Rastislav
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Arc 8 Chapter LXXV: Peace Talks
🕑 Added 2025-01-28 21:27:29 +0000 UTCA/n: I should be able to fit everything I wanted into the next three chapters but whether I do succeed in that or not after this round I will be taking a week off to rest my creative grey matter.
More accurately, after the chapter on the 30th of January, the next one will be coming out on the 7th of February.
Thank you for your patience, and do enjoy the chapter!
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(General POV)
The field between the armies of the Dunmer and the Argonians was silent as the grave, save for the distant groans of the wounded and dying and the even farther cheers of the elves, which remained stricken with the joy of victory even hours after it was attained.
A small group of lizardmen stood at attention behind their Histspeaker channeling all the pride and courage they yet possessed but failing miserably to look anything else but defeated.
Their erstwhile foes however shared none of their discomfort, as the hundred or so elves making up the Hortator's entourage could barely retain their discipline as the jubilation of victory threatened to spill over and make them join their comrades back at the camp.
Only the two figures standing by the Hortator's own sides were utterly calm, one clad in gleaming golden white plate and the other an imposing giant of ebony, his purple eyes staring into the souls of the defeated and silently roaring at them to attempt anything.
Davos found all of it to be incredibly surreal. Even after experiencing one ridiculous situation after another he still ended up baffled by the sheer casualness his Boss dealt with things that would break the minds of lesser Mer.
The kid was just standing there, completely still and silent, staring into the lizard woman's eyes all the while she shivered like a particularly terrified cat that was also wet at the same time.
Chuckling at the mental image, the Hortator's oldest servant elbowed the elf next to him and in a hushed tone asked "What do you think they are doing?"
Savos Aren twitched in surprise and gave Davos a scathing look before he too was overtaken with curiosity and began pondering the question while scratching his beard "Communicating directly with the Hist most likely." He answered after a bit "The trees do not talk normally but through the mind, that he can even comprehend any of it is quite impressive."
"Bloody ridiculous." Davos could not help but chuckle.
"Quite." The elder archmage shared his amusement "No matter how many times I think I've finally gotten used to it he always manages to accomplish something even more ridiculous to overturn my worldview."
Directing the mage with a doubt filled side-eye, Davos couldn't help but mutter "How the hell am I supposed to follow anything then?"
Savos smirked at this "Ah, I believe Reyvin has come up with a particularly fitting answer for questions like this."
Cursing himself for falling for the bait so easily, Davos still found himself asking "And what would he say?"
"Skill issue."
The younger elf closed his eyes and sighed in defeat.
(Reyvin's POV)
Talking to a pile of sentient plant-life that was currently on fire was... something else.
A series of incoherent images laced with intent layered upon intent blasting into my head with enough force to rattle me if unprepared that I then had to sift through with enough speed so as to make this 'conversation' actually matter.
The most recent 'retort' they hit me with for example was something between the evolutionary history of their Hist Hubs and their importance to their growth, an obvious attempt to bargain for the survival of those same outposts.
They still thought we could bargain at this point.
Before I could offer my true and full retort, they once more blasted me with mental imagery, showing the massive dust storms currently surrounding their least powerful offspring and sucking out their lifeforce, urging me to hurry up and accept their terms so as many as possible would survive.
It was then that I realized something.
When people described the Hist as alien they could never truly translate just how far their alien nature went.
There was no emotion to be found on the other side, only impulsive reaction to do with survival and propagation. There was no morality or even the most basic concepts of it but the basic directive to go forth and multiply.
Even their perception of their most powerful servants, the Argonians was something akin to a human looking at benign bacteria but in this case the bacteria was far more efficient and controllable.
I was also graced with the side benefit of catching a glimpse of how they perceived myself, and barely held back a grin as I realized that to them I was but just another ravenous devourer seeking to take their place in the battle for survival.
This enlightened me to two things.
One, the reason why they reacted to my ascension so very violently, an instinctual need to remove a threat before it grows and begins encroaching on the resources the Hist needed for further growth.
And two, they put me in the same category as the Aedra and Daedra, which meant they now overestimated my power to a ridiculous extent.
Who was I to deny such a magnificent bargaining chip?
With a slight bit too much glee in my soul, I focused my vast mind and formed a rapid series of complex thoughts and images, all of them laced with vicious and deadly intent.
I showed them the effects of my curse, both present and distant.
I showed them the image of the dead and soon to be dead Argonians.
The image shifted and I blasted them with the image of what I could scry of Black Marsh.
And the inevitable effect that amount of fuel would have on the Hist themselves.
They began to rumble and attempted to respond but I was not done.
A map of Tamriel formed, and I outlined the exact borders I wanted, carving my intent into the lines so that the Hist knew not to try and cross them for a period of thirty years, discounting those Argonians not under their influence.
Following this came the image of complete and utter isolation from both the Daedra and the Aldmeri Dominion for the same duration.
Finally, and just to make my point absolutely clear, I overcharged my third eye and beheld the vague outline of the Black Marsh in its entirety, and overlaid it with a version of it covered utterly in ash, where numerous trees were turned into grey husks as winds bit into them for an eternity.
And in the center of it all, stood a sole elf bearing my face, and my disdainful expression.
This was not a negotiation, this was an ultimatum.
The Hist turned utterly silent for a long moment before their response came and oddly enough it was not the previous jarble of images and intent, but a single coherent thought.
Acquiescence.
The connection remained still, their acceptance tied to me immediately dispelling the curse that even now ravaged their most vulnerable selves.
My eyes narrowed, the first physical movement I made since the start of these negotiations as I sent back a clear message back.
Treachery is death.
They understood my meaning immediately and with what felt like the easiest flick of the hand but was in truth a massive movement of conceptual power, I felt the distant curse sputter out in an instant.
And just like that the connection closed off and the war for Deshaan was over.
The Histspeaker Shaman whose name I've learned was Xelnara stumbled back, clutching at her staff as blood flowed freely from her snout. She looked up to me with bloodshot eyes, waving her guards off with a harsh jerk of the hand "Hass an agreement been reached?" She asked.
"It has." I allowed my previous aura of terror to disappear "Your... masters have accepted a return to previous borders as well as isolation for the period of thirty years and not a day less. Trade shall still be permissible but you are forbidden from making bargains with either Daedra or the Dominion." Quickly I added "This also includes the Cyrodiil border."
Her back straightened as she glared at me "There is no wa-"
I raised a finger to my lips "Shh" causing her and all the lizards behind her to flinch away.
Once more letting my Magicka settle I smiled "You may inquire with your creators but know this" My voice was utterly calm as I spoke "Should I perceive any form of betrayal of the aforementioned peace treaty I will once more descend upon your people and I will not stop until your lands are as ashen as Vvardenfell was before my coming."
She was once more trembling, rooted to the ground as the trees that spawned her kind.
With a lazy flick of Magicka I appeared next to her and patted her shoulder "There will be no negotiation, there will be no reasoning, only death." I leaned in and hissed "After all, your people are all the fuel I will ever need."
She was now still as a statue.
Clapping my hands with false joviality, I stepped away "So as I was saying. Do we have an understanding?"
Xelnara makes an admirable effort at looking dignified as he speaks "We accept your terms."
"Excellent" I grinned and called "Vayrin, get over here!"
The young Azuran priest trotted over and offered me a deep bow "What is your will, Hortator?"
"Settle the documentation, if you please."
He nods rapidly and summons a small but practical folding table before summoning parchment and bringing out his enchanted quill. He cleared his throat and spoke "The terms of peace between the Kingdom of Morrowind and the Kingdom of Argonia are thus:"
He goes on to list all of my previously proposed terms, only slightly shifted as Xelnara and myself agreed on pertinent details when it came to trade and passage for critical services, mostly to do with docking rights and the inevitable refugee exodus of the Deshaani Argonians.
An important note stipulated that Xelnara would be obligated to get written agreement of the many tribal leaders of note by word or by force to properly ratify it all. Something she attempted negotiating against due to practicality but I shot down immediately as she had all the religious authority to do so.
After another round of renegotiation and confirmation Vayrin drank from a waterskin before once more clearing his throat "Representing the Kindom of Morrowind in his capacity as sovereign, Hortator Reyvin of Great House Dagoth." He looked to me "Do you agree to these terms?"
"I do agree to these terms." I went along the pomp with by now practiced ease.
The priest nodded and looked to Xelnara "Representing the Kingdom of Argonia in her capacity as High Priest, Great Shaman Histspeaker Xelnara" He pauses once more "Do you agree with these terms?"
She hesitates only for a moment before slowly nodding "I do agree with these terms."
Vayrin bowed his head to the both of us, though the one he directed to Xelnara may as well have been a bob. He then spoke in an official tone "Let it be known thus that on the 11th day of Sun's Dawn of the year 201 of the Fourth Era by the Imperial Calendar the realms of Morrowind and Black Marsh are no longer in a state of war, may this peace last and prosperity follow."
My entourage saluted with their weapons and the Argonians all visibly deflated, a pair of them in the back even dropping on the ground and breathing heavily.
I stared at them for an uncomfortably long time before saying "You may gather your dead if you so wish, but all their equipment is to be considered war spoils."
Xelnara offered me her bitter thanks and with that the negotiations were finally well and truly over.
-----
My arrival back at the camp was greeted with nearly twenty thousand elves standing at attention, every single combatant who could still stand and was not critically busy was present and as clean as they could get over one evening of cleaning up a battlefield.
Hell, I even noticed an impressed looking DIvayth Fyr standing in the distant background, the old coot giving me a respectful nod the moment he felt my gaze.
But I had no time to magically banter with him and so my focus returned to the army.
Their eyes were filled with awe and zeal as they beheld both myself and the massive dragon trudging along behind me, and to my surprise there were only the rarest instances of fear as the ground shook below us.
I walked through the impromptu parade ground, offering nods glancing at every elf I knew to be worthy of recognition as I passed them by, a pattern rapidly recognized as excitement once more grew within the ranks.
My mouth remained shut though, the atmosphere patiently manipulated so that when I did speak my words would have the greatest impact.
I stepped up the raise that only yesterday was a wall of bodies, and turned around.
My gaze once more passed the army, and an instant later, Blasphemy was within my hand and risen above me "Soldiers of Morrowind! Bravest warriors and martyrs!" My voice boomed across the valley "Victory. Is. Ours!"
The blade now lowered was promptly embedded below me as I leaned both hands on the pommel and awaited patiently for my declaration to settle.
Varan Sarano was the first to respond as he unsheathed his own sword in a salute "Hail Hortator! Hail Histbreaker!"
In an instant the silence was broken and I was nearly deafened by the massive cheers, the loyalty of Morrowind thus eternally secured and another moniker added to my collection.
It was, I would later admit, a fine addition indeed.
Comments
Hakkira
Thank you kindly for the chapter 😁
Speide Hardy
Thanks for the chapter
