Castle Bruma, Bruma City

Vorenus decided that he liked the priest of Arkay. He was dedicated, and desired peace amongst the community. He did not need more enemies and trivial politics blocking what must be done. The priest left them, and Vorenus turned to the count who was looking at a family portrait, ages old.

"My great-great Grandmother, spanning back six generations, back under a different Empire," He said somberly. "A better Empire, in truth. Bigger, too. The Thalmor would not have risked attacking the Empire back then."

"Some would argue that there was no Empire during the Oblivion Crisis," Vorenus said.

"You are a man that knows his history," Carvain smiled through his thin lips. "No, I suppose there wasn't. My father used to always say the day the Septim reign ended was the day the Empire truly perished. The White-Gold Concordat was simply the straw that broke the camel's back."

"I don't believe that," Vorenus folded his arms. "History exaggerates. Dynasties rise and fall all the time. Valenwood fell to elven supremacists and the land of the Khajiit fell to trickery and deceit. To put the problems and burdens on one persons shoulders lessens the deeds the average peasant does, and justifies the evil that the cruel do. There is no sense to it,"

"That is an interesting point of--"

The doors opened wide and the two imperials looked upon several guards and a lone Khajiit woman. Her hands were bound and she was brought to her knees before them.

"We recovered this one at the gate trying to sneak away, sir!" The guard said.

"Your house, your rules." Vorenus said to the count. She did not look like someone who held information about the Soul Cairn. If he was to make a guess, Vorenus would have thought her to be a Thalmor spy that was keeping active watch in Bruma for a time.

"Take her to the dungeons. Question her. Khajiit are not known for their Imperial allegiance any longer," The count said. The khajiit woman was dragged away, down to the dungeons below.

---

Bruma Dungeons, Bruma City
"Oh, dear fellows, explain.
Brothers, can you help make it plain:
The man's been doing this for years,
Leaving maidens fair in tears
Before the final tune's been blast.
And her first dance with him will be the last."

The croaky voice could be heard in the darkness, as the door creaked open behind him. "Footsteps?" he said out loud to himself. "My, my, another play thing?"

"The count sends a present, Vladstone," One of the guard smiled as he tossed the Khajiit girl to the ground. "He wants you to make her sing as good as Vladstone the Slitter, he wants to hear her sing about the Imperial city and the Soul Cairn."

Vladstone burst into laughter, showing his blackened teeth. "Yes, yes, yes. I do like to sing. Did you hear me? Oh..., and such a little pretty rug. It would go well hanging on the wall." He stroked her face with his cold hands. For a long time there was silence as he just stared into her eyes. "Well, hang her up on the rack, friends. Hang her up!" He said in such a giddy delight.

They hung her up, spread her legs and her arms, and bound her tightly to the rack of wood.

"Forgive us if we do not stay, Vladstone. I do not have the stomach to watch again." The guards left, and Vladstone waved them off. He rolled out a large roll of cloth that revealed a large collection of blades and devices, large and small. He took the smallest, and showed her, he stuck the blade right up to her face and smiled. His breath was soft against her skin.

"The man in the mask of a bear...,"

He cut her face, suddenly.

"Had left the Lord of Gaer...,"

He slashed at her ear quickly, the cold blade sliced away the tip.

"Before the ladies' dance was ending..."

Two cuts, on her left arm. There was silence, and the torturer approached his table and brandished a large set of pliers. Blood dripped on the floor, it was just a small amount.

"THEN A TRUMPET SOUNDED! POR--TEND-ING,"

He stuck the pliers inside the Khajiit's large mouth and pulled at her tooth. Blood poured out of her mouth and he squealed in delight and took the large fang to the light of a torch and admired it. He set it back down on the table, smiling widely as he sang softly.

"..That the Queen of Rimmen and her consort
Called for the men to come to court.
Disdainful, passing over all the rest,"

He brandished a large knife and licked the tip of it. He stared deeply into her eyes and continued;

"Ogin approached she of bobbing breast."

The blade rested against her chest, and then it sliced. His eyes never left hers.

"She was rejected, saved a life of woe,
For a new maiden as fair as snow."

Vladstone went silent. He cleaned his blade of blood and returned to the tortured Khajiit. "Did you enjoy my demonstration, pretty? Do you want to talk now? Please don't, that was just the intro, you'll ruin the finale..., I plan to do much and more with you. I will ask you a few questions now. Please don't talk. Please. I can do so much better. Please. Don't. Talk."

---

Bruma City, Outside the Chapel of Arkay

Morning arrived in Bruma, and still the town was silent. The guards approached the resident area and knocked on the door softly. Slowly, the town was brought to the centre of the village. Dawn's light came from the east and blinded the city folk. There was to be a statement to ease the troubled minds about the situation down south. Noble and worker stood outside the large Chapel that was dedicated to Arkay, and waited for the priest. Some carried bold expressions, but more carried hints of fear and grief.

Inside Bruma, City Square

The mass of people gathered in the city centre was even more intimidating than Eugain believed it would be. He made his way up the terraced steps outside the chapel, coming to rest behind an altar which he had drug out himself the night prior. He faced the people, wondering at a moment whether or not he would be able to complete this task.

"No. I must." Eugain steadied himself, stepping up to the pew, and addressed the people before him...

"Men and women of Bruma, Man and Mer alike, I come before you this morn with heavy heart bearing news from the south." Eugain averted his eyes momentarily from the crowd, a lump rising in his throat. He shook the feeling from his mind, and faced the people once more. "Above the Imperial City, a phenomenon of unknown origin has torn the sky asunder. Much like the Oblivion Crisis of times past, we now face a foe of whom we know nothing." Not a movement nor a sound could be detected in the miniscule pause Eugain took now. Looks of worry furrowed the brows of the many citizens stood before him.

"It is with regret that I inform you, the White Tower has been taken. Its once-shimmering facade now drips black with the inky darkness left in the wake of these monstrosities. Many men and women have died." Eugain steeled himself against the gasps of horror and the many curses that now emanated from the congregation.

"What will we do?! What of our homes, our children!?"
"By the Eight, the strife never ends..."
"Shor's Bones, what a mess..."
"And what would the Legion do about it!?"

Eugain raised his voice. "Please, we must collectively take reign of our emotions! Now is not the time to break nor blame, but the time to band together for the good of all Cyrodiil- nay, all of Tamriel!" The cacophony slowed to a halt, leaving silence in its wake. Once more, the people's attention rested on the Priest. "Hearken back to the Oblivion Crisis. Did we, as men, give up then? Did Skyrim cower when the Dragons of Old sprang once more to life among them? No! They rose! They fought! They protected their lands with their very lives! With pride, and with honor, they wrenched shut the jaws of Oblivion, and brought the mighty Eater of Worlds, Alduiin, toppling from the sky!"

Passion enveloped Eugain, his voice growing louder and more frantic as he spoke. He now took less of a resemblance to a priest, seeming almost to act as a military leader. He slammed his fists upon the wooden altar in front of him, calling out a rallying cry to those who were watching.

"Come, people of Bruma! Steel your hearts! Stand strong amongst the trials we face now, for the Divines will surely grant us guidance through the storm! We must believe that we, the many Peoples of Tamriel, will weather this torrent and come out victorious, our Capital reclaimed, our People strong as the mighty stone beneath our feet!"

"Answer me this, Bruma! Will you flee? Or will you FIGHT?!"

The Pale Pass, Cyrodiil-Skyrim Border
_________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Thalmor leading the Dominion on another war to finally try to finish of the Empire of Tamriel, a dark vortex materialising over the Imperial City; news travels fast in Tamriel and despite his earlier plans, Nords, Sellswords and other warriors either seeking glory and fame or setting what was once right swarm towards Cyrodiil like a flock of seabirds on a loaf of bread. A little over a month since he began his journey south beginning from the town of Morthal, Mithlas had time to think of his plan for he knew well enough the truth is almost never good.

And the braggart did swagger and brandish his blade,
as he told of bold battles and gold he had made!

Mithlas sung to himself as he walked with his off-hand resting on the pommel of his sword as he was trained by Master Rauf. Just at the border, Mithlas turned around one last time to look into the place he called home for a few decades, this harsh land did grew unto him despite their earlier disagreements. While fond of the fresh crisp air of Skyrim, it was time to get back to warm olive shaded plains of Cyrodiil. Mithlas chose the road least travelled among the paths of the Pale Pass as very much preferred to avoid drawing his blade to deal with some up-start brigands.

His song was interrupted with the sudden notice of some heavily Nord accented threat of “Your money or your life!” as two Brigands leaped from the bushes; a large bearded man armed with a steel battle-axe, a very traditional looking Nord and a smaller Breton man armed with two long swords. In other words, the salt and pepper for a two man theatre comedy routine.

“Oi, you deaf?” barked the Breton pointing his weapon menacingly at Mithlas, still uninterested by the sudden turn of events. “Pay the toll or-“

“You’ll kill me and la la la,” Mithlas finished the brigand’s sentence in a tone full of mockery. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I don’t have time for this” he continued walking pass the brigands.

“Hey!” yelled the Nord with his face turning red as Mithlas continued his way south, not even paying heed to the thieves. “Don’t you walk away from me you pointy-eared milk-drinker!”

Still not responding to their threats, Mithlas could hear the war cry of the Nord as he charged at him, battle-axe raised intending to kill the elf in a single blow. Roaring at the top his lungs, the Nord swung his weapon hitting on the dirt unable to draw his back for some reason.

Mithlas looked at the stunned Nord with a boot stepping firmly on the helve of the battle-axe. Tilting his head coyly, Mithlas introduced his knee to the Nord’s face, knocking the brute of a man out cold with a single blow. Too early to celebrate his victory, the Breton charges making the same mistake as his partner did; weapons raised leaving himself open.

Reaching his hand onto one of pouches, Mithlas grabbed a handful of dirt and threw it into his would be attacker’s eyes. Loosing focus, Mithlas delivered a swift kick to the Breton’s loins before knocking him down on the ground. Looking at his attacker writhing on the ground, Mithlas inspected his satchel and found a pouch of gold; payment for his performance.

“Well I was wrong” he said. “This really was worth my trouble” he continued coyly before turning around heading south. “Thanks for the gold” he continued his taunts raising his hand waving his captive audience goodbye.

“Where was I again?” he said to himself. “Oh right,”

And the braggart named Ragnar was boastful no more-
When his ugly red head rolled around on the floor!

Snafeliz had since been kept busy with the influx of refugees from Leyawiin. She had opened her doors to the young and the elderly to help keep them off the streets. Mostly just a few refugee Khajiit that had managed to escape. During the night she ushered them upstairs so that she could still keep her business running, and in this time of distress many had turned to the bottle. She’d bought on extra guards to help maintain civility and to ensure that the children and elderly upstairs were left alone by her clients, but didn’t go pocketing any of her valuables either. After all, she still had to keep up her livelihood while she could. She had to eat like everyone else, and now she had more mouths that she had to feed.

She finished wiping over the bench and went to see the cook in the kitchen. “A peaceful greeting to you. This one is most weary. There is much to be done and this one fears there is more yet to come.” She straightened her skirt as the chef gave a similar greeting and handed over a bowl of broth. With the bowl in hand she left the kitchen and sat down at one of the now empty tables. Later she’d put one of the youngsters to work while she took a nap before the night crowd came in to drink their sorrows away. Since the town had welcomed the refugees, and she had welcomed some to her house and establishment, she had decreed that the younger ones could work the bar with her to help with the upkeep, what with all the new patronage. The youngsters felt better being able to do something and it usually meant that Snafeliz could get some sleep during the daytime. Chef had an easier time of it as well as she did not have to tend to the kitchen and the bar during the day should they get customers.
Snafeliz took a bite of meat off of her spoon and chewed slowly as she thought. She let the taste of the sweetened meat roll over her as she felt herself unwinding after the long day and even longer week. One of the younger children spoke up from her elbow. “A peaceful greeting to you, bar mistress Snafeliz.” She looked down at the child and her smile was less bright than one of her lamps. “A peaceful greeting to you, Ma.”

“This Khajiit will help the bar mistress Snafeliz this evening.”

“Snafeliz thanks you. Help in the kitchen until this one calls for you.” With that the child scurried off to help Chef in the kitchen and J’ffer slunk over to her and jumped into her lap, purring for some of the sweet meat still in her bowl. “Speak. Khajiit will listen until all of the sugars of the world turn sour,” she said fondly to her brother, handing him a large piece of meat from her spoon. He returned the greeting, purring loudly before taking the meat delicately from her fingers. She let him lick her fingertips clean of all the juices and returned the bowl to the kitchen. The child took the bowl from her hands and dashed away to get it clean before hurrying on with the other chores to be done.
She slipped out the back to check on her supplies, sighing heavily. She had not been able to procure supplies since Bravil had shut down and she was getting low. She’d have to start turning away customers soon if this kept up much longer. That’s when she heard the commotion. Her ears pricked at the sound and she tensed. She ran for her gauntlets and had shouted for the guards whom had arrived only a few short hours ago as the door flew open. An Argonian flew through the door as she picked up her sword, slinging the sheath over her shoulder, grinning and scattering the few customers that had come in early, mostly Khajiit eager to disappear into the bottoms of their cups for the night.

A hulking male came up beside her claws on one hand at the ready, a knife as long as her forearm ready in the other. They moved toward the Argonian together, she swiped down at him, her sword catching his forearm, slicing it open. When he didn’t even so much as flinch at the damage, she knew he was deep into Hist Sap. A sliver of fear darted into her mind, but she pushed it aside as she wondered at her options. Together she and the guard struggled against the Argonian until she backed out and let him do the job himself. “This one’s eyes surely deceive her,” she said as she saw more Argonians come towards them, eager to join in the fight. By now the other two guards had come, eager to fight after relatively quiet week despite the refugees. They grabbed various weapons and stepped over the body as it spewed a puddle of blood from its opened neck. As the three males fought the small band of Argonians, Snafeliz quickly ran back inside snatching her other gauntlet as she did so and ran upstairs to fetch the refugees. At the top of the stairs she came face to face with her Chef and a knife pointed directly at her throat.

After a quick withdrawal Chef said sheepishly, “This Khajiit did not mean to harm you.” However Snafeliz waved off the apology and informed the group that they would be moving and that those who could wield a knife were to take what they could from kitchen. After they had all left for the kitchen, she picked up a small bag that she could hang over her shoulder and placed her spare gauntlet in it and picked up the small stash of treasure she’d been keeping hidden. She made sure so as to not let it clink and attached it to the leather thong that she tied her dagger to against her thigh. Chef gave her a knowing look and turned back to keep guard while her boss shifted her skirts to hide the pouch. They descended the stairs together to the accompaniment of shouts and clangs of swords. In the kitchen she said, “Follow this Khajiit,” and led the way out the back and into a surprised group of Argonians that had seemingly been preparing to enter from the back while their comrades fought at the front.

J’ffer whom had been at Snafeliz’s feet had weaved out from the group without a sound, avoiding the confrontation completely as he jumped onto a ledge. Overcoming her surprise, Snafeliz jumped forward taking a head clean off for her efforts. The rest of the Argonians surged forward overcoming the party easily, killing most of the elderly almost effortlessly, although sustained serious but not mortal wounds for their efforts. The oldest of the young seemed little better, but not by much and the youngest were slaughtered easily, their last cries melting Snafeliz and Y’ffers hearts more than a little, however they ignored it as best they could and slowly the Argonian party was whittled down to two, but so was theirs. Chef had sustained serious, and more than likely mortal wounds, but was still holding her ground. Snafeliz dodged a swipe at her midsection and came to stand at a forty-five degree angle to the Argonian and bought her sword up and around, lodging it deeply into the males side.

He collapsed to one knee. As she bought the sword down, she said “This one avenges her fallen companions,” and let the blade slide through to the Argonians spine. She came up behind the last Argonian who was distracted pilfering through Chefs clothes looking for anything of worth when he looked down to see a sword tip sticking out through his chest. Snafeliz placed a foot on his back and pushed him off of her blade. She knelt down, keeping her skirt from sitting in blood and quickly cleaned her sword before sheathing it. When she stood up, J’ffer was by her side and together they made their way to the castle, hiding in the deepest of shadows avoiding notice where possible, fighting where it wasn’t.

Akari Bruma Dungeons

As she was dragged down to the dungeons a million thoughts flashed before her eyes..training attempting to kick in. She had taken a taste of torture from one of her fellow thieves guild members...It was nothing compared to this. They thought she had information on -what-? The crazed old man sent terror down the cat's back. As he spoke and ...sung...she remained silent...until the blade came across her face. At that she yelped and growled, the slice up her ear was on fire..."AArhg...!" The slices to her arm made her yowl loudly..which only made the next part easier for him. Tears streamed down her cheeks as her tooth was pulled, thankful it wasn't a canine...she spit the blood that was pooling in her mouth in the torturer's direction. As he pressed the blade to her chest, his eyes locked on hers...she found she couldn't look away...her fear filled gaze glaring into his. Then came the cut and she screamed...she screamed louder than she had in recent memory..."I...I know...I know nothing...of the Thalmor Dogs...n..nor..t..the..hole in the sky...I..I'm ju..just a thi..thief..." She was terrified...horrified...that people would go to these lengths...If she could think clearly she would realize, she came from Skyrim, she had no contacts here, it made her all the more suspicious. Most likely the Thieves Guild back home would not come for her...they would assume she'd perished in one of the conflicts. From the look in his eye...she knew that no matter how hard she pleaded, or how much she denied it...he would continue...The thought was too much to bear, she closed her eyes as a stream of blood from her ear dripped into them, Let me..let me become free...and i shall serve the Divine that free's me till my dying breath... and with that prayer, made herself pass out.

Bravil

Do'Ja was certain that he had never had this much fun before in all of his life. He couldn't turn a corner without being faced with a new opponent, or- as his luck would have it at this juncture- three. Do'Ja had followed the sounds of battle, seeking what he deemed the central point of excitement. His belief in his decision was strengthened by the increasing amount of Argonian marauders he came across as he made his way hastily through the city. Though not unscathed, Do'Ja was far from finished with the events of the day.

He stood perfectly still behind the corner, angling his ears to listen in on what the sapped Argonian soldiers had to say.

"She is monstrous, brothers. No Orc fights like that."
"We must destroy her!"
"Fear not, my friends... The Large One will make quick work of the fool."

Do'Ja's ears twitched. This should prove to be most interesting. He peeked his head around the corner to find many more people- both living and dead- than he had anticipated. The bodies of the Argonians were mixed amongst the bodies of Bravil's guards. A few shaky-looking men stood behind a heavily clad Orc woman, who was being approached by perhaps the largest Man or Mer Do'Ja had ever seen. All attention was on him and the Orc woman as his ground-shaking steps approached her. Though she looked to be incredibly tough, Do'Ja feared this was not a task that she would survive on her own.

"Perhaps a hand could be lent," he thought to himself. "All the more fun for Do'Ja." His grin nearly split to his ears.

The two Argonians closest to the corner never knew what hit them. Silently Do'Ja rounded the curve, digging his claws deeply into their throats, severing the major arteries. The third turned to face him as his companions fell limp to the floor, though not quickly enough as his chest was met with a forceful kick as he completed his turn. The Argonian tumbled backwards, plunging into the mass of marauders surrounding the Orc and the pale-faced guardsmen.

He cracked his knuckles and called out over the crowd-

"Come, thjiz renrij! Your cowardly tactics reveal you as no warriors to match the Orc, nor I. Let us even the odds."

It took several precious minutes to construct a bridge, made from multiple ladders layered with several flat sheets of wood. The legion slowly moved across, fearful of the bridge falling beneath their feet, when they reached the other side they organized into several squads of three. The units spread far, dividing the forces of the Blackwood Company and tiring them out.

Won't-Back-Down was the last man out of the castle, and within seconds he was in the thick of battle. He roared loudly, beckoning his kind to fight him. His axe was shining brightly with flames. When he swung his large axe with all his weight the enemies jumped backwards as the sharp metal slammed into the ground. He delayed himself with picking it up, pretending it was lodged in the ground. The Argonian fueled with her hist sap charged quickly with all the rage she possessed. Won't-Back-Down dodged the blow and brought his axe up with ease, pushing her off balance.

His second blow came quickly, then the third finished her. Her skin smoked by touching his axe. Won't-Back-Down and his men continued to push through the city until they were faced with the fire. The wooden houses were dancing with flames, Won't-Back-Down could feel the heat against his cold skin, enough to recoil and take several steps back. The flames consumed and climbed high into the night.

"The Argonian scum!" one of his soldiers said. "This fire will take the entire city if we don't extinguish it."

"Better the city than the lives within it," Their Legate spoke. "Spread out in separate squads, evacuate the civilians to the castle. The main pathway is your home, when the fire reaches that far pull the constructed bridge inside, do not open it until I send the word."

"The count will not be pleased," One soldier said.

"Daedra take the count. Squads Uriel, Magnus, Pelagius and Titus with me. We're going to reinforce the docks and keep the fighting there! EVERYONE MOVE OUT!"

Won't-Back-Down led the charge away from the castle and towards the docks. The fire quickly pursued and screams of horror took the city. Man and beast wept for mercy, but the Legion offered none to its enemies. He pushed his axe into an Argonian, it only dented his armour. He twisted the large axe, and pushed with all his strength. The metal split and the blade opened his opponents stomach. He fell to his feet, and Won't-Back-Down brought down his axe again.

"TALOS TAKE THE MAN WHOSE BLADE IS UNBLOODIED WHEN HE DIES!" He roared, as he and his men charged forward, smashing through the Argonian lines. The worship of talos was illegal, but the very name seemed to wash strength over the legion. The Empire was supposed to forget that such a deity ever existed, but the legion remembered.

Arrows flew from the battlements of the city walls, giving precious moments of respite for the guardsmen, allowing them to fall back and gather their courage. The wounded strong enough fled towards the castle, but the healthy few guards that remained rejoined the fray, helping the legion take advantage of the Blackwood Company. They weren't as disciplined as the Legion, but the extra hands strengthened the defense. They pushed their line forward, and struck a blow, defended from a weak counter-attack, struck, defended and watched the arrows separate them. They were winning.

Treads-Heavily: Bravil
Treads-Heavily pulled the sword from the final marauder, leaning against the wall of the alley to catch his breath. The group that had fallowed him put up more of a fight than the first two and they were better equipped, with elven armor and weapons.

He felt something warm running down his arm, looking he saw blood spreading on his sleeve just below his right shoulder. Guess one of them got in a hit. It wasn’t serious but it would sting later.

He took a couple deep breaths before shoving himself from the wall, making his way further into the cluster of buildings towards the fighting. Many of the marauding Argonians had made their way into the buildings but apparently weren’t expecting much resistance this side of the river. Only two or three in a group were making their way through the buildings.

He first ran into a group of two just leaving a building, covered in blood and arms filled with loot mere steps from Treads-Heavily. The first’s head left his shoulders before he knew what was happening, the second managed to place his hand on his axe when Treads-Heavily punched forward with his shield. The heavy metal edge crashing into his face breaking bone, teeth and sending him to the ground. Treads-Heavily reversed his grip on his blade and stabbed down into the prone marauder, he shuddered as the blade seared his flesh before dying.

He yanked the blade from the body, catching a glimpse of the door the two had just emerged from. Two bodies, a woman and a young boy were both lying on the floor in a large pool of blood. He’d become no stranger to seeing death but families had a way of dredging up old memories of his adoptive parents and their death.

Taking another deep breath to steady himself he continued to push through the buildings towards where he though the castle was. Group after group of the Argonian mercenaries fell before him as he made his way through the twisting alleyways. Another two had fallen to his blade when he noticed that some nearby buildings were becoming engulfed in flame. He continued to where he heard the fighting, finally emerging from the alleyway to see Legionnaires making their way across a makeshift bridge fighting the Argonians, pushing them in the direction of the docks. Treads-Heavily noticed something surprising, an Argonian wearing imperial armor seemed to be leading the charge and giving orders to the Legionnaires around him.

His moment of surprise was short lived though as a nearby battle cry alerted him to the group of 3 approaching mercenaries, now too close for him to retreat into the cover of the buildings. Caught in the open the skirted the charge of the first, deflecting the clumsy blow with his shield slashing the assailants side. The next two weren’t far behind, running up to hammer blows with a great sword and great axe alike. Again Treads-Heavily moved, placing the sword wielding mercenary between him and the third. The Argonian swung with a great overhead chop, as if trying to cleave him in two. Treads-Heavily caught the blow, the impact jarring his bones, shoving it to the side following with an upward slash that cut the mercenary from hip to shoulder.

The axe wielder seemed to have more sense than the others, seeing the opening Treads-Heavily had presented sidestepped his cloven companion making a swing at Treads-Heavily sword side. Seeing it coming he spun to place his shield between him and the massive axe but was unable to brace for the jarring blow. The impact made him stagger back a step and Treads-Heavily could hear the first attacker roaring in rage and charging again. He backpedaled away from the two assailants towards the charging one, bracing a stopping his charge cold. Treads-Heavily quickly finished him off with an upward stab through the enraged Argonians chest cavity, hitting almost every major organ. But he didn’t die quickly, reaching around Treads-Heavily’s shield and managing to rake his clawed along his reptilian snout.

Shouting in pain he shoved the dead marauder away, the body falling off his sword as it sizzled and stank of burnt flesh. Blood dripping from his snout he spun around to face the last two as they bore down on him. He deflected blow after blow from the two mercenaries, each one slamming his now very sore arm and shoulder. It was becoming more and more difficult to move the shield in the way of the onslaught of blows, he needed to create an opening.

When the sword wielder struck again he angled the shield to deflect in the direction of the axe wielding mercenary. With the mercenary now twisted to the left he rushed forward with his shield held high, bull rushing him. With a solid ’thunk’ the mercenary was knocked from his feet, as expected the axe wielder came to the aid of his fallen comrade. Stopping yet another blow he shoved forward with the shield knocking the axe wielder off balance and Treads-Heavily proceeded to launch his own flurry of blows, attacking high and low, thrusting and hacking as fast as he could. Bleeding from several wounds the mercenary could not defend himself with the large axe, finally a slashing blow sank into the mercenary’s skull, twitching and falling to the ground pulling the blade from Treads-Heavily’s grasp.

The finally mercenary roared in rage, charging at him. Quickly shedding his shield he took up the fallen Argonians axe. Bringing it behind his back he swung forward, snapping his whole body forward putting every muscle he had into hurling the massive axe through the air. It spun twice through the air before sinking into the charging Argonian, taking him off his feet and strait to the ground.

Gasping for air Treads-Heavily sank to his knees, looking around to make sure he had a moment to catch his breath. Blood had made it to his eye, stinging it he wiped his face, hissing as the gashes along his shout burned at the touch. He looked back to the Imperial forces, they’d almost reached him and were making steady progress against the invaders.

By the eight we may actually win this. he thought.

Snafeliz stood in the shadows of a house with J’ffer on her shoulder, however not for much longer as the fire came closer and showed her in stark contrast against the house. The glittering light of the fire put the wounds that she had sustained on bright display. Her shirt was caked in blood, still moist and sticky, lines beading in her fur matting it. She had one set of claw marks down one cheek bone, the blood still steadily dripping from it. Her shirt was torn, another set of claw marks had ripped the stiff material, just barely nicking the skin underneath. She had one small nick on her upper arm.

She bared her teeth in a growl, her canines glinting in the fires dancing light as she pounced on an Argonian that had sighted her, J’ffer jumping off at the last second. She had transferred her sword to her left hand and reached with the right one towards her enemy’s neck. Her sharp claws dug deep and she ripped her hand away, taking voice box, esophagus and windpipe alike. The Argonian clawed at the air for several moments before collapsing. Snafeliz threw away the throat and it’s parts as she turned around to face the other Argonians that had charged her. She transferred the sword back to her dominant hand and swung it up as she knelt down, the blade getting stuck somewhere in the middle of her foes body and she sustained another claw to the side for her efforts as the Argonian filth struggled in its death throes. She tugged the sword out and pulled her knife into her other hand as she became surrounded.

A growl came low from her diaphragm, her lips vibrating with the low sound as she twirled, sword flashing and knife darting. J’ffer helped in the way he could, but against the hist sap, he could only help make them bleed. Once or twice he was able to leap up and take a chunk or two from their throats, helping weaken them more.
Snafeliz got hit with the pummel of some weapon or other, probably a sword and went sprawling to the ground. She felt the split in her cheek and the loose tooth, but rolled as her back hit the ground spitting the tooth out in a spray of blood and cracked her neck before pouncing back into the action. She flipped the knife in her hand so that the blade lay to the outside of her hand and she bought the gauntleted hand up to smash into the face of one of two remaining Argonians. His head snapped back as she said “Renrij scum, this one will show you what it means to fight.” With that, she ran her sword through him, her blood flying everywhere from her exertions.

Running on adrenaline and stubbornness she turned to the last Argonian that was distracted trying to skewer J’ffer as he attacked, clawing where he could, and biting likewise. She stalked towards her prey, her sword back in her left hand. By the time the distracted Argonian looked up to see the threat she had pulled off any protection he had been wearing and she kicked him powerfully, sending him back a step. A sound escaped her lips, escalating into another growl, her face contorted into pleasure at the fight. As the Argonian recovered from his surprise and came at her swinging his great ax, she ducked and came in close, her fist punching the filth in the chin, his head snapping to the side, the momentum sending him to the ground.

She grinned, the feral sight would have made any citizen of Bravil retreat quickly, but the Argonian simply made as if to get up. Instead, she bent over the slightly dizzied male and unsheathed her claws. “This one will enjoy that you feel no pain, and this one will laugh,” and let her claws rip the soft stomach scales, the sound making her laugh joyously as the Argonian struggled under her, bucking as much as he could. As her hand wrapped around his heart, she tugged it out and muttered “Jekosiit filth.” As she stood up and walked away still grinning, she took a bite out of the heart before throwing it away. The taste turned her face sour and she spat it out and wiped her hand down the back of her skirt in a futile attempt to clear the blood.

She noticed a few more scratches that she must have obtained from that last Argonian, but she shrugged it off. There would be time for that later. For now, she headed towards the docks, following the direction of the fire and the shouts she could hear nearby.

It was morning in Bruma, and Kodlak rose wearily from his slumber. His body was sore, but his mind was racing and alive. It was a new dawn. Another morning on the hunt. And today, Kodlak was going to pay a visit to the city of Bruma.

Getting inside of the city wasn't terribly hard. Sure Kodlak had to hide a dead guard off or two along the way, but to be fair, he was keeping his casualty rate to an astonishingly low rate considering that he was walking among Imperialistic pigs. Any other day and he would of taken this morning as an opportunity to purge this Bruma from it's infestation of Imperial filth. Any man or mer or beast that slighted him was immediately dealt with.

As he got into Bruma however, he noticed a man upon a pulpit preaching to a crowd. It seemed as though word of the Imperial City falling had spread fast and he could practically taste the infectious fear in the air. As he gave his rousing finish to his speech, Kodlak couldn't help but laugh at the foppish plump man.

"Only thing you could fight, Breton, is a bad case of hemorrhoids." Kodlak then turned to the crowd. "This city will fall. Your children will burn in the face of this massacre and you'll suffocate in the ashes. What's coming here, I saw it. These are beasts, predators. You are prey. Get out of this city while you still can. Run to the edges of the lands like the weaklings you are and then die where you're knees collapse. Because that is all you know how to do."

Kodlak turned his back to the crowd as he looked back towards Eugain. "It isn't your fault you know? You're forefathers were too cowardly to defend Cyrodiil from the Elves, and now you are faced with an actual enemy, why should anyone expect anything less than you to falter? Go on, scram. Get out of my sight Breton, but don't bring up battles of past valor when you obviously had no part in them. You weren't there when it was time to dive into the Planes of Oblivion and fight Mehrunes Dagon in his domain. You weren't there to strike down the Gods of the Sky, dragons sculpted in Akatosh's image. I can tell that from just looking at you. You're weak, and that's all you ever will be."

Bruma Dunegons, Bruma Castle
Vladstone continued to harass the Khajiit until dawn. He had beaten her, stripped her and almost came close to ripping her tongue out, but he learned to control himself. When she had fallen unconscious repeatedly, he slowly took her off the torture rack and pulled her bleeding body into her cell. He kissed her soft head before he left and closed the cell door, locking it behind him.

He met the Count and Legate at morning. Vorenus was instantly put off his eggs and black bacon by the mere sight of the torturer. He was covered in blood and smelled like a man who refused to take baths. Vorenus pushed his breakfast away and looked at the man with uncertainty.

"She says nothing of importance, just screams and cries. She's a thief, was running from the city..., she claims to know nothing of the city."

"Do you believe her, Vladstone?" The Count asked, while swallowing a piece of warm bread.

"I do, sadly." He said as his eyes scanned upon the food on the table.

"Go on, sit." The Count smiled.

"What is to be done with the thief then?" Vorenus brought himself to ask. Vladstone laughed and smiled, showing his yellow teeth.

"I usually let thieves and murderers go to the mercy of Vladstone. It is an effective way to discourage crime," The count said with indifference. "Is that a problem?"

Vorenus was silent, half disgusted and yet half fascinated."Your house, your rules," he brought himself to say.

---

Castle Bravil, Bravil

The surviving city-folk scurried into the castle as the legion had ordered. They huddled together in fear, dreading that their city would burn and the people who had yet to make it inside. There was crying, and from the balcony above the civilians looked up to see their Count looking down upon them. Terentius had clearly not been informed of the arrangement the legion had made. He whispered to his soldiers and soon enough the innocent men, women and children stopped arriving. The makeshift bridge to the city had been removed, and the legion and the civilians in the city were locked out.

From somewhere within the castle came a shriek.

---

The Docks, Bravil City
"VICTORY! VICTORY!" The loud chorus was taken up from legion and surviving guardsmen. The dock had been cleared, and all around him lay dead Argonian's.

Won't-Back-Down pulled his axe out of an Argonian, whose body squirmed and twitched in return. He turned his attention to the slowly burning city and his smiled drifted from his lips. Victory never lasted long. When Windhelm fell, and Ulfric's rebellion died the celebrations were expected to last all through the night. They didn't, however. There were too many casualties to be happy with, and there was always work to be done.

"We can control the fire and keep it away from the market and the Inns," Kala told him as they walked towards the castle. "It has done some damage to the living estates already, and the chapel is lost,"

Won't-Back-Down acknowledge her with a nod. "Right, soldiers! To the castle! We'll break out the ale, thirsty work killing Thalmor scum!" There was laughter and applause.

"Last one to the castle can serve in their fucking smallclothes!" One soldier said, receiving more laughter.

When they reached the castle the Legate was met with a large line of soldiers. "Let us in! The battle is over! We've won!"

There was no reply. Won't-Back-Down pushed ahead to the front of the line. "Terentius! They speak the truth. The city is saved, now pull back the bridge. The sons and daughters of the empire are thirsty!"

Silence. Then the arrow sprouted out of Kala's head. The Legate looked across the large gap as several figures stood upon the castle ramparts. From across the large crevice there was a lone Altmer. He stepped forward, right to the edge and threw out his hand. The head rolled to the Legate's feet. It was Count Terentius. Soon after, many more heads showered down upon them. Men, women and even the heads of children soon littered their feet.

"I believe an introduction is in order, Legate." The Altmer spoke softly. Arrows were notched from above, ready to rain down once the word was given. How? How was there so many? Won't-Back-Down had been so careful, how had they got passed him? "My name is Lord Decimus. Lord of Dusk, and heir to the Aldmeri Dominion. I give you the option to surrender-- you can see what happened to the last person who denied my offer."

"Bastards!" An imperial cried out.

Decimus just smiled, "They ran as quick as they could, but the bridge had been pulled in. And one by one we cut them down."

"I will never bend the knee to you, Thalmor." Won't-Back-Down found himself saying on instinct.

"Listen carefully, pondscum." The elf spat. "This is twice I have met your forces and twice I have defeated you. Anvil will soon fall, and Cheydinhal after-- the Imperial city is already lost. There is no line of defense after you. Cyrodil is ours."

His heart skipped a beat. "Liar."

Decimus laughed cruelly. "You hadn't heard? Oh, what a tragedy. The high and mighty Won't-Back-Down, first Argonian legate, an honour, a privilege against these... men. I think it's time you take a new name, Pondscum."

"What would that be?" He didn't know why he was taking out his axe, but as he did he heard the swords draw from behind him. It would be a hopeless battle, there was no way into the castle.

"Six-Feet-Under." The Altmer threw his hand forward. Arrows and spells rained down.

Snafeliz stood by the Legion, but did not partake in their celebratory shouts of victory. She did however make her way for the castle, stopping short of the line of men and women waiting for the bridges to be redrawn. Her brow furrowed when the cries of the men and women surrounding her went unanswered. Not only that, but she noticed that she was drawing some stares and she looked down at herself. She had been sliced up everywhere that she could see, her clothes in pieces and she grimaced. What was left, along with her fur was covered in blood, both matted and still fresh. She had body bits and pieces covering her and she became aware that her mouth and jaw were slick with blood and thicker things.

She stared unblinkingly at a few soldiers who were eyeing her off until they backed down, and then her attention turned to the legate who had pushed his way to the front. She saw the arrow strike home in a woman’s head with a thunk and her attention turned towards the castle. She saw them clearly in the dark, an advantage she had over those that surrounded her. She saw the rounded shapes in their hands but couldn’t fathom what they were until they were being flung in the air. She watched the heads rise and fall towards them and she grimaced. Obviously there was no choice about the matter now, she’d have to pack up what was left, if there was anything left and leave. She would not be getting many clients here for a very long time.

She sidled up between the Legate and the body of the woman that had been standing next to him. She listened to the offer and smirked. Even if the Legate were to surrender, she was so out of here. She waited for a few moments to see what the legate would say in response. Upon hearing the exchange, she grinned and pulled out several of the daggers that she’d picked up from the Argonians she’d either killed or come across on her way here. She perched the tip of the dagger between her thumb and forefinger and threw it hard enough to lodge in an opponent’s chest, the hilt quivering slightly as the man fell to his knees. She doubted many of the men and women on this side would have seen what she had done in the dark. But she watched as the man collapsed to his knees, then fell over completely.

As she watched however, the man on the other side gave the order for the arrows to be released. She watched the arrows as they fell from the sky, dodging a couple here and there. She pulled out another two daggers and threw them, missing one of the men as they moved to the side instinctively, but the other sank deeply into a woman’s forehead. She’d just thrown the second dagger when she heard the whistling of an arrow coming for her and moved too slowly. As the arrow sank home in her thigh, she realized her reflexes were slowing down from the blood loss and wounds she had already sustained.

Even so, she stayed where she was and removed the arrow. She used her own knife to help jiggle out the arrow head, eventually giving up and yanked the arrow out. Blood gushed from the wound and she ripped off a piece of shirt and wrapped it tightly around the opening, staunching the flow a small amount. She stood up and stumbled slightly, bumping into Won’t-Back-Down hard enough that she moved him back a step or two, both of them narrowly avoiding the arrow that had been descended where Won’t-Back-Down had been standing. She stood up straight, head still swimming, but she muttered, “Arrow was meant for that one. Watch out for the next arrow meant for that one’s head or heart.” With that she pulled another looted dagger out and threw it, her hand shaking just enough that the dagger missed the heart, only plunging between the ribs

Treads-Heavily: Bravil

Treads-Heavily was exhausted, he'd fought more in the last hour then he'd done in over a year. Though if he were to count the group of bandits that had hold up the town he'd been in 14 months ago it might break even. With the Empire finally able to fight the invaders he decided to get back on the trail of the assassin he'd spent a lot of time and money finding.

He began making his way back to the Inn, hoping the fire hadn't reached it or his belongings yet. He made his way through the abandoned streets as quickly as his tired legs could carry him. He reached the Inn the same time as the flames, part of the roof and south wall were alight with flame. The door had been locked and the flames had spread by the time Treads-Heavily managed to break it down.

The frame had splintered under the force of his blows. Stepping in he found a group of people huddled in the corner, whimpering as the building filled with smoke.

"Get out! The Inn is on fire!" He yelled.

They coward closer together at his words, shying away from him.

"By the eight are you deaf?" he said walking towards them, intent on shoving them out. "I said the Inn is on fi-"

When he reach for them one of the men sprung up, screaming wildly he swung what looked like the broken leg of one of the chairs. Surprised, the makeshift club struck Treads-Heavily's head. Glancing off his horn and striking his head with a solid 'thunk'. His vision went black.

He awoke coughing, the acrid stench of smoke filling his nose. He placed his armored hand over his mouth out of reflex, the blood soaked metal and leather doing little to filter the smoke from the air. He opened his eyes to see the lower floor had begun to fill with smoke before shutting them from the stinging fog and spinning room. He lay still unsure what to do, his head throbbing and spinning telling him to lay still. His lungs begging for fresh air as he coughed.

Finally managing to recover his wits, he decided to finish what he came here to do. Grunting he forced himself upright, the spinning sensation threatening to expel what little he'd managed to eat that day. He stumbled towards the stairs using tables to remain upright. As he climbed the smoke became thick and hot, orange light flickered through the fog as flames made their way into the building.

Third door... left side. He repeated in his head through the spinning and burning in his limbs and lungs. Flames sprouted at the end of the hallway leading to his room, though showing how little time was left allowed him to see through the smoke to his room. Fumbling with the lock for a moment he fell into his room, hurrying about gathering his packs and extra weapon. The dizziness reached its peek, driving Treads-Heavily to the ground. He couldn't tell up from down, causing him to remember the first time he'd swam underwater feeling almost weightless. Grabbing for his pack he pulled out a bottle, removing the cork he drank the bitter contents.

The effect was almost immediate, some of the pain leaving his limbs and head, the spinning had stopped as well. A beam cracking somewhere in the building snapped Treads-Heavily into motion. Running from the building as it collapsed around him, sending showers of sparks and gouts of flame at him. Burst from the building just as something inside finally gave, caving in on itself.

Finally outside he could hear the sounds of combat had returned to the castle. Sounds like the Thalmore have put their distraction to use. All the more reason to leave before I'm swept back into the fighting. He made his way to the western wall since the gates to the north and south would be under watch, the castle and water were east making west his best chance. Moving more quickly now thanks to the potion he reached the wall in a matter of minutes, the stairs made getting up easy but getting down the other side would be more difficult. Whilst looking for a rope or ladder Treads-Heavily saw the city in its entirety since the fighting began.

Fires had sprung up though most of the buildings, the church was completely engulfed in flame and balls of fire along with bolts of lighting could be seen falling from the walls of the castle. Just as quickly it had looked that they had held the Aldmeri at bay it seemed that they would overwhelm everything. With that he threw a rope over that he found with a pale tied to the end of it, probably something a guard had used to haul food and drink up without leaving his post. After dropping his belongings over the wall he began climbing down, the rope ended about leaving him 6 feet from the ground. Giving a quick prayer to the gods that they be kind and not break any bones from the fall, he let go.