Endgame
" I can literally hear your brain working" Sonja said from behind him. Madrar smirked and turned. Both were trying to keep the conversation light, but there was no denying their predicament. They had holed up in a rundown old shack, and Madrar had a serious dilemma on whether or not to drink the blood of Salthar. On one hand, he wanted to understand his former master's hatred for Nords. On the other, he was almost frightened of what he would find out. " When I know what Salthar knows...if I drink this, his memories, and his pain will be my pain.." Sonja frowned, not understanding, but Madrar knew more of the Altmer's painful past than he wanted too.
He regarded the bottle with more than a little apprehension, wondering how long, this would take, and, more frighteningly, what he would see. The petite Nord woman laid a delicate hand on his arm " this could save the people of Skyrim" Madrar sighed, and nodded removing the cork. The blood had less scent than that of humans, the Khajiit vampire realized, and hesitantly, he tipped the bottle back, swallowing the thin, cold blood. 'I really hope this works...' he thought, but almost as soon as the thought occurred to him, he knew the blood had taken effect. His vision faded away, replaced by a slightly blurred vision of someone else, Salthar presumably.
A tall female Altmer, with long golden hair smiles at him as he casts the completes the last of a grueling and punishing test. The sun, which had just been reaching it's zenith at the beginning of the trails was now nearly set. Salthar bows as the woman in front of him, wearing the gold and black of the organization that Salthar has worked for the past forty years of his life to join. "Welcome to the Thalmor" she says, handing a pair of hooded robes to him. What seemed like a blink, and Madrar-Salthar was now on a bloodied battle field, elves and men slashing and stabbing at one another. A Khajiit lays on his side, pierced by many arrows and bleeding from many sword wounds. What seemed like a long time, the landscape of Falkreath, in Skyrim appeared. Other Justiciars are assembled around him, and in front of the group, a Nord family kneels, Talos amulets thrown on the ground in front of them. The blades of the elves chopped down on the exposed Nords necks, beheading them. " This is what happens to heretics" Salthar shouts, pointing to the headless corpses.
Later. A woman, pale, Altmer, long golden hair, falling to well past her shoulders approaches. " You know what I am now...do you still feel the same way about me?" The woman's face is clearly troubled, almost frightened of his answer. " Of course, I'm more than willing to spend eternity with you, my love" is the Thalmor Sorcerers' response.
Later, feeling like at least ten years to the Khajiit vampire. Terrible pain and fury, Salthar. Staring at the ruined body of the only woman he's ever had any romantic feelings for. Blood sprays as his fine ebony sword cuts through the living like butter. But it's not enough, it's never enough. And, it will never be enough, not until all of Skyrim is awash with Nordic blood.
Gasping, the Khajiit vampire came out of the trance. He looked at the Nord woman beside him, and announced "He's not going to stop..not until every last Nord is a corpse" Sonja's face drained of blood, and seeing as see was indeed a Nord, the news was worse for her. "I won't let him hurt you..I swear it" she smiled, almost sadly. "Madrar, you have to leave, you have to warn the allies" Madrar sighed, and shook his head. The two of them had argued long and hard about the topic of helping the allies. After all, Salthar had treated the Khajiit like his own son, and he'd had an excellent opportunity to kill Sonja a few days ago. "You know I can't-" but he dropped his argument when he saw the sad understanding in her eyes.
"I understand, but just because he let us live once, doesn't mean he'll let us live again...you must go"
Madrar sighed and nodded "I'll come back for you...stay safe" Sonja kissed him, a warm, firm kiss on his cold, dead lips. " We'll survive this...meet me outside Riften when you've finished...don't get yourself killed, vampire" with that, she turned and began marching in the general direction of Riften. Madrar watched her for a while, before turning the opposite direction and heading towards Whiterun. Once he arrived, his news and appearance was far less than welcome. At all times during his 'audience' with the alliance leadership, he had no less than a dozen crossbows trained on him at all times. More than a little unpleasant.
After he'd delivered his message, he was, ordered out of the city, never to return, on pain of death. That proved to be impossible, as the dead had arrived, skies darkened with unnatural black clouds, and all soldiers were called to the plain outside Whiterun. Madrar was shoved in a dark, smelly cell, where he stayed, at least for the duration of the battle, hoping that the generals' had taken his warning to heart.
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The armies arrayed against each other were massive. Nord Stormcloaks, Imperial Legionairres, and a mixed bag of Dawnguard warriors and mages . The sea of blue, red and brown stood steadfast in front of the city of Whiterun, it's gates closed, surviving refugees hiding-no- cowering in their houses as the ground shook with the approach of the dead. The vampiric generals assembled their forces in a semi-circle, facing the allies with a menacing wall of rotting flesh and bones. Salthar smiled coldly from his place, safely in the middle area of the army, surrounded by his ebony armoured guards. With a single thought, he sent the undead into a charge, and the living, to their credit, held their ground, setting shields and readying weapons.
The crash as the two forces came in contact was unbelievably loud, but that was nothing compared to the carnage of blades cutting apart flesh, and maces caving in skulls, with the roll and boom of spells over it all. Screams and battle cries from the living, ghastly silence from the undead, except for the Draugr, who chanted in the long forgotten tongue of Dragons. So far, the two forces seemed to be evenly matched, and the vampire lord cast his will forwards, urging the undead to completely circle around to the rear of the allied army. This thinned the center, inviting a charge, which a large portion of the allied army chose to do, rushing forwards, banging weapons on shields and shouting battle cries. Salthar smirked in satisfaction, and nodded to his brother, who lead a group of mounted ,skeletal knights into the fray, cutting down soldiers like a farmer cuts wheat in the fields.
The battle raged back and forth, with the allies winning small victories here and there, and the sea of the dead began to lessen little by little. Finally, the lines were once more even as the two sides killed each other with greater vigor than they had at the start of the battle. Eventually, the leader of the Dawnguard, and the leader of the vampires came face to face. Koris Madrigan stopped a healthy meter away, his sword up and ready to parry or slice. Salthar drew himself up to his full height, lifting his ebony sword and smiling slightly. "So I finally have the pleasure of meeting the great General Madrigan..."
The Breton snarled, ripping his helmet off, to give him a clearer view. "I hope you've made your peace with the world, monster, because I am about to remove you from it!" he exclaimed.
The vampires features twisted in scorn. " Fool! You think my death will accomplish anything? Even if I die, you mortals will always be scared of the shadows in the Dark. We will always be among you. And I will become a true god" It was clear there was no need for further words among the two of them. They rushed at one another, ebony and steel clashing against one another in a blistering blur. Salthar stepped back a single foot, swiping his chest at chest level, but the Breton was much too clever to be cut down so easily. The vampire then surged forwards, striking upwards with his blade, only to be stymied once again by Koris' blade. A clearing was made for the two combatants, the living moving aside in awe of their commanders skill, the dead moving aside at their master's unspoken command.
After several more moments of furious blade clashing, Salthar swung his blade low, knocking aside a low stab. However, Koris brought his blade up and thrust it through the vampires heart. All eyes were riveted to the scene of the master vampire impaled through the heart by a mere mortal. Salthar himself, however only smiled, and congratulated "oh, well done" before collapsing backwards, presumably quite dead. All across the battlefield, skeletons and zombies collapsed, released from their animation by the death of their master. All but the Draugr collapsed, and those ancient warriors while out numbered, fought to the bitter end.
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Vengar Vivarian had been carving his way through the Stormcloak soldiers in pursuit of Ulfric Stormcloak. He had a score to settle with that one, and would let no other settle it for him. His long blade was wet with blood when he finally encountered Ulfric, surrounded by his guards. Those guards, upon seeing a blood-mad vampire come at them howled praise to Talos and charged, only to be carved apart. When Salthar was defeated, four guards, Galmar, and Ulfric had been the only survivors out of a dozen guards. The vampire felt a tearing wrench in his chest, and he lowered his guard enough for several axes to cut him badly along his sides and chest. Then, he shrieked. However, it was no normal wail of grief, but rather a high-pitched whistle, imbued with magical power and pure hatred.
Galmar and Ulfric, at the back of the group, were spared, but all four of Ulfric's men dropped their battle-axes, crying out as the wave of unholy sound ruptured their eardrums. After moments of crying out and squirming while bleeding out of their eyes, ears and noses, the four Nords expired. Vengar Vivarian, however was nowhere to be seen. This was the case with many vampires, however, as soldiers or groups of soldiers would be fighting the fanged creatures one moment, only to find that the vampires had escaped the next.
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Koris Madrigan, was victorious against the leader of the vampire army, but that didn't mean he could throw down his weapons and relax just yet. A rush of Draugr Wights caught the normally wary general by surprise with their ferocity and determination, forcing him to call several nearby soldiers to assist him. However, when the last of the Draugr fell, and indeed, that elite group had been the last, there was no sign of Salthar Vivarians' body. Dinah Kahstor emerged from the crush of people, grinning nearly ear to ear. When he caught the expression on his leader and friends face, however, that smile vanished in the blink of an eye.
"What is it sir? We've won!" But Koris was already shaking his head. Salthar hadn't been worried about dying. He'd never been even slightly concerned during their fight, even going so far as to congratulate him when Koris' sword had pierced the abominations heart. "We'll always be among you" echoed the general, his shoulders slumping as he finally realized what the Altmer vampire had meant. Dinah's showed that he didn't understand, but what he did understand was that something wrong had gone happened. Not the great victory that it appeared, but rather, it seemed almost inconsequential, with a rather sinister undertone.
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Ulfric Stormcloak approached a group of Imperial Legionairres, having replenished his guards from surrounding soldiers. General Tullius stood there, his face stained with dirt and smoke, his sword firmly in his hand, although it was clear to all that only sheer will power kept the older man from simply toppling over right then and there. "Do you want to resume the war now, or later?" the rather imposing Jarl of Windhelm growled, brandishing his own sword. Tullius' men bristled, ready to protect their general to the last, but Tullius tossed down his sword. "I have no wish to fight you, Ulfric. I never have." Then he closed his eyes and sighed " The Empire will recognize Skyrim as an independent country"
A stunned silence followed this announcement. Ulfric finally gathered his bearing enough to nod gratefully. "A wise decision, general" he remarked, although truthfully, the Jarl didn't know how much fight he had left in him. Tullius nodded, somewhat bitter, but he said "give me a couple of months to regroup my legion. We'll be gone by the end of the year"
True to his word, by the month of Evening Star, the Treaty of Windhelm was signed, naming Skyrim as an independent country, and at peace with the Empire. Two months after that, the Moot was held, and Ulfric Stormcloak was chosen as High King of Skyrim.
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Madrar escaped the prison cell shortly after the battle, and joined Sonja just outside of Riften. The two of them fled into Cyrodiil, determined to live out the rest of their lives (or hers' at least) in peace and quiet.
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Salthar Vivarian regarded the seas with a slight smile. He was aboard an Aldemeri Destroyer, bound for the Isles and Alinor. His younger brother, for once out of his heavy armour, wearing only a light grey tunic and pants stood beside him. "Is it over?" He asked, nodding back towards the general direction of the shores of Tamriel. "Over?" Salthar echoed incredulously "Hardly, my brother, this is just the beginning. It's best to give the mortals a little time to think on their actions"