Capítulo 595: Not-Trench Warfare
Soon enough, the expedition begins under the eyes of Surtr and under no one else's conversion, Kodlak Whitemane, Harbinger of the Companions. With the assistance of Brynjolf and High King Ulfric, the army's dire lack of supplies had been rectified, along with multiple depots being set up along the path to Skuldafn via the maps an anonymous scout had provided.
The army was on the move, most of it separated into smaller groups that raised splotchy white tarps over their heads whenever something passed over them attempting to camouflage themselves and prevent a dragon from spotting them.
The smaller groups were both to minimise the damage a spray of dragon fire would do, along with making operations easier by assigning one man in each as leader.
"Watch where you walk! One mistep could send your whole group down!" Kodlak shouts as the army scales up a perilous mountain ride. Everyone had been roped up with one another in case someone fell, which would allow them to be recovered instead of splattered.
There was a reason Skuldafn temple had remained hidden for thousands of years, and the lack of save passages was only one of component of this... Indeed, even Kodlak had underestimated the amount of wildlife an travel region would have.
They'd already lost a hundred and twenty good soldiers from a Frost Troll ambush, which was really more of some unlucky few stumbling into their den. The Companions were forced to deal with it when it became clear the regular soldiery couldn't work out the blade from the handle of the swords, at least, when it came to dealing with monsters who had stupidly fast healing.
Six people had been lost already from the terrain alone, one man slipping on ice and caving his own skull in on a sharp rocky outcropping... Restoration magic was strong but, not strong enough to stuff someone's grey matter back into their head.
Worst of all, the weather had become an enemy as soon as they entered the mountain range, if a blizzard wasn't going then it was either a thunderstorm or fast enough winds that a tornado would have been more welcome... One group who forgot to properly secure their camouflage tarp had ended up being picked up like a reverse parachute. No one was sure where they ended up but it probably wasn't anywhere nice!
With all of this, was it any wonder why morale was so low? Soldiers were dying left to right and they hadn't even reached the destination of their suicide mission...
"Surtr, we've got problem." Farkas states as he approaches the Dragonborn, minding his step so he doesn't fall into a hidden ravine like many others before him had.
"Another? You might as well list everything that isn't going wrong, it'd be quicker." Surtr grouses.
"Well, you might have to deal with this one. Some guys just found out that the mages were using spells to keep themselves warm and dry, they wanted some of that too and well, you get the picture."
Surtr rubs the face of his helmet and sighs, "Are the mages willing?"
Farkas snorts, "Of course not."
"Then make them willing. We're nowhere near Skuldafn so they can spare the Magicka."
"You sure? I doubt it would take much for them to start marching back home..."
"Do it, not like they can get back without help now we've gotten this far." Surtr waves him off, prompting Farkas to do as he said.
Problems keep arising throughout the journey, but Surtr kept on top of them, mostly to spite Michale who'd seemingly taken his forces and left without a word. How noble to leave when the world was at stake... He made sure to let his opinions on the subject know, further ruining Michael's already tenuous reputation among the soldiers.
Days pass and by the time the army spots the faint silhouettes of dragons in the distance they'd already lost five to ten percent of their total force, which is actually a lot better than most thought.
Skuldafn was now in sight, the large ancient nordic temple sitting atop a mountain peak with icy walls surrounding the parts that weren't already defended by perilous natural cliff faces.
There was one main entrance from what they could see, and what the 'scouts' information had already uncovered. A long, rather thin icy walkway that zigzagged up until it reached the main entrance.
There, Surtr could see a huge army of draugr waiting for them, larger than average nord corpses garbed in full ebony plate armour and wielding heavy ebony tower shields which was complimented by evil-looking black spears.
On the walls near them were archers and magic casters, ready to unleash hell on any force unfortunate enough to have to fight them. If this wasn't enough, the sun was almost blotted out by the sheer numbers of dragons overhead...
"Surtr... I don't like the look of this..." Kodlak mutters as he and the rest of the army gape at the enemy's fortifications... Most had assumed they'd only be battling dragons, not an army of well-outfitted undead warriors.
"Me neither, but there's no other way... Have the men get in formation, get ready for dragon attacks, and space them out for dragon fire." he steps away and looks up to the sky, "PAAR THUR NAX!" he roars, signalling for the allied dragons to begin their assault.
*ROOOOoooooaoaaaaarrrrrrrr*
In the distance, hundreds of roars sound out, from enemy and allied dragons both. While the Throat of the World was quite a distance away, a dragon at full speed was fast enough to not worry about such paltry distance.
While the enemy dragons had also noticed his call, by the time they reached the army's vicinity, Paarthurnax, Durnehviir, Illococoo, and the other dragons had already arrived.
One hundred dragons vs twenty or so.
The odds didn't look in their favour, at least, until Paarthurnax barreled into a dragon with the force of a thousand suns, crashing into the giant lizard with teeth bared, scattering droplets of blood through the sky.
PENSAMENTOS DOS CRIADORES 
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