This is a small collection of short stories and poems that I'm writing intermittently when not working on a much larger writing project that's started taking up my time. Generally, they'll probably be one-off affairs, maybe with one or two mini serials here and there, but this is mainly going to be irregular side projects, probably in some different styles; expect documents, diary entries, traditional prose, poems and maybe one or two more out-there, experimental things.

First off, a documentation of Ashlander funerary rites, by the scholar Renitus Terrentier. Enjoy!


Ashlander Funeral Rites

Whilst staying with the Urshilaku tribe, one thing I had the good fortune to witness was a funeral for one of the clan members, something that is, as far as I can tell, unrecorded by Imperial scribes.

The death was of one of the Urshilaku’s karmaridae, hunter-warriors who both provide for and protect the tribe. The unfortunate man had been badly mauled by a kagouti he had been hunting, dragged back by his fellow karmaridae, and despite the best efforts of Nibani Maesa, the clan’s wise woman, he had passed after just a few hours of struggle.

To my surprise, preparations for the man’s funeral began immediately. The entire clan was gathered, and a large pyre was constructed. The karmaridae’s family were exempted from these duties and allowed to grieve, while the wise woman prepared the body for the funeral. Once the work was completed, the tribe waited for the sunset; not long before it was due, they began the funerary rites. As an outsider, it was decided that while I would not be allowed to participate, I would be permitted to observe and record all that happened.

The clan gathered in a semi-circle around the pyre, opposite the yurt where the dead man’s body was kept. It was obvious they were waiting for something, and in just a few moments, Nibani Maesa emerged from the yurt. She was wearing ceremonial dress, a headdress decorated with cliff racer feathers, along with woven ash-cotton bracelets and necklaces decorated with jewels. She carried a bunch of trama flowers, which she placed upon the pyre. Once that was complete, she stepped back, and fell to her hands and knees before the altar, touching her forehead to the ground, an action mirrored by the rest of the clan. They stayed kneeling as she stood, and began a chant:



The final line was repeated by the clan, who then stood. At this, as the sun was beginning to set, the dead karmaridae was carried forth from the tent on a bier, supported by four more karmaridae carrying torches in their free hands, two men and two women; I later learned that they were of the dead man’s Orikrae, an old Dunmeri word that translates into Cyrodiilic as “siblings not of blood”. The karmaridae wore a set of chitin armour, no doubt one that he had used in life, and had a bonemold-tipped spear lying across him in his hands. The head of the clan, Sul Matuul, went before them, wearing the ceremonial bonemold armour of an Ashkhan, and behind him were the karmaridae’s immediate family, his mother, wife and young son, all of whom were weeping and carrying trama flowers.

The Ashkhan stood one to one side of the pyre while the Orikrae placed the body on top of it, before taking up position behind Sul Matuul. The family placed the flowers on the deceased’s breast, and then stood on the other side of the pyre. Once again, Nibani Maesa stepped forwards, anointing the body with oils and beginning another chant. According to ashlander customs, their dead go to Azura’s realm of Moonshadow when they pass on, this chant calling on the favour of the ashlanders’ favoured daedra.



At that cue, the Orikrae placed their torches upon the pyre and lit it. The mushroom-wood was soaked in oils, and its porous composition makes it very flammable, meaning that the fire was soon burning brightly in the twilight. Nibani Maesa began one final chant:



It was during this final prayer that I saw a most curious sight; for a few brief moments, it appeared as if a humanoid shape formed from the pyre’s smoke was rising up towards the sky, only to be embraced by another figure with webbed wings instead of arms. It may have just been illusion, but I know enough of daedra to know that Azura is served by the variant known as Winged Twilights, and I wondered if what I had just witnessed was a summoning of one of these daedra and a beseechment of it to protect the dead karmaridae’s soul as he journeyed to Moonshadow.

The clan was silent as the pyre burned to the ground, and once it had finally extinguished itself, darkness having completely fallen by this point, the Orikrae gathered up the dead man’s ashes; when I later quizzed Nibani Maesa about what they were to do with them, she informed me that before sunrise they would venture out into the ashlands and would scatter them as the dawn came.

Following this, the funerary feast commenced. This was a remarkably cheerful affair, and included dancing, music and telling of anecdotes from the dead karmaridae’s life, with the intent to celebrate his time in the mortal realm. The deceased’s family sat next to Sul Matuul in a position of honour, and were served food and drink without needing to rise to serve themselves from the communal table, as is the usual Ashlander custom.

It ended only as dawn approached, the Orikrae (now rather unsteady on their feet) departing from the camp to scatter the ashes. As I retired to my own tent, I felt privileged to be the first outlander to witness such an event, a unique experience of an unusual culture that, I am aware, many will not be able to ever see. I will continue this chronicle in good time, but for now I must rest; the time I have taken to record this event while my memory is as fresh as possible has left me tired, and I will have only a few hours for sleep before I am expected to rise and carry out the chores Sul Matuul has assigned me as a guest of Urshilaku. While I hope, the ashlanders’ sake, that the new day will bring no more funerals, I nonetheless pray to Julianos that I will have the good fortune to bear witness to something new in the fascinating lifestyle that the ashlanders lead.

How nice. We get some insight on ashlander funeral rites and their customs throught he eyes and lens of an outsider. This really is interesting as I have never spent too much time reading about ashlanders. Great read, can't wait to see what other mini's coming up!

Thanks DE!

I've always liked the Ashlanders, and though they're a fairly minor faction in TES terms they're probably one of my favourite ones. I was going for something that might appear as an in-game book in style, and I'm pleased you found it an interesting read.

And, by a startling coincidence, I actually have the next part up here right now. If you wanted a quick reply, then your timing was damn-near perfect.


Mountaintop Contemplation

Wrapped in a cloak made from the white pelt of a sabre cat, the figure stood on the peak and watched the skies.

He was a big man, brawny from war, bulk enhanced by the daedra-forged plate that lay under the thick cloak. At his belt, a blade and an axe, on his back was slung a crossbow. A pack lay at his feet, shed for the moment as he watched the cloud for a few minutes more.

Satisfied for now, he tramped through the snow to the lee of an old, curved wall, out of the wind’s icicle fangs, and kicked away the thin layer of loose stone to the dry, frozen dirt beneath. Packing snow in a circular wall around the small clearing to form a wind break, and he knelt next to his pack and slacked the cord, pulling the mouth open. Small logs and dry branches were pulled free, and arranged in a small pyramid. With a gesture, arcane flames danced on the tip of his left finger, and he placed it at the heart of the fire. Within a few minutes, it was burning merrily.

Once it looked as if the wind would not extinguish the fire any time soon, the man walked to the centre of the mountaintop. He gathered breath into his lungs, ignoring the tearing sensation of the chilly, thin air, and exhaled.

“PAARTHURNAX!”

The shout boomed from the Throat of the World like thunder given voice, echoing across the tops of lesser mountains as it roared across the width of Skyrim, shaking Nirn. In Whiterun, the bustle of the market stopped for a few moments as the noise rushed over them, while a hunter near Riverwood cursed his luck as the noise startled the deer he had been stalking. A battle between patrolling soldiers and a group of bandits came to a sudden halt, both sides staring in the mountain’s direction in disbelief.

From his place on top of the mountain, it seemed as if the call of the Dragonborn would go unheeded. He waited, watching the skies, and the side of his mouth not sutured by scar tissue curled into a smile as he saw a faint winged speck approaching. He walked back to the fire, warming himself by the merry flames as the speck became something that could have been a bird, then grew too large.

Finally, it defined itself into the huge shape of a dragon. Even with dulled scales, tattered membranes in his wings and the marks of dozens of ancient scars, Paarthurnax was a magnificent sight, sweeping down from the skies to alight upon the half-fallen wall that made up part of the dragon’s mountaintop home, the gale-force wind from each wingbeat briefly driving the flame of the bonfire into its smouldering heart. The Dragonborn fell to his knee before the immense, majestic giant, head bowed.

“Greeting, Dovahkiin,” Paarthurnax rumbled, voice deep and rich as the roots of mountains. “It has been some time.”

“Far too long, old friend,” the Dragonborn said as he stood. “It is good to see you well.”

“And I am just as glad to see you draw breath still,” Paarthurnax replied. “How fares the kein, the war?”

“All but won,” the Blood of Drakes replied. “It is the reason why I sought you out this day.”

“If that is the case, then surely the front lines would be on the shores of the Summerset Isles?” Paarthurnax asked. “How did you arrive here?”

“I have acquired means to travel swiftly,” the Dragonborn said. “The thu’um and a few old artefacts mean I can cover thousands of leagues in just a matter of hours, should the need arise. But you are correct; we have a fleet ready to sail into the Isles and crush the Aldmeri Dominion for good, and in response they are suing for peace. They wish to surrender and negotiate before the war is brought to their home.”

“And you wish not to?”

“Oh, I do. Unfortunately, there are more than a few factions within the Tamrielic Liberation Alliance who would like nothing more than for us to invade and burn the place to the ground.”

“Who is the main dissenter?” Paarthurnax asked.

“Who do you think?” the Dragonborn said. There was a note of frustration and exasperation in his voice. “Stormcloak, of course. Others, as well, but he’s certainly the loudest voice.”

He shook his head.

“He’s too valuable an ally to afford alienating; I need his skill as a general and he has the loyalty of a lot of soldiers,” he said. “He’s been willing enough to submit to my authority so far, thanks to our goals aligning, but now that there’s the risk of him losing what he wants I’m worried about how far his loyalty to me will go.”

“How does Konahrik, General, Stormcloak regard you?” Paarthurnax asked.

“A valuable ally, though he doesn’t buy into that whole ‘Talos reborn’ nonsense that’s been flying around, which is certainly a relief,” answered Alduin’s Bane.

“Do you still deny your heritage?”

“I am not Talos reborn!” the Dragonborn snapped. “I am just a man. Maybe a man with a dragon’s soul, but apart from that, I am a mere mortal who got lucky. I will use that luck to help others but I will not use the power granted to me by the Thu’um to claim that I am a god. Nations ruled by those who think themselves gods are nations that suffer.”

Paarthurnax chortled.

“I could call you a fool for denying your heritage,” he said. “But then I could call you a wise man for the reasons you give for your denial.”

The Dragonborn shrugged, his white cloak shifting with the movement.

“We have become sidetracked,” he said. “The Dominion, that is what I wished to discuss this day.”

“If I may ask, if an attack were to be launched on the Summerset Isles, would krongrah, victory, be feasible?” Paarthurnax asked.

“All but guaranteed,” the Dragonborn said. “The Knights of the Nine and Odahviing’s dragons would spearhead the assault on their beaches, and if an order of elite knights riding drakes would not be enough to break the enemy’s defences then a combined fleet from the Stormcloaks, the Imperial Legion, Orc war clans and Ra’Gada would be more than enough to finish the job. I have the largest army in Tamrielic history ready to fall upon the Dominion; victory would be assured. But I do not wish to sell the lives of the men and women under my command when there is a possibility for peace.”

“And what are the Thalmor suggesting?”

“An end to the war,” the Dragonborn said. “We would disband their remaining armies and dismantle the fleets they have left, depose their leaders and make sure they can’t threaten the rest of Tamriel again. Neutralise the Aldmeri Dominion, but still give the Summerset Isles a chance to recover. Simply crippling the nation in its entirety will only make us more new enemies in the long run.”

“And yet that is what Stormcloak wants,” Paarthurnax observed.

“And a fair number of Legion commanders as well,” the Doom of Wyrms added. “And several of the Ra’Gada high-ups, too. There are lot of people who are fighting the Thalmor to settle old grudges, and most of them won’t be happy unless we invade. Unfortunately, the others think that we should accept the surrender. This entire issue is threatening to tear the alliance I’ve built into pieces when we’re on the verge of victory. What would you suggest?”

“Krii, eliminate, Stormcloak,” Paarthurnax said. “You have the Dark Brotherhood as your allies, they would be more than good enough for the task.”

“Hah, allies,” the Dovahkiin shook his head. “If you call strongarming them into compliance making friends, then yes, I suppose they are. But it would do no good; they’ve been an excellent tool for taking out Thalmor commanders, but there are rumours circling in the ranks of their involvement in the war. if Ulfric died at the hands of an assassin now there would be far too much suspicion cast in my direction. But he insists that there must be soldiers marching onto the Isles.”

“Then let him march soldiers onto the Isles,” Paarthurnax replied.

The Dragonborn was silent for a few moments, a look of confusion on his face as he sat by the fire he had built.

“Elaborate.”

“Stormcloak wishes to invade the Isles,” Paarthurnax said. “So you install him at the head of an occupying lahvu, army, as part of the peace agreement. He gets his soldiers marching on The Summerset Isles, you get to end this war without further bloodshed and your druunmihr, alliance remains intact. All benefit from this solution.”

The Dragonborn smiled.

“That would certainly be an elegant solution,” he said. “My thanks, Paarthurnax. I knew I could rely on your advice.”

“You are welcome, dov,” Paarthurnax rumbled. “I assume that you cannot linger.”

“Alas, no,” He Who Bore the Blood of Dragons said. “My absence will already prove problematic, and it will only grow worse if I stay.”

“I crumdaal, understand,” Paarthurnax said. “I wish you good fortune.”

“My thanks, old friend,” the Dragonborn said. “And I promise you, once this is over, once Tamriel is stable again, I will return and we can talk as long as we wish.”

“I look forward to that day very much,” the immense drake replied. He beat his wings, lifting into the air, circling around the peak of the Throat of the World. “Until the next time, dovahkiin.”

Another downstroke, and he was gone, already a speck in the distance. The dragonborn watched him go, lingered a few more moments, and shouldered his backpack in preparation for the journey back to the front.

Brilliant stuff...As ever...

The Ashlander thing was interesting and well written...

But I absolutely loved the Dovahkiin thing...I always love going to see Paarthurnax in the game...He's soooo sweet!!...

The dialogue was spot on...Nicely done!...

Fair dues, Knight of The Nine on Dragons...Nice idea... ...Although I can imagine some descendant of Sir Thedret being less than impressed with the idea... ...

But anyways...Brilliant stuff, as ever...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

McBadgere: Thanks!

I had a lot of fun writing that story, especially with Paarthurnax, though I did enjoy throwing around ideas for how the Dragonborn might fight a war against the Thalmor. Glad you enjoyed reading it, and I might well have another story with the Dragonborn in it again in future.




And now, a piece I've wanted to write for a while, because I've got Pacific Rim on the brain. I've got two sources of inspiration to thank for this story besides the obvious one of Guillermo Del Toro, those being Dan Abnett, who's novel Titanicus influences some of the ways the machinery in this story work, and the musician Gavin Dunne, who’s song The Crush became the soundtrack to this story as I wrote. There’s a link to the song in the story for when it’s best to start playing it, and I recommend you do because it makes the awesomeness even more awesome!

P.S. I’m posting this up before I get on a plane, so I haven’t had a chance to comprehensively proofread. I’ll go through this later and finish up, but right now I just want to share this thing.


Kaijamharad (or: ‘Pacific Skyrim’)

Skyrim, 1E 653

By the time its work had been completed, there was little left of Kruckangzamand.

Sated from its rampage, the abomination that had levelled the city retreated, leaving behind a trail of blood and shattered stone in the churned ruins. The survivors watched its immense form leave, shock and horror etched into their eyes.

Numb with shock, each one of them found themselves whispering the same name. It had been a name from childhood, one that had been used by parents to scold children into good behaviour, one that had been nothing more than an old myth, some remnant of history. A name that had now been given face and form, one which was more terrifying than could be imagined.

Doom-Which-Walks. Kaijamharad.



“My lord, I bear dire news from Kruckangzamad! I must speak with you immediately!”

Such was the messenger’s haste that as he entered the Chambers of Royal Innovation he all but fell into a bow. At a workbench littered with small pieces of machinery and technarcanery, Kagrenac, Chief Tonal Architect of the Dwemer, looked up from his work at the man who had practically collapsed into the room, a look of surprise on his face behind the goggles he wore.

“Calm yourself, man,” he said. “What is it you wish to speak with me about?”

The messenger pushed himself to his feet. He was flushed from exertion, sweat trickling down his broad face and into the curls of his beard. The clothes he wore were travel-stained and he still carried a pack, and it was obvious he had come straight from the road.

“Kruckangzamad,” he repeated. “My lord, the city has been destroyed. Levelled, completely annihilated.”

“Destroyed?” Kagrenac asked. A look of fury crossed his face. “Who did this? The Nords?”

“No, my lord,” the messenger said. “I...I was there myself. I saw it all, I came as soon as I could. It...it was Kaijamharad. I know it’s just a story but I saw it! I saw the creature come down from the mountains and destroy the city! We could do nothing, my lord. It was too strong, too huge. It gorged itself and left, but it will grow hungry and hunt once more, and if nothing is done, more people will die. There is only one weapon that can hope to defeat it, Lord Kagrenac; Numidium must walk.”



The colossus was carried to war by airship.

Immense spans of rope bridged the flying vessels and the three-hundred foot god machine. Numidium, the most powerful weapon of the Dwemer and wrought in the shape of one of their kind, brass-coloured metal forming a massive body capable of crushing a mountain or smashing aside the strongest of fortifications. A huge beard flowed down its broad chest, hammered indentations suggesting curls of hair, and the rest of the body was bare aside from a metal loincloth, a perfection of physicality writ in impossible ferrous immensity.

In the muscular chest, the three engineers that maintained Numidium during battle prepared themselves. Radac Strungthumz, the head of the small band, slid his arms through the hoops of the maintenance harness, pulling on the brass-coloured hood that allowed the harness to be controlled by thought, and the spindly metal arms of the device rose around him at a mental command, surrounding him like the limbs of a huge mechanical spider.

Dalrom and Kelriss did the same, the two other engineers under his command flexing the additional machine-limbs to check that they received the mental commands properly. Kelriss smiled at her husband in a brief show of support, and Dalrom affectionately tugged the wedding brooch woven into his beard in return.

Around them, the inner workings of Numidium hissed and glowed with power both arcane and technological. Soul gems hummed, pistoned hissed, gears clicked and enchantments pulsed, the beating heart of the machine a constantly moving hive of machinery.

“Radac,” Kagrenac’s voice echoed from the communications crystal in the heart of Numidium’s engine room. “Are you ready?”

The goliath’s chief engineer glanced at his two subordinates. Kelriss nodded on their behalf.

“We’re prepared, my lord,” Radac said.

“Excellent,” Kagrenac replied from his place in Numidium’s head.

The Chief Tonal Architect hovered in the air, suspended between a ring of brass that glowed with technomantic energies. Threads of fine golden light filigreed the air between himself and the ring, the link between him and the god machine. He saw the world through the eyes and spell-auguries of Numidium. His limbs were now powered by pistons and cogs, armoured in sheets of metal and bestowed with the might of gods. As his fingers flexed, bunching into fists, so too did the hands of the immense golem curl in preparation for a fight.

“Numidium is ready to drop,” Kagrenac said. “Admiral, release us and then clear the air.”

From the bridge of the main airship, Air-Admiral Lokremak nodded.

“Understood, Architect,” she said down the communications crystal. “All ships, release Numidium!”

Lengths of massive rope, each one of them metres thick, were released from the airships carrying the brass goliath. Gravity took hold of the three-hundred foot machine, and it dropped outside the shattered ruin of Kruckangzamad. The survivors cheered at the sight, even as Numidium was obscured from view by the immense clouds of snow powder the landing of its huge feet threw up, waving at it and yelling in anticipation of vengeance.

Kagrenac turned to face them, the stomp of the god machine’s massive feet shaking the ground. A massive arm was raised in acknowledgement, and his voice boomed from Numidium’s mouth, amplified so that it was carried between machine and city with ease.

“People of Kruckangzamad! Vengeance will be had! Justice will be served! The Kaijamharad will pay for what it did to your proud city!”

With a slow, ponderous grace, Numidium strode to battle.



It was in a valley when Numidium saw its foe.

Stomping in the lee of two mountains, the god machine halted at the sound of a roar, booming and echoing across the crags and ridges. It was a challenge, a call to arms, and Kagrenac raised his fists in response.

From around a mountain peak, the Kaijamharad appeared. Its appearance was monstrous, a beast equal in size to the machine that faced it, a clawed hand resting on the rock in the same way a man or mer would use a boulder for support. Grey-white fur rippled in the breeze, huge hooves on its hind legs dug crescents into the ground. It growled through a long snout, eyes glaring at this new arrival between a pair of curled horns, and a long tail whipped behind it like a monstrous serpent.

It roared, muzzle splitting into four, each separate mandible lined with fangs the size of pine trees. The noise echoed through the valley, booming against the rock and snow walls, and Numidium braced itself as it lowered its head and charged.

As the Kaijamharad thundered forwards, hooves throwing up great gouts of snow and rocks, Numidium sidestepped, moving slowly and with the gravitas afforded to it from thousands of tons of weight. The Kaijamharad missed, its immense bulk passing Numidium by, and the automaton’s hand closed around its tail, grip remorseless and crushing.

The Kaijamharad shrieked, the sound so loud that it would have rendered any nearby mortals deaf, and kicked out, a huge hoof smashing into Numidium’s calf with the sound of a massive bell being split in twain. The golem stumbled back and the Kaijamharad round on it.

Roaring in fury, its claws swept out to slice across the Numidium’s face. Kagrenac raised his arms in the block of a brawler in a tavern of impossible scale, catching the blows. Numidium’s left fist lashed out and cracked across the jaw with a sound that echoed across the valley, and the creature reeled back with a shrieking roar of fury and agony.

“How are we doing?” Kagrenac asked down the communication crystal.

“All systems are working at their best,” Radac replied, adjusting levels and spinning wheels with his organic hands and the many artificial limbs that surrounded him like the prehensile rays of a brass sun. “Kelriss, how fare the shields? That impact was a strong one?”

“They’re at a quarter strength,” Kelriss called back. Her hands were raised, crackling with arcane energies as she ran them over the surface of a glowing, humming crystal. “We don’t be able to withstand another hit like that without something going, not unless we divert extra power to them.”

“What do you recommend?” Radac asked.

“That we don’t get kicked any more!”

Outside, Numidium struck again, a hook that slammed into the side of the Kaijamharad’s skull. The impact was enough to turn it around, but its tail lashed out, crashing into Numidium with the force of a tidal wave. A wave of light rippled across it as the shield spells protecting it were overpowered, and the monster turned as Numidium staggered back, claws slashing across its chest and tearing five great rents across machine’s hide.

In the control harness, Kagrenac gave a yell of pain as pain fed back to him along the magical links that allowed Numidium to move as he did. He threw up an arm on instinct as the Kaijamharad lunged, warding off its attack as its slashing claws sent sparks flaring across the thick armour of the colossal automaton’s arms. He lashed out, a swipe that failed to connect but forced the immense monstrosity back, and Numidium retook its footing, fists raised.

“Damage report!” the Architect bellowed down the communication crystal. “Damage report now, damn you!”

“All systems still operational, but our shield spells are gone and if we take another hit like that to our chest, we crumple!” Radac called back. He could feel the cold air of the Skyrim mountains biting at him through the oil-stained engineering robes he wore, a contrast to the pulsing industrial heat of Numidium’s heart.

“We still have full movement?” Kagrenac asked, backing Numidium towards a cliff.

“We do,” Radac replied.

“Excellent,” Kagrenac said as he braced himself to meet the Kaijamharad’s charge. “Then we might just get away with this.”

There was no attempt to avoid the attack; instead, one of Numidium’s fists closed around one of the huge, curling horns on its skull, the other grabbing its flank like a leviathan shepherd grappling with monstrous livestock. Swivelling, Numidium steered the Kaijamharad’s thundering progress, using its own momentum to slam it against the side of a cliff.

A cloud of pulverised rock bloomed around the head of the colossal abomination, the shockwave of the impact shaking across the mountain range. A deep rumbling sounded as the Kaijamharad stumbled back, disorientated, and there was a rushing and roaring from above. Kagrenac glanced upwards and gave a yell of alarm as an immense wall of white rushed towards Numidium, sweeping all before it away.

Turning, Numidium managed to go a few steps before the avalanche hit it. It stumbled and staggered, and in its chest the three engineers yelled in alarm as the world around them lurched as if Nirn itself were intoxicated. The pincers and maniples on their harnesses grabbed for purchase, scrabbling for anything that would stop them from being swept away in the tide of snow and stone below. They could hear boulders the size of houses slamming against Numidium’s legs, clanging and ringing and sending it shaking with each impact, and they clung to their handholds with a grim determination.

Something slammed into Numidium with enough force to send the machine lurching, and with a yell of alarm Dalrom was dislodged. Kelriss managed a scream of concerning, sacrificing half of her handholds as she reached for him, Dalrom’s hands flailing for purchase.

In the next moment, he tumbled through one of the rents torn in Numidium’s armour and was gone.

Kelriss screamed, a wordless yell of grief and rage, tears running down her face as she reached in vain towards the tumbling mass of snow and stone that rushed by beneath them.

“Kelriss!” Radac called. “Kelriss, he’s gone! For pity’s sake, don’t lose your grip and die with him! I need you here!”

Tears still running down her face, Kelriss pulled herself, grabbing onto more handholds. She pressed her forehead into the metal, sobbing in helpless fury. Her husband’s body would never be recovered, would lie wherever the avalanche carried it, and there would be no burial.

“Kelriss, stay with me, please,” Radac begged over the sound of rushing snow and tumbling rocks. “Hold it together so we can avenge him.”

There was the sound of a breath being taken, and Kelriss looked up. Her face was still red and stained with tears, but there was a look on her face of terrible determination and rage.

“Oh, we will,” she said. “We’ll make it suffer for what it’s done!”

Outside, the flow of snow and pulverised debris that ran around the legs of Numidium like a flooding river slowed. Kagrenac groaned as he felt the ache in his legs from the feedback to him from the impacts, but forced his legs upwards, stepping high onto the snow. Freed from the encumbrance of the volumes of white powder, Kagrenac scanned the horizon for any sign of their enemy. Seeing nothing, he tried to activate the life detection spells of Numidium’s auguries. Nothing greeted his mental command, and he frowned.

“Radac,” he said. “Radac, do you hear me?”

“I do, my lord,” Radac replied as he and Kelriss lowered themselves back onto the plane upon which those in Numidium’s engineering room were supposed to stand. “What do you need?”

“The auguries aren’t responding, and I’ve lost sight of our enemy,” Kagrenac said. “I need life detection magic active before anything-”

The Kaijamharad was surrounded by a blooming cloud of white as it leapt from the snow and tackled Numidium, tail wrapping around the automaton’s legs. Numidium fell.

It was slow, even with Numidium’s colossal mass, and the valley echoed with the sound of creaking and groaning metal as it hit the ground. A cloud of snow blasted up around it as landed, ground shaking with the Nirn-quaking impact, but that did not dislodge the grip of the Kaijamharad. As Numidium landed, it grabbed hold of its left arm. Using one of its hooves as a brace, it leaned back, and pulled.

Metal screamed, pistons gushed fluid like veins leaking viscera, Kagrenac yelled as psychostigmatic agony burned in his arm like phosphor. Numidium’s arm was tossed aside, thudding in snow with an impact that shook the ground, and the Kaijamharad roared in triumph, baring the fanged cross of its jaws and the red pit of its throat as it declared victory.

“No you don’t, you overgrown gul’nah!” Kagrenac cursed, spitting the words through the pain. His left arm had gone numb but the right rose, grabbing one of the mandibles in Numidium’s metal fists. The Kaijamharad’s jaws closed around the offending hand, fangs biting into the metal, but Kagrenac hold on, face contorted in a look of grim determination.

He twisted, bone cracking and a river of vitae flowing as he wrenched the jaw away, staining the snow around it with gouts of red. The Kaijamharad screamed, the noise reminiscent of an infant, scrambling and tumbling away, clutching the leaking wound as it retreated. In the breathing room Numidium had as it stumbled away, Kagrenac in pain as he leant up and forwards. His left arm had gone numb and limp, absolutely useless, but somehow he forced himself and Numidium upwards into a sitting position.

There were fires burning from the machine-god’s chest, and he could hear Radac and Kelriss yelling at him to ask just what he thought he was doing, but he ignored it, gritting his teeth as he forced Numidium up on its remaining arm. Somehow, the machine stood, lurching and staggering like a wine-sotted god, bending to pick up its severed arm, the improvised club dangling from its hand. The Kaimjimharad saw the new threat, a whining snarl of fury and agony escaping its remaining jaws, and tensed in readiness to spring.

For a few moments, the two crippled colossi faced each other, invalid avatars of devastation, before Kaijamharad leapt.

Numidium’s crude club swung, the detached shoulder slamming into the Kaijamharad and smashing it away. The immense creature landed heavily, tumbling over itself, and Numidium followed. Before the Kaijamharad could rise Kagrenac swung the arm-club down, smashing it into the beast again and again with savage fury as the Dwemer bellowed in rage and bloodlust.

Howling and shrieking, the Kaijamharad kicked, knocking Numidium back and hammering a crescent-shaped dent into the machine’s chest. It scrambled back, bones cracked, gallons of blood staining its fur a deep red, and screamed in fury, determined to finish Numidium.

In response, Kagrenac threw the arm.

It span over itself, whirling like a bolus of fantastical scale, and the clenched fist slammed into the Kaijamharad’s head. Stunned, the beast toppled and landed on its back. Numidium dropped to its knee over it, the joint in the massive legs slamming into the sternum of its enemy with the crack of bone. A massive, brass-coloured hand closed over an immense white throat, and Numidium squeezed.

The Kaijamharad thrashed. It kicked, it flailed. It grabbed at Numidium’s wrist and tried to wrench it away. Gradually, its struggles weakened, a swollen tongue lolling out of its mouth. Its eyes bulged, its three remaining mandibles clacked in impotent fury, slowed, stilled. Numidium stayed where it was for a few moments more, waiting, making sure. After a minute longer of the brass hand squeezing the unresisting throat, Kagrenac released his grip. The arm raised, hand clenched into a fist, and for a final time it crashed down on the Kaijamharad’s skull. Numidium rose with gore and shattered bone dripping from its remaining hand.

“It is done,” Kagrenac said. He was breathing heavily, and his body ached. “Our task is complete.

“Thank goodness for that,” Radac’s voice said over the crystal. He sounded shaken, shocked.

“Is the damage repairable?”

“It will be difficult, but Numidium should be able to walk another day.”

“I understand. Thank you for your aid, Radac.”

Numidium stooped to pick up its severed arm, smoke still rising from the form of the mauled god. The clenched fist dragging along the ground, the battered war machine limped back to its home for repair.

Amazing...Proper amazing that...

Titanicus is my fave Warhammer novel by a long-shot...I've loved some of the others, but Titanicus was just amazing...

I loved the set-up...I loved the techarcane™ stuff...The characters were brilliant...My heart actually gave a lurch when this bit happened...



That was proper heavy in the middle of the fighty-stuff...Nicely done that...

Not noticed any major misses for your being quick with it...Just the use of the word shock in two places very close to each other in the first bit seems to stick out a little, but hey, I will grant that it may just be me on this one... ...

Fantastic job...Abnett would be proud... ...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Your stories will always have a soft spot in my heart, Colonel.

Sorry I couldn't get to this second chapter sooner. But here it goes:

Imagine dragons. Parthurnaax! Always a welcome face. So the dragonborn(our big bad buff dragonborn) has all these different sides fighting in the war . . . and who an help him with the Thalmor issue? Honestly, sending in the Dark Brotherhood to take out the leaders did cross my mind, too. Great dialogue between them.

Now the third tale was also interesting and I noticed right away we are time traveling back in the First Era. I did enjoy how you molded the Yagers(spell) with Numidium and the aliens with the Kaijamharad. It was a bloody battle, and an intense one but in the end I was pleased to see Numidium rise from the ashes!