The Second Great War - An Elder Scrolls Fanfiction

Chapter 1: Cyrodiil

Starting first alike the foreboding thoughts given when one hears a lonesome crack within a deep wood, tension filled the air; one that wrapped itself around the hearts of all good folk.

Strange shadows slithered within the shroud over the Aldmeri Dominion. All until these shadows lurched out in the form of Bosmer and Khajiit; thousands of conscripts, led by lesser Altmer Generals.

The Legion tasked with watching Cyrodiil's southwestern border was shattered. Some even scattered before the battle was upon them.

For these Legionnaires were not of their forefathers who faced down Mehrunes Dagon and his realms of Oblivion, nor were they those within the greater days before that. Talos spited them for the White-Gold Concordat.

And so, it began: The battle of our time, the war to end all wars: The Second Great War.

A brutal bludgeoning of both Skingrad and Kvatch commenced in a siege. Cyrodiil was stunned. Unable to offer a response. For all the talk, for all the preparations made, it could not seem to believe that this was actually happening. And, even if it had, how? & why now? These were the ponderings of Cyrodiil's Elder Council.

They spoke as if the war was taking place within a different and very far away province; far more preoccupied with their political battles than the real ones happening not far beyond the safety of their walls.

Such had been the case since the "disappearance" of Emperor Titus Mede II; who, in his previous years, had fed the Dominion politically; like a man feeding a wolf in hopes it would devour him last. But this golden wolf, one bearing pointed ears and white wings, had now come to gorge itself.

The Council sought more time; but like someone on the final ebbs of their life gasping for just one more breath. They stunk of delayed defeat. Any envoy sent by them to the Dominion never returned.

Against their wishes, one Imperial arose. A man by the name of Cadere Kaiser. High General of all the Legions of the Empire.

Some claimed him to be The Forgotten Hero. The one that turned the tide against the Dominion in the First Great War.

But his words were all the same as those who had their hearts in Cyrodiil. Cadere's response was simple: NOT AGAIN!

The Legion rallied to their General alike that which had never been seen since Alessia led the overthrow of the Ayleid elves and birthed the Imperial race which has dominated Tamriel ever since. AND, BY TALOS, IT WILL REMAIN SO!

The siege of Kvatch was broken by the Hammer and Anvil tactic, which Kaiser led himself. Skingrad found its salvation through a Pincer Manoeuvre after the Dominion charged out to meet the Legion. Their golden remnants fled back over the Weald and others drowned within the Strid & Larsius Rivers. The day was won.

But in a peculiar roundabout turn, perhaps wanting to seem implicit in the unfolding victories, the Elder Council signed the Declaration of Full Advance. Meaning:

An invasion into the Aldmeri Dominion. A show of force, whereby whatever was left of the Dominion's army would be suitably smashed up, and finally would give the Empire the upper hand over the Dominion politically.

To see this done, Cadere took his place within the Ayleid ruin of Miscarcand. Ensuring his suitable position for the upcoming operation.

Arenthia in Valenwood was taken within weeks. Riverhold and Dune in Elsweyr were much the same.

Plans were then made and hastily acted on to besiege Rimmen and Orcrest; cutting Dominion territory in half; something similar to which the Dominion inflicted upon Cyrodiil on the opening days of the First Great War. It was no accident. The sieges began. But it was not of the intended cities.

The Legion had delved too deep, their ranks were spread thin. Surely, this was purposefully done by their enemy. Probably, the scheme hatched against them had come with the assumption that the Empire was like a starving hound awaiting revenge for that which was inflicted upon them in the First Great War. They were right.

Legion after legion were cut from their ranks and surrounded before being destroyed when the true strength of the Dominion's armies appeared right before their faces; gleaming gold like the sun. They were utterly blinding and concealed by some sort of strange magic.

The withdrawal was sounded back to Riverhold, Dune, and Arenthia. But the Dominion did not give up their pursuit.

Something possessed them; like that which raged within the veins of the Argonians of Blackmarsh to charge thoughtlessly into the Gates of Dagon in the Oblivion Crisis.

The Dominion retook their cities and plunged the Legion back across the Weald. They did not stop.

Cadere led another withdrawal back to Kvatch. Horror met him:

Dominion agents, who had seeped into Cyrodiil days, weeks, months, and perhaps even longer before the outbreak of war, finally revealed themselves and struck all at once. Terror and confusion erupted throughout the entire province. One could not walk the streets of any city without finding a knife firmly implanted in their back.

Cadere's shoulders sunk, and all strength felt to leave him. But they sprang up again when the sunshine broke the black clouds which had diminished this land for far too long and shone on the Imperial City: Such was the splendour of this triumphant monument of man; kissing the horizon like pure white moonlight; a kiss of hope.

Cadere rallied to him the few who were still willing; and delved deep into the Great Forest and disappeared.

For the old General knew that if this war was to be won in Cyrodiil, it must be done so within its heart, within its City; the City of all cities; this bulwark of all battles; this vanguard of victory.

However, there was a part within Cadere as was in so many others that just wished to resign from the world and hide within the woodland's leafy pasture forever. But he marched on.

The Dominion's drums of war sounded again: Dom. Dom. Doom. Dom! Dom! Doom! DOOM! DOOM! DOOM!