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Arc 8 Chapter LXXII: Battle At Thorn Pass, Prelude
🕑 Added 2025-01-23 19:38:01 +0000 UTC(Reyvin's POV)
I looked down upon a vast mountain pass, risen well above sea level and thus much less marshy than I had grown used to in the past two-ish months of campaigning.
Even if a light mist still covered it even during a day I'd dare call drier than usual.
"Fifty four days." The mutter leaves me unbidden.
My sole companion looks at me "Hm?"
"We managed to take back Deshaan in fifty four days." I elaborate "Merely taking it all in."
"Certainly something for the history books." Savos grins, his genuine pride requiring no magic to be felt in the air.
Nodding at the simple truth I can't help but point out "We haven't won just yet."
"True, true." He allows "Best not relax before we see all the Hist is willing to throw at us."
A silent moment passes before I say "It is a shame though."
"That we cannot strike further?" Savos guesses.
"Quite." I sigh "Taking land under far greater Hist influence would be a nightmare. We already lost nearly three thousand to sheer attrition and ambushes, just imagine how bad it would get if we tried counterinvading."
"A nightmare indeed." He hums.
The simplest solution comes to me easily "That just means I will have to make a sufficient statement in the coming battle."
He perks up "Oh?"
Turning fully to Savos I grin maliciously "It means that I will have to lay upon them such terror and slaughter that even their tree gods will have no choice but to accept my terms for peace, for the mere thought of continuing to fight me will see them quaking in their roots."
He stays silent for a long moment before frowning "So long as you know what you are doing."
I could see the truth of his concern and I could understand it, he was afraid I would go further off the deep end than I already was, but some things simply needed to be done.
"Oh trust me." I scoff and turn back to the valley where even now Demnevanni was directing the automaton swarm in pre-battle preparation "I have been holding back this entire time, I wish to truly unleash just as much as I feel I will be forced to."
He was obviously not all that comforted by the idea but still accepted it as fact.
After yet another bout of silence he spoke again "Reyvin... about what happened in the mountain."
"Finally ready to talk about it?" I give him a smug ass grin.
He scoffs "You can't just throw something like that at a Mer and expect him to simply accept it!"
I can't help but chuckle at this, draining some wind from his sails instantly "Do tell me, what changes have you experienced?"
His internal nerd swiftly overtakes his worry as he tugs on his beard "Mostly improved affinity for fire and restoration in general, and an odd respect from my Dremora summons, they almost seem hesitant to insult me or challenge me now."
"How much did you test this?" I ask.
"Extensively." He grins "I could go into specifics but not until you tell me what was going on."
"Fine, fine" I raise my hands in faux surrender "You are well aware of the potency of my bloodline by now." He nods "Well, during my most recent misadventures that bloodline has been empowered over and over and went from something useful to something tangibly powerful." I spread my arms dramatically "The ritual within Red Mountain was but the final step to my ascension."
"So..." He speaks up after a full two minutes of silent staring "Nothing dangerous then?" My final statement finally catches up to me and he blinks "Also, ascension?"
"Simply put, I am technically no longer Dunmer." I grin at him.
His expression turns flat "What?"
Offering him a sufficiently theatrical bow, and ensuring no one was listening, I say "Be honored, gramps, for you stand before the sole living Ehlnofey on Nirn." And in that instant my mortal form shifts to something closer to my soul form, going from something mortal to something distinctly... more.
Without a word he summons a chair and slumps back into it as if a puppet with its strings cut. He spends another long period in complete silence as he outright gapes at me before scowling "Bullshit!"
"Nuh uh!" I grin as my form reverts "You felt the proof yourself."
He begins muttering to himself before looking back at me "I am both proud and utterly terrified right now."
"Most interesting." I drawl with my eyebrows raised "Now about those specifics?"
He pauses before deflating "Fiiine."
In the end I learned my blessing, the full powered one I gave to Savos when I accidentally made him my Chosen equivalent (whoops?), gave boosts corresponding to each and every one of my aspects, going from giving his fire physical weight and having a yet undiscovered interaction with ash, imbuing Daedra with a feeling of danger and potentially being able to harm them, granting both resistance and power to illusions, and empowering restoration's healing aspects.
The oddest one of the bunch was what came from my mortality aspect, as Savos said he had been feeling far more grounded recently and found himself unbothered by the usual rapid passage of time older elves tended to experience.
All in all I was impressed with what I managed to achieve with what was basically an instinctual divine spell. Now to refine it to hell and back and make my most loyal followers even more ridiculous than they already were...
(General POV)
He stalked through the crowds of his egg-brothers with all the grace of a raging salamander, causing many of them to slink away in instinctual fright as they heard his near-constant wordless growl.
He had returned to his homeland in shame and humiliation, and yet that he returned was a victory in an of itself. He expected to be punished for his failings, used to display the folly of his ways and those of his comrades by the Shamans who even now resisted his command's iron grip.
And yet instead he had been called by the Hist itself, recognized as the most powerful defender of his people and given a task to right the wrongs he had suffered and stop the grey skinned filth from ever encroaching upon his kin again.
To most it would have been a heady feeling, an ascension in all but name as he was once more transformed even further and inured with the power of his creators to become the ultimate warrior.
He grew larger, his muscles were as coiling steel, his claws as swords and his scales as thick as a dragon's and he was clad in armor of Aedra crystal and Daedra vitae. So empowered was he that his wounds would heal in an instant and even a decapitation became a mere inconvenience.
To others it would most certainly look like the most exalted of existences, even as said exaltation took its toll without mercy or consideration.
Warchief Valezar of the An-Xileel no longer slept, could no longer lose focus and relax, or enjoy life's simple pleasures. He was turned from mere drone to a tool of perfected purpose, and granted honors beyond any of his kin.
So why was it that in those rare moments he could close his eyes he felt like his fate was the exact opposite of a reward?
It did not matter, he decided simply, his failings had created the necessity of his reward and he would not shame himself again by questioning it again.
He passed through another group of warriors, these egg brothers were armored in steel imported from the golden elves and taught to fight in disciplined ranks much unlike the majority of his kin.
The An-Xileel side of him felt naught but disgust at the sight, while the side that was defeated and crushed before the walls of Kragenmoor appreciated the efficiency they would bring to his army.
He reached his command tent just as the scouts returned from their ranging, notably lacking four fifths of their initial number, and reported that the greyskin army was but half a day's march away through the cursedly dry pass before them.
The fact they reached it before his force gnawed at him terribly but he had grown cynical in his expectations and showed no surprise whatsoever. The enemy was more crafty than he, so he would have to overwhelm them with grit and power, it had become that simple to his permanently exhausted mind.
His loud steps drew the attention of the dozens of Shamans and Chieftains within the large magically grown tent and he wasted no time in speaking "Did you manage to get eyes on the enemy numbers?"
The clicking tick his voice had developed recently no doubt unsettled his kin but he found himself unable to care, even as he saw one of the scouts outraged at him ignoring their loss.
Their leader was far more disciplined however, and gave his prompt report "Only from a long distance, Warchief. The hunter beast we have received reports of from the skirmishers still in Deshaan seems to have moved with the army and has managed to take down most of us before we could get close."
Valezar felt tempted to mock his for his failings but realized that would grate on morale, so instead he asked "If I were to order you to gather a band to hunt it down, would you be capable?"
The scout stilled, visibly looking like he wanted to beg for him to reconsider, but he had his pride still "It is possible..." He began "I cannot guarantee it but the beast leaves tracks that are easy enough to follow."
"Do so." Valezar commanded without hesitation or sympathy, and gave the egg brother no moment of respite "What of the army?"
The Argonian shook slightly and calmed himself with a short breath "They have formed camp atop the highest point of the valley slightly north of the center, they have already raised basic fortifications and considering the presence of the slaver-magi I would not be surprised if the entire area is left ridden with traps."
Valezar let out a long clicking hiss as his mind began drawing an image of the situation "And what of smaller passes? How capable are we of flanking the enemy?" He knew there were still some troops stuck to the north but their timing would have to be immaculate if they were ever to be of any use.
A consideration he would not give those who lost battle after battle.
Instead of the scout, one of his Chieftains and fellow An-Xileel responded, the stocky egg-brother being one of the rare kin that did not look upon him with fear "There are a few known to exist but their exact locations were never mapped."
"Then have them mapped." Valezar immediately snapped back "You, scout!"
The veteran scout stood at attention.
"You will gather a hunting band as soon as possible" He growled "Take as many as you need but do not return without those maps."
The scout gulped but still saluted "Yes, Warchief."
"And you" He turned to the Chieftain that spoke previously "Ask around the camp for any of our kin who passed through here frequently, they may know more."
His egg-brother nodded "Yes."
Finally, he turned to the last group of note present, and to the same Shaman who had failed him and his army at the gates of the enemy "Are you capable of protecting us this time? Or should we expect to burn once more?"
The woman looked just about ready to rip out his heart for forcing so many of her fellows out of their tribes and their peaceful lives, an act they remained hesitant about even now that the Hist itself commanded them.
How a caste with the greatest connection to their creators could disdain them so much he could never understand.
Still, the failure of a Shaman managed to get her bearings in the end and hissed out "We will do our duty."
He leaned forward, towering over her utterly "See that you do."
She could not hold back a gulp of fear even as she stood her ground.
Valezar turned to his Chieftains, the sole members of the army he held actual respect for, and spoke "The greyskins..." He hissed and clicked "Think they can rise again. That they can once more lord themselves over us and take lands that no longer welcome their filth."
"Do not hesitate" He ordered simply "Show no mercy."
His fellow warriors stomped the ground "No mercy!"
He left the tent hours later, barely satisfied with the plan his egg-brothers had come up with before he left to contact the fourth and final faction of his army.
Slaying magi in battle was never the wisest option, and the Argonians of Black Marsh were wise enough to create a tool for the job.
--------
The mood in the Dunmeri camp was far more jovial than that of their opponents, as soldiers moved about with by now ingrained precision, sharing japes and stories all the while working to improve their fortification to its utmost efficiency.
Even after nearly two full months of campaigning, the discipline of the dark elves, and few Imperials who yet remained, remained near immaculate, their weapons were clean and well oiled and their armors free of dust and grime.
The lands of the Hist attempted to poison their minds and their bodies but the elves of Morrowind laughed at the attempt with the grim determination of two centuries of conflict, even the Sworn Mer, a group of relative newcomers, swiftly ingrained themselves into the mindset of defeating the oppressors of their people once and for all.
Not as grand a jump as one may think considering their previous treatment in Windhelm.
That no grand slaughter of the civilian Argonian populace happened so far was a miracle, and a sign of how deeply the words of their Hortator were already ingrained within all of them.
Victory after victory, restoration after restoration, broken false idol after broken false idol...
One could only follow an elf and see him do things considered pipe dreams for centuries on a near daily basis and refute their beliefs a few times before realizing how utterly idiotic they were looking and behaving and falling back in line.
All of this added up to a palpable sense of excitement across the camp, as the exhausted troops and their camp followers were filled with a second wind to complete their tasks and return home in triumph.
And in the center of it all, their leaders assembled around the figure that made it all possible.
"Gentlemen!" The Hortator spoke with an eagerness in his voice "And ladies" He inclined his head to a group of particularly grumpy old Telvanni mages "Our enemy already scrambles at the sight of us! Even now they attempt to observe us and are hunted down like the rats they are!"
Beside him a familiar Indoril elf scribbled his words down, the young priest having rejoined with the army back in Mournhold, his quill not shaking one bit even as the nobility around him roared their approval.
"But they will not reach us just yet!" The Hortator went on "We have all worked hard, our weapons are ready, the pits of death are waiting to be filled, and the Good Daedra look down upon us awaiting our inevitable victory!"
"So join me in this one toast before we all retire to rest." The young elf smiled at them "For tomorrow we will butcher those who would see our kin enslaved, and our culture extinguished." He rose a cup of wine "For Morrowind!"
"""For Morrowind!"""
