Skyrim: A Sorcerer's Tale

Chapter 383: Chapter III: The Trek South



Marching down the Pale Pass and beyond the Jerall Mountains was like entering another world in its entirety, the endless forest of evergreen trees I got used to in Skyrim was now replaced with a sea of brown and orange, the late autumn/early winter making the sight of northern Bruma all the more beautiful to behold.

I had seen the sight a few times before of course, both during my youth and my visit during Minthara's stay in the Empire, but the contrast was such that I felt pointing it out twice was apt.

Though what truly made me feel the whole 'other world' shtick was the fact that even in the aforementioned late autumn this place was still warm, protected from the northern winds by a massive mountain range and basic geographic latitude.

It was definitely more pleasant for someone of my race, even if my robes were enchanted to Oblivion and back to make things more comfortable there was no beating the feeling of not being just an inch away from the frigid cold of the north.

The Nords were faring far less pleasantly however, as many of their fur-clad forms slowly begun to stink from sweat, the protection from the cold inevitably becoming a burden as well as their adaption to it. Something I would have to deal with promptly lest I have to smell that crap the whole way down, or just cast a wind cloak at minimum power, either could work.

A light annoyed grunt drew my attention from the rising stench and onto the person clumsily riding a horse next to me. Minthara let out a huff as she finally managed to right herself in her saddle "I still don't see why we couldn't have just flown in there, or teleported at least."

"Presentation" I grin, rolling the r and earning myself a glare. Rising my hands in faux surrender I let out a chuckle and explained "Going there on dragonback would have made us look like invaders, and showed our hand far too quickly. Teleporting would do much the same as it would tip the balance of our delegation more in my favor, and I need to be seen as the follower here." I tilt my head in thought "That and we need to spend the time marching with our little army as a proper show of strength."

"Why do you have to speak sense?" She grumbles "And why do I have to ride this damned thing?" Her horse lets out an annoyed huff and trembles, almost sending her tumbling down.

"Ornery little thing, isn't she?" I chuckle at the hardy northern steed.

Minthara, being capable of pattern recognition, visibly holds back another insult to her mount and instead looks to mine "How do you keep that monstrosity this calm?"

Ah, my sweet Glitterhoof, the destrier gifted to me by Torygg. What a truly glorious beast it had become, standing well and truly above its kin and carrying a sharp intelligence in his eyes, for an animal at least.

"Minor binding ritual" I shrug "I also have him fed and properly taken care of so he has no reason to be a twat about the privilege of being my mount. And he is far less chatty than your preferred mount to boot!" I chuckle.

"Minor binding ritual... right." Her eyes narrow at the obviously magical horse that had been through a good dozen or so empowering rituals so far "Also dragons are a superior mount and you know it!"

"Because you don't have to put any effort into riding them?" I quirk an eyebrow.

"I was made to rule the skies!" She throws her hands up "Not lose my mind atop this-" She pauses, giving a worried look to her mount who seemed just about ready to react if she 'dared' say something again.

"If you are so bothered with it you could have just created a familiar" I drawl out with only a bit of mockery "It would have probably grown to the point of being rideable but nooo, you couldn't 'play with your powerful soul' because you apparently know better than Phineas, Shalazar and myself."

"Hmph!" She huffs but doesn't retort, knowing damn well she would lose that battle quite thoroughly. Wisely she chose to change the topic "Also 'binding ritual'? That horse of yours barely even looks like a horse at this point."

"I may have gone a bit overboard..." I admit somewhat sheepishly. Glitterhoof was indeed a unit. The mere thought of which quickly brought me to his predecessor, Nimhe.

A shiver went down my spine as I remembered the now towering orichalcum-chitined once frostbite spider which was stalking the deepest depths of Silruhn Fell's valley, slaughtering all manner of beast and any Falmer unlucky enough to have no magical potential.

The ones that did would likely forever have traumas about enclosed spaces as their cocooned forms were dropped off in the forbidden part of my domain almost daily.

We did not talk about Nimhe.

Our reception in Bruma was that of kin welcoming kin. The Nord-blooded Imperials in the city eagerly welcoming the conquering heroes and the people themselves practically throwing out the red carpet for us.

I would find out later, much to my pleasant amusement, that none of our followers paid for a singular thing in the city. Within reason of course.

The Count, one Roland Carvain, a young man whose look and demeanor was somehow a perfect mix between a Nord and a Nibenayan Imperial, welcomed us with acceptable pomp and ceremony, throwing a grand feast for us and not quite demanding to follow us along on our march to the Imperial City with a good chunk of his entourage.

The Tamrielic equivalent to a Norman, as I've come to consider him and a good chunk of his people, was quite the affable man in his early twenties, almost always seen carrying at least a suit of chainmail and his sword wherever he went he had earned something of a name for himself by hunting down the goblin tribes in the surrounding areas with... acceptable zeal.

That the green little shits had begun swarming due to the sudden disruption made by dragon raids south of the mountain range made me quite furious but that they were mostly culled down to reasonable numbers was a good balm on my raging soul.

My gleeful congratulations for his deed did earn me some looks but I was not bothered, the green taint had to be expunged at all costs! Also no one was willing to say anything as Titus had well and truly gone wild with the propaganda and not knowing of the deeds of the 'Godslayers' was a challenge beaten by only the most reclusive of hamlets.

Roland also further proved himself by possessing more than a single braincell and offering his support in 'matters within the capital' as he put it. He was trying to be coy about it, skirting around the topic of Minthara's purpose down south and said demigod apparently had no

patience for it.

The moment she pulled out the restored Amulet of Kings the man fell on one knee along his entire household and swore an oath of loyalty then and there.

A supremely useful ally, especially with his position between our most loyal powerbase and the beating heart of the Empire itself, something that had to be secured against fuckeryNôv(el)B\\jnn

posthaste.

The young man was quite confused when I outright told him, in a private meeting of course, that I would be stationing agents around his city but it only took me pointing out that if I wanted to do any harm all I needed do was cast a single siege spell upon the mostly wooden buildings of the city for him to accept my 'gift' with restrained resignation.

He'd be thanking me when his family was alerted of 'bandits' targeting them days before the bandits themselves knew it, but for now I was content playing the scheming wizard cop to Minthara's glorious conquering hero cop.

After three days of rest in Bruma, our growing force set out once more, this time marching straight to the Imperial City itself.

'Home sweet home' Were the first thoughts that entered my mind, sarcastic as they were, as beheld the downright gargantuan cityscape that greeted us as we crested a hill, the great White-Gold Tower having been a constant sight to our south for days now.

The Imperial City was magnificent to behold, even in its current reduced state the great concentric circular walls still gleamed in the sunlight with each district looking as if it were a distinct monument in its own right, the arena, the temples, the market... I had been here before obviously, but much like Bruma's forests there was nothing quite like coming from the comparatively barren north and straight into the heart of civilization itself.

Millions of people crowded the place, and even if the city was well and truly grand it was not made to support the growing sea of tents and slums surrounding it, the population of the devastated west of Cyrodiil having moved here decades ago and then refused to return to their

homes once they settled in.

Truly, the stubbornness of some people...

I noted the need to resettle yet another bunch of ornery fucks once we managed to fully wrestle power for her overladyship, slums offended me and I would not have them when there was so much arable land around with food just begging to be exported to less prosperous

parts of the Empire.

Satisfied with my decision, I returned to appreciating the actually worthy parts of the city, the statue of Martin/Akatosh specifically taking in a good chunk of my focus. Not that my companions were any less amazed of course. Roland and Minthara showed nothing as they had gotten used to the sight that was the city but the Nords and Mer that had followed us south all looked like their eyes had been opened for the first time in their lives.

I managed to wrangle the lot of them back into moving and soon we approached the aptly named City Isle, Fort Legion standing just beyond the great bridge we crossed and I could already see a full four cohorts of legionaries waiting for us, already prepared in a formation for an escort march.

My eyes flashed with an extra bit of light as I went to see who led them, and I blinked in surprise as I swore I could see an older version of Tiberius waiting for us atop a great

warhorse and with a wide grin on his face.

Julius Gracchus then, an Imperial glory hound.

I could work with this.

(A certain Imperial's pov)

The usually loud Imperial City was somehow even louder today, the street between the Arena

and Market districts filled to near bursting with the excited crowd, so much so that poor Ioannes could just barely push his way through the throng and finally manage to make his way

to the Cup's Cradle tavern.

He gave the door a few rapid rhythmical knocks and was promptly dragged inside by a massive orc guard clad fully in steel plate "You are late." The Orsimer accused simply. "You try pushing through this mass of sheep." Ioannes spits out, before considering his words and quickly shaking his head "Actually forget I said that, I don't need that kind of attention on me."

Even as he said it he could see the orc grinning a bloodthirsty grin under his helmet, the image of him 'pushing' trough the crowd bringing an involuntary shiver to the Imperial's spine.

"Bosslady is waiting for you upstairs" The orc brings him from his confusion and points at the stairs "She does not like waiting."

"I know damn you" Ioannes scoffs and gets moving without bothering with the orc any further, the beast was a terrifying thing but it was loyal.

He did his best not to outright run up the stairs but it was a close thing and soon he found

himself atop a grand balcony offering a perfect view of the gathering, his employer seated in a lavish armchair as she sipped on a wine that was just a bit too red, a large shadow covering every single inch of the area ensuring no direct sunlight could reach them.

"My Lady." Ioannes bowed and spoke in his most diplomatic tone "I apologize for my lateness, my contacts were quite reticent until recently."

"Information loses value with time." His lady spoke and the voice was like silk "They likely failed to find another buyer and knew of your desperation."

"Likely." Ioannes admitted easily "I will ensure their businesses are punished accordingly of

course."

"As you should my pet." She smiled and he did his best to avert his eyes "Now tell me of the

coming heroes, of their deeds and aspirations in truth, and not whatever drivel Titus has been

feeding us."

"Of course Lady Isabella" Ioannes bowed and begun recounting all he learned, his mistress smiling widely as he did, her vampiric fangs and blood-red eyes openly showing.

Hand forth thine supply of the powerstones knave!

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