Late Merethic Era.
More than 4500 years before the birth of the Last Dragonborn.
Falmeret / Skyrim.
The next day.
Feator Kaslana.
Seems Auri-El didn’t like the meeting with the chosen one of Lorkhan’s widow — Kin, Kinareth.
Look how my fire was starting to take on his favorite color — gold, and I felt Aedric energy weaving into the magic, very similar to that which emanated from the Eye of Magnus.
“As he used to say — shall we dance?” I said, swinging my blade, letting my reflexes kick in and synchronize with the weight of the sword.
Millennia of elven fencing development allowed me to know about such subtle points related to my current body’s biology.
The first to charge at me, of course, was not Ysgramor himself.
He was a cautious guy, clearly also sensing the power of the killer of his patroness’s husband.
“Die, elf!” the first of the bearded savages shouted unoriginally, trying to smash my head with his axes.
Foolish.
I was faster.
A slight crouch, a slight shift in the position of my legs, torso, and arms.
A lunge, almost like a spring, struck the Atmoran’s chest side, right under the arm raised for a vertical descending blow.
The sharp pain threw the man off his strike, allowing me to spring back from the axes that continued their falling arc without any effort.
Spinning in place, I delivered a powerful horizontal blow from a full turn, which the Companion managed to block with his axes…
Except they somehow didn’t shatter.
Although they were clearly not made of ebony, like Ysgramor’s armor and axe.
Hmm…
Oh.
Dwemer metal enchantment?
Where from?!
“They have Dwemer metal enchantment!” I shouted across the battlefield in Elvish, warning the paladin-knights of the deadly danger of the human weapons.
Where did a bunch of Daedric barbarians without writing get weapons worked on by a Dwemer master enchanter?
Suddenly, that same human mage shouted in the human tongue: “They know about the power of our weapons!” Oh, for…
Someone here knows Elvish.
At a very, very good level, to translate instantly.
And overall…
this mage was strange.
He wasn’t a weakling human, but was using a perfectly recognizable Snow Elf…
Altmer sorcery technique…
And now he was even using the arsenal of Chimer shamans from Morrowind!
What in Oblivion?
No, the Princes had nothing to do with it.
“Hmm…” a thoughtful sound escaped my lips as I pulled the tip of my blade from the Atmoran’s neck.
With a reflexive motion, I flicked off the scarlet drops of blood, cracking my neck as two Companions approached with bestial faces and builds more like bears than men.
Yeah, going against a nimble elf without armor while clad in heavy armor and being just as heavy yourself?
Stupid.
Deadly stupid.
However, assessing the enchantments on their armor and weapons — a hammer and another greatsword — I didn’t directly attack with magic.
I needed to save it for Ysgramor.
So, a couple of meters in front of me, two fireflies appeared before the faces of the ancestors of the Nords — completely harmless, used for illumination…
But now they blinded both warriors, making them no more dangerous than kittens.
Reflexively reaching for their eyes, they lost the initiative.
Which meant the first one took a precise lunge from the flamberge — narrow enough for this — straight through the firefly into his eye, and the second, though he tried to step back and swing his heavy hammer, still didn’t see my dodge.
Elegant, in a way, yes.
And so he couldn’t figure out the direction of my subsequent movement, which ended with a powerful blow into the warm fabric unprotected by steel.
Easily cutting through the latter, which was not enchanted unlike the metal — a peculiarity of Dwemer charms — the flamberge’s uneven surface bit into the skin, cutting even deeper into the muscles as I pulled back.
Dropping to one knee, the man exposed his neck, which was immediately struck by a lunge.
Pulling out the tip of the blade, I spun it on pure reflex, deflecting an arrow flying at me.
Though it was seriously inferior to Earwen’s, with whom I had trained many times.
“Tch!” came the displeased click of an Atmoran woman, who looked like Eyla the Huntress from the game.
Ducking and pressing a hand to the ground, she miraculously dodged an ice spike sent at her by one of the paladin-knights.
She wisely didn’t send her hunting dog, the size of some wolfhound, forward.
She understood that the level of the fighters was too high for a powerful, but still, dog.
But my gut told me that at the right moment, this dog could distract attention and allow her to make a killing shot…
from an enchanted bow.
Capable, in theory, of piercing a paladin-knight’s armor.
Not everywhere and not always, but still!
No, I would find and gut whoever had enchanted all their weapons.
And the most likely candidate was that mage over there, waving a perfectly Ayleid-looking staff.
Come on, for those lovers of human slaves to give a man one of their masterfully crafted implements…
Unlikely.
Either he stole it, which was improbable, or he killed the previous owner…
Which already spoke to his power.
And probably — and I was starting to suspect it clearly — this fellow was precisely that talented human whom the mages of the Tower had taken for training back in the day.
Yeah, bad luck.
However, I couldn’t get to him right now.
Not without losing the necessary strength, at least.
About a dozen Companions were protecting him in a semicircle, already fighting the paladin-knights, while the mage himself was engaged in a magical duel with Vaysi and the paladin-lieutenant Vyrthur.
Yes, yes, that same Vyrthur, whose unit was among our reinforcements.
Gelebor had already made captain.
The losses in the capital had been too great, since representatives of the Temple had also been invited to the feasts.
“Would you look at that…” I deflected another arrow, and immediately sidestepped the next one that whistled past.
“Persistent, aren’t you…” Not waiting for a fourth arrow, I deflected the third, then threw my dagger at her, pulling it from my belt.
The enchantment on her cloth armor, though not Dwemer, but rather Chimer, saved her from a fatal wound, but I gave her a heavy one.
She definitely wouldn’t be shooting now — she’d be too busy trying to stop the gushing blood.
Well, more than she already was.
“Oh!
Finally…” I said with satisfaction, squinting as I met Ysgramor, who was slowly walking toward me.
Hu-u-uge.
I wasn’t exactly small myself, I wasn’t some dwarf from Dragon Age, but this was a be-e-hemoth.
Ebony armor covered almost his entire body, minimum weak points, maximum protection — that mage had clearly gone all out.
Even my flamberge, which was designed to crack heavily armored targets, wouldn’t easily pierce that kind of stuff.
It wasn’t a two-hander, but still, still.
“You will pay, cursed elf.
For the deaths then.
For the deaths now.
But they will reach Sovngarde, and you will simply die,” the already gray-haired man concluded grimly, gripping the handle of his axe tightly.
Oh…
No, I definitely shouldn’t get caught by that.
And I’d better not block it with my blade either.
My flamberge was a masterpiece and all that — we even bought a top-tier enchantment for it from the Dwemer…
But what stood before me was one hundred percent an Aedric Artifact.
On the level of Auriel’s Shield, now in the prince’s possession, and the Bow of Auri-El himself.
Maybe a bit lower in level, but if I translated it into the approximate game concept of the latter…
It wouldn’t make much difference to me if my opponent had not a full hundred levels in his weapon, but only eighty.
My sword barely reached fifty.
“I won’t explain anything now.
You wouldn’t listen anyway…” I spread my hands, while keeping myself far enough away to prevent a sudden lunge from him.
This bastard was certainly experienced enough to catch me on a shrug during a pre-battle dialogue.
The latter was generally not such a stupid thing for experienced warriors.
During chatter, there was time to assess the opponent…
Well, at least if he was the one blathering, not you.
Otherwise, there was a chance he’d take a risk, not assess you, and stay silent before charging into attack.
I’ve seen all sorts among the Knight-Paladins, and I doubt people are particularly original here.
Speaking as a former human, yeah.
“True enough.
I won’t listen to the lying speeches of your cursed people anymore.
Once was enough.” The two-meter-tall wardrobe spoke, his eyes filling with malice, shifting his torso and legs.
And even though I’d never fought against someone wielding a battle-axe, among the Orsimer, also known as orcs, who already existed, such warriors were present.
So there was also theoretical material created for countering them.
So for now, I’ll perceive this guy as a huge green brute, sealed tight in even super-heavy armor.
Though…
As Ysgramor showed me next, the weight of the armor barely slowed him down.
Ugh, that axe came dangerously close!
No-o-o, with all due respect to the strength of the Atmorans, this clearly isn’t just that.
So it’s Kyne’s blessing — look how the winter winds swirl around his body!
Well then, I suppose I shouldn’t hold back either.