The  Léothoria saga part 1

Scourge of the dominion

King George of Wayrest sat in the study of his ship, docked at the island of Alcaire. The King put down his journal and reclined in his chair, surveying the plaques of claymores, shields, and staves. He was dragged out of his idle contemplation when he heard a soft thud above him, and hurriedly tried to avoid detection whilst sneaking towards the rack which held his ceremonial blade, and was about to unfasten it when he heard the creak of his study door opening. Three black-clad figures walked in and he could see from the pointed ears that stuck out of their hoods that they were elves.

Then he remembered the ultimatum the Thalmor queen had sent him a month ago.

Nobody had taken the Aldmeri Dominion seriously before.

They should have done.

King George of Wayrest screamed as an arrow pierced his heart.

The council of kings sat in the tower of Wayrest, their solemn faces illuminated by morning sun.

"What's the situation, then?" King Lamellar of Daggerfall started.

"High King George of Wayrest was shot last night, in his ship. The arrows were of elven make and a letter was pinned to him. From queen Finiriel of Alinor" Answered Motierre of Dwynnen.

"Any heirs?"

"Just one, actually." Responded Motierre, and gestured to a faint figure standing in the doorway. Prince Léothorn, a tall, young man with long brown hair stepped out of the shadows and walked over to his father's vacant throne.

"What was the letter?" Léothorn asked.

"It was a declaration of war."

"Then we shall answer! As you know, I'm good friends with Queen Evora of Sentinel. I can arrange for the royal assassins to join forces with our knights. Lamellar, have your dragon battlemages put up a magical barrier around our forts. I will travel to the provinces of Thornhelm, Camlorn, Jehanna, Farrun and Northpoint to create an army with all the Knights, rangers, and sorcerers I can be find. My armies will march on the border and I expect you all to be there. Even you, Motierre. At Morndas, we ride. Talos be with you."

That night, Léothorn travelled to the great forge of Camlorn and emptied a cartful of ebony and fire salts into its runed metal well. The ebony started to melt almost immediately after it hit the bottom of the forge. Léothorn pulled a daedric-runed tome from his garments and began chanting the writing it contained; "I call upon the powers of Oblivion, of Dagon, of Boethiah, of Sanguine and of Molag Bal, fill this forge with your unholy power!" A rift opened in the air above him and a black stream slithered into the forge, swirling around the well and rising out to the workbench. The energy gradually started to form armour; a cuirass, greaves, boots, gauntlets and shield slowly became distinguishable. The final piece appeared, an engraved golden crown with a mask shaped like a lion's head and a black cape with a golden lion embossed upon it; the symbol of Wayrest. Léothorn slowly put on the new set of royal armour, mounted Ebonmare, his war-steed, and headed for Wayrest.

Morndas came quickly for Léothorn. He had formed an army with warriors from across the land, convinced Queen Evora, his secret lover to send the royal assassins of Hammerfell to the border where the battle was to take place, and he had won the favours of the other kings of High Rock. Today was the day High Rock broke free the shackles the elves had restrained her with all those years ago. Léothorn hurriedly dragged himself out of bed and drank a flagon of mead, chugging desperately and wiping his lips, throwing the mug to the floor. He dressed into his royal battle armour and equipped the Orichalc scalpel, just as much a claymore as a symbol of kingship. Léothorn sounded the battlehorn and rode with his army to the border.

After hours of riding the armies of High Rock arrived at the border between land and sea. King Lamellar was there, in a heavy battle-garment of fabric, chainmail, curved pauldrons, and an iron mask. Léothorn also noticed Lamellar's bandolier of oaken scroll-cases and yellowing spell tomes. What was missing was the esteemed King of Dwynnen.

"Where's Motierre? He asked Lamellar.

"I don't know. Slimy bastard probably isn't much use in a real fight anyway."

"Indeed. hold on while I address the army." He turned to face his warriors. "Soldiers of High Rock! For too long we have grovelled at the elves' feet, begging for mercy. No longer! Today we stand up and break free from their evil spell! We will daub the land and flood the sea with their blood. But we will leave a few alive, so they can return to their harlot queen and tell her of the defeat they met at the hands of the Knights of High Rock! Are you with me?"

Momentous cheers filled the air.

"Hold fast! Aldmeri ships approach. Aim bows!"

The rangers lined up their bows with the Thalmor ships.


The rangers' enchanted arrows penetrated the ships and set them ablaze, yet still they approached.

"Damn! magical barriers. Lamellar!"

"I'm working on it!"

Lamellar pulled out a scroll and held it to the light. 

"Daedroth! break their spells!"

The magical barriers on the ships dissipated.

"Aim bows!"

Yet again, the rangers aimed.


The blazing arrows were propelled yet again, this time sending the ships careering into eachother and then the sea.

But one hulk continued to sail, oblivious to all attacks...