4E 202, Shor's Stone, One month later
Gerron Ironbreaker
Dragonbone and dragonscales were luxuries, rarer than gold, deadlier than steel.
Their natural hardness made them prized for weapons and armor, but that was only half their worth. Dragons were born steeped in magicka, their very flesh sang with it. To forge with their remains was to craft with the lingering breath of the Thu'um itself.
Yet therein lay the challenge.
Their magic did not yield easily. It resisted intrusion, like trying to etch runes upon lightning. Any attempt to enchant dragonbone risked fracturing the spellwork or igniting the alloy outright.
There required a delicate balance, which Gerron had just figured out.
The armor on the stand before him was a masterpiece, black as night, smooth as glass, yet strong enough to catch a giant's club without yielding. Ebony plates reinforced with the marrow of a dragon, fused through precise tempering and rune-binding.
He had it all dyed and painted black to match his aesthetic as the Ebony Warrior, a nickname he was immensely proud of.
He ran a calloused thumb along the edge of the breastplate, watching the faint shimmer of magicka ripple across the surface like a living thing. The Atronach Runes, a complex lattice of Tamrielic glyphs etched beneath the surface, pulsing slightly at his touch.
[Armor of the Atronach]
Created from a rare alloy mix of ebony and dragonbone, the armor offers protection even against the heaviest of strikes. Suffused with the Tamrielic Inscription of the Atronach, it absorbs magicka at its smallest form — breaking apart spells that impact it.
It was a marvel born of sweat and sleepless nights.
Odahviing's claw had taught him humility. The jagged scar that had once split his armor open nearly took his life with it. This new version would not break so easily.
Even so, doubt still lingered. Against a true Kruziik's fury, even this might not hold. But it would do for what lay ahead.
After the months and weeks since returning to Shor's Stone, things had finally slowed down.
The duties of outfitting the armies of Skyrim had been delegated to the other blacksmiths of the city. Gerron's own focus lied elsewhere.
He arrived in a cordoned off section of his workshop, guarded by the most trusted members of the Shor's Guard at all times.
Inside waited his newest creation.
Rows of automatons stood at perfect attention, each shaped in the image of a man, polished plates reflecting firelight. They were different from the Dwemer constructs of old.
Leaner, smoother, more refined. There were no pipes hissing steam, no eternal gears grinding. Only the faint hum of magicka running through their rune-hearts, a new creation that used a soul gem as a baseline.
It was one of the weaknesses of the Dwemer constructs. Any capable pickpocket could wrench off the soul gems and disanimate them. Those weaknesses would not exist here.
He'd divided them into two orders.
The Builders, tasked with maintaining the city. Paving roads, clearing waterways, fortifying the walls, laying new forges. They were the silent hands of progress, their bodies built for endurance over power.
They were not capable of thought of any kind, which meant capable architects and laborers were still required. These builders were simply tasked with handling both the most menial of tasks as well as the most physically imposing, freeing up manpower to be delegated elsewhere.
Gerron was careful to not take away any jobs from his own people, they were simply tools to make their lives better.
The second order were the Guardians, forged for defense.
Adorned with thicker plates and broader frames, their enchanted cores were built for combat. Their right arms ended in a hybrid blade, part sword, part axe, while the left housed a built-in crossbow mechanism similar to the dwemer spheres.
The Guardians were not powerful by any stretch, but they were a great way to fill in Shor's Stone's lack of numbers.
Rahgot's rampage across the Rift had depleted the Hold's manpower. In the months of freedom that the Dragon Priest had in moving uncontested, many villages and hamlets were razed and their people re-risen as the army of the dead.
It will take at least another generation for the Hold to recover from such a catastrophe. That was time they did not have.
However, even the Automatons themselves were not a permanent solution.
Fifty of them. Ten builders and forty fighters. That was all he could make for now.
Gerron was the only person capable of creating them, each one required his personal hand to inscribe the binding runes.
To build them meant having an unparalleled level of smith technique as well as peerless understanding of enchantments and magicka. Even his apprentices, capable as they were, couldn't manage the precision.
It made him appreciate the Dwemer even more. An entire race of people with the knowledge of the future, it was humbling in a way.
'Too much knowledge bound to one man', he thought grimly. 'If I fall, so does all of this.'
The thought followed him as he stepped out of the forge into the chill air. The sky above Shor's Stone had turned to pale silver, twilight cutting across the mountain ridges.
Below, the city buzzed with activity. Merchants were closing stalls for the night, guards marching the walls, children laughing in the distance.
There was so much to do and so little time.
A familiar voice broke his thoughts.
"You look like you're thinking too hard again."
Serana approached, her hood down. While her tone was teasing, there was a notable concern beneath it as well.
"Old habit," Gerron said, wiping soot from his hands. "What news?"
"More on the Nightingale Front." She replied. "Brynjolf says he was once part of the Thieves Guild in Riften. He's promised to keep their hands out of our coffers and our citizens' pockets if we allow them to establish a base here."
Gerron just snorted. "And how well can we trust the words of a former thief? The Thieves' Guild has a useful skillset, but not if we risk destabilizing the economy like what they had done to Riften."
"Perhaps, but we shouldn't dismiss them outright." Serana tilted her head. "As powerful as Shor's Stone currently is, we lack a proper intelligence network. Even now, many move within the underworld, using the chaos of Skyrim as an opportunity to thrive. Utilizing the Guild may be an opportunity."
He frowned, rubbing a hand over his beard as he mulled it over. She wasn't wrong. Information was crucial and Skyrim is full of shadows. Who knows how many more snakes lie in the grass, waiting for the right moment to strike?
He can already think of one of them.
After a long pause, he exhaled. "Then let them prove their worth first."
Serana raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
"Send word to Brynjolf," Gerron continued. "If the Guild wants a place here, they'll earn it. Have them spread out across Skyrim in search of Calixto and the Mythic Dawn. Those cultists have been quiet too long."
"If they succeed, we'd be able to find their headquarters and take aggressive action. If they fail, then we can at least rule out some places that they investigated." A slow smirk tugged at Serana's lips. "I like it."
He allowed himself a faint smile. "Figured you would."
She turned to leave, but paused when he spoke again.
"And get your things ready. We leave for the College tomorrow. Tell Karliah she's coming with us."
Serana looked back at him, "So soon?"
"We kept Savos waiting long enough," Gerron replied. "And if what they found in Saarthal is as bad as I think it is… then the sooner we're there, the better."
She nodded once. "Understood."
…
4E 202, Solitude, Blue Palace
Legate Rikke
The chamber of the Blue Palace had gone quiet after the words "Elenwen is dead" echoed off its marble walls.
Rikke stood straight beside General Tullius, her expression unreadable though her mind was already racing ahead.
"What do you mean Ambassador Elenwen is dead?" Jarl Elisif stated with surprise as she gazed at the Thalmor delegate.
Her name was Estodil, the highest ranking Thalmor now remaining in the Embassy.
"As I said, Jarl Elisif," She repeated with a silken arrogance, even in such circumstances, the Thalmor still possessed that haughty tone when speaking to the Jarl. "Ambassador Elenwen had rallied a small army to take back Northwatch Keep from the clutches of the Vampires. Evidently…" she paused, a faint tremor in her jaw, "she failed."
Sybille Stentor spoke up from beside the Jarl. "According to recent intelligence, the only vampire clan capable of doing so would be the Court of Harkon."
Rikke remembered the briefing given to them by Isran and Lady Serana. A warning that Alduin was not the only threat.
From what Estodil had said, it seems likely that Harkon was indeed the one responsible.
"So they finally made their move…" Elisif murmured, clasping her hands together tightly. "What are your thoughts, General?"
Tullius spoke up. "If Northwatch is lost, then Harkon now holds a fortified stronghold with sea access. It stands to reason they intend to use it as a forward base. The Dawnguard mentioned Volkihar's talent for enthrallment using their bewitching magic. It's safe to assume the 'army' Elenwen led now serves the vampires."
"Indeed," Sybille added, eyes glinting red in the firelight. "The charm of a pure-blood is not something most mortals can resist. Harkon could swell his ranks simply by… feeding."
Elisif's gaze hardened. "Then we'll not sit idle. Send a runner to Fort Dawnguard. It's time that this alliance proved its worth."
The Thalmor delegate's lips pursed, but she masked it quickly. "Jarl Elisif, what of the Thalmor Embassy?" Estodil asked, voice smooth as frost. "Lady Elenwen took most of our garrison when she marched to Northwatch. We are exposed. There are… factions who might see opportunity in our weakness. Reinforcements from the Legion would be most appreciated."
"General?" Elisif questioned.
Rikke watched Tullius' face as the request hung in the air. The General sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We've no men to spare. A majority of our forces are already spread too thin trying to thin down the herd of dragons. With our current peace treaty with Ulfric and the Stormcloaks, the only aggressors that would harm the Thalmor Embassy are mere brigands and bandits. Something the Dominion's vaunted mages should be more than capable of handling."
The Thalmor's expression cracked, fury and humiliation warring behind her polished composure. "Surely, General, any men you can spare, recruits even, would suffice. I have received news that Emperor Titus is here. I ask this as a gesture of good faith between—"
"The General has spoken," Elisif cut in sharply, "You've been heard, Delegate Estodil. Your message shall be brought to the Emperor, but you'll find the Legion's charity reserved for those who bleed willingly on Skyrim's soil, not hover above it."
Rikke cracked a small smile. Elisif has always had a backbone, but the recent events seemed to have hardened her in a good way. With the Emperor now present in Skyrim soil, they can afford to give the Thalmor the respect they deserve, which was none.
She turned to Elisif with a curt bow. "If it pleases my Jarl, I will escort the delegate back to her quarters."
Elisif gave a small, knowing smile. "Please do, Legate."
Rikke gestured toward the door. "This way, Delegate."
Estodil's jaw clenched before she composed herself with that irritating Thalmor grace. "By your leave, Jarl Elisif," she murmured, and followed Rikke out, her golden robes whispering across the floor.
As the heavy doors closed behind them, the murmur of voices resumed within. Elisif and Tullius are already deep in counsel.
They walked in silence down the long, torchlit corridor. Rikke's boots struck stone with measured rhythm. Estodil's dainty steps followed like an afterthought.
When they reached the outer hall, Estodil finally broke the silence. "Your General underestimates the value of peace with the Dominion," she said coldly. "If the Embassy falls, the Dominion will remember this slight."
Rikke stopped, turning to face her. Her eyes were steel. "If the Embassy falls," she said evenly, "then maybe the world will remember that the Empire no longer bows to threats dressed as diplomacy."
Estodil's nostrils flared. "You tread dangerously close to treason, Legate."
"Then report me," Rikke replied, stepping closer until the Thalmor had to tilt her chin down. "But before you do, remember this, the Emperor and its people have long passed the days of bowing onto the Thalmor's every whim. I've read the reports, Elenwen took legionnaires with her in her mad crusade, leading good soldiers to their deaths for her own pride. The Empire will not forget that."
Estodil looked as though she might strike her, but instead she drew her cloak tighter, eyes shimmering with barely restrained contempt. "You Nords have no idea what you invite upon yourselves."
"Maybe," Rikke said, opening the heavy palace door for her, the cold wind of Solitude sweeping in. "But at least when it comes, we'll meet it standing."
She nodded to the two guards posted outside. "See that the Delegate returns to the Embassy safely."
The Thalmor woman swept past without another word. The sound of her boots on the wet cobblestone faded into the night.
Rikke watched her go for a long moment, jaw tight. Then she exhaled, her breath misting in the chill air.
…
AN: I've mentioned the plans for an automaton armada a few times now, though Gerron is far from actually implementing it.
Like I said, replicating the Dwemer's in creating an automated workforce takes time, time that they don't have.
Anyways, several more continuations of previous plot points. Calixto and the Mythic Dawn as well as Elenwen and the vampires are finally mentioned after a whole act without them.
More chapters are available on my Pat_reon. Chapter 80 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!