Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-26446054-20151011004211/@comment-5543592-20151019022136

"Load the cannons!  Prepare fourth volley!"

Screams echoed across the hills from Markarth as Laelius' cannons pounded it's stone walls. They were out of range of arrows. Once the walls came down, the city wouldn't last long. Laelius' cannons sat a top the rocky hills surrounding Markarth and they bombarded it with everything they had. Markarth's industry- it's smelters and work force- would be everything he needed to produce more rifles, and it's silver would be the riches he needed to fund his war effort. Then he could craft his master spell, and finish the squabbling peasants that made up this once great land...

But, even now, in his momentum of triumph, something was wrong.

"Laelius, sir!" A man in typical Laelian battle-gear- ebony-curiass over a thick cloth outfit, along with a steel helm- came running over, musket strap bouncing against his shoulder. "Scirmishers have deployed from the city!  They come to flank our artillery!  None of our forces can afford to break off.  The auxillary unit is overwhelmed, we-"

Laelius held up a hand, silencing him.

"I will deal with it." The former Battlemage said calmly. He Levitated up from the ground, cloak flapping in a self created wind, and began to float in the direction his soldier pointed.

Sure enough, he came upon his auxillary forces, men not assigned to any attack unit but only positioned on stand-by, in battle with Markarth guards. The guards were a superior force, but the muskets and bayonets of Laelius' men helped them hold even ground. Laelius flew over the lines of his men, a god-like presence over the battle.

The sight of the guards' bravery inspired him, but he knew it was futile.

All who did not bend to him must be crushed.

Down in the battle, a guard raised his hand to deliver a killing blow to one of Laelius' men, and found his sword would not budge from the air. Laelius' telekinesis then tore the weapon from the man's grip and sent it flying. He did this to several other seemingly victorious guards, until he had their attention.

Then he brought he heavens down on them, casting Lightning Storm above their heads, so that bolts of energy rained down on the guards.

The Nords screamed as they were pulverized, all thought attack banished as they were slaughtered to the last man. The Laelians didn't even need to assist. Instead, they dropped to their knees, giving him words of loyatly and praise.

"My lord!"

"Bless you!"

"Glory to Laelius!"

Laelius paid these cries no heed. They were beneath him. Instead, he simply hovered back to the artillery unit he had been with, awaiting the moment when the walls came down.

Blood ran through the streets of Markarth. It used to be a figurative statement, but was now a literal one. The Laelians cut down any warrior who dared bare a weapon, making a statement. Anyone with a brain fled into cover, cowering under the might of the gunmen.

Laelius himself observed from above, a sight to behold. Arrows sometimes struck him, but he had made his skin as strong as Ebony, and coldly punished any archer who dared. They soon stopped trying.

Other than vaporizing the occasional bold archer, Laelius stayed his hand, preferring to let his soldiers capture the city. And they did so, efficently. They were not adept with street-street combat, for he had only been able to train them in open-forests, or fields, so unlike Falkreath, where they suffered virtually no causalties, they lost quite a few men here. It did not matter to Laelius. Press gangs and pay raises would see his ranks increase far past their previous numbers.

Laelius glided across the city, blasting a startled a guard who'd stupidly swung off of a bridge, and touched down at the doors to Understone Keep. Fortifications had been constructed there, but Laelius lifted his hands and twin beams of flames flew forth, torching the fortifcations and the men defending them to a crisp. Magicka was not a concern- he'd increased it and stored it up before the battle, knowing he'd need all the strength he could muster.

He tore the doors asunder their hinges with his mind, and marched into the Jarl's hall. He slaughtered the valiant men who challanged him with waves of his hands.

He crushed one guard's helmet, smashing the skull and brain within.

He sent an Ice Spike through one guards eye, a lightning bolt straight through the stomach of another, leaving only torn, scrotched flesh behind.

Laelius did not break stride as he approached the Jarl's throne, before which the Jarl and his Housecarl stood at the ready, with a handful of guards.

The Jarl seemed to think a speech, or some cry of defience was needed. "You will not best us, heathen!" The Jarl cried, steadfast. He had numbers, and he believed skill as well. He thought he could defeat this lone mage before him.

"Kyne guides my hand, as she does that of all Nords.  Markarth is a city of stone, and it's people are hard like the rock that makes it up.  You will not break us, even with all the might you can send worth.  We will never surrender."

"Good." Said Laelius coolly, in that eerily quiet, calm voice of his. "For I would not accept any surrender you could offer."

Laelius flew forward with superhuman speed, feet never touching the ground, struck down a guard with one blow from his hand. His hide was as strong as metal, he had increased his strength tenfold. A second guard swung down at him, but Laelius redirected the blow, before lifting the man into the air, and tossing him down the steps like a doll. He ended up bloodied and broken at the bottom of them. The third guard rushed Laelius, more conservative than his two previous comrades, and instead stabbed for Laelius' mid-section. Laelius parried the blow with trained military percision, and conjured a dagger into his hand, which flew up and sliced open the guard's throat. The Housecarl surged forward, battleaxe in hand. Laelius threw the dagger with dexterity unexpected from that of an elderly man, and it took the Nord right between the eyes. The Housecarl teetered, and fell.

Only the Jarl remained, and he had worked his way behind Laelius. He struck out with his war-axe, and caught Laelius in the spine.

The weapon bounced off the Battlemage's skin. Laelius whirled around, observing the growing horror on his enemy's face. Laelius felt something flutter to his ankles, and glanced back.

"That was my best cloak." He noted with some amusement. The Housecarl's battleaxe lifted from the ground, seemingly on it's own, and jumped into Laelius' hand. The mage turned and decapitated the Jarl in one smooth stroke.

---

"Lord Laelius." Martin said in greeting. The ex-Imperial Battlemage sat in the Mournful Throne, the Jarl's headless body at his feet.

"The city is our's.  The guards have either been demolished, chased off, or captured."

Laelius nodded thoughtfully, leaning back in the throne, and putting his hands together.

"Secure the forges, the smelters.  Get men into the mines.  I want lines of communication opened with Falkreath, and I want forts taken along our borders."

Martin nodded, and turned away, but Laelius held up his hand.

"Contact the Brotherhood.  I have a very special job for them..." Martin nodded again, and headed out of the keep.

Laelius leaned back in his throne, and observed the head sitting on it's arm rest.

Order had been restored to Markarth. Next Skyrim. Then Tamriel. A new era was coming.