Black Ops

The next two weeks did not go as Rashan imagined it would.

Confusion reigned.

Reports flooded the ports—messengers from coastal watchpoints, merchant captains rerouting their vessels, scouts offering secondhand accounts from passing fleets. Each message told a different story. Some warned of Thalmor ships shadowing trade routes. Others described peaceful landings by diplomatic envoys. One claimed a blockade forming near Gilane. Another described an open harbor. Some said the empire seceded them to the dominion others said it was a white peace.

The cities and rulers responded unevenly.

Forebear governors discussed peace terms. Crown warbands sharpened blades. Some called for negotiation. Others prepared for siege. Other celebrated pesce. The dissonance created silence between provinces. No single message aligned with the next. Decisions drifted. Orders stalled.

Rashan read everything.

Letters. Naval logs. Margins scrawled by nervous scribes. The language changed between cities. The phrasing bent just enough to shape different responses. It did not take long to understand.

The Dominion was winning the espionage war.

They worked faster. Sharper. More quietly. Their agents influenced behavior before any battle. Their ships maneuvered just out of reach. Their scouts disrupted communication chains with minor diversions and misdirection. The gaps between Hammerfell's cities grew by the day.

Rashan tracked it all—helpless to counter it.

He lacked a spy network. He held no high station. His father remained absent, he imagined it was not going well in the capital. His brothers had yet to return.

He focused on readiness: supply hubs secure, watch rotations steady, bread lines moving. Additionally he burned all the maps that showed where his bread depots stored his bread along with his production facilities which were all far inland.

He had used multiple shopping companies so much of the network of where his bread was stored wasn't apperant, plus his biggest depots were under armed guard.

But he was dreading what was to come.

The empire didn't give the dominion or its allies military access, so the sea would be the means by which the dominion would invade.

The Aldmeri Dominion held naval superiority—larger fleets, faster coordination, and greater magical support. Even with Hammerfell's long tradition of sailing and shipwright craft, the Dominion's navy moved with overwhelming force and precision.

Summerset warships sailed with clean lines, wind-bending mages, and elite crews trained since youth. Their formations struck with calculated pressure—layered volleys, elemental control, and swift repositioning.

Valenwood offered fast skirmishers—archer-packed vessels designed for flanking and confusion. Their presence broke formations. Their range slowed resupply.

Elsweyr contributed wild raiders—unorthodox captains with sand-sharp instincts. They disrupted. Distracted. Exploited every soft edge along the coast.

Together, the Dominion's navy moved as one—broad, layered, and built to surround and dismantle.

Hammerfell's navy remained proud and battle-tested. Their ships favored weight—thicker hulls, reinforced bows, decks built for ramming and boarding. Their crews trained for close combat, harpoons, oilfire, and siege tools built into the frame.

Redguard sailors carried legacy—descendants of Yokudan seafarers, hunters of pirates, survivors of open-water wars. Their ships held strength. Their cities stood fortified.

But the Dominion carried the advantage.

Larger fleets. Greater reach. Faster deployment.

And Rashan could feel it—just beneath the surface of each report, each delay, each contradiction on the page.

The sea had already shifted.

The sails had yet to arrive, but the war had begun- Hammerfell want ready.

Not even considering the incoherence running rampant among rulers and cities, Redguard soldiers continued to return—slowly, in waves. Many had fought in the Imperial heartland, from Bravil to Anvil. Some traveled by land, others by ship. Officers guided what units remained. Supplies stretched thin. Marches took weeks. It would take months before the kingdom saw its full force again and right now Rashan was pretty sure they were being selectively blockaded.

He sat back.

Rashan sighed.

No wonder the Redguards got their asses handed to them at the start of the war.

The information was clear as day. He and everyone he cared for needed to flee—his mother, his sister, the household staff. They had no place in what came next.

After they were gone, he tapped his fingers against the table.

The Dominion would need a few things once they arrived—easy access for their ships, somewhere to repair them, steady food, and a clean path across the river.

He smiled as he looked down at the map of Taneth.

Three targets sat circled in red.

Their first unsanctioned black op.

He planned to burn all of it down.