Rastislav
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Arc 8 Chapter CXXVIII: When The Trees Scream In Bosmeri
🕑 Added 2025-05-15 00:12:03 +0000 UTCAn: Minor edits to previous chapter with the only notable change being me mentioning the river Crescent and its crossing (Strid's tributary to the south, will be to the imperials' back during this chapter)
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(General POV)
The eternally noisy forest surrounding a unit of Bosmeri hunters turned eerily silent, the bravest and most daring of those who joined up with the Dominion army to fight back against the human invaders all tensing as their instincts warned them of danger approaching.
Their leader, an elder Huntsmaster, took the risk and went scouting on his own under many protestations of his kinsmen, only to return minutes later with a grave expression on his face and tales of a large army marching towards Arenthia.
Knowing it was coming was one thing, but to have it confirmed brought about an air of unease amongst the wood elven warriors.
"So everything is going as planned?" A young elf asked, the pre-battle jitters hiding behind his excitement obvious to all "Our victory will be glorious!"
"Calm yourself." The old elf directed him with a sharp glare "You may be a skilled hunter but underestimating your quarry is the first step to a stupid death."
Feeling the weight of the old teacher's stare, the young elf promptly shut up and gave him an apologetic look, something that made the older one merely scoff in annoyance.
The silence between the wood elves turned heavy, as they began habitually checking on the straps of their expertly crafted leather armors, and the powerful sinews that served as the strings of their bows.
Minutes later, that same young elf was leaning against a tree when suddenly he began to cough, drawing immediate attention from his comrades "Pardon me" He muttered, ignoring how hoarse his voice now felt.
The others gave him concerned looks but returned to their work swiftly enough.
Only, the coughs did not stop at the young elf, and soon half of the company was feeling the need to clear their airways as the Huntsmaster's face grew increasingly grave.
He went to declare that they needed to pull back as his instincts screamed at him but just then, the piercing war horn of the city garrison rang out, commanding them to ready themselves for battle.
Sadly for the old Mer, even if the order was not given, it was already far, far too late, as the younger Bosmer began coughing more roughly and found himself expelling a glob of simmering grey. His eyes widened in terror as he muttered "Ash?" The act only serving to prompt even more hacking coughs.
As if summoned by his words, the air around them shifted and became dry, and then in a blink, the great trees protecting their position from the enemy simply collapsed in on themselves, turning from vibrant green to terrible grey as ash that should not exist suffocated them from within.
Panic began spreading through the Bosmer lines like an unrelenting wave as their very homeland turned hostile to them.
And there, upon the now open field, stood the culprit of it all. Tall and imposing, clad in ebony plate and void black robes accented with glowing purple runes, and with a dreadful crown hiding his face save for the pair of blazing red infernos that were his eyes.
Two towering warriors of a similar coloring stood to his sides, and another pair, one clad in heavy dwarven plate and another in gleaming moonstone of white and gold, guarded his back.
And behind them all, a force stood that would bring any to their knees, as hundreds of Telvanni magi, and Indoril knights stood as one, and ready to charge.
The Huntsmaster felt his spirit drop, the blind enthusiasm still beating in the hearts of his subordinates barely shielding them from the realization that he was struck with. One did not rise through the ranks like he did without learning to understand the situation he was in, and his understanding was as singular as it was certain, none of them were going to survive this.
And so desperately, he rounded on his men and barked "Fall back now!" Not waiting for their response, he grabbed his bow, enchantments paid for in glorious prey glowing along its limbs, and took aim.
Foolishly, the Mer whose lives he was entrusted with ignored his order, and nocked their own arrows, all of them aiming for the one who would burn their very homes to the ground, and loosing as one, their movements more fluid than they ever should have ever been in their state.
The moment their arrows passed a certain point, the vast majority of them simply scattered with the surging winds. All but one, as the Huntsmaster's own weapon pierced through the wall of wind and whizzed towards the eyehole of the sorcerer's crown.
Only to be disdainfully slapped away with a lazy flick of the hand "Cute." The bored voice carried across the entire battlefield, making the Bosmer feel as if the dark elf was speaking into their ear directly.
"Karvanni." He spoke and a diminutive Dunmer clad in the traditional garbs of his house perked up "See those gawking fools over there?" Hearing the short elf's answer, he nodded "I no longer wish to."
Even the short elf looked at him with some confusion at that, but only for a moment before his face twisted into a sharp toothed grin that scared the shit out of some of the more sharp-eyed Bosmer watching, and he scurried away to his fellow house members.
Mere moments later, the entire Telvanni contingent rose their hands or foci as one, and the battlefield was suffused with so much Magicka the sheen of it could be seen with the naked eye.
By this point, some twenty seconds had passed since the forest was turned to ash, and some of the more quick witted Bosmer had begun their retreat, hoping to reposition themselves while the enemy was gloating at them.
Sadly, it was once again far, far too late for that, as the chaotic mess of spells on the Dunmeri side finished synchronizing, and a storm of the elements descended upon the lines of the wood elves.
(Reyvin's POV)
'Literal kilometers of land gone, just like that.' The morbid thought only served to twist my grin further, there was just something beautiful about so much destruction wrought by mortal hands.
"That ought to be a few thousand of the fuckers at least." I noted aloud. The firestorm still danced atop the enemy's previous position, leaving no room for doubt as to what happened to the terrified cannibals.
"We could probably ignore them and simply take the city now" Nerevar noted "They won't be recovering from that for hours at least."
"Days probably" I corrected lazily "Having their most veteran members simply get disappeared isn't something one simply gets over" A dark chuckle left me "I do oh so love the smell of war crimes in the morning."
In the background, the Telvanni finally stopped their barrage of spells.
"Still" I hummed as the air began to clear out "There is a barely fortified camp some distance away practically begging for us to destroy it." I rubbed my hands eagerly "It would be incredibly rude of us to refuse the offer."
The ancient elf held back a sigh "Please tell me you aren't just going to throw bodies in there because you can."
"Well" I cleared my throat "Not bodies per se..."
Focusing inwardly, I felt for the echoes of the recently slain Bosmer, their souls already slowly flickering out as their patron dragged them away into Aetherius.
It was a good thing I didn't need those.
The memories of the world and the imprints of the hopeful army of hunters slowly connected to my will, and I felt my spell taking hold. I rejected the memories that immediately surged towards me, and redirected them back to their origins, my veritable sea of Magicka following but a blink after.
It took me a fair bit of time to modify this particular spell back in the Imperial City, but the sight that awaited me as I commanded them all to "Arise!" Was very much so worth the effort, as thousands of sadly temporary shades rose from their ashen graves in all their color coded glory.
The Telvanni behind me turned utterly silent as I simply pointed at the forest too far to be turned to ash, and wordlessly gave the command.
The shades surged as one, and mere moments later the first screams of terror and pain began to spread from within.
"I do oh so love" I pretended to clap dust from my hands as I repeated "The smell of war crimes in the morning."
(General POV, some half an hour earlier)
General Servius Tullius of the Tamrielic Empire felt his annoyance growing as yet another legionary ballista was struck by a burning boulder from atop the walls of Arenthia.
The artillery barrage that had commenced about an hour earlier was still doing good damage to the Dominion defensive positions but the attrition they were forced to take in turn was a hard pill to swallow, even if it was certainly worth the cost.
The smattering of Imperial Battlemages and Falmer did their best to protect their positions from the enemy mages but the high elves were not renowned for their magical prowess for no reason, and more often than not they found ways around the defenses his soldiers could put up.
Still, as another tower was sundered by an enchanted ballista bolt, he found himself grunting in annoyed acceptance. Wars were not won without sacrifice.
A fact the Thalmor seemed to understand as well, as mere minutes later a loud and piercing war horn sounded out from atop the battlements, and the gates of Arenthia opened.
"Ready the infantry for enemy sally" Tullius immediately commanded "Hrongar, you have the center, Faren you are to flank from the north." He paused only briefly before adding "Varen, take your best and do the same from the south, be wary of ambush."
The officers all took their orders without a word and rushed out to do as they were told.
Tullius nodded to himself and pointed at one of his runners "Get me Furius, and Battle-Born, have them start forming their men up first."
The young man saluted and ran off, leaving Tullius to plan his next moves.
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Multiple formations of high elves clad in gleaming black and gold marched out of the city of Arenthia, the crumbling and undermaintained walls of the city practically falling apart around them even as one of the present Archmagi focused on keeping them functional.
A good way to waste human legion munitions, and a terrible way to maintain morale.
Banners of the eagle of Alinor fluttered in the wind as orders were given out and the elven legion began their advance, their more lightly armored Bosmer allies marching out behind them with bows or spears in hand.
If their orderly display was meant to cow their enemy into hesitating, it failed utterly, for across them the first legion of Skyrim formed up with practiced ease, Housecarls and veterans from each and every hold locking shields with each other as only those who spilled blood together before could.
The two battlelines advanced at each other, stopping just outside missile range but only for a short moment, as a silent command was given on the Dominion's end, and the Bosmer contingent ran past the blocks of Altmer infantry.
There was no command to form up, or ready a volley for that matter, by the wood elven officers, their subordinates merely nocking their arrows as they willed and immediately beginning to pepper the imperial lines with an almost hungry look in their eyes.
The Nords immediately rose their shields, forming an impromptu turtle formation, and began advancing through the rain of arrows, a rhythmic grunting chant spreading from them so as to keep cohesion as they marched through the field of death.
The Altmer were not quite so foolish as to allow them to do as they willed however, and soon bolts of chain lightning began blasting the Nordic formations from atop the walls, some of them fizzling out due to the protective enchantments of the shields, some of them blocked by the few mages present in the human ranks, but the vast majority of them hitting home and rapidly cooking the men and women alive within their armor.
And opening up the formations to further Bosmeri arrows.
For a short time, the Nords fell in droves, their casualties only increasing as the Altmer infantry finally came into range and unleashed short range spells upon them, burning and impaling the humans before moving in with their swords.
An act that quickly proved itself a terrible, terrible, mistake.
Like a beast that had tasted blood, the Nords all let out furious war cries and threw themselves into the elven line without an ounce of hesitation, their greater size and strength easily overpowering the elves' greater grace as they were confined in place by their own formation.
The Bosmer were not spared the counterattack either, as those who were not unfortunate enough to end up on the nasty end of a Nordic javelin or throwing axe soon found themselves under rapid crossbow fire from their north and south, the south being particularly terrible as figures in blackened steel plate and cloaks of white fur unleashed a wave of death into the Dominion flank.
And they, unlike their human counterparts, had proper magi protection, so the attempts of the Altmer to simply remove the valuable troops quickly proved themselves useless.
The Thalmor General atop the walls frowned at the development. His troops were reacting as they should, holding the line despite far too many casualties taken to mere humans.
But he was not dealing with only humans, as he had to remind himself, whatever little respect he still held for his distant grey-skinned cousins disappearing rather quickly as he saw hundreds of his own be turned into little more than hedgehog caricatures by those infernal crossbows.
Marvelous weapons that they were, they needed removing as soon as possible.
His magi seemed to agree, and readied themselves to sally out and destroy the few practitioners saving the imperials from annihilation.
He gave the order, and called for his signifier, the Bosmer he had hidden in the trees ought to make themselves useful right about now.
The horn sounded out once again, and the General felt his hairs standing on end, whether due to excitement or as a premonition he would not know until his last breath.
Because just then, the forest that held his veteran force of huntsmen simply... disappeared, the verdant growths rapidly shrinking and then outright disintegrating into ash that belonged more in Morrowind than it ever would Valenwood.
'Ah.' The suddenly very numb Dominion General realized 'He is here.'
As if to enunciate his realization, what parts of the forest that were not turned to ash were suddenly incinerated by waves of fire, his diviner quickly informing him that hundreds of the damned Telvanni were currently all throwing spells at his auxiliaries like their lives depended on it.
His keen eyed allies down on the field also seemed to notice what just happened, and their morale began to flag. There was no winning the battle like this, he quickly realized.
"Call for Telorian" He ordered "He is to cover the infantry as they retreat." He turned to his messenger "And send word to Camoran, have him reposition his soldiers into small pockets, the enemy diviners are too potent for him to stay in one place."
Once more, the world felt the need to prove him right as he felt a wave of silent dread spreading across the field.
Moments later, the very same Archmage who had singlehandedly been keeping the walls together appeared next to him, the tall, proud, and perfectly groomed elf that radiated power, a living paragon of what it meant to be Altmer, gave him a clipped nod, and readied his spells.
The war horn sounded out once more, and the Dominion cohorts began disengaging from the Nords, who to the General's surprise seemed to simply accept this change and hold back, reforming their shieldwalls as they dragged their wounded behind their lines, or throwing a final volley of spiteful javelins if they were able.
The human legionaries then began clearing the way, just moments before their own war horn sounded out and the General realized what they were doing.
Hundreds and hundreds of humans stood ready, mounted atop stocky war horses, some clad in legion garb while others in lamellar and carrying banners of a golden horse's head with its hairs braided on a white background.
"Telorian!" He called, a bit of fear entering his voice as the human cavalry lowered their lances "Stop them!"
The Archmage did not react to his lack of deference, and swung his free hand out, his elaborately carved staff glowing with power unleashed as spikes rose from the ground and in the cavalry's path.
And yet the human charge did not slow down for even a second.
"What are they doing?" The General leaned his hands against the battlements, eyes wide in confusion "Are they trying to kill themselves?"
The sudden pained grunt of his chief mage quickly answered that question as he saw a shimmer of power pass across the field, simply disintegrating the spikes as if they were never there, the figure suddenly appearing above the charging humans removing all doubts as to the culprit.
"General" Telorian's voice was grave as he spoke "I recommend that you flee now."
He rounded on the Archmage with fury in his eyes but found his words abandoning him as he saw the previously prideful and indomitable elf shivering in place, face pale and beads of sweat running down what parts of his skin were visible under his robes.
A screeching noise pierced the battlefield, and the defensive wards the Archmage tried putting up shattered utterly as something grabbed onto him... and yanked.
The pathetic scream of their proud symbol did more to destroy Altmer morale than the artillery barrage and retreat ever could, draining their will from them just as the human cavalry reached its target, and the field turned once more to chaos and butchery.
The Thalmor General turned to his command staff, ready to keep fighting until his last breath even as he understood that there would be no victory here, only to find all of his comrades of over four decades strewn across the stone bastion in pieces.
The smell hit him just as the sight did and he couldn't help the bile from rising in his throat.
And then, a large hand landed on his shoulder and he very hesitantly turned to see who had the fucking audaci-!
A large yet slender golem of ebony greeted him with far too much cheer in its cold voice "Hello there, General Kenorian."
He wanted to scream, to thrash, and to threaten, but found that he lacked the energy to as a surge of pain nearly knocked him out, causing his eyes to instinctually look for the source.
The stress of the battle, now joined by the shock of seeing a clawed hand sinking into his guts, was far too much fort the elf, and his heart simply gave out.
"General" The automaton poked him exactly where she knew she would cause the most pain, only to realize he was no longer moving.
She stared at her prey, and then at her hand, and then simply threw him against the nearby battlement "What a waste of my time" She grumbled as she shouldered her eponymous greatsword "I hope your mages are not nearly as pathetic."
They weren't.
But only just.
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Another author note!: Fear not, I do not plan to go through every single step of the war in great an exhausting detail, I just felt like introducing the two main fronts and giving a feel for how it is all fought before I speed things up a fair bit and only focus on the big events.
Also yes, I will go more into what went on between Reyvin and Y'ffre in the next chap, didn't feel like I could fit it in to the general mood of what was going on here.
Comments
Hakkira
Thank you kindly for the chapter 😁
Rastislav
"Teammate" is a bit of a strong term as Reyvin disdains her existence even as he makes use of her. In his mind things are rather simple, she will either change (as she does have the soul for it) or he will treat her as a particularly mouthy tool.
Fire_Fox2590
I'm curious about what you will do with Umbra after the war. It will not be thrilled if it isn't CONSTANTLY murdering someone or leaving to murder someone. Will it just scour the world in search of bandits and evildoers? What happens when it runs out of acceptable targets? I know that Reyvin bound it to his service, but it would feel unusually cruel of him to let a teammate suffer like that, not being able to fulfill its purpose and reason for existing. I hope he has something in mind for dealing with it long term.
