Falmeret / Skyrim.
Three weeks later.
Feator Kaslana.
Like any arctic fox, this one came completely out of nowhere.
And no amount of being a transmigrator, alas, helped me prevent or mitigate it.
I simply didn’t know when it would happen.
And even being the First Sword, that information didn’t reach me in time, which meant I couldn’t voice my disapproval, nor convince the archbishop to do so.
I couldn’t just go to the king and say, hey, don’t exterminate the human settlement, because it’s bad.
And besides, they’ll come back for revenge later and wipe us all out.
Who wouldn’t laugh at the words of a youth who understood nothing of life yet and had only just set foot on the warrior’s path?..
It would be the same among humans, and among the Snow Elves even more so…
The bishops probably knew about this nasty scheme of the royal court, but I didn’t get a chance to ask them.
Because I was on the other end of Tamriel, carrying out a mission for the Monastery.
The one time I showed seriousness and diligence, it backfired on me.
* * * “I’m starting to quietly hate spriggans,” I hissed, setting another one of those creatures on fire with a fire arrow.
Hey, superiors.
Just because I’m better than most at the fire attribute of magic doesn’t mean I want to deal with a whole crowd of these things.
Fast, agile, and able to turn invisible.
They burn well enough, but you have to hit them first, and fire isn’t as fast as lightning or even ice.
Not to mention the fact that these Daedric pieces of wood love to control all the animals in the area and sic them on their enemies.
While also empowering them, making killing bears, wolves, and even deer and rabbits no easy task.
“Don’t complain.
At least you have something to set them on fire with,” said Vaysi, who was standing beside me, freezing a charging bear to the bone.
The mad bear, though quite resistant to cold, especially under the spriggan’s nature magic, was no match for Vaysi’s skill in magic.
“Yeah, yeah.
The smell of burnt fur and meat is exactly what I want to smell every day,” I replied with a hint of displeasure and sarcasm, parrying a spriggan’s claws, dripping with green poison, with my flamberge.
It looked more like acid, actually.
Driving back and wounding the largest of the forest spirits with a volley of five fire arrows, I immediately swung my blade at a second spriggan that had dared to attack me from behind.
It howled as its arm-branch was nearly severed, but it retreated.
Annoying creatures.
If in the game these things regenerated their HP, in reality they managed to grow and renew their entire bodies, essentially…
Well, essentially it was a second life for them, if their cores, called root-stems, weren’t cut through first.
“Shadow to the east!” came from Vaysi, who was simultaneously sawing off the antlers of a maddened deer.
To the east…
To the east…
Ah, there you are, another undercooked piece of wood.
Abruptly lunging at full speed, I slashed diagonally at an indistinct shimmer in the air, and almost immediately the forest creature materialized, trying to send a stream of poisonous insects at me.
I was ready for that trick; I didn’t learn from fools, so soon the monster had to try and shake the fire off its head, which also incinerated all the flying, buzzing little things.
This time I didn’t give it a chance to recover, striking the spriggan right in the core with a precise thrust.
Flaring up in a green flash, the spriggan dissolved, leaving behind only its damaged heart-core.
“Oh, come on!” I grumbled in irritation as I nearly got cuts on my neck and chin.
Twisting, I kicked the massive spirit somewhere in the chest area, where its core was, and not being a fool, the wooden thing hurried to retreat, giving me time to turn around.
This time, the flame from my left hand went not at the enemy, but onto the flamberge, igniting it and allowing me to engage in close combat without fear.
All the poison that the spriggan’s claws secreted was easily burned away by the magical fire.
“Feator!” came from Vaysi, and I immediately jerked back, avoiding a frosty stream that hit my opponent instead.
Slowed down, it couldn’t dodge anymore, and its attempt to block the flaming blade failed — the flamberge cleanly cut through and incinerated its arm, reaching the core, disrupting its structure and ending the forest creature’s life.
With some effort, I pulled the sword back out and sighed in relief, rolling my slightly injured shoulder.
Earlier I had slammed it into a tree while dodging a lunge from an enchanted wolf that refused to die even after its heart was destroyed.
Yeah, not the most pleasant opponents…
Especially in the forest.
And especially when I’m trying to train my own skills instead of relying on the time magic granted by Auri-El.
Just because I don’t mind using it doesn’t mean I’m a fool who’ll rely on it alone.
“Finally dealt with them,” I said, rolling my shoulder again, and set the spirits’ corpses on fire just in case.
“Tch.” I then touched my collarbone, where another hit had landed, this time from a spriggan.
Not with poisonous claws, just a bruise, but still not pleasant.
“And he said there couldn’t be forest spirits here.
Too few trees, blah-blah-blah…
Too low a magical background, blah-blah-blah…” “He’s already paid for his unshakable arrogance,” Vaysi said coldly, sheathing her rapier and turning her gaze to the corpse of our guide.
The Bosmer, a Wood Elf, who had wandered far from his native lands, was so sure he knew the forests better than his northern kin that he didn’t listen to us.
And…
he died.
Even elves don’t live with three holes in their hearts.
But the main thing was that because of him, we hadn’t brought our armor and had to fight more cautiously.
“But the fight was pretty good,” I said with exaggerated optimism, surveying the scorched and frozen clearing.
“We would have been better off requesting a local squad of Knight-Paladins and systematically clearing out the entire threat,” Vaysi stated her opinion on the matter, making an adorably serious little face.
A cutie trying to act like a grown-up, heh-heh…
“Vaysi, what are you saying?
That won’t do.
Only hardships temper a Knight-Paladin’s spirit!” I put on an instructive expression and an equally lecturing tone.
“You’ll never be a serious teacher.
Your frivolity…” she sighed, shaking her head disapprovingly at my antics.
“Not trying to be.
I’m the First Sword, not the First Teacher, my overly serious Vaysi,” I shrugged, continuing to play the part of a very foolish elf.
After all, if you want to deceive your enemies…
first deceive your friends.
I don’t remember where that’s said, but it sounds logical to me.
…Though, Vaysi is smart enough and knows me too well to fall for that.
“Let’s end this here,” the girl made a firm decision, turning back toward the path we had taken to the center of the grove.
“We’ll report to the garrison commander and head back to the Inner Sanctuary.
Looks like a few easy missions have knocked all the seriousness out of you.
Don’t worry, I’ll knock it back in.” “Right, right…
That’s why you train so hard…” I nodded with a completely unserious look and started moving.
“Hmph,” came the short reply from ahead, and the very tips of the cutie’s long ears turned slightly pink, perfectly betraying their owner.
Chuckling at the sight until I almost cried, I hurried after her.
What can I say…
Vaysi is now desperately training so I won’t catch up to her in skill.
Because she’s ashamed that a kid, younger than her, is already close to her mastery.
Now there are two workaholics pestering the poor elves, heh-heh!
* * * The far north of Skyrim.
The City of Men — Saarthal.
Late at Night.
The city of men slept.
Exhausted from the day’s labor, people fell asleep right at their workstations.
Despite the years that had passed since their arrival on the fleet of King Ysgramor, the new lands held many dangers and hardships.
And to carve out a place for themselves under the sun, all Atmorans had to work tirelessly, for the eternal frosts on their homeland were relentlessly encroaching on the coast.
Although the king had proposed a most daring venture to sail south, they had succeeded.
They had made it.
Though the lands of Skyrim, as they called this land, were also cold, they were not completely barren like the freezing lands of Atmora.
With difficulty, incredible strain, and perseverance, the people could feed themselves, gradually expanding their fields and building great walls of stone.
In these lands, they encountered strange creatures, similar to men but distinguished by the length of their ears and their dazzlingly white skin.
They could command the cold itself, and even fire and lightning.
Those among them who could do this even made an agreement with the king to take the son of one of his close men to teach him such wisdom.
For in the opinion of the long-eared ones, he possessed great talent and would become an extremely powerful sorcerer, capable of commanding nature itself.
This ultimately became the beginning of the relationship between the Snow Elves and the men who had sailed to the continent.
Years passed, during which the men established trade relations with the beautiful creatures living in their palaces to the south.
But something was hidden from the minds of the ordinary inhabitants.
Expanding the city downward to prepare a worthy burial place for the dead, the warriors found something that caught their attention.
Something they accidentally activated.
A huge sphere, crafted with unseen skill.
A sphere that was like the sun.
“King, what shall we do?” one of the close advisors and captains of that enormous fleet on which their people had arrived in Skyrim spoke tensely.
“This sphere…” “It radiates warmth, and it should belong to us!” another close advisor, this one a pure warrior, immediately jumped in.
“When it emitted that light…
All of Saarthal was warm, as if we had returned to the old days of Atmora, our former home!” “But it was most likely made by the Snow Elves!
We can’t trust them unconditionally!
What if it’s a trap?” another man objected expressively, fully showing the hot-headedness of his people.
“You speak truly!” a gray-haired man with an impressive beard slammed the wooden table.
“Cursed sorcery!” “That sorcery hasn’t harmed us at all!” another objected just as expressively, slamming his own heavy fist.
“What’s wrong with being able to use fire not just with campfires, but with elven magic?!
Fire is fire, and it doesn’t matter if it’s sorcerous or not — it’s equally dangerous to fools!” “You speak truly…
Fire was our friend and savior for many years when Atmora began to freeze!” The number of those gathered was quite large, so a new voice supported the previous warrior’s idea.
“But what if the elves want it for themselves?
This is sorcery, and they are sorcerers!
What more proof do you need?” the one who had spoken of a trap spoke up again.
“This is not according to the ways of our ancestors…” “If we only lived by them, we’d have frozen to death on Atmora long ago!..” “That’s completely different, Harald!” “No, it’s the same, Ignusson!” “Do you even realize what…” “And I think that!..” “Who are you lying to, Vifdir!” The gathering of the human city’s main figures gradually began to turn into the usual farce of tribal democracy, with plenty of stubborn faces to drag the arguments out until morning, or possibly until bloodshed.
What a blessing that the Atmorans had an unquestioned leader in this regard.
Who finally decided to intervene, barking loudly.
“Qui-e-e-et!” the voice of the mighty warrior sitting at the head of the table on a stone throne boomed.
“What are you yapping about like stray dogs?
It’s not right for us to quarrel!
Because of this kind of thing, war is raging among our people back on our homeland of Atmora…
We need to think, not settle old scores and see whose throat is stronger!
I’ve heard you, my close comrades…
And I wish to ponder in silence.
Give your king a minute to pray to Wise Owl and receive an answer…” King Ysgramor was neither young nor old, only towering over everyone with his exceptional height.
Despite his fearsome appearance, the man was not a fierce warrior thirsting for blood.
He generally did not seek violence, being a peaceful settler and wanting to explore these new lands.* * — canon.
He could, of course, defend himself, and did so quite well, otherwise he wouldn’t still be king, but he never wanted to be the first to start a fight.
And right now, he did not suspect the mysterious Mer, also called Snow Elves, of any trap.
They couldn’t possibly have known, even with sorcery, where the city would be built!
There had been several options, and if the Mer had decided to plant this sphere, they would have needed to know Ysgramor’s choice in advance.
No, impossible!
And even if it were possible…
With such power, the neighboring Mer wouldn’t need to resort to such tricks.
They would simply destroy them with a direct attack — Ysgramor often met with their envoys and saw their condescending attitude toward him and his people.
The Snow Elves were confident in their superiority, and Ysgramor reluctantly acknowledged it.
After all, they were refugees from cold and war, while these long-eared ones had lived on Mereth* for many generations and had significantly more cities.
* — Mereth is Tamriel, named after the elves who inhabit it.
Not to mention their sorcery.
They could create lightning from the air that struck in storms, burning fire, or freezing cold.
“I believe we should use this thing.
I see no harm in it,” Ysgramor finally spoke, carefully looking at each of his comrades.
“I understand the old traditions.
They have been with us for a long time and have their own strength.
But tell me, is this not a gift from the Hawk, the Goddess of the Storm, Kin?
She brought spring, and warmth with it…
And this ancient sphere radiates life-giving warmth.
Think, wise elders who champion the traditions.
How is this not a revelation from above?” “You are as wise as ever, Ysgramor,” one of the oldest participants in the gathered council quickly agreed.
“The wisest of the kings I have known in my lifetime.” “Enough flattery, we need to…” he tried to continue the conversation, before a breathless warrior ran into the room.
“Trouble!
Trouble has come!” he cried, barely catching his breath.
Nevertheless, he firmly captured the attention of everyone present.
“Explain yourself, Halfdi…” the king himself tried to speak, but was immediately interrupted by the messenger with a grim look: “It’s the Mer!
The Snow Elves!
They used all our secret passages!
Oh king, save us!
They are cutting everyone down without mercy or delay, even our wives and young children!” he wailed, and at that moment the sounds of a battle that had begun, previously drowned out by arguments and discord, truly reached the ears of those gathered.
Ysgramor did not think long, and it was thanks to his swift decision-making that he had managed to escape the bloody strife among his people on Atmora.
“Take your axes and swords!
It doesn’t matter who attacked our families, we will destroy them all!
We will give them what they deserve!” the over-two-meter-tall man abruptly rose from his seat, raising his own blade toward the ceiling of the building.
“For our families!
For Saarthal!” “For the Gods, for Atmora!” “For our new home!” The warriors’ reaction was instantaneous, and the main elite of the settlement poured outside, rapidly rushing toward the sounds of clashing blades and the freezing cold of sorcery coming from the houses nearest the walls.
The messenger’s words were confirmed almost immediately — the snow-white elves were unmistakable.
And their white figures quickly spread from house to house, from which soon came the cries of men, women, and children.
To say that Ysgramor was seized by wild rage would be an understatement.
The scene was too shocking, and could enrage even a peaceful man like him.
And the first elf to feel this rage fully was one who emerged from a building with a bloodied sword.
Clearly not expecting resistance, and certainly not the size of his opponent, he took a powerful vertical strike from a two-handed sword that crushed his long-eared, helmetless head.
Noting in passing that their enemies’ blood was just as red, the king lunged at the next opponent.
He tried to freeze a large icicle, but Ysgramor was faster, ending the Mer’s life before he could finish his sorcery.
The icicle vanished without a trace in a frosty glow, and the Atmoran was forced to take another one on his shield.
The shield held, though it was significantly bent inward.
Hurling it at an elf who dodged to the side, Ysgramor again used his superior physical strength and, in a few blows, deprived the stunned Mer of his wretched life.
Ysgramor was distracted from further action by crying coming from many directions, from where his warriors had reached.
Several groups of defenders had formed, standing their ground and not letting the enemies through…
But…
Ysgramor saw his people’s strength waning.
There were too many attackers, and they were too strong.
The initial surprise at the resistance they were putting up was wearing off, and now the elves were ready to fight seriously.
The sleepy warriors were completely overwhelmed…
And more and more of them fell to swords, arrows, or ice.
“King…” one of his old comrades ran up to him, grimly surveying the battlefield, which had split into several groups, and raising his shield against an arrow that pierced it.
“Take your sons.
You…
must tell them!
Tell those who are fighting their own people on Atmora!
Tell them that we have enemies…
common to all.” “I…
cannot abandon you.
I brought you here, and I will die with you,” Ysgramor objected grimly, suppressing the urge to rush to the defenders.
“King!
Ysgramor!
Ysgramor…
You must live.
Your wisdom will help us all…
Help us avenge…” the warrior choked, and the Atmoran leader’s eyes widened as he saw an arrow enter his comrade’s chest.
Covering himself with his own shield from more arrows, the man gritted his teeth and found his two sons with his eyes, fighting alongside everyone else.
Yngol and Ylgar…
He knew that many now shared the opinion of his fallen comrade.
Many would be ready to give him a chance to return and take revenge.
“Revenge…
Yes.
Revenge,” Ysgramor’s eyes flashed angrily, as he quickly made his way to where his sons were fighting.
Taking another elf’s life with a powerful swing of his blade, he looked at the frozen boys of eighteen and eleven winters.
“My sons…
We are leaving,” the man said with visible difficulty, causing his children’s eyes to widen.
It was…
understandable surprise.
He himself had taught them not to retreat from difficulties.
“But father!” the elder, Yngol, tried to object.
“Don’t argue.
We are leaving, we will take revenge.
Later.
We will avenge everything.
Otherwise, our kin on Atmora won’t know of the Mer’s treachery.
They won’t know, and they will die just like us,” the tall man said through clenched teeth.
“Go, my king!” came from one of the warriors who had formed a semicircle around Ysgramor and his sons.
“Go and tell them!” “We will fall, but we will not let you die!” other voices with similar speeches rang out.
They managed to escape surprisingly easily.
After the first ten minutes of battle, the Snow Elves mostly rushed toward the underground chambers where the strange sphere had been found.
The rest set about finishing off the last survivors, who selflessly sacrificed their lives for future revenge.
Boarding the last longboat, they sped away under the pouring rain as far as possible from the city that had burst into flames.
A city whose fire was clearly visible even in the midst of the storm that had arisen on the sea.
It was not fitting for an Atmoran man to cry, but…
In those moments, Ysgramor was torn apart by such pain and sorrow that no sweet-voiced maiden could describe.
“Tears…
of the Storm…” a woman’s voice whispered in the ears of the father and sons, and Ysgramor’s tears at that same moment turned into dark steel, which began to accumulate at the bottom of the longboat.
On that day, the Storm itself wept.
And Kin herself was one with the King in this.
Which is why a miracle occurred on the next day of the voyage.
As the sun began to rise in the sky, and the elder son, Yngol, prayed to all the gods for help…
A final furious lightning bolt flashed in the sky, striking the dark metal lying in the boat, which had appeared from Ysgramor’s own tears.
When the light faded, in place of the pile of metal lay a huge, all-metal axe of an unprecedented form.
“Wuuthrad is its name, father,” the stunned Yngol whispered quietly.
Blinking, Ysgramor turned his attention to the result of his son’s prayers and the will of Kin herself.
Taking a heavy breath, he let the winds tousle his beard, then bent down to where the lightning had struck.
Reaching for the axe, the king lifted it into the air with ease.
…A moment later, furious winds seized the longboat, nearly capsizing it.
In those long, too-long seconds, Ysgramor fully felt the winds themselves pass through his body, granting their strength to the newly-minted chosen one of the Goddess of Storms.
On that day, a new champion of the Aedra appeared.
On that day, the most notorious Avenger appeared in the history of Tamriel.