A Tale Of Two Wars - A Battlemage’s Story

• Posted by Warlocksg April 13, 2017 - Filed in TSC: Long Story - 1,279 views

  Chapter 1 - Journey

   

  "Our origins a confusion.... Our history marked by betrayal.... Our emotions of hatred and seething rage borne by our forefathers and elders.... I shall avenge the wrong that was done to us a Sancre Tor. Both Man and Mer will tremble at my name as I exact my Vengeance!!"
  
  - Excerpt from The Warlock's Journal
  
  

  A lone robed figure cut across the mighty tundra. Days of travel had taken it's toll given the unsteady gait the figure cut. A hand wrapped in rags reached out, it's frail fingers casting a sign into the air.

   

  A path of Light momentarily cut across the land, revealing a path to be followed. A slight smile curved on it's lips, as the figure pulled down it's hood to shelter against the cold frigid winds. Silently trudging forward, the figure made its way to the area of land known as the Reach, with every intention of crossing it to to get to its final destination, Skyrim.

   

  “Mead, mead mead… stupid bees and their stupid honey”, an exasperated forsworn groaned as he slammed his tankard on the makeshift wooden table in his drunken stupor. The air was chilly and no amount of mead or wine was helping to fend off the cold. Their continous rebellion against markarth provided his fellow clansman with resources from time to time. However, against the environment of skyrim, their sleeveless outfits were of no help. He made a mental note of stripping a guard’s corpse of it’s armor the next time they raided markarth.

   

  A rattle of bones soon alerted the sentry to a presence. “Never should’ve come here” shouted the sentry as he drew his bow… and never got a chance to finish the motion. A bolt of green erupted from the staff of the approaching figure, paralyzing the sentry. Alerted to the situation, his fellow clansmen drew their weapons to cut down the intruder.

   

  Drawing upon his magicka, the robed figure materialized an immense behemoth of frost. A towering monstrosity, this faceless creature pounded the nearest forsworn, crushing his skull with it’s clubbed arm as it proceeded to impale another with it’s other spiked arm.

   

  The robed figure outstretched it’s hand, manifesting daedric sigils under the feet of it’s creation, as a wall of frost engulfed the forsworn attacking it. The terrifying frost daedra lumbered across the hill, with it’s master aid, cutting a path and leaving a trail of bloodied corpses.

   

  The forsworn sentry felt the effects of his paralysis wear off. Groggy and disoriented, he attempted to get up and join the fray. “I haven’t forgotten about you” rasped the hooded figure from behind him. Another bolt of green energy emanated from his staff, once again paralyzing the sentry. “Again? This is beginning to bore me” taunted the sentry, before being subject once again to the effects of paralysis.

   

  The robed figure threw it’s hood back, revealing a strong jawline and a scarred cheek.
  “All i wanted, was a warm bed and perhaps someone to speak to… i’d thought my fellow breton forsworn might be accommodating… seems i was wrong” mused the warlock.  A maniacal look came over the warlock as his attention was once again concentrated to the sentry laying at his feet. “I was intending to grant you a swift death… but for that last taunt, i’ve got something special reserved for you.” he said, a sadistic smile curving across his lip.

   

  He stretched his hands to the sides and drew on his magicka pool. From both his palms emitted to sources of heat, which quickly engulfed him in a barrier of flame. Without breaking momentum, he then faced both open palms to the sentry. “I’m going to enjoy this” he said, blasting the sentry with a steady flow of cold and lightning. The sentry screamed as the warlock bathed him in elemental entropy, till all that was left, was a convulsing charred frozen remain.

   

  Tired from his ordeal, the warlock shambled off to a nearby hut and slept in the bed within.