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Light Manned War Machine: Ogol Designed by biological super-intelligence for human use. Armament: Molecular Evaporator - Effective range : 20km Estimated kinetic protection : 4500mm RHA equivalent (all around) Powerplant: Unknown
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Just a quick, heartfelt dose of gratitude and thanks to everyone following along on Akhara’s adventure. Your likes and reblogs of her story are deeply and genuinely felt and counted. I appreciate each and every one of you. Strength and honor always, my friends. May your journeys be ever-valorous, your sweet rolls ever-fresh.
Out of the darkness, into the light...
SONGS OF THE RETURN ===================== Peace, quiet, and emotional solitude were now foggy notions of a past which Akhara would never again be able to revisit. In less than a week, word of Alduin the World Eater's destruction at the hands of the orc dragonborn Queen of Cradlecrush Stronghold had traveled from corner to corner of the province of Skyrim; in a mere month, it was known all across Tamriel. . There was a strange mathematical symmetry, some astronomers noted, that Alduin fell exactly on the very first day of the new year: Turdas the 1st, 4E 202. As such, the day would become forever marked as 'The Day of the Dragonborn' throughout Skyrim. Petitions for the holiday to be celebrated worldwide were unanimously submitted to the seat of the Empire in Cyrodiil by nearly every lower court in the land. The bones of small poultry, fowl, lizards and snakes would be intricately carved and festooned along houses, taverns, market stalls and armories, oftentimes sold as 'dragonbone' to tourists, small children, or to anyone as kitschy novelty items. . Dragonborn Day would also be celebrated with jousting and excellent displays of combat by warriors from near and far who would come to compete at the tri-city tournament that typically began in Riften, moved to Markarth, and ended in Solitude where the final winners would be judged by Elisif the Fair, General Tullius, and the Dragonborn herself during the first year the festival was held. . Extended tours of Dragon's Reach were also given on this day; for the very first time, the Great Porch of Dragon's Reach was opened to the public for one day and one day only. This was a wildly popular event for all, for it was now the site where Odahviing had been captured, and where the Dragonborn "bent the will of a dragon, re-purposing him into her personal winged chariot". A great feast was held in the eating hall of the castle where as many of Whiterun's citizens that could fit were invited (although, in years that followed, this would become limited to citizens of the Cloud and Wind Districts, where the lower classes enjoyed a secondary feast at the Bannered Mare). Jarl Balgruuf himself would entertain many of his guests by telling stories about his interactions with Akhara the Dragonborn, and his brother Hrongar managed the tours of the Great Porch. The Honningbrew meadery began to brew 'Dovabeer' in honor of the Dragonborn's well-known affinity for the honeyed ales and wines of Whiterun's most famous brewery. Even if the orc savior of the world hadn't been a huge drinker—which she was—the Nords of Skyrim needed no excuse to create and enshrine as custom numerous drinking games and competitions in her honor. Between this and the Dragonborn's revival of the Gildergreen Tree (also celebrated on this day), tourism in Whiterun skyrocketed and the province began to see profits of the like it hadn't seen in over a century. . Ivarstead too saw its share of profits, as it was made widely known that the Dragonborn had orchestrated the Peace Accords only days prior in the small hamlet within the shadow of the Throat of the World. Nearly half of Riften's population typically ended up passed out and inebriated in Ivarstead after the combat competitions had moved on from Riften Hold to Markarth. . Morthal too saw a revival due to its involvement with the Dragonborn from the earliest stages of her adventure, and of course, due to the fact that the Dragonborn's personal manor and estate loomed on the hillside swamp overlooking the village. On Dragonborn Day, the East Empire Trading Company began to festoon and decorate many of their larger ships to look like dragons, and they employed pyromancers to hide within specially built chambers and cast flame gouts out of wooden dragon heads at the fore of the vessel for extra effect. The largest of their ships in Solitude Bay, a pitch-black galleon that sailed often between Morrowind and Skyrim, was promptly renamed 'The World Eater'. . The Bard's College of Solitude summarily commissioned a song to be written in honor of the Dragonborn as quickly as possible so that the college could lay claim to the ode and ballade most commonly associated with the victory of the Dragonborn over Alduin. The College itself conducted a ceremony in the style of the Burning of King Olaf, only a straw replica of Alduin was constructed and burned in the king's stead. . The College of Winterhold itself was no exception to hosting festivities of their own. Leadership at the College of Winterhold unanimously agreed that having the dragonborn that had literally saved the world as their headmaster and archmage might be the very thing to restore the college to its former glory. They were right. Applicants began applying in record numbers, and new criterion had to be established and new initiates were screened incredibly thoroughly, not simply because admission could now afford to be selective—and had to be—due to space restraints, but to ensure no further Ancanos could taint the schools reputation in years to come. Even seasoned magicians and wizards began to tour the college semi-regularly, many enchanted by and drawn to the fact that Winterhold had only recently accommodated the Eye of Magnus and had been visited by members of the Psijic Order, a cloister of powerful battlemages so ancient many in Skyrim had forgotten they existed entirely. . Akhara Shug watched her daughter Sher-Tul playing with two crudely-carved figurines, one that vaguely resembled Akhara herself, and the other in mimicry of Alduin, making them battle each other as children do. A soft smirk crept into her features while she nursed the spiced wine in her tankard and nibbled slowly on some garlic bread Lydia had only pulled fresh out of the stone oven less than a half hour ago. . She tried to tell herself to relax, to enjoy the company of her friends and family, to lick her wounds and take some time for herself now that she had saved the world. But relaxing in itself was proving to be an immense challenge. This entire time, there had been an end goal in sight. Alduin the Destroyer of Worlds had represented the most singularly destructive threat to the universe, and now he was dead. What Akhara had begun to realize was that the dread she was feeling was something far more insidious and ulterior. Though the entire province of Skyrim (and to a lesser extent the world of Tamriel) was currently rejoicing over the news that the entire realm they inhabited was not going to be torn from the fabric of reality by a world-eating dragon God, what worried Akhara was that after the last fires and torches of the festivities finally died out, that the world would return to normal. That nothing would really change at all. That the Civil War would rage on. That, free of dragon intervention, rival factions, bandit clans, evil sorcerers and other nameless evils would simply fill the void left by Alduin. Akhara's greatest fear was that the world would always be full of suffering, pain, misery, corruption and death, regardless of who the enemy of the day was. . Suddenly, a hand fell upon her shoulder. Akhara looked up to find Ugor taking a swig from a bottle of Honningbrew mead. The iron orc grinned toothily. "I know that look," she said. . Akhara sighed helplessly. "I won't bother pretending like everything's fine, then." . Ugor sat beside Akhara and followed her lord's gaze to where Sher-tul sat happily playing with her toys. "It wasn't all for nothing," said Ugor as if reading Akhara's mind. She pointed her beer bottle in the child's direction. "Look. She's happy. You gave that orphan a life that most children who have both their parents will still likely never have." . Sher-tul suddenly glanced over to where her mother and her aunt where sitting and beamed them both a huge smile of pure, unadulterated joy. . Ugor's hand gripped Akhara's shoulder more tightly and reassuringly now. "See? You gave that to her. You created that, and put it out into the world. You can create joy as well as death, my queen." . "It just feels like it's much, much easier to create death than to create joy," the warchief admitted. . "Well, if you ask me, that's what makes you a hero," the other replied. "Most people only have the strength for one or the other. But you can do both. And on top of that, nobody asked you to create happiness for others; you just... do that of your own accord. And that makes you special, whether you're dragonborn or not."
A FAREWELL TO ARMS =================== Akhara dared not flex a single green muscle. She counted no fewer than 9 enchanted weapons drawn and poised within inches of where she stood, feet firmly planted to the floor tiling of the anti-chamber to the Imperial war room of the Castle Dour. Ugor and Ogol's faces were drawn into hostile snarls of aggression and retaliatory promise, but even they knew in present company, they were outmanned. Among the multitude of the Legion's most infamous veterans were Captain Aldis, Legate Rikke, Adventus Caesennius, and Praeclarius Stultius, the hook-nosed Imperial wizard from Dragon's Bridge who spent most of his time harassing female students of the Bards College. His hands already glowed and crackled with the violet lambency of an electricity-based spell about to be chucked. Even as a Thane of Solitude owning property both in the city proper and across the neighboring marsh, having been recognized by Elisif the Fair herself as the Dragonborn of Skyrim, and visibly bearing the seal and marker of the Archmage of the College of Winterhold, it was not an easy thing to waltz into the very beating heart of the Imperial Legion of Skyrim and attain an audience with the legendary General Tullius.
When the Governor of Skyrim himself emerged from the neighboring room only a moment later, Akhara's brow arched noticeably with surprise.
"What's the damn meaning of all this ruckus?" the general wondered with annoyance.
"Sir," Rikke responded almost immediately. "It's the Dragonb--, I mean, Thane Akhara of Solitude, sir! She requests an immediate audience with you, in fact! Says it can't wait another minute."
Tullius paused, handing the parcel of documents he was holding to the attendant beside him before methodically removing his bracers. "Well, I'm here now, aren't I?" he observed flatly. His eyes locked upon the warchief's. "We've crossed paths before," he said. His eyes gleamed with knowing, but he didn't mention Elenwen's soiree, the incident with Potema at court, or even the execution at Helgen. He nodded, almost imperceptibly, then added, "You're the emissary the Greybeards elected? You're greener than I thought you'd be."
"You're shorter than I thought you'd be," the Lord of Cradlecrush Rock replied with a smirk.
Several of the legion officers exchanged terse glances, but after a moment, Tullius, both of his bracers finally removed, gave a dry, hearty laugh, closed the space between them, and extended his arm.
"I apologize for the security, Thane," the Governor began. "My men had begun to give free reign to anyone that simply wandered on into the castle. We've...corrected...that behavior since. I'm sure you'll understand, what with the sharp increase in dragon sightings, vampire attacks, and now bone-headed cultists from Morrowind on top of everything else."
"That's why I'm here, General," Shug replied.
Tullius took Akhara's hand and arm tightly in his own and looked upward into her strong features. "I know why you're here. The Greybeards sent you."
"You're well-informed."
"If Skyrim is truly ever to be saved from itself, I have to be. Sadly, my scouts intelligence did not mention exactly 'why' the Greybeards sent you. So I know the who, and the where, but not the why."
"The war room would be a more fitting place for this discussion," the warchief said, still very much aware of the amount of weapons at the ready, prepared to cut her to pieces.
Tullius nodded and issued a few brief instructions to his men. Rikke, Caesennius, Stultius, along with Akhara's own personal guard Ugor and Ogol, resumed the conversation in the private office afforded by the General's adjacent war chamber.
"The Greybeards are convening a Peace Council at High Hrothgar," Akhara informed the governor.
"For what possible reason? There's nothing to discuss as long as that traitor Ulfric is in arms against his rightful Emperor."
The warchief sighed. The weariness from all the travel, sleeplessness, and constant battle had already seen her temper in short supply. Even the Dragonborn's limits could be tested.
"We need a truce until the dragon menace is dealt with," she retorted impatiently and bitterly. "We all have our own responsibilities, General. You to your people, me to mine. The dragons are making it increasingly difficult for all of us to live up to those responsibilities. Surely you can agree with that, Governor."
"They are getting to be a problem," Tullius admitted, leaning over the map of Skyrim sprawled across the surface of the large wooden table in the center of the room. He placed his palms flat on its surface, staring down at the little red flag that represented their current location in Castle Dour. "But I wasn't sent to Skyrim to fight dragons. My job is to quell this rebellion, and I intend to do just that, dragons or no dragons."
"C'mon, let's just go. We're wasting our time here," Ugor whispered from behind Akhara and to her left. The Imperial wizard studied the red-headed orc suspiciously and with obvious prejudice.
"The dragons are a bigger problem than the Stormcloaks right now," Akhara pressed. "Were it not for the dragons themselves, General, it is very likely you would have already ended this infernal war, with or without the reinforcements you requested from Cyrodiil."
The governor glared at the warchief sharply. "It would seem I'm not the only one well-informed in this castle," the general commented sharply. He looked at Rikke who shrugged nervously, but nodded as if to communicate that if there was an information leak, she'd find it. "Most of the Legion is tied down on the border with the Aldmeri Dominion," Tullius continued after a moment or two. "The Emperor can't afford to risk weakening Cyrodiil's defenses. From the Imperial City, our war here is just a sideshow. An interlude before the main event against the Thalmor resumes."
"Which is why you need to take things into your own hands, General," Shug drove the point home. "This is your chance to end this, once and for all. The Empire can't afford to snub the Greybeards, and at the same time, you're in a position of strength. Dominate the peace accord, let my Green Army deal with Alduin and the dragon menace, and when it's over, you can finish the Stormcloak Rebellion off in a single master stroke and become lionized back in Cyrodiil when you send a courier to inform the Emperor that you and your meager few officers managed to quell an entire conflict all by yourselves while in the process strengthening the entire province's loyalty to the very empire that saved them from their own destruction."
At that, Tullius simply stared down at the map for what seemed like an eternity. He was deep in thought, but Akhara's intuition told her he'd already taken the bait. When he finally looked up, she was not surprised to hear the words that left his mouth next.
"It is a shame you are not one of those officers," Tullius remarked. "You seem to have a remarkably well-tempered and scholarly understanding of military strategy. Quite rare for an orc, in my own personal experience."
"Oh believe me, General, I'm a lot more than I appear to be," the warchief quipped back with a smirk. "Just you wait and see."
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“Today, I somehow managed to dialog the second of two army generals into sheathing swords long enough to agree to a peace accord. At least should I ever take an arrow to the kneecap, I might find alternative success as a public orator.” ~Akhara Shug to Ugor and Ogol
“Perrrrsonally, this one does not like Windhelm... Of course, one often hears it compared to Riften—this is a terrible metaphor. The traveler with experience understands the distinction; Riften is a slum, but Windhelm... Windhelm is a ghetto. A slum, you see, has character... color... a certain and undeniable je ne sais quoi that makes it simultaneously both a wondrous and a deplorable place to live. A ghetto...ehh... a ghetto lacks this...vibe, so-to-say, the... ‘urban legends’, the seedy underbelly and high-stakes culture that makes a slum the electric and adventurous place it is. A ghetto is simply a quarantine for all things undesirable in this world: pain, anger, prejudice, regret, poverty, immigrants, esoteric beliefs, sickness, and fear.” ~Mai’q the Liar, upon visiting the College of Winterhold during Open House Day
