Dragon Age Inquisition: Legend of the Dovahkin

Blood and Ebony

The wind around Dawnstar was different. That was the first thing she noticed. The normally calm, cold sea air was thick with fear, and so tainted with the odor of blood and death she could almost lap it out of the wind. She picked up her pace: there was a battlefield near, and the battle might still be going on.

It hadn't been long after the Dovahkiin disappeared that the war between the Dominion and the Empire truly reignited. Maybe two or three day's difference. A coincidence? Possibly but she had always believed coincidence got too much credit. Either way, war broke out across the continent with the Dominion launching assaults on every front; killing hordes of soldiers and civilians alike. But much to their surprise, the Empire didn't falter or flee.

Ever since his return from the Skyrim Civil War, General Tullius had spent every hour of everyday re-organizing the legion in preparation for the Great War to begin again. Assisted by the restored Blades, headed by war veterans Delphine and Esbern, his years of dedication paid off. Every acre of land the Thalmor had taken in their initial push was immediately reclaimed, and then held-though at great cost. Soon both sides were locked in a bloody stalemate, Thalmor and Empire both trying to push through the other's lines and get an actual offensive going. But Imperial advances were forced back with magic, while the Thalmor's attempts faltered before steel and grim, determined fury. By now, thousands had died on both sides-and that number would only rise.

But the Empire wasn't the only thing the Thalmor wanted to dominate. They had never forgotten the humiliation suffered repeatedly at the hands of the Dovahkiin, and his home country. A humiliation that lingered to this day in Skyrim's independence. A force of ten thousand armor clad elven knights, Thalmor Justicars, and battlemages were assigned the task of conquering it. Half would cut a path through Hammerfell and arrive by land while the other five thousand would sail in secret past Black Marsh and Morrowind and assault several cities along the Skyrim coasts before pushing their way through the rest of the country. One such force of three hundred elven soldiers had the unfortunate task of being assigned to taking Dawnstar.

It was this very force of elves that the woman found littering the surrounding snow soaked wilderness of the coatal city, with not a single one making it to the town itself. The smell of blood was overpowering, so much so she clamped her mouth closed with her hand in a desperate attempt to control herself. Elven bodies were flung all across the snowy white forest coating the area in rich shade of crimson that might've seemed beautiful if not for the scent of death that came with single one' apparent cause of death had been brute force. Armor broken. Bones shattered. Faces caved in. Heads smashed to pieces. If the ocean itself had risen up in fury against them, it would've accomplished only a quarter of this damage.

It was here, The woman noticed that every single body was Thalmor. Not one guard or defender of Dawnstar lied among them. A brief hope sparked up inside her that this was Hardvak's doing. The bodies and the blood continued away from the beach and into the surrounding forest. The battered corpses continued on for several seconds eventually led her to what remained of a Thalmor longship that looked almost as battered as the corpses had. Surrounding it were Magical fires that flickered across bodies and sand, some guttering down, others already little more than embers. Their magic casters know doubt lying with the rest of the bodies by now. There there were the frightened screams and cries from mercy that a few elven survivors emitted from their lungs. She looked out towards the screams and finally saw what was left of the invasion force and her hope was snuffed out.

Five Atmer, two battlemages and three soldiers stood trying to control their panic as they faced the one man responsible for the massacre. He towered over them, covered with the blood and gore of their stricken comrades, a colossus in full ebony armor wielding matching warhammers in each hand. For a brief second, they faced off. Then, twirling the heavy weapons as though they weighed no more than toys, he lunged forward on an attack. His target fell swiftly as the weight of a hammer crushed both his breastplate and the ribcage it surrounded. The warrior lifted his helm to glare at at the pair of mages and one soldier who seemed to realize their predicament and had decided to die on their feet.