Now, I am not all that familiar with war besides what I saw on tv or movies but I gotta say, the civil war in Skyrim did not feel like one. I spent a year as a slave to a guy actively working for one side of the civil war and saw nothing particularly war-like the entire time. I witnessed one battle very early on and, of course, there was Whiterun here in the second timeline. Besides that, as far as I could tell, this “war” could be summed up thusly: people camping with weapons. There was nothing I would consider a front. Every town and city went about its daily life with open gates and bored guards. The Imperials or Stormcloaks could have smuggled their entire army into the other’s capital city by just dressing as civilians and strolling through the front gates in small groups.

 

If I had to guess, I’d say neither side was particularly interested in actually having this war. When I mentioned this to Hjorn, he just shrugged and said, “General Tullius knows what he’s about.” Which was extra odd because we were doing the opposite of what Tullius wanted from us.

 

You’re probably wondering how I managed to talk 100 sworn soldiers into following me instead of doing their commanded duty. The answer is, I’m not sure. This was my speech, such as it was, given in a large tent sealed against the wind:

 

“All right, everyone. I don’t have a good way to say this, so I’m just going to say it.” I pointed in the general direction of the tanks of fiery death gas. “Those tanks are fucking evil and I will have no part in using them against other people. And neither will any of you. I am going to destroy them. Somehow. Then I’m going to go to Windhelm. I joined this fucking army for one reason and one reason only – to end the war as quickly as possible so we can all deal with the real threat together – the fucking dragons. Which is also why I want you to try to kill as few people as possible – we will need them in the real war.

 

“I am aware what I am saying is tantamount to…well, not desertion -- I’m not leaving the army. Not until the war is over anyway. It’s not really treason either, since we’re winning the stupid war for them. I don’t know, it’s going against orders, so whatever the fuck that is. I don’t fucking care. Point is, I’m not going to force anyone to come with me – if you want to stay here and fuck around with the Forsworn and throw your lives away for nothing because some fucking bureaucrat says so, well…each man’s duty is to his king, but each man’s soul’s his own. Follow your conscience – that’s what I’ll be doing.”

 

For whatever reason, because of Korvanjund or because I had not held myself above the other women with the chores (four of them were among the first to step forward) or just because (and this is what I hope is true) some tiny slice of basic human decency actually exists in Skyrim, the entire company  joined me, including Captain Hjorn.

 

Some stuff happened between that meeting and the fort that really started the war, but there were 103 of us, so there wasn’t much drama to it.

 

First, the wagons carrying the death gas were really slowing us down, so we stashed them in an out-of-the-way ravine. I still didn’t know how to get rid of the stuff – obviously we couldn’t just pour it out – so I hoped to god – well, not god, he’s done jack shit for me. None of the Skyrim gods either. I just fucking hoped it would just stay hidden until I could think of something.

 

We left going in a different direction than the route into the ravine, which took us over a small mountain and came across 1) another dragon (who became a pincushion before I could even take a breath to Shout – traveling with 100 crack archers is handy!) AND another Word Wal (it gave me a Shout I called Disarm, and you can probably guess what it does) AND, strangest of all, a draugr. But not any normal draugr – if there hadn’t been 103 of us, that motherfucker might have been a problem. It could Shout -- a medium strength Force Push and Disarm, the one I had just learned, which made me wonder if the relative proximity was a coincidence -- and it was strong and fast.

 

The draugr took a while to get down and injured a few of the men who got too close. It was wearing a very pretty mask made of some light metal with intricate carvings. While the rest of the company was tending to the wounded and having a break, I cleaned it up with snow and some of the soap reserved for the laundry and plopped it on. It had the immediate effect of changing my entire wardrobe. Somehow.

 

Picture a funeral with some poor woman weeping over the casket of her dear deceased husband. Now picture a black limo pulling up and the world’s sluttiest mistress stepping out. That is how this outfit made me feel – it was basically black lingerie, complete with garters and stockings, a super long black veil connected to a tiara, of all things, and a mask straight out of one of those rich person costume parties in tv shows where the “costumes” are just masks that cover the eyes. This one included a smaller veil that hung over my lower face. Between the tiara and its veil and the mask and its veil, all you could really see of my face were my eyes.

 

I have to admit, I kinda liked the way it looked. I don’t know why, but I’ve always liked veils – I wore one back in my goth days (which, as you’ll recall, lasted maybe two weeks). They’re sexy and fun as long as you’re not being forced to wear them (or something akin).

 

Also, yes – Kellan and I fucked in front of the entire company. Twice. Most were polite enough to avert their eyes. Not that I really noticed in the moment, of course.

 

Right. That was a long way to go but at last we have arrived.

 

We arrived at Fort Amol on the 19^th of Morning Star. I started this whole thing with a dissertation on how this war didn’t feel like a war because Amol was the exception. Every other fort – and I mean LITERALLY every other fort I had seen in both timelines had been filled with a) skeletons and the necromancers who loved them (insert your own “boning” joke here), b) bandits, bandits, and more bandits, or c) refugees. There was a fair amount of overlap between those last two.

 

Fort Amol actually held soldiers. More to the point, they held Stormcloak soldiers. Even MORE to the point, they held Stormcloak soldiers who look one look at us and attacked with an intensity I would never have anticipated. The day went from quiet walking and talking to arrows flying at us in a matter of moments.

 

I will pause here to say this was entirely my fault – I was in charge so I should have been sending out scouts, especially once we entered Eastmarch (Windhelm’s hold). I was just so used to literally nothing happening that it didn’t even occur to me. Although, to be fair to me, Kellan or Captain Hjorn could have tossed me some helpful suggestions.

 

Anyway. The Stormcloaks launched a sudden attack and several of my soldiers went down and then it was a fucking scrum. They didn’t even stay behind their walls – they came pouring out like ants.

 

I created some space with Force Shout and yelled, “Try to kill as few as possible!” Then I went to work.

 

In a way, it was like the ambush on the road after returning the horn – I stopped time, ghosted, used Slicer Dicer to speed up my attacks so I could knock out as many people as possible. If I saw a Stormcloak too close to one of my guys (using “guys” as a genderless term, don’t come at me), I Disarmed them. It was exhausting and I was out of breath when I got through the line and found myself face to face with what I assumed was their commander.

 

He was short but lithe, with dark skin similar to mine, which made him a Redguard. He carried two very unique-looking swords and had an air about him that just screamed “FUCKING DANGEROUS!!!” The giant red-headed Nord next to him was twice his size and seemed tame in comparison. Remember when, waaaaay back at the beginning, I said I wasn’t sure if I could take Lysha? This guy would have eaten Lysha for breakfast.

 

I should clarify, since I didn’t then, that I meant I couldn’t take her in a fair fight. It is probably pretty obvious by now that I have never fought in a fair fight.

 

“I’ll take care of the she-devil,” the commander said in a tone that held no doubt and brooked no argument.

 

I was instantly jealous – it was exactly the same sort of tone I always wished I could pull off. Like the Bloodguard in Donaldson’s Thomas Covenant series – just implacable in the face of everything, with the power to back it up.

 

The Nord nodded and sprinted toward the fray and I let him go because the Redguard moved at the same moment.

 

I didn’t see him move. I only know he moved because he was suddenly right in my face and his swords had already made four passes through my body before my brain caught up. I was VERY lucky the last dregs of my last Ghost shout were still active or I would have been turned into mincemeat on the spot. 

 

He jumped back and if he was startled that his attacks hadn’t worked, I could not tell. I tried using Force Push to clear some space between us so I could think, but he set himself and…I don’t know how to explain it, but his sword swooshed through the air and my shout was somehow erased.

 

I was once again dumbfounded but this time not completely caught unawares – I just managed to get Ghost back up before another volley of swords pass through me. 

 

Mostly passed through me –the first hit tender skin and sliced open my side, just above the hip, and my Shout become more of a cry but at least the words were still said and the blade passed through the rest of me without incident.

 

Ah, but it fucking hurt.

 

“So you can bleed,” my opponent said, and I could hear a note of satisfaction. “I am glad to know it.”

 

I didn’t respond. I’m not sure I could have had I wanted to – my breath was already short from fighting my way here and the pain from the cut was sharper than I would have imagined. Whips have nothing on swords when it comes to dishing out pain! It was clear I was outmatched, so I went with the only option I had left – as he started again, I shouted Timeout, Disarm, and Slicer Dicer in quick order, grabbed his swords from his loosened grip, and slammed the flats against his head as hard as I could three times. When Timeout faded, his body crumpled to the ground and I looked down at him and felt guilty.

 

“I’d sooner smash a stained glass window than an artist like yourself,” I said to his quiet form. “But I can’t have you rejoining the fight, either. Please understand, I hold you in the highest respect.”

 

Then I took a deep breath and headed back into the battle.

 

 

Don't kill the bastards. Knock them out instead.

 

 

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