The Second Great War - An Elder Scrolls Fanfiction

Chapter 8: The Adamantine Tower

Morrowind fell. Simply, they had nothing left to give and handed over the keys to their final cities to whoever walked through their gates - consequences be damned! Only two Provinces remained standing: Skyrim - locked frozen in an isolated and sombre silence, and High Rock - the less that was said about this place the better.

For High Rock was within the final ebb of its existence. Those Bretons of the unified east who once called themselves Empire Loyalists did no longer. They were now only a mixed race of Men trying to survive and hold on to hope that something might be beyond it. The Dominion did not anymore accept prisoners nor turncoats - Lady Elenwen's order, seemingly made in madness.

Northpoint was seized by the Fleet and used as a staging post to raid all up the coast to Farrun. Yet strangely, these raids were limited in scope and severity. Some assumed that the Fleet's strength was now at the very end of its tether. Dominion-loyal Bretons used Shornhelm to assault the rest of High Rock. Their number made up the bulk of the Dominion's army here, Wayrest was next on their list.

Beyond was the Isle of Balfiera, and atop it was the Adamantine Tower. Peculiarly, the island had gotten submerged within the Iliac Bay the moment the Dominion first crossed into Cyrodiil so long ago. It had only recently reemerged for whatever reason. Yet a strange magic ensured that no ship could near it without being sunk. Only a single lane of parted water led to the Isle. Wayrest shielded this lane, and it was already in flames and soon to fall.

Legate Rikke walked the lane with her legion, watching the remnants of ships and their sailors who tried their luck against the Tower or had fallen in the previous Battles for the Bay float by. All manner of foul creatures lined the water and gorged themselves. Rikke had gotten this far into High Rock secretly by only marching at night through the countryside.

Upon reaching the lane's end, Rikke met with a force of Bretons and Redguards who had also heard Kalamon's tale and attempted to take their stand before it. Some had tried to break into the Tower but none could, leaving not even a scratch. Rikke assumed that the Tower could only be opened from the inside out. She imagined why, or what was behind its doors.

Night fell, but there was a lingering smell of smoke and the echoes of screams on the wind ensured none got a good night's rest. There were also huge sea monsters that stared with unsettlingly bulbous eyes at the Tower's defenders.

The next day dawned and the screams gave way to the sound of marching Moonstone boots. The defenders were already in their positions on and around the Isle when the attackers came into view - Bretons under the whip-hand of their mistress Elenwen. They marched closer, closer, closer, and then ... they stopped - unmoving like statues.

Minutes passed and then hours, and then a day, and then two. Nought changed but the essential moving for air and drinking water. It eventually became clear to the defenders that they were being slowly starved out. Starved of food and their will. They had to make the first move and Elenwen knew it. She had planned for it. Previous desperation had clouded the defenders vision of now.

The defenders sent out their bare few horsemen to preoccupy the attackers while they advanced. The attackers responded manyfold with many more horsemen. Only, when these cavalries were entangled with one another, did the attackers let out an almighty burst of magic and arrows that eviscerated all horsemen on all sides. Even the attackers were horrified by the severity they had unleashed. Elenwen did not seem to care much.

The defenders stopped and formed a shield wall. The attackers let out another few volleys of evisceration but the defenders shields held. This continued with volley after volley until the Redguards angrily broke rank and led an all-out charge against their enemy. Rikke followed with her legion, fearing the defenders would be swallowed bit by bit by their enemy otherwise. A number of Bretons ran with Rikke while others stayed still out of fear or confusion.