The Redoran Restoration: Chapter 2

Chapter 2

As the Sun rose and crested the tree-tops that were approximately one mile away from the city of Blacklight, it glinted sharply off of a ragtag array of steel, iron, Nordic, Orcish, and other random bits of armor that adorned the ranks of the predominantly Nordic host. Less than a minute later, the rays struck the forest of spearheads that rose up from the center of the Redoran lines that stood opposite of the raiding army. As the great glowing orb continued to rise, it revealed an army that would rattle the nerves of any man or mer, simply from the complete lack of individuality, for it was a sea of Bonemold. The main differences were in the helmets. Most had the common Bonemold helm, but some others had the Bonemold helm of the Gah-Julan style, and much less visible was the Redoran Master’s Helm, of which there were only seven, including the one worn by Boden Andrano.

Atop the walls of the city-fortress were several ranks of archers and mages, but in particular, there were two figures, both surrounded by numerous others, and each of them simply stood out from the crowd. One had donned a full set of ancient Dwemeri armor, with the helmet in the crook of his arm. This was Archmaster Hlaren Ramoran, the old crusader, who studied the field with an experienced eye. His strategy looked perfect, as the ranks of the Nordic rabble were scattered and bore no form. The other figure was outfitted like many men on the battlefield below, wearing a full set of Bonemold armor, in the native Gah-Julan style, except he was also one of the few to have one of the Redoran Master’s Helms, which was in the crook of his arm as well. Obviously, this was Archmaster Miner Arobar, who did not look as confident as his fellow Archmaster.

A nod from Archmaster Hlaren Ramoran signaled a call down the lines of archers, and the first line approached the battlements, arrows nocked. Almost as one, the line drew their bowstrings almost to their ears and calculated the distance between them and the Nordic army in front of them, aiming as was necessary. About this time, a thundering call ran down the lines of the Bonemold army in the field, and the right and left wings drew their weapons and brought their shields up, ready for combat. The center wing lowered their spears and closed their ranks tighter, slightly nervous, but eager for battle all the same. Suddenly, the arrows from the walls were let loose, and the sheer number of them made the air hum, as if it were alive. A cry from the Nordic lines heralded the beginning of the battle.

Before the arrows had landed, the front mass had leapt forward, breaking into a run, and headed straight for the middle of the Redoran lines, planning to break through. Many arrows found their marks, but the only effect it had was to lessen the number slightly and enrage the Men of Skyrim and the Orsimer even more. For no sooner had the arrows struck their targets or dug into the ground, then the rest of the host surged forward, intent on killing and plunder.

The battle raged on and on throughout much of the day, neither side giving way, although Boden had thought on several occasions that Midave would cave and their forces would be split in two. On the contrary, the Redoran nobleman had taken many Nordic and Orcish lives, while sustaining several small injuries of his own, yet did not relinquish command or give up the middle. The flanks fared worse, though, with Bradas’ wing losing half of its soldiers and Boden’s wing losing one third. The two Dunmer fought like mer possessed by Saint Nerevar, however, and set an example for what forces they did have, ducking under a singing blade here, and stabbing into a piece of exposed flesh there. They had attempted to move their men as according to the strategy, but had started to take severe casualties, so they were now each a diagonal line, such as a trapezoid missing its base.

Suddenly, the blade of a smaller Nord cut its way through Boden’s defenses and scored a deep gash on the triceps of his shield arm. The Nord had left himself completely open, however, and his neck had almost been hacked clean off by Boden’s long-sword, fire making it easier for the blade to bite into the man’s neck. The beautiful sword had been nicked quite a bit throughout the day, as had the majority of Boden’s armor. However, it was expected in battle, and due to the House Father’s vigilance, every nick and score was mentally recorded, to be repaired later, by Boden of course. Like many of the best warriors and crusaders, Boden was his own Armorer, maintaining and upgrading every part of his armor and weapons.

The cut to his triceps was now beginning to run with blood, but Boden ignored it. There were too many enemies in front of him to take time to bind it. As he engaged with one of the few well-armored and well-armed Orc’s, a loud cry came from the other wing, but the voices were not Dunmeri. Stealing a quick glance, Boden caught sight of a head on a pike, but did not recognize it for what it was until the head was rotated and the face of his friend, Bradas Arothan, stared back at him, eyes fixed and gazing at a faraway place, mouth slack. The anger that coursed through his veins was more potent than any adrenaline or drug. The pain from the gash in his arm dissipated instantly, and the soreness of his body was immediately gone. A stone cold, resolute grimace plastered itself on his visage, and the Orc in front of him that would have normally posed a challenge, fell quickly, with the ebony point of Boden’s sword entering through its eye cavity and exiting through the back of its skull.

The loss of Bradas seemed like it was the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back, as the Redoran forces began dying quicker and quicker. Boden started to lose hope, but kept pushing forward, hoping that somehow, if he kept fighting, so would the rest of the Redoran forces, and maybe then they would have a chance. Deep down, however, he knew that it did not matter how hard he alone fought, and that realization made the tiredness seep back into his muscles, and the pain from numerous cuts, especially the one to his left triceps, began to increase. Just when he thought all was lost, and retreat would soon be called, horns blew from the edge of the trees, and a large number of figures arrayed in some uniform armor separated from the forest and ran to join the battle.

Their identities remained unknown in the failing light until they began to engage the rear of the Nordic and Orcish forces. ”Indoril!” The cry was taken up by more and more of the Redoran who were still in the fight, amazed and unsure they were actually seeing the military branch of the Great House Indoril joining battle with them. Boden was quite astonished at this turn of events, that reinforcements had come at all, let alone the fact that they were of House Indoril. The Great House was notorious for being snobbish, believing that they were the most pious and therefore thought few deserved their help. Their numbers were bolstered however, by a few figures in that dark green and black armor which represented the warrior arm of the temple, the Buoyant Armigers. Some were also decked out in full Chitin, an armor that was made from the shell of a large insect, native to Morrowind, which could possibly signify that some of the more adventurous pilgrims had joined them. The meaning of this did not dawn on Boden, as he was too overjoyed by reinforcements and the surety of victory.

Not long after the Indoril had joined the battle, the host of Nords and Orcs began to lose more and more numbers. At first, only small groups of two or three were turning tail and fleeing, but those small groups quickly turned into larger, and larger groups, until eventually, the whole of their force was in rout, and as night fell, the last of their number disappeared into the tree line. As they disappeared, Boden looked for his rival, Midave, hoping to congratulate the Dunmer for holding the center, when he had honestly expected him to break, but the House Father was nowhere to be found on the battlefield. Not wanting to deal with the problem at the moment, Boden went in search of the body and head of his friend, Bradas. He found the body with a score of dead enemies around it, and a deep stab wound in the armpit. A lucky stroke had taken down the great warrior.

Kneeling over the body, Boden whispered a prayer to the Three and thanked them for the victory. When the prayer was finished, he picked up the body, straining with the weight of their combined armor, and the soreness of a long day of battle. Glancing around the area, he spotted his friend’s head and went over to it, slowly bending over to pick it up. Before he could, however, it was picked up by a gauntleted hand, and handed reverently to him. Boden gratefully accepted it before looking at the good person who had assisted him. The deep, red eyes of a Dunmer stared back at him. A large, black hand had been tattooed over one side of the male Dunmer’s face, and his head was shaven as was the rest of his head. The Dunmer’s body was adorned in the armor of the Great House Indoril, and Boden figured he was simply a well-meaning, lower member of their order, but would be proven wrong.

”Come, Serjo. Let us give this hero to the Temple, and let them prepare him to lay with his ancestors.” The Dunmer did not even offer his name, and Boden did not think to ask, for the day had been so long. Leading by example, Boden struggled back into Blacklight, the Indoril Dunmer beside him, and his dead friend draped across his shoulders. The rest of the host that had relieved them made their way into the fortress as well, accompanied by the weary Redoran soldiers. The Indoril that had come in with Boden followed him to the Temple area, which was overflowing with the wounded, waiting to be treated by the healers. Boden carried Bradas’ body inside and found the head priest of the Temple in Blacklight. ”Master Dralen, prepare this body as if it were that of an Archmaster. I want it ready to travel as soon as possible.”

Boden had decided that the bones of his friend would not be lost to eternity, but would instead be entombed in the Andrano Ancestral Tomb, on a pedestal next to the one reserved for Boden. Bradas deserved that much, at least. After coming to that decision, and relinquishing the body to the priest, Boden had simply stood there, too weary to move or to think. Suddenly, a small bottle was pressed into his hand, and Boden instinctively clenched it and took a drink. A cooling feeling began to spread throughout his body, emanating from his stomach, and soon, the weariness of the day began to fade. Looking over, he realized that the same Indoril had helped him again, and it dawned on Boden that he still did not know the Dunmer’s name. ”Three times, this day, you have saved me, and yet, I do not know your name. I am Boden Andrano, House Father of the Great House Redoran, and the Dunmer you helped me bring back was Bradas Arothan, former House Father, dear friend and heroic warrior. What might your name be, Indoril?” The Dunmer looked deep into Boden’s eyes, seeming to search for something, and a slight change in his gaze signaled that he had found whatever it was he was searching for. ”I am Adil Llaram, Head Ordinator of the Order of the Watch of the Great House Indoril.”