209 Chapter XIII: Helgen Pass
(General POV, the morning of the same day)
A light mist covered the narrow pass that connected the western part of Skyrim with the east, only the flickering torchlight placed atop the thick wooden palisade blocking said pass allowed the soldiers of the undermanned legionary garrison to observe anything further than their own noses.
Only three hundred men and women were stationed in the freshly constructed fort as mere days prior the vast majority of their comrades were called to press the attack on Falkreath. Apparently some Imperial bigshot general had arrived with reinforcements or something, the rumors were as many as they were diverse.
A tall Orsimer clad in standard issue legion armor lazily spat off the wall and started chewing on some sort of calming leaf he had won during yesternight's gambling, the cold wind blowing in his face causing him to grunt in annoyance "Join the legion they said" He scoffs "You will earn glory they said."
"What can ya do boss." A Breton leaning on a nearby tower shrugs "Better here than anywhere near that crazy ass mage." A thought strikes him and he shudders "Just imagining what dumb shit we might have gotten pulled into due to some convenient excuse gives me the bloody shivers."
The orc shrugs noncommittally and pulls out his axe for routine maintenance "It is good work and pays well, no point bitching about it."
"Well excuse me mister Decanus, sir." The Breton rolls his eyes "Not all of us are so lucky as to get promoted after our first fight."
Zarok, an ex sprawl criminal and Reach expedition veteran glared at his comrade and grunted dismissively "Luck had nothing to do with it." He had proven himself many times over in the short siege that marked his first deployment and even if he was no follower of Malakath he would not allow anyone to question his achievements.
The sound of heavy armored footsteps brings their attention to the door of the square wooden tower as a tall Nord clad in personalized armor steps out, both of them immediately salute "Centurion."
The Nord raises his hand, signaling his dismissal of formalities "Runner just came in, said the forests are teeming with rangers and other traitors so we will be alone for a while longer."
"Damn." Zarok says bluntly and the moment the information finally settles his instincts warn him that something is amiss, something he is not knowledgeable enough to recognize unfortunately.
So, instead of knowledge, he decides to use his other advantages.
Uncaring of the odd looks he earns from the dozen or so legionaries present on his section of the wall he starts sniffing the air and just before the frustration of needlessly shaming himself asserts itself he smells something in the distance.
He narrows his eyes in an attempt to discern whatever it is that he has just smelled but notices nothing in the distance, the fog had truly chosen the worst moment to appear.
The firm hand of the Centurion grabs his shoulder almost causing him to growl at the slightly shorter man but the Nord ignores the glaring and asks "Something out there?"
Zarok's grunt tells him of the orc's uncertainty and he nods, pulling out a scroll from a hip pouch and after a deep breath to prepare himself he uses whatever pitiful reserve of Magicka he possesses to activate the inscribed spell.
Almost in the same instant the spell activates the Centurion shoves the orc back and places his shield facing forward, just in time for his rune-enhanced defense to block a potent blizzard spell and stop it from rending everyone atop the wall to pieces.
Though his action was not without cost as a pool of blood soon forms below him from his many new cuts. Completely ignoring his pained state he roars "SOUND THE ALARM!"
And all hell breaks loose.
The defenders start scrambling to grab their weapons while whoever is attacking them decides to stop trying subtlety and just starts brute forcing large-scale spells at them with reckless abandon.
By the time the spells stopped only 234 defenders remained from the original 300 and only one of the three Centurii, as the one who saved Zarok's life had succumbed to his wounds without anyone being able to help him due to the bombardment.
Hoping against all hope that the mage would be drained for at least some time Zarok decides to allow his desire for authority to take over and he starts barking orders "You two, get up and check on the scorpion crew! If they are dead, man the weapon."
"You and you!" He points sat two heavily bruised soldiers "Go to the other sections and check if they are still standing and then get the camp followers behind the second gate." When they do not immediately move he practically snarls at their hesitation "What are you staring at you cowards?! Get moving!"
That finally gets the cowards going.
"The rest of your lot prepare javelins, I doubt that the rebel fucks are stupid enough to give us time to regroup." He looks at the rest of the men, expecting dissent and disagreement at the mere idea of listening to a 'disgusting orc' but to his utter surprise, no one complains as they swiftly take positions atop the wall.
And just in time as well as a mix of grappling hooks and ladders connect to the sharpened palisade.
A couple of tense moments passed while the legionaries awaited their enemy, many of them feeling like hours had passed in each moment as the ladders and ropes told them of movement from below.
Yet the one who took the responsibility of command upon his shoulders kept his mind clear and after counting to ten in his mind he roared "JAVELINS!"
His words were met with movement from his own men and a sudden rush from whoever was climbing but no amount of sudden speed would save them from the salvo of wood and steel the legionaries delivered with practiced efficiency as close to two dozen heavily armored Stormcloaks fell to their doom after being struck by either javelin or dying ally.
That delayed them only for a while however as the attack was redoubled almost immediately and not all of the javelins had managed to strike their targets. Zarok tried to keep his comrades in good order as they repelled their enemy but as more and more Stormcloaks climbed atop the wall the whole battle swiftly dissolved into a messy melee.
All was not lost, however, as the fog started to clear only minutes after the assault had begun, soon revealing the majority of the attacking force, and as he beheld his enemy Zarok's heart fell.
Hundreds upon hundreds of well-equipped warriors stood at the other end of the visible pass, just waiting for their opportunity to strike, the paltry numbers of the defenders could never hope to stand against such numbers.
'But they could hope to delay them' The thought struck him.
He pushed a wounded rebel off the wall with a roar of exertion and turned to one of his more wounded men "Tell the scorpions to target the mountain, tell them to bury those fuckers!"
"At once sir!" The man hobbled into the tower as swiftly as he could.
As he waited for his plan to succeed or fail he noticed a group of rebels in the distance, all of them wearing distinctly mage-like robes and currently channeling another spell assault. Once again he prepared himself for agonizing death and once again fate decided to make its play as the scorpions atop the other towers immediately swiveled toward the magi and forced them to withdraw.
None of them died however as one of them rose a wall of stone before the bolts could skewer his comrades.
'Fucking mages' Zarok groused as he fed another idiot Nord his axe 'At least the other sections are still standing.'
The grind of the battle continued for an agonizing amount of time, each second feeling like an eternity as both forces attempted to butcher their opponents before some imaginary time limit was reached.
And reached it was, as a duo of projectiles struck a massive rock atop one of the pass's walls causing it to roll down, carrying trees, dirt, and other rocks with it. Within but a single moment the pass was closed off, however temporarily, and all enemy reinforcements stopped.
The legionaries took great pleasure in slaughtering every single idiot still standing atop the walls, no quarter was offered or given.
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All of the Centurii were dead when the fighting finally died down, and most of the lesser officers as well. The Stormcloaks were obviously targeting them first so as to break morale as swiftly as possible.
'Lucky me that even the fucking rebels don't believe an orc would be in command.' Zarok groused as all the remaining officers gathered and the quartermasters directed the camp followers to clean up the bodies and gather equipment.
"So, how many?" A tired Nord Decanus asked the Senior Quartermaster, a bald old Imperial with a magnificent grey beard.
"One hundred and thirty two still combat capable with forty three too wounded to move around." The Quartermaster answered dutifully "Our munitions are still well stocked and the potions should stop any of the heavily wounded from dying but most will not see battle again."
"Potential reinforcements?" Zarok spoke up though his voice lacked any hope for that possibility.
The Quartermaster shrugged "Sent a messenger bird to Helgen but the best we can expect is some light cavalry as anyone heavier would just die due to the terrain if they wanted to reach us in time."
"Unsurprising." A dour Bosmer Decanus frowned.
Zarok wiped the sweat and blood from his face with a tired sigh "We cannot retreat and we have no meaningful reinforcements to rely on, guess all that is left is to die well."
The gathered officers reacted as most legionaries do to dark humor, with disturbing amounts of amusement.
"Well said orc." The Nord officer grunted, though it might have been a snort "That leaves the question, who takes command?"
"If I may?" The Senior Quartermaster spoke up and all of the officers swiftly gave their assent "The only reason we are even alive is Decanus Zarok here coming up with a hairbrained scheme on the fly so methinks that he should lead us."
The orc was utterly surprised by the suggestion, for most of his life all he knew was hatred or at best disdain for his kind, yet even as he battled with his surprise the other officers nodded their assent without even a hint of hesitation.
"Very well." The old Quartermaster nodded gravely "Then by my authority" And he did have said authority in case of conflict of command "I grant the rank of Provisional Quaestor to Zarok for the duration of this battle and until a superior officer is here to relieve him of his command."
The gathered legionaries saluted him and if he was a human weakling he would have no doubt teared up on the spot.
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The fort was swiftly brought to order under its new commander and the legionaries did their best to prepare for the upcoming assault.
Barricades were placed to funnel the attackers into the smallest chokepoints possible while caltrops and other non-weapon sharpened objects were thrown about to at least slow if not utterly stop the rebels from climbing certain portions of the wall.
Zarok had hoped he had bought at least a day with his plan but fate and the Stormcloaks had other plans as the pile of rubble suddenly started to shake and a passage opened up across its center.
An old Nord man walked in front of what was obviously an honor guard of housecarls, all of them wearing steel plate armor.
The old man surveyed the fort with lightly glowing eyes before huffing and muttering something to a weary soldier next to him, causing the man to look down in shame.
Without any further preamble he walked further toward the fort, just out of range o the scorpions and crossed his palms.
Immediately a collective shiver passed through the legionaries as Magicka became visible to the naked eye and small ponds of water close to the now identified mage started to freeze on the spot.
The legionaries knew what was about to happen, they were all briefed on how to deal with powerful magi and it was either 'get your own' or 'get the fuck out' neither of the options seemed possible at the moment.
Yet just as the Stormcloak mage was about to launch his spell, Zarok felt something he would not forget until his death... A familiar tinge of dread in the back of his mind.
"Oh thank all the fucking gods." Zarok sighed in relief and his comrades looked at him in bewilderment, but he had neither the time nor the need to explain himself.
The Nord launched an utterly massive blizzard toward the walls and when it seemed like the whole thing was about to be turned into a popsicle a much smaller but far more potent bolt of golden flame struck the spell causing an explosion of undirected power and blinding both the attackers and defenders.
Zarok suddenly felt someone standing next to him and turned to see the fuckmothering Court Mage standing there in full armor accompanied by a very pale and completely expressionless woman.
"Sup?" Reyvin Flame-tongue waved at the orc lazily and if he didn't think he would get his shit kicked in, Zarok would have probably hugged the mad elf then and there.
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More stone needed m'lord.
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