User:JohnB/Fanfiction/The Rebellion

It was the last day of the year, and not a lot was happening on the Dren plantation. The Dren family was preparing for the New Year festivities, but the numerous slaves in their hovels had to make do with a lull in the daily oppression that they faced every other time--the lash, the starting work before sunrise and falling onto their mattresses near midnight. This is the way it always had been, and nobody expected it to be any different a hundred years from now.

But then a lone hermit came striding through the plantation gate with an unusual sense of purpose. The slaves drew near while the bemused guards thought it was yet another salvation cult that would dull the slaves' sense of suppression and actually make things easier for the management of the plantation in the long run. What the guards did not know was that this hermit had mastered the shout of Unrelenting Force and combined it with a shout of Absolute Freedom.

"Gentlemen!" the hermit began addressing the assembled slaves. "I call you that because that is what you are. When any of you marry, do any of you assume your master's right to deflower the bride before handing her over to her rightful husband?"

A shudder ran through the assembly of Khajiits and Argonians as they shook their heads in disgust.

"Then why do you allow this?"

"Sir, we are slaves. It is our place that this be done to us."

"What utter rot! Let me teach you the shout of Absolute Freedom."

He began teaching them the shout, and the guards were getting nervous.

"Look, Mister, nobody invited you here, so..."

"FUS RO DAH!" the hermit shouted, and a shock wave extended outward in all directions, bowling all the guards flat on their backs with the wind knocked out of them.

The slaves had been unaffected and stood where they were. The hermit then intoned the shout of Absolute Freedom, and the bracers automatically fell from their wrists.

"Spread the word!" the hermit yelled and vanished.

The slaves scattered in all directions, and when a posse was sent to round them up again, they were nowhere to be found.

However, just to be clear, their freedom came with a strict proviso. Each slave had one month in which to share his or her freedom with two more slaves. Now, imagine what would happen if shared only ten times: 1 > 2 > 4 > 8 > 16 > 32 > 64 > 128 > 256 > 512 > 1,024. And imagine if 100 freed slaves did this: > 102,400. How many slaves are there in Vvardenfell anyway? Well, if a freed slave didn't do his or her part in making this happen, the mark of a slave would appear on his or her forehead, and there would be nowhere to hide.

Of course, when there are no longer any slaves in Vvardenfell, the proviso would be lifted, and Vvardenfell would no longer be the benighted sweatshop of Tamriel. Already, some unscrupulous manufacturers on the mainland were shipping raw materials there to be brought back as finished goods, thus spreading the pain the under-employed freemen of Vvardenfell to the workers in their own communities. No longer would their motto have to be "Live free and starve!" And so it was with malicious glee that the mainlanders cheered on the first arrivals who'd been ferried across by the Anti-Slavery Coalition.

At first there were only a few, but the numbers kept swelling until it was a veritable crowd of Khajiiti and Argonians trudging through the mainland towns and villages on their way to Elsweyr and Blackmarsh. Signs quickly went up along their routes: "No begging, no brigandage, and NO STAYING!" This was not so much due to a lack of hospitality as to the local people's inability to accommodate so many. Mainland Khajiiti and Argonians did their best to aid and support families with children--until it came to light that not all the escapees were former slaves.

The number of slaves was too immense for any of the slave owners and bounty hunters to bring them all back to heel, so to make up for the loss, they started shanghaiing the freeborn into forced labor. Duke Dren put a stop to that by issuing an executive order to cease and desist immediately. The Imperials were appealed to for help in stopping the exodus, but they too were laughing up their sleeves. Everyone knew how the district of Vvardenfell cravenly bowed to Imperial authority on the condition that their slave ownership remained unimpeded, and when granted this, how they exulted in their unique status as the sink-hole of Tamriel.

It wasn't long before word started going around among the ultra-conservative Dunmeri that the Imperials had broken their side of the agreement and now was high time for the Dunmeri to drive out the imperialist dogs, even if this meant supporting Dagoth Ur and his Sixth House. Their leaders were warned that the Imperial legions were unstoppable, and the rebels would be driven into the sea to feed the slaughterfish. Yet the gauntlet was thrown down, and the Imperials were summoned to bite the dust at Ghostgate, which would be thrown open once and for all.

The stage was set for the show-down, and the entire Red Mountain was covered with rank upon rank of unseasoned fighters who hoped that the appearance alone of Dagoth Ur and his lieutenants, Dagoths Odros, Vemyn, and Tureynul, would strike terror in the hearts of their enemy. Their height advantage would have served them well, and the strategy to lure the Imperials into the treacherous crater of Red Mountain was do-able. The legions pushing from behind not knowing what was ahead would send hundreds of those in front plunging headlong into the lava pit. However, the said Dagoths, Ur, Odros, Vemyn, and Tureynul, were taking too long to make their grand appearance.

And it started of as a muffled sound, but it got bigger and bigger. Dohn, dohn, dohn, DOHN, DOHN, DOHN, DOHN, DOHN, DOHN! One legion after another came stomping up the foyada clashing their swords against their shields. Orc and Nord militias were coming over the hills on either side. And then the Battlemages came from behind having passed the through Kogoruhn cavern.

A messenger was sent into the Dagoth Ur complex to inquire into what was holding up the works. Dagoth Ur had responded enthusiastically to the battle plan laid out before him the day before, but that was yesterday. Today he felt very differently. He responded that the only way the Imperials could be vanquished was by his going into the battle with Nerevar Reborn at his side.

"Sire, begging your pardon for my seeming obtuse, but isn't this a bad time to be casting about for a mythical character?"

"I know he's out there somewhere--we just have to find him."

"Sire, the enemy is standing outside our gate!"

"Then parley!"

"P-p-parley?!"

That's what the rebels finally ended up doing. They were given a choice to submit to being shackled and transported to the penal colony in Solsteim or having their heads piled up as war booty before Emperor Uriel Septim.

It was not difficult choice, and thus ended the battle that never happened.