Skyrim: A Sorcerer's Tale

Chapter 355: Chapter LXXVIII: Infiltrating Kynesgrove



The house gives its many thanks to the dreaded fireboyhateswatergirl for their most generous support on the forbidden pp site that shall not be named.

Their days in the mines are over.... for now

(General POV)

A legionary grunts in annoyance as his fellow soldier elbows him in the side, his prompt backhand interrupted by a curious whisper "Oi Percy, what do you think the higher ups are talking about?"

"Oh I don't know Gunnar, could it be something about the fucking dragons we are about to try and kill?" Percival rolls his eyes and shoves the Nord lightly, barely moving him at all.

"You don't bloody say." Gunnar scoffs, rolling his shoulder "Think we are rushing into this too quickly?"

The Breton named Percival shakes his head "The General told us it was an emergency." He pauses and gives his comrade a calculating look "Besides, we are all volunteers here. Having second thoughts already?"

"I'm happy to die for Skyrim and the Empire any day, you know this." Gunnar completely ignores the implied insult "Just don't want it to be in a dumb way..." He trails off "And there ain't no dumber way to die than chargin' a dragon."

"Unless you are Dragonborn of course." Percy adds with some humor.

"Or Reyvin motherfucking Dagoth." Gunnar chuckles mirthlessly "Still get shivers whenever I see a shadow shift next to me." Said shivers promptly decide to make themselves known "Imagine getting your head ripped off by your own shade... what a shit way to go."

"Better than burning." Percy shrugs, unwilling to let himself remember that particular hour of horrors.

The third man who had until then been content to sit on a nearby crate tilts his head up to look at the duo "Shut yer mouths, they are coming out of the woods."

And they do, their eyes immediately zeroing in on the group "Ah good, I thought we'd have to settle with just the Dragonborn." Gunnar grins.

"Don't let the officers hear that." The seated man gives him a pointed look.

"And what are they going to do to me Hilderbrand?" The standing Nord scoffs "Whip me for not bowing and scraping before some lass with more luck than skill?"

Hilderbrand spits on the ground "Fucking idiot."

"Oi." Percy decides to wisely change topics "Who is the fancy one?" He asks, pointing at the balding form of a Breton who lazily levitated next to the group of leaders.

"Some conjurer from the College." A new voice interrupts them, the gruff cadence of their Quaestor making all of them jump at attention and salute the Orsimer "Supposedly one of the more powerful ones." He doesn't even bother acknowledging their salutes as he takes a seat on a free crate, the trio slowly relaxing as they realized they weren't in trouble.

"And how do you know that sir?" Gunnar speaks before thinking, he winces and adds "That is if you don't mind me asking Quaestor, sir."

Zarok rolls his eyes at his subordinate, though he wasn't terribly annoyed in truth, he chose them for their ability to survive a dragon's destruction better than others, not for their wits "The brat kept gushing about his conjuration teacher for days when we took Falkreath."

No one present needed reminding on who 'the brat' was.

The orc shivers slightly "I just asked him how he could summon a whole squads of the creatures and all he heard was invitation to gush about Master Phineas this and Master Phineas that!" He mimics the Battlemage's voice rather poorly, scoffs, and grabs a particularly shaped leaf, shoving it in his mouth and slowly chewing on it "I know more about the man than I ever wanted to."

The trio of legionaries all stare at him, and seeing as he wasn't about to elaborate on his own Hilderbrand, being the Decanus of the group, decides to prompt him "So? What can you tell us?"

Zarok considers keeping his thoughts to himself for a brief moment but decides against it, they'd be fighting beside the creature soon anyway and information was a necessary weapon in any battle as his experiences had taught him "Supposedly he is a monster at his field, better than anyone else in Skyrim."

"Better than Flame-Tongue?" Gunnar's eyes widen.

Zarok deadpans at him "The Court Mage isn't a summoner."

"A summoner he may not be, but I've seen him rise some odd shadow creatures once." Percival points out "Though that would be the same as saying I am a crossbowman for knowing to use one I guess."

"There you have it." Zarok smirks at the shorter man, to think they could actually use their brains for once! "As I was saying." He speaks up again "He is supposedly a monstrous summoner but the truth is probably different."

The group leans in "How so?" Hilderbrand asks.

"The brat slipped up once, when we were talking about their delve into Blackreach." Zarok's voice lowers "He said something about using the fallen Falmer against their comrades. Didn't think much of it at first but after giving it some thought it is obvious we are dealing with a necromancer here."

"A bloody corpse diddler?" Gunnar spits out.

"Well... the College has a reputation for a reason?" Percy tries to sound optimistic but he too is obviously shaken.

"You sure about that, sir?" Hilderbrand raises an eyebrow "Would the General even approve?"

The orc looks at General Tullius' group, all of them currently staring at the sole Dunmer among them as he most probably explains some ridiculously convoluted plan that will somehow work to their favor, a plan that the General does not approve of, a fact that becomes rather obvious as he looks just about ready to smack the Court Mage with no care for the

consequences.

"What does it matter to you anyway?" The orc turns back to his men "We are going up against beasts of the apocalypse and idiots dumb enough to try and worship them. If a necromancer offers to drown them in their own corpses for their fucking audacity I will be the first to welcome him."

There is some grumbling then, none of them willing to outright agree but all of them accepting that there was quite literally nothing they could do about it anyway.

Gunnar looks just about ready to comment again but Zarok's raised hand stops him "Hold, Dagoth looks like he is about to show something off."

And he was right as in the next moment, the Court Mage claps his hands, carving a rather large spell circle into the malleable dirt and making it light up with purple tinted Magicka. In the next instant the flash of light is replaced by a trio of massive constructs made of darkened

steel and orichalcum.

Six spiked legs with three distinct joins, over three meters tall and six meters long, with the massive bow to their front being an impressive five meters wide, the massive ballistae mounted animonculi were as imposing as they were majestic to look upon. Every surface was touched by an artist's hand, from the metalwork to the elaborate enchanted script lighting up periodically and making the surface shimmer with bouts of purple coloring.

Even the General was taken aback by the sudden reinforcements, so much so that he almost missed the oddly shaped rod being tossed to him, his arms stumbling about as he finally managed to catch it and settle it within his grip.

The moment he did so he stilled completely, before ever so slowly and hesitantly waving his hand about. The automatons moved to follow his will in concert, their bodies shifting about and the legs carrying them elongating and shortening as needed to follow his mental targeting, all of them easily showing themselves as able to fire nearly 90 degrees into the

skies.

The Court Mage tossed the disturbingly cheery General a full bandolier of what looked to be Magicka potions, powerful ones at that going by the glow, and the legionaries shivered as the old Imperial's eyes seemed to take on a cruel shine.

Distracted as he was, the good General failed to react as some kind of dark shadowy shroud manifested around the dark elf and he enveloped the Dragonborn with it, a faint cracking noise following the next moment as both he and the demigoddess disappeared from their

spot as if they were never there.

Tullius looked thunderous and his ire was swiftly drawn by the cackling master of 'conjuration' who could barely keep his mockery to not outright pointing at the old Imperial.

The youngest man of the group looked at the two, considered his options for but a moment, and promptly decided to leave the blast zone as he made his way towards his subordinates.

The quartet of chatty legionaries immediately saluted the Battlemage, soon joined by the dozens of men and women gathering behind them.

"At ease." Tiberius waved his hand lackadaisically "We have an hour of rest more at least." "What was all that?" Zarok asks bluntly, no formality necessary between them after so long. "Just Reyvin being Reyvin and the Dragonborn being as mad as he." The Battlemage chuckles "They decided to infiltrate the enemy positions so they could take down the leadership while

we attack."

"Are they completely bloody insane?!" Hilderbrand blurts.

Tiberius grins a strained grin. "If only we were that lucky."

The legionaries stare at him blankly.

"Right." He stomps his foot on the ground and forces himself out of his sudden fugue

"Gather everyone from our unit and the officers from the others, we have a plan to go over."

"What about the General?" Gunnar asks, once again having to be shoved to remember to add

the "Sir."

Tiberius looks at the man who was far too busy familiarizing himself with his new obedient toys and slowly shakes his head "The General looks like he will be busy for a while at least." The gathered soldiery sweatdropped as they watched said General waving his hands about like a conductor, leading the automata into progressively ridiculous movements and

formations.

(Minthara's POV)

We appear within the confines of Kynesgrove with none of the cultists wise to our presence. I

waited for a moment and yet the anticipated change did not arrive as I was still being held under the odd cloak Reyvin summoned "What are you doing?" I hiss quietly, though a silent

part of me noted I did not mind the position.

"Dragons feel other dragons dumbass." He gives me an annoyed look "My shroud can guard against that but only if you remain under it."

"And how do you plan on sneaking us around like this?" I press.

"I will do some illusion fuckery. Obviously." He looks at me like I am an idiot "Just keep pace

with me and don't shift too much."

I pout "This is much less fun than you implied earlier."

He shrugs my complaint off without a hint of shame "Your fault for thinking it was going to

be straightforward dumbass."

Me eye twitches "I will show you a dumbass you little-"

He whacks me on the head, though it feels like more of a tap "Keep the dragon in your pants,

we have work to do."

It was good that he turned forward then because the embarrassed blush on my face was not

one I wanted him to see. He'd probably be insufferable about it anyway.

...Aaaand he is smirking. Gods fucking damn it all.

A wave of his hand and I feel a shimmer of magic around us, a moment later he begins to walk, now looking like a very old Nord man with a very elaborate and long beard.

Some of the cultists looked like they were about to notice us but the moment they did so then/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

buzz of magic in the air would increase and they would turn back to their work as if nothing

had happened.

They went on about their business, all of them obviously preparing for some kind of confrontation seeing as anyone capable of doing so had already clad themselves in thick cloth armor at the very least while the rest gathered whatever leather and metal they could

scrounge up.

A group of guards passed us by, one of them almost meeting Reyvin's eyes only for his gaze to

pass us by as if we were not even there.

"What are you doing?" I whisper.

"Mindfucking." He shrugs and before I can press further we arrive at what looked to be the

inner camp, with many of the better armed and armored men and women gathering and talking, mostly about their newfound faith and the 'revelations' that led them here.

"Huh." Reyvin mutters "So a bunch of them entered the tombs and drew the inhabitants out.

Explains how the Dragon Priests came here at least..."

"Traitorous filth." I cannot help but hiss.

"Worry not." Reyvin mutters, his voice a rumble of barely held back violence "They will die

today, and not even the gods will stop me in making sure of it."

The promise of death and destruction must definitely did not send a shiver down my spine, no

sir! I was a dignified demigod, not a tyrannical beast after all!

Gods dammit.

Ever growing embarrassment aside, we continued our little trek, passing by the numerous

traitors to both their gods and ancestors as we went by the many mine openings on the hill, Reyvin taking the time to scratch something into the densely packed dirt before moving on and repeating the process over and over again.

The whole trek took us an hour and just as I was about to let my boredom lead me into what

would no doubt be an unwise decision we finally approached a freshly built wooden wall surrounding the burial mound.

Out of the corner of my mind I notice the area where the cultists were preparing their potions, and my lips twist into a wicked grin as I see their shadows twisting and stealthily adding poison to the cauldrons, not enough to kill them outright but more than enough to kill their endurance after only a brief clash.

A small part of me thought the actions dishonorable but a much greater one could only grin

further as I imagined the filthy traitors choking on their own blood as my legion crushed them to pieces! "Halt!" A guard wearing steel plate engraved with Dragon Cult imagery raises his hand to forestall us "This area is off limits, only the most devout may proceed." "Drem Yol Lok." Reyvin's illusory voice rasps as he bows to the man, the fluent use of dovahzul stunning him briefly "I come with tribute for the master of the skies. My fighting days are long over but my hands are still skilled in the making of scrolls and I wish to offer

them up for the cause."

I feel the guard's eyes narrow behind his full faced helmet "Wait here, I will be right back."

"Are you really going to give them scrolls?" I ask, more for the sake of keeping my nerves than actually considering the ridiculous notion of it not being a trap.

He looks like I just spat on his shoes, even if the slight smirk makes the act obvious "Let us

just say that whenever they try and activate them, they will be in for quite the surprise." I

barely manage to hear his next words "Damn, I am turning into a terrorist."

A terrorist? Not an inaccurate term I suppose even if a bit odd.

For whatever reason, Reyvin's eye twitched.

A moment later the small gate opened once again and a floating masked lich flew right into

Reyvin's face. For a moment I thought we were about to be discovered but Reyvin quickly drew the thing's attention by bowing "Drem Yol Lok Zin Sonaak."

The priest, Raghot if I remembered Reyvin's description correctly, stares at him for a long

moment before inclining his head "Drem Yol Lok, Sahvotaar" It rasps "My servant tells me you wish to offer valuable supplies for the upcoming struggle?"

"Indeed great one." Hearing Reyvin kissing the thing's ass made me surprisingly furious "I

may not be able to fight but my scrolls are mightier than most blades." He pulls out a sack filled to the brim with said scrolls "Fireballs and ice storms for our faithful warriors." The priest looks at the proffered bag consideringly, and promptly levitates it to the guard "Give these to the most devout and faithful." The guard salutes and walks off, the priest's

eyes focusing back on Reyvin "You may enter the central sanctum, pilgrim. You are obviously worth more than the desperate and those of false faith." "You honor me great one!" Reyvin's bow deepens, as does my frown.

We are swiftly ushered into the walled off area and almost immediately the air becomes far

less noisy, as men and women clad in far greater robes and armor replace the rabble outside, all of them sitting around the large mound at the clearing's center and waiting for something.

Reyvin also finds a free seat, a rolled up tree stump that a young man offered him as he currently looked like a frail old man.

I was just about to ask him how he planned on having us sit down but he preempted me by

grabbing me and in one fluid motion placing me atop his lap. I as about to reflexively protest but his hand covered my mouth in that same instant.

I most definitively did not squirm as I realized how much I enjoyed the position. Raghot returned to the clearing only a few minutes later and after another brief wait he

turned to address us "Faithful followers of the Lord of the Skies! Rejoice! For your master has decided to show himself to our unworthy eyes!"

Almost as if summoned by his words, the distant air begins to distort as the familiar sound of

massive wings begins approaching. And there in the distance I saw him, the World Eater himself, and the very purpose of my existence.

Before the day was through, he would regret leaving his hideout, I would make sure of it!

The only issue with my 'plan' if it could be called that was the fact the Akaviri mural said I

needed to hate my target to the core, right? But did I truly hate the bastard so thoroughly just

yet?

The edges of my sight growing redder by the moment was all the confirmation I needed. Only Reyvin's hand on my shoulder stopped me from following my instincts and just shouting him apart with dragonrend. Good, we would wait for the perfect moment to strike him down.

It wouldn't do to miss after all.

Drem Yol Lok = Peace Fire Sky = Greetings

Zin Sonaak Honorable Dragon Priest

Sahvot Aar/ Sahvotaar = Faithful Servant

Give your stones now or your potions too may be blessed with a little spice.

We of the house have good relations with all potion sellers around the globe so do not worry

our dear supplicants for as always there is no escape.

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