The Automaton Rider

I don’t quite remember when the stories began.

(this was all nicely indented and formated, but DA decided to screw it up. Oh well. At least it's readable, scroll on down to the bottom for the artistic details if that interests you)

Stories of men marching over the hills on foot, by horseback and by other means that eyewitnesses had trouble explaining.

Men armed with weapons of steel and thunder, ravaging everything and anything in their path.

No one knew where they came from. Paranoid stormcloaks said they came from Hammerfell wearing loose uniforms better suited for the harsh deserts, the few scholars who partook in the mass gossip said they were convicts enacting vengeance upon the Imperials. One drunken farmer said they came through a blinding light on a massive contraption composed of wood and steel, careening through the forest on a rail of iron.

Wherever they came from, they left their mark in blood.

The towns that fell under their rule became prisons. Many were enslaved. The weak, the inept, the ‘non-human’ or simply ones they considered too old were slaughtered like hogs. Those who could escape ran where they could by the tens of thousands. Hardened men, veterans and mercenaries of the civil war fell covering their escape, crushed under the might of ‘Caesars Legion’.

Stories of these unstoppable warriors soon spread to major cities across Morrowind and Skyrim alike, taverns filled with gossip of these brutes. They say they wield no Magicka, no ‘Real’ power. What they do wield is reminiscent of the Dwarven kind, forging steel to their will and every whim.

People across the land fell to the gossip. They said the Legion had dragons on their side. They said the gods were vanquishing the imperials city by city. They said they hated women for reasons lost to us. Others said they were helping the Nords win a war that had gone on for too long.

And yet no one could clearly identify who they were or why they were even here.

There were too many contradictions, too many theories and not an ounce of evidence other then stories and contrived first-hand accounts. Those who went looking for answers in supposedly conquered towns never returned. Not an uncommon occurrence, the taverns in Skyrim are renowned for their great mead.

Fed up with the hysteria and poppycock, I went to the sea, where these ‘Legionnaires’ were last spotted by a squad of Stormcloaks. On my travels through the blistering cold mountains, I heard from a passing merchant that Whiterun had fallen under the control of the Legion. I didn’t give him the time of day, already fed up with the convoluted stories of these warriors. Gods above, several miners I passed the other day said the entire Imperial City was completely destroyed by a ‘Mushroom’ shaped cloud!

What utter nonsense!

By the time I could finally catch a glimpse of the sea, I was already on the border between Skyrim and Morrowind, an Ice Glacier separating the two provinces. Turning my gaze to the horizon, I could see a storm front coming in with ferocious energy.

Not uncommon for this time of year.

My steed raced over the ice and rock on nimble hooves, bracing against his warm fur to shield my body from the sleet and ravenous wind that tore at my shrouded armor like knives. By the time we reached the seashore, elements of the storm were already making themselves known. Snow fell on my shoulders tenderly as my steed whined, his hooves clattering down the ice as I turned my eyes to Morrowind and beyond.

There were no camps.

No burning towns.

No Legionnaires.

By the nine, there was not a sign of life, human, animal or even tracks of the latter.

I was about to turn my steed around, back to civilization, when I heard the roar.

It was not a roar of an animal, as no animal could roar with such ferocity without breaking its singular tone.

I craned my ears to the sound as it grew louder and louder. Something accompanied the strangled shriek. The sound of wheels pounding over ice and snow with such speed that I could barely comprehend how the framework had not snapped into splinters! I craned my neck left and right, trying in vain to find the source of the sound.

Pulling on the reigns and sending my steed into a gallop, I careened over boulders as I climbed atop a hill of slush and snow, using the higher ground to find a trace of an animal or creature that could be pulling a carriage at such a speed.

I didn’t think for one second that I would need to look in the air for the sound.

Snapping my gaze to the slick ice that swallowed the once raging sea, I witnessed a mighty machine of steel slam into the sleet after careening through the air, its rider hunched over the handle bars with no visible means of propulsion keeping it going.

At such a speed too!

I have never in my life seen such a machine! I have seen automatons in Dwarven ruins during past adventures into the dark underworld, but nothing like this!

Two massive wheels made of an unknown material braced the ice, firmly fit in place by axels that were attached to the main body of the machine, which held a light-source of some kind as well as handlebars and a comfortable seat with ample room on the rear for additional storage space.

Many would see this as a monster of some kind, I am not one of those people. I do however know that the rider is operating and steering an automaton machine of some kind, but it is of a build I never once thought would have been possible.

The rider himself was another mystery. His legs were shielded by a pair of tall black boots, trousers and a long overcoat that flapped behind him with his torso bearing some sort of reinforced armor. But perhaps the most puzzling aspect of the rider was his head, which wore some kind of helmet and facial apparatus. Two oversized red eyes made up his face with a ridiculously oversized nose and no visible mouth.

What in oblivion is this ride supposed to be? A hog of some kind?

Overcome with curiosity I had not had in years, I yanked on the reigns of my steed and cried aloud, sending the poor beast down the steep incline into the sea ice, where it briefly fumbled before righting itself. Was this one of the Legion I had heard so much about? I have heard the stories, but none of the tales spoke of an automaton rider!

Wanting to find an answer to put an end to these stories, I gave chase. This rider was going to spill his guts, otherwise, I would spill them for him.

Although, It would pain me to do such a thing. An operator of such a craft would not be able to pass down his knowledge with his intestines spilling into the cracks of the sea ice.

Choosing the thin layer of snow over the slick surface of the sea, I charged my steed forward to close the gap between the rider and myself. Turning my gaze to the right, I almost pulled back on the reigns as the rider did not break away from his singular path and charged past me, his wheels slipping under the sleet before regaining control. Grinning at his fumble, I trailed him with increasing speed, breaking the gap between us.

It was at this moment the rider took the opportunity to address me with what I could only describe as a death glare behind his mask, before he cranked on the throttle of his handlebar and zoomed ahead of me with such momentum the front wheel rose off the ground and slammed back onto the ice, sending brittle ice pellets into my shrouded armor.

Tugging on my hood, I stampeded over the fractured ice sheets, my steed growing tired from every push and turn. Knowing I would need to slow down, lest my own horse fell to his haunches, I needed to find a way to stop this rider before I lost sight of him.

Conjuring my Magicka, I clenched my free fist as my horse gasped for air, slowing to a canter as the automaton rider cranked the throttle further, propelling his machine to speeds I could no longer comprehend. I was overwhelmed with childish curiosity at this man and his machine, but I needed to keep a level head. I needed to stop him from slipping away without hurting him.

At least, not too much.

Releasing my palm, I cast a powerful firebolt at the ice ahead of the automaton, leaving a boulder sized crater in the riders path. Attempting to dodge in vain, the rider was dismounted from his automaton just as the rear wheel fell into the crater, sending the automaton and a couple of his satchels‘head-over-heels’ as the rider tumbled over the slick ice as his automaton slide away from him before wedging itself between rocks and fractured remnants of a glacier.

Well, that didn’t go as planned. I just wanted him to swerve. But alas, it seems like he will be willing to talk regardless.

Infuriated, the rider attempted to right himself before his head struck a sizable boulder, violently removing his helmet before coming to a halt on his back next to his luggage, groaning in pain.

Smirking, I brought my horse to a stop. Dismounting him in ample time as I drew my daedric sword, I cautiously approached the rider as he clutched his side, shouting in fury as he fumbled with an object at his chest level. Seeing as how he was obviously fumbling for a weapon of some kind, I circled around the rider as I studied his face.

…or rather, her face…

Scowling at me with dark olive green skin, the female Orsimer struggled to stand as I entered her vision, placing my foot atop her battered helmet that sunk into the snow as I pulled my hood down, I placed the tip of my sword at her chin as she withdrew an object from a holster on her chest. Firmly held in her right hand, the silver-toned metallic device held no subtly, it was clearing a weapon of some kind that was no pointed at me.

This was no Legionnaire, the supposed unstoppable warriors with a hatred for women. This was someone entirely different. Knowing I still had a bastion of knowledge under the tip of my sword, I pressed on.

“Was that really necessary!?” She gasped at me, huffing and puffing as she steadied herself, forcing her back to the ground as I pressed my sword into her chin. “What do you want from me, elf?”

She must have been kidding even herself with that remark

“Wild curiosity.” I answered. “In all my years I have never seen such a machine travel so fast. Where did you get that device?” I asked, nodding in the direction of the still functioning automaton. “Better yet, when did you have the time to master its control?”

“None of your damn business!” The Orsimer snapped back, nearly biting my sword as her gloved fingers wrapped around the handle of the device in her right hand. “Am I going to have to kill you or what? Last time I checked, I haven’t left a relatively good taste in the Dark Brotherhoods mouth! By all means-“She laughed. “-We taste terrible!”

Rubbing my chin, I couldn’t remember anyone pestering the Brotherhood in Skyrim leaving the province in one piece. “You aren’t ringing any bells, perhaps if you were kind enough to share your name, Orc, maybe it would jog my memory.” Dura smirked, bearing her underbite. For an Orsimer, she was far from the ugliest female Orsimer I have seen. Her hair once sported a Mohawk, dampened by her peculiar helmet, with warpaint running from her eyes down to her neck, apparently done not to long ago.

“The names Dura Sumba.” She muttered coldly. “What’s yours, Elf?”

“Cevenor.” I replied. “Listener of the Dark Brotherhood and current vampire-“

“Yeah, I can see that.” Dura rudely interjected, rolling her deep violet eyes. “Listen, Cevenor, your fangs aren’t all that subtle, and your armor is about as inconspicuous as a Mudcrab wearing a tophat, now, would you be so kind as to piss off?!”

I chuckled. “I’m sorry, I cannot do that.” Pushing my sword into her chin again, I muttered. “Where. Did you get that automaton?”

“It’s a motorcycle...” Dura muttered. “I don’t know who built it, but the woman who gave it to me knew how much of a hurry I was in. Whiterun is under the control of the Legion and a couple of phenomenal idiots and, if I don’t get there in time, all of Tamriel is going to be flipped upside down!”

Whiterun under the control of a couple of idiots? Nothing appears to have changed, is all I can say. Although, considering her urgency to get there, it must have truly been in danger all along. The gossip was correct for once, the Legion is a real and undeniable threat.

“What do you mean, ‘Flipped upside down?’.” I asked, raising my eyebrow.

“Get the hell out of my way!” Dura ordered through gritted teeth, pushing my sword out of her face as she jumped to her feet.

I did not respond, my sword still trained on her as she circled around me. Her nostrils flaring as she huffed, Dura clenched her fists and nodded. “Okay… you want a fight, is that it, Cevenor?”

“That is not my intention, I am just asking you a few simple questions.” I stated firmly as Dura knelt down, pulling an Orcish axe out of one of her strewn packs, holstering her other weapon in the process.

“Then by all means, ask away!” Dura barked back as the wind whipped up her Mohawk.

“What do you mean, by… flipped upside down?” I repeated myself, scowling at the Orsimer. Dura bit her tongue, suppressing the urge to yell more as she relaxed herself.

“Judging by what I saw back at the village, this whole world is going to resemble one big Rubiks cube if I don’t get to Whiterun and put a stop to all of this madness!” Dura stamped her foot firmly into the ground. “I’m not going any further then that! Now, am I going to have to kill you or are you going to let me go on my merry way!?”

I did not sway from my spot. “What in oblivions name is a Rubik-cube?”

Dura snarled like a hound, ready to sink her teeth into her prey, if a loud bang had not originated behind us.

Turning around, my heart sank.

Well over a dozen men approached on foot with another six on horseback. I could spot bandits a mile away, judging by their shambled armor and clothing. But the horseback soldiers sparked my anxiety.

They were uniformed. Masked. Armored. Wielding weapons unlike any other I had seen before. And, they looked one-hundred percent hostile.

The conscripts drew their swords and huddled behind their shields as they clambered over the ice, with their leader following in unison with his fellow Legionnaires.

Wearing reinforced Cuirasses, brigandines, headscarfs, iron helmets and durable trousers, the Legion soldiers came to a stop, drawing their black weapons as their leader pulled his saber from his sheath. Their leader was an interesting fellow, wearing a far more sophisticated form of armor forged of steel apparently ripped from other suits, his head sporting a ridiculous frill.

He was very tall, very strong even. But, he was shivering in his saddle.

Even with all his protective clothing, he clearly hasn’t been in Skyrim for very long. If the Legion did indeed come from lands far away, it made me wonder just how hard it was for them to get this far.

“Master Ex Mortis, should we let the elf take the kill?” One of the bandit conscripts, a gruff Breton, asked his master as he brandished his hammer. Dura simply groaned, bringing her palm to her face.

Their leader nodded, without saying a word. Pulling a bag from a satchel hidden in his saddle, he tossed the bag to the nearest conscript. Rolling the bag over his hand as he walked past his comrades to the lead of the pack, the nervous Imperial pulled on his chest straps before mustering the courage to speak.

“D-dragonborn… it is with great pleasure to announce how you are to entertain my master with the honor of killing this Orc in the name of Caesar, our honorable leader. Centurion Ex Mortis has been in a dull mood since leaving Phoenix through the great light into this cold wasteland… ummm…” the nervous bandit paused, scratching his head before turning to his master. “You… you never told us where Phoenix is-“the glare that Centurion Ex Mortis gave the bandit was enough to shake some sense into the hapless soul. Stuttering back on track, the bandit continued. “It-it is through the generous ethics of the Legion to not let great deeds go unrewarded, especially for an efficient and famous assassin such as yourself-“

“What did this Orc do to summon such wrath of the Legion?” I interrupted the pathetic mongrel. The stories I heard regarding the Legion spoke of great warriors, not cowards hiding behind conscripts flaunting in their shiny armor. So far, I wasn’t impressed. If the Legion wanted something from me, they were going to have to talk to me themselves.

“That green freak killed forty-seven of my men in the battle of Goodsprings!” Ex Mortis thundered, his voice tinged with that of a powerful, elderly man. “It was a slaughter! My men were there to welcome the inhabitants into the arms of Caesar and his empire, and what they got in return was a merciless death!”

“Forty-seven?” I asked Dura as I turned to her, who simply shrugged in response.

“Ehhh… I could have done better.” She replied. “Irileth said she killed sixty of them as she led Jarl Balgruuf The Greater to safety.” Turning to conversation back to Ex Mortis after getting his attention, I continued.

“What is the reward?” I inquired. Granted, I highly doubted Caesars Legion were here for anything good, if the stories were anything to go by. But, I was an assassin. I needed to weigh my options after hearing both sides give their arguments.

Responding to my question, the Imperial bandit tossed the bag to my feet, scattering Septims left and right.

Or, at least that’s what I thought they were. Pushing my boot into the bag to roll the coins over. They were silver in nature, not a bad reward, but they were not any currency I had seen. “This would be ample for a night out with my wife, but not enough for a single day.” I shook my head. “You would have to do much better than this.”

“That is our currency, Dragonborn!” Ex Mortis snapped. “The Denarius is a sizeable offer as your Septim will soon be worthless! Take the generous reward and do the deed!” He cackled, bringing a smirk to his weathered face. “Think of your wife, what would she think of a man who could not strike down a fickle bitch!?”

“My wife has nothing to do with this.” I snarled coldly. “If you wanted to kill this Orc with such heated intent, then what is stopping you from do so yourself?” I pulled my sword away from Dura and stepped forward. The Imperial bandit raised his blade in response. “I have heard great things of the Legion, what I never thought be true was how cowardly and conniving you and your men could actually be!”

“Kill him.” Ex Mortis ordered, clenching his reigns. The Imperial gave a questioning glance back at his master. “KILL HIM!!” Looking frantically at the other Legion soldier, he spotted the one armed with a black object smile and nod as he raised the sights of the weapon to his eye. Feeling his confidence rise as he now had backup, the Imperial stomped forward just as the soldier lowered his weapon and struggled to hold back his sadistic laughter.

‘Ethical’, indeed. In most cases, I would have spared such a naïve and petty soul, but I was stuck between an Orc and a group of Autocratic, Ultra-Reactionary, Utilitarian S’wits with all bark and no balls.

I didn’t even get to raise my sword to his level before the two of us heard the thundering of hooves stampede across the ice. Screaming in terror, the Imperial shed his weaponry as he ran in terror from my stead, who chased the screaming man over the hills and out of sight.

“Damn it!” I snapped angrily. “That’s the third time this week!”

“Oh… how I’ve been there…” Dura agreed with a nod, moments before she threw her axe at the Legionnaire armed with the black object, striking him between the eyes and killing him instantly. Going limp, his body fell from his horse as his hand squeezed the trigger of his weapon, discharging several loud BANGS at the conscripts as he clattered to the ice. I stumbled back as the mouth of one of the bandits exploded, spraying teeth and crimson at his feet and slumping over in a gurgling mess.

“CHAAARGE!!” Ex Mortis boomed, raising his saber in fury.

BLAT

BLAT

BLAT

One by the one, the bandits stumbled and fell, clutching their new wounds as Dura unleashed her holstered sidearm with pinpoint accuracy. Gazing at her silver weapon with amazement, I couldn’t help but scrutinize the words inscribed on the frame of the weapon.

Para-Ordnance P-14

What a strange name.

Jumping back to attention as a Redguard wielded a mighty shield swung his greatsword, I countered with my daedric blade, slicing off his arm moments before I swung my knee in his neck, sending him to the ground where he lay motionless. Diving to the ground behind a massive Nord’s body and iron shield as the ice erupted around us as the Legionnaires opened fire with their automatic weapons, I sprawled across the ice doing the same as rogue projectiles whizzed by my ear.

“GET MY PACK!!” Dura screamed as she fired back with her sidearm, killing one of the Legionnaires as he tried to dismount his horse. More projectiles struck the ice and Dura’s cover as I scanned the area for her pack. Firing a fireball from my palm to scatter the weapon-wielding soldiers, I clambered over my cover and slide across the ice, grabbing one of her packs as I slid across the slick surface under the blistering wind and ignoring the sharps stabs of pain from the uncomfortable ride. Hastily tugging at the knot as the soldiers soon regrouped from my attack, I finally tugged it free.

And what I found inside left me befuddled. A long tubular weapon with a great oak stock greeted my vision. Mounted on the fore end of the weapon was a sharp bayonet, ideal for close-combat.

“What in Talos’ name is this weapon?” I asked bluntly.

“It’s a SHOTGUN!!” Dura shouted as a tremendously loud bang echoed through the air, resulting in a massive hole being blown through the iron shield and hitting the ice with awesome force. Turning back to the soldiers again, I could see Ex Mortis rallying reinforcements, armed with even greater boomsticks and weapons of thunder, racking their bolts and smacking the rectangular boxes attached to them. I even caught sight of one of them approaching with great speed-

-OHHH NO

Crying out in surprise, I fell on my back as I wrapped my hand around the handle of the ‘shotgun’ and raised the weapon to the warrior as he raised his hammer. Shoving the bayonet into his stomach, he let out a blood-curdling howl of pain as he fell on top of me, further pushing the blade into his wound.

“PUMP THE HANDLE!!” Dura hollered as she fired her weapon a few more times before the frame locked back. Grabbing the grip below the main barrel, I tugged and pulled as the soldier produced a knife from his side. Pulling the handle down with a resounding CHIK, I pushed it back with a loud CHAK and mimicked the same action Dura had done the last fourteen times.

KABOOM

Pulling the trigger slammed the stock of the shotgun into my stomach and sent the soldier straight into the air in a shower of blood and body tissue before he landed atop three bandits. Choking on air and resisting the urge to vomit, I tried to pull the trigger again, with no response. Fiddling with the pump again, I ejected a large green shell from the side of the weapon and squeezed again. The nearest bandit was knocked off his feet like he was hit by a boulder, smashing his skull into the ice as the recoil from the shotgun slid my body across the slick ground. Regaining my footing and gazing in stunned silence at the weapon I now wielded, I pumped the weapon again as Dura pulled the bottom of her weapon out and replaced it with a similar device, locking the slide back with a CLICK-CLACK. A bandit wrestled the weapon from the dying Legionnaire and tried to fire several times with abysmal accuracy as he hid behind a studded shield. Smirking, I raised the weapon high and fired, blowing through his measly shield and riddling his face with nine bloody holes. I didn’t need to double check to see if he was dead.

Dura fired more and more into the rallying soldiers, sending four to the ground as their armor did little to stop her fire. Her frame locking back again, she brought her heavy boot heel down on the knee of another bandit before striking him in the forehead with the handle of her sidearm. Following her forward as more soldiers opened fire on my position, I empted my shotgun into more bandits, striking two with one shell as they sprawled to the ground, streaking blood across the slick surface as the two of us ran ahead to Dura’s wrecked motorcycle and the last of her satchels.

“Do you mind throwing another Fireball, Cevenor?” Dura snapped aloud as she knelt down in her sprint and pulled her axe out of her first victims face. “We need to scatter those rats before they pull out the bigger guns!”

“I can kill them, if that’s what you want!” I barked as I surged my Magicka to form a massive fireball, throwing it at the unsuspecting soldiers with devastating results. Sprawling across the snow and ice engulfed in flames, the morale of the Legion fell to dangerously low as many who escaped the fireball unscathed discarded their weapons and pulled out their blades. Pumping and firing into any soldier I could see as Dura fumbled with another object under her coat. A Loud PING wrung through the air as a looped piece of metal fell at Dura’s feet.

“Cevenor! Get down and stay down!” She hollered as she threw a round object into the sky, landing at the feet of the last remaining bandits as the Legionnaires cried and dove for cover.

“Augustus! William!” The biggest bandit stammered as he picked up the object in question. Following Dura’s orders as I fell to the snow and huddled behind a sturdy rock next to the motorcycle. “Why in the gods name are you running! It’s just a little-“

The deafening explosion that followed showered the two of us in loose snow and body parts. Peering over our cover, I caught a glimpse of the huddled Legionnaires as they barricaded their positions as well as the mangled and smoldering bodies of the bandits.

“Good show.” I smirked. “Where did you find these weapons? They are quite devilish in nature… thank the gods Cicero isn’t around to find one…”

“Not sure who made them, and to be honest, I don’t care to know at the moment.” Dura shrugged as she pulled a satchel loose from the snow and pried it open, pulling a long object and several round metallic pieces from the bottom.

And she passed the contents to me. It must have been my birthday today considering all the fine weapons I have been given so far.

“It’s called an M1928 Thompson.” Dura said, locking the metal object into the weapon. “100 45. ACP rounds. Just aim at someone you don’t like and squeeze the trigger until they disappear in a fine, red mist!” She laughed as she tugged at the last satchel attached to her motorcycle, pulling out another long weapon. “The last of those guys are going to be heavily armored, this is what this baby is for.” Dura said, patting the side of the weapon. “A B.A.R rifle, forty round, twin jungle-taped magazines filled with full-metal jacket .308’s.”

“What does that mean?” I inquired, fumbling with the ‘Thompson’.

“It means it’ll rip through my men’s steel plates like a hot knife through butter!” Ex Mortis chuckled sadistically from behind us. Whipping around in surprise, a reinforced gauntlet greeted Dura’s nose, smashing her to the ground as the owner held a substantial blade to my throat. Four of Ex Mortis’ men held back while his reinforcements remained on the ridge, their ‘M16s’ trained on us.

I was honestly surprised how a group of soldiers with so much unnecessary accessories could sneak up on us. I suppose the howling wind must have been on their side.

“It’s a shame.” Ex Mortis uttered, drawing his saber as he approached me. “You could have been a great Legionnaire if you took the money, even if you are an Elf. Having mages on our side would improve my men’s morale.” He sighed. “Ahhhh… you can’t have everything. Caesar himself knows that.”

“Are you going to talk or are you going to finish the job!?” Dura snarled, snapping her nose back into place with two fingers. “What is it with you people? Do you really need to chew the scenery in every battle!?” Ex Mortis brought the back of his hand down on her cheek, swaying her to the side.

“Know your place, woman!” Ex Mortis seethed, doing little to persuade the Orsimer who continued to snarl. Turning his attention to me, he smiled. “You did a job on those bandits, and left a substantial mess of my new recruits… I’m going to give you one last chance, Cevenor… join the Legion and fight the decrepit residents of this vile wasteland, and I will spare your family and anyone else you desire. If not…” He shook his head. “Your wife will be a fine concubine for my superiors as they hang, draw and quarter your body…”

Hmmm… what to choose…

A sadistic grin spread across my face.

“Before I enact my destiny and premature doom… I would like to have a few spare words with you, Centurion Ex Mortis…” I muttered. The looming man laughed, nodding away.

“By all means, speak your mind, Cevenor.”

“Get closer.” I grinned. Ex Mortis complied as his men trained their weapons on me. “Closer.” Falling in to my trap as he knelt down to bring his ear to my level, I opened my mouth.

FUS ROH DAH

Launching into the air like a ragdoll, Ex Mortis shrieked moments before he landed on his head and tumbled across the ice in a heap to the shock and awe of his men. Taking her cue, Dura lunged back onto her feet and aimed her BAR high up to the stunned men on the ridge, riddling their position with a deafening roar and ripping through Ex Mortis’ men with no mercy as she let out a war cry as I did the same with my Thompson, peppering their position as blood sprayed, heads exploded like rotten pumpkins and limbs tumbled down the embankment in bloody heaps.

Lunging at us, Ex Mortis’ best men charged with their spears. Tossing the now empty Thompson aside, I pulled my Daedric sword out and sliced the leg out from under the nearest Centurion at the knee before throwing an ice spear through the neck of another before finally bringing my sword down through the shoulder of the final brave yet foolish soldier, slicing clean through his armor before the blade severed every major arterie and major organ down to his stomach.

“The rats are scattering!” Dura snapped as the last three remaining Legionnaires on the ridge ran for their lives, shedding their weapons and armor as they left their dying comrades and any shred of dignity they had left behind them.

Fearless warriors. What a joke.

“COME BACK!!” Ex Mortis shrieked as he clambered to his feet. Ears bleeding, neck sprained and every rib broken, it was sheer unadulterated rage that was keeping the hulk of a man going as he stumbled forward. “COME BACK YOU COWARDS!!” Throwing his saber aside, he ripped at his mangled gauntlets, exposing gnarled knuckles as he breathed loudly. “I GAVE YOU AN OPPORTUNITY, YOU DIRTY ELF!! A CHANCE TO THRIVE UNDER OUR EMPIRE!!” Kicking the limp and bloody body off of my sword, I replied.

“To be frank, Ex Mortis, your soldiers armor and weapons did little to sway me!” I laughed. “I came here to meet you and your men, face to face! All I heard along the way was nothing short of fearsome appraisal! And what I got was pitiful! By the nine! I ran into mudcrabs that put up a greater fight then you have!”

I never knew a man could erupt like a volcano before. You learn something new every day.

Charging for me with his barehands ready to render me of my limbs one by one, he let out a deafening warcry that could have sent shivers down the spines of entire armies.

Only to by knocked off his feet and trampled to death under the mighty hooves of my steed.

Blinking in surprise, I turned to Dura, whose eyes were the size of dinner plates. I couldn’t lie, my eyes were probably the same.

“Umm… okay… another Deus Ex Machina is always welcome…” She mumbled as my steed approached, nuzzling my cheek with that big nose of his.

“You’re no Shadowmere, but you are a worthy horse.” I complimented the dumb beast as I stroked his snout. Dura walked through the carnage, picking up her fallen weapons before snagging her battered helmet. “We make a fine Team, Dura Sumba. Even if we were ready to go for each other’s throats not moments ago.”

“I suppose we do make a good pair.” She chuckled, gathering her packs as she shuffled towards her motorcycle. “There probably isn’t a dull moment in the life of the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood and the Dragonborn, huh?”

“You left out Vampire Lord.” I smirked, cleaning my sword of blood. “And no, I haven’t had a good fight like this in a long time.”

“Welp, with the Caesars Legion now making themselves known in Skyrim, this won’t be your last fight.” Dura assured me, holstering her Para-Ordnance and Orsimer Axe. Kneeling down, she pulled a shotgun of different make from one of the dead Legionaries. “Take this, your damn good with a shotgun, all things considered. Pick any firearms you find matches your personalities the most and throw the rest you can’t carry back into the ocean. The last thing Skyrim needs right now is a bunch of bandits lugging around weapons of mass destruction they don’t know how to use.”

I nodded, pulling the sling of the shotgun over my shoulder.

“Where are going from here?” I asked Dura as she approached her motorcycle, pulling at the rear wheel to dislodge her machine from the rocks.

“Like a said, Whiterun needs my help.” She said, pulling her still running motorcycle free from its prison. “It’s best you avoid the main roads for a couple of days, there’s bound to be a bunch of pissed off Legionnaires running left and right after I’m done there.”

I nodded again, holstering my sword as I pulled on the reigns of my horse. “Where did they come from, anyway?” Dura turned to me, her violet eyes gazing into the distance as she chose her words, finally opening up to me.

“A land far away from here… I suppose you could say a land beyond oblivion. A parallel world whose mighty cities and armies have lain in ruin for centuries. I should know, I’ve been there… and so was that town that I got this motorcycle from… Goodsprings, whose citizens, infrastructure and even the ground they stood on are now far away from home and wedged into a frozen valley.” She shook her head. “The maniacs in control of Whiterun think they are saving both Nirn and their homeworld, cleansing them of their war and strife.” She let out a laugh. “I’ve seen what they are trying to do. It’s not going to work.” She placed the last of her things on her motorcycle before mounting it, placing her sturdy boot on the footrest. “It’s been nice meeting you, Cevenor. I don’t blame you for trying to stop me, I would have done the same a month or so ago.” She outstretched her gloved hand, which I returned with one of my own.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Dura Sumba.” I replied, clenching our gloved hands together in a handshake. I then stepped away from the motorcycle as she revved her engine, placing her battered helmet atop her head and securing it in place. “Adiós Amigo.” Her voice strained through the mask filter, she saluted with her free hand before she throttled the ignition and threw the motorcycle into gear. Watching as she raced her machine over the ice and into the horizon, I sighed, gazing at the carnage before me with great pride.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“What on Nirn is a Rubiks cube?” Cicero inquired, his mouth full of sweet rolls.

Cevenors eyes went wide as he fell back onto his chair.

“Talos be damned!” Cevenor cursed. “I never asked her what that was!” scowling, Cevenor emptied the remnants of his mead down his throat. Peering out the taverns window, Cevenor could see the faint glimmer of sunright rising over the mountains. “By the nine. I should have cut down on the narration.” Furrowing his brow, Cevenor could feel the faint touch of a scaly hand caressing his own to relive his bitter mood.

“What a story!” A Redguard laughed, bringing his bitter whiskey bottle to his mouth.

“They must have been conscripts, I heard the real Legion could knock down buildings with the might of their own horses!” A Khajiit cackled, swaying in his chair before crying out and falling over.

“They had flying machines, I heard! By the gods, I even saw one cut down an entire mountain with a show of explosions! The real Legion wouldn’t have sent a bunch of idiots like the ones you described!” A Nord muttered, swaying the contents of his mug around.

“And you people have the gall to call me an idiot!” The town drunk snarled, pushing himself away from the crowd.

“I found your story was very descriptive, dear.” Shahvee cooed. “Entertaining even.” Cevenor smiled as Cicero finished his eighth sweet roll of the night.

“Cicero especially enjoyed how Dura Sumba ripped those marauding soldiers to pieces with her browning automatic rifle!” Cicero squealed. “The way the Listener described how their bodies were eviscerated made Cicero’s night!” He sighed. “If only Cicero was there…”

“You had your chance, Cicero, you were too busy chasing dwarfs!” Cevenor snickered.

“Yes! And Cicero really did see them this time!” Cicero’s eyes went wide. “You don’t think the dwarfs and the dreaded Caesars Legion are in cahoots, do you, listener?” Cevenor sighed, pushing away from the table.

“No Cicero, they aren’t an equal opportunity employer. Far from one.” Cicero smirked as he pulled on his coat and wrapped his sword holster over his shoulder. There was no way in oblivion he was going to leave one of the firearms he procured from the Legion in the same room as Cicero. “I think it’s time to call it a night, Shahvee. The children are probably still asleep, so lets spend the dawn strolling in what’s left of the moonlight.” The Argonian smiled in agreement.

“That sounds lovely, dear!” Shahvee smiled, taking her husbands arm as they walked away from the crowd and through the tavern doors. The cool air greeted them upon stepping onto the lit cobblestone road, early risers greeting them as they began to work their craft and set up their shops. “Do not listen to the drawl of those drunks back there, I for one know you were speaking the truth. Those weapons and souvenirs back at the homestead were enough proof to last a lifetime.”

“Thanks, my dear.” Cevenor nodded, sighing with discontent. “If only those Stormcloaks were as understanding. They didn’t give a damn about those bodies Dura and I left sprawled across the ice, they only wanted the mighty weapons Caesars Legion wielded.” Cevenor cocked an eyebrow. “Those soldiers didn’t even care to tell us who Caesar was.” Shahvee laughed.

“You should ask them the moment they decide to give our town a visit.” Shahvee suggested as they climbed a great hill. Reaching the top with time to spare, the two gazed to lands beyond. “Do you really think Dura Sumba accomplished what she wanted to do?” Cevenor nodded, having thought of the Orsimers fate over for the last few days since returning from the sea. Even with all those guns and explosives she had on her motorcycle, I doubted her success against the ‘mighty’ Caesars Legion would be minimal. She showed her craft with those firearms and even her trusty axe. But I had my doubts.

Until, I saw the smoke.

“She sure left her mark in Whiterun.” The Argonian laughed, pointing to the pinprick on the horizon, which was still vibrantly smoldering.

“Yes, she sure did.” Cevenor concurred. “It’s been burning since yesterday afternoon, it looks like they are having trouble putting out Dura’s flames.”


----------------------


Man, this was a bit of challenge to nail down.

I've never drawn an Ice landscape before, sure, I've down snow, but not ice, so pardon me if it comes off as clunky.

Also, I've never drawn a sword or a handgun from this perspective, EVER. But for a first time, I think I did a good job.

...

Oh, wait, you want to know just what the hell is going on?

The Lady on the ground is my Orsimer Skyrim Character, Dura Sumba, who is also the main character of a story I have in development, which is a Skyrim and New Vegas crossover heavily inspired by the "1632" series of novels written by Eric Flint. If you are a history buff, it's one heck of a read.
The other Elf, currently holding his sword on her, is character Cevenor, which is the main character of her wonderful Skyrim comics. Give them a go, they are super

I've been meaning to draw Dura for a long time, and knowing how Syrena was holding a contest gave me good enough reason to challenge myself.

And I think I did a damn good job at it, even if there are a couple of faults here and there.

Regardless, I am now working on a lengthy story for this Deviation, so keep your eyes peeled!

Cherio!