The Second Great War - An Elder Scrolls Fanfiction

Chapter 2: The White-Gold Tower

The Aldmeri Dominion ensured their momentum. Encircling the cities of Kvatch, Skingrad, and Anvil in one fell swoop to starve them into submission.

There would be no direct battle done; for the Dominion's priority mimicked the First Great War: To take the Imperial City. The western horizon and Gold Road already shimmered in spells and Moonstone.

Imperial scholars within the Arcane University concluded that the warriors of their enemy were on some sort of Hist Sap; perhaps modified with magic. This would explain the Dominion's unknown vigour.

Only, the place where they could have received such doses at a massive scale would have been Blackmarsh, led by the An-Xileel: A faction not too different from the golden hordes that the Legion currently faces. The Argonians are silent.

The Legion's navy burned up from the Niben Bay and all around Lake Rumare. They shone like stars fallen to the earth. This came upon the emergence of the Dominion's Golden Fleet. The most illustrious navy that Tamriel had perhaps ever had the terror of witnessing.

The Fleet's first victims were Cyrodiil's southernmost cities of Bravil and Leyawiin when they descended upon them under the veil of an unnatural fog. These cities were already battered when a Dominion army, now their rulers, emerged out of the wild to their west.

No aid would come from Cyrodiil's north. Bruma had taken to weathering this storm on its own. Chorrol & Cheydinhal were tying themselves into knots in figuring out what to do. Not that they could do much when the Dominion placed ambushes all up the Silver Road, for not doing so last time spelt their doom.

Almost all legions in the other provinces had already been summoned. Including those tasked with clearing the Pale Pass: Skyrim's southernmost entrance, despite them only just succeeding in their duty.

All that remained from the previous battles gathered at the Imperial City. Those that did not were held back by either the weather or their hesitance.

But all were hesitant atop the ramparts and battlements of the Imperial City. Even more so upon hearing that the Elder Council, once so wise in their proclamations of sending others to fight their battles, fled to their secret estates in the countryside.

The fortifications and castles surrounding the City burned gold. None could relieve the legionaries there; it would be only more kindling for the fire.

Cadere paced behind his legionnaires atop the walls of the City; he proclaimed, speaking as if he were talking to his own begotten sons and daughters, reminding them of their oaths, that they are favoured by the Nine, and that they are the rulers of all Tamriel, the previous and current crimes of the Dominion, the starving cities and slain countrymen, he ensures them that surrender now will not be answered with mercy:

"It will be better for us to fall fighting bravely than to be captured and impaled! Let us, therefore, either conquer our enemy or die trying! This City, OUR City, will be a noble monument for us, even if should every legionnaire be driven out, for, in any case, our bodies will forever possess Tamriel!"

The day darkened, and the faint flickering on all horizons was snuffed out. Then they came with spells and swords and beset the city on all sides with great siege towers, ladders, and levitation Magicka.

The Dominion were pushed back down time after time only for them to rise over the mass of their slain comrades like grisly phantoms, unceasingly.

Again and again, the Golden Fleet poured off their decks, warriors onto the Emerald Isle which the now burning City crowned.

The Dominion took the bridge leading to the main gate but could not fell it; even with painfully pinpoint catapult strikes.

Arrows and spells of the Legion's own poured down on the Dominion like torrential rain, and huge stones were launched by their own hawk-eyed catapult crewmen inside the City and broke the Dominion's ranks further beyond.