Mori Pro Imperio: The Story of Pliton Calleius

When I awoke the next morning, I could feel the tension in the air. After witnessing Ulfric and Stronghand’s, dispute, I could see the Stormcloak soldiers growing ominous. It also didn’t help that Khajiit that were traveling through the area reported strange sounds coming from within Windhelm’s walls.

I stayed close to the fire during the tense morning. I needed to speak with Ulfric, but I didn’t know what to say. I believed that Stronghand was correct, but how would a headstrong Nord king like him listen to me, a common Imperial?

I sighed at that thought. I would never get through to Ulfric!

“But wait,” I said to myself. “He believes in Talos. If I tell him that Talos would attack with dragons, would he listen?”

“Maybe he would.”

I jolted, and whipped around. Stronghand was standing right behind me, with his arms crossed. He was smiling, no doubt from my reaction.

“Excuse me?” I asked, getting up.

“I said he might believe you.” He replied, “Besides, Ulfric wouldn’t disobey his god, now would he? Come on, maybe we can talk some sense into that thick skull of his.”

We walked through the camp to Ulfric’s tent. Ulfric was there, standing over a map of Windhelm and the Hold of
Eastmarch.

“What is it now, Svogre?” Ulfric asked irritatingly, “I have a city to take back with or without your help.”

“Your Highness,” I said, bowing my head, “I have had a vision of Talos the last night.”

“Are you sure?” Ulfric stood up straight, “You better not be lying to me.”

“Why would I?” I said. “What would I gain from lying to you?”

“Alright, I guess you’re right.” Ulfric crossed his arms. “Well, out with it. What did Talos say to you?”

I swallowed, and said to him, “Talos told me that if we are to ever take Windhelm, we must recruit the help of the dragons and other races. He said that although it would make quite a good story, Nords alone cannot take back Windhelm.”

“Talos would never say that!” Ulfric scoffed. “He is a true Nord. He never depended on another race to do anything for him.”

“Well you’re not the having the visions.” I replied. Ulfric looked taken aback, and walked around the table with the map. He looked me straight in the eye. I could smell the stench of mead and venison on his breath. His eyes looked as though they could suck my very soul into Oblivion, they were so intense.

“Really?” Ulfric said, “He told you to tell me that I was wrong? Is he too great to tell me in my dreams that I was wrong?”

“No,” I said. “He chose to speak to you through me, his Champion. And Talos would know how to take Windhelm.”

“So,” he said, “I have a mystic in my mist, is that it? You think that just because you had a dream that said I was wrong, you are better than me? Because what you said implies that.”

I cleared my throat, and replied, “Listen, your Highness. I meant no disrespect by…”

“But you reek of disrespect!” Ulfric screamed at me. “You think you can just march in here from Divines know where and you think you can tell me how to direct my army? There is no way in Oblivion that that would happen! I am High King of Skyrim; I do not take orders from an Imperial commoner!”

“Damn it Ulfric!” I cried. “Talos is giving you the key to taking your capital, and you are throwing it out the window! How can you say you fight for him when you disregard his advice? That sure sounds like hypocrisy to me!”

“You do not speak to a King like that!” Ulfric shouted, “I have half a mind to shout you to pieces!”

“And start another war you can’t hope to win?” I replied. “Because with the way you’re conducting this one, I think the Empire can trounce you with three soldiers!”

“Then send for the other two, Imperial!” Ulfric said, “I’m sure I will greet them with open arms!”

We both fell into silence after that remark. Ulfric and I stood inches away from each other’s faces, and I will tell you, I was never more afraid of a Nord in my entire life. His eyes emanated murder and blood. His eyelashes were like little daggers, piercing my very soul with pure hatred.

“This is why I never liked Imperials.” Ulfric said. “They think they’re so superior to other races, but they aren’t.”

“How can you be a true Nord of honor?” I asked, “When the very god you spilled blood for tells you how to conduct a war, and you disregard every word? That is a prime example of insubordination if I’ve ever seen one.”

“What’s this about insubordination?” Ulfric roared. “You say that I’m insubordinate? No, you’re the insubordinate one! Running from the Empire you oh so love when the going got tough! I never did that!”

“I am disappointed, Ulfric Stormcloak.” I said. “I cannot believe that you dare not heed Talos’ advice. For all I care, the
Daedra can come out of Windhelm, and annihilate your forces here!”

“Then go!” Ulfric said, “You and Stronghand! Get your damn dragons over here! I will concede with that, but I will not have any Khajiit or Argonian join our ranks.”

I nodded my head, and turned to leave the tent. The bitter wind slapped me in the face as soon as I got out. Stronghand was waiting outside to hear what I had to say.

“So?” He asked, “What did Ulfric say?”

“He conceded.” I replied. “Come now, where would dragons gather?”

“I would say High Hrothgar.” Svogre answered. “Come now, Pliton Calleius, have you ever ridden a dragon before?”

“Oh, I’ve ridden thousands!” I said sarcastically. “No, I have not!”

“Well then,” Svogre said, “I would be glad to be with you as you fly your first. Now, let’s go somewhere a bit more, empty.”

I nodded in agreement. We walked for a couple of minutes, until we came into a clearing in the forest. The sun had risen, but it was shrouded behind an overcast sky. It was deathly cold, but it was warmer now with the risen sun.

“ODAHVIING!”

The Thu’um ripped through the silent forest. Birds flew in swarms from the trees, and the trees themselves swayed violently. I had ringing in my ears, the Thu’um was so loud. I could see a speck in the distance, which I assumed was Odahviing.

When the speck grew larger in the sky, I found that I was correct in my assumption. Odahviing landed right in front of us, and bowed his head in front of Stronghand.

“Ah, Svogre Stronghand.” He greeted, “It has been so long since we last met.”

“Yes it has, dear friend.” Stronghand replied, putting his hand on Odahviing’s head. “Now, we need to go to High Hrothgar, to summon the other dragons.”

“I assumed that is what you needed, yes.” Odahviing replied. He turned his head in my direction, and asked, “And who might you be, friend of the Dovahkiin?”

“I am Pliton Calleius,” I said, “Champion of Talos.”

“Well met, Champion of Dovahkiin.” Odahviing replied. “Come, Dovahkiin, High Hrothgar awaits.”

“That it does.” Stronghand said. He climbed onto Odahviing’s back, and motioned for me to walk to his side.

“Grab my hand.” Stronghand said. He reached his hand down, and I grabbed his wrist. He pulled me onto Odahviing’s back. Stronghand looked back at me, and smiled.

“BO!”

Odahviing thrust into the air at Stronghand’s command. I was taken completely by surprise, and almost fell off.

“Happened to me as well, Imperial.” Stronghand chuckled, “But come now, enjoy this. There is no other way of seeing Skyrim like this.”

“I doubt it.” I replied, thinking back to the airborne march I had taken with the Royal Equestrian Army towards the Imperial City.

Gods, I thought. How long had it been since I had any contact with an Equestrian? It had to be a few weeks. I thought once more of Twilight, trapped as Chrysalis’ and Molag Bal’s prisoner in Oblivion. I didn’t know why, but the urgency of getting her back grew more and more. It felt like I had no time left.

The wind flew through my now much longer hair. It chilled me to the bone, much more than sitting huddled next to the fire in Kynesgrove. I could feel icicles forming on my eyebrows, and I was shivering intensely.

“Don’t like the cold, do we?” Stronghand chuckled. “Come now, Pliton, you must grow to tolerate Skyrim’s cold. Did you not grow accustomed to it when you were last here?”

“That was Whiterun,” I answered, “And months ago. And since then, I was in the Imperial City, Equestria and Stros M’Kai. None of them were really cold.”

“Oh, stop your bellyaching!” Stronghand laughed. “Tell me, what was Equestria like? Was it anything like Skyrim or Cyrodiil?”

“Not at all,” I answered. “Their technology was far more advanced than ours. They have a machine that you can listen to music without the bard actually being there! They also having ascending doors as well!”

“I will want to see this Equestria some time.” Stronghand replied. “Hold on now, we’re nearing High Hrothgar.”
Odahviing leaned downwards, and we began to descend onto the Throat of the World, the site of the Graybeard’s monastery, High Hrothgar.

The monastery itself was enormous. The age-old building was larger than anything I had seen in Skyrim, and it seemed to scrape the heavens itself. Snow that had not melted in hundreds of years rested on top of the roof, and gave off an intense glare.

When Odahviing touched down in front of the monastery, Stronghand slipped off, and instructed me to follow.

“Now,” he said to me, “Do not speak unless spoken to. The Graybeards do not appreciate strangers anymore.”

“And why is that?” I responded, “Why would they do that?”

“I’d rather not.” He said as he opened the door.

As we entered, Stronghand called to the Graybeards:

“FIN DOVAHKIIN DAAL!”

The monastery stood still. Stronghand’s declaration echoed through the halls, and a man who walked with authority greeted him.

“Welcome, Dovahkiin,” he bowed as he uttered the words. “What brings you to the halls of High Hrothgar?”

“Arngeir,” Stronghand said, “We require your assistance.”

“How so?” The man called Arngeir asked. “And why would you require our assistance? You seem to forget what you did to us. Killing our leader is hardly appealing to us.”

“It had to be done.” Stronghand said, “The Blades…”

“Again about the Blades!” Arngeir cried, “They are just a bunch of Akaviri cutthroats! Just do what you need here and never come back!”

Arngeir turned around, and stormed away. I looked to Stronghand to see what he thought. He just shrugged it off, and directed me out to the courtyard, where he led me up onto the peak of the Throat of the World.

I could see most if not all of Skyrim, and could see Whiterun in the distance, though it was nothing more than a large speck on the horizon. There were dragons flying around the peak, and eyed me cautiously, while they didn’t think twice about Stronghand.

“Come, my brothers!” Stronghand called out. The dragons landed in front of him, and greeted him in the Dragon tongue. They conversed, and one lifted, while the other that was flying above High Hrothgar stayed behind.

“Calleius,” Stronghand called, “These dragons have accepted my request to be your steed in battle.”

“I get to fly a dragon?” I asked. “Stronghand, are you sure?”

“Talos was Dragonborn,” Stronghand said, “He would want his Champion to have a dragon companion. Come; let me
introduce you to them.”

I walked forward tentatively. This was all happening too fast. I was going to ride a dragon into battle? What, did Stronghand think I was Dragonborn or something? I had never even seen a dragon before Odahviing, and now I was going to ride one, into battle of all things!

“This, my friend,” Stronghand said, pointing to a dark red one with dark black eyes, “Is Midrotheyvkaal, literally meaning Loyalty Duty Champion. He is a steadfast warrior, and will guide you valiantly into the walls of Windhelm.”
“Zeymah, brother.” He greeted, “I cannot wait to guide you into grah, the battle.”

“And I you, Midrotheyvkaal.” I replied. “I like this one.”

“Good, very good.” Stronghand replied. “Now, we need to wait for Dukendovkii to return.”

“Excuse me?” I asked. “Mind you I am not a scholar in the dragon tongue.”

“It means Devour Warrior Kill. He was a great warrior before we defeated Alduin the first time. His name carries influence within the dragon’s ranks.”

“Yes,” Midrotheyvkaal answered, “He and I have been fahdon, or friends, for many a year.”

While we were waiting, Stronghand got me onto Midrotheyvkaal. He taught me some basic commands in the dragon tongue, and told me to try them.

“Okay,” I said to myself. “Just get him to fly. It’s easy.”

I breathed in, and leaned towards his ear, and said, “Bo.”

Midrotheyvkaal ran towards the edge of the peak, and began to spread out his wings. The wingspan was truly impressive; it was the size of two houses next to each other. As we neared the edge of the mountain, Midrotheyvkaal began to flap his wings. I held onto his neck for dear life. I decided I would need a saddle for him, but who would make such a thing?

My thoughts were interrupted by Midrotheyvkaal thrusting himself off the edge of the Throat of the World. His wings caught wind, and we began to fly away from the mountain peak.

The feeling of flying never got old. I had never felt so free, never felt so unrestrained.

Midrotheyvkaal flew around the peak a few times, to let me get the feel of guiding him through the air. I wasn’t good by a long shot, but I wasn’t terrible either.

When Midrotheyvkaal landed on the peak, my legs felt like jelly. I felt so foreign walking on my own legs. Stronghand looked at me, and laughed out loud.

“I remember when that used to happen to me.” He chuckled, “That was years ago. Do you like him?”

“I do.” I replied, “When do we head to Windhelm?”

Tell me what you think! Just for clarification, Fin Dovahkiin Daal is a literal translation for “The Dragonborn Returns.” and Bo means “fly”. Now that I got that out of the way, I can move on. I hope that Pliton having a dragon won’t make him a Mary Sue, because I would hate for that to happen. Next chapter: The Stormcloak Army storms Windhelm’s walls. Will Pliton find Twilight in Oblivion? Find out in the next chapter of Mori Pro Imperio: The Story of Pliton Calleius!