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Elder Scrolls: Rebellion is a story centering around former Orsimer Army Commander El'yyc and his companions. The story takes place shortly after he leaves the Imperial City as he and his Legion are transported to Tamriel as the first reinforcements in nearly a year. Later in the novel, after he and another former Legionnarie have deserted the Imperial Legion and gained a clan of some of the most skilled warriors they could find, the Dragons begin to reappear, and the Civil War becomes the bloodiest conflict Skyrim has ever seen.

Chapter I Edit

Wheels creaked loudly and slowly wobbled as they moved over rocky terain. Multiple wagons lined a thin trail alongside several horses and heavily armed soldiers of the Imperial Legionnaire. This specific Centuria consisted mostly of Legionary sodliers, donning heavier armors and shielding. The mud was cracked, ironicly baking as the tips of the mountains suffered the hazards of a blizzard merely a mile away. Giant trees stretched far into the sky ever thirty yards, remnants from the huge forest distantly behind the marching soldiers.

An eagle soared throgh the air, it's great wingspan spreading a shadow across several of the warriors faces before it perched itself upon a massive, half dead pine. Unleashing a powerful screech, it spread it;s wings again and lept into the air; It enjoyed the freedom of it's own life, doing as it thought best.

"That's a big bird." Legate Maximus Desolas looked on as he briefly pointed towards the avian creature. "Seems like everything in skyrim is bigger. Even the people."

A young boy, hardly of age to join the military, replied with excitement, "They've got to be, Legate Desolas. The weather here gets bad. Take their size as a blessing for Talos." The young boy immediately regretted what he had said, knowing that one of the otehr Legate officers would have punished him for having uttered Talos. "Sorry sir, I didn't mean to-"

"It's fine, boy. I won't punish someone for believing in what's right." He brushed the boy aside and kept walking alongside his men. His hand never leaving the helt of his sword, he remained ever vigilant. His eyes slowly glassed the side of the mountain, peering through a telescope as a few other Legionnaire's marched bye, then a hand laid on his shoulder.

"Maximus, do you see anything?" An Orsimer, Legate El'yyc, massive in size, abrasive, blunt, and deeply loyal to the law. His armor was painted red, and the crest on his helm was a deep gold. He was the highest ranking Legate, originally a personal investigator, servant, and executioner for General Tullius. His head produced several bony, ridged horns, which sprout from holes drilled in it. His snarl was paired with distincive and unmissable canines jutting from his lower lip, alongside two smaller teeth dropping from the upper jaw. He never seemed to smile, and his edged eyebrows always curved into an angry glare, prowling over his deep, dark blue hued eyes.

"No, Legate Commander. The Rebels msut be dwindling if they are not protecting the Rift." He collapsed the device and put in his satchel, seeling it with a leather strap. "I feel uneasy, however; As if someone is watching. As if at any moment they will strike." His brow wrinkled and he bit his lip, his dark brown, short cut hair catching a cool breeze. "I don't know, sir, it's just my gut." The Legate held no distinctive accent, as with most people who spent their time in the Imperial City.

"I understand, Maximus." The orc looked onward towards the hills to the north, a small hut caught his eye. It was accompanied by several others, and what appeared to be a mill. They would have to be careful. You never knew when an enemy was hiding amongst the innocent.

"HALT!" His roar stopped every Legionnaire in their tracks. Their officer stepped ahead of the rest, grabbing three of the men and a female officer.

"Scout ahead, I will not have this platoon falling to an ambush. Investigate the damn village and report directly to me afterward. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." The female stood straight, "For the Empire." She told the others to go out ahead before turning to her superior.

"Yes, Tribune?" He was always growing impatient, always bottleing up ferocious anger only possessed by the orcs-His paticular outrage outmatched any she had ever seen, and she had only seen a little burst. She knew his past, only she and Tullius knew what he once was.

"What is a Platoon?"

"Back in the Strongholds, a Legion is called a Company, a Centuria a Platoon. We have different customs; Savage by most perspective, but a true warrior sees only honor. Now begone."

"Of course, sir."

"Oh, and Aren?" His gruff, extremely powerful and deep voice held no hint of emotion.

"Yes?" She was a little confused, he was normally blunt, never one to ask questions. When he said "Understood", it was a statement, not a question; You either understood or were lashed.

"Bring my men back in one piece. Reinforcements are scarce." Again, no emotion, but anyone who was listening sensed the deep concern he held for all his soldiers, and besides, he had beat them into shape for a reason. He wasn't going to loose them due to some petty mistake.

Tribune Aren Fatorius crouched down next to the three men selected by the Orc Legate. She approached with great skill, slowly moving each foot, setting them down with the utmost care. She nearly startled the young Praefect and the two Quaestor imperials. The Praefect was but a boy, only a little younger than herself, and the Quaestor scouts were of more advanced age but not senior. Their skills as scouts likely resulted in their lower rank, but it did not mean they weren't reliable; Just not extraordinary. You spent your life in the Legion, ranking up required the most amazing use of acquired skills.

"Names?" She asked, laying upon a rock to the right of the others, looking on at the village below them.

"Quaestor Dilan Borne, ma'am." A small man saluted, a short goatee sprouted from his chin, and a thin mustache accompanied it on the his lip. He wore no helmet, his hair long, nearly at the shoulder, but it was grey at the bangs and side-burns. His eyebrows were also silver, and his eyelashes were fairly long. His face wrinkled, hinting he was the eldest.

"This is Quaestor Teren Golour," He pointed a younger but aged man, who responded with a quick ma'am. "And this here is Praefect Gaerus."

"No last name, Tribune." She focused in on the boy, he had short black hair, slightly curled. His face was covered in a slight shadow, little hairs prickling from his jaw and chin. He had remarkable blue eyes, as brilliant as sapphire. He was thin but with a muscular frame. He looked like a Breton but with the dominant qualities of an Imperial showing through.

"That's fine, Gaerus. Fill me in on what you've seen."

"From the look of it ma'am, there are only a few Stormcloaks. They apear to have been part of a larger force before; Maybe the war has taken on a toll on this particular group." He spoke with lavish intelligence, common among Nobles in Hammerfell.

"We also have seen some unusual...encounters within the town." Teren, an Imperial with a receding hair line, bags under his eyes, and contour lines most unlikely caused from smiling, finally spoke. He was darker in complexion than most Imperials.

"What do you mean."

"The Nords appear fine, but the other peoples within the town seem dull and lifeless. Dark Elves seem to be the most affected. They attack without mercy upon the panicking Nords and Stormcloaks. They appear to feast on any slain."


"When they attack, they do not use any sword or axe. They use their hands and their teeth. They eat as they attack their victim." The man was pale, he was clearly telling the truth.

"They also appear incredibly hard to kill. I've seen several with more than enough arrows in them capable of bringing down a Mammoth. It doesn't make sense. Headshots seem to work effectively."

"How do you know that?"

Dilan gestured farther down the street towards a small shack and two larger buildings. "Several townspeople and Stormcloaks have took refuge on the roofs. A few stay on the ground in blocked off cottages."

"We have to report back to Maximus and El'yyc." The women was worried, these people-turned-beasts were undoubtedly a huge threat to the soldiers. She peered off at the town, walls were stained red, bodies lay mangled, several were insurgents. There had been a very large force here judging from the deserted staging grounds that now laid in ruins.

"We should probably start off then. I feel bad about those peop-" The Praefect stopped mid sentence, "What was that?"

"What?" The elder three said simultaneously, unaware of what the boy was speaking.

"That sound. Like a growl." As if on cue, another low hissing grumble fell upon their ears, it came from the small patch of woods that led up to a small stone wall and short tower. They were amazed they hadn't saw it from the road before noticing the massive rocks that blocked it from sight from the south east. Gaerus looked at them in question.

"I heard it, boy." Said Dilan.

The women unsheathed her blade. "Me too." She checked it's tip, ensuring that it was sharp as Teren merely nodded and placed a small leather helm over his head. He checked the straps and buckles on his armor, standard among all Imperial scouts.

"We'll be ready for whatever co-" He dropped to the ground, a Stormcloak soldier upon his back. The Nord's face was a battered, pale, mess, the robe around his chain linked armor was tattered and bloody. He was digging into Teren's left trapezius with it's mouth.

"Get this thing off!" A low gurgle came from beneath the crazed Stormcloak's body.

Dilan unleashed a single bolt from his crossbow, piercing the creature's head, dropping it instantly.

Teren immediately stood holding his neck, which was gushing blood and outlined in green bile. He looked very sick and weak, but he still managed to stay standing. He unsheathed his dagger and sword, looking in awe as countless more of the beasts began pouring from the small forest.

Chapter II Edit

Dilan had unequipped his crossbow and relied on his other weapon; A traditional and effective long bow. He launched arrow after arrow into the oncoming horde of former people. He began firing into their throats as well, which seemed to cause them to stumble and then die. It also gave the senior soldier a wider range to fire in.

"We need to retreat, now!" Teran was still managing to fight off the attackers, holding on to all of his strength. He slid his blade across the neck of an orc, removing it's head. Countering a fist, he slammed a dagger straight through the skull of what had once been a Dunmer, or Dark Elf.

"Alright, get down to the village, scale the face." Aren dropped off onto a ledge from her position, then began lowering down upon the cliff face, using cracks and sturdy rocks as footholds.

Several of the feral villagers and Stormcloaks tossed themselves off the side of the rock, desperately trying to claw at the descending Legionnaires as they plummeted to their doom.

"Gaerus, where are you?" Dilan was beside Aren now, clinging onto the mountainside. He could hear the other two fighting off the horde. Then silence. A few roars...A grunt. A scream.

"Watch out below." The young Gaerus dropped to the ledge, remarkably unscathed. He looked tired but all the pieces were there. He looked up, as if waiting, only to see yet another fiend hop off the edge towards him, missing him by a tree's length. He began climbing down after realizing his friend was not coming.

"Hurry your ass, Praefect!" The small but sturdy Dilan lifted one hand, waving.

Aren remained silent. Bye the Gods did she hate heights. But she didn't let that plague her mind. It was either get torn apart and eaten alive or an instant death from falling. Or she breaks her legs, snapping them in half, making herself easy prey to the unnatural beasts above. It was better to just climb down.

"What happened to Teren?" She finally muttered.

Gaerus shook his head grimly. "He saved my life. I intend to honor his death." He began a slow pased descent towards his comrades.

The rest of the climb was in silence. All of them were shocked by the creatures. They had seemed limitless in numbers and possessors of terrible strength. They had easily overwhelmed them.