think them strange too. But after what seemed like an hour of pointless searching, he finally found some signs of a dragon. On a hillside were deep, claw like furrows dug into the hill itself. Puddles of blood filled the bottom of the furrows, clumps of hair from what appears to be a cow lined the trench. He then looked to his left and saw scorched grass and a skeletal smoking tree. Lying next to the burnt tree was the mangled body of a giant, its face shredded beyond recognition. He saw a trail of scorched earth headed towards a nearby mountain, and decided that he would pay this dragon a visit.

Imperius followed the trail of burnt foliage and corpses to a word wall, the dragon sitting atop it staring at him with veiled anger. At the foot of the word wall lay the corpses of a few cows with blue markings. Usually the giants only had cows marked like this. The dragon must've killed the giants guarding the cows and took them here. It explained the giant corpse he found near Rorikstead. As to why it was stockpiling cow carcasses, he didn't know and didn't care. He was here for one reason.

"Drem yol lok, Zu'u los Imperius, aal Zu'u mindok hin faan?" Imperius said.

The dragon stared at him for a second, contemplating, and finally spoke.

"Zu'u ahney lost nid faan, uv Zu'u nis dahmaan nii. Druv dreh hi laan, joor?"

Imperius nodded, for in his past life, no record the blades kept had a name for the dragon, only a description of the immortal creature. It was blue, different shades at specific points of his body, from a light blue covering the underbelly, to a dark blue at the base of its back spines, which were pure black and long, like spears protecting him. It was large for a dragon, larger than most he's seen. It was well muscled, bulky in some areas while lean in others. Its maw dripped blood onto the stone floor, most likely from the pile of cow corpses, making a pool of the red liquid at the base of the word wall. He suspected that this one will fight him, and fiercely in fact, but nevertheless he would try to be diplomatic.

"Well, in that case I have an offer to make you. Join my army, submit to my thu'um, and we can conquer Taazokaan together," he proposed.

The dragon reared its head back, as if offended by the offer. He knew that the mortal had power, it was clear to anyone who wasn't a fool. But to submit to a lesser being was intolerable. His pride as a dragon, an immortal being who will outlast every mortal on this continent , wouldn't allow him to accept. However, there was one way that the mortal could make him serve. He hadn't fought in an actual battle in a while since his resurrection by his master Alduin, and he was itching for a fight. He had the perfect excuse. He couldn't lose anyway. He was a dragon, the most perfect being ever in creation. Nothing could best him. This mortal will help him with his combat skills somewhat, but he will fall.

"I can sense your power of your Thu'um, but I will not go willingly!"

The dragon opened its maw and spewed forth an ice storm, Imperius dodging just in time, ice spikes stood erect where he once was. If he had been a second slower he would have been impaled on the icy spears that stood where he was moments ago. This dragon was fast despite its size. He made a mental note to watch for that during the battle to come.

"My pride will not allow me to accept the offer, unless you defeat me in battle joor!"

The dragon lowered itself from the word wall and he snapped his jaws at Imperius, who blocked the deadly strike with his tower shield. The mortal was lasting longer than he expected. He didn't think that the mortal would survive his initial attack. Before his death most mortals would fall like wheat to a scythe to his might. Child's play. This mortal however, was standing up to him and is actually making him put some effort into this fight. This mortal is interesting. But alas, he will die, and he will return to utter boredom.

"Gol.. Hah Dov!" Imperius shouted, the dragon wincing slightly when it hit. The dragon used his head like a mace, swinging it back and forth, catching Imperius and nearly flinging him off of the platform. But the imperial caught onto the edge of the platform and pulled himself up and rushed back into the fray. As the battle dragged on, Imperius was mentally thinking of a name for the dragon, whilst simultaneously blocking shouts and the snapping maw of the dragon.

He was going over the conversation before the dragon attacked him.

'He's brave, I'll give him that. To be able to sense my power and still challenge me, that takes bravery found in soldiers, albeit arrogant soldiers. His pride is a major part of his personality if his previous words were of any value. He needs a name, I can't refer to him as dragon and frankly, I don't want to. Aha, I've got it!' he shouted mentally.

Imperius dodged the snapping jaws of the dragon, bashed its head with his shield, and shouted "Gol.. Hah Dov!"

The dragon stumbled backwards, seemingly stunned and disorientated by the combined force of the shield and the shout. Despite his incredible speed, the dragon provided little to no challenge. It was predictable. It was clearly out of practice if his attacks were any indication. He needed to rectify this if this dragon is to serve in his army. Pretty soon the rest of the factions on Tamriel will train fighters to try and deal with the dragons under his command. He needed to make sure that no one besides himself can best them in battle.

Imperius shouted again, and it was over.

The dragon bowed its head in submission and said, "You have bested me in battle, therefore I shall join you. What are your commands thuri?"

He paced for what seemed to the dragon for hours, but in reality it was just a couple of minutes. The dragon watched the mortal with amusement, finding his pacing and expression funny. This mortal proved himself in combat and amused him, he was starting to take a liking to this mortal, even if he is a lesser being.

"First, you need a name, and I think I have the perfect one for you. From this day forth, you shall be known henceforth as Krilkahjot."

The dragon looked up at him, pondered the name for a bit, deciphering the meaning of the words. Bravery Pride Maw. Flattering, in a strange way, but nevertheless flattering. He couldn't really argue with the name, unless he felt like being petty about it but he wasn't. He nodded his acceptance of the name to his new master and asked him if he had any orders.

Before Imperius could answer, a sound of rushing wind filled the area, followed by the flapping of leather wings. Krilkahjot looked at the dragon hovering above them and cowered in fear, whimpering slightly, while Imperius looked at him with a bored expression. He had expected to see the black drake later on in his quest, but it wasn't altogether unsurprising that he was here. In fact, him being here was helping him. Now he didn't have to go searching for the dragon. He could make sure that the drake wouldn't be a hindrance to his plans without the effort being put in just to find the beast.

"Such disloyalty amongst the Dov nowadays, to join together with a mortal is a disgrace amongst our kind. Like the treacherous Paarthurnax, who taught the joor to use our own power against us," said the black dragon.

The dragon turned his gaze towards Imperius. The sight of the mortal making dragons bow to him disgusted Alduin down to his very core. It was unnatural, that a lesser being could best and control a dov, the rightful rulers of the world. This needs to be rectified immediately. Starting with the evisceration of this impudent mortal and the execution of those who failed to resist him.

"Don't think I haven't taken notice of your actions of late, convincing three of my kin to join you and betray me. It is an act that cannot go unpunished," he said.

Imperius turned from Krilkahjot towards the black dragon, his scales twisted and bent as melted pieces of metal in a forge. He didn't fear the black drake. All of the legends surrounding the dragon would make anyone think that the beast was nigh invulnerable. When he faced the dragon atop the highest mountain in Skyrim, he had hoped that his thirst for battle would finally be sated. But his hopes were shattered when the dragon proved to be not much more of a challenge than a regular drake. So when Alduin threatened him, he paid it no mind. The dragon's threats were empty to him.

"You stand no chance against me Alduin. Stand down and you will not suffer the humiliation of defeat at my hands."

Alduin laughed, the sound echoing in the plains of Whiterun, grating to the ears. This arrogant mortal actually believes that he has a chance against him. How precious. He will prove to this mortal why he is named the World Eater, and soon all will cower before him as he devours the world. It was his destiny.

"You, defeat me?! You are a stupid mortal to think yourself worthy of challenging, let alone defeating me. I will show you my power, and you will regret challenging me!"

Alduin crashed to the ground, scattering the bones and corpses of Krilkahjot's previous meals. He shouted, and clouds swirled overhead, raining down small meteors in a fiery cataclysm. He snapped at Imperius, who danced out of the way of the dragon's razor sharp teeth. This will be practice for him. He can already tell that this will not be very difficult.

"Krilkahjot, attack him from the air, I will keep him on the ground," Imperius shouted.

As the blue dragon followed his master's command he pondered as to how he would keep Alduin grounded, but he followed the command. He wasn't one to question his master, who was clearly much stronger than he was.

Imperius surged forward, bashing his shield into Alduin's face. He then decided to give the drake a taste of mortality.

"Joor.. Zah Frul!"

A blue aura surrounded the black dragon, pinning his massive girth to the ground. Alduin felt different, more grounded, more mortal. The shout the mortal used sounded familiar, yet he couldn't quite put his talon on it. He tried to fly into the air, only to find to his horror that he couldn't. He turned towards the mortal, his body shaking with rage and disbelief. His jaws shook so much from rage that he could barely form words without roaring or growling.

"What is this, these twisted words you've created, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!" Alduin shouted.

Imperius smirked. He liked seeing the expression on the dragon's face. An expression of rage, disbelief. And one, very important emotion. Fear.

"I have gifted you mortality, which means your vulnerable," he said, slashing his sword across his snout. Alduin shouted in pain, for he never experienced it before. He thought himself invulnerable to all attacks, especially from mortals. They couldn't produce any blade or arrow that could pierce his hide. Yet within a few minutes he was feeling the cold blade the mortal wielded slice through his scales like they were not even there. As this was happening, Krilkahjot strafed Alduin, spraying frost onto the black dragon's back, icicle spears tearing through his now mortal hide. He thrashed his body, knocking down trees, throwing boulders down the mountain, and scarring the earth with deep furrows and trenches.

Imperius charged forward, intending on stabbing his sword into the skull of the beast, but was hit by the thrashing head of his foe and was sent sailing towards the word wall, knocked unconscious on impact. When Krilkahjot saw this, his vision narrowed and he dived down towards the form of Alduin, latching onto his back, which sent both of them tumbling off the mountain. With the wind rushing past them, the two exchanged blows and shouts, neither gaining an edge over each other. Krilkahjot moved his head to the side, dodging the snapping jaws of Alduin. He darted forwards and clamped his jaws on Alduin's neck, his teeth tearing through the scaly hide, drawing blood. Alduin roared with pain and outrage and dislodged Krilkahjot from his neck and resumed trying to bite the despicable dov's head off. Krilkahjot spotted the rapidly approaching ground and dislodged himself from Alduin, flying back up to the word wall.

Alduin turned his body to look at the ground approaching, and for the first time in his immortal life, he began to wonder if he would survive this. But, during the last few seconds of his decent, the blue aura faded and he felt his immortality return, just as he smashed into the earth, creating a massive hole in the earth going a mile deep. He could feel boulders buried in the earth shatter upon impact with his body as he rapidly descended into the ground. He soon felt the earth give way to an open space before hitting the ground once again. This time he didn't go through the rock and earth. He didn't care about anything at the moment. All he cared about was getting through the dizziness and the pain. His consciousness was fading fast, and he could do nothing to stop himself from succumbing to the darkness.

Krilkahjot flew back towards the word wall, intent on finding out the condition of his master. When he reached the outcrop, he found Imperius rubbing his head and looking around, whipping his head towards the dragon when he heard him approach. He was relieved that his master had survived, if only slightly. He was a lesser being after all. He didn't care about him. He was secretly hoping that he died so that he could be released from his servitude. But alas, that wasn't the case. At least he is a somewhat better master than Alduin.

Imperius stood up, popping his back, and walked towards Krilkahjot. As his vision was clearing up from the blow to his head, and his consciousness returned, he had seen the two drakes topple over the edge of the outcrop, and feared the worst. If the worst had came to pass, then he would have lost a dragon, significantly hindering his plans. It didn't help that the fact he had named the beast had made him somewhat attached to it.

"How does Alduin fare, is he alive?" he asked.

The dragon made a face, which he could only describe as a smirk and responded, "He created a crater in the earth that is practically a mile down. I think he will reconsider challenging you openly again, but he is still alive. When he was close to the ground, I saw the aura surrounding him fade, which means that his might had returned before he hit the earth."

"Our objective was not to kill, though it may occur if he continues to disrupt my plans."

Krilkahjot cocked his head to the side, as if confused.

"What was our objective then, if not to rid ourselves of the world eater."

"I planned on imprisoning him deep in the earth, away from anything so he cannot cause trouble or use trickery and guile to escape, which means we need to get to Bleak Falls Barrow and gather our forces and converge on the crater in the earth, if we hope to contain him."

Krilkahjot nodded, and turned his body parallel to Imperius', and motioned for him to climb onto his back. Remembering his dragon riding skills in his past life, he got onto the dragon and together, they made their way to his temporary base. When he got to Bleak Falls Barrow, he was pleased to see two dragons awaiting him, one brown, and one bronze. He landed in the middle of the platform and turned to the three dragons as Krilkahjot landed on a third pillar next to Mirmulnir and Nahagliiv.

"Drem Yol Lok, I see that you two made it here without issues?"

Nahagliiv nodded, while Mirmulnir said, "I cleared out the bandit infestation thuri, those mortals won't bother us for a time, until they work up the courage to try again."

He nodded, noticing that the justicar was still unconscious, and proceeded to describe the battle that took place between him and Alduin. Mirmulnir looked at him in awe. For someone to battle his former master and win was a remarkable feat. Nahagliiv looked on with a neutral expression, with Krilkahjot smirking with pride at his part in defeating his former master.

"Now, we have one opportunity to get rid of this problem before it becomes completely out of our control. I have a way to trap him beneath the earth forever. Unless I free him, he will be stuck down there for the rest of his immortal days, but we must move now in order to catch him before he escapes."

The three dragons nodded, with Krilkahjot and Nahagliiv taking flight and making their way to the chasm in which Alduin rested. Mirmulnir flew down to the platform, letting Imperius climb onto his neck, and flew in the direction of the others. Imperius missed flying. He remembered his first time flying on a dragon with Odahviing. He loved the winds racing past him as they do now. He missed the icy wind. He missed this feeling. His thoughts soon turned to Odahviing, his former dragon companion. Imperius wondered where the drake was, though it really didn't matter as he could call the dragon at any time and he would come rushing to see who had challenged him. But he saved those thoughts for later. Right now he had to focus on removing Alduin from the equation.

Alduin awoke from unconsciousness and took note of his surroundings, which were shrouded in darkness. But, he could see the faint outline of a rock wall a fair distance away, and when his eyes adjusted, he could see it was a fairly sized cavern, which could hold a few dragons at most, his size taking a quarter of the total space. He briefly wondered how he had gotten to be here before the flood of memories came rushing back to him, filling him with rage and indignation. His nostrils billowed steam, signifying his rage towards the ones who had caused this. But before his thoughts could go any further, they were interrupted by the flapping of leather wings near the top of the cavern where he fell in.

'I bet it's those traitorous Dov who allied with that joor. He isn't powerful enough to defeat me, he just caught me off guard, next time he won't be so lucky. I'll make sure he remembers me before he dies. I'll make sure he knows why it's folly to challenge the World Eater,' he thought.

With the sound of wings flapping virtually filling the cavern, he grinned maliciously at the ways he would kill the Dov and that mortal to whom they swore loyalty too. Oh there were so many delicious ways he could make them suffer. The only downside is which method he would choose. There were just so many, and they were all wonderful at inflicting pain and suffering.

'Prepare yourself, for you and your companions are about to witness the full fury of Alduin!'

Chapter Text

As Mirmulnir and Imperius arrived at the chasm, Krilkahjot and Nahagliiv were waiting for him, peering into the hole. Imperius thought that Krilkahjot was exaggerating when he said that Alduin made a hole going a mile down. But after seeing it for himself, he was beginning to believe that it was a mile down, possibly even further.

"It appears to go very deep Thuri, only way down is on one of us," Krilkahjot said.

Imperius peered down the chasm himself, nodded, and turned to the two dragons. He didn't want any surprises as he deals with the black drake. He decided that the two dragons would be more useful up above ground. Imperius could deal with Alduin. No need to bring any unnecessary help when they could be more useful somewhere else.

"You two guard the entrance, make sure no one interferes, Mirmulnir and I will venture forth and trap the black wyrm," he said

They nodded and flew a short distance away and set themselves down on two large hills, keeping vigilant for any unwanted guests. They were a little disappointed that they weren't going to take part in taking down Alduin, but they were loyal to those that proved their strength, and they would follow Imperius's command. Imperius turned towards Mirmulnir.

"Are you ready? We will be in for the fight of our lives very soon."

Mirmulnir nodded. He was more than ready to face down his former master. In fact, he relished the encounter to come. Alduin treated his kin like pawns, disposable pieces of equipment to be used as he pleased. Well now, it was payback time. Imperius climbed atop the dragon, and together they descended into the chasm. They landed on the cavern floor and moved throughout the cavern, searching for their quarry, who at the time is observing them from the shadows.

"Well, if it isn't the mortal who calls himself a dovah, coming here under the impression that you will be able to defeat me. You don't even know our tongue, do you? Such arrogance. Unsurprising, coming from a pathetic mortal. You overestimate your abilities, and you will soon learn the consequences of your folly," Alduin's voice echoed, seemingly coming from every direction

Imperius and Mirmulnir whipped their heads around, trying to locate the origin of the voice, but finding nothing. Imperius was getting a bad feeling about this, he knew that the dragon will attack them. The question was, where? As they wandered the cavern, Alduin mirrored their movements from the shadows, waiting for the moment to strike. That moment came when Mirmulnir turned his head to look in the opposite direction, Imperius following his gaze. Alduin leaped from the shadows with a roar, tackling Mirmulnir and throwing Imperius from his back. The two dragons bit, clawed, and blew fire and ice at each other, their struggle crushing stalactites and shattering cavern walls. Imperius finally joined the fight as Alduin tossed Mirmulnir into a cave wall on the opposite end of the cavern.

"Yol.. Toor Shul!" he shouted, flames covering the black dragon's form.

The black wyrm snapped his jaws at the imperial, Imperius jumping out of the way and shouting, a spirit warrior of Sovnguard joining the titanic battle. Imperius hacked and slashed at the dragon, leaving cuts and gashes on his body. Alduin snapped his head forth and closed his jaws on the warrior from Sovnguard, ending his short time on the mortal plane. The two battled for what seemed like hours, the light of the sun slowly disappearing was the only indication that any time had passed, filling the cavern with darkness. Soon, Mirmulnir rejoined the fray. He and Imperius worked in tandem, one distracting while the other attacked, slowly wearing down the great drake.

"So, my loyal lieutenant who served me so loyally for all those years has suddenly betrayed me? Typical for a lesser drake like yourself Mirmulnir. You were always lesser than me. You will never be my equal," Alduin taunted.

Mirmulnir roared with rage and tail swiped Alduin, quickly pouncing onto the black drake. Mirmulnir blew fire and raked his claws savagely on Alduin, relishing the blood pouring from the wounds. Alduin roared in outrage and bit Mirmulnir by the shoulder and tossed him into the depths of the cavern. Alduin quickly turned his attention back to Imperius.

Imperius jumped atop the dragon's head as he lunged to crush him in his maw, and sliced off a horn adorning the drake's head. Enraged, Alduin shook his head, sending Imperius flying into a cavern wall. The dragon reared its head back, and spewed forth a hell storm of fire, the flames licking the edges of his shield and slightly burning his shield arm. He had underestimated Alduin. This dragon wasn't like the one he knew before. This one was much more ferocious, more savage, more deadly. He even doubted defeating the drake for a few moments before they were quashed underneath a wall of confidence and pride. He was the dragonborn, he could defeat anything. Especially a dragon. So he kept his shield firmly in front of himself, even as his armed burned and his skin turned to an hot red color. Finally the flames stopped, and a steady thumping of footsteps filled the cavern as Alduin charged at the dovahkiin. Imperius braced for the charge, but Mirmulnir, appearing from the dark depths of the cave, rammed into the black dragon, sending them tumbling into the darkness with the dragonborn hot on their trail. The two dragons attacked each other with ferocity, biting and slashing at each other, the savagry intimidated Imperius, but he pressed on, sneaking in lightning fast strikes where he could, aiding his ally. Suddenly, the two dragons stopped fighting, the drakes staring at each other with hatred and loathing. A brief pause in the battle that the three needed.

All three were panting heavily, sweat dripped from Imperius's face as the heavy breathing of the two dragons filled the cavern.

"You two are worthy opponents, maybe even a match for me, but now you must die. My humiliation at your hands must be reconciled," he said with a snarl.

Imperius shook his head and said, "No, that will not be the case today. You have brought destruction and ruin to many of the races of Taazokaan, so I must imprison you to prevent even more suffering. Besides, I don't want you to interrupt my glorious plans."

Alduin chuckled lightly. "And pray tell what 'glorious' plans are you going enact after you imprison me in this cavern, or try to imprison me. No mere mortal can ensnare the great Alduin."

Imperius began chanting in the tongue of the dovah, celestial chains slowly appearing around Alduin and binding the dragons wings, head, and legs to the cavern floor. Alduin began to snarl with rage, thrashing around with the hopes of breaking free, but it was for naught. His outrage grew with each passing second that he was trapped within the chains. This mortal, this damned mortal dared to imprison him within the earth. He was a lesser being, a mere mortal. He couldn't trap a divine being such as himself. But the chains spoke otherwise.

"HOW DARE YOU IMPRISON ME JOOR! I AM ALDUIN, THE WORLD EATER! IT IS MY DESTINEY TO DESTROY ALL LIFE!" he shouted.

Imperius ended the chanting and looked at the black dragon and spoke, but his voice was not his own. His eyes glazed over and his breathing slowed to a crawl. Mirmulnir was unnerved by this, and even more so by what followed. The voice that came out of his master's mouth was one he would never forget. It was deep, echoing in the cavern around him, reverberating throughout his body, shaking his bones and chilling his blood. It was an ancient voice, one that vastly outclassed himself in power, and yet it was familiar somehow, like he knew the sound, the tone personally, but he couldn't place it at first. Then, he remembered, and stared at Imperius with unabashed awe.

"Alduin my child. You were tasked with keeping the world in balance, destroying evil and ridding the mortals of their twisted nature. In your arrogance that came with your power, you crowned yourself a god, and proclaimed your purpose is to destroy the world, straying from the path of justice and following evil. I am sorry my son, but this must be done in order to bring peace," the voice of Akatosh said.

Alduin was shocked into silence, his anger and rage gone, replaced by melancholy and regret. He couldn't remember the last time his father had spoken to him personally. Eons maybe? Now here, at his greatest humiliation by a mere mortal, his father spoke to him. Not in praise or happiness, but with scolding words that irked him and wounded him. His persona as the world eater broke for a mere moment, and the protector of mortals shone through, his eyes full of shame and sadness, before the world eater's vengefull mask took over once more, a snarl of disgust and hatred replacing regret and shame.

"In time, you may redeem yourself. But for now, you must reside here and pay for your crimes," the voice of Akatosh said before fading, the divine's presence leaving Imperius, his eyes returning to their normal state. He watched the dragon with a miniscule amount of pity. But he pushed that feeling to the side and focused on the next part of his plan.

Imperius climbed onto Mirmulnir's neck, and they flew out of the chasm now turned prison for the world eater. When they emerged, they were greeted by Krilkahjot and Nahagliiv, who asked if they had imprisoned the great dragon. Imperius nodded, and the four of them flew back to Bleak Falls Barrow to plan their next move, unaware of the figure watching their exit, his skin glowing with a demonic green, and curled horns adorning his head.

"Well this is interesting, time to relay this to my master, he will be most interested with this," the figure said before moving away and leaving through a small, green portal.

Bleak Falls Barrow

4E, 201, 21st of Last Seed

"We cannot conquer Taazokaan with only the three of us, we will need more dov to complete this quest," said Mirmulnir.

Krilkahjot nodded, while Nahagliiv objected. He knew of the great battles fought between dov over territory. They were more often than naught very brutal, and it usually resulted in the death of either dragon in the fight. To have many dragons in one place, it would be utter chaos.

"We cannot have more dov gathered in one place, we are barely tolerating each other now. What do you think will happen when we have six, or twelve in one confined space. A fight will break out and can turn deadly if we have too many, and may cause irrepairable damage to our cause. We will need mortals to help garrison the territory we conquer, we can't just rely on the sheer power of the dov to make this happen. We need to rule with willing subjects, not through fear as Alduin did, and having mortal soldiers would make that happen," he said.

"You think that the mortals won't turn on us if they feel confident enough? If there are more of us, they would be less inclined to turn on us, since they know of our power and potential for utter destruction. If there are few of us, they will feel emboldened enough to turn traitor and try to rid themselves of us, as they did last time. I also doubt the ability of the mortals to successfully conquer the entirety of Taazokaan as efficiently as we did," Mirmulnir retorted.

As the two argued, with Krilkahjot acting as mediator, Imperius was listening to the conversation. He already had planned for this. While dragons were awesome forces of nature, they tend to be more of a nuisance than actual help if more than a few are gathered in one place. However, he would need more than three dragons in order for this whole thing to work. He would also need to acquire a legion from the imperials if his plans were to succeed in a timely manner. But they didn't know this. He only told them that he needed more forces and they assumed that he meant dragons. However, he would play this out like he had just thought of this. He didn't want to arouse suspicion by having a pre planned solution. Even if his fears and paranoia were unfounded he wanted to be sure. So he waited and waited for the right time, and intervened.

"I may have a solution to our problem, but I wanted to hear your input before I made any decision," he said.

The dragons looked at him in surprise. Alduin made plans and strategies without the council of other dragons, he thought them of a lesser intelligence than himself. So they were astounded when they heard his statement, but nodded nonetheless. Imperius smiled, and quickly laid out his plan, the three of them were to go to the lairs of the recently raised dragons, and convince them to join the cause or to stay neutral, while Imperius was to join the legion of the weak empire, and raise an army loyal to him and their cause, adding forces of either side to their numbers.

They agreed and the three flew in separate directions to cover more ground and gather more dragons faster. Imperius watched them leave, seeing their scales glint in the summer sun. He would soon head to the imperial capital in Skyrim to kick start this whole thing, but there was something he needed to do first. He headed towards the front of the nordic ruin and found that the justicar was awake. When he appeared in her line of sight her face morphed into one of rage and she started to shout at him, yelling obscenities for capturing her and leaving her here tied up.

He tuned out her shouting and undid the leather rope tying her to the column and lead her inside, dodging kicks aimed his way. He didn't want to leave her out there alone, subject to the elements and wild predators. That wouldn't due. Instead, he had a task suited for her. Something to keep her busy while he was away. He tied her to a nearby column and closed the door as he left for Riverwood, still ignoring her shouts of indignation and threats of bodily harm. He purchased vast amounts of food and water skins. Imperius made a quick stop by the blacksmith to purchase a simple steel sword. The task he would assign her would require the use of a weapon. He made his way back to the barrow and dropped the bags of food and water skins near the column she was tied to. He placed the sword close to her.

"I have a task you need to perform, and I think you'll like this one," he said to her.

"Like I said earlier scum, I'll never help you!" she shouted, struggling to free herself by straining against her bonds.

"I don't think you'll have much choice on this one, if you want to survive that is. You are to clear this barrow of Drauger in preparation for my forces. This blade is how you will do so. I've given you enough food to last long enough to accomplish the task ahead of you and await my return. I suggest you start early before the drauger begin to rouse from their slumber, otherwise you'll be facing down an entire horde, and I would like for you to be alive when I get back, despite you being an elf," he said.

He unsheathed his sword and cut her bonds, quickly heading for the door as she picked herself up. He increased his pace when he saw that she noticed the sword laying near the column. He started to laugh as he ran from her, just beyond the reach of her sword. He rapidly opened and closed the entrance to the barrow, barricading it with large boulders to keep her in. Imperius chuckled at her shouts of rage and threats of death and descended down from the barrow towards the town of Riverwood. Then he began his trek towards Solitude, hoping nothing else would hinder his quest.

Chapter Text

On a world ravaged in hellfire, the darkened husks of houses and settlements dot the landscape. The land, once lush with wildlife and flora, now barren, the soil a rust color, darkened splotches revealing scorched bones and twisted, melted metal. In the distance, a towering structure of stone and black metal could be seen, rising hundreds of miles into the air, shrouded in green flame. On a throne of stone in the middle of the structure sat a being of terrible power, his bronze skin cracked and torn in places, revealing a hell storm of raging fire, symbolizing his rage and hatred. He exuded power and horror, making lesser beings cower and flee before him with just his presence.

His left hand propped his head, which had ram horns curling to a sharp point, his eyes raging infernos. Gripped in his right was a sword, broken at the middle and wreathed in flames. Around his throne sat an innumerous host of demons, their forms ranging from rock like beings covered in green flames, from scaly reptilian bodies with four legs, two arms, and long tusks sprouting from their face, to red skinned beings with armor plated tails, red tentacles from their chins, and bony plates sprouting from their foreheads, with goat hooves instead of feet. Beside the fiery being sat his two trusted lieutenants, one red and one blue, but both from the same species, each had tendrils hanging from their heads.

A demon, small compared to his bigger cousins, walked to the throne and bowed before his master.

"My lord, I have news from the world known as "Tamriel" that might interest you," he said.

The being turned from watching two demons scuffling over space to look at his servant. He never bothered to learn the names of his servants, there was just too many of them to remember, of course they weren't important enough to remember, he just remembered their species. The planet Tamriel was one he had visited before, and had no fond memories of. His invasion went wrong the moment his forces stepped out of the portal. The natives had known about him and his army, and were waiting for them at the portal. Thousands slaughtered before they knew what had happened, and tens of thousands more in the following waves. Only by his intervention was he able to gain a foothold, and even then it was costly, almost too costly for his taste. He and his forces were driven back by the combined efforts of the guardians of the planet and all of the native armies to drive him back into the portal, the natives sealing the portal off.

That had been centuries ago. He had wondered from time to time how things were progressing, but he never bothered to check. This little demon provided the perfect opportunity to see how things were going without even doing anything himself.

"Speak saytr, and I will decide if it was worth wasting my time with," he said, his voice booming and deep.

The demon shakily nodded. "I have reports that Alduin the World Eater has just been imprisoned by a being called the 'Dragonborn", who's power clearly exceeded his, and he has recruited three dragons to his side. I fear he may be trouble to your plans my lord," the saytr said.

The being was mildly surprised. The drake's power was that of equal to one of his low ranking lieutenants. If a mortal managed to defeat him, them he must be powerful. This had proved to be interesting, enough so to warrant action on his part. He decided that it was time to check on that little planet, to see if things were ready for his return. Yes, that's what he'll do.

The saytr stared at his master, hoping he hadn't angered him in anyway, for it would be a long time before he reformed and he doesn't have the patience for such a process. He had seen numerous comrades fall victim to his master's mood swings, dying in the exact spot he was standing in. This little fact did nothing to dissuade his unease.

The being rose from his throne, startling the nearby lesser demons and catching the attention if his two high ranking lieutenants.

"What are your orders, my master," said the blue one.

The being turned towards him and spoke. "We are going to invade a world that we've been to before. Tamriel. We are finishing what we started. Prepare the army, we have mortals to slay."

The two lieutenants saluted and started towards the horde of demons, barking commands to their subordinates.

'If I hadn't came to their world, I would never be able to manage the legion as well as they do. It is a shame that the rest of their kin refused to join me. It was utterly delightful when I ordered those that did join me to slaughter their kin. It brought me much joy,' he thought, smirking to himself.

His lieutenants were from a race of highly intelligent beings from a distant planet. The mortals initially refused his offer, stating that they wouldn't take offers from a deceiver. With this insult, he invaded their world with his army, sending countless demons to slaughter them. But they proved resilient and ferocious in combat, beating every wave he sent. He was impressed by their tenacity and skill. He offered them the same deal as before, only this time he worded it differently. Half of the beings accepted, while the other half refused. This rift eventually led to civil war, with one side being slaughtered, and the other half joining his army. Their world was destroyed in the process. The races they had enslaved from their conquest of countless worlds were ordered to begin the renovation of the portal to Tamriel, their invasion of the planet will be greater than any other invasion before. The time of reckoning has come.

Back in Tamriel

Imperius made his way to the imperial capital of Solitude, intent on joining the legion and building up an army loyal to him and his cause. He was passing by a nearby forest that had him on edge, but he couldn't see anything in the dark forest, which made him nervous. Suddenly, the pounding of hooves on stone filled his ears and he felt a great blow to the back of his head and was knocked unconscious, the bottoms of hooves being the last thing he sees before unconsciousness takes hold. When he wakes up, he sees that he is tied to a tree with many arrowheads pointed at his head. He looks up into the face of a man, or what he thinks is a man, for he did not have the lower half of a man. Instead, he had the body of a horse instead of legs.

"What are you doing near our forest?," the man asked while holding a spear to his neck.

"If I may be so bold as to do ask but, what are you exactly? You are not a man, yet you aren't a horse either," Imperius said, leaning his head back to distance himself from the tip of the spear.

The being lowers his spear, the others lowering their weapons, and canters to a nearby tree. turning to face him. He has blonde locks that stopped at his shoulders, pointed ears poking out of his golden hair. His face has a rugged look to it, the short but thick beard indicating that he has not had a shave in a good while. His lower half had the body of a palomino horse, with white hooves and small tufts of white hair above his hooves. He was muscular for a man, well muscled and tanned despite him living in the forest. His spear was crude, a dagger bound to a long stick by leather straps. In fact, most of the weapons these creatures used were crudely made.

"We were once soldiers, heroes of Tamriel, sent to fight a great evil that wished the destruction of all we hold dear. We fought through scores of foul creatures, driving them back to whence they came until one of the enemy lieutenants captured us."

He pauses to take a deep breath, his tail swishing in agitation.

Imperius looks around at the beings surrounding him. They have a similar appearance to the man in front of him, with little differences such as hair color, and breed of horse. But the one thing they had in common was the look on their faces, one of past trauma and terror. The endless stare was a sight he was familiar with in the previous timeline, as sometimes the campaigns were too much for some soldiers. He empathised with them, he had witness many horrors in his life, but he could deal with it, and had helped many of his men deal with their trauma, and grew to be their friend and trusted ally. Now that he was looking closely, he could see faint outlines of scars around their midsection, where their human half met their equine half, and small scars around their ears. He wondered where they got them, but decided against asking, fearing that he might upset them enough to end his life.

"The experiments he tried on us were horrid. Some he twisted into deformed creatures that fought with a fury unmatched, madness claiming them utterly. Others he twisted into disgusting monstrosities of flesh and limbs. But with the rest of us, he bound us to these bodies, forcing us to become his new breed of soldier in their war against our world. But we escaped, cutting down the light garrison he placed to watch us. As we fled, we heard his yells of rage, and ran faster and faster until we were sure we had escaped. And now, we linger here, deep within this forest."

He stared Imperius in the eye, slowly walking towards him, spear in hand.

"We call ourselves The Broken, but the local populace call us Centaurs by our appearance, don't know why though," he said. Imperius took in the rest of his appearance, besides the obvious differences apparent, he wore a chainmail shirt covering his chest, and leather horse armor for his lower half.

"We are alone, hunted down by adventurers, killed in droves by poachers for our hides, and slaughtered by the vigilants of stendaar, thinking us a product of some daedra lord," he said, then chuckled lightly and shook his head.

"Where are my manners, I am Valian Lightbringer, or that was my previous name before all this happened. What is your name traveler?"

Imperius was grateful that the converstaion had made them forget about killing him. He wasn't too keen on meeting with the divine so early, and he doubted that said divine would be too pleased on seeing him fail this easily. He still had a lot of work to do.

"My name is Imperius. I was headed to the imperial capital of Solitude to join the legion," he said.

He continued on, telling them of his quest to unite Tamriel under his rule, how he would end all the ceaseless conflict that plagued the land. He also offered them protection from hunters and poachers, promising them large swaths of open land to them if they were to join his side. Imperius sincerely hoped that all of this would come to fruition. These 'Centaurs', would be an excellent addition to his forces. The imperial army didn't have professional cavalry, just men who were wealthy enough afford a horse and their own equipment. If he were to secure himself a solid, professional cavalry force, then his forces would steamroll right over the other factions in the upcoming conflict. Or at least give them an equal playing field.

"Your offer would protect us from killers, while giving us the freedom to roam. The only thing you want is for us to join your army?" Valian said. Imperius nodded, not wanting to risk ruining this perfect deal by saying the wrong thing. The centaur walked towards three other centaurs dressed in a similar manner to Valian and began discussing the offer amongst themselves, while Imperius was conversing with the dragon divine Akatosh.

'Do you know of these people, are they their own race?' he asked.

'Yes, they can naturally reproduce like any other species, but they were created through unnatural means, during a conflict many many years ago.'

Imperius wanted to ask about the conflict, and what all happened to cause such events, but before he could Valian and two other centaur walked towards him. It seemed they had come to a decision.

"We will accept this offer, if you best our greatest champion in combat," said Valian.

Imperius looked around, searching for the one he will have to face, then finally turning back to Valian. As he was about to speak, he took in the weapons of the centaurs. They appear to mainly use the bow, with small handfuls wielding crude glaives, lances, swords and shields, and war axes.

"And who is this champion I must face, for he seems to not be here," he said.

Valian smirked and twirled his spear in an impressive display, the blade a blur with the sheer speed at which the centaur maneuvered the weapon.

"You're looking at him. Himon, release him from his bindings and give him his armor and weapons. I will not fight an unarmored and unarmed opponent."

A centaur with a chestnut lower half cut Imperius's bindings, and dragged over a chest that contained his segmentata armor and gladius. Whilst he put his armor on, he was asking about how the duel will be fought. It was to be a one on one fight in a arena they had, apparently challenges happen often enough to build it. It was a large structure, about a hundred feet in diameter, with a dirt floor, and a large wooden fence coralling them in. The two combatants entered the arena and went to their corners and waited for the fight to start. Valian readied himself, positioning his body in an offensive position, whilst Imperius took a defensive one. They both waited, waited for the other to make a move. The fight began with Valian charging Imperius, his spear raised to swing. Imperius sidestepped his charge, but was struck by Valian's spear, the blade slightly denting his helmet. It seemed that he and this Valian were equals in combat, for every time he tried to land a blow, the centaur's spear was there to block his attack. The same could be said for Valian. Every time he swung his blade at the imperial, Imperius was there to block his attack

Imperius parried a slash from Valian's spear and smacked his shield into the centaur's front, sending Valian stumbling back. The centaur had stumbled in a way that he had turned around during his disorientation, perhaps an advantage? Yes, it was. He took this advantage and charged Valian, only realizing too late that he was charging the rear end of his opponent. He felt hooves crashing against his armor, bending the segmented armor plates, knocking him across the arena and forcibly expelling the air from his lungs. He sat there, regaining his breath, while Valian waited for him to recuperate from the blow. He wasn't going to fight an opponent unless they were on equal footing.

When Imperius caught his breath, they resumed the battle. Valian charged forth, leveling his spear towards his chest intent on finishing the fight. Imperius deflected the blow with his shield and swept Valian's front legs from underneath him, causing him to tumble to the ground.

When Valian made to get up and resume the duel, he found a sword point pressing against his throat.

"You have bested me Imperius. As part of our agreement, we will join your army and help you in your quest. But we will need space for us to roam and accommodations to start with so we can prepare," he said.

Imperius nodded, lowered his sword, and helped Valian to stand upright.

"I'm glad you have agreed to my proposal. My temporary base is at Bleak Falls Barrow, journey there without drawing attention and await my arrival. I will be there shortly. And don't be surprised or frightened when you get there. You'll know what I mean," Imperius said

Valian stared but nodded and cantered towards his lieutenants, ordering them to break down the camp and to make ready for Bleak Falls Barrow. Imperius thanked Akatosh that it went so well. He could be dead at this moment at time, but it seemed that he wasn't to meet fate yet. He made his way to the Imperial capitol. Along the way, he made a visit to the local blacksmith to get his armor fixed. The blacksmith asked how he had gotten such quality armor into such a state, and Imperius made up a story about a group of bandits ambushing him along the way, and the blacksmith asked no more questions, believing the story.

When he got to the city gates, they saw a Thalmor contingent arguing with imperial soldiers, with the elves wanting to search the city for Talos worshipers, and the legionaries denying them access. The legionaries wore mismatched armor, just like in the previous timeline, and were sloppy like them too. He spotted rust on some of their armor pieces and was angered at the disregard to professionalism. But there was nothing he could do until he commanded men of his own and instill the pride he had for the legion.

"You wretched humans, when the Thalmor high council hear about this, your heads will be speared to the city gates!" one of the elves shouted.

The legionnaire stopping them simply smirked, made a rude gesture, and turned his attention to Imperius. "Hey friend, need entrance to the city? You look like you need some civilization," he said, opening the gates with a grin on his face. The elf officer spluttered, red in the face, and shouted for the contingent to return to the embassy, vowing to make the impudent humans pay for their insolence.

When he entered the city, it was as magnificent as he remembered. The cobblestone streets free of plant life, the shops and stalls of vendors pristine, the marble arch near the barracks shining in the sunlight. Children ran past him, playing some asinine game, carefree and not troubled by war. The kids in the other holds he's been too were cautious, always watching their backs and fearful. He wanted the children of Skyrim, no, Tamriel, to feel as carefree as the children in Solitude. He vowed to make it so.

The first stop he made was to the blacksmith, who he liked in his time in the legion. He was a kind man who made armor for the legions stationed in Skyrim. He had many apprentices to help him, but it was mainly him working day and night to produce the amount asked of him by the imperial military. He pitied the man. His hands must be ruined by the near daily work he has to do. He had a good work ethic, and he liked that in a person. He asked the blacksmith if he had a better gladius than the one he was carrying. The blacksmith took one look at his weapon and immediately went to digging through his shop. He brought out a pristine gladius with an ivory handle. Said he killed the mammoth himself to get the ivory.

He thanked the blacksmith and gave him the required amount of septims for the blade. The blacksmith thanked him for his purchase. He nodded and made his way to the general in the castle. The conversations went like last time, with Tullius asking if they were allowing civilians in the castle now, Imperius reminding him of their meeting in Helgen and his want to join the legion, despite the circumstances of their meeting. Tullius nodded in remembrance, and then tasked Legate Rikke with ensuring that he was fully inducted into the legion, and walked off, talking to his subordinates about supply lines and rebel raiding parties. He was assigned by Legate Rikke with securing a nearby castle from a gang of bandits.


When he killed all the bandits, a laughably easy task given the lack of skill and organization of the bandits, and reported back to Rikke, she laid a hand on his shoulder and said, "Welcome to the legion."

Chapter Text

4E, 201, 12th of Hearthfire

'I finally get to command a contingent of men. I forgot how long this took to get, or how many stormcloak bodies I needed to stack,' Imperius thought grimly.

Since he joined the legion, he has been rising through the ranks very, very slowly. The politics of the legion had slowed down his progress, and he found himself outwitted by more clever officers into positions of authority, and his lack of wit had cost him valuable time. However, eventually, he had gained enough prestige and clout to gain the command of a large portion of a legion. With said command came an assignment. Currently, he has a mission to lead a force of legionaries to conquer the Dawnstar fortresses before assaulting the hold itself. He has been defeating the stormcloak garrisons at the forts near Whiterun, securing the imperial's position in the northern regions of Skyrim. Now he was ordered to press the assault on the Dawnstar hold and put the rebels to the sword, while another legion commander was to defend the Whiterun territory from a supposed Stormcloak assault.

As he and his legion made their way to the rebel fort, Fort Dunstad to be exact, he had a feeling that something would happen. Imperius didn't know whether it was important or insignificant, if it was good or bad, but he knew that something was going to happen. He was pulled from his thoughts by a centurion running up to his horse. 

"Tribune, our scouts have sighted the rebel fort. If we hurry we can be there in six hours sir," he said, saluting his superior. 

"No. We need the men well rested and able if we are to take this fort. We can't afford unnecessary casualties at this important juncture in the campaign against the rebels. We will continue as we are, centurion."

The centurion saluted and made his way back to the column.

Fort Dunstad

After the stormcloaks took the fort from the imperial garrison, they immediately began fortifying the place, knowing an imperial counterattack will come soon. From crumbling moss covered stone walls, now stood high thick walls with watchtowers, ballistae of dwarven origin in the windows and battlements. The stormcloak commander Gamlin Bloodspiller, upon discovering the dwarven ballistarium underneath the fortress, immediately ordered his men to begin excavating the dwarven ruins, hoping for more weapons.

Gamlin sat at a desk looking over a map detailing the dwarven ruins, planning where they would begin mining next. As he was coming to a conclusion, a stormcloak new blood rushed into the room, carrying a note in his hand.

 "Bloodspiller sir, I have some news that might interest you," he said, panting heavily. 

Gamlin grunted in annoyance and snatched the note from the recruit's hand, ushering him away.

He had a reputation amongst his fellow commanders for being bloodthirsty, killing his own soldiers for being too annoying, or making a mistake. He couldn't help that most of his soldiers were incompetent idiots who didn't know when to shut up. Gamlin read the note, his eyes widening the more he read. It appears that his men found something of great importance in a block of ice, something that would change the war forever, something that could utterly destroy the Thalmor. He quickly made his way to the entrance of the ruins, shoving soldiers out of his way. If the report was true, then all of their fears and worries would be over.

He traversed the winding hallways, the temperature getting colder the deeper he delved. When he arrived, he was greeted by a block of ice, with a figure and a sword encased in the frozen liquid. The room in which the block of ice resided was large, easily able to house a hundred men under its roof. Carvings of ancient battles were engraved onto the walls and columns. He figured that a religious cult used to reside here before the imperials took over, but that wasn't important to him now.

 "So this is the thing that I needed to see, a man frozen in a block of ice?" he asked incredulously.

 A nord magi near the ice block spoke up, book in hand. "Sir, if what we think this is, if it's true, then the stormcloaks would be able to conquer all of Tamriel without much difficulty."

Gamlin looked at the magi, doubt clearly written on his face, then turned back to the figure in the ice block.

The figure seemed to have bronze like skin, his hair a fiery red, like red hot embers in a forge. It appears to have some type of chest plate, with large shoulder pauldrons with glowing blue gems in the centers. His grieves were of some ancient design, with pointed tips and with the same ocean blue glowing gems in the center of each grieve, like the pauldrons. The boots encased his feet entirely, providing ample protection from all attacks. The helmet had blue runes running along the top and sides, a blue gem at the center of the helm above the brow. It had a nose guard angling downwards, stopping just beneath his nose, with cheek guards on either side, angling downwards until they stopped right under his chin, leaving two slits for the eyes.

The sword in his right hand appeared to glow with a bright blue light, with blue energy running up the center of the blade until it reached the tip. It was about 5 ft long, the cross guard looked like a sun with blue energy tendrils swirling around the blue gem despite being frozen. 

"Doesn't look like much to me," he harrumphed. The mage quickly made his way over to the general and pointed to a page in his book. Gamlin peered down at the page, and stared at him like he was joking.

The page in question read "The Guardians" which described beings of great power that protected Tamriel from all threats. It described beings known as the Titans, who were massive beings of awesome power, creating these Guardians to protect the world from...something. The text didn't go into much detail, but it didn't matter to Gamlin. He didn't believe in such nonsense, only those truly desperate for something besides the divines and daedra would believe in such hogwash.

There were different variations of the Guardians, and the one the page was describing was one with command of the earth, a master of the forge, with the ability to create endless legions of earthen warriors to fight whatever threat came its way. That is what the book says, but Gamlin thought he was just an ancient warrior trapped in ice. Nothing more. As the two began to argue, a stormcloak scout ran up to the squabbling men and handed them a letter, sprinting to deliver other important letters. Gamlin opened the letter. It appears a contingent of imperials are making their way here, their size numbering in the thousands. 

'Well, hope all this entrenching pays off, because if it doesn't, many of us are going to Sovnguard,' he thought grimly.

The Legion

The legion of imperials has arrived at the fortress, ready to spill stormcloak blood. What Imperius had not counted on was the rebels finding the dwarven steam constructs and using them in the defense. In the past lifetime, the stormcloaks guarding the fort were easy pickings for his legion, being led by an incompetent commander who was inexperienced in leading men. This time however, it appears that this commander was more up to the task.

'This rebel commander has more wits than the previous one I faced before. Time to rethink my strategy,' he thought. 

His initial plan was to besiege the fortress, starving the defenders out into battle. But with the addition of dwarven ballistarium, they would have to act before they could rain death upon his soldiers. A prolonged siege would put him behind the other legion commander, and he couldn't have that pompous idiot show him up. He called a meeting with his centurions, discussing and trying to come up with a plan that would ensure victory, but without horrendous casualties. He needed his force to be as strong as possible when he turned traitor to the Empire, to give him the best possible chance of holding out and gaining a foothold in the province. Casualty prevention was top priority for Imperius right now, and hoped that his subordinates could come up with something along those lines. This was also a test, to see whom amongst his men could be decisive, tactical, and logical. He didn't doubt that there would be loyalists amongst his number, and began to take note of several individuals for positions of authority should those in said positions not turn with the legion.

"I propose we strike from multiple sides, dividing up their forces and limiting their use of the ballistae, which would reduce casualties on our side. The rebels would be too few to defend each and every point of the fortress we attack, and our men would slaughter them with ease," one centurion said. 

Another on the other side of the table slammed his fist into the table and raised his voice. 

"If we do that, our casualties would increase dramatically because we would be dividing our forces! We wouldn't be able to break through any point of the fortress because there would be too few men to cut down the enemy. Lives wasted that could be better used in a more concentrated attack on the main gate!" he said. 

Imperius turned towards his advisor in the legion, centurion Tribali Avanius, as the other centurions went back and forth.

"What course of action should we take, I don't want to risk high casualties, but we need to capture this fortress in order to retake the hold. Our window of opportunity becomes smaller by the minute," he spoke in a hushed whisper, the sound barely being heard over the shouting of the other centurions.

"We should use parts of both ideas, not splitting up our forces too greatly while not clumping into one giant mass. It might cost some lives, but I believe that is the best plan," he said.

 Imperius mulled over the plans that were presented, but quickly discarded both of them. He made to stand, but an idea from a nearby centurion stopped him, the plan quickly catching his interest.

"We will not be using any of the ideas on the table. We will use our best scouts to go over the walls at night, kill the wall guards, and open the front gates. Then we will march in as quietly as we can, and surprise the enemy as they rest, ensuring the lowest possible casualties while guaranteeing our victory over the rebels. They will be caught unawares and will be easy prey for our blades," the young centurion said. The other centurions quickly dismissed his idea, but that was when Imperius stood, silencing the discussions, all eyes were upon him. 

"We will go forward with the night assault. Assemble our best scouts and have them ready at dusk," Imperius said, the centurions sharing a look of skepticism, but nonetheless complying with the order.

For many years the imperial military was a force of strength, relying on brute force and skill of arms instead of tricks and night raids. To them, it was cowardly to not face the enemy in open battle, to not see the faces of your enemies and gut them face to face was dishonorable in their eyes. But their commander has not failed them yet, they trusted him, and decided to go through with the plan, assembling the best scouts of their legion and sending them into the wilds. They told the scouts to infiltrate the enemy fortress, take out the guards near the gate, and open the gates to the legion, giving the men the signal in the form of waving torches to take the castle. The scouts saluted and sped off into the snow, their trail of footprints quickly being covered with falling snow.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    

Nightfall at the Stormcloak fortress

As the scouts peered from the mounds of snow, they surveyed the walls.

'The guards on the walls are sparse, clumps of them here and there, this should be easy,' thought the lead scout. 

He made a motion with his right hand and they ran towards the wall. Two scouts brought out rope with large hooks on the end, and tossed it over the walls, securing it before making their ascent. The first scout made it over the walls, slit the throat of a nearby guard, tossed his body over the wall, and motioned for the rest to climb up.

Once all the scouts were over the wall, they quickly made their way to the gate, sneaking past or killing any guards in their path.

 "Okay, I need two of you to guard the entrance to the gatehouse while the rest of us go in and open the gate, got it?" the lead scout asked. 

The two scouts clad in red cloaks nodded, drew their bows, and took up defensive positions by the gatehouse entrance. The three other scouts made their way to the mechanism that controls the gate, two heavily armored stormcloaks guarding it.

Suddenly, a stormcloak ran into the room, warned them to keep their guard up, for there were assassins in the fort, and ran off, leaving the guards. 

'Well this made my job harder, going to have to resort to combat instead of stealth this time,' the lead scout thought. 

He told the other two scouts to get into ambush position and await his signal. The scout commander stepped out of the shadows surprising the guards while giving the others time to get into position. The scout commander and the guards met each other with a whirlwind of steel, the twang of metal on metal filling the room. He blocked the attacks of both guards and pushed them back, slashing at their chests with his sword. It had little effect since the guards were wearing chainmail. The two guards recovered from his attack and went on the offensive.

The guards couldn't get a hit on their agile foe, while at the same time the scout commander couldn't pierce their thick armor. Then, the two scouts in hiding burst out, stabbing their daggers into the necks of the unsuspecting guards, letting them fall to the floor. Suddenly, a horn sounded out, and the scouts heard the thunderous footsteps of the stormcloak garrison rushing to the gate. 

"Open the gate! We will hold them off, hurry!" shouted the commander.

The two scouts nodded, and proceeded to turn the mechanism to open the gate, slowly but surely lifting the steel gate. The commander rushed back down to the guards he had placed at the entrance and found them holding back ten stormcloaks, barely dodging the deadly blows. The commander rushed into the fray, hacking down a stormcloak soldier with his spatha. For the next few minutes in the gatehouse, it was a whirlwind of steel striking steel, blood spilled by the pint, and the grunts and moans of the dying. The two scouts working on the mechanism finally opened the gate, and rushed down to aid their comrades. 

The five imperials held out for as long as they can, but one by one they were cut down until only the commander remained. He fought like a warrior filled with bloodlust, hacking off hands, crushing ribcages, and shattering skulls in his fury. His defenses were slowly being worn down, with nicks and small cuts getting through, making him slower little by little. Finally, one lucky stormcloak got behind him, and stuck him in the back with a spear, allowing the rest of the rebels a chance to hack at their hated enemy. The scout commander fell, the last sounds he heard were the surprised shrieks of the stormcloaks, and the victorious cries of the legionaries charging in. The imperials chopped down their unready foe, the rebels falling to them like a tree to an axe. The stormcloaks tried to regain the gates, sending hundreds of their brethren to meet the enemy, but they were killed before they could swing a war axe. With their ballistae advantage taken away, since they fixed them outward to deflect a forward assault, the rest of the stormcloaks fled into the castle itself, barring the door and amassing behind it, leaving those left outside to fend for themselves, dooming them.

Imperials

Imperius led the charge into the fortress, clad in his segmentata armor and wielding his gladius, cutting down any stormcloak foolish enough to challenge him. They lacked form, swinging wildly and without restraint, their blows off balancing them, leaving openings for him to exploit. Foe after foe he met in combat, and everyone of them fell to his blade. It disappointed him that none provided a challenge. He was inconvenienced at best, and at worst he didn't even notice them until their body hit the ground. They fought until the last stormcloak outside the inner castle was cut down at the wooden gate.

"Bring up the ram, I want this fortress taken by morning and we don't have a lot of time, move it soldiers!" he shouted, the soldiers saluting and bringing of the steel ram. With the light of burning fires within the fort, it gave the ram a menacing look, slowly moving to crush the gate of the rebels.

 'Make peace with Talos now rebels, your time has come,' Imperius thought, quickly shaking his head. He had to quit playing the part of loyalist. He would have to integrate these people into his empire sometime in the future. It would be best to rid himself of these attitudes. Easier said than done.
 

Inside the castle
Stormcloaks

Gamlin couldn't, no, refused to believe that his highly trained soldiers lost to some weak minded imperials. His defenses were fool proof, no one could successfully gain a foothold in the walls of the fortress, his ballistae would tear through any attacking force before they even got close to the walls, not to mention the actual act of assaulting the walls. The soldiers with him were some of the most highly trained in the Stormcloak cause. Jarl Ulfric personally gave them to him to guard this fortress.  He raged in the chamber with the ice block, breaking anything close to him, even knocking out some of his soldiers. 

"Sir, if we free this being, he may turn the tide in our favor," said the magi.

 If looks could kill, the mage would have been dead ten times over, but Gamlin turned towards the block, seemingly lost in thought. Suddenly he barked at his soldiers to get back to digging, the men rushing to get pickaxes and began hammering at the ice. Gamlin himself joined in the mining, grabbing two pickaxes and bashing away at the ice, flecks of the ice block scratching his cheek as he did. When they heard the tell tale sound of a battering ram hitting the gate, they scrambled to break the ice.

 "Move you dogs, the imperials are getting here, and we should even the playing field, eh? Dig faster!" he bellowed. 

They worked at a pace unheard of, digging through feet of ice which would have taken regular miners weeks to complete. They were about to free the figure from his icy prison when they heard the sound of the door breaking, and the sounds of steel striking steel. This sound sent fear and dread into the men holding the pickaxe, all except for one. He threw down his pickaxe and grabbed his war axe from his belt.

"Never mind this lads, we go to Sovnguard, forwards!" Gamlin shouted, charging into the fight crying their battle cries. 

 Gamlin fought with a strength unmatched, tossing five men into the air with one swing of his war axe alone, easily crushing the armor of the legionaries, punching through their shields, and breaking their swords.

Imperials

Imperius stared at the mighty warrior defeating his veteran legionaries, even sending them flying into the back ranks of the formation. This one may yet provide some challenge. He certainly looked like he could. But looks could be deceiving. He may just be a savage masquerading as a warrior, his bloodlust clouding his mind from any logical thought. Imperius despised such warriors. They had no discipline, no skill. Only savagery and brute strength.  He sighed and made his way to the front of the formation, killing any stray stormcloaks that got too close. The warrior noticed his approach, and shouted.

"Look what we have here boys! A spineless imperial that thinks he can take the mighty Gamlin Bloodspiller!" he shouted laughing, the soldiers next to him laughing as well.

Imperius began to speed up, breaking into a jog, readying his gladius and scutum. Gamlin noticed this and readied  himself as well, running at a breakneck pace towards him. The two met with a crash, Gamlin's war axe did not break Imperius's shield like he thought, instead it jarred the imperial's hands a little. Imperius pressed forward, slashing his sword and cutting through the riveted chain mail that the stormcloak wore, leaving a gash on his stomach.

This enraged Gamlin, who roared with rage and swung his axe wildly, killing a few imperials as well as stormcloaks in his fury. He swung the butt end of his axe into Imperius's chest, knocking him into a wall. The armor saved him from the wind getting knocked out of him, but it would bruise tomorrow. He rushed toward shim and bashed the mighty warrior with his shield and stabbed with his sword, one blow stunning Gamlin, and the other pierced his right arm. He cried out in pain and grabbed Imperius by the collar of his segmented plate armor, tossing him into the ranks of the legionaries, checking out the wound to see if it would render his main axe wielding arm useless. 

When he couldn't pick up his weapon with the injured arm, he switched to his left  just as Imperius found his way back to him. The two clashed once more, but Imperius noticed something when fighting with his opponent, his strikes were slower, more unfocused and more wild. He took advantage of this and rushed Gamlin, knocking the war axe out of his hand and thrusting his sword into the rebels chest, the tip sticking out the back. Gamlin fell to his knees, blood dripping out of his mouth.

"I just wanted my people free. Why would you deny them their chance to be free of the imperial yoke? Why?" he said as a lone tear streaked down his cheek. The stormcloak commander slipped off of his gladius and slumped to the floor, a pool of blood forming around his corpse.

With the loss of their commander, the rebels instantly broke, most being cut down while some surrendering on the pretext of information for their life. Imperius surveyed the carnage this conflict has wrought, bodies covering the ground so thick you couldn't see the stones of the castle.

‘I had also forgotten how cruel this conflict is. These people are being manipulated, made to fight an enemy that shouldn't even be their enemy, not realising who the true threat is. So many lives wasted, the amount of resources squandered over a petty grievance and blind ambition. I will end you Ulfric. Your self destructive campaign will end by my blade,' Imperius thought. 
  

He was brought from his thoughts when a legionary came up to him. 

"Legate, we found something you'll want to see."

Chapter Text

4E, 201, 13th of Hearthfire

Imperius made his way down the twisting hallways and passages of the dwarven ruins underneath Fort Dunstad. His breath came out as fog, it slightly blinded him when it flew into his eyes. The architecture of the ruins changed, from the metal and gold of the dwemer to the stone and bronze of previous culture. Imperius and a legionary soon entered a  great chamber, the ceiling stretching far above them, littered with old metal chandeliers. He noticed the carvings etched into the walls and columns, ancient compared to the dwarrow ruins that made up a large proportion of the structure underneath the fortress itself, with this room being the only one of its kind. What was this room used for? The chandeliers and the large space coupled with high ceiling suggested a place of social activity, but the ice and the lack of other indicators had led him to believe it a makeshift storage area, likely a rushed reconfiguration due to the lack of indicators for long term storage of other items.

There, in the middle of the room sticking out like a sore, was the ice block, one side appearing to have been hacked at with jagged axes wielded by men of immense strength, the grooves and indentions denoting heavy handed, untrained swings. In the middle of the ice block sat a figure, a man holding a sword that glowed with holy blue energies, the power of the blade swirling around the blue gem in the guard. Imperius was perturbed. What would be gained by digging out a dead man from the ice? Were they hoping to the divines that he was alive? Even if beyond all logic that he were, were the Stormcloaks assuming that this being would help them at all? Granted the humanoid would have been freed by them, but too many variables didn't make any outcome certain in his mind.

"So this is what they were mining for. I had heard reports of the rebels mining for a weapon of epic proportions but, never imagined this," Imperius said. 

"Legionary, gather ten men and tell them to bring some pickaxes, we got some digging to do."

The imperial saluted and ran off to do as he was commanded, which left him alone with the frozen figure. He began to study the room and the figure in depth, taking in every detail. The figure's helmet resembled the ancient imperial helmets, back before they were an empire.  It had cruel curved slits for the eyes, with a pointed nose protector, with slanted cheek guards running adjacent to each other, their points ending just below the chin. However, that's where the similarities ended, for this helmet covers more of the neck, the cheek guards extending, giving it a sinister appearance. The top of the helmet curved into a crest that gave it a less pompous, but a more cunning visage.

What stood out from its overall bluish hue was a deep ocean blue gem straight in the middle of the helmet, which had a glow around it. As he was observing the armor of the figure, taking note of the blue gems placed in the middle of each piece of it, the ten men he sent for came rushing into the chamber, pickaxes in hand. 

"All right men, lets dig," he said, grabbing one and swinging his pick at the block of ice.

Mirmulnir

When Mirmulnir arrived at Broken Tooth Crater, he knew something was wrong from the start. Burnt corpses littered the entrance, some glowed with a sickly green hue. He landed, and was greeted by a foul odor, an odor he remembered faintly, but could not remember fully. As he went forth into the dragon's lair, the smell and the body count increased. When he reached the center, the odor making his eyes water, he found a figure and the dragon battling, flames and green energy were hitting the walls behind them.

 The dragon was of the fire spectrum, if the flames coming forth from his maw was any indication. Though, he can't remember what species this dragon is, for its form struck him as odd. It was a red color, light red on the underbelly, and a dark red on top. It had short spines which were a charcoal black, while the claws were a dark red. The flames that spewed forth were of a higher temperature than most, if the glowing stones near the figure were any indication. Sometimes, it shot from its maw pure magma, the hot material creating small flames the more area it covered.  The figure it was fighting looked even more bizarre. It stood on two cloven hooved feet, had grey skin, with blood red armor around its feet, legs, and head, which held a single eye, and was swinging a glaive like weapon, green energy blasts firing from the weapon. The air around the alien creature was thick with dark magic, and everything, even the very soil it trod upon, recoiled at its touch, almost as if it shouldn't be here. He felt that surrounding Imperius, but differently, with the lack of dark magic and an almost comforting feeling that came to him when around the mortal suggested that his intentions weren't evil, not like this creature.

The two combatants had bleeding wounds all over their body, the dragon more so than the demon. The demon swung his weapon at the dragon, the blade connecting with the dovah's shoulder. The dragon cried out, snapped its jaws around the midsection of the demon, and tossed him to the far side of the area, rocks splintering into jagged pieces. The two were evenly matched as far as he could see, but the creature seemed to be getting the upper hand, giving more punishment than taking it, and it was starting to wear down on the fire drake. He supposed that by helping, it would make the dov more likely to listen to his offer; if the dov didn't, then he would hold an extremely valuable debt over its head for future use. Either way, his intervention would result in a favorable outcome for himself, so resolved to aid the dragon

"What is your name?" Mirmulnir asked, rushing to the dragon's side. He asked so he wouldn't have to later when he would make his offer to the dragon after this creature had been taken care of.

The dragon looked at him and said, "My name is Vulthuryol, and will you help me fight this abomination?"

The two turned to the demon, who was dusting off bits of rock and stone that got lodged in him, slowly walking towards them. It muttered something in its dark tongue, the sounds gutteral and harsh, grey hands adjusting its grip on its weapon, a horrid two handed glaive with dried blood of unnatural origin caked on the blade of the weapon, teeth jutting from its jaw, pointed and sharp like a razor. Mirmulnir suddenly had this incredible urge to completely destroy this creature, to burn it to ash and destroy all it had touched, cleansing the area with the heat of his flames. He would act upon parts of this urge, but not fully, for even with his vast knowledge this feeling was foreign to him, and resolved to delve further into it later.

Mirmulnir nodded, and together they charged the foul creation, one shooting flames at the alien creature while the other sneaking behind it. The creature cired out in pain and used its forearms to try and shield himself from the dragon fire, but his efforts were in vain as his skin was slowly being turned to ash by the drake, the dragon slowly pushing it back to where Mirmulnir could attack with greater ease. Once Mirmulnir was in position, he leaped into the air, flapping his wings to gain altitude, and tucked them close to his body as he barreled towards the creature, slamming it onto the ground, ripping its back out with his teeth, exposing muscle sinnews and bone. The blood tasted vile. So much so that he immediately wanted to rinse his maw clean in a large river once this was over with. The creature screamed in agony, a high pitched grating sound that felt like spears piercing their eardrums, and struggled to free itself. Before it took its final breath, it uttered "Sargeras," in the common tongue and fell limp, its green lifeblood seeping from its mouth and back.

 "I thank you for your assistance, but why are you here?" Vulthuryol asked, his head tilted to the side.

Mirmulnir moved to explain, but stopped and suddenly took a few steps backwards, shooting a large gout of flame with an angered roar over the alien creature, turning it and the area around it to ash after a few minutes, the body was difficult to burn and took the longest. After that, he went on to explain Imperius's plans to conquer Tamriel and that he needed an army to accomplish this. He was tasked with finding another dov willing to support his cause and to join his army. While it hurt his pride to be asking the dragon at the behest of another, he was loyal to his master, and would carry out his orders.

"So you serve a joor. Never thought that the mighty Mirmulnir would bow to a mortal, even if he is the dragonborn," Vulthuryol said, chuckling lightly. 

 Mirmulnir shook his head. "This mortal has great power, greater than my former master Alduin."

 At this admission, Vulthuryol went silent. Mirmulnir went on to explain the battle between him, the dovahkiin, and Alduin, telling him of how Imperius imprisoned the black dragon beneath the earth with celestial chains, and channeled the voice of Akatosh. He was still in disbelief that his father, his creator, chose this mortal to conquer the world, and not one of his sons. He didn't know why Imperius was chosen, but knew that he was chosen nonetheless. If his duty was to aid his master in this endeavor, then he would do so.

"I never knew a joor could have that much power. The mortals are becoming powerful, even matching us dov in strength. Yes, I will join your little band of misfits, if only for my own security. These abominations are attacking with more ferocity each time they return," Vulthuryol said, sneering at the blackened earth where the creature had once been. "What is the next step in your plan?"

"Follow me, we go to Bleak Falls Barrow, that is our temporary base for now. These creatures are frequent?" he said. If this was only one of many incursions, it did not bode well. They needed to find where these abominations were coming from, and either slaughter them to the last, which was what he wanted to do, or to destroy the method in which they came to Taazokaan. He would mention this to Imperius.

"Yes. They wish to end my life. But why, I do not know. All I know is, they were becoming more and more numerous with each attack, which means they must be coming from somewhere, somewhere beyond this world."

 The two took off into the air, the flap of leather wings filling the area, neither of them noticed a little demon wreathed in green flames had listened to their entire conversation. 

"Must report to master, important information," it said, scurrying through the underbrush.

Krilkahjot

The blue dragon flew to Lost Tongue Overlook, the air currents keeping him aloft cooled his scales to a comfortable temperature. He dove to the ground below to pick up a snack on the way, snatching a large boar from its herd, a pregnant sow, the squealing cut short with a snap of his jaws. As he licked the blood clean from his maw, he saw the dragon lair, but smelled no dragon. The dov had a unique scent that only they could smell, each one different for each dragon. The air around the ancient nord structure smelled foul, as if a bunch of corpses were left in the sun for a week.

He made his way to the wall written in his tongue, the corpse of a dragon at the center. The dragon was purple, with curled horns that looked like a goat's, with eyes more akin to those of arthropods, and had green liquid oozing from some of the wounds on its side. All around it were the corpses of alien creatures, some bitten in half, while others were ripped to shreds, and a few were reduced to smoking spots of ash. Suddenly, a creature with leathery bat like wings, black cloven hooves for feet, and had curled horns adorning its head stepped onto the scene. It started chanting in an alien language that grated on his ears. It sounded vile and unnatural. 

 The corpse of the dragon began to glow green, the body twitching and moving little by little until it stood up before the being, and bowed its head. Fetid saliva dripped from its maw, green liquid dripping to the ground mixed with the saliva. Its scent was one of rot and death. A horrible combination for the highly sensitive senses of a dragon. He hid behind an outcropping of rock to observe what was taking place. He would report this to Imperius.

"Rise my pet. You will serve the Legion and help us conquer this world," it hissed, its voice sending shivers up Krilkahjot's spine. A horrid sound, akin to nails on a chalk board, grating on the ears yet sickeningly smooth and persuasive, a far cry from its chanting only a few moments ago. He shook his head to rid himself of the demon's influence, and in doing so accidentally hits his head against a nearby rock, the noise like thunder in the quiet little canyon.

The demon turned, spotted him, and grinned.

 "My pet, this is your first task. Destroy this creation of the Titans!" it said, flying into the sky.

The undead dragon roared, an unearthly screech, its undead vocal chords tearing apart, green spittle flying from its sickly maw. Even in death, this thing was still a dragon, and had issued him a challenge, a fight to the death. Krilkahjot answered the challenge with his own and blew an ice storm at the undead dov, icicles pinning its wings and legs to the ground. It roared with rage, its eyes had a milky fog covering the irises.  It ripped itself from its icy containment, leaving behind some leathery membranes of the wings and parts of its feet.

Krilkahjot nearly heaved on the spot, disgusted beyond his own comprehension of disgust, but swallowed the bile and rammed the dragon with his bulk, sending it tumbling into the word wall. It roared and tried to get onto its feet, but Krilkahjot pinned it to the ground and blew ice onto its head. It thrashed and squirmed, trying to break free before it met its demise, but it was no use. The undead dragon's head was frozen in a solid block of ice, which Krilkahjot smashed with his tail, sending parts of the head in all directions, the body slumping to the ground.

"No matter how little I care for other dov, no dragon should have to endure this humiliation," he said with a shaky voice. He took to the air, intent on reporting this disturbing news to the others.

Fort Dunstad

The imperials dug for what seemed like hours, slowly but surely breaking away the ice. Until at last the being was free of its icy tomb, and promptly fell and face planted, leaving a small face shaped indention in the stone. The men rushed to pick up the being and quickly placed him on a cot in Imperius' tent, and went back to their regular duties. Imperius quickly took notes on the being, with many notes on his physical attributes and his armor and weapons, noting how the designs were nearly forgotten to time, from an age long since passed.

The first question in Imperius' mind was how tall the figure was. The man or thing measured about 8 feet tall, its feet resting on the cold ground as he was too long for the cot the legion had provided. The other questions on his mind weren't that easy to figure out. Upon entering the room, Imperius noticed a book that had been dropped and decided to pick it up, he loved books and was wanting to read his collection of books when it was over, he lost count at one thousand books in bookshelves around his villa in Solitude. He was brought out of his musings by a low groan coming from the being, and mutterings in a foreign tongue, flowing and lyrical in tone and sound. 

He kneeled by the humanoid and put a hand on its shoulder.

 "Hey, are you all right, what's your name?" he asked. 

The being suddenly shot out his hand and touched his forehead, and he felt a draining feeling from his mind. He grunted and tried to pry the being's hand from his forehead, but couldn't match its enormous strength. For what seemed like hours, the being drained something from Imperius's mind, with him helplessly pulling on its hand. Finally, the being pulled his hand away, and sat up in the cot. Imperius was flung back by the lack of support, and he scrambled to try and right himself. His breathing was quick and shallow, his irises all but pinpricks with terror.

"Okay what was that and what are you?!" he shouted, the being turned his head to look at him. 

Its eyes glowed a pure white, like the beams from a star. He had a confused look on his face. 

"I am unsure of what my name is, nor am I sure of what I am. I extracted information from your mind so that I may be able to speak to you without butchering your language," he said. 

Imperius calmed down to a level where he wasn't going to lose his cool, and started to look for the book he found in the cavern. He wished he didn't just leave the book somewhere he didn't remember, he really needed it right now and he cursed himself for carelessly putting the book somewhere and not remembering where. It didn't help that he had so many books in his possession to sort through.

"What are you doing"? the being asked, looking curiously at the frantic pace he was tossing out books from his chest.

"Looking for a book that may help find out what you are," Imperius said, tossing book after book out of his chest.

 'Why do I keep so many books!?' he thought to himself.

Finally, he found what he was looking for, the book called "The Guardians ". He flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for. The page read that this guardian was of the tougher subclass of Guardian, known as Custodians, having great mastery with manipulating the earth to serve its purposes and needs. Be it constructing massive fortresses or creating vast armies of earthen automatons, the Guardian was skilled in either field. The Sentinels, on the other hand, were manipulators of life itself, capable of spawning legions of specially crafted soldiers, creating vast, thick forests to serve as bulwarks to enemies. While they were more agile than their Custodian kin, they were weaker in comparison. The book went into extreme detail describing the looks of each variant of Guardian, down to their musculature and average height and strength. While he didn't believe such nonsense, it was getting harder and harder to deny the existence of such beings with each passing second. But he didn't have time to debate whether such heresy was real or not, he had a speech to make.

Imperius suddenly left the tent to the confusion of the being, and made his way to the center of the encampment, stepping onto a nearby podium reserved for speeches. The centurions sounded the horn, and the imperials came rushing to the stand, wanting to see what was going on. Soon, the entire legion, along with the centurions, were standing before the podium Imperius stood on, waiting to hear what their leader has to say. Imperius knew that if he strengthened the position of the imperials in Skyrim any more than he has already done, it would make dislodging them more of a fight than the sweeping campaigns he has planned out for the various holds in Skyrim. While the imperials had gained more territory than they would have if not for him, it wouldn't be enough to stand up against his soldiers, his legion, which had grown fond of him, but he wasn't sure of their complete loyalty. But now, he decided, it was time to begin his plans, to put them into action and finally begin his quest to unite all of Tamriel under his banner. He wouldn't have a better opportunity like this if he delayed.

"Men, the time I have been with you has been has been the best in my life. We have conquered more than any legion has before, and we are currently the only undefeated legion in the empire!" he yelled, the soldiers cheering.

"Now, we are at a crossroads. I have business that needs attending to, but I will need a loyal army by my side. I know of your loyalty to the Empire, but they don't care about any of you. To them, your names and stories don't matter, they merely see you as bodies to help swell the legion's numbers, numbers on a sheet of paper, unfeeling and mechanical in nature, made only to serve the will of the Emperor. But I don't see you that way. I see all of you as individuals, each with your own stories, personalities and needs. I care about you, more than you all will ever know. I have ensured that your time in the legion was the best that any soldier could ask for. I have bled, fought, and suffered with you. I am willing to give my life for any of you. Now, I ask of you all the same. Will you join me, and aid me in my quest? Or serve the weak minded generals and emperor that have, many times, sent us to our doom?" he asked. 

He stared at their faces, looking for any sign, any indication that his words were having any effect. To his concern, he couldn't find any. He sincerely hoped that he didn't just condemm himself to death. While he was dragonborn, and a skilled warrior on top of that, he didn't fancy taking on an entire legion of soldiers.

The soldiers became quiet after that proclamation, muttering to themselves on where their loyalties lie. It was true that most generals generally lost the entirety of their legions when dealing with a foe. It happened so often that they started to expect death when in the field against anyone, even the stormcloaks. But now, under Imperius's command, they had experienced victory without tragic loss. They had a commander who treated them like actual soldiers, actual people instead of numbers and tools to be used and disposed of at will. For once, they had hope. They believe in someone. Someone they can rely on, someone who can and will lead them to victory, someone deserving of their loyalty.

One legionary shouted "Fidelitas ad Mortem!", and soon nearby imperials took the cry, then all of the legion was chanting the phrase "Loyalty to Death" in the ancient language of the empire. Imperius beamed with pride in his legion and quickly ordered his legion to make for Bleak Falls Barrow. He had much planning to do, and not a lot of time to act upon them. The empire would soon realize what has just happened and will send a force to deal with him. They would be crushed nonetheless but still, it would make him waste time that could be spent better elsewhere. But for now, he would focus on one thing.

 'It is finally time to begin my quest. To rid this world of internal strife and conflict will be my life's work. Now, where to start?'

Chapter Text

4E, 201, 22nd of Hearthfire

At the ancient nord burial crypt of Bleak Falls Barrow, an army camped inside its walls. This army was of a mixture of races, from the powerful dragons, the recently discovered centaurs, to the human legionaries Imperius had brought from the hold of Dawnstar. It numbered in the tens of thousands. An endless sea of tents occupied much of the space withing the sanctum of the ruins. The rubble was cleared away to make room for living ammnities for the members of the army. Smithies, cooking tents, supply tents and many more filled the newly acquired space. In the inner sanctum of the ruins, the leaders convened with their commander, raising an important issue. 

"We will not be able to maintain our numbers while in our current situation. There are too many to house for this ruin. I suggest we find a more suitable place to make our base of operations, and the hold of Falkreath is the most sound option," said Nahagliiv, who returned from his task empty handed. There was no dragon at the word wall, only draugr guarding the ancient text. Perhaps Alduin had not reached the nearby dragon burial site in time before his capture. The dragon had no way to be sure, but he suspected that was the case.

 Krilkahjot and Mirmulnir nodded, while Valian and the centurion Galba looked undecided. 

"This is near the trade center Whiterun. If we plan on conquering the entirety of Tamriel, we must gain a income to support our ventures, not to mention the strategic value of Whiterun. If we were to conquer it, we would have a base of operations and a staging point for all our future campaigns. It is vital to secure it, and I say that we make for the neutral hold as soon as possible before it can ally itself with either side," Valian retorted.

 The council argued, with one side wanting to besiege the Falkreath hold, while the other wanted to capture Whiterun before it was too late.  Any solutions either side put forth were almost immediately shot down by the other, resulting in more arguing and debate.

'We will not be able to sustain your army just with the food runs you make to Whiterun Dovahkiin, we must relocate or start our conquest early if we are to succeed,' Akatosh said.

He had mainly been quiet while Imperius put everything into motion, for he saw no reason why he should interfere until now. The imperial had been doing his assigned task with distinction. However, with this recent problem that has arisen, he was beginning to wonder how he would successfully deal with this situation. In Akatosh's mind, this was the Imperial's true first test of leadership and strategic thinking, and would be a precedent for future actions. 

'I think we should move too, but I'm not sure as to which hold I want to capture first. Both holds hold some strategic value. However, the Falkreath hold has something that will improve our chances in our quest,' Imperius thought.

During his adventures in his past life, he had come upon an old fortress, with the usual crumbling stone walls and destroyed sentry towers. It was filled to the brim with bandits, about a hundred if he counted the corpses right. He enlisted the guards at Falkreath to help him clear the thugs out. To him at the time, it was an annoyance that the fortress was so big, the courtyard so large it could fit three dragons. It had a working forge with the necessary ores and metals to make suits of armor and sharp blades, and the forest around it was filled with plentiful wildlife, more than enough to feed any army that were to capture it. Fortunately, it wasn't far from the Falkreath hold, and would be an excellent staging area for the Falkreath campaign he had in mind.

'Those ruins of a fortress will serve our needs well, it is a suitable place for our headquarters, well done,' the divine commented. 

Imperius nodded, and made his way to the meeting, which was already getting a little heated.

 Valian noticed his return from his ponderings and quieted the council down until all eyes rested on him. 

"What is your decision Thuri, do we make for Falkreath or Whiterun?" Mirmulnir asked.

"We cannot stay here.  Our food stores are running low and our funds will soon dry up if we don't have a source of income, so I propose we make for the ruins of Lagash Citadel, or now known as Cracked Tooth Fortress. There we will renovate it until it become a suitable place to house our army, then we will plan our next move from there," he said.

"Isn't that place packed full of bandits sir? We would have to organize a siege if they decide not to surrender, and that could leave us open to ambush by either side," Galba said, hearing the reports of imperial patrols from the area before defecting to Imperius' side. 

Imperius chuckled a little, and placed a hand on Galba's shoulder. 

"Ah, you worry too much my friend. We won't have to siege it if they meet us in open battle. Trust me, they will not be a problem."

 Valian spoke next, a little miffed he wasn't addressed in the decision making. 

"So we are abandoning our foothold in the Whiterun hold in exchange for Falkreath? What strategic value does this citadel you speak of have?" 

Imperius walked over to the centaur and explained that the Falkreath hold will be easier to take instead of Whiterun, for Falkreath had no walls unlike Whiterun. He also told Valian that the Falkreath Hold would also be easier to defend, as it was a natural defensive position, making it harder for invading forces to actually attack their forces. It would also cut off a route of resupply to the Imperials, as Falkreath was the hold in which Imperial reinforcements and supply came through. Cut off the supplies and manpower, and the Imperial Legion will slowly be starved into submission. Whiterun was out in the open, and if they were to take Whiterun, they would be surrounded by enemies from all sides with no breathing room. They would be vulnerable.

Valian saw his reasoning, and accepted his plan, albeit after some thought. He still thought that making for Whiterun was a good idea. But his commander thought of a better one, and who was he to disobey his commander. Even if he was a bit controlling at times.

 Then the being made his voice known, he was so quiet that almost everyone forgot about him.

 "What becomes of me, now that you plan for conquest?"

 Imperius shook his head smiling.

"You, my metallic friend, have one of the most important roles of all. You will help us renovate any ruins of fortresses and towns we come across, as well as aid us in sieges. We will need a strong ally in this fight, and I believe you will play an important role in the coming months," Imperius said.

 The being pondered this, then nodded, seeming to accept this position that was given to him. 

"Any more objections or issues that need to be addressed? No? Then lets head out, hopefully with no other complications." 

The council dispersed, with the leaders of their respective races calling for their kin to make ready to travel, leaving Imperius alone with Valian and Mirmulnir. The centaur had subtly made it known to Imperius that he needed to speak with him after the meeting. 

"How are we going to leave this place without attracting any attention from Riverwood? They will surely see us. Not to mention your prisoner hasn't been found by any of our men. Are you sure she is still alive?" said Valian. If their mission was to get to the citadel without being seen, then he couldn't figure out how they would transport the entire army without the town noticing. Not to mention the spies the local Jarls may have in the local populations to search for potential usurpers.

Imperius shrugged his shoulders. Truth be told, he wasn't about to hide the army from the populace, he saw no need to do so. But if it was a concern, he will think of a solution. The justicar on the other hand, he would need her. He would search for her while the army was breaking down camp and preparing to march. If he didn't find her before then, he would have to leave her.

"We will deal with it when it comes. If we come to blows, make sure to not kill them. Only incapacitate. But for now focus on gathering the resources to help renovate the fortress, it will take a lot to get it into working order."

Valian saluted and galloped off to his group, gathering ingots and ores, blacksmithing materials and old weapons they could melt down into new ones. Imperius surveyed the legionaires taking down their tents and packing their belongings for the march. He made his way through the barrow, weaving past the numerous legionaires and centaurs moving into formation, and made his way deeper into the barrow, dozens upon dozens of Drauger corpses lined the pathway and catacombs. In the main room where the word wall resided, he found her asleep, with the bag of food and the waterskin a short distance away. Nearby was the body of a Drauger dreadlord, its body cut in twain, its eyes a dull blue.

As he made his way over to her, he checked to see if she was asleep or not and poked her a couple of times. She was out cold, exhaustion covering her like a blanket. He was impressed by her skill. Taking down a dreadlord was no easy feat. While Imperius had decades of skill behind him in dealing with such undead that made it look easy, to the average soldier or adventurer, it was usually a death sentence if you encountered a dreadlord. Imperius gathered the bag of food and the waterskin, and put the unconcious justicar over his shoulder like he did when he captured her and put her and her possessions with a nearby supply wagon. The nearby legionaires looked at the extra cargo, but said nothing. It was better to not question it, for it would only lead to more questions. He made his way out of the barrow, called Mirmulnir down and climbed aboard his neck. Mirmulnir, carrying his rider, made his way to the front of the marching column, settling next to Valian and Galba whom were awaiting his arrival.

"We await your orders sir," Valian said. 

Imperius nodded and a deep note from a war horn filled the air.

  
The sound of marching feet, clopping hooves, and the flap of leather wings quickly replaced the horn. The noise could be heard by the denizens of Riverwood, the sound of thousands of marching feet alarmed them. So much so that they sent a runner to Whiterun, asking for military aid in any form. But in the meantime, they would have to defend themselves from these invaders and formed a militia of sorts. At the base of the mountain that led to the nordic ruin, the vanguard of Imperius's army was arguing with the militia that were blocking their path. Mirmulnir landed near the group, Imperius sliding off of his neck, the presence of the drake frightening the villagers and causing them to become panicked.

"You are all slaves to this wicked lizard, you are thralls that have come to kill us all!" shouted one adventurer, adorned in a mish-mash of mail and leather armor, wielding a two handed iron great sword. 

Imperius began to chuckle, then he laughed aloud in such a way that the villagers questioned if he was of a sane mind or not. He couldn't say whether he was or not, but that was irrelevant. Of all the things that the ignorant adventurer could say, he thought they were under the dragon's control. The villagers even saw that he rode the dragon down here. How they got that they were slaves to the drakes, he had no idea. This man's ignorance nearly made his day.

"Us, slaves to the dragons?! My boy, you are an ignorant one. The dragon, and all of these fine men serve me and me alone. Now step aside so that we may pass in peace, before things become ugly," he said.

The adventurer growled, then shouted a war cry as he charged at Imperius, great sword raised. Imperius scoffed at this sad attempt on his life, pulled out his gladius and blocked the overhead swing of the adventurer. The adventurer is shocked by the ease in which his attack was blocked, and growled, swinging sloppily in anger, with Imperius sidestepping  the wild blows with ease. Imperius was humoring the adventurer by allowing this "fight" to continue. If he wanted to, he could kill this adventurer with relative ease. His form was sloppy, and his attacks had too much force behind them, offsetting his balance.

 The vanguard watched on in amusement, wondering where the young warrior, if he could even be called that anymore with his poor skills, got the idea that he could defeat their leader in melee combat. 

As the fight dragged on with the adventurer's strikes hitting air and dirt, Imperius was beginning to tire of this game. He was slowly starting to not see the point of this charade any longer, and he was already pushing it. He blocked the adventurer's next attack with his gladius and rushed under his guard. Imperius swiftly struck the adventurer's chest with his sword's handle, knocking the wind out of the nord, and rent his sword arm from his body, watching the limb fall to the ground still clutching the great sword. The adventurer yelled in pain, but his cry was silenced when Imperius cut the man's throat. The adventurer fell to the floor, instilling fear into the villagers, who turned their gaze to Imperius, who was wiping the adventurer's blood off of his blade onto the adventurer's clothes.

A single man, frightened beyond belief by what was happening, suddenly screamed to let the army pass and sprinted away into the nearby woods, abandoning his shield and war axe on the ground.

"You should follow your friend's example, let us pass through and none of you will be harmed, and your town left in peace."

Just then, a trumpeting sound signaled the arrival of the Jarl's forces, around fifty men loyal to the Jarl's pay. Emboldened by the Jarl's forces, the villagers raised their weapons and made a great noise, shouting and screaming that they would rather die than back down. Imperius subtly scanned the crowd, looking for a familiar face, and sighed in relief when he didn't find it. The blacksmith was not a part of this mob, Imperius was grateful for that. Alvor and his family had fled at the sound of his approaching army, nothing was left that they could carry. The Whiterun mercenaries soon joined forces with the townspeople, numbering around three hundred, while the vanguard's numbers reached over five hundred. 

Imperius sighed, turned to his vanguard, and shouted, " Legionarius, scutum murum! Equites, vicumque capite, circa signum expectare!" 

The legionaries tightened their formation, their curved tower shields making an impenetrable wall of wood and steel. The centaurs nodded and galloped to the sides of the village, just out of sight of the militia. Their job was to make sure that no villager escaped from the battle, and capture any that split off from the group.

The mob charged, waving their weapons in the air, glory and songs sung in their name filled their heads. They crashed into the shield wall, hacking away with their assortment of axes and swords. The imperials stayed behind their shields, knocking out any militia member close enough, behaving in a manner befitting a force dedicated to crowd control and rioting than that of brutal warfare. This was intentional. Imperius ordered no killing of the current foe, and they would obey, understanding that slaughtering the foe was not needed in this instance. The militia started to give ground, slowly being driven back as most of their members were incapacitated or captured. The villager's confidence at the start of the battle was slowly wearing away. They were only fighting with the hope that the guards from Whiterun would somehow turn the tide. But they were beginning to realize that the guards made no difference at all. 

Finally, one cry from a villager that said to fall back broke the lines of the militia. They rushed back to the town, looking back and wondering why the legionaries weren't chasing them until they heard a bass horn blow, its note loud and long. Then they heard the pounding of hooves on stone and saw a force of centaurs rushing towards them. The townspeople rushed away from the centaur onslaught, only to be met with the shield wall of legionaries, who manage to capture all the militia members without losses from either side. They're bound and led to the town center, where Imperius, Valian, and Mirmulnir stood waiting. 

"Well, what are you waiting for? Kill us already and be done with it!" a villager said. 

Imperius looked at the villager with a perplexed look on his face. 

"Why would I do that? It would serve no purpose other than to sate a bloodlust, which I do not have," he said. 

The villagers looked at each other with stunned faces, then turned back to Imperius. 

"Well, that's what Ulfric would have done, and you seem to have similar goals so we assumed you would have the same mindset," the villager spoke. 

Hearing the name of the man he so despised raised his ire for a bit, his face twisting into one of anger and rage, concerning Mirmulnir and Valian, but he managed to get his temper in check, schooling his facial features into cold indifference. He could be angry at the usurper later, when he was alone. But for him to lose his cool now would do him no favors with the villagers. It would also ruin whatever relationship he has built with his subordinates, showing them that he couldn't control himself when emotions came into play. He kept his calm, but his voice belied his angered demeanor hidden underneath.

 "Well, lucky for you, I am nothing like that spoiled brat of a Jarl. If you join me, I will ensure that Ulfric will never terrorize your people again. You will be safe and prosperous, and will no longer suffer the predation of bandits or savage warlords," Imperius said. 

They began to discuss amongst themselves, while Mirmulnir stood next to him.

"You're sure that the joor will accept? They seemed rebellious from the beginning and I doubt they will accept your rule over their former master's. If they were willing to take up arms against you now, what is to say they would not do the same at a more critical time," he said. He was keenly aware of how easily mortals would become rebellious. He didn't rule over mortals for thousands of years without knowing the skills of the trade. He was convinced that they would either resist them here and now, or rebel later on. He didn't want to waste what little resources they had on garrisoning a village and crushing whatever rebellion came out of the wood work, wasting soldiers and resources that could better be used on potential war fronts or sieges.

Imperius nodded.

"They will accept. Jarl Balgruff may say he protects his people, but all he cares about is the tax revenue. He won't protect his people if they don't pay the tax. Lately they haven't been paying, and recently Ulfric's forces raided this village, took the young boys to be trained as their soldiers. They would accept the offer from a poor beggar if he had enough men to seem like he could protect them. Trust me," he said. 

It was  tragic that in this timeline, the Jarl of Whiterun that he knew before was different, in every single way possible. In his timeline, Balgruff was a compassionate man, quick thinking and skilled in politics. He ensured that his people would not retire to sleep with empty bellies, and made safe the roads towards the hold of bandits and raiders. This Balgruff however, was a cruel, greedy man, more akin to stormcloaks in style and leadership. Taxes were high, and many a citizen would hunch over from hunger pangs. The guards and high nobles ate well enough, but even they were struggling to fill the black hole that was Balgruff's greed. It was a sad sight, and it made him flinch in abhorrence whenever he had to interact with the Jarl.

He turned to the villagers as they were reaching a consensus. One man stepped from the group, walking towards Imperius. He was stopped a few feet away by two legionaires, and settled on speaking to the leader of this army from a distance. Imperius studied the man. He was of an older age. His beard was half silver, half dark brown. He assumed that this was the village elder from how he carried himself. He would be the voice of the villagers.

"We... we accept your proposal, as long as you make good on your word that Ulfric will not bother us again," the village elder said. 

Imperius nodded and agreed to the deal.

The vanguard got into formation and began to march again, leaving behind a token force of thirty legionaires, the main force having caught up with them whilst they were fighting made the transition and subsequent march easier on supply lines and organization. The army marched for hours in silence save for the clanking of armor, the clopping of hooves, and the flapping of wings overhead, until they were in sight of the fortress, the moss covered walls greeting them. Towers that once held archers and ballistae crumbling inward, leaving open roofs and those that resided in the towers for all to see. It was a sad sight, but it filled Imperius with hope. He saw potential in the ruins. He just had to take it. Atop the walls were sentries. Orc sentries, who sounded the alarm to the rest of the forces inside. 

"Orcs? They weren't here last time. This doesn't bode well," Imperius murmured to himself. 

When he cleared the fort, it had only been simple bandits, easy enough to kill with well trained soldiers. He had actually hoped that they would be bandits and raiders. Despite the quality of his forces, he had not used them in battle in conjunction with one another, tactics and strategies untested. He had yet to see how the centaurs would interact with his legion on the battlefield and vice versa. The fight against the bandits would reveal what was wanting in his combined legion, and the benefits that combining such forces would bring him in a manner that held little risk of loosing quality soldiers and cavalry. But these were orcs, a warrior people. The last time he fought orcs was when he was clearing an orc stronghold for a local official. It took him five hours with twenty mercenaries to kill thirty orc warriors armed to the teeth. Only he came back. He sighed with worry. He hoped that the discipline of his legion and the intelligence of his junior officers would keep the casualties to a minimum, but that was a moot point when facing orcs. Casualties beyond the minimum were to be expected. The army arrived outside the fortress, the legionaries in the center, the dragons overhead, and the centaur cavalry on the wings. They waited for something to happen, practically baking under the heat of the sun. Then, something did. The gates of the ancient citadel opened, from the opening  poured thousands of warriors, armed with war hammers, axes, swords, pikes, hundreds of archers lining the walls. The orc forces formed a single line parallel to their formation, with the majority of their army being made up of mainly warriors, with a single line of archers behind the warriors.

The banner of the orc clan was raised as the orcs lined up for battle, a mammoth sigil flapping in the wind. The two forces stood across a field outside the walls, silent as the icy north. From the orc army a rider came forth, bearing the banner of his clan. Imperius, atop Mirmulnir, and Valian rode out to meet him and see what he wants. Imperius figured that this wouldn't be an offer for peace or anything related to diplomacy. Orcs were mainly a warrior people, preferring action over words. But when they spoke, their words were often heeded by many who would assault their fortresses.

"You are trespassing on orc grounds, state your business and be on your way," he spoke, his voice laced with anger.

"I am Imperius, and I have come to claim what is mine," he said. 

The orc atop his mount laughed. This imperial was claiming that the citadel was his. Classic arrogance from imperials. They thought that practically everything was theirs for the taking. Well, he was about to get the shock of his life. Although he was wary of the dragon the imperal was riding, but he was so sure of his people's ferocity in combat that he disregarded it altogether.

"What is yours? We have taken this fort by right of conquest, now leave before we kill you and your army," he threatened. He sincerely hoped that the imperial was stupid enough to continue his endeavor. His clan would show this pompous imperial that orc clans were not to be trifled with.

Imperius scoffed at his threat, turned around and flew back to his army, Valian in tow. The orc grunted and rode back to his army, with both sides readying themselves  for battle.

 
The two sides waited for the other to make the first move, neither moving an inch. Suddenly, an orc roared and charged forth, the rest of his kin following. The centurions blew their whistles and the legionaries tightened their formation, not willing to let anything pass their shield wall. An orc hurled himself at the wall, flying over the first rank and hitting the ground, only to be met with gladii being thrust into his stomach. The orcs crashed against the legionaries, war hammers denting and breaking the imperial shields, crushing breastplates and helmets, and snapping gladii in twain with their thunderous blows. The legionaries fought with equal vigor, stabbing and cutting off arms and legs where they could with lightning fast strikes, gutting numerous orcs as they raised their weapons overhead to strike, their swords puncturing and slicing through the armor their foe wore with as much ease as a farmer would cut the throat of a pig to bleed it, never breaking their formation. The centurions and praefects bade their soldiers to target the officers of the foe, which was any orc with thicker battle plate, larger weapons, or held an aura of authority. Centuries of soldiers made small, surgical strikes into the enemy formation, isolating and cutting down any orc officer that got too close to the imperial battle lines, before withdrawing with shouts of triumph and glory back to their comrades in formation, much to the detriment of the orcish foe. The loss of many of their officers and clan leaders made the army of orismir more unwieldy and ineffective as the battle wore on.  A horn was blown and the centaurs on the wings surged forth, killing any stragglers of the orc formation and forming a line behind the orcs. They charged and smashed into the rear of the orismir, cutting down hundreds before they lost their momentum. Some of the centaurs were cut down, killed by spears and pikes when they charged, but the overall strength of the centaur force was undamaged.

Arrows rained down on the legionaries and centaurs, killing dozens and wounding many more. The orc archers were efficient in their work, most of their arrows hitting their targets. Amidst the hail of arrows and the raging battle, some of the centaurs began to panic, trying to break rank to flee the battlefield. A harsh bark of discipline from Valian reigned them in, though he hid his own fear under a mask of confidence and charisma, for his men and for his own sake. Then Imperius, riding Mirmulnir, led the dragons to attack the fortress, streams of flame doused the orc archers behind the battle lines and on the walls, turning them all to ash. From the center of the imperial formation, a group of legionaries led by the Guardian spearheaded the main orc line, the godlike being smashing through the orcs like a brick hitting thin glass. With the aid of the large being, the legionaries began to attack with renewed fervor, cutting down numerous orcs and pushing their line back. The orcs fought with a battle prowess unmatched, killing five imperials for every orismir they lost. However, despite their ferocity in combat, the Guardian negated their prowess, swinging his fists left and right, crushing shields and smashing through the toughest orc breastplates, utterly breaking the body of any orc that made contact.

Without the aid of their archers thinning the ranks of their enemies, the army soon began to rout, realizing that they wouldn't last long against the imperials aided by the metal giant. Dozens of orcs sprinted back to the fort, weaving through the centaurs at their rear, where they were met with dragon fire washing over them, leaving burnt skeletons around the citadel. Imperius's army cut down the remaining orcs, losing dozens of their own to the savage bloodlust and desperation that consumed the orcs, and surged into the citadel, killing the remaining defenders with ease. 

"We... we won!" said Valian, covered in orc blood. He had honestly thought that they would lose against the orcs after the initial charge, and the subsequent volley of arrows that rained down on his cavalry. When he saw arrows killing many of his brethren, and orcs carrying pikes spearing his men, he thought that his men would break, and he would be left alone to deal with the rabid bears that were the orcs However, his confidence was restored when he saw Imperius riding Mirmulnir in an attack on the orc stronghold, torching the archers and killing the retreating orcs. His confidence in his commander soared to new heights. He saw why the men of the legion were proud of themselves and their commander. They were of quality stock, and their mettle, in his eyes, has been tested and stood true. His loyalty, in that moment, was cemented into iron clad faith.

 "We won, but it will take a long time to replace the soldiers we lost here today," Imperius said, already seeing the troops removing the bodies of the enemy and ally. He disliked loosing soldiers, especially invaluable soldiers like his legionaires and Valian's centaurs. They were nigh irreplaceable, and every soldier lost was a significant decrease in his legion's effectiveness. However, there was always a silver lining. The centaurs and the legionaires worked near flawlessly, moving in tandem with each other, reading battle cues and acting upon them. It was more than he could ever hope for. There was the issue of moral amongst the centaurs, but for the moment, he was satisfied with their performance.

The Guardian was helping repair the decrepid fortress walls, rebuilding the towers, ramparts and battlements with ease, his way with the earth helping the construction crews renovate the fortress. He wasn't even ordered to do so. He simply saw the decrepit defenses and subconsciously began to rebuild them. Imperius, noticing this, knew he had made the right decision in including him in his legion.

'We have a staging ground as well as a home base for the legion. Now I hope that we can keep it from the inevitable response we will receive.'

Chapter Text

4E, 201, 1st of Evening Star

Imperius stood on the walls of the renovated fortress, looking out at the combined armies of Whiterun and Falkreath that numbered in the thousands. Since the village of Riverwood had joined him on the promise that they would not be harassed by Ulfric, or any other raving war band of raiders and looters that were common in the war torn province, the Jarls of Whiterun and Falkreath had held a meeting with each other on neutral grounds, their soldiers stood outside while only their thanes were allowed in their company as they talked. Balgruff wanted his village, and source of revenue, back, while Siddgeir wanted to prevent any future threats this upstart conqueror would become, so they agreed to combine their forces and march on his stronghold. An attempt to utterly crush Imperius before he could pose a more significant, and possibly unstoppable. For months upon months, they gathered their forces, enacting the highest manpower tithes possible to ensure ultimate victory against their common enemy. Knights with their peasant levies, nobles and their retinues of men-at-arms, mercenary war bands dressed in the livery and armament of the faction they sold their loyalty to, and each Jarl's personal army, soldiers with the best arms and armor that their respective hold could offer, the highest prices for the best services of the most experienced blacksmiths paid readily, for one's personal army had to be the best, if not in skill, then in quality of equipment.

Even Tullius, who would rather leave the natives to squabble amongst themselves, knew the value that Whiterun held. A staging area for future campaigns into the eastern half of the province, and a possible front that would require the usage of resources better used elsewhere, on different fronts where the chance of victory was strongest. With this in mind, he offered a regiment of soldiers specialized in support roles, even sparing some of the few cavalry soldiers he employed in support of Whiterun, this seeming act of good faith increasing the chances that the neutral Jarl would side with the Empire and provide much needed resources to the already strained Legion. They have besieged the renovated fortress for about five weeks, with little progress. But now, they have something that will turn the tide in their favor, and a way into the fortress.

A flaming projectile flung from an enemy catapult hit the walls, leaving small cracks in the reinforced stonework.

"Catapults, Ballistae, open fire!" he shouted, three flaming stones were hurled at the combined army, leaving a trail of crushed corpses and setting aflame many more. Gigantic bolts were fired into the enemy formation, single bolts piercing numerous men before they stopped.

This exchange continued for a while, both sides delivering casualties to the other, slowly wearing each other down.  An archer tower exploded nearby, flinging stones and killing the soldiers inside it. The sounds of cheering soon came to his ears, as a crudely constructed ram was slowly making its way to the wooden gates that have been reinforced by the Guardian himself. This wouldn't do. If they were to breach the walls and get enough men inside, then they would lose this battle, and they couldn't afford to lose now. They have come too far.

 "Archers, draw fire arrows!"

His command was repeated by the archers as they set their arrowheads on fire, drawing their bows.

Imperius gave the command, and hundreds of flaming arrows were fired at the ram, setting it and the soldiers pushing it ablaze. The siege weapon soon turned to a smoldering husk, his soldiers cheering along the walls. While his soldiers were cheering at the destruction of the enemy's siege equipment, he ordered the dragons to attack the enemy army in any way they saw fit. The dragons were strafing the enemy army,causing mass panic, burning what they could without getting into arrow range, streaks of dark burned earth permeated the ground the host of the Jarls were standing on, charred corpses were all that remained of the men. From deep within the ranks of the nordic forces, five giants clad in chains were pulled forward, their jailors pointing at the wall. Such was the desperation and need for Balgruff to retake what was lost that he contracted multiple mercenary companies to capture giants and use them as living siege weapons. Many a mercenary captain was smashed into a bloody paste, and even more followed before the giants could be considered effective tools of war.

The giants shook their heads no, a last vestige of defiance all but spent, but were prodded along with long pikes with barbed tips. They began with a slow walk, then sped up into a jog, and finally changed into sprinting, their footsteps shaking the ground as they went. This shocked and astounded Imperius, but he didn't let it show. He could tell that his men were scared. If they were to see their commander in a similar state, it would severely cripple their morale, and none of them would survive the coming battle. If they were to reach the wall and successfully create an opening, the enemy army would flood in and slaughter his men, and he would take his own life before he saw a repeat of his defense of Whiterun in his previous timeline.

"Fire on the giants, don't let them get close!" Imperius shouted, the archers, catapults and ballistae sending volley after volley at the lumbering humanoids.

Two of the giants went down with a shout, tumbling for a few feet and stopping, their bodies peppered with arrows and ballistae bolts. The rest rushed forward, intent on destroying the wall. Another was struck by a flying stone from a catapult on the wall, collapsing to the ground shortly after, not even twitching, the giant's skull split in twain.

The two remaining humanoids crashed into the wall, denting the reinforced wood but not breaking it, staggering backwards from the collision. The archers peppered one giant until it fell, many arrows piercing its skin and eyes, the large humanoid screaming in agony until it fell. The final giant roared with rage, at the loss of its kin and at its attackers and surged forth, breaking the door and rushing into the courtyard. The jarl's forces were charging towards the breach, howling war cries as they went. The archers soon refocused their fire to the oncoming horde, felling dozens with each volley. The giant took out the ballistae crews, sending the men flying over the walls and landing with a sickening crunch. The Guardian rushed to the ballistae, intending to meet this enemy in combat. The giant saw him and roared a challenge, jogging towards the godlike being.

The two crashed into each other, creating a mess of thrashing limbs and flying fists. Each time a hit landed, thunder sounded, shaking the stones and the soldiers in the citadel. Their battle soon went outside the fortress, it devolved from fist fighting to grappling on the ground. A fist thrown here, a kicked leg there, then the being tossed the giant into a tree. The two stood up and charged each other, grabbing each other's fists. It seemed like a stalemate, with the two trying to overpower the other.

As this was happening Imperius shouted the command, and his forces surged from inside the fortress, halting the enemy advance at the gate entrance, pushing back the tide of enemy soldiers until they were fighting in the fields in front of the fortress. The legionaires with archer support forced the enemy soldiers into a rout, though it didn't last long as the soldiers from each hold quickly returned to the field and formed into a single line of soldiers four rows deep, three thousand wide at the opposite end of the field with two lines of archers behind them, facing the soldiers of the Imperium. The centaurs soon joined the legionaries outside the walls, taking up their positions on the flanks of the legionaries, their lances and shields glinting in the sunlight. Soon, a horn from the enemy army sounded, and the soldiers of Whiterun and Falkreath surged forth, seemingly without coordination, but Imperius was proven wrong by their next move.

The combined army suddenly formed into a wedge formation, cutting deep swaths into the legionaries' line, killing dozens with the charge alone. Arrows soon came flying into the legionary formation, striking those who didn't raise their shield in time. The legionaries soon began to give ground, slowly being pushed back to the citadel walls, hacking and slashing at exposed limbs. Within minutes of the melee being joined, the Jarls' forces at the front lines began to loose cohesion, the sudden and violent deaths of their officers and commanders by small strike teams of legionaires breeding confusion, orders from junior officers conflicting with one another, and the advance slowed to a crawl. The centaurs galloped forth from the wings, crashing into the archers, stopping the deadly hail of arrows. They cut down dozens upon dozens until the archers broke, sprinting into the far woods towards their respective holds. The centaurs chased the archers into the woods, then they turned towards  the clash outside the citadel walls, and tried to aid the legionaires, but were attacked by a regiment of soldiers from both holds, forcing them to halt their relief effort.

Valian swung his spear, slicing through the armor and into the chest of a Falkreath soldier. He dodged a spear thrust by a Whiterun pike man, and cut off the spear point and crushed his helmet with his weapon. He and his force of centaurs were to relieve the pressure the legionaries were getting on their line. So far they were making progress with relieving the legionaries, killing hundreds of archers and any reinforcing regiments from either Jarl. A high pitched horn sounded, and from the surrounding woods burst forth a detachment of imperial cavalry, the mish mash of leather and steel making them recognizable.

"Come on men, we need to relieve the legionaries fighting for their lives, charge!" he shouted, the force of centaurs rushing to meet this new foe after slaughtering the infantry regiments.

The two forces met each other in a flurry of steel, dozens of soldiers on each side falling to the deadly charge. Centaur lances piercing Imperial shields and armor, flinging the riders off their mounts into the throngs of bodies whirling around. Imperial cavalry swords swiped at the legs of the centaurs, sending them tumbling to the ground, being trampled by hundreds of hooves as the melee continued around them, a flurry of steel and blood, the ground underneath churned with furrows and divets. Valian thrust his spear, piercing the leather armor of an imperial, the horseman ripped from the saddle, his mount fleeing the battlefield in a blind panic. A blade struck his back, the steel armor he wore saving him from a grievous wound. He turned and was met by the force's commander. You could tell he was of a high rank, with the gold inlaid in the steel of the ornate armor, the helm sporting a bright red plume waving in the breeze. The imperial swung his blade, a steel sword, his strike blocked by Valian's glaive.

"So you must be the infamous Valian I was briefed about. Pity the reports didn't match up to the real thing," he said with a smirk.

He was of an elderly age, with the white of age just now beginning to show in his hair, which was almost gone. Scars ran across his face , most notably his left eye, which was now a clouded white, the dimmed jade green piercing behind the veil. His voice was of a deep bass, the sound rumbling and deep. He had a scruffy, silver beard covering his chin and most of his face.

Valian grunted and disconnected the engagement, and rushed back into the fray, his steel meeting the commander's. They exchanged blow after blow, only small cuts here and there being made. Valian moved to the side as he dodged the commander's attack and swung his glaive at the man's neck, only for his weapon to be blocked by the commander's sword. Valian used the other end of his weapon to stun the commander and delivered a strike to the commanders face, cutting through the tanned skin with ease.

"So, the abomination can fight, can't say the same for your other brethren, they fought like heathens, savage and brutish," the imperial said, angering Valian.

He yelled a battle cry and rushed the imperial commander. The imperial smirked, his plan at angering the beast had worked, now his rage would make him sloppy, giving him the opening to finish him off. His smirk quickly turned into a frown as the blows he was blocking didn't become sloppy, but became quicker, more precise, more deadly.

'This pompous imperial thinks me a savage beast. He has no idea that I was a former soldier, and knows all about handling rage in battle to my advantage,' Valian thought.

His focus and combat ability surprised the commander, that he could read by the imperial's expression alone. He was slowly getting the better of his foe, with more of his strikes hitting home than being blocked. Attack after attack hit their mark, slicing through and piercing the armor worn by the commander, drawing blood. Soon the cavalry commander was panting on his steed, sweat and blood were dripping off of his frame.

"You know, for a beast you fight well," he said, a condescending smirk marring his features.

Valian cantered towards him, stopping beside his horse, looking him in the eye.

"I am not a beast, and I have a name. My name is Valian!" he shouted, cleaving off the imperial's head.

With the death of their commander, the rest of the cavalry detachment fled into the forest, giving Valian and his cavalry the chance to level the playing field. They charged, lances lowered, smashing into the enemy lines. Valian felt many soldiers crumple under his hoof during the charge. He used his spear to strike at enemy soldiers he missed as he charged, adding to the death toll that his men were racking up.

Galba blocked an overhead swing of a war hammer, the weapon denting his shield. He thrust his sword into the belly of the Falkreath guard, ending his life as the soldier groaned in pain before falling dead. He looked around at the soldiers beside him, all covered in sweat and gore, but determined to defend their land. He blew his whistle, and the ranks shifted, the soldiers behind the front line of men moving forward to replace the legionaries in the thick of the fighting. The legionaires efficiently cut down the enemy in front of them, their blades cutting through the armor of their foes, piercing their midsection, torrents of blood soaking the ground under their feet, achieving a near fluid motion born of familiarity. Block. Thrust. Repeat. They had done this a thousand times before, never faltering even for a second. Even so, it was hard to keep up with the seemingly endless numbers of the foe they faced. Galba was breathing heavily, sweat dripping off of his nose to the ground below. They had been fighting for about two hours in the hot sun, and it was starting to wear on him and his men. He hoped that some help will come soon. His men won't be able to hold the line without some relief.

 'Damn it, we aren't going to last long our here if this keeps up,' he thought.

He then heard the screams of the dying as the centaur cavalry charged into the rear of the enemy formation, killing dozens and wounding more. His confidence and hoped soared at the sight of the centaur cavalry cutting down numerous enemy soldiers. He knew by the surprised and fearful looks on the soldiers from Whiterun and Falkreath that they were about to break. They needed that little extra push.

"Come on legionaries, we have reinforcements. Press forward!" he shouted, the cry of victory being raised among Imperius's soldiers as they began cutting down guard after guard, fighting with renewed enthusiasm, ferocity, and efficiency that often surprised and frightened the soldiers of the enemy army, pushing them back into the blades of the centaurs that awaited them. As they were being attacked from the front and rear, with no path of retreat readily available, the combined army began to waver, their morale began to drop dramatically and desertions began to crop up. Small regiments quickly threw down their arms and were not touched as the battle lines of the Imperium passed them, being led away by those in the rear of the legion. Others were not so lucky, their more loyal comrades, affronted by such treachery, cut them down before the legionaires could get to them, the killers being slain shortly after.

'This "giant" being is certainly a worthy opponent, I wonder how his skills with armed combat are?' the Guardian thought, using his strength to slowly break the stalemate.

 He pushed the humanoid away and drew his blade, the holy energies swirling around the cross guard. The giant grunted and pulled out his club, a leg bone of a mammoth with a boulder tied to the end of it.

The Guardian struck first, swinging his blade in an overhead strike, the giant blocking the blow with difficulty.  The giant pushed his blade off of his club and swung his club horizontally, barely scraping the being's armor. The Guardian smirked and used the pommel of his sword to strike the giant, the end hitting its forehead. The giant stumbled back and swung out in a wide arc, intending to keep him at bay. He ducked under the swing and buried his sword in the giant's chest, the limp body falling to the ground.

He turned towards the battle, and took off with a sprint, smashing into the surrounded guardsmen, being careful to avoid the legionaires and centaurs. With the combined losses taken from all sides, some of their allies already breaking ranks and surrendering and the addition of the metal giant, the Jarl's forces surrendered en mass, being led to the fortress in chains by the victorious legionnaires who, while victorious, did so with a subdued happiness as they passed by fallen legionaires, brothers in arms lost to them forever.

Valian and Galba looked for their leader for hours, long after the battlefield was cleared of soldiers and the fallen. The soldiers of Falkreath and Whiterun, be they mercenary or loyal soldier, were buried in mass graves, the survivors wouldn't accept the bodies being burned. The fallen legionaires had funeral pyres, with each pyre containing four legionaires each, culminating in a total of a thousand of the Imperium slain in battle. It was there that they found him, head bowed in silent grief for the fallen, standing among the rank and file, all comforting each other with their presence and shared grief. Each soldier was unique in Imperius' eyes, though they wore the same battle plate, carried the same weapons, and fought under the same banner, they were inescapably different. And he grieved, for each and every single one of them. They decided against bothering him during this time, as they respected the need for silence. They would wait.

Inside the Citadel

4E, 201, 2nd of Evening Star

"Imperius, we have too many prisoners to feed. We need to either make them a part of our army, or execute them," Valian said, his armor free of the blood and gore of the battlefield. They couldn't support the sheer amount of prisoners they have just acquired today. Their supplies would vanish if they had to care for and feed them. The only logical conclusion was to execute them. Their stockades couldn't handle the influx of trained warriors, and if left alone, could result in a violent insurrection at the citadel whilst the legion was away. The garrison, while made up of superbly trained soldiers, were simply too few to hold back the hordes of hostile warriors in the inner bastion of the citadel.

"We don't have enough materials to begin repairing and making armor for the men sir. Our armor and weapons will eventually break, and we'll be an army without the means to fight," Galba said.

Imperius hummed and retreated into the throne room, coming out with a marked map.

"I have marked on this map certain places which, if we secure in time before the jarl's forces do, will alleviate our plight. Embershard mine and Half-Moon Mill. The mine is close to Riverwood so I will take some legionaries to storm the bandits holding the area. Galba and Valian, you are to take a force of centaurs and legionaries to secure the lumber mill. We will need it to rebuild our fortifications.I will address your concerns after we secure both locations," Imperius said.

 The two lieutenants nodded and together they left to gather the soldiers and supplies they needed. The groups met at the gate of the citadel, the being and the construction crews working on rebuilding the archer tower.

"Good luck, and secure those resources, we're running low on wood and metals," the giant said.

Imperius, Valian, and Galba nodded, and they rode out towards their targets, the sounds of numerous footsteps following them out of the gates.

 A  lone adventurer arrived at the gates of Whiterun, staring in awe of the place.

"So this is Whiterun, the trade center of Skyrim. I'm going to check it out," he said.

He started towards the gate, only to be met with swords thrust at him.

"Halt, no one is allowed into the hold on account of a rebellion and reports of a dragon attack at Helgen," the guard said, the man's facial features twisted into a frown at the less than hospitable greeting.

"I'm from the east, and at my back are thousands of warriors, all of them dragon slayers in their own right, killers for hire, and I'm certain that they can help with whatever is going on here," he said, lying through his teeth as easily as breathing.

 "Dragon slayers you say? Well, better get to the jarl, help him any way that you can," the guard said, unlocking the gate.

"By the way, what is your name traveler?"

He turned back to look at the guards.

"My name is Harold, Harold Hardradda," he said, brushing his long locks of blond hair out of his eyes. The guards nodded and turned back to guarding the gate, locking it behind him. Harold made his way through the market district, the sun warming his bones, chasing away the cold bite of the snow.

"Care for some venison sir? Fresh from the wilds," a wood elf asked, his hunting bow leaning against the counter.

"No thanks, but maybe later," Harold said, the vendor waving as he left. He arrived at Dragonsreach and entered the mighty keep, the agitated voices of an argument reaching his ears.

"We need to regain Riverwood before Tullius or Ulfric take the town from the upstart!" Jarl Balgruff shouted, his face a volcanic red. Why couldn't this advisor see how important regaining Riverwood was. If either side were to gain the town, they could pressure him into joining their cause. Plus, it was a good source of revenue lost, meaning less coinage for his coffers. His nobles were already making a fuss at their recent, and unexpectedly lesser boon in exchange for loyalty. If they were to find the reason for this, they would abandon him without question. He needed to keep them in the dark as long as possible if he had any hope to survive.

"Sir, we don't have enough troops to guard the hold and attack their forces, we would be left defenseless," his steward said, cowering before his jarl's rage

 "I don't care if you have to empty out Whiterun to meet the demand for manpower, just make it happen!" he said with finality.

The jarl plopped into his chair and sighed, finally looking at the newcomer. He didn't have the patience to deal with nonsensical travelers. He needed someone or something that could help him with his predicament. Anything else could wait until his problem was dealt with. He assumed that the traveler was here on other business, so he didn't even bother with a proper greeting, not noticing the expensive clothing that the man wore, or the curved blade on his hip.

"What do you want? Can't you see I'm busy running a hold here?" Balgruff said, his face twisted in annoyance.

"I am Harold Hardradda, and I come to offer my help. You see, I was at Helgen so I can help you with this dragon problem you seem to have. Second, I have a mercenary army of about three thousand in High Rock, plus an additional seven thousand in Hammerfel awaiting my command, which could help you with this rebellion of yours," he ended, a devilish smile on his face. He didn't know what Helgen was, and he didn't want to know. All he needed was coin. Defending against usurpers, fighting dragons, this wasn't why he was here. There were much more interesting things happening at home, and required his attention. This was simply a scam. A front to further his efforts.

Balgruff sat there in shock. Here was a man claiming to have experience with dragons since he was at Helgen, and he happened to have a mercenary army awaiting his call. It seemed too good to be true. A man appearing from the blue seemingly having the answer to nearly all of his problems. Balgruff was mistrustful of the man, as anyone should be, but he didn't have many options at the moment.

"All right Harold, what is your price? I've dealt with enough men like you to know you have a catch with offering your services."

Harold nodded, and proceeded to smirk. "I simply want coin to pay for the expenses of moving my mercenary army here, as well as coin for food, housing, and any supplies that will be needed to keep my army at full capacity."

The jarl begrudgingly agreed to this arrangement and called a huscarl named Lydia, and told him she was to aid him in every way possible.

 "Thank you for doing business with me Balgruff, you won't be disappointed," he said, the great doors closing on his face.

"What are your orders my thane?" Lydia said, anxious to get to work. Little did she know that there wouldn't be much work being done while in this man's service.

"My dear,  our first project is to call in our forces, then we proceed from there."

Chapter Text

4E, 201, 7th of Evening Star

"I wonder how many we will have to kill before we capture the mill, hopefully not too many," Galba said, riding atop his horse. He didn't want to lose any soldiers due to a minor, insignificant scuffle with rebels. The cause needed every soldier it can muster, and loosing men that were irreplaceable as of the foreseeable future would be a major detriment. They did not have the training barracks nor full time training staff, not to mention the needed supplies, to induct the number of new recruits to fully satiate the Legion's need for replacement manpower, the training of such fine tuned killing machines took months upon months, even under Imperius' leadership and guidance, and under such conditions as they are now, it was out of the question to hope for any substantial replacements for the men they have already lost.

"We shall see when we get there Galba, and don't worry, there are probably not too many there.  Perhaps they will see sense, like Riverwood, and surrender without bloodshed," Valian said, walking alongside the centurion. The centurion was worrying too much. They would be able to best anything that came their way.

A rider galloped on his horse next to them. It was a scout they had sent ahead of the army a few hours earlier.

"Sirs, I've scouted the mill like you asked," the soldier said saluting.

"Perfect timing. How many are there, and are they armed or not?" asked Galba.

"That's the things sirs, they're gone, no one in sight. All I saw were tools scattered all across the mill. It looked like they left in a hurry sirs," the scout said.

They looked at each other, the briefing Imperius gave them said that there would be about a dozen civilians and five guards. So seeing that there was no one at the mill was a bit confusing.

"So you're saying that no one is there, not even in the buildings? " Valian asked.

The soldier nodded and trotted to his cavalry unit after being dismissed, leaving the two lieutenants to figure out what was going on. The two commanders began to discuss the meaning of the empty mill.

"I say it's a trick, an ambush awaiting us at the mill. They probably want revenge for their fallen comrades," the centaur said.

"We shall see when we get there Valian," the centurion said. They soon arrived at the mill, and like the scout said, there was no one there. It seemed quiet. Too quiet. Something was off, and they didn't like it

"Legionaries, search the buildings, I want to see if they really left," Galba ordered, the soldiers saluting and began the search.

"Centaurs, scour the forests, I don't want to be ambushed today."

The centaurs galloped into the forest, the sounds of their hooves muffled by the leaf litter that covered the forest floor.

Galba spotted a paper lying on the ground and picked it up, reading the contents of the page. He became concerned with the contents of the paper. If the workers of this out of the way mill had responded to this, other places like it may have as well, and it smelled of trouble. If the jarl was able to accomplish this in a quick enough manner, their forces could catch the Imperium off guard, cutting deep swaths into what little territory they had, weakening them in a precarious time. This needed to be addressed.

"Valian, come take a look at this, I think I found out why there is no one here," Galba said, the centaur trotting over and reading the paper.

"To all under the authority of Jarl Balgruff II, report to Whiterun for military training. Serve the Jarl well, and you will be rewarded . "

"So the Jarl is pulling all his citizens into his personal army, that sounds like trouble," Valian said, dropping the flyer and crushing it with his hoof.

"We must report this to Imperius when we get back from securing the mill," Galba said.

Just as he said this, a legionary and a centaur came up to them and saluted.

"What did you find?" Valian asked.

"Nothing sir, the buildings are clear, looks like nobody has been here for a while," the legionary said.

"We scouted the forests, nothing but deer and wolves hide in those woods," said the centaur.

"We leave a detachment here to secure the mill. We need to get back to the fortress with haste," Galba said.

Valian couldn't agree more. He thought the situation was off the moment the scout reported in, the feeling only intensified when he read the paper. If what the paper said was happening, it needed to be taken care of and fast. They needed to get back and report this to Imperius. This could mean trouble for the fledgling nation.

The rest of the contingent formed up into marching formation behind the two commanders and sped with all haste back towards the citadel.

Embershard Mine

"Mirmulnir, I need you to cause a the attention of the bandits and keep it while we sneak up behind them and catch them by surprise. Wait for my signal to kill them," said Imperius to Mirmulnir, who nodded and took flight towards the mine entrance.

The small legionary force of about ten lay in hiding in the forest surrounding the mine, watching the five bandits guarding the entrance. They were sitting around a fire roasting the local skeevers that they caught, hoping that they didn't catch any diseases from the putrid rats. The sound of a roar spooked them, one falling over on his log seat. Mirmulnir sprayed fire around the bandits, taking care not to burn any of them before he got the signal.

They brought out their bows and fired at the drake, the iron arrows bouncing harmlessly against his steel like scales.

"By the divines, it's a dragon! Go tell the boss while we hold it off!" one bandit yelled, a scrawny individual, the runt of the group, shoved his fellows out of his way as he sprinted inside the mine, happy to let his companions die.

"This is what I hate about bandits, they have no loyalty to their comrades," he said, the legionaires nodding in agreement. He conjured a mage light above his head to signal Mirmulnir that it was time.

Mirmulnir nodded and directed his stream of fire at one of the bandits, turning him to ashes a few moments later. The bandits backed up a little, still firing their bows, but turned around at the sound of a battle cry sounding from the woods. Imperius and the legionaries charged, cutting down the bandits save for one, who surrendered soon after, his hands bound behind his back and forced to kneel.

"What do you want with me, just kill me already!" the bandit yelled, shaking in fear of the legionaries.

Imperius walked up to the bound bandit and a look of disgust marred his features. The utter fear, the cowardice, the lack of honor this man displayed was abhorrent to every fiber of his being. However, he surrendered, and by his honor he must not harm the worm before him.

"Your life, as pitiful and worthless as it may be, will be spared, as long as you tell us the number of men inside the mine, where any traps are, and the level of equipment being used by your comrades." The bandit, as expected, complied without complaint. Eight enemy combatants lay in wait for them, all with leather and iron armor, wielding simple iron swords. The bandit was cut free and let go, said individual sprinting off into the wood work.

Together, he and his men entered the mine, easily slaughtering the bandits that resided within. To be honest, he was kind of dissapointed with how easy they cleared the mine, but he couldn't be upset at a victory. When they were done, he called down Mirmulnir, and then turned to his men

"You men stay here and guard the mine, we will send reinforcements shortly," he said, watching the legionaires enter the mine.

Imperius climbed onto Mirmulnir and flew back to the citadel. He wondered how Valian and Galba were doing. He hoped that they didn't have too much trouble with the guards and mill workers. They needed some people left alive to work the mill. Otherwise he would have to have his men work the mill, and that was good soldiers wasted on a low skill job.

Imperius sighed. He would get the report from Valian and Galba soon after he arrived if he knew them, and he did. He just hoped that there was some good news when he returned.

The Citadel

Valian and Centurion Galba were waiting at the gates of the fortress when Mirmulnir landed, Imperius sliding off of his back, his armor covered in blood. The two lieutenants smirked slightly. Their commander must've had a good time at the mine if the blood coating his armor said anything. Valian wished he could've been there, while Galba secretly hoped that none of the soldiers were killed.

"I take it you had fun at the mine, judging by the color of your armor," Valian said with a small smile.

"They were no challenge, died too easily, begged for their lives, all the cliche's you could think of, but we secured the mine. How did your task go, I assume the mill is secure?" Imperius asked.

"We have some information I think you need to hear, but not out here though," Galba said. Imperius nodded and they made their way to the throne room, the soldiers they passed saluting them as they made their way.

"What is going on that it can't be discussed in front of the men?"

The two lieutenants shared a look and Valian sighed.

"The mill was empty, not a soul in sight, and we found a note pertaining to the disappearance of the workers."

Imperius looked perplexed.

'Last time I was there they were happily working the mill, with the guards complaining about no action. Something must be wrong,' he thought, nodding for them to continue with their report.

He had an inkling suspicion as to the disappearance of the workers and guards, but he wanted to see if it was a different situation. If it was as he suspected, then the two sides of the civil war are increasing their efforts to gain control and resources, and he would need to speed his plans up to a pace that their current state just couldn't handle.

"It read that all the denizens of the Whiterun hold were to report to the city for military training. I think that the jarl may be building up an army to challenge you again sir. I fear that if we don't respond to this quick, we may be facing a counter attack that could cripple us sir," Galba said.

"But you secured the mill right? We can't rebuild our citadel without the mill," he said.

The two looked surprised, but nodded nonetheless. Imperius sighed in relief.

"This news does not warrant any immediate concern. If they are pulling citizens and guards from remote outposts, we need not worry. Any challenges we will receive will be either from the Empire or the Stormcloaks," he explained.

Since they have secured the mill, they could begin to rebuild and shore up the defenses of their citadel.

"Now we need to send reinforcements to the mine, the men there wouldn't hold them off for long if the enemy were to launch a counter attack," Imperius said, walking towards the war room. Galba nodded and jogged with them towards the room.

"Sir, I think Valian and I have found a solution to the prisoner problem we currently have," the centurion said.

Imperius nodded for him to continue.

"We came up with the idea that half of the group would go to the mill and start cutting down trees and begin making lumber, while the other half would work the mines, giving us the required metals to make new weapons and armor."

Imperius stopped, the situation reminding him of the work camps of the High Elves. The wan faces, blister caked hands and feet, and the utter lack of basic provisions made him and his legion balk in the past timeline. He would not follow in the footsteps of such beasts. They were beasts, for no being of intelligence and conscience would look upon the gaunt frames of those that toiled and laugh with derision and superiority. He would not be them. Ever.

"No. We make them an offer instead. We want willing and able workers, not slaves. They will be the foundation of many guilds to come, if they so wish. Offer them work, paid work, and inform them that if they wish to form guilds based on their work, they may. To those that refuse, leave them in the cells. This is my first decree. We will never take slaves. Spread the word among the loyal of the Imperium." 

Galba and Valian saluted and made to complete the task given.

"Ok, now that we have the resources problem fixed, we can mobilize against our closest enemy, Falkreath," he said to himself, reaching the door to the war room. He opened the door and walked to the table in the middle of the room, covered in maps and flags that signified who was what in the world. Currently they held the old citadel near Falkreath and the mines near Riverwood, plus the town itself as well as the mill. The Jarls of Falkreath and Whiterun had little to no garrison after their assault on the citadel. Since Falkreath was the closest, he decided that the Imperium would mobilize against it to strengthen their hold on the territory.

He began drawing up maps and notepads containing logistical information and began jotting down the required amount of troops needed for the campaign, the supplies needed, and jotted down the Guardian for reconstruction of any damaged buildings during the attack.

Galba and Valian returned from their task to find Imperius buried in maps and logistic tablets.

"What's our next move Imperator?"

Imperius turned to them with a smirk.

"We make for the Falkreath hold today. Here are the required amount of men and centaurs needed for the campaign, we shouldn't lose anybody, but best be careful," he said.

The two lieutenants took their tablets, nodded, saluted Imperius, and made preparations for the march.

They met at the gates, about two thousand legionaries, and four hundred centaurs in marching formation, ready to conquer for their leader.

"No dragon support Imperius?" Valian asked.

"No, they are needed here to guard the fortress with the rest of the army. I think we don't need them this time. It is only about twenty minutes away, we will make it there quicker without them overhead."

Imperius pointed forward and a horn sounded, replaced with the pounding of marching feet and hooves.

Falkreath

The town was is a panic, people rushing to and fro carrying their belongings, making their way to Whiterun, the guards ushering the citizens out of the doomed hold. Most of the evacuation had happened a day after news of the battle at the citadel had reached the hold itself. The last few stragglers were making their way to Whiterun to find sanctuary against this conqueror marching against their city, not wanting to be captured along with the hold itself. Siddgeir was organizing the defense of his city, not wanting to give it up to the usurper without a fight. His pride wouldn't allow him to leave.

"Siddgeir, we must leave in order survive. The enemy army is only a few minutes away," a nearby guard said, fear written across his face.

Siddgeir back handed the cowardly soldier, and marched to the front of the hold, dressed in iron plate armor, wielding a steel war hammer. His remaining men were wearing the normal garb of a town guard with the sigil of Falkreath embossed in the center of the armor and shield. There would be no reinforcements from Whiterun, Balgruff was scrambling to organize the city guard into a somewhat competent force. He was on his own.

"We will not flee before this usurper, we will hold here until our dying breath."

The guards nodded, their frames shaking with fear, and drew their weapons. They lined up in front of the hold, made a thin shield wall, and held their ground. The sound of battle horns from Imperius' army reached their ears, the pounding of hooves and marching feet shook the ground filling them with dread. They had heard from the few survivors of the battle at the citadel about the prowess of the enemy they were about to face, and with their limited numbers, few hoped for survival. Fewer still hoped for victory, Siddgeir being among them. He knew that it was a small, unlikely outcome of today's battle, but he had to hope. If not for himself, then for his men, who looked to run the minute he showed weakness. He couldn't let this usurper take his lands, his people without a fight, and that gave him the drive to resist.

"Steady men. Do not show fear. I know you're scared, but they will slaughter your families if you run. Fight!"

Soon, the hold came into view of the legion, the line of guards defending it amused them, the shaking Falkreath soldiers showed them that they wouldn't be too much trouble to defeat. Imperius's army formed into their battle formations, with the legionaries in the center and the centaurs on the wings. The Falkreath army numbered around one thousand men, all standing in a line two men deep in front of the town gate.

The Imperial army stopped, standing stock still, awaiting orders. Imperius rode to the front of the formation and raised his hand.

"Archers, forward!"

A horn sounded, and a line of archers walked to the front of the formation and formed a line.

"Ready!"

They drew their bows, the steel tips of their arrows glinting in the sun.

"Loose!"

They loosed, the swarm of arrows flying through the air, darkening the skies like a cloud. The arrows fell like rain, showering their opponents in a deadly hail of steel tipped arrows, dozens falling to the volley. Siddgeir realised in that moment after the first volley that they needed to engage. If they were to stay where they were, they would be whittled down by archer fire until there were too few to make a last stand effectively. So he ordered it so.

"Charge, defend your homes!" Siddgeir shouted, running towards the imperial formation.

His soldiers followed, catching up to their Jarl. They were emboldened by their leader's fearless nature. Siddgeir paid them well and gave them confidence. They would fight.

"Legionaries, scutum murum!" Imperius shouted.

The legionaries locked their shields with their comrades, creating a wall of men and wood and steel, unwavering and undaunted by the reckless charge of their foe. The legionaires didn't doubt the outcome of the battle, only wondering how many each soldier would kill before it was all over. Siddgeir shouted a command, and the Falkreath army split into two groups and attacked two separate sections of the legion's formation, fighting with a fury of doomed men who knew they were dead the moment they stepped onto the field but determined to take a few of their enemy with them.

"Surround the enemy, don't let them escape. Cavalry, cut down any fleeing Falkreath soldier that escapes the battle!" Imperius shouted, the various horns sounding the movement of men and centaur.

"For the Empire! For the Legion!" Siddgeir shouted, swinging his war hammer, breaking through the wood of an imperial tower shield. He twisted his weapon, tearing the shield from the soldiers grasp and flinging into the masses of soldiers around them. The legionary tackled the Jarl, thrusting his gladius into the jarl's side. He let out a hiss of pain and broke the legionary's neck, pushing the corpse off of him.

He stood, holding his side with one hand, and his war hammer with the other, looking at the slaughter of his men, and the defeat that will surely follow. His men were surrounded from all sides. There was no hope of escape, which only made his men fight even harder than they already were, but it did not change the outcome. A slow, crushing, utter defeat with no survivors at the end. He raised his weapon, gave a great shout and charged into the fray, swinging his war hammer, crushing armor and bone alike. He managed to kill about twenty legionaries before he was felled by a sword through his neck, the blood running like rivers down his chest onto the ground. His men surged forward with newly found energy, determined to recover their leader's body, but were stonewalled by the legionnaires. He fell, his final thoughts of home, family and country until he was no more.

"Move into the town, capture anyone you find."

The legion moved into the town, only to find it deserted, save for a few cows grazing in a pasture, and empty crop fields. They searched the buildings, going from house to house, locating a chest filled to the brim with gold, silver and jewels in the back of the tavern near the food stores.

"This is a wonderful find indeed. Men, continue searching, we might find more!" Imperius shouted, the legionaries and centaurs rushing to complete their task.

"This was an easy victory, I wonder why?" Valian pondered, looking over to his emperor. He had expected a more prolonged pitched battle, followed by a siege. Instead what they found was a quick slaughter and an effortless capture of one of the major holds in Skyrim. He couldn't wrap his mind on why it was so quick.

"Imperius, why was this battle so easy?"

He turned to the centaur with an incredulous look.

"Valian, are you saying you don't like the mild casualties we suffered here today?" he asked.

A look of fear crossed Valian's facial features.

"No no, I'm grateful for the victory, but I expected more resistance, more of a fight." he explained.

Imperius chuckled, and walked to his lieutenant.

"You see Valian. Siddgeir threw most of his military into the assault a few days ago, hoping the combined might of his and Balgruff's army would be enough to defeat us. With the defeat we handed them, they were scrambling to assemble some kind of force to repel us if we attacked. As you can see, it wasn't enough to stop our advance."

Understanding spread across Valian's features. He nodded and then cantered to a group of centaurs to help them in the search.

"Sir, we found a huge deposit of metals here. Lots of valuable metals too," a legionary shouted, pointing to the warehouse behind the smithy.

He made his way to the building and opened the doors, and he was greeted with the sight of a huge pile of metals, ranging from silver and bronze, to iron, steel, and ebony.

"This is a find worthy of celebration. Once we have garrisoned this town, drinks are on me at the tavern!" Imperius yelled, the legionaries cheering in appreciation.

Chapter Text

4E, 201, 21st of Evening Star

Since the capture of Falkreath two weeks prior, Imperius had been busier than ever before. He secured the rest of the Falkreath hold on the western half of the lake north of Falkreath itself, the deposed jarl leaving small, poorly equipped garrisons in crumbling forts who, upon seeing the large hosts of armored soldiers and beast like cavalry, surrendered without much of a fight. They were offered the chance for paid work like all the rest of the prisoners. Most, seeing an opportunity for a steady income without heavy taxation, accepted the deal wholeheartedly. Only a few, who's loyalties couldn't be tempted, refused the offer. During his various conquests and securing territory for the Imperium, he noticed that the infrastructure was severely lacking, with only dirt roads and the well traveled path the means of travel, and poorly maintained signs pointing to the direction of towns and land marks. Not to mention the state of the castles and forts he captured in securing the territory the fledgling nation had gained, the stone aged beyond recognition, moss and wild foliage creeping into the stonework. He needed to change that

"Valian, I need you to send the construction crews to the war room, I have a project that should keep them busy."

The centaur saluted and trotted to the crews finishing the repairs to the walls, and the rebuilding of the archer towers lost to the siege weeks prior.

"Marianus, the imperator has a task for you gents, he needs you in the war room right away."

The leader of the construction crews, Marianus, looked up from a book Imperius lent him to help him with the current construction techniques, and to teach him new and advanced techniques way ahead of the current times. He was a middle aged man, just out of his prime and entering the era of old age, with white hairs appearing around his dark brown beard, with laughing lines appearing around his face, from all the times he shared a laugh with his workers and family. Imperius was approached by the builder soon after the capture of Falkreath. While he liked the Jarl, and supported the Empire, he knew when the tides of fortune were changing, and aligned himself with this new regime, admiring the dream that this warlord espoused, but mainly liking the lowered taxes regarding contracts and deals.

"Good, was wondering when the boss would put us to work again, was starting to get bored fixing walls and rebuilding towers, no thanks to this metal giant."

The workers nodded in agreement, smiles slowly started to appear on their sun tanned faces, and made their way to the war room. Imperius looked up from his map, markings covering specific spots in the Imperium's territory, smiling when Marianus entered the room with his workers.

"Ah, Marianus, my best builder," he waved the experienced builder over to his desk.

"Come, sit. I have a task that will keep you and your boys busy for a while, most likely killing that boredom you worked up."

The builder chuckled, and sat at a chair before the desk, glancing at the map, noticing the many marks that dotted the map.

"So what's the job boss? Must be something big considering the many marks on that map of yours. I don't mind the work though, always liked to keep my hands busy."

Imperius smiled at the man. This is why he chose Marianus as his chief builder, managing, overseeing, and helping on construction sites, increasing the efficiency of how buildings were built. He was always upbeat, ready to start another task, never liking to be idle. Someone suited for the task of rebuilding the infrastructure of their territory. Not to mention he is able to pass his skills onto his workers, making the work easier and faster than ever. The imperial builder was also easy to work with regarding contracts and negotiations. The rates he offered the builder were acceptable in Imperius' eyes, and they seemed to please the builder to no end, so their relationship kicked off from there.

"My friend, I have a project that will take months, if not a year to complete. It is the building of infrastructure in our current territory, from our stronghold of Lagash Citadel, to Half Moon Mill, to Falkreath, and finally to Riverwood. By infrastructure I mean stone roads, with no grass growing between the stones themselves, fixing and making new bridges across impassable rivers, and creating outposts for patrols to house themselves. We need constant surveillance over the lands in our possession."

Marianus looked at Imperius, and a flash of respect quickly came over his face. This must be why so many people followed this man. He mainly followed him for his ability to get things done, to make good on his promises, and his knack of choosing the right people for the right job. The rates on the contracts only added to his overall opinion of the warlord. He shook himself out of his personal thoughts and gave the imperator a nod.

"I'll make this happen Imperius. Don't you worry, you'll have your pretty roads and guard towers soon enough," he said, accepting the marked map Imperius handed him.

Imperius chuckled at that, Marianus teased him for wanting things to look nice and proper. 'Functionality over appearance, that was his motto' he thought to himself, watching his best builder go out the door, carrying the marked map, followed by his workers. He knew that if anyone can complete this task he had lain out, it was Marianus.

"Galba, can you go fetch the giant. I need to speak to him about a matter," The centurion saluted.

"Your will is my command Imperator," he said, walking off in search of the metallic being.

He found him next to the forge, watching a blacksmith fixing some bent strips of steel to make into armor, the steel glowing a magma red as the smith hammered it into the desired shape.

"Giant, Imperius needs you. He needs to speak to you about something."

The large being nodded and made his way through the citadel, sometimes bending over to fit through the doorways. As he made his way, he looked around the interior of the citadel. Large . He entered the war room and waved in greeting to Imperius.

"Imperius, you sent for me?" the being said.

"Yes I did, now if you would please follow me, I want to show you something."

Imperius opened a door off to the side of the Imperium war room, leading to a spacious room, letting the giant stand to its full height. In the center of the room, on a small wooden podium was the book that Imperius had earlier, the leather back glaringly obvious against the dreary brown of the podium.

"I never got to show you earlier, but I wanted you to read this, as it has extensive knowledge on you, and what you are. We, more specifically you, never really found out what you were. Now you can, and I thought I could help with that. Meet me in the war room when you're done reading," Imperius said before turning around and leaving the way he came, leaving the being alone with the book, entering the war room with Galba and Valian already inside.

"Galba, send a team of miners to start a quarry on the nearby mountains, we are going to run out of stone very quickly with my new project set in motion."

The centurion nodded and left the room, leaving only Imperius and Valian as the sole inhabitants.

"What about Ulfric and Tullius, aren't you afraid that either one of them will decide to cause trouble for the Imperium?" he asked.

Imperius shook his head in pity. The dossier he read while at the Thalmor Embassy in the previous timeline enlightened him to the reason for the civil war. It also revealed Ulfric's true purpose. Ulfric is a dormant agent of the Thalmor, being supplied by them to prolong the civil war without even knowing it, while also making sure that the Stormcloaks or Imperials do not emerge the victor, whittling down the resources of either faction until they are minuscule. Then, at that moment the Thalmor will finish what they started in the Great War, the utter decimation of humanity.

"No, the fools will be so focused on killing each other, wasting their resources and man power that they won't notice us until it's too late. Ulfric will die, there is no forgiveness for that brat. The lives he is wasting with this civil war, and he doesn't realize he's aiding the elves, whom he hates, " Imperius said, laughing at the irony of Ulfric's rebellion.

"Sir, what do you mean he's helping the elves? I though the nord was against all elves to begin with?" Valian asked. He had heard rumors of the rebel Jarl, and of his extensive hatred of the Empire and the Thalmor. So when he heard that he was helping the elves, it didn't make sense.

He stopped laughing, containing his giggles until he calmed down.

"Ah Valian, that's a story for another time, for now I need you to deliver this to the man in charge of the miner's guild here, make sure that he knows it's from me," he said.

The lieutenant nodded and made his way to the guild's building to deliver the message.

Imperius sighed and made his way back to the room to check upon his metallic friend, whom he found still engrossed with the tome he had given him. The large being looked intently at the pages, eyes rapidly darting back and forth as he read the words on the page. Imperius didn't want to disturb him, so made to leave once again, but stopped when the being closed the book and looked his way. Understanding the unspoken question, Imperius went straight to the point.

"I trust that you have found what you were looking for in the book?" he asked.

The being nodded.

"I have learned much from this, Imperius. I now know my true nature, what I am, and my purpose. I am a Guardian, that is for certain. I have chosen a name for myself as well. I feel empty without a name," the being, now a Guardian, said.

"What is your name?"

"My name is Urvannam. What is it you require of me Imperius? I am ready to serve," the Guardian, now Urvannam, asked.

"I need you to start building sets of armor similar to my segmented plate armor for my legionaires. I will send you some measurements of the median size of our soldiers so that you can start forging. I also ask of you to forge weapons for the legion as well. We need a stockpile of weapons for the upcoming campaign. If you wish, we could build a forge more suited to your size and style of forging right here in this room. If that is what you wish, let me know. For now, you are left to your own devices until you receive the armor sizes, the regular forges are in the courtyard," Imperius said.

Urvannam nodded and went back to reading the tome. As he made to leave, Imperius turned back towards the Guardian. He felt compelled to say something to him. He didn't know what, but he knew he had to. Then it came to him.

"Urvannam, it brings me great happiness to know that you have found out who you are, just to let you know," he said before closing the door behind him.

As he sat down in a chair in the war room, with a table covered by a map of Skyrim, he evaluated their situation. Both sides have massive support from the people, huge budgets, and an almost endless stream of recruits. The Imperium only has one legion at its command, about six thousand men ready to die for the cause, but with the extra four thousand centaurs joining the ranks, it adds to about ten thousand men. Both sides have lots of territory to call their own, either side practically diving Skyrim in half. The Imperium on the other hand only controls the Falkreath territory and the southern tip of Whiterun that contains Riverwood. Not good odds for them at the moment

'My legion is enough to hold off an entire army of either side, but if they team up to defeat me, we might as well throw in the towel and call this off', he thought.

It appears that Balgruff is testing the garrison forces at Riverwood, bypassing the mine completely, by sending a small force of about fifty men, which were slaughtered when they attacked the town garrison of about one hundred legionaries. And it looks like Ulfric and Tullius are showing their faces, for an imperial scouting force and a stormcloak scouting party met and clashed nearby the mine, the garrison mopping up the remaining soldiers of the winning side to ensure no witnesses.

"Okay, send a messenger to the construction crews with the message to halt on the infrastructure project and to begin working on building a defensive wall at Riverwood, with watchtowers, catapult sections, all the works, and make sure to make the wall thick and strong. I don't want a wave of imperials or stormcloaks catching us by surprise before we are ready for them," Imperius ordered.

A messenger nodded and raced out of the room with all haste, hearing the urgency in his commander's voice. Next, Imperius told the smiths to start working overtime, making more armor and weapons for the legionaries, and centaurs. He selected a few skilled smiths, including Urvannam in the group, and ordered them to begin working on a few secret projects, showing them the schematics and blueprints, and to regularly update him on their progress.

'The civil war is getting close, too close for my comfort, we must be prepared.'

Chapter Text

4E, 202, 3rd of Morning Star

"The wall looks good Marianus, keep up the good work." He paused to take a breath. "Men, put some stakes here and here. We need to negate the imperial's cavalry," Imperius said, overseeing the construction of the defensive wall being built, adding more walls to Riverwood and entrenching it, building gigantic ballistae battlements and archer towers. When Imperius got the news that imperial and stormcloak forces engaged each other near the location of the Imperium's mine about a week ago, he began to worry. If either side were to send their full force against him at his vulnerable juncture of the campaign, he doubted that his men here could hold back the tide. The rest of the legion wouldn't make it in time to save Riverwood or the men, they would only be able to halt the enemy's advance near Falkreath. Beyond that, the path to the citadel lay open, with a skeleton of a garrison manning the walls of the capitol. The dragons would prove extremely effective in any action they were included in, but he didn't want to use them too often. He wanted to save them so that they could shock and awe any enemy force the Imperium faced, spreading panic like wildfire and utterly devastating any army within minutes of taking the field. If he used them regularly, then the enemy would become used to them, develop strategies to deal with them, even possibly take them down, as far fetched as it seemed. His men were spread too thin for his liking. Too many positions to garrison, not enough manpower to fill them.

"Imperius, where do you want the ambushes at, and how many ?" Valian asked.

"I want ten ambushes with fifty men in each one along the main road. Once they engage, have them target important regiments and deal some casualties, then pull back into the forest. Then have them make their way here to the defensive line, I'll leave placement up to you Valian" he said, watching Valian round up the men needed for the ambushes and leading them to the ambush spots.

"How's the design for the new weapon coming along Galba?" he inquired. It has been some time since he has had an update on this particular special project. He chalked it up with them being too focused on getting the mechanics of said war machine right to deliver regular updates, but was growing somewhat concerned as well as curious.

"The new weapon is coming along fine sir, it should be done in about a month's time. I must say, where did you come up with the designs for this new weapon of yours sir?" Galba said, with an inquisitive eyebrow.

"I drew inspiration from our imperial counterparts, improving upon their designs. I thought we could have an advantage over our enemies more so than what we already have."

The centurion nodded and went back to his task of drilling his men in their formations. Imperius had ordered Galba to drill his men in their formations just outside the walls of Riverwood, making their movements more fluid and faster, improving the formation's staying power and strength. Imperius made notes of how his men moved from a parapet on the newly constructed walls, their strengths and weaknesses had become apparent recently, and he needed to correct this. He had seen how the jarls' forces had punched through their lines, and was not pleased with the way his soldiers gave way so easily. It had caused him some worry as to the quality of soldier that he was using, and asked Galba to show him the training regimen that he was using on the soldiers, or more specifically the recruits. It was the same as for regular legionaries. No difference could be seen. Then the answer came to him. From Galba's reports, he learned that the center line was made up of new legionaries that had only finished training that day when the combined armies charged the formation, and they broke under such strain. They needed to be blooded properly, in a proper pitched battle. A hasty siege defense was an ill time to gain one's appreciation for their training and their brother's in arms. A pitched battle would do wonders to improve his men's skills and help them gain experience that would benefit them later.

' How the jarl's forces punched through our defenses is unacceptable. I will make sure that our soldiers are the finest on Tamriel . We will need such soldiers for the wars to come, ' he thought.

He would like to watch his men perform more of their maneuvers, but he had something to attend to. He made his way off of the wall parapet and towards Mirmulnir, whom was also watching the military maneuvers from the top of the tavern nearby.

The dragon wouldn't admit it to anyone, even to himself, but he was impressed by Imperius' knowledge of battle strategy and tactics. He assumed that Imperius was like any other mortal when it came to battle, charging headlong without even a simple strategy to help them gain victory, trusting their combat prowess to win the day. All brawn but no brains. Imperius however, had both. He was an accomplished warrior, that he was certain of, but he had a certain air of intellect. Not like magi or full time scholars. He had dealt with plenty of those in the past to know that was not the case. However, he was of sound mind and possessed cunning when it came to waging war. He often wondered how things would have turned out if he had stayed loyal to Alduin, if he had killed Imperius before he could have been recruited to the mortal's cause. He mused that things would be completely different, but the extent of that difference he couldn't fathom.

He also mused on how different the mortal felt. He was different from most others, there was no question, but he was different in a specific facet. He felt out of place. Everyone else, from the centaurs to the legionaires, even the metal giant felt as if it were a part of the world. Imperius, however, felt like an outsider, as if he weren’t supposed to be here, a foreign object placed here by some outside force with the power to do so. During some conversations he had with the dragonborn, he would often catch the dragonborn catching himself mid-sentence on certain topics, or observe him speaking with either fondness or intimate anger on other topics, as if he knew of them before, and had handled them for long lengths of time. He was an enigma, and he wanted to find out more, but couldn’t think of how to broach the subject without it being immediately shot down or redirected to a different topic altogether, never to be brought up again. He will ask his kin, those he held in high regard and close confidence, about this. Hopefully they have some solutions.

The dragon was broken from his musings when Imperius came up to him, asking him for a flight back to the citadel. The dragon huffed with mock annoyance, muttering under his breath how demeaning it was that he, a mighty dragon, was reduced from an unstoppable force of nature to a pack mule, and Imperius chuckled at the mutterings, with Mirmulnir chuffing along with him. The two had grown somewhat close since their first meeting at the Western Watchtower, and every now and then consulted with each other regarding matters that most couldn't relate to. Specifically, things about dragons.

Imperius would ask Mirmulnir about the time when dragons ruled over mortals, how the dragons came to be, and how did the language and culture of the dragons develop. Interesting questions that most normal mortals would never think to ask. Imperius wasn't a normal mortal, and Mirmulnir was somewhat pleased that he was asking those sorts of questions, as most mortals would try to kill dragons on sight, and most didn't have the slightest inkling of curiosity when it came to dragons. The two would sometimes talk for hours about said subjects, often losing track of time, which was ironic in a way.

The two made their way to the citadel, passing over the lands of the Imperium. They saw that many of the rundown, crumbling watchtowers that dotted the landscape were restored to their former glory and garrisoned with legionnaires whom waved as they passed overhead. They soon landed in the citadel courtyard, with the passing soldiers, blacksmiths, and people of other professions not even giving them a second glance, as dragons had become such a recurring sight for them that seeing one solicited no reaction other than to not be accidentally stepped on. When they saw Imperius sliding off of the dragon however, they immediately stopped and saluted him where they stood. Imperius nodded in their direction, and they resumed their tasks.

Imperius thanked the dragon, whom took to the skies, and made his way inside, through the main hall and war room, down to the prison cells. Inside a cell at the far end of the room was the justicar, sitting down with a sour look on her face, which turned to rage upon seeing him. She had been asleep for about three days since the Imperium had moved from Bleak Falls Barrow, and when the newly formed empire took Lagash Citadel, had placed her within these cells, not really sure what to do with her. The guards had given her food and water, and made sure to keep her in as good of condition as one can manage in a prison cell, since Imperius thought she was important, they made sure to keep her intact.

"Why do you torment me? Is it not enough to have me imprisoned, far away from the sun and life, but now you come here to gloat? May the divines curse you!" she said in a harsh tone.

"All of this torment can end, if you join me and my cause. You have so much potential. I'd hate to see it wasted," Imperius said.

"And like I have said numerous times beforehand, I'll never join you!"

"Well, let me put it this way. You can stay here for the rest of your days, rotting in this dank, dark and depressing cell, dying of muscle entropy and malnourishment, your potential untapped, or you can join me, fight for me, and gain glory and honor, realizing your full potential. It's your choice," he said to the elf.

The justicar was about to retort with an insult, but a thought crossed her mind, and she immediately became pensive. Did she really want to spend her life in this cell, slowly becoming decrepit until decay takes her? It didn't seem right. She didn't know where she got this thought from, but it swayed her opinion on serving this arrogant imperial greatly. She tried to reason against it, but it overcame every argument she could conjure up until she was left with no other option.

She huffed.

"Fine, I'll join you. But you will treat me as an equal, or you can kill me on the spot," she said.

Imperius nodded to this, albeit in a strained manner. A reasonable request, if it were from a human, or any other race for that manner, but it was from an elf, and he was reluctant to grant it, but nonetheless did.

"Excellent. From this point onward you are part of the Imperium. You will obey all of my commands without question or hesitation, if not I will personally strike you down, are we clear?"

"Crystal."

"Good, now if you would join me, I need some input on this defensive work I've been working on in preparation of a supposed attack, and I would like yours," he said, walking out of the holding cells.

The elf grumbled, but followed her new commander through the citadel, winding through the hallways and rooms until they reached a courtyard. Imperius stood in the middle of said courtyard, looking towards the sky, which puzzled the elf. Then, he shouted.

"MIR...MUL NIR!"

The volume and force of the shout shook everything around Imperius, making all those in the courtyard pause for a moment, staring at their leader, before shrugging and returning to their tasks. The elf, on the other hand, was staring at the imperial with abject fear and wonder. She had been in Skyrim long enough to hear about numerous legends and myths, particularly about a shouting person who supposedly had the blood of dragons running through their veins. She had scoffed at that. A shouting person, having dragon's blood? Ha! Yet now, she wasn't scoffing. Her fear turned to terror when she heard a blood curdling roar, and she almost passed out on the spot when a large dragon landed next to Imperius, and in effect, right next to her.

She, like with everyone else in the world, thought that dragons were driven to extinction by dragon hunters of old, wiped off the face of Tamriel. Myths even. Some even doubted their existence. Yet here was undeniable proof that said otherwise. As she was still coming to terms with the existence of dragons, her mind ground to a halt when the imperial climbed onto the beast! She might not care about him, but she wanted to shout at him to not be so stupid. The moment passed, and what truly made her mind stop working for a few seconds was when he gestured to her to climb onto the thing! Like Oblivion she would! But she couldn't disobey her commander now, she would most likely be killed on the spot considering that she was in the heart of this imperial's territory, and with extreme reluctance, climbed onto the russet colored scaled beast. She shifted a bit after sitting down behind Imperius, her nervousness and the uncomfortable seat didn't help to make things easier.

With the dizzying feeling of being suddenly thrust into the air, she unconsciously clung to Imperius, holding onto him like a lifeline. For the duration of the flight back to Riverwood, she was beyond terrified, her white knuckles a testament to her iron grip on Imperius. The imperial inwardly laughed at her, and fondly remembered his first dragon ride atop Odahviing. He had gripped the dragon's scales so hard he thought that he broke his fingers, the cold only making things worse when he was eventually peeled off of the drake, said drake had laughed at him afterwards for it.

They touched down, and when Imperius offered to help her off the dragon, the justicar didn't even hesitate to take it. Mirmulnir nodded at Imperius and took off into the skies, roaring as he did so. Imperius looked at the dragon with reverence and awe, while the elf was terrified of it. Imperius then made his way to the wall being constructed, stopping when he realized that the elf was still standing in the same spot she stood in when she got off Mirmulnir.

"Hey! You ok there?" he asked.

The question snapped the elf out of her trance, and as she processed the words, quickly made her way to his side. Together, they made their way to the walls and onto the parapets, with Imperius asking her questions, and the elf answering in return.

Whiterun

"I will not give up my freedom. Whiterun will stand neutral, we have told you this already Ulfric."

The jarl of Windhelm made a frustrated noise, and continued to lay his case before the jarl, telling him how much better his people's lives would be if they joined his cause. So far the negotiations haven't gone the way the Stormcloak leader had hoped they would. This neutral jarl just wouldn't budge on his position, no matter how he framed his side. Couldn't he see that Skyrim free from the choking grip of the dying Empire would benefit all, especially those who pledged their allegiance to him? The Stormcloak guards shook their heads at their leader's ill fated attempts to get the stubborn jarl to side with him, whirling to the door as Tullius entered, the sounds of swords being drawn from their scabbards filling their ears.

"Let him pass. General, if you would be so kind as to leave your men at the door with Ulfric's so we can have a civil conversation," Balgruff said, sweating nervously at the tension in the air. The imperial general nodded and left his men at the door and made his way to his throne standing a good two feet away from the nordic jarl.

"This better be good Balgruff, otherwise I will capture this rebel and give him a traitors death."

"I would love to see you try imperial dog," Ulfric retorted, slowly putting his hand on his sword, Tullius doing the same.

The jarl grew worried, he didn't want his lands to bear witness to the civil war that plagued Skyrim. This meeting between the two sides of the conflict was a big gamble on his part to keep the fighting out of his lands. If war was brought to his people, to his lands, he wouldn't be able to collect revenue from his people, which would lead to less gold in his coffers, which in turn would halt his spending on feasts for his vassals, which in turn would make just a huge mess of things. He had thought of the idea of making the two sides not fight each other in his lands, but he didn't think of how to implement it, to execute it effectively. He was beginning to regret not thinking this through. Then suddenly, he had an idea. What if he could make the two fight the rebels that have taken the Falkreath hold and killed his friend Siddgeir? He would be able to get rid of the rebels and get his town back, and punish those who so readily sided with the enemy. And if both sides were to complete their task, they would probably fight each other before coming back to Whiterun, leaving only one side to deal with, or neither if they slaughtered each other in the process.

"Choose your side jarl, you are either a true nord, or an imperial dog waiting for orders," Ulfric said, eyeing Balgruff, waiting for his response.

"I won't join either side until one of you help me with an issue I have been having. A rebel by the name of Imperius took my town of Riverwood, captured and secured the entirety of the Falkreath hold and its territory, and managed to kill Siddgeir himself. I will join the side that gets rid of these rebels first."

The two enemies looked at each other. This is the deciding factor? Killing rebels? Then they smirked, thinking this would be the easiest task they were asked to complete. Ulfric and Tullius agreed, both heading to their factions capital to assemble their forces and made their way to Riverwood.

"I needed to handle that situation anyways, the loss of an entire hold to a bunch of traitors has no excuse. It's about time I dealt with this traitor. Auxiliary, take this letter to Jarl Balgruff, I expect his loyalty without question once I've dealt with his problem," he said, handing a scroll to a certain nearby nordic soldier, whom nodded and rode off to the town, having no intentions of heading towards that coward of a Jarl. Instead, he made for Windhelm, intent on joining the true sons of Skyrim. He had worn the mask of loyal imperial soldier long enough, and he had lost the trail of the man he had been pursuing, and decided that the Civil War was more important.

He had heard reports of an entire legion gone missing in the Pale a few months ago, and had sent scouts to search for any sign of them. Turns out, he didn't really need them, for reports of Riverwood being taken over by a large army, then the subsequent capture of the Falkreath hold, a sympathetic ally of the Legion, told him all he needed to know. An entire legion, traitors to the emperor and the empire. He couldn't believe it. He sometimes still couldn't believe it. How could that many men turn traitor after all the empire has done for them, and why would anyone turn against what the empire stands for. Peace, order, stability, that was what the empire was.

He also eventually found out who was behind this defection. A bright, promising legate that he thought was a loyal imperial through and through. He certainly seemed that way when he was fighting the Stormcloaks in the northern campaigns. He had grown fond of him throughout this civil war, he was no nonsense and brilliant in battle tactics and strategy and they shared many likes and dislikes, and it had amplified the already deep wound of betrayal when he found out. This wasn't going to be pretty.

Fortified Riverwood

"Sir, Mirmulnir and Krilkahjot have spotted two armies headed for our position," a legionary said.

"How many in each army?" Imperius said, writing down a note for the rest of the legion to make their way here at full haste if the news was dire. If the odds were against him, he would send a message to alert the rest of the legion, to ready them against whomever would break through the defenses at Riverwood. If the odds were even to both sides, he would alert the legion to a possible threat. If it was no threat whatsoever, he wouldn't even bother.

Granted, the defenses here are able to put up a fierce fight, and cost any besieging army most of their troops, he didn't want to take chances. Last time he took a chance was when he was ordered to besiege Windhelm and capture it and Ulfric if he could. He saw the numerical advantage he had over his opponent, and thought that the sheer skill and determination of his men would win him the victory without proper siege equipment, and he took a chance and charged in without much of a plan, only glory and prestige in mind. He lost five cohorts in the initial assault, even more so in the grueling house by house, street by street battle for the city itself and he vowed on that day forth to always be cautious, to never let his ambitions and ego get the better of him, no matter how easy a battle may seem.

"From their reports, the armies consisted of about three thousand men each, probably their personal forces sir."

"How long until they get here, do you know?"

"They said they'd be here in about five hours sir."

"Thank you soldier, report back to your post and be ready" he said, the legionary rushing back to his place on the walls. It was nothing, not even a blip on his radar of threats. His men would utterly slaughter either force or both if needed. Imperius walked along the wall, looking over the defensive measures they had taken, and watched Galba and Valian training their forces, working to create a fluid formation with both cavalry and infantry.

The centaurs ran circles around the cohorts of legionaries, practicing cavalry maneuvers to outrun and outclass their imperial counterparts, while the infantry practiced thrusting their swords into the guts of their enemies, blocking overhead strikes. They were also practicing a new regiment formation that Imperius implemented back when they were still under the command of the emperor of the Cyrodilic empire. The formation was a checkerboard like pattern, with five cohorts ten men deep, and five men wide, with five cohorts making up the front line, and four cohorts acting as reserve and flanking forces if need be. The reason for the checkerboard pattern was to make sure that if there were any breaks in the line, there would be extra men to help plug up the gap. It also leaves extra men free to wheel around the flanks of the formation, crashing into the rear of the enemy soldiers, the line folding like a blanket on the enemy formation until they were surrounded and cut off. This formation of infantry, compounded with the Hammer and Anvil strategy he had learned in officer training, made for a terrifyingly effective fighting force.

"A Imperial and Stormcloak army are after you? What did you do to piss both of them off?" a voice to his left asked.

He turned, and was greeted with the sight of the elf from before. She had been a good source of input in regards to his defensive works, providing insight wherever possible, though he had made sure to check with his lieutenants before implementing any advice that had been given to him.

"It was the annexation and conquest of Riverwood and Falkreath, both important locations for both factions. . Though why the Imperials and Stormcloaks haven't killed each other by now, I have no clue," he said.

A horn sounded from the sentries along the wall and he went to investigate, leaving the elf on the parapet, finding the groups of soldiers he assigned to ambush the army. He counted the amount of men left, and there were surprisingly low casualties, about three to four men were lost in each group of fifty.

"Sir, they are at the road leading up to here, the enemy is almost upon us," a centaur said, his back covered in plate armor riddled with arrows.

"Good job soldier, get to your unit and prepare for the assault," he said to the centaur.

The centaur nodded, gripped his lance, and galloped to his cavalry unit. Imperius began barking orders to his lieutenants, ordering them to get to their men and form into battle formations. Galba and Valian saluted, rushing to prepare for the fight at hand. Imperius called down Mirmulnir, climbed onto his neck, and together they flew into the skies. The enemy armies arrayed themselves outside the walls, the rows upon rows of spears, battle axes, war hammers, glaives, and gladii glinted in the summer sun. You could tell which side was which, for they separated into two groups, one imperial red, the banner of a dragon flapping in the wind, and the icy blue of the stormcloaks, they carried no banner for they neither had the tailors or the dyes to make them yet.

Imperius could tell this imperial army wasn't as disciplined or equipped as his personal legion was, if the mashing of tanned leather and messy links of mail were of any indication. The legates, or the second highest rank you could achieve in the legion, were dressed in the outdated plate armor worn since the height of the empire, which was about one thousand years ago. The general wore a unique set of armor that the ancestors of imperials wore before the development of plate, a chest piece that highlighted the musculature of the soldier wearing the armor. It had no shoulder plates, and was incredibly stiff and inflexible that most wore it for ceremonies only, rarely taking into battle.

The reason the borders of the imperial capital weren't steamrolled by the elves during the second war in the previous timeline were because of his tactics and armor innovation, ridding the military of old doctrine and equipment, completely changing the way the empire waged war that it shocked the thalmor, giving enough time for the recovering empire to regain its bearing and actually wage war instead of guerrilla resistance groups or ambush only tactics. Considering how many casualties the strategies of the old imperial way of fighting caused, he was not worried about them. His legionaries will crush the enemies of the Imperium with swift efficiency and ruthlessness.

He then saw four riders riding up to the town gates, bearing the white flag of peace. He landed, slid off Mirmulnir's back, saddled a warhorse and along with Valian and Galba, they rode out to meet the envoys, who turned out to be none other than Tullius and Ulfric Stormcloak themselves

"Well, if my eyes don't deceive me, it is the notorious Ulfric Stormcloak! The bratty jarl who threw a hissy fit over losing to the elves. And the empire's most decorated general, Tullius himself," Imperius said.

Ulfric's face grew a tomato red, flames dancing in his eyes, promising a grisly end for him, while Tullius gave an almost disappointed look towards him, as a father would look upon a son who threw their life away for cheap fun. When he met the young lad at the castle, he thought of him as lesser than a civilian. But as the man performed his duty to the empire, securing the empire's place in Skyrim from the stormcloaks, he had come to like him. His ability for leadership was nigh unparalleled in the legions stationed in Skyrim.

"Son, you were one of my finest commanders. It is a pain to see you turn traitor to the empire you swore your loyalty to. You knew the punishment for traitors, yet you did it anyway. It is a tragedy to see you fall to treachery," he said, his eyes hardening, convincing himself that this was a traitor to the empire that needed to be put down, not one of his most decorated subordinates.

"Ha! Traitor to an empire that has fallen a long way since the Septim Dynasty. Your empire is an empire only in name, your emperor a puppet to the damned elves who want to kill us all. Your empire is weak, so wracked with feebleness that it is unable to stop provinces leaving the imperial fold, losing strength willingly to civil wars and outside threats. The Meade line has almost dried up, and he has no heir, so another civil war will take place, weakening the empire further. My empire will conquer Keizaal and will last for thousands of years, and it will not wither and die like yours is doing, slowly decaying due to stagnation and neglect," he said, not knowing that he was ranting.

"The emperor doesn't even give a damn about this province! All he wants is to be coddled by the palace whores and never wants to receive bad news, which leaves the imperial council with total control of the empire, and look where that has gotten you. They expect you to die each day, and once you do, they will write a sub-par condolence letter to your family in Cyrodil about how you were a brave soldier serving the empire, and the emperor will go back to being tended to by the many concubines he has in the palace!" he yelled losing his composure.

"Well Tullius, this traitor of yours seems to be biting at the leash to tear down all that you fight for. Tis fitting that a mad dog such as this becomes such a disgrace to your fetid Empire," Ulfric said, smirking at the perceived weakness he had found in his foe. Imperius smirked and chuckled

"Oh Ulfric, your tale is one of hypocrisy and unknowing puppetry, of ambition and callousness to your countrymen's lives. Your ambitions blinded you to the consequences of your actions. Murdering a High King and rebelling against the Empire has all but doomed your people to damnation, and you either don't realize this, or worse, don't care. You have no honor, using the power of the Voice to gain the upper hand against a foe that was woefully unprepared. You are a craven snake," Imperius said, watching the jarl's face twist with fury.

"I challenged him to single combat, it's one of our sacred traditions, honored and respected by all the jarls who didn't drink imperial milk, an outsider like you won't understand!" he shouted.

"You speak of honor, yet fled into the night like a coward after your so called "honorable single combat". If it were so respected amongst you nords, why flee? Face it, you craven mutt, you murdered an innocent to gain the power that you desperately crave to sate your wanton need for prestige and authority!" Imperius yelled back, enjoying how red and puffed up the nord was becoming.

Ulfric was easily riled up when insulted, it was evident when they met on the battlefield, making irrational decisions, letting his ego form his battle strategies, and shouting and screaming when he lost, which was quite often with Imperius's new tactics and equipment. When not ruled by emotion and ego, like Imperius was for a brief time in the previous timeline, the nord's tactics were very rigid and narrow in their flexibility and variation. Easy to predict, easy to counter and crush.

"Regardless of the circumstances of that fateful night, a very important decision will be made here today. Imperius, we are asking that you surrender, turn yourself in, return the village of Riverwood back to Jarl Balgruff, and disband your forces, or much blood will be spilt on this field. You will be granted a swift and honorable death despite being a traitor, for you have done much to preserve the Empire, and the Legion doesn't forget those who aid it in times of great need," he said with great effort, holding back sorrow and grief for the loss of one of his finest.

Ulfric scoffed in derision.

"General Tullius, you ask that I surrender, disband my armies, forsake all that I have accomplished and built up to this point. I am certain that you know the answer to your request," he said, his lips tight with melancholy as Tullius' face fell. "It doesn't have to be this way my friend. I beseech you to join my cause, reconsider your loyalties despite how strong they may be. We could create an Empire free of the cutthroat politics, fear of persecution, and disparity between citizens. All will live without fear of marauding armies, bands of murderous thieves and sellswords, and will not wonder whether they will go to be hungry or not. We could do that, together. Besides, we both know who the real threat to mankind is. We both understand what is at stake here. We see the bigger picture that no one else is willing, or able to, acknowledge, and we can defeat them, united under a single banner, and a single purpose," Imperius implored with passion, hoping to make one of the few imperials he respected see reason.

The silence was stifling, making Imperius's chest tighten and his breath slowed to a mere whisper with anticipation. Tullius was as loyal as they come, but he was one to see reason, the one who tried to make Ulfric surrender instead of wasting the lives of his countrymen, his offer being spat on by the rebels at Windhelm. He held a resentment towards the Thalmor. Not a fanatical resentment that drove Ulfric's actions, but a subtle hatred, the kind that led to coups and sinister plots. He knew that Tullius hated that the emperor seemed not to care for his plight, not even bothering to read his pleas for more men, hearing reports from his advisers that Tullius is getting the men he needs from local recruitment, and he was just being cowardly in wanting more men. He also knew of the man’s distaste for the elves. He was not fond of them in the slightest. If not for the treaty, he would have likely told the high elves to bugger off. He would be more blunt and to the point, of course, but the message would still be the same. 

"Let me think about this Imperius. In time, I will give you my answer," he said, turning his horse around and riding back to his forces, stopping at the front of the formation.

Ulfric spat in Imperius's direction, missing him completely, and rode his horse back to the Stormcloaks, psyching his soldiers for battle with an inspirational speech. Imperius rode back to his lines of men and nodded at them, the men nodding back, and making his way to Mirmulnir to take flight once again. Imperius made a flurry of motions with his hands, and flew to the far left side of the field. The legion began to move into formation, with the flanks being strengthened with the best troops, and the center being thinned and filled with the less reliable members of the Imperium's legion. The centaurs were ordered to act as if they were frightened of the enemy army and flee into the woods, looking as if they were fleeing the field of battle, a seemingly fortuitous event for the enemy. But in reality the force of centaurs would be waiting in the woods for the signal, and they would be unleashed upon those unfortunate to face them in battle.

"Come Stormcloaks, the hour is nigh for us nords to drive out these invaders and reclaim this land for our own. These imperial milk drinkers have overstayed their welcome long enough, time to kick them out!" Ulfric shouted, the speech being drowned out in a torrent of yells and screams from his soldiers.

They formed a line six men deep on the other end of the field, with the stormcloaks carrying a variety of weapons and armor, and began to work themselves into battle fury. The howling and screaming of the nordic men would haunt the dreams of the legionaries for months to come, chewing their shields, beating their shields, making an awful shrieking. A huge nord warrior standing around eight feet tall, garbed in mail armor, with the blue gambeson of the stormcloaks underneath the mail shirt, wielding a two handed war hammer made his way to the front of the formation. He screamed a bloodcurdling cry and rushed forward, foam streaming from his mouth, with the stormcloak army hot on his heels.

"Steady men! I know you are scared, every man that has faced battle is. If he isn't, then he is a fool. The trick is to control your fear, don't let it get the best of you. This is a crucial moment in our empire's brief history. Here, we will either rise victorious, or burn in defeat. Show the world that we will not wither and die like cowardly dogs, we will rise and conquer our enemies!" Galba shouted, the legionaries chanting the name 'Imperius'.

The legionaries hunkered down and dug in, determined to keep the line steady. The stormcloaks crashed upon the wall of shields like water on rock, beating their shields with a frenzy, screaming wild. The legionaires thought these men were crazy with their shouting, their frothing mouths and flamboyant fighting styles. Most men would have broken and fled under this assault, but not the legionaires. They held the line, holding back the wave of stormcloak blue from breaking through.

Ulfric lead from the rear, content on shouting encouraging words to his fellow countrymen as they rushed to do battle with the Imperium. The lines of battle swayed one way to another, as either side was putting every ounce of effort into breaking the other's formation with sheer brute force, with the legionnaires pushing forwards, and then a moment later the Stormcloaks driving them back with blood chilling howls and screams of effort. As the battle wore on, the center of Imperius' legion began to slowly fall back, the legionaires making the stormcloaks pay for every inch they won. The nords, spurred onwards by their advancement into the legionary formation, pressed onward, packing themselves like sardines, not knowing of the trap they were walking into.

Galba blocked the repeated strikes of a stormcloak warhammer, bashing the large nord in the face and slicing his throat. He looked up towards where Imperius was riding upon Mirmulnir, waiting for the signal to begin the trap. He remembered when Imperius had the legion practice this formation, it baffled him the first time he heard it. It was called an inverted crescent, where the center was intentionally weakened, while the flanks held strong. They would draw in the enemy who would think that the intentional retreat by the center was a sign of victory, and slowly close the noose around their necks until it was too late. He didn't understand why Imperius would intentionally weaken the center of the formation, it was where the fighting was strongest. Wouldn't the best soldiers be needed to keep the center stable instead of the weakest? He thought that this plan was utterly insane by regular standards, but he was willing to trust his imperator, and he would follow his commands.

"Equites et circumeunt parant reputetur!" Imperius shouted, the centaurs bursting from the woods, their plate armor shining in the sun, their lances lowered, pointing at the exposed backs of the stormcloaks.

"Legionarii consistunt, et ne dederis Unicae!" he shouted, the legionaries stopping their retreat and holding back the tide of stormcloaks.

"Equites, arguere!"

The centaurs galloped forth, thrusting their lances into the exposed rear of the stormcloaks, crushing dozens with their hooves alone.

They tried to turn and brace for the charge, but with them being so packed together, they could barely raise their sword arm, let alone defend against a cavalry charge. Ulfric shouted in rage at this defeat, and with his two trusted generals, rode off into the surrounding woods, headed back to stormcloak territory. Imperius looked for Tullius and his legion, but didn't find them at the battlefield. He figured that he had already left. Imperius returned his attention back to the slaughter, waiting to see what happened next.

Chapter Text

For hours, the legion slaughtered the now trapped stormcloaks, who themselves fought with fury, their courage never wavering. Such was the level of violence and death that even Mirmulnir had to gawk at such a display. Imperius nodded to himself, seeing that the remaining rebels had had enough, and signaled to Galba and Valian to end this slaughter. The two lieutenants nodded and pulled their forces back, leaving at the center of a field of bodies thirty haggard stormcloaks, smeared with blood, their armor torn and shattered in some areas. It was a pitiful sight.

He motioned with his hands, and a line of archers formed, drawing their arrows back, the tips promising an agonizing death from a distance.

"Stormcloaks, I offer you a chance to surrender. Your famed and beloved leader has forsaken you, fleeing the battle when it turned against him, only taking his trusted generals, leaving you to be slaughtered. He cares not for any of you. He remembers not your names, your deeds, your titles or histories. He cares for none of you. There is no shame, nor loss of honor, if you lay down your arms, and end this senseless loss of life," Imperius said. In the past he had not given the rebels a chance like this, only putting them to the sword, as was fitting for a servant of the Empire. Now, he was free of such restrictions, and would like to try to convince the Stormcloaks that he was a better alternative to the status quo. He only hoped that his effort will be successful

For the most part, the group of warriors yelled in defiance, wanting to die a warrior's death. Who was this upstart imperial to tell them about honor, when he wasn't even a nord, and only nords knew of the concept of honor. But the noise was silenced when three stormcloaks separated from the group, their bodies shaking with exhaustion. The three rebels laid down their weapons and shields, one nearly falling over, and were led away from the field by six legionaires.

Galba glanced at the three captured rebels, noting with anger and shock that they were extremely young, and shook his head. Using children as cannon fodder was the most dishonorable thing a leader could do. Sacrificing the youth for your ambitions was abhorrent in his eyes. Only Ulfric would stoop to such levels, his face twisted into a grimace of disgust at the rebel leader, cursing his name silently as Imperius asked if the rest will join their comrades.

"We will never surrender, imperial scum! Glory to Ulfric Stormcloak, Skyrim will be free!" one of the nords yelled, prompting the rest to cheer in agreement. Imperius raised a hand, and let it fall, watching the stream of arrows fly to the doomed stormcloaks. The screams and cries of pain soon drowned out all other noises, the twitching bodies coughing up blood from their various wounds. Those that didn’t succumb to their wounds immediately were finished off by legionaires moving through the bodies, searching for those that survived the volley. Soon, there were none left alive.

Imperius looked away, sighing with regret at his failure to convince them, and directed Mirmulnir to fly back to the temporary headquarters. The legion marched back behind the newly constructed walls that sealed off the entrance to the Imperium's territory from Whiterun, some cohorts went to their tents, while others resumed their patrols and vigil's over the walls.

"Valian, Galba, we must plan our attack on the divided Skyrim. Now that we have nullified the two threats to the Imperium, we can get back to conquering the territory," Imperius said, bringing up a map of the province, with his lieutenants entering the command tent to stand beside him, the elf bringing up the rear.

She was impressed with the tactics used in the battle she witnessed. There was no doubt that this imperial was a veteran soldier, judging by the way he used cunning to outmaneuver the Stormcloak forces. He seemed to also be an experienced commander by the familiarity he displayed when barking commands to his subordinates. She assumes that he has commanded men before, despite the obvious legion under his command. In her mind, this imperial is an experienced commander, probably from the Empire, a decisive leader, and wants, no, needs to conquer Skyrim, possibly the entire Empire as well, but why this needs to happen, she hasn't figured out.

"I say we make for the Whiterun Hold. With the armies defeated, and only militia forces bolstering his depleted garrison, it should be an easy victory, and we wrestle control of one of the main areas for trade in the province away from either of the main factions, cutting off supply lines and securing key deployment zones towards either the east or west, then we move onto the northern territories, securing vital territories from the Stormcloaks as well as establishing an open port to the sea from which to launch future attacks against either side," Valian suggested.

"I suggest that we make for Markarth, the silver mines would benefit the Imperium's coffers, and offer us a stable income. Plus, it would weaken the imperial military and rob them of a reliable income, and a strategic position such as Markarth. If it were to be captured we would gain control of the Reach area, something no other faction as of now has truly ever accomplished, which would prove to most of the native nords that your side is the one to be on and would hopefully implore imperials under the Empire's banner to defect to your side, as you are dragonborn, and a efficient leader with victories under his belt," Galba offered.

Imperius liked both options. Both had potential for resounding success, but he was cautious. If he were to attack either hold, his right flank would be unsecure. If Ulfric could muster the amount of soldiers he had for his personal army, what was the strength of his actual army? The thought was poignant in his mind, unwilling to be brushed to the side to be dealt with later, as he had done to many others. It demanded his full attention, like a babe wailing for its mother. He had the reports of his scouts to rely on, but they couldn't get accurate numbers of the Stormcloak's overall force, and now he possibly could.

"I shall return shortly, I must see to something," he said, leaving his confused lieutenants in the tent, making his way to the local guard house. He entered the building and made his way to the garrison captain, who was raising a toast of wine and mead to the victory.

"To Imperius, for winning the day for the Imperium. And to all the men who perished this day, may the divines have mercy on their souls!" he shouted, the surrounding guards caroused in agreement. He noticed Imperius standing in the back of the group and hastily made himself presentable, nearly knocking over his tankard in the process. Imperius chuckled when the less than sober men around him made to do the same, half of them falling back into their chairs, the rest spilling their mead and wine on each other.

"Don't let me interrupt your celebration, go back to your tankards. I just need the captain for a moment."

The guards nodded and went back to chugging down their mead, the honey colored liquid sloshing onto their chins as they drunkenly held their cups. Imperius led the captain to the ale barrels and asked him for the keys to the cells containing the prisoners. The captain handed them over and wished him well, rejoining his companions in the revelry that was taking place. The stairs creaked, sounding like they were about to break under each step he took, as he made his way down to the holding cells. The shadows flickered under the candle light, like a flame in the dark, slowly being driven away as more candles were lit.

"How are the prisoners, I hope they are treated fairly?" Imperius asked a nearby guard

"Yes sir. We gave them fresh food, and gave them blankets when the night's chill arrived."

Imperius nodded, and made his way to the occupied cells, illuminating the young stormcloaks. They were children, with the boy having small patches of blonde peach fuzz around his upper lip, and the girls just now coming into their own. They looked kind of funny, curled into little balls of blankets on the straw mattress. All appeared to have drifted into slumber, except for one, the eldest of the trio he assumed, noticing him from her perch upon the bed. She began to back up, hitting the cell wall and wrapping her arms around her legs, trying to make herself seem small.

"Are you going to torture us?" she said, voice cracking.

"No, there will be no torture for you, or your friends. I promise on my life. All I ask is the strength of the stormcloak forces in the east and northeast. Their numbers and where. Plus, if there are fortifications along the roads to the cities under their control," Imperius asked

She shook her head. "Imperials lie. Ulfric says that imperials will lie to you, trick you into getting what they want, and then hurt you afterwards."

Imperius nodded at her statement. She isn't wrong. When he worked for the Cyrodilic Empire, the Game was always played, lies and misdeeds ran rampant in the struggle to gain power and prestige. You could hardly trust anyone without them trying to stab you in the back for one reason or another. He himself was almost a casualty of an elaborate plot for a local noble to gain control of a legion, framing him for their lack of victories in the Reach, and the failure to capture Ulfric when he was in the area in the previous timeline. All of these charges were false of course, but he was nearly lynched for his supposed crimes. He was saved by testimonies from his centurions and a friendly legate that happened to be in town when the trial took place. This timeline's imperials were hardly any different.

"Yes, they do lie. However, we are no longer imperials. We fight the imperials. We fight for a world where everyone can be safe, and never have to worry about war or religious persecution befalling them ever again. If you do decide to tell us what you know, you will be made a citizen of the Imperium, with all the privileges and rights afforded to you with your citizenship. You will be free to worship whomever you chose. You and your friends will be safe in the Imperium, I guarantee it," he said.

The girl looked hesitant, almost at war with herself over whether to betray Ulfric or not. Why would she betray the man who fought for her freedom? Ulfric fought for the worship of Talos, something the Empire wanted to eliminate entirely. That alone made him the more favorable option of either Imperials or Stormcloaks, and when Stormcloak soldiers came and took them from their village to be trained, she and the others didn't protest. They relished the chance to spill imperial blood in Talos' name, to become official Stormcloaks. But now, with all of the excitement and initial interest gone, all she wanted was to go home with her friends, the friends she had left. She had seen too many of her friends die in, her opinion, pointless battles, and she had had enough. But if she went home, the Empire may invade her homeland and round up Talos worshippers, and flog or execute former Stormcloaks for high treason. But if any Stormcloak recognized her and her friends, they would be captured and executed for high treason against Ulfric Stormcloak.

She saw no way out of this without taking up arms once again, only this time it would be for self preservation, not ideals. However, there was now another option, one that promises an end to the fighting, where she and her remaining friends can return home to their families and live peacefully, if they were still there. It was a tempting offer, and to her, the rewards were worth the risk of betraying Ulfric. Besides, Ulfric had left them for dead. So she told him. She told him where the training camps east of Whiterun were, the locations of outposts and watchtowers, and where to her knowledge the remaining Stormcloak forces were. However, she had one condition. Imperius would have to protect her and her friends and their families in the village of Ivarstead, which was under Stormcloak control. Imperius nodded and made to get up, but he noticed out of the corner of his eye that the left sleeve of her tunic was a darker color than the rest of the clothing.

"Are you injured? Here, let me see the damage," Imperius said, beckoning her forward. She hesitated, looking at him with fearful eyes, but relented and scooted closer to him, showing him her arm, which had a slash from a sword running up it. He asked the guard for some medical supplies, and grabbed a water skin, pouring the clear water onto the wound, the girl hissing from the contact. He took the bandages and salves offered to him by the guard, and began applying it to the wound, spreading the salve and wrapping the bandages around the slash.

"Tell the guards if it worsens. They will send for a medicos to help you if need be. Soon you will be escorted under guard to the capitol. There you will be given citizenship and the protection that comes with it. We will protect all you hold dear, I promise," he said, finishing tying off the bandages

She nodded and laid down, falling asleep as soon as she hit the straw. He left the cells, and made his way through the guard house. He stopped to stare at the moon, and to just wonder at how things have played out. Sometimes it's hard for him to not stop and just marvel at the nature of things, how he assembled his forces, gathered the men of their particular skills, and the formation of his nation. Imperius chuckled to himself. He is so busy with conquering territory that he hasn't even begun to set national policies, trade agreements, defensive alliances, non aggression pacts, etc.

Imperius shook his head, and made his way back to the tent.

"So, I take it your excursion was successful?" Valian asked, an eyebrow arching, unsaid questions dancing on his tongue.

He shook his head in affirmation, and began to mark multiple places in the Rift, Eastmarch, and Winterhold territories, labelling them as he went. From the information that he had obtained from the young Stormcloaks, the attack on Riverwood was the second largest army in the Stormcloak faction. The main army, the largest by far, was stretched thin with guarding their holdings in Eastmarch and The Rift, along with a garrison in Winterhold, and with their losses in The Pale to the Imperials and with the losses obtained a few hours ago, the Stormcloaks were stretched to the breaking point. If any concentrated attack in either the Rift or Winterhold were to happen, their faction would soon begin to crumble. The many watchtowers, camps, and patrols in these areas were light, if not non-existent from Ulfric's disastrous military defeat at Riverwood. Apparently he nearly cleared them all out for this battle. Something to do with gaining a certain jarl's favor. They shouldn't be any trouble for him. What he now needs to focus on is the somewhat strengthened imperials in The Pale, Hjaalmarch and Markarth itself, bastions in his way of the imperial capital of Skyrim, the seat of their power. He needed to break that power.

"I want our western front secured, so when we defeat the imperials, we can focus our full attention on the crippled rebels. We first make for Whiterun, secure the staging areas, and divert the might of the legions towards the silver mines. The silverblood family won't take too kindly to us taking their mines, so expect many mercenaries when we besiege the city. Valian, take a force of thirty centaurs and scout Whiterun, find out how much of the Jarl's forces remain. Galba, head to Marianus and tell him to refocus his efforts on the infrastructure project," Imperius said, the two generals saluting and leaving the tent to carry out the task laid before them.

Whiterun

4E, 202, 17th of Morning Star

"Harold, I order you to march your forces and meet the approaching army at once! We need to halt their momentum before they gain too much power. He gained half of an imperial legion last week! His forces have doubled in such a short amount of time that if he were to besiege us now, we would have to surrender or be put to the sword!" Balgruff exclaimed, beads of sweat rolled down his frame.

Ever since he had gotten word that Imperius had driven off the imperials, and utterly obliterated the stormcloak forces, needless to say, he was frightened. In fact, frightened can't even begin to describe the terror he was feeling at the moment. All he wanted to do was go to sleep, and wake up from this horrific nightmare that the divines have cursed him with. He knew full well that Imperius wouldn't tolerate resistance to his military might, and would gladly have his head on a pike before the walls of the Imperium's capitol.

"Relax Balgruff, this is all a part of my plan. We let them march upon Whiterun, and once they have dug in for the siege, my forces will ambush them from the surrounding countryside, slaughter every single one of them, and put an end to this petty tyrant of yours," Harold said, with a crooked smile on his face.

He had no intention of saving this pathetic excuse of a nord. He was going to take his forces, and march back to Hammerfell, and spend the large sum he 'earned' on women and wine. Balgruff looked relieved, and slouched onto his throne, gulping down his mead from his silver goblet.

'The poor fool, he actually believes I will save him. I can't wait to see the look on his face when I take my forces, and leave this run down pigsty of a city,' he thought, softly chuckling to himself as he grabbed a goblet from a nearby bar wench.

The thane that had been assigned to him was a nuisance to deal with, constantly badgering him to actually help the jarl in a useful capacity. He had to placate her somehow, and drummed up support from the local populace by asking for ‘contributions’ to the cause, mainly in the form of food for the garrison and oaths of loyalty. That diverted her attention away from him enough to maneuver her into a position that deprived her of any authority, and practically removed her as a threat to his plans altogether. When it was time for him to leave, he had plans to dispose of her without issue, assigning ‘bodyguards’ to her person that would ‘protect’ her from threats from within or without. They were loyal and reliable men, they would do their part.

A particular bar wench caught his eye, a dark manned vixen that was practically inviting him to her bedchambers with her swaying hips and alluring eyes winking at him every time she passed by, and the clothing she wore left nothing but the essentials to the imagination. The fire burning in his belly called to her, and he answered it. The jarl wouldn’t find his mercenary captain for two hours, only finding him by the word of the bar wenches’ gossip in the bedchambers of one of them, the man putting on his clothing and leaving the room as the jarl came upon him, the wench left upon her bed, her face was one of satiated lust and overwhelming pleasure.

“Harold, are you sure that your plan is sound?” the slightly inebriated nord asked the mercenary.

Harold silently groaned in frustration at the jarl’s pestering.

“Jarl Balgruff, your title, lands, and your own safety, I guarantee will be kept in place from that usurper from the south. My men will ensure that you will rule uncontested for years to come,” he placated, just wanting the man to go away.

The Jarl nodded, reassured, and returned to the main hall, grabbing two bar wenches and leading them to his bedchamber.

Harold sighed in relief, hoping the comforts of the flesh will keep him occupied enough for him to think in peace. He had to make sure that everything went according to plan, because if it didn’t, it would mean his destruction.

Chapter Text

4E, 202, 12th of Sun's Dawn

"Galba, see to it that the new weapons get into position, I want the outer wall crumbling by the time we assault the city," Imperius said, Galba saluting and taking off on his horse towards the siege engines.

They were a marvel of engineering, with a huge weight on one end, providing the power to fling forth huge stones, or ceramic jars of tar if need be at a larger range than regular catapults, making them deadly weapons in the right hands. The great siege engines creaked and groaned as they were moved into position, the wooden wheels turning on steel axles. The legion stood in formation behind the great weapons of war, poised and ready for battle. Before the crumbling walls of the trade city stood a mighty host of eight thousand hammerfell warriors, clad in their lamellar and mail armor, the steel glinting in the midday sun. Before the host defending Whiterun, atop a white steed, sat Harold Hardradda, smirking behind his helmet visor.

The host of men and beasts scared the living daylights out of him of course, but he wasn't worried though, he just hoped that this Imperius he has heard about was a reasonable man and would listen to what he had to say. He was in no way possible going to fight the army before him. He would be crushed before his soldiers' skill could make any difference, despite them being veteran Hammerfell warriors. He turned towards the city and spotted the Jarl he was hired by and scoffed at the pure, visible terror radiating from the nord. He turned back towards the incoming army and, with a pure white flag resting in his right hand, rode out to meet with the commander.

Imperius looked upon the city, taking note of the wooden buildings, and the lack of a military presence within the city, excluding the host before the walls, which numbered around eight thousand in total if he was certain. His host outnumbered the one before the walls by at least four thousand men, with two thousand centaurs on the wings, two thousand extra legionnaires, bringing his men up to a total of twelve thousand, and three dragons including Mirmulnir, providing raw, destructive power if need be. He was almost certain that he wouldn't need them though, for his new weapons should turn the tide of a battle in their favor, and speed up the process of a siege once they dealt with the host before the walls. However, one can never be too careful, and perhaps they could be used as a terror weapon, to frighten the enemy into giving up before meeting his men in battle. Yes, that is what he will use the dragons for in the siege, forces of pure power and intimidation.

He saw a single rider riding a distance before the walls, bearing a white flag. He mounted a horse and with Galba and Valian, rode out to meet the leader of the host.

Jarl Balgruff stood on one of the crumbling walls of his city over the main gate, surveying the vast army at his gates with a terrified look, beads of sweat dripping off of his chin like rain in a storm, forming a fairly large damp spot in the wood he was standing on. He hoped to the divines that this mercenary was worth the enormous amount of coin he paid him. He nearly emptied the treasury just to pay his fee, much less the food for such an army. He saw Harold ride out to the enemy force, and three riders coming to meet him.

'Good, maybe he'll talk some sense into that insane rebel, I only hope he knows what he is doing,' he thought.

Imperius studied the commander of the army before the walls of Whiterun, and could tell right away he was a nord from the long, flowing blonde hair sticking out of the rear of his helmet, which had the influence of the hammerfel warriors. He wore mail and lamellar armor, complete with a round shield with a single boss spike smack in the middle, with swirling patterns of steel coiling towards the spike, complete with a scimitar on his belt. He rode a hammerfel breed of horse, the long legs and arched neck glinting in the sun thanks to its white coat. The two commanders stopped a few feet from each other, both studying their adversary.

"I am Harold Hardradda, commander of the mighty host you see before you. Now before you say anything, I have not come to fight, merely to wish you well on the siege ahead," he said, smirking at the perturbed expression on Imperius's face, which quickly morphed into a smirk as well, realizing what the mercenary was talking about.

The two nodded to each other, and rode off to their respective armies, the hammerfell warriors marching southwest to their home province to celebrate the coin they had swindled. Meanwhile upon the walls, Jarl Balgruff was in shock. His eyes bulged, staring at the traitorous mercenary riding atop his horse, seething with rage and panic. His worst fears have been realized. He had been tricked, and now, he was practically defenseless. He should have known that with these types of men, their loyalty was never certain, but divines it had seemed genuine at the time. Maybe he was just so desperate for a miracle, that the mere sight of one arriving at his gates pushed away all thoughts of betrayal. And now, he was paying for it, dearly.

'That traitorous wretch! If I survive this, I will have his head on my wall!' he thought.

A scream of outrage and terror sounded from the walls, making Harold smile, while it heightened Imperius's disgust for the man.

'He should face his death with some honor, not screaming like a coward,' he thought.

He masked his disgust and morphed his face into one of indifference. He gave the signal for the siege to commence once the army of mercenaries have left the area. He could make out the faint, fleeting figure of the nordic jarl being escorted by his guards back to Dragonsreach, lining the defenses with whatever men could wield a sword. He pitied the men who were on the walls, haggardly dressed in scale armor, the tunic embossed with the sigil of Whiterun, the helmets barely fitting some of the young boys on the walls. He truly pitied them, but now was not a time for pity. This Jarl must pay for standing against the Imperium. To deny his ascension to power was intolerable. He paused at that unbidden thought, confused as to where it had come from, a look of discomfort grew upon his face. Intolerable? What? The thought felt out of place. He didn't seek power just for its own sake, but to make the world better. So why did he feel the need to exert his power over this impetuous Jarl? It confused, and somewhat frightened him. He resolved to delve into it at a later date. For now, the siege demanded his full attention.

The trebuchet were rolled into position, the men manning the weapons pulling on a mechanism, pulling back the counterweight and loading a large stone in the sling, letting the projectile fly when Imperius signaled for the attack to begin. A volley of stones flew through the air, whistling as they came ever closer to their target, the guards on the walls crying out as the stones hit, smashing through the weak stone structure with ease, loose rock crushing those unfortunate to have fallen to the ground, pools of blood flowed from under the rock.

Imperius mounted Mirmulnir, and led the dragons on a strafing run, burning swaths of buildings and guards in their ferocious assault, with Krilkahjot freezing men where they stood, entombing them in an icy grave. The men manning the inner walls flew into a blind panic at the sight of three dragons laying waste to their city and comrades, fleeing their positions and running every which way, groups of guards turned to scorched skeletons and piles of ash when streams of dragonfire washed over them. He blew a horn attached to his belt, and the legion marched into the gap in the wall, a formation of shields blocking any deadly projectile from killing one of their own. Once they breached the walls, they sprinted to the battlements, cutting down small detachments of Whiterun guards sent to stop their assault or at the very least buy time for the rest of the defenders to shore up the inner defenses.

Galba led the charge, slicing and stabbing his way through the guards stationed on the walls, ordering the signifer to signal to Imperius to let him know that the assault was gaining ground. He then yelled a war cry and urged his men onward to meet the counter attack staged by those that were left on the outer defenses. Shields splintered into fragmented pieces as weapons made contact, swords clashed against armor, and blood soaked the dirt under their feet. Imperius raised his sword in affirmation and flew from the outer walls to the inner walls, the dragons burning or terrifying any resistance. He landed Mirmulnir on top of Jorrvaskr and told him to continue the assault, and to send some dragons to the outer wall to aid the legion. The dragon nodded and roared as he took off, grabbing some nearby guards with his talons, and tossing them into the air, their bodies making a sickening crunch when they hit the ground.

He began to make his way to the keep, noticing an arrow flying towards him out of the corner of his eye, dodging at the last second. He barely had time to recover, for he dodged a swing from a great sword and blocked another strike from a second blade, pushing his attacker away. He backed up from his assailants and recognized them immediately, the companions. The warriors for hire were arrayed in a line at the front of the mead hall, their skyforge steel glinting in the afternoon sun, casting shadows onto the ground.

He scowled. The companions of his timeline were half rate warriors, taking on contracts of intimidating influential people, and killing the unlucky thief who got caught, never taking on bandit lairs, that was always assigned to him before he became harbinger. But this timeline was different from his, he changed too many things for it to stay the same, he didn't know whether or not these were great warriors, or the bumbling drunks of his time.

One eager recruit shouted a battle cry and rushed him, sword lifted high in the air, shield held in front. He dodged the strikes with speed, outpacing his opponent, ducking and leaping from the deadly blows. This frustrated the new blood, eager to prove himself before his superiors, making him strike with heavier, more vicious swings of his sword, unbalancing himself willingly for the sake of power and blood lust.

Imperius saw this, and took full advantage of this, and parried a strike, pushing the companion off with a mighty shove, sending the warrior stumbling. He rushed his combatant, felling blow after blow on his defense, gaining nicks and small cuts on the companion, who was fumbling with his attempts at defense. Their blades clashed for minutes, sparks flying from the steel on steel contact, neither giving ground, shield bashing against shield.

Imperius ducked under a wide swing and head butted the helm less warrior, his nose shattering on contact with Imperius's plumed helmet, blood gushing down his face. He cried out in pain and closed his eyes, giving Imperius the advantage he needs, running around his foe and striking the back of the companion's knees, stabbing him through the back and kicking him off his blade.

The rest of the companions rushed forwards, eager to avenge their fallen comrade, and to wet their blades with his blood. He dodged a cut aiming for his stomach, parried another aiming for his head. He stabbed Farkas in the thigh when the man missed with a heavy swing of his two handed sword, making the man stumble back, and blocked a strike from his brother intended to cut his throat. He pushed the blade away and engaged the Companion, sending lightning fast strikes aiming for the chinks in the warrior's plate armor, his attacks blocked by the skillful defense of Vilkas. The Companion sidestepped a thrust and swiped at Imperius' chest, the sword scraping against the segmented chest piece, leaving him open, and Imperius took full advantage. He broke Vilkas's nose with a strike from his shield and stabbed the younger brother in the chest, piercing his steel armor. Farkas roared with rage, and stumbled towards him, his great sword raised high. Imperius dodged an arrow fired from the huntress and sidestepped Farkas's heavy strike, taking the man's head with an upward slash, the body slumping to the ground moments later.

Aela the Huntress loosed arrow after arrow at her target, but at the last second he dodged them with incredible speed. She saw him make short work of two of the most skilled swordsmen in the companions without breaking a sweat, and was striking at the defenses of Rika, the second new blood that joined them a few weeks prior.

When Jarl Balgruff came into their mead hall, borderline begging for their help against a belligerent would be conqueror, she knew that something was coming to destroy their city. She didn't expect that their doom would come in the form of an imperial, but when she saw him riding a dragon, and the army at the gates of Whiterun itself, her doubts about his capabilities vanished.

Imperius thrust his sword forwards, surprised to see that his blade met air, quickly ducking under a swift horizontal strike from the companion's war hammer. He sidestepped a mighty downward swing, the metal hammer digging into the stone beneath them, and quickly sliced her arm, sending her backing away from her weapon. He grabbed the hammer, and threw it towards Skjor, the war hammer flipping end over end towards its destination.

The old warrior never saw it coming, only knowing what happened when he felt a sharp pain bloom in his chest, looking down to see a steel war hammer buried in his wolf armor, blood leaking out of the cracks and shattered bits of his chest plate. He slumped to the ground in front of Jorvaskr, sharing a loving look with Aela, before falling onto his back, life draining from his eyes.

Imperius felt a force shove him forward, and he turned to find out it was the new blood, blood streaming down her arm. He then noticed that there was a dagger in his shoulder plates, wedged in deep. He pulled the dagger from his shoulder plate, and flung it at the companion, lodging the blade in her shoulder, making the warrior cry out in pain, tumbling to the ground near the statue of Talos. Deciding that his current adversary was neutralized, he turned to Aela, who was staring at the still form of Skjor, tears running unabashed down her face, the look of grief quickly turning to rage when she noticed him out of the corner of her eye.

She screamed like a banshee, throwing her bow away in exchange for a small dagger, and rushed towards him, her eyes screaming that his blood be spilt. She slashed at his chest, aiming for the chinks in his breastplate. Imperius dodged the swift blows, striking when he could, but never even getting close to hitting her. This continued for some time, with Imperius ducking, dipping, and sidestepping the vicious blows, while Aela became more enraged at the fact that she has yet to land a hit on her lover's killer.

Then, she stopped. Her heavy, labored breathing began to change to something akin to panting, like a dog. Then she doubled over, her arms growing longer and longer at an alarming rate. Imperius was a little shocked, confused at this sudden change, before dread began to rear its head. He had forgotten about the council members being of wolf blood. He had killed the two brothers and Skjor with such speed that he had thought that maybe in this timeline they weren't werewolves. Sadly, he would come to regret not considering it. Aela was finishing her transformation, the dark fur covering her body, and with a terror inducing howl, she finished. Her body was still sleek and thin like her human form, but the werewolf form had much more muscle and towered over most people. Her features resembled her human form as well, but only slightly, the red beady eyes glaring at him, her jaws filled to the brim with hellishly jagged teeth. A rage induced roar barreled out of the werewolf, and with a mighty leap, she attacked Imperius.

He barely had enough time to raise his shield to block the incoming strike before the werewolf's claws made contact, and he was sent stumbling back from the force of the blow, his shield missing a part of itself at the top right corner. He attempted to strike at the companion turned werewolf, but the beast outpaced him in terms of speed and agility. He couldn't land a hit, and as he came to realize his mistake, Aela went back on the offensive. Rapid strikes struck his armor and shield, the laminated steel plates barely holding back the deadly claws from ripping open his chest and stomach, the shield not faring any better. He could hardly keep pace with her attacks, he would block one then be struck by another, only to try and block a strike and be faked out and struck with another blow.

He couldn't take much more. His armor was being literally torn apart, and his shield was close to shattering. He had to make a move. As Aela began to strike at him once again, he made his move. As her left arm swung towards him like an over sized warhammer with blades, he ducked under the blow and rushed the werewolf's guard, stabbing the beast's shoulder. Unfortunately that didn't kill the werewolf, and he paid for it when Aela turned her head and bit down on his arm, shaking from side to side, nearly mangling his arm. Imperius shouted in pain and bashed the werewolf's face with his shield, making the beast relinquish his arm, stunning it. He wasted no time in cutting its throat, its life blood spurting onto the ground, the beast clutching at the wound, trying in vain to stem the bleeding, but it was no use and it fell to the ground a few moments later and went limp.

The other companions stared at the corpse in shock. Shocked that, for one, their leader was a werewolf, and shocked that their best warriors were taken out by this one man. Imperius quickly disposed of the rest of the companions with some difficulty due to his injured arm. Then, he remembered that he forgot one, and turned to finish off the companion.

He took one glance at the companion he wounded from earlier, and he was frozen. She was a light brown, the sun glinting off of her smooth skin, her hair an onyx black, waving in the wind. Her face was perfect, subtle cheek bones, full lips, and the most beautiful thing he ever saw, her sparkling blue eyes. Oh divines they were perfect, sparkling like the sea underneath the light of the sun, he felt like he could gaze into those eyes forever. Then her eyes suddenly hardened, staring right back into his chocolate brown eyes.

Imperius was brought from his reverie when a dragon roared, followed by the sound of fire and screams, reminding him what he was here for. He turned from the beautiful companion and rushed towards the keep.

On the way up the steps he ran into some Whiterun guards, stationed at the bridge and the gigantic doors that barred his way. He made short work of them, no lowly hold guard could match his skills with a blade, even if he was injured, and pushed open the doors, finding a group of about twenty more guards at the fire pit, the long tables overturned, silverware scattered around the room. Jarl Balgruff stood on his throne, a wild crazed look in his eye. A guard moved closer to the Jarl, and was cut down by the man he was protecting, the body was paid no mind. Imperius was a master of the sword, but twenty armed and armored men was a bit too much for him to handle, especially with his injury.

He considered charging head first anyways, the battle needed to end quickly, but whipped his head around to see a group of ten legionaries and Galba running into the room, their eyes focused on the guards. Galba nodded to Imperius, and barked some commands to the ten legionaries, the men forming a shield wall, with Galba in the center. They rushed as one unit and met the guards in combat, providing the necessary distraction Imperius needed. He rushed past the fight, lobbing off one head of a Whiterun guard to help his men, and made a beeline straight to the Jarl, who widened his bloodshot eyes in surprise, which quickly morphed into a hard glare.

The two combatants met each other halfway, their steel creating sparks with the force behind the strikes. Imperius smashed the butt of his gladius into the jarl's face and kicked him in the gut, making the man hunch over and hurl up the tankards of mead he apparently had before he showed up. He kneed the man's face, shattering his nose and making his head snap back, flying dangerously close to the fire pit, standing up on wobbly feet. Imperius rushed the Jarl, pushing him back to his throne, kicking the man into the chair and knocking away the sword. He pointed the tip of the blade at the nord's neck, and Balgruff lost his composer, begging and pleading for his life with tears streaming down his face.

"Please let me live! I will give you my lands, my gold, my title. Anything, just spare me please!" he shouted, groveling before Imperius's feet. Imperius' faced morphed into one of disgust, an kicked the man's face, sending him back into one of the chair legs.

Valian and Galba finally arrived, and he discussed what to do with the broken Jarl, all the while Balgruff wailed and cried. They reached a consensus and walked to where the jarl was sitting, with Imperius to pass the verdict.

"Jarl Balgruff, on the charges of killing soldiers of the Imperium, threatening to slaughter its citizens, and for taxing your people to death, stripping them of their wealth and food to feed your greed, we have decided to turn you to the judgement of your people. They deserve to see the man who makes them suffer endure a punishment of their own making."

When those words registered in the drunk and distraught jarl's mind, he flew into a panic. He knew what his people would do to him now that they were no longer under his control, and he was only in power because of his nobles, and they had fled long before the siege even began. He was alone, and the people would grant him no mercy. He decided that he wouldn't meet this fate, grabbing a sword from the guard he killed and thrusting it towards Imperius, who sidestepped the blow and caught his arm. He wrenched the sword from his hands and broke the man's arm, the jarl shouting for him to end it now, quickly pushing the jarl back and stabbing the man in the chest, silencing the cries for death, granting the man his wish, despite wanting to see the people get their retribution. The jarl slumped off the blade onto his knees, and looked around at his hall.

The twenty guards who had sworn their life to protect him lay dead, a huge pool of blood forming around their bodies. He saw flames dancing on the wooden pillars, quickly engulfing the rest of his former home. He turned to where Imperius was, but found the general to be gone, being followed by his lieutenants out the big oak doors, which were quickly engulfed in flames. He fell forward onto the floor, blacking out on contact, never to wake up again.

Chapter Text

4E, 202, 27th of Sun’s Dawn

“Join the rest of the legion at the encampment. There your soldier's gear will be upgraded to the Imperium's standard, and your men drilled in the battle formations that we use. You are dismissed," Imperius said to a former imperial legate, commanding a small force of around two hundred imperial soldiers, who saluted and made his way to the encampment.

The Imperium has been receiving numerous offers from imperial legates to join the legions, and to join the Imperium, leaving the Empire at a loss for manpower and lower level commanders. Since the crushing victory at Whiterun, the Imperium has gained launching points for their invasion plans, leaving the Imperial garrison in Skyrim in a precarious situation. He has Galba, after promoting him to the rank of Legate, commanding the newly formed II Legion in the east, guarding their right flank from any surprise attack by the Stormcloaks, while Valian, being promoted to the same rank, is managing the home territory with small contingents of legionaires and heavy centaur cavalry equal of that to a legion, the III Legion, while also divided from the common legion tactical structure, clearing out any pockets of resistance, and snuffing out rebellions before they could catch flame.

So far, they numbered three legions in total, which compiled the total man power of the Imperium to about thirty thousand soldiers, all ready to serve the Imperium. Imperius himself led a legion, the I Legion, which was about ten thousand men and centaur cavalry, towards the silver mines of Markarth, where the silverblood family influence was strongest.

In the previous timeline, the Silverbloods were ruthless gangsters, roughing up and threatening people to pay a protection tax, to help keep the peace as they called it. His legion was tasked to root out the Silverbloods, the campaign taking three months of constant street warfare and hit and run attacks that had him seethe with anger at the losses incurred, as they were entrenched in the city to an almost unhealthy degree in the previous timeline. Imperius assumes that this will be the case this time as well. His men were camped in the open grasslands west of Whiterun. The famous trade city was already under reconstruction, replacing the nordic buildings of wood to that of Imperium marble and stone, the roads being repaved, the smithy being expanded along with the markets and farms. A small garrison of legionaires was placed within the city walls, to keep the peace and to help protect from bandits and any remaining Stormcloak sympathisers that may still be within Whiterun.

' The people will eventually benefit from this change in management. Granted the Greymanes are causing a ruckus but that is to be expected ,' he thought, going over the supply lists.

The burgeoning Imperium, while capable, could not supply the current amount of men effectively. There were not nearly enough farms and stock animal pastures to supply the legions with enough food to sustain them. Imperius needed to act. He would not see his men starve while he still was capable of preventing it. But where to start after Markarth was the question. Valian's reports from Falkreath and the citadel had ensured in Imperius' mind the security of the southern entrance of Skyrim from Imperial surprise attacks, and Galba had secured the right flank and reported no findings of Stormcloak rebels after scouring the recruitment camps in the eastern fringes of the Whiterun hold, taking thirty captives turned legion soldiers after taking an offer of recruitment for amnesty from Galba. Maybe a push northwards towards Morthal and Dawnstar, tightening the noose around the Imperial garrison, strangling their supply lines until they were weak from famine, making surrender a near surety. Or maybe a push east, with Galba and the II Legion acting as the vanguard and spearhead, with the I Legion acting as the executioner's axe, mopping up any resistance that sprung up in the wake of the advance, with both legions converging upon the bastion of Stormcloak influence, Windhelm. It is difficult to decide.

Suddenly a courier burst into his tent, laid a scroll onto his desk, bowed, and ran out of the room. He pulled off the seal of the scroll, noting it was from the Cyrodilic Empire, unrolled the scroll, and began to read. A smirk grew on his face as he chuckled. Civil war is tearing the Cyrodilic Empire apart, and the legion stationed in Skyrim would be receiving no reinforcements or supplies. A pretender to the throne was causing a commotion in High Rock, and a legion and the reinforcements bound for the legion in Skyrim would be making their way there to quell the rebellion. The imperials in Skyrim were cut off. Perfect. He was pulled from his thoughts by a painful growl from his stomach.

' I have got to find a way to gather the necessary supplies my men need, the legions are running on empty. We won't be able to stand up to any threat like this! ' he thought, grimacing in frustration.

"Have a runner send word to the centurions, we will be moving out in a few hours to Rorikstead to resupply," Imperius said, watching a runner sprint out of the tent.

He put on his segmented armor, looking grimly at his bandaged arm, grabbed his gladius and shield, and mounted his horse, making his way to the front of the column, giving the signal to march. Horns blew immediately, followed by the sound of marching feet, clopping hooves, and clanking armor, the cold temperature of Skyrim negating the heat of the midday sun. Imperius scanned the plains, noting the lackluster amount of deer and giant elk that used to roam the plains in great numbers. As they passed a nearby giant camp, he was shocked by the sight of mangled giant and mammoth corpses, a sickly green fluid oozing out of the various wounds.

He recalled Krilkahjot telling him about an undead dragon with the same green fluid pouring out of its various wounds, of how a demonic being resurrected the beast. Mirmulnir reported an alien creature from which the same colored fluid flowed from after he slew it. The details and the numerous reports of the same thing had him concerned to a degree that it took up much of his thoughts during any march. What did these signs mean? He couldn't be sure. He shook himself from his thoughts, and realized that they were nearing the town, taking note of numerous creatures that lay dead on the roadside, ranging from sheep, cows, to the mighty mammoth, all of them oozing out the green fluid from their mangled carcasses.

"Brag, you and another rider scout out the town, I don't like what I've seen so far," he said, the man nodding and riding off with a fellow rider towards the town.

The nord flew towards the settlement with his companion, scrunching up his face when a foul odor reached his nose, his companion heaving the contents of whatever meal they could scrounge up onto the cobblestone road. Along the way, they saw bloodied pieces of Whiterun guard armor, some containing the mangled, shredded corpse of the guard, others empty, save for some limbs. When they reached the town, Brag emptied his stomach as well. Rorikstead was in flames, the houses nearly burned to the ground, the tavern still ablaze. Bodies were strewn across the street, the wounds oozing the same green fluid as the animal corpses back towards the legion.

The livestock were nowhere to be seen, huge puddles of blood were in their place in the pens, some containing the limb of an animal, sometimes a human limb took the place of the animal. They slowly entered the remains of the village, their horses neighing and jumping in fright when a building near them collapsed. They stared in horror at a tree at the center of the village, which held the cold, lifeless corpses of most of the villagers, crows already picking at the bodies.

"May Akatosh have mercy on their souls," Brag said, his companion putting his hands together and bowing his head in prayer.

Brag too bowed his head in silent prayer, only to whip upwards in terror as he heard his friend choking on a blade lodged in his throat, blood gushing like a flooded river down his chest. His companion fell off of his horse, the animal fleeing in pure terror, and he turned to the being responsible. It glowed a sickly green, the bulging veins pulsing with green light, a crazed grin on its face, green liquid dripping from its slack jaw, which held elongated fangs. It looked vaguely humanoid, with the same physique of a nord, with the muscles of a orismir, and the height of a half giant, bearing two long swords in each hand. The being screeched a blood curdling cry, and sprinted towards Brag, who snapped out of his trance, and urged his horse to gallop out of the town, heading back to the legion.

He breathed a sigh of relief, which turned into a scream of horror as he turned around to be greeted by the sight of the being slowly gaining on him, green spittle flying from its gaping jaws. It stared at him, with a wild, crazed look, bloodshot eyes without pupils. A maniacal laugh sent chills down his spine as the being finally caught up to him, and tripped up his horse, sending him flying forward, breaking his neck on the cold, muddy ground. The demon cackled at his handiwork, yet his face quickly turned into a frown as he heard the approaching army, and fled into the undergrowth, watching from a nearby bush.

Imperius saw more bodies, some animal, some human, others too mangled to discern. He stops when he sees the body of the scout Brag, the one he sent out a few minutes ago. His horse lay crippled beside him, its legs twisted at unnatural angles. The horse was put out of its misery, and the legion marched forward, growing more and more wary as they went. Imperius halted the army, stunned by the carnage wrought at the village.

Houses now smoldering ruins, corpses lined the main road, some killed by vicious stab wounds, others were unidentifiable with how mangled the corpse was. His horror grew when he saw the tree in the center of the village, bodies stuck onto its various branches. The sight nearly made him balk. He spotted the other scout he sent, with a gaping hole in his neck. He shook his head, and turned his horse around to address the centurions, who were in shock at the sight before them.

"Centurions, have the legion go around the village. I don't want the men to lose the contents of their stomach. I will scout out the village, to see if there are any survivors," he said, the centurions nodding and barking commands.

As he moved through the devastated ruins of the town, he had the feeling that something was watching him from the husks of the houses and buildings of the once vibrant farming village, now a ruined wasteland of death and decay, the stench of the green, fetid liquid oozing from the bodies of the dead made him visibly ill by the smell alone. He stopped near what was once the tavern of the town, warily keeping his surroundings in his vision. This was not the work of Ulfric, as much as he would like to believe it, the nordic jarl of Windhelm at the very least cared for his fellow nords, if only to further his own gains, so he wouldn’t massacre these people, even if they defied him. The thought of Tullius doing this made him snort in disbelief. The man was too efficient, too logical for a massacre such as this to be his work. There wouldn’t be as many slaughtered bodies, nor would the soldiers brutalize the citizens in such a manner, not to mention that it would be against his interests to slaughter a town full of innocents. This thought process only left more questions.

"Now, what could have caused this much destruction?"

"That would be yours truly."

Imperius whirled around, drawing his gladius towards the voice. He kept his shield up, wary of the humanoid before him. He wasn't sure if it even could be called humanoid, its physiology and stature so alien that he innately knew that it was not of this world. It stood about seven feet tall, had no hair save for some chest hair, its eyes a bloodshot white, no pupils to speak of. The creature had no ears, only two holes in the side of its head in which Imperius inferred that were its ears. No visible nose either, two slits on its face he inferred served as its nose. It snarled, holding up two swords in each hand, large, menacing ink black talons extended from its fingertips. The two combatants circled each other, waiting for either one of them to make the first move.

"Who and what are you, and why have you slaughtered this village?! These people have done you no wrong!" he shouted, outraged at the near aloof manner in which the creature admitted to the deed.

"I'm fully aware that they have not wronged me in any way, but my master bid me to commit this act, and as a good servant, I shall follow his instructions to the letter," the being crooned, its voice sickeningly smooth, a wide grin growing on its face, showing off two rows of elongated fangs, with serrated edges glinting in the sun.

"Who is your master?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that. If you want the information badly enough, you will beat me in combat," the demon said, raising its twin swords in a silent challenge.

Imperius answered, charging the demon, slamming his shield against the foul being, pushing it off balance. The demon quickly did a few leaps backwards to gain some distance between each other, and charged, throwing one of its blades, which lodged itself in Imperius's shield. Imperius threw the shield down, cursing that he had to get rid of it so soon, and blocked a powerful strike, the harsh clang of steel hitting steel rang out, Imperius being pushed back by the demon's sheer strength, that of a small giant. He dodged multiple strikes, some barely nicking his armor, leaving small grooves in the well crafted steel, and swept the demon off of its feet, stabbing his sword into the dirt where the demon was after it had rolled out of the way.

He grunted in frustration, pulled the blade out of the ground and rushed the demon, striking ferociously at the horrid thing with his gladius, getting a few deep, well placed cuts on its chest. It growled and went on the offensive, surprising and pushing Imperius towards the smoking remains of the tavern, putting the dragonborn on the defense. Imperius struck out with his leg and kicked the demon onto the ground, the demon rolling to the side at the last second as Imperius stabbed his sword once more into the ground. Imperius looked up to see the demon charging him, seeing the blow coming, and he was a second too late to dodge it. The demon kicked Imperius's chest, sending him flying away from his gladius into a burnt wood column, cackling as he heard the tell tale crunch of broken bones.

"My my, I thought the legendary dragonborn would be a challenge to me, from all of the talk from my brethren I figured you were a warrior of great stature and mettle. One worthy of testing my skill against. Alas, all the talk was for nothing," the demon said, shrugging its shoulder as he made his way over to Imperius, a smirk twisting its unnatural facial features

Imperius struggled to get up, but the demon's kick had knocked the wind out of him. He winced, holding his ribcage, feeling that a few ribs were broken. He finally stood up after much struggle and pulled out a long dagger, with one hand over his ribs and the other pointing his weapon at the demon, who stopped to laugh at how pitiful he looked. Imperius grunted in pain as he fell to his knees, the pain intensifying to extreme levels. He couldn't think. Pain clouded his thoughts like a thick fog. All he could do was act on muscle memory and instinct.

"If you are the best this world has to offer, then my master worries for naught. The invasion will proceed as planned, and our conquest of this world will come easily, our humiliation avenged with mass slaughter," the demon said passionately with a vicious grin.

"What nonsense do you speak? What invasion? What humiliation?" Imperius asked, wincing as the pain began to intensify, noticing riders from the legion spot them and bringing up a couple of archers, pointing at the demon.

"We are nothing new to this world. We have been here before. Before the Empire, before the elves, before even the Guardians' creation. We were beaten back, humiliated by you pathetic creatures. We would have swept over this world with ease, but the combined armies of all the mortals, with the aid of the Titans in the form of the Guardians, scattered us like grains of sand in the wind. Now that the Titans are nowhere to be found, and all the Guardians gone, we can finish what we started. This world will burn in fire, and my master will laugh as you are struck down like the livestock you are," the demon said, his cackles cut short when he was struck by a flurry of arrows, falling face down into the blood drenched earth. A few moments later the corpse burned up in a hellish green fire, ashes being all that was left of it.

Imperius's vision began to fade though in vain he tried to retain consciousness. The last things he saw were his lieutenants gathering around him, hoisting him onto a stretcher, then it faded to black.

Chapter Text

A New Discovery

Imperius awoke to muffled sounds, minor noises echoing in his ears. His mind felt murky, his thoughts a jumbled mess. If only he could get his thoughts together. He stood on shaky legs, legs that threatened to give out at any second. His world spun around in circles, making his mind even more a jumbled mess. He leaned on a tent post that was nearby to help balance his dead weight. A person entered the tent, making him wary in his unprepared state. He internally scoffed in derision. He was barely able to stand, let alone defend himself, oh how the mighty warrior was laid low.

He looked at the individual who entered the tent, though his eyes felt like they were being stabbed by knives. His head felt like a piece of metal a smith was hammering, the rhythmic pounding only worsening with the sharp pains in his eyes. It was a legionnaire, clad in the segmentata armor that distinguished his forces from the imperials. The man looked to be in his early thirties, though he was gaunt, his cheeks sunken, his arms like thin reeds. His eyes had a weary look about them, like he was on the verge of collapsing at any moment.

"Sir, we have visitors," the legionnaire said and exited the tent with tired, and heavy steps.

He looked around for his armor and found it laying near the cot he was laying on, complete with a helm that signified his status as supreme commander of the army. It had a forward facing crest, with white horse hair acting as a herald to his status, with two cheek guards. Imperius sighed at the weight of the armor on his frame. He had forgotten the side effects of being bitten by a lycan. He would never get a restful night's sleep ever again. Oh how he was tired. He unsteadily stepped out of the tent to find the rest of his legion in a similar state as the single legionnaire that entered the tent, haggard and gaunt, skinny men in place of fit, muscular men, with their armor seemingly too big for them.

As he made way to the front of the camp, knowing the way because he personally saw to the placement of tents, where the cooks were stationed, and where the exits and entrances were, he received hopeful looks from his men. He knew those looks, that type of hope. It was hope of men on the verge of defeat, and saw their supposed hero coming to their rescue, or at least, coming to turn the tide of battle when defeat seemed inevitable. He nodded their way and took surer steps, his unsteady gait soon fading despite the weariness clinging to his bones.

A legionaire being carried on a stretcher caught his eye as he passed him, with a multitude of crude arrows implanted into the steel plates of his armor. Soon three more followed their comrade. He heard the sounds of digging nearby and quickly glanced towards the practice range for his archers, and saw a number of make shift graves being dug, with a cart of bodies nearby, the men gently laying a body into each hole they had dug. A centurion passed by, and he quickly stopped the man.

"Centurion, what has happened during my absence of command."

"A large host of Foresworn attacked the legion in force sir. We defeated them, but with heavy losses. Only seven thousand, five hundred men remain."

Imperius was shocked. The Foresworn were savages, practicing black magic. Brutish and thralls to covens of hagravens, he saw no threat. Their weaponry was primitive, their armor mere furs and padded jerkins, heads of animals their helmets. It didn't make sense. He refused to believe such backwards savages not only to match his legion in skills, but to deal such casualties as to cause a withdrawal of the advance.

"The Foresworn killed that many?!" he whispered in disbelief.

"We were ambushed in the hills and narrow paths by large bands of the savages, Imperator. We couldn't form proper battle formations. They struck at our weak points, catching us off guard. We pushed them back, slaughtering a fair number of the heathens, but the Legion had to withdraw to prevent further casualties, we could push no further."

His mind pondered the information, and could see how it could've happened. His men were more at home on large battlefields, where the legion could properly outflank and outfight their opponent if the legion was sufficiently skilled. "I see. Thank you centurion, resume your duties."

The centurion saluted and made his way to his century, leaving Imperius to process the amount of soldiers they lost in just a few days. It reminded him of his defeat at Whiterun by the elves, and the subsequent slaughter that followed. He tensed, his facial muscles flexing to the breaking point as he tried to contain the literal tidal wave of emotions crashing against him, the lump in his throat making it hard to swallow or speak. He could see them, each and every single soldier he lost that day. He sees them in his dreams, their faces pale and gaunt, fresh blood trailing from their lips to their chins, their eyes glazed with death, the colors of their eyes dull and lifeless as they were. He could see in vivid, horrifying detail how each one died, ragged gashes in their armor and limbs still bleeding bright ruby blood. They called out to him, horrid voices that echoed his grief as well as their own, wondering why he let them die, pleading for him to save them. By the divines how he wish he could have. He would have traded everything he owned, every moment of his life up until that point, just to have another day with them, a few more moments holding back the enemies of the Empire with them. He saw them all, the young legionaires of the II, VI, VIII and IX cohorts, more so boys than men, their youth wasted in a battle that they would never know the result of, and he wept for them, for they should have had families of their own, leaving legacies that will span centuries after them. Now they never will know the embrace of a woman, the joy of holding their children in their arms, watching them grow as they age, and passing away peacefully in their beds. He saw the elite veterans of the I cohort, their faces rigid in unflinching expressions of duty and sacrifice. They were the only ones that he felt didn't blame him for their deaths like the others he saw. They knew what they were getting into, and proudly laid down their lives for what they believed in. An Empire of unity, peace and prosperity. Oh how he wished to be like them, to have found eternal peace. Each soldier lost under his command was a burden for him alone to bear. The burden of failure. It was his job to protect them, to keep them safe and to bring them back alive. He swallowed a lump in his throat, and took a deep, ragged breath. An emotional breakdown wasn't something his men needed to see, but it was so damn hard not to give in. A near instinctual need to grieve gripped him. However, his men needed the strong, fearless leader they have come to know him as, and he would fill that role. He was reminded of his previous venture with the sounds of the sentries giving an alert, and he resumed is trek, his pace increasing, compartmentalizing his emotions.

He glanced to his left and noticed that the camp was on the road to Solitude, not far from Rorikstead, or what was left of it. Imperius returned his gaze to the camp entrance, and was a bit worried at the low number of sentries on duty. But who could blame them. They were running low on supplies, most of the legion was unfit for duty, and their morale was at an all time low. When he made it to the entrance, two legionaries were awaiting him, and snapped to attention at his presence. He nodded to them and left the camp, with the two soldiers following.

He stopped a few hundred yards away from the entrance to the fort and took in the sight that greeted them. A force of four hundred Khajiits formed into a single line three soldiers deep facing towards the fort, in between the regiments were three metal tubes on wooden wheels, with round balls in a stack near the strange object, with a crew of ten manning it. The leader of the force rode towards him on a beast he was most befuddled by. It stood around six feet tall, had knobby knees, thick, cloven hooves, and had a hump on its back. The sounds it made, was disconcerting to say the least. The Khajiit who rode the beast wore a steel breastplate, intricate carving on the metal suggested that he was of a high status, coupled with a gold plated hilt attached to a curved scimitar.

"Greetings, I am Komiser Adjul Hasiid, and I bring a message from the Aldmeri Dominion," the Khajiit said, his accent like velvet upon the ear, unrolling a scroll.

The Komiser cleared his throat. "The time has come for this rebellion to end. Your meddling has cost the empire greatly. Turn yourself and your 'army' to the nearest imperial held position, or there will be dire consequences. You have been forewarned," he read, rolling up the scroll and placing it in a pouch on his belt.

"And I suppose you are here to help 'persuade' me into accepting this outrageous proposal?" Imperius asked incredulously.

The Khajiit nodded and gestured to the metal tubes that were pointed towards a plateau, with the crews loading the black spheres into the tubes and pushing them in with a long wooden pole. Once they finished, a Khajiit holding a torch held it near the rear of the metal object for a few seconds, then backed away and covered its ears. An earth shattering boom sounded, nearly destroying his ear drums, the pain making him drop to one knee.

The metal balls flew at tremendous speed towards the plateau, a high pitched whistling sound followed them. The ground was torn apart when the metal balls made contact, as if an earthquake was upon them, gigantic chunks of earth and rock were flung in all directions. The earth beneath his feet shook, as if it was about to give way. Eventually the shaking stopped, and he was able to stand on his own two feet. He saw the sentries who accompanied him shouting something, but the incessant ringing prevented him from understanding the words that were being said.

"What was that?" he asked with apprehension

The Khajiit chuckled.

"That, my friend, is a new weapon my people discovered four months ago, back when you just conquered Falkreath," he stated with pride, holding out his hand, which held a black powdery substance.

"This is explosive powder, when its ignited, it causes a roaring explosion unlike anything before. The weapon is of High Elf design, they were most interested with our discovery, especially with its destructive capabilities. The weapon we presented breathes fire like your dragons do, and spits metal, launching it farther and faster than any archer in the world. It can destroy castle walls, and demolish armies with just a single volley-" the Khajiit said, looking to the side and gesturing, lost in his own rambling.

As this was happening, Imperius silently ordered for the sentries to get the army prepared to charge as he stalled, and they were to wait for his signal to attack. One sentry jogged back and subtly nodded to him. Imperius gave a quick flick of his hands, and the sentry nodded and ran back to the camp. The legion was to leave the camp via the rear entrance, out of sight of the khajiit forces, and make their way into the surrounding woods and hills to await the signal. Once it was given by Imperius, they would rush the enemy force, overwhelming them with numbers. They should be able to overpower them and kill them. This plan of his was a long shot, the legion was in no shape to fight a seemingly well armed khajiit force, not to mention the unnaturally terrifying new weapons they unveiled. If his plan backfired, he could loose the entire legion. It was a risk he felt he had to take. He turned his attention back towards the Khajiit, who looked like he was nearing the end of his long winded tirade.

"-and can even knock a dragon from the sky. So Imperius, as you can see, you have no hope of succeeding. I suggest that you give up, and spare your men from a slaughter," he said with a smug grin.

Imperius returned the grin, making the Khajiit give pause, before drawing his sword and ramming it into the enemy commander's chest, the Khajiit giving a strangled cry as he fell. With the sound of horns blowing from the surrounding hills, thousands of legionaries poured forth, rapidly closing the distance between them and the new weapons. The weapon crews desperately tried to load a few of the weapons, firing off two shots that went wild and overshot the army before they were overwhelmed.

The regiments of Khajiit soldiers desperately tried to hold off the tide of legionaries, using their claws and strength in conjunction to their weapons, killing dozens of legionaries before they were taken down. As the legion cut down the last remaining regiments, centaur riders who were scouting the surrounding area found some carts loaded with food and drink, and happily hitched themselves to the carts to bring the much needed supplies to the army.

Men and centaur alike cheered for those bringing in the supplies, centurions distributing the food to the soldiers. Imperius had a few soldiers wheel the strange weapons into the command tent, and began to inspect them, along with the black powder that caused the damage to the nearby hill.

"Get a centurion in here Tribali," he said, the advisor saluting before exiting the tent.

A few moments later, the advisor returned with a centurion and saluted, leaving the tent to Imperius and the officer.

"Flavius Arcadias, I have an important assignment for you. As you know, since we defeated the Khajiit forces, we've gained much needed supplies for our forces. But we also acquired a new weapon, and discovered a substance that could turn the war in our favor even more so than it already is," he said, gesturing towards the cylinder metal weapon and black powder.

"This powder, when ignited, creates an explosion unprecedented in history. If the Imperium were to somehow master its use, we could conquer Skyrim within a matter of months. But to master it, we must first study it, which we cannot do here with our current resources. I am entrusting you Flavius, to deliver it to the Imperium, and to guard it with your life whilst on the trail. You won't be going alone, I will also assign a century and a contingent of centaurs to aid in the protection of the cargo."

The centurion saluted and raced out of the tent, collecting the pouches of black powder, and loading the metal weapons onto carts pulled by pack horses. Flavius mounted a horse and led the contingent out of the camp, the rest of the army cheering him on. He would not fail. Flavius was a legionnaire when he joined Imperius's legion, back when Imperius worked for the Cyrodillic Empire.

He was promoted to centurion shortly after the battle of Whiterun due to his valor and leadership skills. Since then, he couldn't be happier. Now with this mission, he was filled with pride. To think that he would be chose by Imperius himself to lead a mission, an important one at that, and completely trust his abilities. He smiled inwardly as his caravan began its journey to the capitol.

With the task of getting the weapon and black powder back to the Imperium taken care of, Imperius could focus on conquest once more. He decided to continue towards Markarth, but with more caution, with the goal of preserving the supplies they gained today in preparation for the siege ahead. Markarth did not have walls, but the underground catacombs would prove to hinder any invading army. So instead of assaulting the ancient dwemer city, he would starve the inhabitants out of their rat holes, and either force the mercenaries to fight, or surrender, preferably the latter. His soldiers are not in the best condition to fight, despite the supplies they gained.

Imperius was a man of both action and thought. He could determine if a situation needed brute force, or subtle diplomacy. But he was no diplomat, he had not the silver tongue needed to negotiate deals with other factions, nor does he possess the swagger of an accomplished politician. He was a leader yes, a leader of a young nation, leader of a nation that has his enemies run at the sight of their legions. But he was no politician. He actually despised politicians, with their honeyed words and false promises. He's lost many a centurion to the cut throat politics of the Cyrodillic Empire, he was determined to keep that from his people. However, he needed a diplomat, first and foremost. Imperius could see in the future how skilled diplomats could run him over with their intricate webs of deceit. He needed a person who could navigate the maze that was politics and come out on top.

As he was pondering his dilemma, a pair of ocean blue eyes were watching him from behind a stack of crates, a dagger clenched in a fist. Onyx hair covered her right shoulder, masking one eye behind a curtain of darkness. The companion fled the city after Imperius had left, leaving the bodies of her comrades to burn in dragon fire. She took refuge in one of the guard towers, abandoned when Balgruff gathered his remaining soldiers. As the days passed into weeks, her wound weakened her. Aela offered to teach her about making and tying bandages onto wounds and how to clean them in the past, but she was so enthralled with Farkas's skill with a blade that she forgot to ask her, now she will never get the chance.

She hissed as a bolt of pain raced up her arm. Her wound was getting worse by the minute, the skin around it a puffy red. She leaned against the crate as her mind began to swim, her thoughts growing foggy and faint. She relieved the growing fogginess that was besetting her by shaking her head. She refocused on the task at hand, taking revenge for her fallen comrades. She waited for a patrol to pass by before moving towards the tent, darting from cover to cover, keeping out of sight. She nearly gave herself away when she stumbled due to her wound taking its toll, but she hid behind adequate cover before the guards could see her.

She finally made it to the tent, getting so close as to hear him go about his business, shuffling papers, and the scratching sound of a quill. Her grip on her dagger tightened. It was now or never. She slowly crept from her position near the rear of the tent towards the entrance, reaching the opening flap. She tensed up, prepared to rush in, but stopped herself when she noticed a small detail. The quill had stopped moving. She cursed herself for making noise, and sighed silently. She rushed into the tent, dagger raised, but was knocked off of her feet by a fist to her face, and grunted when she landed on her back. She rolled to the side to try and get away from her target, but was tackled as she tried to get up. She struggled fiercely, resorting to scratching him when all else failed. She was finally pinned when Imperius roped his arms under her armpits and clasped his hands at the base of her neck, forcing her head downwards and rendering her arms useless.

"Look who we have here."

Chapter Text

As the intruder had their hands tied and was placed in front of the table Imperius was working on, he turned to look at the elf in the far corner. She had become somewhat of a recurring thing. Whenever he was around, she was always nearby. The legionnaires had even taken to giving her names based on this, but kept them to themselves in fear of being the object of her retribution if she were to ever find out. He had taken note of some habits he had happened to notice throughout her time being around him.

She was always analyzing people, staring at them with an intensity to rival that of a dragon. He figured that she was trying to work out how people worked, what made them tick and whatnot. At least, that's the only logical thing he could interpret from her staring. If that weren't the case, he would think her extremely abnormal. But who was he to judge people on abnormalities when he was supposed to be dead, not to mention being the Dragonborn. He sometimes caught her staring at him from time to time. Unlike a normal person who, when caught staring, would ashamedly look away, or walk away in a brisk manner, she would continue to stare, as if unraveling a puzzle or breaking down a device to its baser parts, only to put it back together to see how it works. He felt like he was being examined, like an experiment, being prodded by her gaze. He was unnerved by it, he wouldn't lie, and confided to Mirmulnir about this, the dragon agreeing on the description of 'creepy' that Imperius gave it.

Despite the elf's...unusual habits, she also possessed useful qualities that he liked. Enhanced hearing was one of them. Usually, he wouldn't notice people walking towards his tent until his tent flap opened, leaving him to scramble to look presentable if he was working on something or reading. With her in the tent with him, he got a heads up due to her hearing the approaching soldiers, centurions, or messengers before they came into the tent, leaving him with just enough time to mentally prepare himself for whatever came through the tent entrance.

She was also fun to banter with every now and then, their arguments covering a wide range of topics. A few days ago, they were arguing over whether elven smithing or human smithing was better and, with Imperius being a master of both types of smithing due to years of practice in his previous life, had a competition to see which was better, with Imperius trouncing the elf thoroughly. She claimed that the competition was rigged against her from the start. She was right, but he would never openly admit it to her face though, which only seemed to fan the flames of her ire.

"I thank you for giving me a heads up just then. Still mad about losing?" he asked in a playful tone.

"The contest was stacked against me and you know it Imperius! I would have won if it wasn't," she argued with a glowering gaze directed his way.

"Yes, of course you would have. Now, who do we have here?" Imperius asked, turning back to their prisoner.

The elf was about to retort that of course she would have won, but decided against it and turned her gaze to the intruder. After studying her for a few minutes, she turned to Imperius.

"Breton, about twenty years of age, was a member of a fighting guild or mercenary group, and is suffering from an infected wound at the moment. Might want to look at that," she stated.

"You sure?" Imperius questioned, impressed at her accurate intuition.

"I am the best at what I do, Imperius. I am absolutely sure. You can bet your septims on it," the elf boasted.

"I'll hold you to it. Have her sent to the stockades. We will question her later. Make sure that her wound is looked after. For now, arrange a meeting with all the centurions," he ordered.

The elf nodded, albeit in a strained manner, and made to find Tribali, as no centurion would follow her orders. Soon all of the centurions were gathered in the command tent, standing at attention and saluting when Imperius entered, the elf at the back of the tent not bothering to salute. He nodded their way and placed his hands on the large table in the center of the tent, a good portion of it was covered by a map of Skyrim, with outlines on which faction controlled what, and where the forces of the Imperium, and the suspected enemy forces, being represented by small colored flags. The Imperium's flags were white, the Empire was red, and the Stormcloaks were blue. The areas of interest are the territories above Whiterun.

"Any information on any enemy forces in the area?" Imperius asked.

"Our scouts have spotted a moderately sized force of imperials moving through Hjalmarch towards White Shore. We have reports that they are looking for a crown of some sort," a centurion reported.

"The Jagged Crown. An artifact that will lend legitimacy to the cause in possession of it in the eyes of Skyrim. When was this report?"

"Two days ago Imperator. About four hundred men and horses, lead by Legate Maurentius Attaliates."

"Imperator, we have an urgent report from Legate Galba in the East. A small force of Stormcloaks have crossed the White River and are currently crossing the mountains. We suspect they are headed to White Shore as well. One hundred men, no cavalry to speak of."

"I assume this report is recent as well?" Imperius asked.

"Yes Imperator," a centurion responded.

So both factions are after the crown now. With their legitimacy shaken, the Imperials and Stormcloaks are now grasping for anything to make their cause seem valid and true. While the Jagged Crown would help their cause, there was only so much it could do. The Stormcloaks will have to perform multiple miracles to have their reputation repaired to an extent that they could be comfortable with. If the crown were to fall into Imperial hands however, it would strengthen their cause's legitimacy to levels beyond their own.

"I will take two thousand men and five hundred cavalry with me towards White Shore to cut off the Imperials and Stormcloaks, securing the crown and decimating both forces if possible. The rest of the Legion will fall back towards Whiterun and fall under the command of Legate Valian. He will guard our left flank from Imperial counterattack while we move towards our new objective. He is to rebuild the strength of the legion as he does this. Send word of this to Legate Galba, so that he is informed of our current status," Imperius ordered.

Messengers raced out of the tent, quickly mounting horses as they sped to deliver the orders. Imperius went and gathered the men. All two thousand and five hundred of them. He called Mirmulnir and soon the dragon landed in front of the camp, noting the Legion's strength has lessened since he last saw them. Imperius promised to explain in due time and mounted the dragon, with the elf being given a horse to ride on, and led his men towards the location of the crown. It took the entirety of the day to reach the crown's location, Imperius had difficulty finding a spot that could sustain two thousand men and then some. He sighed. At least they had gotten there before either Imperials or Stormcloaks. That gave Imperius an idea. He confided the plan with his centurions and Mirmulnir and they agreed to the plan and moved to their positions. As the legionaires moved into the nordic ruin, the cavalry and Mirmulnir moved deep within the snow covered forest, hiding themselves within the trees. Imperius and the elf followed his men into the ruin and found a space to sit down near the entrance of the ruin.

"So I take it that we're ambushing the Imperials?" the elf asked.

"Or Stormcloaks. Either one or both at the same time. It doesn't matter, it will end the same way," Imperius said confidently.

The elf hummed in understanding and returned to staring at the walls of the nordic ruin, her fingers tapping against her armor plates in boredom.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked aloud.

"Doing what?" he asks.

"This," she questioned, gesturing with her arms, "Fighting against the Empire, fighting against the Stormcloaks. What is it that drives you to betray those whom you had sworn loyalty to? What is it that you hope to accomplish with this rebellion? "

"I fight for a future where everyone is at peace. A continent united under a single banner that protects its people, provides for them, and destroys anyone or anything that threatens to undermine it. The Empire can no longer do so even though it tries in vain, its leaders corrupt and power hungry to an intolerable extent. The Empire is so weak it cannot stop its own provinces from leaving the fold. I saw how weak the Empire had become during my military career and I couldn't take it anymore. I had to do something. I have the knowledge, power, resources and soldiers to make a better, more powerful Empire," he says. "The Stormcloaks are a misguided band of rebels led by a powerhungry former soldier who started a rebellion against the Empire, possibly damning his people to slavery and execution, for the dream of a Skyrim free of the Empire, and by extension, the Thalmor. There can't be my empire and the Stormcloaks at the same time, so I plan to eliminate them. However, I will not enact retribution against them for standing against me. Ulfric and the higher echelons of their command structure alone will receive judgement." he finishes with a gruff, annoyed tone in his voice.

"What deed has Ulfric done to cause such harsh measures, and why only the officers? Has he wronged you in some fashion?" she asks with curiosity. He speaks calmly when regarding the destruction and replacement of the Empire, but on the topic of Ulfric, he becomes so angry she at times thought she was going to die. It has intrigued her for some time but she was too scared to ask until now.

"Ulfric Stormcloak leads a superfluous rebellion with a faulty goal in mind, caused massive amounts of senseless violence and death, moreso towards his own people than those he fights, and is incompetent as a strategist and at governance. His existence is a blight upon this continent and I intent to fully wipe him from the face of the world with extreme prejudice, nothing else will satisfy the anger I hold towards him," Imperius practically growled, gripping the handle of his gladius with such force that his knuckles turned white.

Before the conversation could continue they heard the sounds of fighting outside the ruin's entrance, the legionaires moving to their positions, with Imperius and the elf doing the same, waiting for whoever won to march through the doors. Soon the sounds of combat faded away and were replaced by the sounds of footsteps headed towards the large oaken doors of the ruin's entrance. Imperius tensed in preparation of the coming combat, slowly drawing his gladius and gripping the handle of his shield in anticipation. The elf had drawn her sword, though with less anticipation and more out of muscle memory.

The doors opened, revealing a bloody but determined group of Imperials led by the legate Maurentius Attaliates, ornate headcrest adorning his helmet. He made his way further into the ruin, with about fifty imperial soldiers following in his wake, their swords and armor stained with blood.

"The Stormcloaks are gone. They'll be easy targets after your conquest of Markarth and the rest of Imperial territory," the elf whispered. Imperius grunted in agreement and signalled to his legionnaires to get ready.

"Keep your eyes up, those rebels may have hidden some of their ilk within this ruin to ambush us. Tullius needs this crown now more than ever, and we will deliver it to him with all haste," the legate ordered.

Imperius gave the signal to attack and rushed forward into the group of Imperials. As he entered the fray, he ducked under the swing of an Imperial and quickly severed the arm from the soldier, silencing his cries of agony with a swift horizontal swing with his sword, lobbing off the head of the Imperial. He blocked a blow from behind by an Imperial officer and, pivoting off of his left foot, tore through the officer's armor as if it were paper with a slash to the imperial's chest, blood gushing from the wound onto the stone floor. Several more Imperial soldiers attacked Imperius, one by one they were slain until there were none willing to challenge him. Imperius rushed back into the battle, cutting down any Imperial soldier that faced him. Legionaires rushed after their commander, charging the Imperials with great ferocity, completely surprising them, allowing the Legionaires to kill a large number before the Imperials could properly respond. It took only a minute for the Legionaires to make short work of the Imperial soldiers, the last Imperials standing being the Legate himself, Maurentius Attaliates, and a few other Imperial soldiers standing around their legate.

"You won't win, traitor. The Emperor will have your head for this," the legate seethed.

"I would love for him to come try and take it himself, but we both know that won't happen. Now you have a choice to make. You can take your men and make your way back to Solitude with a message for Tullius from me, or you can condemn yourself and your men to a meaningless death. Your choice," Imperius offered.

"I am not stupid Imperius. You of all people should know that. I will take my men back with me to Solitude and deliver your message to General Tullius."

Imperius nodded and gave the message to the legate, whom nodded as well, leading his men out of the ruin and back towards Solitude on horseback. Imperius ordered his men to get into marching formation outside of the ruin and to await his orders and, along with the elf, made his way deeper into the ruin. As they delved deeper into the tomb, the elf engaged him in idle conversation, which he obliged. They had a small conversation as they encountered draugr of all types, chuckling at each other's quips and harmless barbs, all the while cutting down numerous draugr. They finally reached the room containing the crown, its resting place atop a draugr's brow as it sat upon a throne, an ebony greatsword clutched in its grip. It awoke as they got closer and made to swing at them, but was cut down by Imperius before it could make contact.

"That's the crown? I'd have thought that the nords would invest in some...better fashion for their royalty," the elf said with mild disgust as she looked upon the crown.

As Imperius picked up the mixture of bone and metal that was the Jagged Crown, the elf couldn't help but display her revulsion, mildly gagging when Imperius removed his helmet and put the crown on.

"Get that thing off of your head! Who knows what kind of diseases you could get from it. It was literally sitting on a rotting corpse when you got it!" the elf exclaimed.

"Didn't know you cared about me so much," Imperius said offhandedly as he removed the crown and donned his helmet.

The elf stopped, the words she was about to utter dying on her tongue as she processed what he said, a light blush appearing on her cheeks. She clenched her fist, huffing in annoyance before walking a short distance away, finding a random draugr corpse and releasing her frustration and embarrassment in the form of utterly desecrating the draugr corpse.

"You done over there? We are headed back to Whiterun in a few moments," Imperius said to the elf.

The elf affirmed that she was ready to go and followed Imperius out of the tomb and with the men in tow, back towards Whiterun to begin the next phase of their plans.

Solitude

Tullius leaned against a map covered table and sighed in frustration. His forces were stretched thin enough trying to counter the Stormcloak insurgency, and now with Imperius rebelling with a legion's worth of soldiers, capturing Falkreath and Whiterun within a few months of each other, he simply didn't have the strength to counter the wayward rebel commander. At least he didn't have to garrison both holds anymore, the men being used to great effect garrisoning the northern forts in Dawnstar, though he suspects that soon enough the northern territories will be lost to Imperius and his legion.

"General, a message for you! It's Legate Maurentius Attaliates!" a guard shouted.

Tullius looked up from the map and saw the legate standing at the door on shaky legs, armor ragged and bloody, a dented helmet in his left hand. From this sight alone, he knew that his forces had failed in getting the crown, it was now just a matter of determining how bad the damage will be. If the Stormcloaks had it, it spelled the end of the Imperials in Skyrim. The nords were a traditional folk, he has been reminded of this on many occasions by Legate Rikke and Ulfric from the few times that they met on the battlefield. It would only ensure that Ulfric's rebellion would be a never ending conflict, spelling doom for the already weakened Empire. If Imperius and his band of rebels have acquired it, then it wasn't as bad. Sure it lent legitimacy to their cause, but at least it wasn't the Stormcloaks.

"I bring word, General. Imperius and his men have taken the crown, ambushed us after we slaughtered the Stormcloaks. We didn't stand a chance. He asked me to bring you a message," the legate said.

"What is the message?"

"Next we meet, I require your answer."

Chapter Text

Footsteps echoed throughout the large, empty hallway, the nervous, hurried pace echoed the thoughts of its creator. He brushed his blonde hair to the side behind his pointed ear, and sighed in frustration and fear as he stopped in front of a large, thick wooden door, the wood darkened with age. He pushed the door open, revealing a wide room occupied by a small gathering of figures, garbed in a mixture of robes and plate armor surrounding a table covered by a map; hushed but harried whispers wafting into his ears. These men, surrounding the table, arguing over the position of certain flags and stacks of reports, were the advisors to the elite of the Aldmeri Dominion and Thalmor; great power and responsibility were bestowed upon their shoulders, and with that comes a great price for failure. That is why they were the most efficient, ruthless, and cunning of their kin, even more so than those they served. Advisors to diplomats, generals, nobles, governors, and high ranking lords, their attire matched to whom they served, and their personalities and habitual mannerisms, be they altered or natural, coincided with this as well.

As the elf moved into the room and towards the table, the whispers slowly quieted as he drew closer, silence greeting him when he reached the table. The guarded stares of those around the table set his nerves on edge, as if he were being studied for potential defects and weaknesses to be taken advantage of. He wanted to leave as soon as possible. At its head stood three individuals, each whom reported to the highest levels of leadership of the Aldmeri Dominion, the unofficial leaders of this small council. The middle individual was named Sannian Kaeus, advisor to the leader of the Thalmor, garbed in thick robes that covered his lithe frame. He radiated confidence and arrogance in tandem, it was difficult at times to discern the two from one another. To the right was Angaron Thromorin, advisor to the High General of the Aldmeri Dominion Military. He was tall and broad, well defined muscles hidden underneath scale and thick plate armor in the elvish style, a crested helm with an eagle near the brow sat atop his head. A blank countenance greeted all who gazed in his direction, cold calculating eyes hiding an inner ruthlessness and callousness seen only by the enemies of the Dominion. His reputation as a competent commander and a deadly adversary on the battlefield was well known in many social circles of the Aldmeri Dominion, his suggestions and observations were accepted with utmost attention and seriousness. Rarely were his words disregarded or scoffed at; those that do usually suffered greatly before reluctantly adhering to its lessons and wisdom.

And finally, there was the third, known only as the High Justicar. Every time he was in this room, he never spoke, a piercing, unnerving gaze tracking everyone in the room, an air of fanaticism carried with him wherever he goes. No one knew of his background or his role in the triad, but no one dared to ask. He slinks around the room, silent as a corpse, his movements a mere whisper amongst the discussions and conversations. A few jump in mild surprise at his presence, of which wasn't there a few moments ago, only to look around in confusion as he disappears into the small throngs of mer, repeating the moment with a few others before returning to the left-hand side of the triad. That was his place. He never deviated from it. No one ever saw him in any other spot when matters concerning the three were at the fore. A combination of mail and dark leather with a gold trim greeted those who dared to look his way; some say its hand crafted, that he skinned the animals and linked each individual ring. Others say he paid exaggerated prices to highly skilled merchants and craftsmen. Rumors circulated him like a twister, all in hushed tones, never in hearing range.

He bowed his head in deference and respect, nothing less or more expected of him. An elf of his station was of importance, but could be easily discarded, so he always treaded with great caution when dealing with the triad. "I bring news of great import, High Councilors."

Angaron was the first to speak. "Then let us hear it. Don't waste time on pleasantries," he ordered.

A small chuckle followed. "Come now Angaron, have pleasantries ever hurt us before? Besides, it pleases me when a lesser knows their place," a voice said, haughty and proper.

"When dealing with news of great importance, especially when I am expecting a report from my sources regarding military matters, I do not like to dally with meaningless gestures and platitudes. You know this Kaeus."

A sigh of exasperation. "Oh alright. Deliver your report. You never were one for proper manners or customs," Kaeus huffed as he crossed his arms in annoyance.

Angaron turned from the Thalmor advisor and gestured for him to continue.

"Yes High Councilor. Reports from the spies we have in the Cyrodillic Empire whisper of rebellion in the province of Skyrim. The Emperor is still under our control, even though he doesn't know it, the whores we sent are keeping him more than distracted enough for us to work without fear of discovery by anyone deemed a threat to our operations. There is also reports of rebellion in High Rock, a pretender to the throne has amassed a large following and a sizable force of soldiers to his cause, the reinforcements intended for Skyrim have been diverted to the province to quell the rebellion."

"That northern province isn't worth our time. Those backwater savages can freeze to death for all I care. Our efforts there are more than satisfactory for our plans. What has me most interested is this rebellion in High Rock," Kaeus mused.

"I concur. The Skyrim province is of no concern to us at this present time. There has been rebellion in Skyrim for many years, in no small part due to our machinations. Things are proceeding as planned in the province. High Rock takes precedence. Tell us more of this rebellion," said Angaron.

The elf bowed. "Of course, High Councilors."

They would come to regret this decision.

Throat of the World

The wind howled atop the high, frozen peak, snow glinted under the sunlight, casting a blinding wave of light at whomever gazed upon it. A snort disrupted the calm, smooth surface of the snow, flurries creating swirling patterns in the air. Scales, thicker than any plate armor conceived by mortal hands, gleamed in the rays of the ever present sun in the sky, duvets and old battle scars a testament of its age. Paaurthurnax, for the first time in many millenia, was drawn from his constant meditation by an outside force that was not of his disciples. They were by far the closest thing to true adherents of The Way of the Voice, paragons of calm and passivity. Never using their gift in anger or for gain. They would make pilgrimages to this mountain peak to gain wisdom and guidance on matters concerning The Way of the Voice and its applications to life itself, for who better to ask for answers to using Words of Power than one born with it?

His eyes, usually closed with his meditation, turned towards the mines of Markarth, his unnatural perception noting slight wisps of smoke usually seen around campfires in the hundreds. The disciples have brought him news, mostly snippets from those that made pilgrimages up the mountain to deliver supplies and offerings, and what he was able to piece together filled his mind with curiosity.

A rebellion against the Empire has gained a strong foothold in Skyrim, much more effective than the Stormcloak Rebellion, and have cemented themselves as a force to be reckoned with after the capture of Whiterun. Both sides of the civil war had their eyes trained on this upstart, a former imperial legate by the name of Imperius, and his accomplishments. What has him the most interested though, were the words of power being used every now and then.

It was not difficult to see that dragon blood flowed through the imperial's veins. He was dragonborn. No question. The Greybeards had not received any new disciples for training since the nord Ulfric Stormcloak, so the possibility of a rogue Greybeard or user of the Voice was out of the question. It wasn't a dragon either, despite him hearing more and more of his kin awakening and using words of power with each passing day. The way mortals speak the words of power was inherently different to that of a dov. Certain phrases sounded differently when spoken by either mortal or dov, and differences of pitch and tone contributed to the distinct pattern and sound each one made, and every mortal and dov had a distinct way of speaking words of power. To one such as him, it was easy to decipher the differences.

The most recent, and most vocal, shouts were unquestionably of mortal origin. The question then, was why didn't the Greybeards call to him the moment this Imperius began to make use of words of power. While the Greybeards visited every now and then, they were always short and concise, never wasting time better spent on meditation. He liked that about the Greybeards, and at times wished they disregarded it and stayed a bit longer. It gets lonely at the top of the world with no one but yourself to talk to. He mainly stayed silent and meditated. He decided right then to have the Greybeards call him towards the mountain, to better understand who this mortal was, and what his intentions were, and to simply satiate his curiosity. This Imperius must be an imposing figure to not only command so many men, but to have not one or two, but three of his kin stay by his side for as long as they have been. He couldn't wait for the mortal to arrive, and as a Greybeard made his way towards him, he relayed his command, the Greybeard moving with haste to fulfil his will.

Windhelm

"Damn that Imperial! He has ruined everything!" Ulfric raged, his face a fiery red, his fists clenched into a tight fist, small droplets of blood dripped onto the stone floor from his palms. Things were going horribly wrong for the nordic jarl. First, his one and only chance of breaking the stalemate was slain, and the invasion point of Whiterun was taken from him by the upstart imperial dog. Then, by the divines, his army was slaughtered like livestock. He had practically emptied his outposts in the Rift and Eastmarch to fill the ranks in what he thought would be overkill for what he set out to do. Imperials were weak, their commanders easy enough to bribe or assassinate, but this one earned his ire. He wouldn't rest until he had Imperius' head on a spike for all to see. To show what happens when you make a fool out of Ulfric Stormcloak.

"My Jarl. Urgent news from the Whiteshore outposts regarding the force we sent to find the crown," a messenger reported.

The Jarl angrily gestured for him to continue.

"The force was slaughtered in its entirety. No one survived. They encountered Imperial forces as they arrived at the ruins. They were outnumbered and outmatched. We have lost the crown."

Ulfric raged, his fury that of a god of war. Tables were overturned, cups and plates smashed to shards in his anger. It seemed as if the entire keep would not be spared his wrath. His anger clouded his judgement. This, coupled with his defeats, could not be allowed to stand. His honor was stained with defeat. If he didn't address this, then his legitimacy would be called into question, and those under him may get the idea that Imperius may not be so bad, and betray him. He couldn't let that happen. He saw the looks his men gave him. They were not the looks of awe and adoration, but of contempt and scorn, for he looked weak. He scowled. He wasn't weak, he was Ulfric Stormcloak. They were weak, snivelling cowards too spineless to achieve victory in these changing times. They had betrayed him in not attaining victory. He will deal with this, in a manner not easily forgotten by any.

"Get the captain of the Honor Guard in here now! Do not waste time, lest I kill you myself!" he thundered, his voice more akin to a beast than a man.

The messenger hurried to complete the task, and soon the captain of the Honor Guard was standing before his jarl.

"My captain. Long have I entrusted my secrets, my fears, my doubts and hopes to you. You, my most trusted confidant, are one I hold above all others in esteem," he began.

"You honor me with your words, my jarl," the captain said, a fist raised over his heart in salute.

"I am entrusting you with a task of utmost importance. My personal safety is at risk, and I need you to aid me."

"Anything my jarl. What threat must I slay to keep safe your courageous personage?"

A moment's pause. "My generals."

This shocked the captain into silence. Killing assassins and keeping Jarl Ulfric was his mission. He had been practically raised from birth to do so, honoring a long lineage of honor guards protecting the Jarl of Windhelm. He was a protector, a defender of the just and noble. But to act as an executioner, a butcher of men gave his normally stalwart loyalty a pause. Indecision gnawed at him like a starved rodent.

"Have...they done something, my jarl?"

"They have betrayed me!" shouted Ulfric, his anger returning in full. "I see the looks they give me. The looks of traitors! They doubt me! They conspire to betray me, turning traitor to that Imperius and his Imperium, leaving the noble sons and daughters of Skyrim for the wolves! Treacherous snakes stalk the very halls in which we dwell and call home, lying with their forked tongues and deceiving the rightful heirs of Skyrim with falsehoods of splendor and glory, leading them like sheppards with placid sheep to a slaughter even I shant try to comprehend!"

Suddenly the jarl was in his face, his breath short and shallow, the slivers of madness emanating from his person, invoking an aura of unease to those around him. He could see that insanity had begun to claim the man that was once his jarl, fear and paranoia had warped the once proud and noble nord to a parody of his former self. This was madness, he shouldn't obey, defying his jarl seemed to be the right course of action to try and divert the Stormcloaks from this dangerous path, a path that will only end in mass slaughter and countless deaths. Yet, his duty overshadowed all of this, and steely resolve began to build within his breast. He would obey and follow his jarl, even unto death. It was his purpose, and he desired nothing else.

"I entrust this to you, and expect you to have your guards ready to strike when the time is upon us to rid the Stormcloaks of its turncoats and mewling wretches. For far too long we have languished with the enemies of Skyrim in our very midst, drinking our wine, eating our bread, and enjoying the hospitality of those better than themselves. Do not heed the begging and pleading of those whom will abandon you without a second thought as you slay them, for they are words of apostates to corruption and gluttons who lust for power; they shall try to turn you against your brethren in their darkest of times to sow the seeds of the Stormcloak's destruction. See to it that this is done."

And with that, the jarl strode away, looking for a messenger to deliver summons for his generals and marshals. The ranks of the Stormcloaks shall be cleansed in blood, and victory shall be obtained, or they shall all die in defiance of the imperial tyrants. One way or another, this will end.

Chapter Text

Imperius rode with the vanguard of his legion, his horse walking alongside the standard bearer, the sigil of a red dragon surrounded by golden laurels on a black field swayed gently in the light, chilling breeze. He gazed at the narrow path before him, a light fog obscuring everything at a distance, glanced at the surroundings of the pathway, and was reminded as to why the Reach was infuriatingly difficult to subjugate. The narrow pathways in the high stone covered hills and rivers were woefully inadequate for a proper force of arms to use effectively. Any army in great numbers was forced to walk three abreast at most, making the columns of men exposed to an uncomfortable degree. He was nervous, and couldn't shake the premonition of an ambush along the way to Markarth by the savages that blooded his legion harshly.

They have passed Bilegulch Mine a few hours ago, and found no one present, just tools laying on the ground, as if they were hastily discarded in a panic. It only added to the overall dour conditions, the lack of clear skies and sunlight, coupled with the ever present Forsworn, whom have yet to make their presence known since the attack, made moral plummet to an all time low. He yawned as they passed through another set of large stone hills, his eyelids, seemingly of their own volition, slowly but persistently tried to close. He doubted that he would make the entirety of the march to Markarth without falling asleep on the way. The combination of nervousness and exhaustion did nothing to improve his mood or condition. Despite the victory against the Khajiits, it did remind him of the true threat against his plans. The Thalmor had taken notice. After the subjugation of Markarth, he will make all haste towards the Thalmor Embassy and turn it to rubble and ash, leaving no survivors to tell the tale of his progress.

They soon came to the area just south of the Forsworn camps if he remembers correctly and he ordered the men to halt, gathering a small group of scouts and sending them into the foothills to scout ahead, already knowing where the Forsworn hid. They reported that a massive force of Forsworn are camped out north of their position, an established settlement consisting of huts, primitive forges and sacrificial altars stained with blood, the bones of their sacrifices decorating the surrounding buildings. Roving bands of archers and infantry patrolled the encampment, primitive bridges and arches attached to ancient roadways and carved buildings, with Briarhearts acting as commanders and champions, their chest proudly bearing the open wound that carried their briarheart, the contents being secured by crude leather strips bound into the skin, effectively acting as stitching without the healing process being observed. The most horrid, however, were the Hagravens. Hideous amalgamations of human and bird, they inspired terror, even in the veteran scouts of the Legion. The scouts estimated that the savages numbered in the hundreds, possibly thousands. What angered him and the Legion, were the desecrated bodies of the fallen legionaires being used in their rituals. The corpses were hidden away in the highest dwellings, where the Hagravens made their home, their chests bare and the briarhearts painfully visible. This enraged Imperius. The Legion shared his sentiment and clamored for revenge.

Imperius thanked the scouts for their efforts and gathered his centurions to plan. His men desired bloody revenge of the highest order, and he needed to quell the threat that the Forsworn represented to his plans. It was a win-win.

"Centurions, hear me. There will be no quarter, no mercy. Slay the savage with the same level of satisfaction as they felt when they killed our men. Let us take vengeance for our fallen, for they deserved better endings than being sacrificed on a heretical altar to dark powers, their bodies being used as cannon fodder by the witches that command these heathens. Not one of them will survive to see the morrow," he proclaimed.

The centurions gave an enthusiastic shout of agreement, and after an hour of non-stop planning, left to prepare their men for the coming battle. It would be one to remember.

Nightfall

Wolvoch Vabal huffed in annoyance when the scouting parties didn't find the armored invaders. It gave him immense pleasure to slaughter those who didn't belong, watching them scream and writhe in agony as his blades tore through their flesh, their eyes bulging in terror as arrows pierced their throats, and the palpable fear that his people caused as they retreated. A grin formed on his face at the memories. He wanted to bleed the invaders more, wanted to slowly whittle them down, sapping them of their strength and energy until they couldn't even stand up, let alone defend themselves from his warriors and shamans, and provide the Matriarchs more sacrifices and more prospective candidates for the transformation into the awe inspiring Briarheart to serve as substitutes for his own people.

"Elder! Elder! Invaders to the West!"

He whipped around to find a battered and bloody youth tearing his way towards the camp, his armor torn and cut, wounds rent all across his body bled profusely. Shouts and screams of surprise and terror drew his attention to the western half of the camp, seeing the glint of steel armor and weapons in the camp fires as they cut down dozens of his kin. Most of the Forsworn in the western half of the camp were caught completely off-guard, their attempts to resist were but ineffective dams against a tide of steel and anger. The legionaires will have their revenge, one way or another. Nothing will stop them.

"Rally to me kinsmen! Death to the invaders!" he shouted, gathering any nearby warriors and archers willing and able and charging the attackers with speed and ferocity.

The two forces clashed in anger, shouts and screams echoed throughout the campsite as imperial steel met bone, swords and axes tearing through flesh and armor, fonts of blood creating a slippery surface upon the stone ruins. Men and women slipped on the slick ground as they fought, being slaughtered with relish by their foes, their cries falling on deaf ears except for allies who were too late to save them. Vabal kicked away the tower shield of his foe and swiped his bone sword across the legionaire's neck, the soldier clutching at his neck as gurgling attempts at breathing sprayed blood across his armor. He fell to the stone soon after, and another legionaire replaced him, hacking and slashing at Vabal's defenses with rage and skill.

Vabal was forced to retreat behind his brethren, watching with regret as one of his sisters in arms was gutted in front of him, just beyond his reach, her hands clutching at her innards as she desperately tried to stuff them back into the gaping hole that was her stomach, only for her struggles to be cut short as her throat was shorn with a mighty swipe of a legionaire's sword, and then she fell. Another of his kin was dragged behind the enemy battle lines as he strayed too far from his brethren, his screams of agony and terror stood out amidst the clamor of battle, mentally scarring him. He would never forget them. A large warrior, tall and broad, was brought low by a simple thing, a singular cut running the length of the inside of his left arm given by a veteran centurion. At first, he thought it was a minor wound, something a simple salve would fix later on after the battle. However, as the battle wore on, his strength began to flag, his breathing grew heavy, and his movements were sluggish, his lifeblood coating the stone beneath his feet in a dark red sheen, until finally he fell to the ground, being nearly cut to pieces by the legionaires he was fighting.

The shrieks and howls of surprise and agony drew his attention to the northern half of the camp, a large force of legionaires charging the huts, cutting down anyone that came close. The forges were located in the northern half of the camp. The crafters, large, strong men, were slaughtered to a man as they defended their workplaces, determined to make a stand against the invader, the outsider. More screams and death howls from the east nearly made him panic. They were practically surrounded. The slaughter too horrid to even comprehend, so many deaths in such quick succession made his head spin. The only way out was to flee to the south. He opened his mouth to call for a retreat, but the familiar, animalistic croaks and squawks of the Matriarchs stopped him in his tracks. Three of the venerated Matriarchs, large Hagravens by their standards, shambled out of their hutts at the highest altars, their needle like teeth glinting in the nearby torchlight, claws as sharp as any sword gleamed with murderous intent, caked with old blood, and slickened with the essence of their most recent victims. Their hideous appearance actually made the legionaires pause in their assaults, enough so for the Forsworn to actually organize a somewhat coherent force and form battle lines, dragging wounded and injured behind their warriors to their archers, where healers and female elders waited to treat their wounds.

Forsworn, gathered near the southern entrance to their camp, praised and prostrated themselves before their Matriarchs, thanking them for saving them in their hour of need. The chittering and croaking of the Hagravens emboldened them and gave them hope.

"Matriarchs, I thank and praise you for coming to our aid at this most egregious time," Vabal prostrated himself before his Matriarchs.

In a voice as old as the stones beneath their feet, they spoke. "We cannot have our loyal servants simply be slaughtered as easily as newborn lambs. We offer our Briarhearts in your defense, in exchange, all of your fighting men-folk will be transformed into the mighty Briarheart, to compensate for our efforts. The sacrifices will be increased, the powers need to be appeased," the old crones spoke in near unison, the heartbeat delay of each voice only added to their unnerving appearance.

He grimaced, but nodded in acceptance. While the Briarhearts were mighty indeed, there were only so few. It wasn't much, but anything will do at this dire time. One of the Matriarchs turned towards the highest altars and screeched, a sound more akin to a steel fork scraping against fine china. What he saw emerging from the holy altars astounded him. Dozens upon dozens of walking corpses, dressed in the regalia of their foe save the chest plate, left the altars, the open wounds holding the briarhearts indicating what they were. When the legionaires saw this, their blood lust reached a fever pitch, snarls of outrage and shouts of anger greeted the new foes. Promises and vows of savagery and vengeance were hurled at the Forsworn, with Vabal not doubting their willingness to carry them out tonight. The legionaires, filled with rage, wanted to give into their baser urges, to behave like rabid war hounds baying for the enemy's blood, wanted to freely relish in the slaughter to come. Their discipline, their training and professionalism held them back, maintaining a level of anger and fury acceptable to a soldier, while not behaving like berserkers and crazed mad men. He admired that about the outsiders, albeit begrudgingly. The new Briarhearts, along with what remained of the Forsworn, charged the Imperium's battle lines, combat resuming with fervor and relish.

Vabal did his best to inflict as many casualties as possible against the foe, but their heavy armor, the crashing of bodies and the din of battle made it somewhat difficult for him to do so. He swung his sword at the exposed neck of a legionaire, but a reflective block by the large tower shield stopped his attack. He narrowly dodged a lightning fast stab from the offending gladius, the Forsworn next to him being the unfortunate victim as the blade plunged into his chest, piercing the thick leather and hide armor. Vabal moved to counter attack, but was jostled by a fellow warrior, nearly throwing him to the ground. He jerked his head back, hissing with pain as a stray swipe from an enemy blade dug into his face, a ragged wound from his chin to his hairline, thankfully missing his eye, wept blood onto the stained stone underfoot.

He moved back from the battle lines and heard a cry to fall back coming from the left flank. He wiped the blood running into his eye and rushed to take command of the situation, determined to not let the actions of the Matriarchs be for nothing. Warriors and archers who were fleeing saw Vabal rushing towards the rapidly crumbling left flank and, emboldened by his courage and valor, followed him into the fray. He would never see them again. In the center of the melee, the enemy seemed more enthusiastic, fighting harder than all the rest, the unyielding wall of shields and steel armor giving nothing, and taking everything. Why is that? He soon found out. In the midst of the vicious melee, a lone enemy warrior caught his attention. He was tall, standing half a head above the rest of the outsiders, his armor thick, strong and masterfully crafted. In his right hand was a gladius that seemed more akin to an extra limb than a sword, moving with such speed and accuracy that he struggled to follow, felling many warriors in quick succession. An ornately crested helmet that signified a high rank caught his eye. He moved with power and authority, harshly barking commands to junior officers and subordinates, and the soldiers around him formed a semi-circle of protection, brutally cutting down whoever tried to get close. Perhaps the commander?

Vabal nodded to himself and charged the warrior. Unbeknownst to him, however, the warrior was none other than Imperius, leading the charge against the heathen lines. The Forsworn shouted a mighty war cry, and rapidly swung his sword at the enemy commander, aiming for the neck. His blow was countered by a heavy shield bash from the commander, the blade shattering under the force of the tower shield. He was sent reeling by the blow, backing behind the battle lines. Vabal looked to the warrior, baffled that he didn't even seem phased by the blow. It looked as if he didn't even register it at all! This angered Vabal, and he charged the warrior once again, grabbing a bone sword from a fallen brother in arms. He will not be humiliated!

He hacked, slashed, and swung at the enemy commander, and every single blow was blocked effortlessly. He jabbed at the thighs of the outsider, his sword point was diverted to the ground, the tip being broken as it made contact with the stone. He attempted to bypass the imperial's defenses, but the impregnable wall of shield, blade and armor made it all but impossible. He waited for a moment. There was always a moment, a second of hesitation, a second delay in reactions and action that he could exploit. There! As the imperial blocked a jagged tipped spear aimed for his side, he made his move. He thrust his sword at the small opening in the segmented plates that showed every time the warrior raised his arm to strike or block an attack, betting on the thin, jagged tip of his sword slipping through and finding the vulnerable body underneath the armor. He didn't even feel the burning pain of the sword tearing through his flesh until it was too late.

As the sword was thrust, Imperius maneuvered his body around the primitive blade, rearing his sword arm back and rammed his sword into the savage's stomach. He stared in anger and disgust at the pitiful attempt on his life, watching as the perpetrator fell to the ground soon after.

"Keep the pressure on the left flank. Their lines are breaking! Push forward!" he shouted, rushing into the melee with hundreds of legionaires at his back.

He couldn't remember how many he had cut down already, and he doubted that he would remember the total count by the sun's rise. He was exhausted, pushing onwards by sheer force of will, leading his men to victory. The left flank was irreversibly broken, nothing the heathens could do would save it. He had made sure of that. Behind him were the men of the First Cohort, the most skilled soldiers in all of the I Legion. They were veterans unequaled in the Legion, only surpassed by Imperius himself in skill of arms. No mere savages could stand against them. Imperius charged deep into the enemy formation, cutting down numerous Forsworn warriors and champions that challenged him. While the slaughter of the savage was a task of great import, it was not the main objective. In order to bring this battle to a close, and for the slaughter to truly begin, he had to eliminate the Hagravens.

Over the din of battle and screams of agony and death, he heard the distinct croaks and screeches of the Hagravens ordering their thralls into battle, not taking part in hand to hand combat, they were content to send in their minions while they flung destructive magics at the foe. In melee, they were easy prey, but getting to them without being killed by their dark magics was another matter entirely. Three legionaires managed to hack their way into the inner formation of the Forsworn, intent on slaying the beasts. One of the monstrosities looked their way, chittered, as if in laughter, and raised a clawed limb. Lightning sprung from the clawed tips of her fingers, arching its way towards the charging legionaries, sending them flying back into the mass of bodies.

He grimaced, but pushed onward nevertheless.

"Cohors Prima, cuneum formate!"

As one, the First Cohort formed a flying wedge and slammed into the Forsworn battle lines, cutting down hundreds of the heathens with the initial charge. The charge created a hole in the swathes of Forsworn, giving him the opening that he needed. He charged in, batting aside any Forsworn that blocked his path. This battle needed to end, and he would end it swiftly. The Hagravens turned from their malicious games and gazed upon the imperial with disdain and arrogance. The largest Hagraven turned to the smallest of the trio.

"Kill this rabble and return to our side, we have many sacrifices to complete. The powers will be pleased with our efforts," the beast ordered.

The smallest one nodded in acceptance and shambled towards Imperius, lightning crackling along its long, sharp claws. Imperius flung himself out of the way as a deadly arc of lightning streaked towards him with the force of a tidal wave, striking legionaire and Forsworn alike, reducing them to burnt corpses amidst the battlefield slaughter. As he moved in for the kill, he abruptly raised his shield to block another attack, the force of the lightning pushing him back, his heels sliding against the wet stone. The Hagraven croaked in laughter at how quick it was to drive this warrior back. This was too easy. This man was supposed to defeat them? They were the Hagravens, the most powerful beings in the Reach. Nothing could stop them. As the Hagraven wheezed and laughed, Imperius charged once again, taking the advantage of the Hagraven's arrogance to get in close. The Hagraven, only now seeing the threat, charged her magical energy, the lightning forming around the tips of her claws, only for it to putter out as Imperius removed the beast's head from her body.

The death of a Hagraven shocked the Forsworn nearby, soon followed by cries of panic and defeat which quickly spread through the heathen ranks. Only the shrieks and orders of the remaining two Hagravens prevented the Forsworn host from outright fleeing in a mass panic. The I Legion, seeing their chance, pressed the attack with renewed fervor and ferocity, killing dozens upon dozens in their assault. Seeing the outsiders getting close to the remaining matriarchs, the Forsworn doubled their efforts, valiant last stands and staunch defenses against the onslaught characterized their efforts, buying time, but nothing more.

Imperius soon turned towards the remaining Hagravens. Now they regarded him with a different emotion. Fear. The largest one shrieked and gestured towards him angrily, the second Hagraven chittered in compliance and moved to intercept him as he charged them. This Hagraven was the melee specialist of the three, as she didn't charge any magical attacks before engaging him, shrieking a furious war cry of vengeance. He blocked and weaved his way around the flurry of attacks, the claws glinting with murderous intent in the nearby torch lights. He jabbed at her defenses, followed by a heavy handed horizontal strike, both which were blocked, the way the Hagraven nearly buckled suggested difficulty in doing so. Imperius ramped up his efforts, the speed in which he attacked his foe increased to a level that the Hagraven was always a step or two behind, enticed by feints and being rewarded with deep wounds for taking the bait. The beast couldn't keep up, no matter how hard it tried, it just couldn't match the level of skill in battle this imperial possessed. Then it had an idea. Who said a fight for life was fought fairly? After barely dodging a lightning fast strike intended for her chest, she called to five nearby Forsworn, who answered immediately, and ordered them to attack her foe. They did so without question, providing her the perfect distraction.

As Imperius cut down the last of the Forsworn that attacked him, he searched the battlefield for his target, not noticing the Hagraven flanking him until it was too late. His foe reappeared, striking a blow against his side, the armor holding against the attack. The follow up attack nearly rendered his right leg useless, as the claws cut deep into his thigh, sending him to his knee. His life may have ended in that moment. He was open to attack, vulnerable to a mortal wound that would undoubtedly have sent his campaign into disarray and his dreams turned to dust. A death blow with no uncertainty. A blow that, thankfully, never came. As the Hagraven raised her claws to bury them into his exposed neck, she shrieked a horrid cry as a blade roughly protruded from her chest, being lifted into the air as a centurion of the First Cohort brutally finished off the beast. Three other legionaires surrounded the pair, forming a barrier of steel and muscle against any who would try to harm their commander. The centurion turned towards Imperius and held out his arm, which he clasped, and hauled him to his feet. Imperius hobbled behind the battle lines, guarded by the three legionaires, towards the medicos. He felt the urge to look back at the battle, and what he saw would be proudly etched into his memory for the rest of his days.

The largest Hagraven, distraught and enraged by the loss of her sisters, began to fire dark magical attacks at random, too overwhelmed by emotion to effectively use her battle magics. None were spared her wrath, legionaire and Forsworn alike were caught in her range of fire, and soon both forces gave the beast a wide berth, fighting just beyond the range of her attacks. None dared to go near her as the battle raged, much less attack, until a small group of six legionaires of the First Cohort broke from the ensuing melee to charge the monster. The Hagraven, still consumed by her grief and rage, failed to notice the soldiers circling around her, more akin to lupine hunters closing in for the kill on wounded prey. Soon enough the Hagraven focused on her assailants, and lashed out, arcs of lightning racing to consume its target, each legionaire barely dodging the deadly magic attacks before darting in, slashing and stabbing at the monster. These blows, while still deadly, weren't meant to kill, rather they were to draw the attention of their foe while other legionaires made their attacks, deep gashes and stab wounds being their rewards for their efforts. This continued for some time, the soldiers slowly weakening their target until the moment was right to strike.

The Hagraven howled as another gladius tore into her side, her claws meeting air as the legionaire danced out of melee range. She snarled and snapped her teeth, furious that she couldn't even so much as touch one of them, yet was reduced to a bleeding mess by this rabble. As she eyed the soldiers around her, looking for the slightest sign of movement indicating an incoming attack, she noticed a look shared amongst the legionaires. A look that filled her with terror with each passing second. It was the look of a predator finally done playing with their food. She knew the look well. She and her sisters wore the same look when converting live sacrifices into Briarhearts, slowly cutting into the flesh and muscles of their victims for hours at a time, cackling as their near tangible terror of their sacrifices slowly faded as they finally removed their heart and replaced it with the briarheart, ending their suffering at long last. She had for so long been the bearer of such a look. So used to it being used against others. Now, it was directed towards her, and she finally understood the terror of her victims.

She brazenly lashed out at a nearby legionaire, desperate to, if not escape, at least take one of them with her. Unfortunately, there was no small victory in this defeat, for as soon as she made her move, her fate was sealed. Numerous blades carved into her body, sinking in deep and spilling torrents of vile ichor onto the stone beneath their feet, seemingly all of them dealing a death blow at once. She croaked one last cry of pain, anguish and defiance, before unceremoniously falling to the ground, a mess of ripped flesh and ichor.

This finally broke the Forsworn's morale, and they fell into an all out rout, being run down and slaughtered to the man by the legionaires. The huts of the Forsworn burned brightly that night, light bright enough to be seen from the Throat of the World. As the smoke of the fires swirled into the night sky, Imperius looked upon it all, and was satisfied that his men were avenged, but that did nothing to quell the grief in his heart at the loss of so many. Instead of dwelling on such dark thoughts, he turned his attention to Markarth, hoping beyond hope that this conquest will be without bloodshed for once, but knowing in his heart that it would be the bloodiest in the history of the Imperium. He prayed for the wisdom and strength to carry this out, and made his way towards the camp to retire for the night.

Chapter Text

Tullius sighed in desperation as he looked at the map of Skyrim. The daily reports that he has been receiving from his scouts near Markarth told him dire news. Imperius destroyed the Forsworn camp in the region, and is now moving on the city itself. The hold itself is important to his operations in the region. The Silverbloods, despite their less than desirable methods, supply him with a stable flow of septims, and along with the standard shipments of food, they also supply him with small shipments of weapons and armor, their forges being bought by the family to produce arms and armor for the Empire. The Imperial situation is desperate in Skyrim. His forces hold Morthal and Dawnstar, though the latter is tenuous at best, with only a light garrison backing the Imperial Jarl. Any sizable force could besiege the city, and it would fall within hours. A skeleton garrison resides within Markarth, an assurance to himself more than anything that the Jarl, backed by the Silverbloods, is loyal to the Empire. He regards the other half of the map.

Windhelm and Riften are in Stormcloak control. The city of thieves and that snow blasted hell hole are necessary for complete control of the province, as much as he disliked the notion of occupying either place with his soldiers. He has heard reports of Stormcloak activity in Dawnstar, though no definitive proof has been presented. If there were any, it would require him to divert some of his legion to reinforce and occupy the area, sapping the already weakened strength of the forces stationed in the province. The Stormcloaks themselves haven't made any moves against him officially since the failed Jagged Crown expedition, which was odd. Despite the holdouts that his forces culled in short order when taking control of the regions, no forces of rebels have attacked any of his outposts, no forts being assaulted by masses of infantry, no supply lines being disrupted. It made him uneasy, although he should feel wonderful that nothing of the sort has happened, it doesn't sit right with him that Ulfric hasn't sent his men against him.

He now regards the center of the map, the area that has caused him the most trouble. Falkreath and Whiterun have been taken by Imperius' forces, legions of armored soldiers and beast like cavalry that he had no answer for. No matter how many tactics he tried to come up with, the strategies he and Legate Rikke spent hours debating, creating and refining, combing through Imperial records of previous battles and campaigns he had on hand, he had no response to the heavy infantry and deadly effective heavy cavalry tactics that Imperius fielded regularly. At best, his forces were regular infantry, footsloggers and grunts that are not heavily armored, though not under armored quite like the mass of light infantry the Stormcloaks made use of. They were trained soldiers, perfect for fighting rebels and forces of equal or lower standing, but were quick to crumble if met with superior forces.

His cavalry, if he could even call it that, were proven to be extremely ineffective. The force of three hundred mounted men at arms he sent in support of the combined assault of two entire Holds showed him the inferiority of his cavalry to the traitors' own forces. It didn't help that he sent an overconfident commander, skilled as he was, to fight on their behalf. They were, at their best, regular cavalry soldiers, though for the most part, classification as light cavalry was the most accurate term, the former being reserved for the most veteran and skilled of the cavalry soldiers in the Legion. And he definitely had no counter whatsoever to the wildcard that were Imperius' dragons. He hadn't believed the rumors one bit. Just some superstition that the natives always talked about. Myths made more fantastical as time progressed. All of those beliefs shattered like glass when he witnessed Imperius riding such a beast. If the legends were true, and he had ample proof in the form of living dragons, then their cause was truly lost.

"General Tullius, a word if you will have me."

He looked up from the table to look at his second. Legate Rikke, a liaison of sorts between him and the native nords, teaching him their ways and culture, even if he hasn't asked to learn, was a bother at first, but has proven herself to be a vital bridge between the Imperial edicts and laws, and the citizens being governed by said laws. A trusted and reliable officer, and a close confidant at times of great need.

"What is it Legate?"

"We are pressed to retain our holdings in Skyrim. The Stormcloak rebellion, and now the traitor legion, are sapping us of strength at every turn," she began.

"This I already know all too well, Legate. Get to the point," he ordered.

"Yes General. I may have found a way to remove one of these threats to the stability of Imperial rule in Skyrim," she said, moving towards the map and pointing to where Rorikstead was. "This area is vital to Imperius and the traitors. His supply lines move throughout the region to supply his men with food, weapons and armor. And as he moves further west, towards Markarth, those supply lines will be stretched. Any disruption of those supplies will be costly to him. In addition to this, our scouts have noted no notable traitor presence guarding the supply trains. In short, he is vulnerable, his supply lines are vulnerable, and if we cut him off, especially when he besieges the city, we can corner him at Markarth, hopefully forcing a surrender and abdication of all holdings by the traitors to the Empire," she finished with a cautiously confident nod.

As she was explaining her plan, Tullius could feel the flutter of hope grow within his breast. This was a good plan, an effective, strategic maneuver that could possibly cut off the traitor legion from reinforcements or supply, cornering them into the trap that Markarth was slowly becoming in his mind. If the traitors didn't surrender, it would become their tomb.

"Legate, see to it that local Legion elements are drawn from whatever non-essential outposts and postings that are nearby. They are to meet at the town of Dragonsbridge with the main contingent of the Legion. It is time to put an end to this."

"Yes General," Legate Rikke said enthusiastically, moving quickly to find the messengers to spread the word to the various elements of the Legion in various stations and outposts.

Tullius again regarded the map in front of him, but with a difference. A spark of hope, a chance of victory, lifted the veil of inevitable defeat from his sight. Once the traitors are dealt with, he can focus on the rebels, and finally put an end to this seemingly ceaseless conflict that has already taken so much from his Empire, and then they can focus on the real enemy. He rubbed the back of his neck.

Once this was all over, he needed a vacation. A trip to the Capitol sounded nice. He hadn't seen a shred of true civilization for some time, despite his efforts to acclimate the natives to the Imperial way of life. He would spend some time in his villa in the countryside after visiting the Capitol, then return to his duties.

Dragonsbridge

After weeks of gathering forces from any and all extant postings that did not warrant any long term consideration for security, the total numbers of soldiers gathered at Dragonsbridge were numbered to be around five thousand soldiers, cavalry, and support cadre. Tullius finished going over the numbers on a piece of parchment, painstakingly gathered from counting the incoming units of soldiers. It didn't help that the disparate units came piecemeal, sometimes one at a time!

He groaned. He really needed to streamline and standardize how things were done in the Legion, this was just ridiculous.

"General, the men are ready," Legate Rikke reported.

"Good, good ...about time. Give the order, we march for Markarth."

A horn sounded off, and the march began. As the army marched, with Tullius and Rikke at the vanguard, Tullius pondered on how to make his former legate surrender. The man in question was strong willed, utterly committed to his goal, and had successes, men, and more at his back. Perhaps if he was led to believe that he was utterly cut off, and no hope of escape, rescue, or victory in sight, then he may be willing to talk. He turned in the saddle to look at the men marching behind him, a combination of mail, leather and plate met his gaze. Many of the men marching with him were experienced in battle, but he had doubts when the battle hardened and elite infantry of Imperius came to mind. He would only put his men against those of this so called "Imperium" when the odds were extremely in favor of his forces. If not, he would withdraw to choose a battlefield that benefited him the most.

"I am getting too old for these shenanigans that these youngsters are pulling. I hope that this will end with no blood being spilt in any capacity," he muttered to himself aloud.

"General, you think the Silverbloods will remain loyal when the siege begins?" Legate Rikke probed gently.

The Silverbloods, oh how he hated that name. Their loyalty was one of silver and gold, changing hands to whomever possesses the most of either. He was able to secure their loyalty, but by less than desirable methods. He promised to let their operations go unhindered by whatever Imperial garrison he would leave behind, and to administer their own form of justice as they see fit, having his soldiers turn a blind eye to extortion and outright banditry. It was the only way to get them to agree to fight for the empire if the occasion came to pass, which would hopefully not happen. However, being the realist that he was, he was under no illusion that their promises of fealty and pledges of armed support were always subject to change at any given time if an offer that greatly outclasses his own were to be presented.

"They are mercenaries, Legate. I have no doubts that the traitors may present an offer that will pique their interest and test their loyalty. We must be prepared for treachery from our wayward allies at any given time."

"Of course, General. I will inform the officer cadre and have them carry the message to the rest of the legion," she replied promptly.

General Tullius nodded, and returned his gaze to the road that lay ahead. What Imperius said had him thinking, as much as he shouldn't be, he couldn't help himself. Imperius' soldiers were of a quality matched by those of Tiber Septim's time, those conquerors that created the world spanning empire that he now served. He saw many similarities, and yet so many differences. His thoughts turned to his service, and whom he served. Though the empire he served was a shadow of its former power, it was still the same entity that brought order and stability, from its inception up until now. Yet, in the back of his mind lingered darker thoughts about the empire he served.

He often wondered what would happen after the Emperor died. He had no known heirs, and a successor has yet to be chosen in the stead of a blood relative. Tullius very much doubted that one would be chosen before the Emperor died, and he was very much aware of more than a few of his equals that coveted the Imperial purple that had the resources and backing of the legions to make a substantial claim. He would abstain from the power struggle, but that wouldn't help the situation.

It would be chaos. Legion against Legion, brother against brother. Imperial blood spilt to elevate a man to the purple. Resources wasted against those who are allies, which would be better used against the real threats to the empire. The Thalmor.

The elves had the Empire on the ropes the last war, and to save itself, signed a treaty with them, The White Gold Concordat. He personally couldn't care less who or what the nords worshiped. Since that treaty, he's had to allow squads of justicars and inquisitors, death squads in essence, into Skyrim to hunt down and round up worshippers of Talos, which has earned him no love from the natives. It made things harder than it had to be for him to do his job. They thought themselves superior in all aspects. Their attitude can go shove it for all he cares.

He has no love for the Thalmor. If he could, he would kick them out of the Empire for good. But for now, he had to put up with their haughty arrogance until the Empire regained the strength to fight another war, which he predicts will happen soon, regardless if his Empire was ready or not. He only hopes that he can finish business here before that happens.

A two front war would destroy the Empire for good, and the world would bow to the Thalmor for generations to come. He couldn't let that happen. Something needed to unify the Empire and rally it against those that would see it destroyed for good. Unfortunately, there was no figure in the Empire strong enough to lead them to victory.

Perhaps Imperius was the best choice. He is an extremely successful commander. The men under his command are loyal, and, according to nordic myth and legend, is this so called 'dragonborn', with the blood of dragons running through his veins. Tiber Septim had that same trait….

He stops at that, shutting down the train of thought immediately. It would create questions that would have uncomfortable answers, and he wasn't willing to ask or answer them, for his own sake. Right now, all he needed to focus on is getting this snow blasted hell hole of a province under control, then he would feel things out from there.

Windhelm

The Captain of the Guard moved throughout the castle, placing guards in strategic positions so as to maximize the coverage each guard had over the area, the area in question being the main dining hall, the long table in the center, with the throne at the back of the room on a raised dais. Each guard was positioned around the entrances and exits, armed with the best equipment available in the Hold. The Jarl gave them a task, and he would complete it. His safety was in jeopardy. He would make the Jarl of Windhelm safe from all usurpers and traitors.

He had spoken to each of the members of the Guard, and had chosen men who are utterly loyal to the Jarl, and were willing to do whatever is necessary to ensure his safety. Even if it means killing supposed innocent men that served the cause for years. If the Jarl brands them traitors, they are traitors, regardless of his personal feelings.

He stops by a guard near the dining table.

"Everyone in position?"

"Yes Captain, they are ready. I've ensured that there will be no hesitation among my men."

He nodded in satisfaction.

"Good, good. Make sure that the men guarding the exits have their nerve steeled against what is about to happen. It will not be pretty."

"Yes Captain. I will ensure that they will perform their duty without failure."

He patted the guard's shoulder in appreciation and made his way to the war room, where his Jarl resided with Galmar Stonefist, Ralof and two others that he didn't recognize right away. Ralof and Galmar were discussing something on the map with his Jarl, the other two were looking over supply charts and manpower listings, arguing over deployment of new soldiers to which battlefront.

The man on the left was distinct due to his right eye being blinded, a scar running from his eyebrow, across his eye, and ending right on the cheek bone, jagged and rough. His grieves were characterized by the spikes jutting from the armor plating, ceremonial carvings giving the underlying steel a near breathtaking visage. A bear pelt covered both his shoulders, the paws being tied together at the warrior's front. He was imposing, physically strong, bulging muscles flexing and relaxing as he gestured to charts and listings. He didn't recognize him, and became wary of him, unsure of his loyalty.

The man on the right was Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced. He was a regular sight in the castle, and he talked to him every now and then. He was dressed in a similar manner to whoever was on his left, his ever present axe on his hip. He was loyal, and the Captain didn't pay him much mind.

His Jarl looked up from the war map at his approach, and the Captain nodded, Ulfric nodding in return. The Captain moved to return to the main hall, but was stopped when a messenger rammed into his chest, falling down while the soldier stood tall.

"Watch where you're going!"

"Sorry Captain, but I have important news! The guests have arrived!"

Immediately after that was said, Jarl Ulfric, Galmar, Ralof, Yrsarald and the unknown man stopped what they were doing, the others looking to their Jarl.

"My fellow countrymen, it is time to remove the filth and traitors from our ranks. To ensure our victory against those Imperial milk drinkers and bastard elves, we must offload any unnecessary weight, for it will only slow us down when we march upon our foes. Only the strong, and the just, will prevail against the evils of this world. Skyrim will be free!" he said, raising a fist in triumph.

The men around him cheered with patriotism and fervor, their loyalty near absolute to the Stormcloak cause. The Captain raised his voice in agreement. His Jarl was such a charismatic figure. He couldn't help but be swayed by the nordic Jarl. His cause was just, noble, and was honorable, and he would follow him till the end. No deed in the name of Skyrim's independence is too great, or dishonorable, would not be done in the name of Skyrim and his Jarl.

He moved back into the main hall, followed by the group of loyalists, and positioned himself near the raised throne. The others moved to their seats, the Jarl himself sitting on the throne, and waited for the guests of honor to arrive.

Arrive they did. Dozens of Stormcloak officers, Generals, and their support cadre filled the dining hall, each one kneeling before the throne and offering oaths of loyalty and wishes of wellness, promising to their leader that the Stormcloaks will drive out the foreign invaders. The Jarl's impassive expression and stoic replies made them nervous, but they continued about their business, confident that they were still in their Jarl's favor.

The Captain watched each and every person come stand before the throne and kneel, silently furious at their blatant falsehoods and pretty lies. The fact that they had the gall to stand before his lord and lie to his face, when they know that in their hearts that they are traitors, vipers in the crib waiting to strike the hand of the one who had cared for them, parasites feeding on the blood of trueborn sons of Skyrim. These turncoats will soon be purged from the Stormcloak ranks, and then, finally, Skyrim will be free of the false Emperor and the Imperial yoke, free to determine its own destiny. It will be glorious, and Ulfric will lead them to victory.

After every person in the dining hall, save for the guards and those of Ulfric's inner circle, had greeted their Jarl and had sat themselves down at the long table, Ulfric stood from his throne.

The Captain called for quiet, as his lord was about to speak, and soon turned to look at him, waiting in anticipation for the order to be given.

"Friends, fellow Stormcloaks and countrymen, I bid you welcome in my hall. It is good to see so many patriots in my company; men who would give their lives if Skyrim's freedom demanded it," he began, his voice one of kindness.

The men at the table all nodded and made noises of approval, liking what they were hearing. They were patriots, all of them, through and through, and were pleased to have that recognized by their Jarl.

"I have invited you here to partake in a feast, to raise the spirit and to hearten the soul against the assaults of our foes. We have lost many sons and daughters of Skyrim to the foe, but our cause is just and honorable, and with the untamable spirit of the nordic people, we will prevail!"

The men in attendance uttered a thunderous cheer at the speech, emboldened and jubilant with their Jarl's words.

"Now, enjoy yourselves!"

The guests wasted no time, tearing into the spread with relish. It was not a regular occurrence to dine upon such delectable, high quality meals and foods. The average Stormcloak had their rations of vegetables and dried meats, some salted, tasteless and bland, but filling nonetheless. The officer class fared little better, their rations tasted better than their subordinates, but not by much. However, this was near divine. A spread of this caliber was more often than not for celebrations such as weddings between Jarls, or for the Jarl chosen to be High King after the votes had been casted. Platters of roasted boar, deer, even bear and mammoth were arrayed out on the dining table, no expense was spared in preparation. Stews of beef and chicken, accompanying plates of vegetables, bread, and fish, were spread throughout the table, usually beside the platters of roasted meat and game that were quickly disappearing into the gullets of the guests.

Tankards of mead dotted the table, refilled by wenches carrying pitchers of the drink. The feasting was fierce and hearty, conversation among the officers filled the hall, sometimes an officer would raise his voice in song, and the others would follow suit.

The Captain looked on, thinking that if he were just a random stranger that walked in here, this would look more akin to Sovngarde. He almost lost himself in the revelry, in the camaraderie between soldiers, almost wishing to forget the troubles plaguing him and all Stormcloaks who saw the truth. Just for a moment, he allowed himself to think that all was well. But alas, that illusion was shattered like glass when he caught the gaze of his Jarl.

It was one of anger, of well concealed rage and fury behind a veneer of happiness and revelry. It reminded him of the reality of the situation, and he steeled himself. Now was not the time to lose himself. He needed to be focused.

He was slightly startled when his lord sharply turned to look his way. He tensed, waiting for the sign. A simple nod was all it took, and he would unleash his blade against these two faced traitors.

Ulfric nodded.

It was time.

His heart pounded in his ears, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He turned to look at each guard, who in turn had their eyes on him the entire night, waiting for his signal. He nodded at each one, and together, they slowly made their way to the table, taking care to not rouse suspicion from those in attendance. Those of the inner circle had long since excused themselves from the table, ensuring that they did not end up in the slaughter to come.

"Countrymen, hear my words! I feel that I have been remiss in my duties as your lord and host."

The voice of Ulfric ceased all conversation, and the guests turned their eyes to him, he had their full attention, making the approach of the guards all but invisible. The Captain was silently grateful to his lord, and hastened his approach, the rest of the guards following his lead.

"I have provided you bountiful food, mead, but I have failed to provide the most important thing."

The Captain had closed the distance between him and the table, standing beside the chair of an officer, the armor less ornate than the others, but of the officer class. The rest of the guards also made it to the table, unnoticed by their targets. He drew his blade, the rasp of the blade against the scabbard overshadowed by the reverberant voice of his lord, the guards did the same.

Ulfric's affectation dropped, and shocked the guests in attendance. A look of anger greeted them, and the words that came from his mouth were laced with venom of the most foul.

"Entertainment."

Only now did the guests see the guards surrounding them, and the blades in their hands. The first few deaths sparked a powder keg of pandemonium. The guests, in a mad panic, fled from the table to escape, leaving the bodies of their fallen comrades where they sat, overturning chairs in their flight. Individuals that were slow of foot were grabbed and brutally killed by the guard closest to them as they fled, reducing their number minute by minute. Only when they saw that all entrances and exits were blocked by sword wielding guards did they realize the hopelessness of their situation and what was happening. Treachery of the most horrendous, perpetrated upon them by one they called lord and friend, with no hope of escape. They would die here. The next few minutes were unabashed slaughter, each person who attended was killed, dragged from their hiding places and murdered by the guards, the howls of pain and anguish echoing throughout the palace as they died, mercy all but lost to the guards, their bodies dragged to a pile next to the dining table.

The inner circle returned to the hall, a look of discomfort at the sight quickly erased upon greeting their lord. He was full of ardor and jubilation, as if he had already conquered Skyrim and took the throne of High King.

"My friends, we have done it. We have wiped clean the slate, and can now start anew, and drive out the foreign forces that lay claim to our homeland. Galmar, Ralof, come join me in the war room. We have preparations to make."

As Ulfric and those he summoned left the hall, the rest of the inner circle retired to their chambers, leaving the Captain and his guards the duty of disposing of the traitors' corpses. A task that he will dutifully perform, because after all, no task was too big, or dishonorable enough, to obstruct his duty to Skyrim's freedom.

Chapter Text

Fire. All he saw was fire. It was everywhere. The hills, the few trees that could take root, the ground itself seemed to be bathed in fire, and it burned with an intensity beyond what he could comprehend. It was not normal fire, of the ken that could be managed, created, and harnessed by man to his benefit. No, it was dragon fire. The kind that razed cities to the ground, remade once verdant fields and plains into ash choked hellscapes in mere minutes, killing all it touched with an efficiency and brutality only the divine could outmatch. It was all around him. He couldn’t escape. Nothing he could do would save him. He saw the bodies of those that followed him into battle, those loyal to his family and the coin they were promised, now charred, blackened corpses, their melted armor fused to the skin, their faces contorted into expressions of pure agony, made into stone with rigor mortis. Nothing he could have envisioned and done could have prepared him for such slaughter, such devastation. It astounded him.

A noise garners his attention, drawing his eyes to the night sky, colored with the fire that surrounded him so that it became more akin to day, with the only indication of it being night is the moon, hanging low into the sky, its light smothered by the flames of death and suffering. A shape, large and indomitable, flitted across the canvas of stars, a noise analogous to those demons of his childhood night terrors soon followed. His heart clenched with instinctual terror, but his mind was still reeling, too far gone for it to concern itself with self preservation when there was nothing but death to look forward to. The shape soon came closer, taking form as the fire illuminated its frame to him, landing on an outcrop that used to be a grain silo, now reduced to rubble and blackened stone. Umber colored scales gleamed in the light, ancient and battle-scarred, a wall of impenetrable steel that no blade could hope to pierce. A pair of swept-back horns framed the head of the beast, its yellow eyes were piercing, holding an intelligent yet malicious gaze wherever it looked. He was in awe of the beast, and loathed it at the same time. What astounded him is when its jaws, filled with strong, terrifying fangs, moved, and words soon followed.

“My Thuri, are you well?”

He looked around, noticing that there was no one else on the battlefield, now a mass grave, and saw that the dragon was looking down somewhat. Following its gaze, he soon found a man, garbed in masterfully crafted segmented plate armor, marred with warping and punctures, standing with an arm clutching his side, ruby blood coating the fingers. The crested helm raised to look at the dragon, the dancing flames highlighting the man’s imperial features and tanned skin upon a visage marred with scars and weariness.

“I’m fine, Mirmulnir. How does the legion fare?”

The legion, those soldiers who bore a wreathed dragon upon a black field as their heraldry, those armored butchers who slaughtered those most dear. Oh how he loathed them.

Was this their leader?

If so, he wanted to charge forward and take the bastard’s head for himself, but the force of nature that was a dragon halted such thoughts where they were.

“They are well, Thuri. The one you call Tullius has agreed to a truce. I believe that he saw our capabilities, and was overwhelmed by the sight, coming to his senses and seeing reason,” the dragon replied, pride coloring his words.

A sigh, one of weariness and lament, escaped the man.

“It was a mistake, one made in the heat of the moment. I never intended for this to happen, and now, the people of Skyrim will see me as a bloodthirsty tyrant, hellbent on burning their cities to the ground, and enslaving their children and loved ones.”

The dragon looked upon its charge with something akin to displeasure.

“It is unbecoming of someone of your station and power to care about the needs of your enemies. They should submit if they desire peace and prosperity. In resisting the offer to join your Imperium, they color themselves in the banners of your enemies, and should be excised as such.”

"I will have to rule them once those who defy me are no longer a concern, and I'd rather them not see me as a tyrannical despot!"

"The people will think of you as they will. You can't hope to change that in your lifetime, Thuri. What you can change is how many lives you will spend in order to achieve your goals. The soldiers under your purview are powerful, but few, and will be needed to garrison the territory you now control. If you can achieve your ends without a pitched battle, without any losses to your own forces, then do so. But if this is unattainable, then show your enemies no quarter, for they seek to deny you what is rightfully yours," Mirmulnir responded. "Let this be a precedent to all who think to oppose you. This is what will become of them if they reject your birthright. Fear is a wonderful motivator, Thuri."

"But loyalty, true loyalty, is what I desire. I need the people of Skyrim to see that I am the better alternative, and join me willingly, instead of at sword point with fear driving their actions."

The dragon chuffed in frustration. 

"Then I suggest that you parlay with the next city you besiege, and explain to them why your Imperium is the better alternative than this Empire or the Stormcloaks you so despise.”

The two had their attention drawn to the figure, who now stood, as they slowly made their way closer, the man’s frame shaking with rage and impotent fury.

“You think to rule us when all is said and done, when you have slaughtered the last soldier, deposed the last defiant jarl, and claimed Skyrim for yourself. But hear this, oh tyrant of foreign birth. You will fail. The people of Skyrim will never submit to a monster, who wantonly slaughters and pillages their kith and kin, while parading in the mask of a savior. You wretched thing of ambition and hypocrisy! May your reign be plagued with troubles and crisis, and may you never know peace so long as you live!”

The man moved to continue, more insults and curses upon his tongue, but was bathed in a torrent of fire, a scream of pure agony ripped from the burning nord’s throat, then silence, the ashes of the man swept away in the flames. Mirmulnir huffed in satisfaction.

“Impudent mortal. I still cannot fathom why you allow them to speak such slander.”

“I’d rather not be seen as a cruel tyrant. If I silence a voice against me, it only validates what they claim. Those who silence their critics fear what kernel of truth, however small it may be, resides within the morass of lies and slander.”

Mirmulnir snorted at the logic, but decided to not argue any further, knowing his Thuri would only respond in a similar manner no matter the soundness of his arguments. His lord was one of contradictions, and refused to accept it. He wishes to be a paragon, but acts as the conqueror. He is merely acting according to his nature, which Mirmulnir sees nothing wrong with. Why deny what you are? It is only natural that dragons rule, dominating those around them and brutally dealing with rivals and usurpers, and for Mirmulnir, Imperius is a dragon in all but name. 

He was able to subdue multiple dov, keep them in line, and defeat his former thuri in combat. He helped him, of course, but to establish dominance over the favored, the eldest. It only strengthened his resolve to serve him. The words of power have worn off by now, same for his kin, but they continued to serve, for there was no better alternative. Alduin was short sighted, wanting the destruction of the world, seeing it as his birthright, and while he wanted to punish the mortals for rising against their true masters, this was the best way to go about it without bathing the world in hellfire, leaving nothing but ash to rule over. Besides, he would submit to no other, for there was no one who could match his master’s power and thu'um.

“Have the men move in to secure the hold when the fires burn out. Look for survivors. Offer them food, drink and medical aid if necessary. Hopefully it will improve our image somewhat. And as for Tullius’ offer, I would meet with him personally to discuss terms.”

Mirmulnir bowed his head in acknowledgement and took off into the night sky, roaring as he did so, the sound echoing loudly across the empty battlefield. Imperius watched him go, yawning and beginning the long trek back to his camp. As he moved past the burning corpses, he looked at the wound gained from Aela, when she turned into that monstrous lycan in broad daylight and mangled his arm. The healing potions helped dull the pain and speed up the healing process, but it would never erase the scars, nor the curse that she had unwittingly given him.

It has affected him greatly, rendering him unable to get a good night’s sleep ever since. He hasn’t been at his best since then either. Sleep was, obviously, a fairly important thing when one was attempting to be their best, and not getting a restful night’s sleep was a hindrance to that. It mattered especially to him, as he was in charge of the conquest of Tamriel for divine’s sake! It is prudent, nay an imperative that he be at his best, for it would shame those under his banner if he weren’t. He needed to frequent Ysgrammor’s grave to rid himself of the curse, and he would be back to full strength. But now, his thoughts were focused on Tullius, and the truce he was calling for.

He would meet with him, but he would ensure that the terms favored his Imperium over the Empire, as he held the more powerful position and should be able to dictate most of the terms. He would acquiesce to a few of Tullius’ demands, out of respect for the man he sacrificed himself for in his old life, and for the hardworking, steadfast and pragmatic man he knew now, but he would not leave those under his charge wanting just to satisfy a treaty, no matter how much it would benefit him in doing so.

He fumbled with a pouch at his belt, and pulled out a small healing potion, downing the substance, and returning the empty container to the pouch in one smooth motion, one that spoke of much familiarity, bordering on muscle memory. It would keep him stable until he got to a medicos, who would be better able to administer aid with their menagerie of healing and stamina potions, along with basic healing spells. He unfortunately wasn’t proficient in wielding magic, in offense or defense, or in any way for that matter. He had spent his life as a smith, a soldier, and a leader of men, and as a dragonborn. A mage wasn’t his calling, but the logistical advantages of having healers within an army intrigued him enough to suggest the integration of those with magical abilities into the medicos corps of the legions to Tullius in his first life. It was met with some skepticism, especially from Tullius, who only accepted it after he gave demonstrations of these healers in action during the rebellion and saw that they were beneficial to the imperial war effort.

He had made no such suggestions to the current Tullius, as Imperius wanted every advantage available to him in the event that he would have to wage war against Tullius, hopefully this would change in the coming months, and kept this within his own legion organization, and it has worked wonders. Many a man, who surely would have met his end in any other force, was saved by the magics and potions of the medicos corps and returned to the fighting within short order. He had entertained the idea of battle mages, as the high elves do, but disregarded such an idea as soon as he had thought of it. Once he had a secured base of operations, preferably a province in size so he could have some breathing room, then maybe he could experiment with integrating such formations into the legions, but until that happened, he would settle for the medicos healers he already has. And after this latest battle, he would need every last one of them, for it was an especially brutal one.

The enemy had built fortifications designed to slow his legion down, raised parapets and walls that allowed their archers to cut down his legionaries in droves, and had hired engineers, both imperial and freelance, to build defensive siege engines, catapults and trebuchets, with a moat of tar before the city entrance, to deny him long enough to retreat into the inner city and the mines.

He had assaulted such fortifications three times, and each time they pushed in, gaining ground at a cost, with cohorts taking such casualties as to render them combat ineffective. They were moved back to the camp, out of sight of the foe, and replaced with fresh cohorts ready for battle. But he had taken too long, the fortifications requiring time to destroy or overrun, the private soldiers hired by the hold equipped with the best their forges could produce had taken too long to kill, time given to the enemy so that they could prepare, and he had forgotten one variable during the assault. 

Tullius and his legion were marching on their position, and the siege hadn’t succeeded yet.

He was forced to reposition most of his army to meet the incoming imperials, leaving a handful of cohorts to keep the soldiers of Markarth occupied and contained. He had called Mirmulnir, to act as a show of force, to make the imperials stand down, without actually intending to use him. He had to, as the bulk of Markarth’s soldiers, three thousand in number, forced their way through the cohorts, routing them and had charged in headlong against the rear of his army.

He was caught between two foes, and had to make a choice, so he did. He had ordered Mirmulnir to utterly destroy the forces of Markarth in their entirety, and the dragon had followed his instructions to the letter, turning large swathes of men into ash and melted suits of armor, cooking men alive inside the armor that was supposed to protect them, creating a wall of dragon fire between Imperius’ legion and the forces of Markarth. No arrow, sword or battleaxe could pierce his hide, and he took full advantage of such a boon, descending into the masses of men akin and slaughtering them like a starving wolf amongst lambs, a force of destruction no one could stand against.

It had taken seven hours to breach the outer defenses and enter the inner city, killing at least fifteen hundred mercenaries and hold guards. It only took Mirmulnir thirty minutes to slaughter three thousand men-at-arms, and such an act had startled Tullius, who had observed such slaughter in shocked silence. When it had concluded, when the battlefield was empty of the clamor of battle, slaughter and the wails of the dying, Tullius had approached Imperius under the flag of peace, and had proposed a meeting to discuss a truce to be brokered.

He sighed as he reached the camp, greeting legionnaires as they saluted him, making his way to his personal tent at the center of the makeshift fort his men had constructed. It was a bloody day, and he needed rest, though he knew before he even laid down he wouldn’t get it.