Oh, my people, what have I done to you?
I was nauseated at what I saw, Mother. My vengeance was finished, my hate was satiated, and now I was looking at my leftovers. The streets around me were filled with bodies of every race, age and gender - nords and dunmers, men and women, adults and children, all bodies laid equally scattered and equally undone by fire and sword. There was no more room for the old hates or resentments on those streets - they were just laid together now, side by side, in perfect peace and goodwill, and I bet they would never look down on each other again, after being so thoroughly initiated into this final brotherhood of death. I recognized some of the bodies – there were so many, friends and enemies, but those concepts just lacked meaning right now... I had never thought death could undo so many in one time. They were all there, faces of my childhood, kids who had bullied me and kids who had played with me, nords who had tried to cut my head and dunmers who had followed my leadership. The streamlets that used to flow with wastewater and piss, now flowed with their blood, and though the stench was probably even worst than ever, it just didn’t bother me anymore, because my senses and my mind were dull and overloaded with the horror.
Oh, my people, what have I done to you?
I vomited, Mother, I just kept on vomiting. I spend a good five minutes throwing out every trace of food, guilt and hope I had stuffed inside my guts for the last few months. I emptied my stomach and my soul over those filthy old streets and if an imperial soldier had seen me then, he would have killed me easily and without a fight, but I want you to know that I’ve never attributed to luck the fact that none did so. I had always thought of myself as a hardened mer, someone who had seen hundreds of corpses through life, a good portion of which were killed by my hands, and I had thought I was familiar to every aspect of death and decay, but in truth I had never considered on dealing death on such a massive scale. I was just a lowly assassin in the end, killing people had been always a personal matter for me, and it takes a real military mind to conceive on death as such an impersonal trade. That glorious massacre of some forty or fifty thousands nords and dunmer rebels would surely add a glorious page in the history of the Imperial Legion, and a fine line on Tullius’ service record. The General would be in for a well deserved promotion and a political career in Imperial Senate... if he was not doomed to die so soon after this brilliant victory.
Oh, my people, what have I done to you?
I had grossly underestimated General Tullius’ ruthlessness, and my friends and followers had paid the price of my misjudgment with their lives. I knew how much Tullius was determined to set an example here, about the uselessness of rebellion against the Empire, and I also knew he mistrusted my intentions and my people’s alliance, but I had never thought he would act so harshly against his supposed allies, and preemptively, in the middle of a battle not yet completely won. They were taking prisoners now – people still alive were surrendering and the slaughter was diminishing in intensity - the battle was already decided. At any moment a keener legionary would spot me in the streets and call up a century to deal with me. There would be no surrendering for me – I was sure they had orders to kill me at sight. By remaining here, I would gain nothing but a blade in my chest and there was still a last small service I could perform for those dead. Not that I could ever atone for my incompetence and recklessness as a prophet and as a leader to my people, but I could still be useful to them, doing the only job in the world I’m really good at.
Oh, my people, what have I done to you?
So, I just ran away, invisible and unnoticed among the small groups of legionaries still busy looking for survivors among the ruins of the razed city. I was sure they had been instructed to provide for a fine line of crucifixions over Windhelm’s walls, a spectacle worthy of the triumph Tullius had won for the Empire. The Emperor himself was on his way to Skyrim, to see the final crushing of his enemies, and he would be personally insulted if there was not at least five hundreds rebels left alive to be crucified in his honor, as a warning for those who might entertain the idea of defying the Imperial rule over the men’s lands. So I went down to the old sewers and I waited there until late night. I knew Tullius’ legionaries would be tired of the fighting and the crucifixion job, and I expected the General, being so close to his troops as he was, would allow them to indulge in a little celebration, spiced with the excellent wine taken off from the Palace of the King’s cellar. Now that the Stormcloak Rebellion was over and most of their leaders had been put to death, I was counting on a night of relaxed vigilance and I was not disappointed - the General would celebrate this victory in good company tonight, at Oblivion, among the multitude of dead he had sent there in advance. He would be drinking with the spirits of dunmers, imperials and all those people unnecessarily murdered in the name of his ambitions, all of them, except for the nords – they have their own place in Oblivion. The arrogant bastards would not mix with others - not even in hell!
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