4E 202, Labyrinthian, Two days later
Kiera Fendalyn
Vermithor banked low upon the jagged ridges that bordered the holds of Whiterun and Hjaalmarch.
The dragon's wings cut through sheets of thin cloud like bronze scythes, and below stretched the tomb-city of Labyrinthian.
A vast wound in the mountain, where snow lay like white shrouds over ruined spires and ancient stone causeways. Once, this place had been the heart of the Dragon Cult back during the Merethic Era.
Now it was nothing more than ruins, cold and hollow. The winds that flowed down from the mountains continued to howl, as though they were an echo of what this city used to be.
They landed upon an open courtyard half-swallowed by snow. Kiera dismounted with practiced ease, the snow crunching beneath her steel boots.
With the relatively close distance from the Hall of Vigilants, added with the speed she could travel with Vermithor, Kiera was the first to arrive.
Some small roars emanated from the canopy as a small herd of frost trolls appeared. Kiera didn't bother with them, knowing that Vermithor had it handled. The big guy needed a snack anyway.
Looking around, Labyrinthian did not look like it had received any visitors recently. The snow that led to the inner tombs was unbothered, no signs of people making camp in the outer courtyard, though that could change any day now.
According to Serana, Labyrinthian was the prison of Morokei, one of the more powerful Dragon Priests who wielded the Staff of Magnus, put here by Savos Aren decades ago.
The only reason Alduin had not yet freed him was due to Savos' wards hiding his presence, though that had changed when the Eye of Magnus was unearthed. The strange connection between the eye and the staff had lit up Labyrinthian like a beacon.
While Kiera was far from being a proficient mage, even she could feel the roiling amounts of magicka coming from one of the inner tombs. There was no doubt in her mind that Alduin had detected it as well.
A Dragon Priest with a relic as grand as the Staff of Magnus was something that the Black Dragon would dearly covet for his growing army. They couldn't allow him to claim it, not now.
The fact that Kiera and Vermithor were relatively close to the ancient city was a blessing. She could act as the vanguard until reinforcements came from the Legions and from Whiterun to garrison the tomb and set up proper defenses.
Her mother had also promised to send some vigilants their way, mostly initiates and acolytes to act as healers. She and Tolan would arrive much later with a contingent of Vigilants.
They all knew that Labyrinthian was perhaps the next stage of the coming conflict. Kiera herself had that instinct. While she doesn't know yet the exact details of what Gerron and Serana had found in the College of Winterhold, it was significant enough for them to mobilize almost everything here in Labyrinthian.
Of course, having so much of their forces concentrated in one place was a bad move logistically. Their scouts had stated that Alduin had roughly around a hundred dragons working for him.
It was a paltry number compared to the force of ten thousand dragons he had back during the Merethic Era, but their threat still could not be ignored considering both Alduin and Odahviing were still alive.
Ulfric Stormcloak and General Tullius each still have significant numbers with the Stormcloaks and Legions. With the gear from Gerron now supplying both armies, they would be sufficient in holding down the dragons that still prowl all of Skyrim.
Right now, it was her duty along with Vermithor to hold the line here to make sure none of Alduin's forces got past them.
When the first snap came from a branch breaking somewhere to her left, Kiera turned sharply. Vermithor looked from behind her, having gorged through the herd of frost trolls.
Shadows moved through the trees, then stepped into the light.
An army of draugr emerged from the mist, rank after rank of withered warriors. Some were mere wights clad in corroded armor, others towering deathlords crowned with bone circlets.
Their eyes burned a baleful blue beneath cracked helms. But what caught her attention were the two figures at the center of their ranks, floating a few inches above the ground.
Robes blackened by time, each one affixed with a mask on their faces.
"Masks of steel and corundum," Kiera narrowed her eyes. "Vokun and Volsung."
Behind her, Vermithor unleashed a growl. "Be wary, Kiera. While Vokun is no threat to you in his current state, Volsung had been considered to be the most powerful Conjurer of his time, even the Daedra once heeded his call."
From across the ruin, Volsung's voice slithered through the air like oil. "Dovahkiin, ven hond. Morokei praan fah mu." (Dragonborn, step aside. Morokei awaits us.)
Kiera simply uttered a word. "Nid." (no).
What sounded like an eerie chuckle came from the slitted mouth of the mask. "Rinik pruzah." (Very well).
A shriek tore the sky as four dragons dove from the canopy, scaled in grey and silver. The air trembled from their descent. Vermithor reared, bronze wings beating with hurricane force.
"I shall handle the dov! Hold strong, Kiera!" he roared, and the sky thundered with the clash of three dragons.
Kiera had no chance to reply as Vokun raised his staff, hurling a triad of blazing orbs the size of boulders that screamed through the air.
Kiera's ward shimmered into being an instant before impact, catching the first one that exploded with a rippling shockwave. The second barely cracked the translucent barrier. The third released an explosion of flame that bathed her in smoke.
Utilizing the second of cover, her other arm channeled Ebonyflesh, her skin taking a black tint and shimmered black like obsidian.
She burst out of the smoke with her hand raised, Dawnbreaker igniting in radiant gold.
Volsung raised a finger, all of the Draugr surrounding her charging with reckless abandon. With a mere wave of the same finger, weapons and armor made of violet flames appeared across the ranks of the dead.
'Outfitting an entire army with bound weapons?' Kiera realized, her brow furrowing. 'Most powerful conjurer indeed.'
While those weapons would be a threat to regular steel, they clanged uselessly against her enchanted skin. Every swing that met her rebounded, leaving nothing but scorched marks on her ebonyflesh.
The armor was the same, far from the level of a Daedric Artifact. Dawnbreaker sang in her hands, every cleave sent arcs of golden flame spinning through the ranks, burning the undead to dust.
The stench of death mixed with ozone. One wight lunged from behind as Kiera pivoted, driving her elbow into its skull, then spun and cut another in half at the waist.
A chorus of roars followed as dozens more charged. She met them head-on.
For every blow she parried, she returned threefold. When one draugr leapt upon her back, she grabbed its arm, slammed it over her shoulder, and crushed it under her heel. Her movements were a perfect balance of fury and grace, the way of someone who had experienced countless battles and lived.
Still, their numbers were endless. Each wave she felled was replaced by another. Volsung's hands moved like a puppeteer's. The ones that weren't burnt by the flames of Meridia were rerisen in mere seconds, refilling their numbers.
A sudden burst of flame from above forced her to dive aside as Vokun rained fire again. A rain of fireballs flew forth from his hands and stave.
She rolled to the side and unleashed a shockwave from her throat. "FUS RO DAH!"
The blast caught Vokun mid-flight and hurled him into the far wall of the ruin, stones shattered as a part of the tomb caved in and buried the Dragon Priest in rubble.
Recognizing the chance for what it was, Kiera surged forward to carve a path through the hordes of Draugr straight towards Volsung.
Her eyes locked onto the Dragon Priest, whose floating form was untouched amidst the chaos. Volsund merely raised his head to meet Kiera's gaze, twin orbs of blue flame visible in the narrow slits of his eyes.
As Dawnbreaker swung down to cleave him in two, a clawed hand caught the blade mid-swing and stopped it. The shock of impact jolted through her arm.
The creature loomed before her. An eight feet tall, monstrous, brutish being, with skin the color of stormlight. Its eyes burned pure white as horns protruded from its forehead like a crown.
It wore little armor, needing none, for its skin was as hard as steel and absorbed magicka as naturally as it breathed.
A Xivilai.
Kiera narrowed her eyes, though her stance didn't falter. 'Volsung brought a Xivilai to Mundus? Not even the Mythic Dawn should be capable of that yet.'
The creature snarled, its voice a screech. "Is this mortal your enemy, my lord?"
Volsung answered. "Geh," (yes).
Kiera grimaced, looking past the obviously dominated Xivilai towards Volsung, whose gaze remained locked with hers, felt the oppressive heat of Vokun's fire rekindling above.
She took one breath, steady and cold. "I am no mortal."
The Xivilai lunged as Kiera met it head on, her Voice unleashed. "YOL TOOR SHUL!"
…
4E 202, Somewhere in Hjaalmarch
Isran
Leaning down, Isran dipped two fingers into the puddle of blood that glistened against the frostbitten mud. He rubbed it between his fingertips, watching how thick and dark it ran. Still warm. Too fresh.
He lifted his eyes toward the ruined hamlet before him. Blood seeped through the street, doors hanged loose, and the faint hiss of cold wind through the bones of burned-out houses. But not a single corpse remained.
He grimaced. "They passed through here recently."
"It's abandoned, Isran," Sorine Jurard said as she approached. Her cloak was dusted white with frost, her crossbow slung across her back. "The dogs picked up another trail." She nodded southeast, toward the snow-choked passes that rose into the mountains. "That way. Looks like they're heading up."
Gunmar, standing a few paces behind, grunted. Six armored trolls lumbered around him, heavy iron plates strapped to their chests and shoulders. Their breath fogged the air in slow, steaming gusts. "But there's nothing up those mountains. If they're looking for thralls, why not head for Morthal?"
"Because that's not their goal." Isran growled, wiping his fingers on his gauntlet. "There's one thing up that mountain worth a damn. Labyrinthian. Whatever lies in that tomb, Harkon wants it."
After getting the message from Jarl Elisif and General Tullius was on the move, Isran had descended in full force. Around them, a force of fifty elite Dawnguard members were spread through the ruins. Half as many husky war dogs paced around them, their noses twitching, following the faint iron tang that clung to the wind.
After the whole fiasco on the Throat of the World, Isran had returned to the Fort to find it fully refurbished and fortified.
Months had passed since the attack on the Hall of Vigilants. In that time, aside from handling Agmaer's burial, Sorine and Gunmar had focused all efforts in outfitting and reinforcing the Dawnguard as much as they could.
With Durak handling recruitment in the city of Whiterun, their numbers had swelled to a little under a hundred. While their numbers were paltry compared to the Stormcloaks and the Legions, each member of the Dawnguard were the best that Skyrim had to offer.
Each one were veteran monster slayers and battlemages, warriors without equal who can stand against a Vampire Lord head on.
It was the sole requirement Isran had given during recruitment. With the way the world is turning, they have no time to train young pups, what they needed were wolves whose fangs had already long sharpened.
He remembered the first days. Bare halls, empty armories, an entire fortress laid to waste from disrepair. Months of sweat and fury had reforged them into something worth the Divines' notice. Gunmar's trolls had become their iron wall; Sorine's crossbows could fire silver bolts faster than most mages could cast a spell. And Durak's actions had bolstered them into a small army.
Even so, Isran knew to not leave Fort Dawnguard undefended, leaving Celann to hold the fort with the remaining forty members.
Celann was the second most senior member of the Dawnguard after Isran, having been another member of the Vigilants of Stendarr. They left together when they were dissatisfied with the order, and he had remained a loyal right-hand man to Isran for years. The fort will be safe under his command, he trusted no one else to do so.
As if to test that trust, a whisper threaded into his mind, a voice of judgement.
'Be careful, Champion. A great power rests within the confines of Labyrinthian. Tread with caution.'
The same voice that had first spoken to him a year ago spoke once more. He'd long grown used to the god's presence, like a second heartbeat pounding beneath his skull. Isran had grown used to the presence. A year ago, he'd have ignored the voice, not wanting to admit that he of all people was chosen. A failure and a sinner.
Now, he merely grunted. "I know, old man. I know what's at stake."
Sorine gave him a look. "Talking to your patron again?"
"Just making sure he's still paying attention," Isran said dryly, scanning the mountains ahead.
A dark ridge loomed on the horizon, crowned in swirling snow. Lightning flashed briefly along the clouds, but it was no storm. Magic. Dragonfire, maybe.
"Come on," Isran barked, turning to the waiting line of Dawnguard. "Labyrinthian lies up there, and I've got a feeling we're walking into more than just vampires. Everyone, move!"
He began the ascent, boots crunching over frozen dirt. Gunmar fell in beside him, trolls lumbering forward as the vanguard, their low grunts echoing off the rocks. Behind them, ranks of Dawnguard formed, their hands close to their shields and silvered weapons. Sorine and Durak took the rear with the rangers and mages, their crossbows primed, scanning the heights.
The wind bit hard as they climbed. Snow thickened, swallowing sound. Only the low growl of the trolls and the distant baying of war dogs broke the silence.
Somewhere above, thunder rolled again, followed by the unmistakable shriek of a dragon.
…
AN: The next stage of the war begins, one that the Dawnguard will finally participate in.
Kiera holds back an entire army and two Dragon Priests by herself. I based a lot of Kiera's abilities on lore Dragonborn instead of game, and I swear to you the lore version of the Dovahkiin is a one-man-army.
The things they could do are genuinely bonkers. It's something I was hoping to portray with Kiera who at this point had long passed the level a mortal could achieve.
Also, when I was thinking of which Dragon Priest to involve in this arc, I originally chose Otar the Mad and Krosis, since they were the two more memorable priests in the game.
To be honest, both Vokun and Volsung are probably the most forgettable of the lot, until I looked at the wiki for Volsung and learned that this man was a monster. The guy had maxed out all of the magic schools except for illusion, along with the busted ability to take command of all summoned Daedra.
It genuinely miffed me that such a character had the stupidest Daedric Priest mask effect. All it could do was make prices 20% better, give you waterbreathing, along with increasing carrying capacity.
Anyways, aside from that, Isran will be a pretty major character going forward. He'll be a recurring POV in the arc of Labyrinthian since he's a fellow Champion as well as the main character for the Dawnguard plot along with Serana.
More chapters are available on my Pat_reon. Chapter 83 should be available by the time this chapter was posted. Just look up my name and you'll find me.
Cheers guys and see you next time!