The old Dunmer kept to himself as he waded through the wildlife of Skyrim alongside the group leader, the woman who had gifted him his nice coat of mail. It was somewhat hard to tuck his hair and single ear into the mail coif, and the fitting had forced him to wrap a sash around the coat to make it a tighter fit (it was obvious this thing was made for a man, one with a larger body), but it was extra protection, and Sadri had worn much worse things – he did not complain. He had worn a green coat made of broadcloth on top of the armor to hide its gleaming underneath light and act as rudimentary camouflage in the greenery, but so far, the route Edith picked had nobody to hide from. Which was good – Sadri was never much of a mer for sneaking. Last time he had tried, he had lost an arm and almost his face.

The flankers were silent in their approach, but Sadri could hear the insults of Dumhvuud even with his single ear, albeit muffled by his cloth hood, coif, and helmet. From the looks of the others, they could too – he wondered if he was the only one who hoped that he’d get a stray arrow to the windpipe and die slowly. He didn’t want to have to mistake him for a Forsworn in battle – that could lead to bad blood between him and Ashav.

Eventually, the group leader stopped in front of a stream of water. Since this was Skyrim, he expected the water to be colder than a witch’s tit – and watching Edith’s face after she dipped her hand in the water proved that Sadri’s assumption was true. If he kept the brim of his boots over the water, chances were that he could pass this stream without coming into contact with water. He would hate to be cold. Except his face, since his head was heated to a degree that Sadri had to fight a slight urge to dip his head into the water (this always happened when he felt that something dangerous was close). Thankfully, the route that Edith chose wasn’t very deep, and Sadri, through careful management of his speed, waded through the stream without getting his clothes soaked.

Back on flat ground, Sadri followed Edith, sneakily as his skills would allow – and came to a halt about half a second after the woman warned them. From his position, he couldn’t see what Edith saw. But he would hate to look incapable, or worse, disobedient. A second after, though, the woman warned them, and pointed at a group of archers speedily huddling their way through the greenery. ‘’Well, you lead the way, boss,’’ he whispered as he hunched forwards to make a smaller profile.

The magelight was bright, not only that, it also pierced through the dense valley fog. Its sheer glow outshone even the faint early lights. Ashav reckoned it would be visible for at least five miles, likely longer if not for mountainous terrains obstructing visibility. There was no way in Oblivion anyone wouldn't be alert, and it would certainly go for the Forsworns. The attackers were out about, twenty minutes? Less than thirty minutes for sure. Their element of surprise left faster than Ashav expected.

"I don't like this." He frowned. He convened with Daelin and his scouts around a map, talking as Jorwen and Farid joined in. "It was too early, they should have no idea what's coming at them. Now they can dig in and setup a proper defense."

"We could call the retreat right now, minimize losses." Daelin suggested.

"Thoughts, anyone?" Ashav asked aloud.

---

The pair of archers went out of sight when Edith climbed on shore. As soon as they left view, and she found dry ground, sounds of river water was replaced by frantic shouting and noises of projectile launched in the distance. She heard Dumhuvud above the rest, shouting obscenities at his own men. Moreover, it was not hard for the party of six to hear dying screams. The question was, who was killing who?

"Doesn't sound good." Lucex whispered.

“Definitely not.” Relmyna added.

“Alkosh's whiskers, what is the point of sneaking around the bushes?” Tennant's low growl boomed. He rubbed his knuckles together, seven feet of raw muscle hunched over awkwardly to the onlooker but his steps were cautious as a predator. “I say we go join the fray, maybe even catch these witchmen from behind.”

“Yes, you would know about catching people from behind.” Relmyna smirked.

“Carefully what you say girl.” The wrestler said. He turned to the Dunmer girl, and coincidentally, Sadri, who was not far from her. “My fists may catch some knife ears by accident, and-”

“Hush.” Edith interrupted them. She held her shield up in a defensive posture, while they were in knee-deep grass, and taller shrubs paced no more than several feet around her, she still managed a reasonable stance while a sharp light, one with artificial glimmer of man-made magic rose into the air. Accompanying the light was the sudden silence from the fighting afar. Whatever fight happened before, it could no longer be heard.

“Let's keep up the pace, come on.” Leading the way, Edith began clearing stubborn branches with her sword. She also took the group to a slight jog. The light that hung on the sky provided a certain degree of illumination, and the darkest corners of the woods were just barely visible right now. Her steel armor clanked, her boots thumped the dirt beneath, and if she alone couldn't be obvious enough, the five people behind her would surely raise suspicion. They were clumsy in this kind of terrain, or at least not traversing it as fluent as the Reachmen could. One every few roots, leaves and uneven earth would slow her and the others; a large root that she failed to see at the last moment nearly sent her on a tumble forward, if not for Lucex quickly catching her.

Recovered from her near fall, Edith was set to hurry forward again. But the thick plant growth that accompanied their trip so far ended abruptly, and what replaced it were clearing, boulders and a fire pit nestled not far of two rotten doors. The doors were placed on the surface of boulders, and it matched the description of the abandoned mine entrance mentioned earlier. Around the fire sat four Forsworns, three men and a woman, two with swords, one with arrows and one more mage sending out flames into the pit. Edith crouched behind the treeline, she waved the others to spread out around her and keep low behind the clearing. As they took up positions, the double door of the mine opened and two more Reachmen emerged. They could be vaguely heard talking about something smoke related. One of the newcomers then palmed what looked like a makeshift smoking pipe and the mage lit it with a fire spell.

“Lucky bastards, I could use a smoke right now.” From beside Edith, Relmyna scratched her head and lamented.

“Then let's take it from them.” Tennant urged.

“Woah there, big guy. There's six of them, six.” Relmyna raised one open hand and another with one raised finger. She put one hand and one finger down, now four raised. “How about we do that when there's four?”

“We'll run into the others sooner or later, and here is safer than the mines.” Edith shook her head. Her eyes glanced around, making sure others were ready to fight. She noticed Sadri had been using the chain-mail well, albeit adjustments had to be made in the form of a sash around the waist, hopefully it'll do him some good soon. There was Jonimir, who was on the receiving end of chicken soup, but she heard someone else decided to pull another practical joke on the Redguard. She could not see much of Jonimir from this position, but she assumed the mage was ready as well. Then there's Lucex, she, or was it he? Anyways, Lucex already had bow and arrow aimed at some unfortunate Forsworn.

“Alright, here is the plan.” She asked the group to inch closer and slowly pointed to each enemy. “Lucex, stay here and nail the mage. Everyone else, wait for Lucex's signal and spread out on your approach.”

Lucex nodded and wasted no time finding a thin slit between the leaves, the tip of his projectile poised in line with the Forsworn mage's chest. He inhaled a deep breath, letting in out and steadying his arms with the bow. On the second breath, he loosened his forehand grip ever so slightly as a small puff of air came out. The arrow was pulled back, the string released and steel found its way, straight into the Forsworn's knee.

“Oh, it's a guard's life for him.” Relmyna snorted as she sneaked far to the right. One of her daggers was in hand, she thought about rushing forward with it. But the smaller blade would do no good against a proper sword. She might throw it, but they were more than enough distance for a good hit. So the Dunmer girl waited.

From the middle, Edith busted out with Tennant following. Her shield held level with her torso. As the enemy realized they were under attack, their archer quickly shot back an arrow of his own. It impaled center on Edith's shield, reinforced wood and steel prevented in from going any further. Another Frosworn, a woman with two swords, brought both blades down on Edith. Once again, her shield was in the right place as she countered with a fast shove. The Frosworn stumbled.

“Take this one, I'm going for the archer.” Edith shouted to Tennant, and rushed by. The Imperial man seized the Forsworn as she recovered, his left hand a vice-grip on her neck and his right clamped on top of her head. The Forsworn tried to change her direction, hopping to swing her swords around and cut Tennant on their way. But Tennant had already spun himself behind his enemy, and he also twisted both hands in opposite directions. The Forsworn's windpipes snapped, her head nearly turned back completely as she crumpled to the ground.

Up front, Edith rammed her shield powerful enough to rip the bow from the archer's grip. She followed up with a low slash, the sword cutting through leather trouser and impact against the leg took him down on his back. She hesitated for a moment, a perfect moment to bury the tip of her blade in flesh. Instead, she opted with the shield rim against forehead, not killing but granting a serious concussion.

Three down, three still standing. Relmyna waited, perhaps too long. The target she picked ran by unnoticed, and went to attack Sadri. Fortunately, Lucex was ready again, and his arrow impacted the groin of the Forsworn. There was a moment of pure surprise on his face, then painful scream as he clutched the injured region and collapsed to his knees.

“Watch out!” Relmyna warned, mostly at Sadri, who was the nearest to the target. She stepped closer and threw the dagger into the Forsworn's backside. It was enough to put him on the ground and stop any more screams.

---

If the flankers were lucky, the main assault was anything but. At Tsleeixth's urging, Dumhuvud and Orakh fell apart, and they returned to advancing forward. As they got closer to the redoubt, the trail started to steepen, pushing the ram and carrying ladders were beginning to take their tolls. If that was not enough, almost everyone felt shadows moving parallel to them, somewhere in the bushes. A couple of anxious mercenaries even took shots with arrows and spells, but none were certain if they were effective.

Not advancing for long, someone already tripped a snare and earned a dart in their neck. It was quiet and sudden, and most almost didn't notice. The mercenary, third most forward and no more than a shoulder apart from Sadann, dropped dead on the trail. His eyes were blank, a stare stuck in momentary shock as death claimed his soul. A healer came by and pronounced him dead shortly after. His body was left in a ditch, blood still poured from his mouth by nobody dared to clean up the corpse.

Then, a while longer and just before the redoubt came sight. Another mercenary apparently noticed an uneven shape on the trail ahead.

“Stay back!” Sadann barked, he remembered seeing a shape of that kind. And a past acquaintance was unfortunately enough to step in one. “That's a-”

The mercenary never had time to process his warning, as he vaporized in an electrical blast. He stepped in a lightening rune, and one rune so powerful that all he had left was a pile of ash. Thankfully, this incidence left no corpses to deal with. Even more fortunately, the rune could have caused half dozen of casualties; at least it only inflicted one.

When the redoubt, a dense line of wooden walls appeared on top of a slope, the mage light from earlier had gone from the night. As Ashav expected, their enemies, alert but not certain of their bearings, stood with torches on their walls. In front of the walls gathered about a dozen fighters, many with torches in hand. Some of these fighters resembled the stalking shadows.

From top of the redoubt, the Reachmen could apparently see the mercenaries coming. However, it wasn't clear how much they could see. After running into two deadly traps, Dumhuvud and Orakh both agreed to light a couple of torches, maybe that's how they were noticed. By the sight of it, the Forsworn misjudged their size, as only the dozen or so fighters came down the slope to greet them. Still, these fighters attacked swiftly and with grim determination. As many of the enemies dashed in with torches or magical flames, it became clear that the ram was once again the target.

Dumhuvud and Orakh both sent out their own orders, both orders the same; fend off any fire-bearing Forsworn and drive the ram into the palisades. For now, at least on the slope foot, the missile troops positioned on wooden turrets would be out of range.

‘’The sword in my hand has a story. It came into my possession at the Imperial City. Its blade’s markings and heavy type tell me that the blade was forged in Orsinium, no doubt by an Orc. It was probably meant to be part of a broadsword. Yet the hilt is a distinct type from Stros M’Kai, meant for a saber, and not a broadsword. The two parts were obviously meant for different weapons, yet fate has brought them together and bound them as one. It is an unusual weapon, for an unusual user.’’

For some reason, possibly because of the incoming battle and the chances of death, Sadri had thought of his experiences, things he had gained, and lost, throughout his life. All in all, the things that made him Sadri Beleth. Perhaps he had thought of how his sword had come together just before he charged into battle, because he could empathize with it – he was a child of Dunmer, yet he was raised in Hammerfell. He had lived long, yet he was still young. He had enjoyed the companionship of women, and one Altmer that pretended to be a woman (then again, the experience wasn’t all that different from the companionship of a woman). He had prayed, at least in his youth, and he had sinned. He was once a librarian, a protector of knowledge, yet also he was once a scavenger, a usurper of it. And he was now a mercenary, a destroyer of knowledge. After all, every living being had a story to tell, and every life taken meant one less story to learn. He had learned, and forgotten, much – yet in the end he felt like he had wasted most of his time. All in all, he was Sadri Beleth. He was an unusual person, for an unusual life. ‘’Just like everyone else,’’ he muttered, moments before he charged into the fray.

It all unfolded very fast before Sadri’s eyes, in a manner that wasn’t all that surprising. This wasn’t his first melee. There was humor, there was tension, there was death and there was blood. Sadri felt disconnected from his body in the combat, and this wasn’t unusual. It happened to him in nearly all of his life-threatening situations. He figured that it was just his way of dealing with the instinctual fear of death.

His fellow Dunmer had saved him from an incoming attacker. It felt as if he was in slow motion, yet it was also all too quick. His companions had done well, but it wasn’t over yet. He could still see two men – and one was dangerously close to him. As the man approached, Sadri let his broadsword dangle from his phantom hand and spin parallel to his body, letting it gain momentum unobstructed by muscles, while he slowly walked backwards to put some space between him and the man and increase the tension. The longer a man was in battle, the sooner he would seek to end it – no matter how courageous, this was just how things worked, and Sadri knew how to take advantage of this. It appeared as if he had given the man initiative.

The fellow, wearing an untreated leather jack over a woolen tunic dyed with saffron, raised his sword, obviously planning to bring it down on Sadri’s left shoulder. Before his arm could make a downwards movement, however, Sadri’s left arm immediately latched out and his hand grasped the man’s wrist tightly, putting enough pressure on it for the man to drop his sword. At the same moment, before the man could respond, Sadri’s broadsword, having attained enough momentum from the constant spinning motion of the phantom hand, suddenly landed itself clean on the man’s neck and lopped his head off, alongside the arm whose action was interrupted by Sadri. The Forsworn warrior’s body, arm, and head landed on the ground separately. Sadri spent a moment to admire his handiwork before he raised his head to catch the Forsworn away from him with his gaze. Whether the man would let himself get incinerated by the mage, fall victim to Sadri’s blade, decide to die at the hands of the others or surrender, he did not know – but he wanted to find out soon.

The strain from pushing against the ram left Sevine with dull aches in her forearms and perspiration beading on her forehead. It’s not like she wasn’t used to hard, manual labor, but the steep slope ahead would prove daunting for the ram pushers to overcome, and be a test of true endurance and strength. From her position in the middle of the pushers, she could see the redoubt walls come into view. Atop the walls, torchlights illuminated the darkness, and in the bushes she could hear the rustle of leaves, the snapping of twigs as the Forsworn stalked them in the darkness. The feeling of becoming prey caused a wave of goosebumps to rise along her spine, the huntress merely shook it off and kept pushing, until she spotted a handful of Forsworn rush them, carrying their torches, and others holding orbs of flames in their hands. The group of pushers had just begun the ascent up the slope, and Sevine kept her shoulder to it, still digging her feet into the ground, leaving bootprints in the dirt in her wake. The sense of urgency to push the ram further up the slope, fueled her to keep going. Sevine knew that she couldn't break away just yet, she had to stick the pushers for as long as possible.

However, Sevine could not keep pushing, as she soon spotted two Forsworn approaching her from the left. One held a torch, and the other, an orb of glowing hot fire. They tried to approach her quietly, sticking to the shadows as they went, but she spotted them nonetheless because of the flames they carried. She broke away from the ram, drawing out her axe, and with one swipe, she pulled off her shield from her back, brandishing the two, she pounded on her shield with the hilt of her axe.

“Come for me you fools, and meet your deaths upon my blade!” She roared at them.

The two men could only taunt her in return as they lifted their weapons high in the air, as if to make them appear more intimidating. The flames from their carried firelight made for eerie shadows cast across their painted faces.

"Believe what you want wench, you'll die for this!" Retorted the torchbearer.

A rush of adrenaline carried her forward as she charged the two. The two Forsworn were caught off guard from the woman, as they weren’t expecting her to be so brash, and with haste, they fumbled to ready themselves for the impending attack. The Forsworn with the orb of fire wielded an axe as well, and the torchbearer carried a curious sword, most likely one made amongst their kin, for it bore no hint of any known metals, though it did possess spikes along the blade edge. Before the fire mage could release a jet of fire upon Sevine, she slammed her shield into him, sending the mage to the ground. He lay there dazed, and did not move right away. Sevine turned to confront the sword-wielding Forsworn, and in unison, both gave out war-cries to intimidate the other as they rushed forward to greet each other in combat. Sevine kept her shield up on her left arm, and her axe in her right, as she swung wildly, aiming for his head.

The man ducked from her swing, and in return thrusted his sword out at her, attempting to impale the huntress on the blade point. Sevine saw the incoming swing and danced away, ever cautious of the spiked edges. He charged her again, and brought his blade down in a swinging motion as to cut through her axe wielding arm. Sevine blocked the blow with her shield, though the force of the swing sent a numbing effect through her arm. She drew back again, her chest heaving with the rage and adrenaline of battle.

The two moved in a dancing blur of swinging blades, and glowing fire. The Forsworn swung his torch out at the huntress, causing her to duck from the flames as they passed over her head. Gasping sharply, Sevine felt her right ear burn from the flame, though she believed it to be nothing serious. As she came back up, Sevine saw an opportunity, an opening where she could strike, and swung her axe sideways, lodging the blade of the axe in the abdomen of her opponent. With a pull, Sevine wrenched the blade free from her foe, as he gasped aloud in pain, blood gushing from his side, and kicked him to the ground with a planted boot to the gut. With the wounded man groaning before her in pain, she felt nothing, as she once more, swung her blade high over her head, brought it down upon the skull of the man, splitting his skull in two.

Turning about suddenly, she looked around for the fire mage, and saw him closing the distance between the pushers with the ram, Sevine watched as he raised his hand to release the flames from his hand. She pulled her arm back, and hurled her axe towards the Forsworn; she watched as the blade struck him in the back, bringing the man to his knees. She bolted over to him, desperate to finish him off before he could do any further damage to their group. Her hands grasped what little hair the Forsworn man had of his Mohawk, and yanked his head back, forcing him to gaze up at her. With the other hand, she ripped her war axe from his back, and with one swipe, decapitated the man, leaving his body and head on the ground. The huntress panted quietly, as she surveyed her surroundings, there were more Forsworn approaching them, though, if she rejoined the ram, they could advance a couple more feet before being engaged again. Without further delay, Sevine returned her axe to her hip, and her shield to her back before falling in place with the other pushers. Again, she put her shoulder behind the ram, and heaved her weight into the ram, desperately trying to push the ram up the slope to the palisade walls.

Sagax flinched slightly when his argonian friend shook him awake, having fallen into a slight stupor after realizing that the man he tried to carry to safety had died before even getting to the shore. "Yeah. Yeah, gotta get going..." He slowly rose to his feet, still somewhat winded from his escapade, and readjusted his hood which had become lopsided during the skirmish moments before. He glanced back down at his deceased comrade, and noticed he carried the distinct figure of a nord warrior, with the weathered face of a man who had seen years of war. Sagax admittedly did not know the intricacies of it all, but he still knew the basics of nordic beliefs. He shortly prayed two prayers: to Arkay for his comrade's peaceful rest, and one wishing him honorable entry to Sovngarde, which Sagax understood to be the great hall of heroes that those nords who prove their mettle pass on to when they die. He wanted to give the man a proper burial, but he knew that there was no time for such a thing. He hoped that the dead would be given their rites after the battle ahead.

Sagax carried on, walking straight-backed along the side of the ram, slightly closer than before. He recognized his previous cowardice, and sought to make up for it by sticking close to the main force nearest the siege weapon. He still held on tightly to the hilt of his blade, but he was much more focused, breathing as calmly as possible. Sagax was still nervous, of course, but he wasn't letting it get the better of him. He simply kept marching with the rest of the group when unlucky mercenaries got caught by Forsworn traps, keeping his own eyes low to the ground to make sure he didn't become one of them. The Forsworn didn't set traps to disable, they set them to kill, and Sagax knew that stopping to check every casualty was pointless. Not that there was anything to check with the poor bastard that stepped on a rune.

Sagax kept his pace up with the rest of the group, stopping as they did when they finally reached the redoubt. He watched several Forsworn come to greet the company, and drew his sword. This would be the night that his blade would first taste the blood of men, and where Sagax knew he would inevitably take his first human life. He flourished his blade gracefully, hoping to seem intimidating to the attackers. He had decided that no one would move him from the ram, nor would these Reachmen ever lay a hand on it. It was hard to look tough with his small frame, but maybe, Sagax thought, he could use that to his advantage. It's easy to look over the little guy, isn't it? Not many would assume the 'little guy' would dash to the side of you as you swing down at him and jab you in the ribs with a shortsword. Especially not the Forsworn that now lay gurgling at Sagax's feet.

"Shit...!" Sagax gasped. He didn't even mean to do kill the man. He didn't even realize what he did until after he saw his foe crumple at his heel, he acted so quickly. Something in him decided that it was the best course of action. He felt something primal, something that he hadn't experienced before, at least not in the way he was experiencing it at that moment. Deep down he felt immense guilt over cutting down the Reachman, but all that was buried by his survival instinct. He gripped his sword and struggled to pull it out, only getting it back after planting his boot firmly against the man's side. The blood that splattered his face and arms made him nauseous, and his stomach churned. Good thing for Sagax that there wasn't really much in him to vomit.

Fighting back his sickness, he glared at the fallen Forsworn's allies, who seemed to be almost as surprised as Sagax was to find their brother in arms cut down. "Well!? You going to just stand there, you troll-faced madmen!? I'll SLAUGHTER EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU!" Or so he said. Sagax hoped to see the Reachmen turn tail and retreat, as his words were all a facade. He didn't want to kill any one else, but he regretfully knew that he most likely would have to.

“So, what’s the problem?” Jorwen asked while they made their way to Ashav's tent.

“A magelight. Not many reasons for something like that other than a signal.” Farid looked sidelong at him and he looked back, “It isn’t good.”

“This whole plan wasn’t good.” Jorwen shook his head. He let White-Eye and Thrice-Pierced go to the front without him. But what could he do, one man? Let them know they wouldn’t be dying by themselves? They stopped a few strides out from Ashav’s tent.

“He’s sore about it, you know. Don’t let him catch you saying things like that, it’d eat at him more coming from the oldguard like you and White-Eye’s type.” He shrugged, “He got his orders and gave his own. I’m sure you know how that turns out.”

He frowned and nodded, couldn’t argue with that, “Aye.”

They nodded to each other and resumed their pace towards the tent. Farid pinched the flap and threw it aside before disappearing through. Jorwen took one last look and thought about his last conversation with Sevine and Roze, made it seem like he barely cared and they were the ones out there in the mud. He thought of Thrice-Pierced, White-Eye and Cleftjaw. He shook his head and ducked through the mouth of Ashav’s tent where they’d put themselves in a circle around the map. He was of a mind with Daelin. “It’s obvious that they know now. That party we found that had Caileach was in the middle of interrogating the poor bastard.” He folded his thick arms around his big chest and shook his head, a low growl escaping him, “The boy’s no traitor, but they knew we were coming somehow. The Reachmen are no idiots, same as us. They knew we were going to do this one day. I’m choosing to bring our men back and I’m ready to hike my old arse out there myself to do it.”

Ashav frowned and nodded slow as slow but didn’t say anything either way. Took his moment to consider, just how Aelfgar used to do, just how he used to do back when he was Second in Aelfgar’s band. Farid piped in, “I’ll go with the Red-Bear. Give us the order.” He said, his face the portrait of grim eagerness for the first time that night.

Jonimir’s Tent

Jonimir woke up with the feeling of soggyness all over his face, the smell of chicken and tomato reeked. “What the..” uttered Jonimir as he rubbed his hand all over his face. A loud sigh emerged, as he imagined a practical joke had been played. He got up, and went towards a bucket of water situated outside of his tent. Jonimir promptly shoved his face into the water, as other mercenaries wondered what in Mara’s name he was doing. Jonimir, after enjoying his face wash went back inside and noticed the note on the table. He shrugged it off before going back outside, to eat his breakfast.

==============

Hillside Camp

Jonimir had a simple meal of roasted rabbit with a bottle of mead for his early meal of the day. The dense fog that sat upon the camp was unsettling but he grew used to it, before he noticed a group of mercenaries swarming near one of the Northern posts of the camp. He casually moved up behind them to see a glowing ball, or in magical terms, a mage light. Jonimir nodded, before he stepped back down. He noticed preparations for attack were under way. Swords being sharpened, tools being checked and other shouting was heard. He tried to find Sadri or Edrith, the two people referred to in the note but also apart of the flanking group. He rubbed his eyes once more before eventually finding them. Jonimir proceeded to join his designated group, the Flankers. The flankers were made out of an overall, in Jonimir’s eye’s a capable of bunch of people. Sadri, a dark elf with a prosthetic limb intrigued Jonimir, while the other members seemed like your average warriors types in Shetland and Lucex. Jonimir stayed quiet as he observed the conversation ensue between Sadri and the group's leader. Edrith. With the issue of the magelight near to the Forsworn redoubt arising, a few more men joined the flankers and the group was off

======

Flanking Position.

Jonimir moved towards the left side of the road with two other mercenaries, young imperial males in their 20s, one of them armed with a simple iron bow and the other with a mace and a shield. He ordered them to crouch down as they viewed his purposed entry point, the left side. The Forsworn had already received word of the impending attack and were hunkering down. “This is fucking suicide I tell you!” exclaimed the young Imperial, with his Iron mace in hand. “I know, I’m fucking shitting bricks!” replied the other Imperial, who could barely hold his iron bow, hands shaking. “If you want to pussy out, do it now.. or if you want to grow a pair, then we begin now yes?” stated Jonimir. The Imperial males seemed to look at each other, before then gulped. “We’ll uh.. go in..” said one of the males. Jonimir smirked before singling both males to follow him. The trio stayed close to the ground, as they looked towards a few Forsworn archers, hiding in between the foliage. The Imperial archer drew an arrow, before out of impulse the other warrior charged blindly at the Forsworn warrior with the archer. The Archer took a ice shard to the chest, while the warrior was mauled to death by the club of the Forsworn club. Jonimir replied back by charging up his right and left hand, before throwing out a huge fireball towards the direction of the two Forsworn defenders/scouts. Both of them were engulfed in the fire, before Jonimir replied back with a white ball in both of his hands. He sent a ice spear through the neck of the archer. The warrior looked in display belief as the fire slowly died down. As he was distracted, Jonimir moved towards the warrior, in his hand was a purplish glow. The warrior tried to lunge forward at him but Jonimir moved to the right, out of his hand grew a Conjured sword. Jonimir then lunged towards the wounded warrior. He was only able to strike him in the arm, the warrior began to attempt to parry the attacks of Jonimir slowly. Jonimir, knowing that any more fighting would be dangerous began to brew a orange orb from his left hand. He threw a elbow at the arm warrior, to distract him before out of nowhere a fireball engulfed the arm of the warrior from the left hand of Jonimir. Jonimir finally struck the conjured weapon to the neck of the Forsworn operative. Tired from the usage of his mana, Jonimir stayed to the ground and snuck to the best of his ability, he planned to regain some energy/mana before entering the redoubt.

Thirty minutes ago, inside the Forsworn redoubt…

Three people, two men and a woman, all in elaborate fur clothing and feathered headdresses gathered around a tied up High Elf. They looked like the folks in charge. Vurwe was tied to a chair, both her arms and legs were secured. The Forsworns were not known for taking prisoners. But this one was just too out of the ordinary, an Altmer brat wondering through their Reach. The three people in charge, likely chieftains and shamans, laughed and raised their eye brows at first. But as they continued holding her captive and searching through her belonging, they realized this one was more than what meets the eyes.

One of the man was first to speak. He was a mage, probably some kind of shaman. “So you've been to places, heh?” He glared at Vurwe. “Well, your mum and pop are going to real worried. I bet they'll pay a handsome batch of goods for your return.”

“For fuck's sake, Sean, will you stop gloating in front of the prisoner.” The woman frowned, and the second man matched an equally frustrated look.

“Relax, will you all?” Sean said. “Not like it matters, I mean, I bet this girl doesn't even know where she is. That's why we asked that Ambrose Mackin fellow for help, right? Wasn't he your old buddy? You two got connections, I'll give you that. The pirate-lord of Wayrest, how can I find friends like-”

“Sean, shut up.” The second man groaned. He held a knuckleduster in hand and the prospect of ruining Sean's jawbones was ever more appealing. “Go down there and check on Smokey, make sure the cave's properly guarded. Go now or I'll feed you to Smokey myself, I mean it.”

Sean held his hands up and quickly backed out of the room. He would travel to the tunnel entrance, light up a pipe and take an arrow to the knee.

“How come we keep getting idiots like Sean.” The man complained.

“It's not just us,” The woman replied. “I heard the outlanders have this “Cat-Kicker”, quite an idiot and quite in-charge.”

In the same room, Sean's departure was replaced by another Forsworn. This one was a scout, someone who just hurried back from the valley. He told his leaders the outlanders were attacking, that they reached the ford and was dragging a siege weapon with them. They listened to the runner telling them about delaying action being taken right now. Some scouts would rain down missiles while others installed traps along the way. The leaders nodded, they then agreed on sending a dozen fighters to intercept their enemies on the slope.

“Well well, princess.” The remaining man cracked an evil grin. “Looks like your white knights are here, to die.” The grin disappeared and anger took its place. “Do you know this? Do they know you are here?”

---

The mercenaries...

Ashav was not one for retreats, he rarely called any, and in the cases when he did, he did for the sake of subsequent re-maneuvers. He knew this fight in front of him would be an uphill battle, a literal one at that. He fought in battles like this before, bled in them and lost comrades to them, therefore, the cost was well known. But in the end, the cost was just another number, another batch of man bound to die one way or another. Plus, they wouldn't be dying for nothing, if they could not break through, they would at least be distracting the enemy while the flankers gain grounds.

When Jorwen spoke, Ashav matched the Nord's glance eye to eye, from one veteran to another. “Caileach, the bard, correct?” Beside Jorwen, Daelin nodded. “He's no traitor alright, but captured right before our attack? Strange circumstance.” He leaned down on the table and put both hands on the surface for support.

“We could try.” Ashav sighed. He eyed several marked lines on the map, some of them were shortcuts just cleared hours ago by the very men across this table. Now he will be sending them out again; should he? “But Dumhuvud will fall back if he feels needed, and even if we do warn, what good would it do when they heard of it?”

“With all due respect, Ashav.” From behind the row of people, Keegan, who had been silent in the proceedings, spoke up. He could not bear the thought of lives, more than thirty of them, resting on the shoulders of Dumhuvud. The Altmer wouldn't dare to go back out to fight, he's too tired and inexperienced for that sort of thing. The least he could do was to make Ashav see reason. “We all know Dumhuvud could be, uh, well, stubborn at times.”

“He's right,” In front of Keegan, Daelin, the shorter Bosmer looked back and looked up, nodding at Keegan's comment. “If Jorwen and Farid pass though this portion,” He tapped part of the map. “They would arrive faster, since they are unlikely to encounter Forsworns along the way.”

Everyone's stares fell on Ashav. The Redguard scratched his bandana covered head. His mind paced back to before, twenty years ago when he was the lieutenant of another company, a time when he called a retreat and saved the lives of many. Perhaps by being in total command, he was looking to far out into the big picture, in doing so, he lost sight of the average mercenaries.

“Very well.” Ashav conceded. He stood up straight and gave the map one final glance. “Before you depart, know this. You will only advise a withdraw if, and only if, the attackers failed to reach enemy wall. Otherwise, you will observe and report back, understood?”

---

Out on the battlefield, the mercenaries enjoyed their first success. The Forsworn fighters, overly brazen and unknowingly outnumbered, fared poorly in combat. The have only managed to hurt or kill a select few, one of whom being the Imperial man that socialized with Felix earlier. The unnamed Imperial was inexperienced like Sagax, but unlike Sagax, his luck was strained and clashing blades against a hardened enemy resulted in him dead on the ground, and intestines spilled out of several large cuts in his midsection.

Frenzied from his kill, the Forsworn joined his comrade against Sagax. He laughed bitterly when Sagax called to them, his sword spun in an intricate pattern while cutting words returned to Sagax. Before they could launch themselves in a two-way attack against Sagax, another Forsworn swept in from the side. This one had just witnessed the Nordic huntress splitting a head in two, maybe out of fear, or maybe the realization of their doomed engagement finally came to, he wasted no time grabbing Sagax's opponents and hurried them back to up the slope.

When the mercenaries brought their siege weapon to the top of the slope, they had only lost two men; the unnamed Imperial and some Nord. At the same time, they managed to dispatch six out of the twelve Forsworns. The remaining six ran towards the opened gate, their feet beat as fast as they could so that the gate could be closed again before the mercenaries reach it. It was too late, some mercenaries spotted the opening, and roughly five charged with Sadann leading. Projectiles fell in droves from the walls, Sadann was first to be hit, with a frost blast that encased his entire body, he fell flat like an oversized doll. Behind Sadann was Thrice-Pierced, true to his name, he became a pincushion to three arrows, in the thigh, chest and straight through an ear hole. The other three had more time to react, one of them was an Argonian girl called Dazzi, she had time to release one arrow, hitting some unlucky Reachmen and literally turned tail right after. The remaining two were caught in between, one of them landed a slash against a straggler before the gates closed. In the end, both perished in a hailstorm of missiles.

Fighting and hiking, combined with the lack of sleep was draining Orakh down more than any other. What he lacked in stamina though, he made up for it with his vast experience and cool-headed restraint holding him back from the charge. He could not stop Sadann from rushing forward, indeed, the old Orc even thought it might come in fruition. But it clearly didn't, as he and other shield bearers marched step by step in front of the ram, wood and steel could not hide the sadness of seeing Sadann, who had became some sort of protegee to him, fell lifeless in the clearing. When the ram reached halfway through the clearing, Orakh immediately assigned a mercenary to check on Sadann and drag him to a safer position.

Just as the mercenary reached Sadann, a dreadful sight also crept up beside him. Dumhuvud, the bastard Orakh despised, put himself between the mercenary, Sadann and safety. From a distance, Orakh heard the Cat-Kicker yelling at the poor man to quit dragging a corpse, and “make himself useful”. Right, there he goes again. Orakh could let that idiot of a Nord disrupt his plan in middle of a battle, so he broke himself off the line to beat some sense into Dumhuvud.

Orakh didn't get to them in time, thankfully. A massive lightening bolt emerged from a Forsworn mage and connected with the mercenary near Sadann. The mercenary's head and torso was replaced by a smoking gap. The lightening also chained to the Cat-Kicker, however, it's power had diminished and it merely glanced off the left side of Dumhuvud's face. Still, is singed into his left eye socket, and churning the left eye into a tangle of blackened skin.

“Cat-Kicker!” Orakh shouted as he pushed Dumhuvud to the side. He didn't like the man, but that doesn't he would just leave him to die. “Stay back over there, you see it?” He waved at a set of bushes and also waved for a healer.

“No! Argh! I can't see jack!” Dumhuvud's pained roars boomed. He covered his injured eye with both hands, it was surely painful.“Damn it Orc, just go, lead these meat heads, I'll be fine.”

“Kyne's breath, shit, stay calm.” The healer appeared on scene and glowing restoration spells emitted from his palm. “Chief, get the spearman here.” Orakh did as he were told, he sprinted for Sadann, but as he knelt in front of the body, he felt nothing but cold air off the dark skin. He sensed no heat, no breathing, no heartbeat, no signs of life. Sadann once said he was born with a vulnerability to frost, and what cruel fate his gods handed to him, death by his greatest weakness.

“He's gone.” Orakh resigned and hung his head for a brief moment. The healer said nothing, he had the right idea, no point mourning on the battlefield when the very act could get more killed. He should make himself useful, yes, like his blood-brothers and sisters in the stronghold, Sadann would like nothing more than seeing Orakh leading them to victory. So that was what he did. The old Orc rallied the shield bearers to reform their phalanx ahead of the ram, as they braved magic and steel, and some payed their lives en route, the ram finally smashed into the gate. Orakh then delegated Sevine for securing their breach, as he himself went for Sagax, Tsleeixth and others who carried the ladders.

The ram took the brunt of incoming projectiles, and the gate held against their first hit. They needed to open another route, something to surprise the Reachmen.

“You!” Coming in front of Tsleeixth, he spoke to the Argonian, Sagax and several others nearby. “Get ladders on the walls, and start climbing!”

Orakh was so very busy that he failed to notice two newcomers in the fray. Jorwen and Farid ran up the slope, their first sight of the battle was a heavy arrow flying into Rozalia Éathliel's right shoulder. Roze's petite frame fell back from the sheer momentum of the arrow. The arrowhead itself chewed through flesh and came out the other side, while the arrow shaft buried three-quarters into her shoulder. As she tumbled to her back, the arrowhead sunk into the ground. It sunk in deep and solid, with only one good arm, Roze was having trouble making herself mobile again. If someone did not help her, she would hardly have the means to dodge stray missiles, trampling mercenaries or passing out from an increasingly severe bleed. Not to mention, the arrow was hurting like Oblivion, this one was bound to leave a scar.

All the while, as she gritted her teeth, and pushed the ram up the slope, Sevine watched as the gates welcomed the retreating Forsworn, as the shield bearer’s escorted the ram pushers up the slope the very walls of the redoubt. A rough group of assembled mercenaries rushed the gate, attempting to get inside before it closed them out. The majority of them fell prey to the arrows, and magic from the mages on the walls. She spotted a flash of light, and before she realized it, one of the mercenaries that charged towards the gate, fell victim to a lightning bolt, incinerating his head. However, she was too busy pushing the ram to take note that Cat-Kicker had been injured as well.

One of the men in the company, an orc fellow, approached her, and ordered her to secure the breach. A fire burned in Sevine’s muscles from pushing the ram up the slope, however, she felt a renewed vigor as her, and the other surviving ram pushers were now in charge of breaking down the gate. Before putting her shoulder into the ram, Sevine could see how the orc, and other mercenaries provided coverage for the ram pushers, as they targeted the Forsworn that lined the walls above them. She could hear the singing of arrows through the air as they went whistling overhead, the ram, and its supporters were the focus of the Forsworn’s attack. The orc called for ladders on the wall, which would provide a distraction for the Forsworn, and refocus their attack on the mercenaries climbing the walls.

“Put your backs into it, men! For the sake of your loved ones, and for the sake of Talos! Heave! Ho!” Sevine shouted as the ram pushers wheeled the ram back just enough to give them momentum. The pushers in unison, put all their weight behind the ram, and heaved it forward. The gate held firm, though it splintered upon impact, but not enough to bring the wall down.

“Heave! Ho!” Sevine bellowed again, the volley of projectiles appeared to lessen as the ladders were put against the walls. Once more, the pushers wheeled the ram backwards enough to gain momentum, and threw their weight into it again. The gate remained standing, though now it bore a significant amount of damage. With heads low, the pushers readied themselves for another thrust, as again, they wheeled the ram backwards.

“Again men! That gate is coming down this time!” Roared the huntress, and together, the pushers put all their might into the siege weapon, grunting like cattle as they rammed the gate. Mara’s blessing, the gate to the redoubt burst wide open, sending fragmented pieces of the gate into the air as the ram burst through the gate. Upon breaking down the gate to the redoubt, this time, Sevine drew out her longbow, and notched a steel arrow upon the bowstring.

“Stick together, and sweep the area! Leave no soul alive!!!” She shouted as the pushers from the ram, now grabbed their weapons, and readied themselves for the onslaught that waited on the inside.

Instead of charging blindly into the redoubt, Sevine moved cautiously to the inside of the gate, and fell into a shadow to conceal herself. Her eyes swept the area, looking for any targets that presented a threat to her survival. She spotted two men clothed in fur armor, approaching three of the pushers who greeted them with swords drawn. Pulling back on the bowstring, Sevine closed her left eye, and let her breathing slow, as she focused her aim upon the Forsworn. Before she leased her arrow, Sevine spotted a Forsworn wielding a glowing orb in their hand, and the huntress realized that that Forsworn was a mage. The mage posed a deadlier threat than the other Forsworn, and she refocused her aim upon the mage. Sevine released the arrow, and it whistled through the air, before finding its mark, embedding itself between the mage’s eyes. He dropped to the ground without another sound. Leaving the pushers to take care of the Forsworn, Sevine went in search of more foes. She made her way underneath the wooden lattice that the Forsworn on the walls climbed, and searched for an opening. As she came out on the other side of the lattice, Sevine notched another arrow in her bow, and spotted a mage atop the walls. She let the arrow fly from between her fingertips, and watched in satisfaction as the arrow lodged itself firmly in the mage’s back. The sheer force of the arrow, sent him toppling over the wall.

Suddenly, Sevine heard a blood-curling war cry from behind her. A Forsworn woman wielding dual axes charged at her, blades swinging wildly, aiming to decapitate the huntress. She barely had enough time to escape the danger as she dropped to the ground, and rolled away. The woman had a face painted for war, half-black, half red, and donned a headdress with antlers. Sevine leapt to her feet in a hurry, and drew away from her opponent. She back-pedaled across the ground, as she readied another arrow, her fingers worked quickly as she raised her bow up again to take aim. However, she couldn’t release the arrow yet, as the woman came at her again, once more, with dual axe blades swinging recklessly to take out the huntress.

“You won’t live to see the dawn!” The Forsworn warrioress shouted as she came deathly close to the huntress.

“We’ll see about that you accursed wench!” Sevine spat with fury as she danced ever further outside of the woman’s reach.

Now, she raised her bow again, arrow still notched, and pulled the bowstring back. The arrow sprang further, and caught the woman in chest. She fell backwards onto the ground, and writhed in pain from the strike of the arrow, howling in agonizing cries. Sevine approached the Forsworn woman, and kicked away the axes she dropped far from her reach. There, Sevine withdrew her war axe, raised it high above her head, and brought the axe blade down in one clean swipe, and cleaved the woman’s head off. Blood splattered across her face as the crimson fluid gushed like a fountain from the woman’s neck. As soon as Sevine turned around, she cried aloud in shock, as a Forsworn arrow pierced her armor. The arrow struck her in the breast, the force of the feathered arrow brought her down to one knee. Sevine gripped the shaft of the arrow, and with two hands, snapped it clean off. She could still feel the bite of the arrow’s head burning in her breast, but Sevine could tell, that the wound wasn’t deep enough to worry her, as her armor stopped the majority of the penetration.

A Forsworn archer approached, and he readied another arrow at the huntress, aiming to finish her off. To her surprise, as she struggled to rise to her feet, Sevine watched in approval as the three ram pushers had finished off the two Forsworn that had occupied them earlier, and now descended on the archer from behind. The poor bloke didn’t see it coming as one of the pushers thrust his blade through the man’s back, and ripped through his torso. He then pushed the archer off his blade, and dumped him onto the ground, before driving his sword through the man’s flimsy fur armor, and into his heart. The archer lay motionless on the ground. Sevine hurried over to the other pushers for support, and ignored the burning in her breast. Together, the three of them went in search of more enemies.

Sagax grinned confidently at the sight of the Forsworn scurrying away back into the redoubt. They severely underestimated the group's strength. Unfortunately, some of the assault force broke off and charged after the retreating Reachmen, most of them dying almost immediately, and another man at the ram fell to the blade of a Forsworn beforehand. Sagax pushed that to the back of his mind, though, when Orakh came up to him and ordered ladders to be put up on the walls. Sagax picked up the end of one ladder, but found himself to be too weak to carry it off to the wall. He cursed under his breath and looked around for potential support. "I could use a hand moving this thing!" he shouted out to nobody in particular, his goal was to simply get someone on the other end of the ladder.

Sagax noticed another arrow fly by him, finding its target in some unfortunate woman's shoulder. He recognized her as the girl speaking to Sevine at the camp earlier. The arrow knocked her down and embedded itself into the ground, restricting its victim's movement. Sagax wanted to go and help her, but he also knew that he needed to get that ladder to the wall and take some heat off of those heading through the gate. Fortunately, that's when he saw a very welcome face, that of Jorwen. "Jorwen!" He turned around and shouted, to be heard over the sounds of battle. "Go and help her up, I need to move this ladder!" He pointed at Roze. "It'd be well appreciated!" Sagax then went back to trying his damnedest to move the latter and be of some use.

If Farid thought Jorwen’s lungs were playing hell on him when he woke him up, the look on his face that Jorwen caught in tear-screened glances told him Farid was realizing how high on the tip of the iceberg he was about Jorwen’s cough. It felt like blades in his throat with each hack coming out deep and guttural. He finally knocked something loose and hocked it to the ground, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and taking a moment to regain himself. His head felt light and black was creeping in, though that was more because he’d run a good part of a mile without stopping. Fucking heroics, too old for those delusions of grandeur by now, he thought. “Fuck.” he said, fixing his helmet and tightening its straps.

“You’re telling me, Red-Bear.” Farid said, using a finger to lower the branch of a bush out of his eyes, “A lot going down out there.”

“We’re going to be in it, little one.” Jorwen said, snorting something into his face and spitting again.

“We’re supposed to observe. We only intervene if they don’t make it to the walls.” He said, looking at Jorwen like he’d told him he’d be marrying his mother. “It’s what I’ll be doing. I may have signed on to this company but it’s because I thought we wouldn’t be doing much fighting. Easy money.”

“Nothing worth having can be got easily, little one.” Jorwen said as Farid dropped back down and scurried on his belly to check his weapons. It was a little while before they’d be satisfied with their blades, but Jorwen was always one to keep his weapons in working order. Farid went back to peeking out at the battle here and there while he put his dagger to his whetstone for a last-minute sharpening.

“Oy, you see anything?” Jorwen asked as he put his big knife to the whetstone. Farid pulled a branch out of his way and narrowed his eyes.

“Aye.” He said, nodding high and low as if he’d gotten the wisdom of the ancients and he turned back to Jorwen. “There’s a battle on.”

“Watch yourself, little one.” Jorwen put his knife back in its sheath and stood, “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Farid mumbled as he stood.

“Let’s go.” And he bolted down the sloping rocks that led down to the redoubt’s main path. Through the trees, he found Roze on the ground with an arrow through her. It didn’t look bad and while Farid cradled her gently, he peeked behind her back.

“It’s gone through. I can get it out, we’ll have to push it through.” Farid said, looking up at Jorwen.

“Do it, then.” Jorwen said, watching Sagax struggle for every inch closer to the walls he got that ladder, “I’ll be getting one of those ladders.”

Farid snapped the fletching end of the arrow off before putting a reassuring hand on Roze’s shoulder, “It’s going to hurt like a bitch. Ready yourself.” With that, they nodded to each other and Farid began pushing the shaft slow as slow through Roze and her pained whimpering. It took some time, but he’d gotten it through, the only thing left to do now was stop the bleeding. For that, ripped a generous portion of his shirt and tied it around Roze’s shoulder as best he could. “You’ll be out of archery for a while. Sorry, doll.” He said, before he followed after Jorwen.

Jorwen had none too gently dragged Sagax along the minute he had the ladder in his big hands. He wasted no time in getting the hefty ladder to the palisade as the others went up around him. He roared as he practically threw his end of the ladder against the wall and slapped Sagax on the back, “Climb, boy.”

By then, they’d gotten through the gates. His eyes looked around for Cleftjaw or Thrice-Pierced, White-Eye would probably be the last to go through at the end of the line. Smart man. He spotted White-Eye bleeding from a cut in his shoulder that yawned open each time he hefted the body he was carrying towards the healer on the sidelines, hidden behind a rock next to his favorite man, Cat-Kicker. He jogged towards White-Eye and caught up with him, “What unlucky lad-” He realized just who it was that White-Eye was dragging with him.

“Ch-charged…”White-Eye looked up at him and his mouth moved but no words came out after. There would need to be some words over his grave, and he’d have Ashav’s cock on a pike before he let Thrice-Pierced share a mass grave. He’d earned his name by being the hardest man to kill, but he guessed it all caught up to him in the end. “We’ll kill them.” White-Eye muttered, “We’ll kill them, we’ll kill them and burn the fucking Reach!” White-Eye screamed as he let Thrice-Pierced lay in his last resting place on the sdelines.

“Get in that fucking breach!” Cat-Kicker roared. His wounds in no way impeded his ability to seethe with anger.

“I plan to.” And he turned around as Farid jogged up to him. He saw White-Eye striding towards the broken gate with a purpose, whole left arm red with blood from his wound. He caught him and held him fast with both hands, “I won’t have you going in there and dying. Thrice-Pierced is dead, you won’t help him by following after. He’s in Sovngarde now probably telling Tsun to suck his cock.”

“Fine. But I won’t be far behind you.” White-Eye spat blood and Jorwen saw he’d lost a couple teeth.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” Jorwen knew what White-Eye was feeling because he felt it too. Every step towards the redoubt, he felt both sadness and anger. A few times he thought he’d be wiping away tears, a few times he thought he’d be breaking into a sprint and adding some more red to his name like when he was younger and stronger. A few others steps, maybe even every other step, he wanted to drop his weapons and walk away. Walk all the way back to Markarth and just forget what he’d seen. He stopped next to Thrice-Pierced’s body and knelt down. He closed the man’s eyes, wild with bloodlust even in death, then he slapped him across the face, “You stupid shit! You stupid, stupid shit, you!” He got to his feet and sliced a branch off of a gnarled, leafless tree with his seax.

“Let’s go, Red-Bear.” Farid said, patting his shoulder. “Let’s go. Tell Ashav what we saw, we’re through the breach.”

Jorwen rubbed his eyes and picked his shield back up, taking in a shuddering breath. He took his moment before speaking. He didn’t know if he could trust his voice, but when he could, he said, “You can go back, little one. Easy money, aye?”

“What?” Farid said, his face screwed up with confusion. He’d heard Jorwen, but he couldn’t believe what he’d heard, probably. Jorwen couldn’t, and he’d said it.

“Go back, tell him we’re through. We’ll catch up with you.” Jorwen pushed past Farid and went through. Not five steps in, he caught an arrow near the edge of his shield and covered himself with the rest of it as he moved with the others. The Wolf-Tooth was leading the contingent, but he only got a glimpse of her. Another arrow from the archer on the wall thudded into his shield and he peeked out from behind it in time for Cleftjaw to come out of the shadows and thud his knife into the side of the man’s neck and push him off the wall as the rest of the men who’d come up the ladders set themselves upon the enemy there. He looked back and pushed through the shieldwall towards Sevine. He’d finally caught up to her and saw the remains of an arrow sticking out of her, though it was to be said it looked like she had no thoughts of stopping just because she had some iron in her, “You’re hurt, little sister.” Jorwen did his best to smile, given how the day was going already. The sun hadn’t even risen and so many dead, one friend gone.

Sagax knew Jorwen was strong, but it never occured to him just how strong, not until the massive man took hold of the ladder with him in tow and nearly dragged Sagax to the wall, throwing it up with a mighty bellow. "Thanks, Red-Bear. Age doesn't stop you one bit, does it?" Sagax said with a smile before darting up the ladder. Joining the rest of the team topside, Sagax dropped onto the palisades, sword in hand and ready for a battle. A few feet to his right was a Forsworn mage, too busy raining fire on those going through the gate to notice the tiny imperial land near him. Sagax remembered something his father taught him years ago. Gripping the blade of a sword, wrapping one's fingers around the edge and laying the fingers and palm parallel against the flat of the blade, the bottom of the knuckles just above the edge so as not to be cut when striking with the hilt. Caius said that it was mainly used as a makeshift polehammer technique to hit hardened armor with, where a blade just can't make the cut. Sagax wanted to avoid just going on a killing spree...perhaps he could use this technique to knock the Forsworn unconscious? He was willing to try.

Inching toward the Reachman as quietly as possible and sticking to what little shade was now available under the wall itself as the sun began to rise. Sagax readied his strike, going through everything that was taught to him. Grip the blade flat. Watch the spacing of the knuckles. Don't let the blade slip. With the hilt of the sword over his head, Sagax swung at the back of the mage's unarmored skull as hard as he could as the man readied another spell. He let out a gasp of pain, and to Sagax's shock, turned to him slowly, hand over the back of his head where he was struck. Sagax flipped the sword around and was about to take a swing at his foe, but the man went limp and fell off of the palisades before he even began his next strike. Sagax felt pretty good about that one. An enemy neutralized without a single drop of blood. Well, from what he could see anyway, and he was happy with that. He guessed that the mage would be out for quite a while, given the force of the strike and where it landed. Along the rest of the wall, his comrades seemed to be fighting off the Reachmen quite well, though he was ready to come running if anyone needed assistance. Down below, Sevine was making short work of the Forsworn on the ground. "GO SEVINE! CUT'EM UP!" He shouted with great enthusiasm, pumping his sword arm into the air. Morale was just as important as anything, and Sagax thought he could do his part with a bit of cheerleading. After that he saw Jorwen enter the fray. He only wondered what whirlwind of destruction was about to be kicked up.

In the heat of battle, perhaps prior to the fight, Jonimir decided to make himself invisible. Wait, that wouldn't make sense. There wasn't a Jonimir there at all, absolutely no signs of a Redguard sorcerer anywhere, no magic, no flowing robes and no sixth set of footprints. Where he went, Edith knew not. She was honestly surprised at the sneak Jonimir was. Luckily, the group handled themselves alright with one man missing. Between Lucex's excellent marksmanship, Tennant's sheet strength and Relmyna's rapid knife strokes, Edith was happy to say they defeated all six Forsworns. Five of the six were dead, only one, the mage immobilized by Lucex earlier was now restrained by Tennant.

“Please, let me go.” The Forsworn, who's companions called him Sean, begged as he was forced on his knees and both arms bunched up in Tennant's massive palm. “I'm not suppose to be here, just release me and you won't ever see a sliver of me.”

Edith, Lucex and Relmyna were a little further away from the spectacle. They concentrated on getting the rusty, but somehow still locked doors open. Tennant looked to Sadri as he stomped Sean nose first into the dirt.

“Well?” The wrestler shrugged to Sadri. “Live or die?”

After Sadri chose the fate of Sean, and given proper treatments according to his decision, he could see the door finally cracking open. Turns out, the trio was pushing a door that was meant to be pulled. No wonder that despite all three putting their weights forward, it only budged back.

“Not so bright, Bright-Wings.” Relmyna laughed as they entered the poorly lit cave.

“Someone was following me though.” Edith snorted. Relmyna wanted to fire back, but Edith stopped dead in her tracks and pressed the Dunmer girl backward. Not too distant ahead was a moving torch.

“Sean? Is that you?” The voice came from a Forsworn woman. “What took you so long, you were suppose to clean Smokey's litters.”

Edith went to a crouch and asked the others to do the same. Lucex knew what he had to do. With an arrow notched and pointed to the moving shape, he released and watched as the torch extinguished. Taking down just one target didn't put him at ease. Indeed, he and Edith both wondered the same thing.

“Smokey?” Lucex asked nobody in particular.

“Not sure.” Edith shook her head. She took the group forward and they found a table. Embalming tools, knives, scalpels, linen and various surgery type supplies splayed about. However, the table was devoid of blood, flesh or any organic matters, save for one massive heart-like organ bigger than any human hearts. To the knowledgeable types, the clues pointed not to necromancy. Perhaps alchemy, but the table also lacked major herbs. One thing for certain, the Forsworns left zero notes.

“Look, over here.” Proceeding faster than everyone else, Lucex beckoned. He stood on the edge of a rectangular pit, about two meters deep, twelve meters across and five meters wide. There were one makeshift ladder on their side and the opposite side of the pit. Several chains were nailed into the pit's side, and a covered hole on one side stenches of animal waste.

Bear wastes, Smokey was grizzly bear.

Not just any grizzly, a grizzly implanted with a briarheart. Smokey was three meters in length and half of that at shoulder height. It was currently sleeping, muscles no doubt augmented artificially rose and fell, make the hastily stitched briarheart visible under torch lights.

“No way around it.” Tennant stated. He's right, the slumbering bear took up most of the width, sneaking five armored people around is going to be tough.

“Don't tell me we have to fight that thing.” Relmyna stuttered. Her voice shook with fear, and the realization of what they have to go through made her eyes wide open. “No, no, no, that thing will smash us like watermelons.”

“What's next? It'll breath fire?” Tennant said, only half joking. Even he, seven feet of brawn, paled compared to the bear.

“Shor's beard, it better not.” Edith clenched her teeth. She carefully walked along the edge of the pit, looking intently at the bear. She knew there got to be a weakness. The heart, if only they could cut it out, or pierce it, or set it on fire. “Lucex, can you hit the bear's heart?”

“It's going to be a narrow window.” The Imperial estimated. “Only the side is showing, and only when the bear breathes in.”

“Try, the rest of us will go in and try to cut it out.” Edith nodded. “At least, we can get it stirring so you have a better shot.”

With that, she got the five of them in the same position they had earlier. Lucex perched on top of the pit, Edith led the rest as they jumped down, feet first. Sufficient to say, she's got a bad feeling about this. Who wouldn't? Even Dumhuvud wouldn't do something as dangerous, if he had the choice, that is.

She didn't have a choice, and the best Edith could do was let Lucex take the first shot. Arrow whizzed above her, finding the target against the bear's side, missing just short of it's heart. She could hear Lucex cursing, but a deafening roar drowned out the rest. Smokey came to life, it reared up to full three meters and emitted a growl so thunderous that the cavern roof shook. Seeing the situation worsen, Tennant sprung into action and sprinted straight at the bear. He dove and tackled the bear to the ground. Two giants, man and animal, grappled with each other. The Imperial started with the upper hand, he landed on top of the bear and dug one hand into its face. The other reached for the heart, stretching every fiber to the limit in a bit to remove it from the host. However, he never got to finish. The bear leaned back and slung one paw back, then forward, connecting with Tennant and sending him crashing into the rocks. A dull thud could be heard as Tennant's skull went into the wall. His body followed suit and in a moment's notice, the man fell limp on the ground.

“Holy fuck!” Relmyna screamed. She panicked, but knew she had not time to climb back up. Instead, she hurled one dagger at the beast, impaling it in the belly. Against a normal animal, damage would have been significant. But this unnatural being barely flinched at the blood leaking out of its core, anger rising and barreled towards Relmyna. The Dunmer girl backed against the wall, she closed her eyes as the bear came crashing in. It never hit her, as Edith stepped in front and intercepted the blow with her shield. More than three-hundred kilograms came down on her left arm, but with years of conditioning and a proper stance, she somehow still stood. With the bear recoiling slightly, Edith followed up with a sword slash. Her blade caught the bear's paw, in fact, the edge embedded into it. This means the bear had a grip on the weapon, and it viciously swiped it away.

Safe to say, everyone was panicking now. Lucex had another arrow and launched it into the bear's spine. The arrow bought several seconds by causing Smokey to stumble on its side.

“Sadri!” Lucex blurted out while scrambling for more munition. “This is your chance, do something!”

‘’Live or die?’’

While Sadri had been in this situation before, the answer had always been live. Dead Argonians couldn’t work as well as live ones for obvious reasons. Here, however, the difference was that, while the headcount still mattered, it was better to bring them in without the bodies. He didn’t like executing defenseless people, but a job was a job, and he had signed up. He thought of giving the man a proper execution for a moment, out of common courtesy, but figured that getting it over with would be better for all parties involved. Nodding for Tennant to get off the man, Sadri pressed the tip of his sword against the back of the man’s neck softly, and forced the sword down with his body’s weight. The man went silent after that.

However, the rest of the group broke the moment of silence by breaking down the double doors leading into the mine, and the rather abrasive sound brought Sadri back into his senses. There was still a job to do, and he could feel hollow about killing helpless men later. Sadri ended up at the rear of the group – Tennant had left the scene of execution quickly, perhaps because of just how melancholically it had played out. Or maybe he just didn’t want to lag behind.

Sadri simply watched from his crouched position as the young lad (or lass, he wasn’t entirely sure), Lucex, shot an arrow into the dark. He hadn’t heard what the target had said, but ended up confused when the archer asked about a Smokey. It appears the quartermaster herself did not know. The name itself wasn’t very scary in itself, but for all Sadri knew, it could’ve been a damned fire atronach, and he didn’t want to bother with anything like that. This wasn’t the Companions now, was it? He was here to kill amateurs.

Yet fate seemed to take the group to the opposite direction as the dimly lit mine revealed to them rather gruesome and foreboding contents, with what seemed to be taxidermy equipment placed upon a table, and a huge heart. Its previous owner was obviously not human. It could belong to a bison, or one of those ape-men of Valenwood. Whatever it was, Sadri didn’t want to know. Then Lucex decided to throw whatever Sadri wanted out of the window, and decided to show the party that its previous owner was just right there, at the bottom of the pit.

Thankfully, a fellow Dunmer, Relmyna, decided to voice Sadri’s thoughts. Sadri had seen bears fight before, and it was not a pleasant sight. Hell, often special weaponry would have to be used to keep the animal from just sliding into your blade and mauling you apart. And those were regular animals. Regular boars, regular bears. Not this thing. This thing looked like something Hircine’d shit out after an eons-long bout of constipation.

But Edith, having a mindset as hard as the steel she often worked with, would not bend, and decided that they could take it on as a group. Maybe, just maybe, Lucex could shoot its heart out from his safe spot, and finish it right then and there. Then he went and missed, and woke the damn thing up instead. ‘’Oh, for fuck’s sake,’’ Sadri thought to himself as the creature rose from its spot and roared, bellowing out a sound that would put Greybeards to shame. ‘’I’m asking for double my pay after this.’’

Thankfully, Tennant decided to take it on bare handed, the absolute madman, and this meant that Sadri could get into what seemed to be a very ill-fated melee some seconds later. He hadn’t fought a bear before. He had the common sense to avoid bears. Who the fuck would fight bears? You shouldn’t fight bears. Tennant proved this statement to be true by getting flung out like a small rock from a sling and hitting his head on a rock. Sadri hoped that he was alive – he wanted to have a meat wall around in case he needed to hide from projectiles. But damn, that looked bad.

The situation escalated when the Dunmer woman provoked the creature further by embedding a dagger in the beast’s belly, and was subject to full assault by the bear. If not for Edith and her good use of the shield, Relmyna probably would have been mincemeat by now. The quartermaster attempted to regain initiative by striking back at the bear, but somehow the bear managed to deflect the woman’s strike. ‘’Yup, I’m getting out of here,’’ Sadri thought to himself, eyeing the chains on one side of the pit. He had done his share of free running before. He could lift himself out of the pit by using those chains. He hoped.

As Sadri moved, unfortunately towards the bear, to get closer to the chains and thus his escape, Lucex let loose another arrow that managed to pierce the bear’s spine, or so it seemed. The effeminate boy shouted for Sadri to take the creature down, and Sadri, suddenly filled with romanticism from the damsels in distress (!) and the fair maiden (?) cheering his name, decided to try and take the bear down, and brought down his blade with all his strength, landing it underneath the bear’s armpit. The heavy and well-tempered blade cut straight through the bear’s side, cleaving through ribs and letting loose embalmed organs. Following his strike, the bear turned its attention to Sadri, raised itself and attempted to let loose a roar, but its cloven lung allowed it to only give out a whimper before it landed itself flat on the ground on its side, and a briar heart, cloven in two, spurt out of the creature’s gaping wound with the impact.

‘’Well, that just happened,’’ Sadri mused after a few seconds of silence.

Somewhere along the pallisade walls, Sevine glanced over her shoulder as she heard shouting. Wait? Was someone cheering her on? Indeed they were, she could barely make out who it was, but she knew it to be one of the men from their company. She could only grin widely at the cheering, nothing felt better than hearing someone cheer one on in the midst of the battle. As she turned her gaze away from the wall, she proceeded onwards in her mission, and in the back of her mind, the huntress hoped that whoever the man was, that he was careful enough not to take an arrow to the knee.

Sevine’s use of her left arm had grown painful, and she could not manage to wield her bow any longer. She returned her longbow to her back, and withdrew her axe instead. Just as she, and the other two pushers were about to head off further in the redoubt, to eliminate any other remaining threats, she heard a voice all to familiar.

“You’re hurt, little sister” The words uttered caused the huntress to whirl about, and before her stood Jorwen Red-Bear. A smile as bright as the dawn’s rays erupted across her face as she recognized the thickly, bearded man.

“Jorwen!” Sevine exclaimed with joy, “I thought you were back at the camp.”

If the woman could laugh, she would, but the pinching of the arrowhead in her breast twinged painfully. Her free hand, clutched at the arrow shaft that she hadn’t fully removed, but merely snapped off, and a pained look came across her face.

“I’ll be alright. It doesn’t hurt too much, but it’ll have to come out when this is over. It feels as if the arrow-head as just pierced my skin.” She grimaced sheepishly, feeling a pang of shame for being wounded so early on in the fighting.

"I came to bring you back to camp, but I see you lot are set on staying." Jorwen chuckled, and he nodded towards her wound, "No shame in it, scars and blades are two things Nords are known for."

Despite the pleasant reunion, it was still a battlefield. As if to serve as a reminder, an opposite shieldwall formed in front of them, archers covered by their brethren hefting shields to the front. To display their bows weren't just for flaunting, they let loose a volley that downed a fair few on the walls. Needless to say, Jorwen knew who needed to die next. "Forward!" He roared at the men behind him and to either side, the giving of commands returning to him as familiar as lover's hands to warm skin.

Forward they went, keeping as well an organized shieldwall as they could. They came within spitting distance, and already a few spears lanced out from behind Reachman shields. Some stuck uselessly into wood and rawhide before recoiling, others found their bloody marks. Two men in their wall faltered and dropped. Jorwen's face was contorted in even fury. The fire in his belly was tempered by a life filled with lessons to control it. He didn't have to utter a word for the men on his own side to respond with the tips of their spears, the edges of their swords and the heads of their axes. They chopped, lunged and stabbed out from behind shields and the Reachmen did the same. Jorwen did some chopping of his own, burying his seax in the leather rim of some bastard's shield and almost losing his grip. The man jerked his shield wildly from left to right before Jorwen's leg snapped out into his shield and sent the man tumbling back while he wrenched his seax from his shield. The man he kicked down left a gap and he pushed forward, Sevine and the others following him.

Time was of the essence, and there was no time for chit-chat on a field of battle. Sevine fell in line behind Jorwen as he led a charge against the Forsworn’s archers, and their own shield bearers. With their own men forming around them, Jorwen and the others lurched forward, spears, and swords drawn to inflict as much damage as they could, it did not matter if they maimed or killed, as long as the Forsworn could no longer assault them, that’s what mattered to Sevine.

Before charging into the fray again, Sevine drew out her shield, and held it ready on her left forearm, with the leather straps secured firmly against her skin. The weight of the shield pulled on her sore muscle in her shoulder, yet she ignored it. Pain was nothing. If one succumbed to pain, it meant death, or at least so she believed. Besides, with adrenaline coursing wildly throughout her being, Sevine felt nothing more than a pinch. She hung back behind Jorwen, and the others as they met with weapons clashing against their enemies. However, once Jorwen planted a firm boot to one of the shield bearers and sent the man toppling to the ground, Sevine pounced on the opportunity and slipped in behind Jorwen. With her axe in one hand, she rammed her shield into one of the Forsworn that had stood behind the one Jorwen kicked aside. The warrior held his shield firm, though the force of the shield ram almost sent him off his feet. Again, Sevine rushed him, giving the spear-wielding Reachmen, little time to regain his stance as she rammed her shield into him once more, before he landed on his rear, falling into his other comrades.

To Sevine, fighting was an eloquent art form. Knowing where to seek out weaknesses in one’s opponent, being wary of their every move, and not acknowledging the fear within, was easier said than done. The last time she had fought like this, was four years ago during the Dragon Crisis while the civil war in Skyrim tore itself apart.

“I’m behind you!” She yelled to Jorwen, communication was key for their comrades, as it allowed them to know that they indeed had comrades with them in the frays of battle.

Pushes like these were dirty, cramped and felt like shit. Once Jorwen charged forth, the other men became zealous with their charge and pressed Jorwen up against another Reachman that could probably give even him a throttling. Luckily, the man was similarly pressed up against him and Jorwen managed to squeeze a hand up and over his chest with a knife in hand, one of his smallest. The man reached up and dig his thumb's nail into his eye and Jorwen screamed, his head shaking but unable to get away. Thankfully, before he'd be contesting White-Eye for his earned-name, he reared back stuck his knife into the Reachman's face. A shrill scream and Jorwen's knife ripped a deep gouge in the man's cheek in his writhing. Another stab had the finger-length blade in his eye, another in his neck. Jorwen's hand came back bloody but he lost the knife when the mass of bodies he was pressed in jostled.

Finally, they pushed the Reachmen back and their line broke into four smaller groups. Before they could congeal again, Jorwen called out, "Charge, you dogs!"

All around him, blood-chilling cries of war went up as they went after the stragglers, cleaving them, bashing them, cutting and gouging. The archers stood little chance, and Jorwen and Sevine's group fell among them. They turned to run, but Jorwen was beyond mercy, he remembered Thrice-Pierced's skin, dead and cold. Remembered comrades dead and gone. He opened up one's back deep enough to see his spine peeking through the gaping wound. Another, he cut deep into his leg and broke his neck with the rim of his shield. He stood amidst the gore, dead of both sides around him. His shoulders rose and fell with each breath and he brought a sleeve up, screwing his eyes shut as he let go a wretching cough and spitting out phlegm. His chest hurt and he cleaned the blade of his seax before he put his hand to his chest. His heart was pounding, his bottom eyelid burned and he felt wet there, blood. He noticed a cut on his right shoulder when it started to sting. He sniffled, looked at his hands. Bloody. But they always were.

"Flush them out! Take what you can fucking carry, you shits!" Cat-Kicker arrived with White-Eye. "Let's leave this place burning behind us, and us with full pockets!"

He couldn't disagree with Cat-Kicker this time. It shamed him a little, how he had to fight the urge not to get to looting right away. "We should help clear the buildings." He muttered to Sevine, his voice tired.

Somewhere, out in the far distance, just above the horizon and a teensy bit to the left. No, less left, more right. There. That's the spot, wherein, for reasons that were at that moment unclear but many assumed to be tangentially related to the current matter of war; the entrance of a large circular building released what seemed to be a plume of fire followed by the sound of a bird caw. There was a a sudden silence, as many stopped to try to ascertain if that noise was something anyone would need to be worried about. A few fur covered men rushed out of the building, flailing their arms in an attempt to signal to the rest of the Forsworn 'Help! I'm on fire and this is a state I would, all things considered, wish to cease being!' They fell to the ground with, in the current silence, was a deafening thump. After a brief moment, the mayhem continued when it was soon realized that people being set on fire was, for most of the Forsworn, really not something they hadn't expected. The building itself began to become somewhat more on fire than it was previously.

Sevine lost Jorwen amongst the masses of the bodies that pushed against one another, until the line of shield bearers and archers dissembled into four groups. Once the Forsworn separated, and Jorwen gave the word to charge, Sevine let out a ferocious war-cry, and targeted the group of archers that Jorwen and her descended upon. She dove into the fray with her war axe swaying back and worth, hacking, and chopping anything that came into her range. Sevine charged one of the archers who fumbled to string up an arrow in his bow, when she smashed him to the ground with her shield, and blood sprayed from his nose as he lay upon the grass in agony. Beneath her feet, though the morning sun inched ever closer to the breaking of day, she could barely make out the traces of the crimson liquid that saturated the ground beneath her feet. With one heave, the huntress brought down her axe on the man, and split his abdomen wide open as the blade of her axe tore through his furred armor. Blood spilled from the corners of his mouth as the man went into shock, though Sevine did not care for the pain he felt. She put him out of his misery with a clean swipe of her axe, and his head rolled away from his body.

Another archer caught her attention as the man with streaks of blue war-paint across his face, readied his bow, and notched an arrow. He let the arrow sing from its bow, though the arrow lodged itself in Sevine’s shield as she caught the arrow dead-on. A wicked, and deadly grin captured her face as she charged the man down, this time however, she used her shield as a weapon, and swung it like a disc above her head with her axe drawn, ready to make the next kill. She forced the man backwards as he rushed to notch another arrow and loose it upon her. Large drops of sweat rolled down her forehead and stung her eyes, but the huntress ignored it, as it was something she was used to. She didn’t have time to wipe it away, yet she did clip the archer in his jaw with her shield. He dropped to his knees with pain, and gasped for air at the impact. Yet, his breath stopped once Sevine’s axe swung sideways at his head, flesh met blade, and his skull tore open from the blow. The huntress struggled to retrieve her axe as it was lodged deep within his cranium, but with one good yank, and a boot firmly placed on the dead archer’s chest, she wrenched it free.

From behind her, she suddenly heard Cat-Kicker’s voice filling the air, commanding them to flush out the rest of the Forsworn, and to take what they could. Sevine thought that scavenging for loot in the midst of battle, wasn’t the best idea, as they still had enemies to deal with. She felt that scavenging for loot was best left after the battle, and the only item she cared to pick up were any extra arrows. A deep, raucous cough caught her attention, and she whirled around to find Jorwen coughing vehemently; Sevine was surprised to see the warrior struggling with it, but felt relieved when he managed to dislodge the chunk of phlegm that choked him.

“Let’s head for that one over there, or we can split up.” Sevine pointed to what looked like an armory, as a forge stood on the outside, along with a grindstone and a workbench.

However, a large plume of fire shot out of a circular building further up the way from them, followed by a mysterious bird caw, Sevine turned her attention to the building and raised her brows in surprise at the sight of Forsworn fleeing the building ablaze.

“…Or should we go over there?” Sevine pointed at the building for Jorwen to see.

The roaring of flames caught Jorwen's ears right before the shrill cries of panic pierced the din of battle. He turned around as Sevine pointed to find a couple Reachmen rolling on the ground fruitlessly, one of their own already still and lifeless as he burned black. Jorwen looked to Sevine and swallowed, "Reckon they're not keeping a dragon in there?"

The pair inched closer to the building, Jorwen taking the lead, though he would very much rather not. He closed his eyes and took a breath, peering into the still-smoking and soot-blackened room to find an altmer girl ringed by the only cleanliness still in the place. "Don't do that to me or I'll have your scalp, she-elf." It seemed a flimsy kind of threat seeing as she'd set fire to four Reachmen just a few seconds earlier. "I'm coming in to untie you."

Step-by-step, he walked into the room, holding his shield in front of him before he finally got behind her. He cut her bindings first before yanking down the cloth that covered her mouth, which he found was damming back a slew of vitriol.

"GET AWAY FROM ME YOU FROST TROLL." She screamed. She squinted her hard brow and gave the towering man-ape a look over. She shot to her feet and began brushing off the dirt that had accumulated during her capture. Her voice turned to a tone suggesting that she was unhappy a filthy commoner was helping her, but she had needed the help. "Look, we need to get out of here. Fire is bad. It burns when it touches flesh and if we don't get my things, which are more important than your life, we and it will turn to ash. Do you understand?" Vurwe moved her glare to the wall.

Some of the bear skins on the walls had been ignited during the initial explosion and during this conversation, fire had been creeping along towards pots of lantern oil scattered about on shelves and small tables full of what were probably other chemicals that shouldn't be set on fire.

She returned her gaze to Jorwen, "And no, I'm not carrying my things." she pointed to the rucksack and carrier bag that had been set aside in the corner with a gesture that suggested she fully expected Jorwen to carry both. Now that he understood his place in life, she dashed over to a desk and pulled open a drawer so frantically a pot of oil fell to the floor and shattered. She removed a bronzed amulet with a Sunbird flying over a roiling sea engraved upon it and a knife sheath, which she hitched to her waist belt. The knife seemed to be glowing a faint yellow color.

After she managed to return every single ring she was missing back on her person, she booked it towards the entrance.

Thick, black smoke rolled out from the entrance of the circular building, as Jorwen and her entered the building. Ash, and black soot coated the walls, from Sevine assumed, to be from whatever the source the fire came from. To her surprise, the huntress and Jorwen came upon an Altmer woman, gagged and bound to a chair. From the way the ash surrounded her, yet left her unscathed, it seemed that she was the source for the fire plume they had witnessed earlier.

As Jorwen approached the woman, and ordered her not to do what she did to the Forsworn, he pulled the gag away from her mouth, only to be met with a slew of insults. Sevine would have decapitated her right then and there for her unkind words, yet for all she cared, they could have just left her there to catch fire and die. Yet, Jorwen had a kinder heart than her, and cut away her bindings.

If anything, the Altmer woman sounded like a spoilt brat as she basely explained to them what fire could do, if it reached the lantern’s full of oil that sat atop a table along the far wall, already, the bear skins that hung on the wall began to smolder before catching fire.

“I’ll grab her bags.” Sevine grumbled unhappily at the woman’s ungrateful behavior, as she moved to gather her things, she wouldn’t let Jorwen carry them with his cough the way it was. She hoisted the rucksack over one shoulder, and grasped the carrier bag in the other.

“Let’s go before you catch a spark in that beard of yours. That would be a shame to lose.” Sevine said, more to herself than to her bearded friend, and with that, Sevine darted after the woman that had been a captive of the Forsworn, only mere moments before.

Vurwe stood frozen in what looked like indecision outside, staring out to a fight she hadn't really been thinking about inside of what had seemed to her to be decent shelter. "Which way is away?"

"I don't suppose it's too late to say we couldn't get to her before the fire?" Jorwen grumbled, patting out a tiny flame that had caught on a stray thread on his sleeve. He and Sevine stood together, watching the she-elf look about her with none too little nervousness in her eyes to see what she'd stumbled into. He could see Cat-Kicker near the gate point at the woman and his voice carried over well enough to hear.

"Who the hells is that elf whore?" Jorwen only shrugged in response.

“Well now it is.” Sevine returned as Cat-Kicker shouted loudly for all to hear. “He’s seen her.” She sighed heavy heartedly, before flashing him a daring smile.

“Come on, the least we can do is take her back to Ashav. He may have some use for her yet.” Her brows furrowed at her what she had just said, and corrected herself, “No. That’s not what I mean.” With that Sevine cleared her throat, and addressed her attention to the Altmer woman.

“If you stick with us, we can get you out of here safely. But before we do, you’re gonna help us. Cover us with your magic, and you’ll live to see the sun rise on this morn.” Sevine looked her straight in the eye with a look that could stop a horse dead in its tracks. She meant for no funny business, but if the woman turned against them, she would have no problem lopping her head off.

“Down through here, we'll go, keep your eye peeled for archers, and mages like yourself. And runes, and traps too.” With that, the huntress started away from the circular building, and back into the fray. They would have to retreat to the camp, or stick around to see the end of the battle.

"Well, fuck." Was Roze's first thought as the arrow hit her, paired with a flit of annoyance. She'd barely killed a dozen of the Reachman before she was taken down herself.

Next came the pain. Now, an arrow will hurt, naturally. But when the fuckers used the heavier stuff, light Thieves Guild leather armour wasn't going to do anything to halt the blow. The fall backwards, as the arrow slammed her into the ground through sheer momentum, hardly did anything to help either.

Finally, was panic. A battleground wasn't a place you wanted to panic in. But Roze was pinned to the ground, with her weaker left arm free, but unable to dig the arrow out. The slightest jostle of it just sent spikes of pain down her arm and across her chest, and not even shifting the bloody thing.

Thankfully, she didn't have to fear about other arrows or being trampled on for long, thanks to Farid. She didn't know the man, but she gave him a heartfelt thank you when he finally got her free, and even tied a makeshift bandage around the wound. He wasn't wrong - it would scar. But honestly, a scar on the shoulder was preferable to death.

"The bastards just had to get my good arm, didn't they." She muttered to herself darkly as she retrieved her weapons and found some cover. With a shoulder like this, there was no way in Hell she could draw her bow. However, she did have a few tricks left up her sleeve, that just may aid in the siege. Was it likely she would get further injuries? Probably. High risk of death? Oh yes.

But hell... they'd paid her, and she wasn't going to cower behind a rock for the remainder of the battle when she had one good arm.

Downing the single health potion she'd brought with her, she shivered lightly as the wound suddenly became ice cold - the pain was still there, and it certainly hadn't healed it; but the bleeding began to slow, and the pain became more bearable. Thanking the Gods silently that the Forsworn bastards hadn't used poison, Roze pulled her hood over her face, and re-entered the fray, sticking to the sidelines and the shadows with her bow slung over her back, and steel sword in hand.

She was no expert with a blade; but when battles became as busy as this one, it would be somewhat easier to take a few Forsworn down.

To Orakh's delight, Sagax lived up to his acrobatic expertise. Sure, the boy's sword maneuvers were also raw as fresh game. But the quickness he handled himself on dangerous crenelations made up for his shortcomings. Acrobatics skills paid off for Sagax, and his fate was the kindest compared to other ladder assaults. Two ladders burned before anyone could reach the top, and one burned with a man on it. Two more became deathtraps, as the mercenaries climbing them climbed right up to sword impalement. In the end, success or not, many defenders on the ramparts were forced to turn their attention from Sevine and the ram, giving them less pressure to deal with.

But the situation at hand wasn't good enough for Orakh. The gate was breached, and two newcomers, who Orakh didn't bother to discern, joined the fray, and the Forsworn numbers thinned with every death or retreat. Even so, the failed ladder assaults still left several wall sections occupied. Orakh understood that bypassing them would leave enemies on the rear. He could not have that, the Orc needed to take them down. He needed an explosive edge; the arcane charges.

A magic skeptic himself, Orakh had his reservations when it comes to these, weapons. He didn't wish to touch them, and he probably end up blowing himself up anyways. In his place, Orakh sent a more magically-inclined mercenary, who ended up blowing himself up instead. It all happened in a blur, Orakh sent the mercenary on his way. He saw the soul gem being installed and an explosion occurred in the blink of an eye. Didn't Ashav say they would have the time to clear the backblast? Apparently not. Well, at least most of the explosion were unidirectional towards the wall, so the mercenary, despite being charred and stuck with wood splinters like a porcupine, survived even as Orakh stepped on what he perceived as a lifeless corpse.

What was ironic was that the second mercenary behind the charge primer, someone thought himself as safer than the first man, tripped through the poorly cleared hole and fell onto a pike. His death was instant and gruesome, because the pike pushed out his eyeball out of the back of his skull. The death of this man convinced Orakh to not follow after. The Orc had retrieved Sadann's poisoned spear from earlier, he lobbed the weapon into the still smoking hole, and was rewarded with a pained scream from the other side. As the smoke cleared and he could see through, Orakh chopped down stubborn pieces of wood and jumped over afterward. His shield caught an incoming blade and his axe removed half an arm. The arcane charge provided an advantage for Orakh by leaving everyone on the other side dazed or hurt. Therefore, the Orc and his fellow warriors fought an easy fight.

After defeating his opponents, the area quieted down for him to hear Sagax cheering nearby. “Oi, you there!” He tried to grab Sagax's attention. “Quit howling and watch our backs. Focus, you're in a battle here.”

Not far behind Orakh was Farid. You can say Farid had quite the day. With all the un-pleasentries he went through, Farid was not in top shape when the battle came to him. What kept him going was his youthful energy, and the signature Redguard adrenaline pumping like a geyser in his bloodstream. He was divided between actually heading back and joining Jorwen in the mess they call battle. Before he could decide, he spent a couple of seconds making sure Roze was ready to go. He might carry her back to camp if she couldn't manage tit on her own, after all, Farid found the Breton woman attractive enough to invoke certain sense of romantic chivalry, as they say in the books. Roze didn't look like she needed help though, as quick as she went down, she was soon back again and slithered into the shadows.

Eyes following Roze lead Farid to Orakh and his followers. Farid was unfamiliar with this particular Orc, but his life before enlisting in the company had many sour notes with the Orsimers. The particular incident with Orakh's attempt to use breaching charges struck an adverse first impression. Sending someone else to take their own risks was not something a leader should inspire to. If Orakh sending the mercenary to blow himself up wasn't bad enough, he decided to trample over the poor sod just to add insult to injury. Farid grumbled in disbelief, did he finally find an equal to the Cat-Kicker?

Speaking of the Cat-Kicker, Dumhuvud was recovering from his injuries. Apparently Dumhuvud could see now, unlike before. The healer said something about Dumhuvud losing one eye, and the other one lost sight temporarily due to “hysterical blindness”. Farid was far enough to catch the gist of it, he grinned inside knowing that this irritating man was humbled by forces beyond his control. Even though the Cat-Kicker got on his feet and obscenities returned to unlucky mercenaries, the healer had no shortage of patients. Since he won't be carrying Roze back, he might as well ease up the healer's job and drag back the ill-fated man Orakh left behind.

The return trip, for the second time that night, took Farid longer than the outgoing one. He carried the unconscious mercenary on his shoulders, and hefted flesh and armor through uneven terrain. By the time he arrived in camp, Farid practically dropped the man flat and nearly collapsed into Ashav's tent. His ripped shirt was sweat-drenched, overlying armor dirty and weighting down on him like the Adamantium Tower of Balfiera. To the surprised looks of Ashav, Daelin, Keegan and Utu-ja, Farid ungracefully landed himself on the closest chair him could find.

“Sorry,” He panted, throat raspy akin to scratching sandpaper from dehydration. “Got delayed a bit.” Farid nudged his head at the tent entrance, where the injured mercenary lied. “Anyone have water?”

“It's just you.” Daelin noted after passing a cup to Farid. He waited for the Redguard to down his drink, in one swig, before pressing on. “Does that mean the assault is-”

“Going according to plan.” Farid answered. Eyelids drooped and his arms hung loose against his sides. “Red-Bear, you better make it out this alive, you stubborn old fool.” He mumbled.

---

If Orakh had a plan, he would say it's going right where he wanted. Fact is he didn't, Dumhuvud, being ever the helpful person, decided no one other than him should know what to do. So Orakh led his men the way he would. Many of his followers, who had come to prefer the Orc as their de facto commander over Dumhuvud, were frustrated over Sadann's death. A couple charged with seething rage, some careless souls ran themselves through enemy steel, while other fought harder and dished more pain than they received.

Orakh got in line with Sevine and Jorwen for a while. After they pushed the Forsworn back, he and his followers broke off and flanked through the side. He managed to find Roze somewhere in the chaos, and called for her to stay back with Sagax. This sub-group chased a small band of Reachmen far into the redoubt. Many of their enemies fell, but those survivors regrouped and barricaded themselves in the building beside the central, circular one.

Some of his men panicked when flames engulfed the circular building, the other building sheltering the remaining Forsworns were far enough out of the reaches of fire. The mercenaries surrounded where the Forsworns fled and murmured about the bird caw they just heard. However, one of them, the Argonian girl known as Dazzi was so jubilant over her latest kill that she barely bat an eye at the burning house.

“Did anyone see that?” She gloated. Her tail bounced up and down in seemingly ecstasy. “I jumped in, spun one-eighty degrees and didn't even aim. Bam! Headshot. That was Milg!”

“Milg?” Someone beside her said.

“Aye, MiLG!” Dazzi exclaimed. Many tend to view Argonians as emotionless creatures, but there were no better creature embodying childish joy better than this one. “Get wrecked!” She shouted to some corpse, somewhere in the distance.

“Could have been a three-sixty though.” Someone else scoffed.

“Or four-twenty.” None of them were impressed.

“I'm beginning to think the Cat-Kicker's right about you lot.” Beside the tightly locked door, Orakh cursed. “Look, here's a door and bad men behind it. Why don't we give the arcane charge another go.”

“Ain't me, chief.” The charge carrier dropped his goods and held up his hands.

“Sure, alright, I'll do it.” Orakh admitted. He took a deep breath and held the charge in hand. It felt heavy, not only for his fatigued arms, but also the images of his smoking corpse tugged his mind. He shook these feelings away. Orakh saw worse in his life, this one won't be his last. “Stay back, I don't want to drag anyone else down with me.”

Alright, do or die. Orakh methodically pushed the soul gem closer and closer to it's slot. The moment it clicked in, Orakh wasted no time hopping back while drawing up the shield. The charge didn't detonate immediately, and Orakh was afforded a good seven seconds to clear the backblast. A relieved sigh came when the Orc realized he stood unhurt. Beside him, the mercenaries streamed into the building like a herd of charging bulls and made quick work of the dazed defenders.

“Chief!” One man shouted from inside. Orakh strolled in and nodded in approval at the dead Forsworns. That was the main room, off to a side room, the mercenaries surrounded half a dozen of children. They found a litter of Reachmen offspring; the oldest should be in the final days of their nursery school, the youngest barely walked on their own, and most were somewhere in between.

“We should just kill them. Every witchman kid is another killer in the works.” One mercenary, a man with gaping wounds both arm and leg, spat.

“Listen to yourself, you sound like that gods-forsaken Cat-Kicker.” Another one said.

They looked to their leader, who was anything but certain. Why does it always have to be kids, Orakh thought, these little buggers have a talent of getting into trouble, including battles. He was confused, lingering memories when he massacred a Breton hamlet never left his dreams. He told his men to stand firm, and not lift a single blade. Then the Orc went outside, he saw the two Nords he fought with earlier leaving the burning building with an elf in tow. In the distance, Dumhuvud was up and at it again. He needed someone else here, to make the decision for him before the Cat-Kicker works his usual magic.

“Over here, make haste!” Orakh chose a voice audible to Jorwen and Sevine, but not Dumhuvud. “We've got a problem.”

What constituted a problem in the middle of a battle was anyone’s guess, much less Jorwen, who saw this battle as one big fuck-off problem. He stood next to Sevine, the two of them finding at least a little bit of pleasure watching the she-elf’s mouth gawping in awe all around her at the carnage. Once he heard Orakh’s call for them about the problem, he and Sevine walked over, their contingent following them. “What do you think it is, Chief?”

He looked at Sevine, not knowing who the man was talking to. Finally, he opened his mouth, he guessed making him chief. “We’ll find out. Though, what the hells could be a problem in the middle of a battle that can’t be cut down is beyond me.” He shrugged, “Usually places of this like aren’t the ones for finer minds.”

To his relief, White-Eye had fallen in with him, “Any room for an old man, Chief?”

“Reckon we got one spot open. Already chose my Second though.” He nodded to Sevine walking alongside him. When they finally got to the building with the Orc’s men, Jorwen and his men halted. The two groups stood around looking at each other and Jorwen finally asked, “What is it?”

“Have a look for yourself.” The old Orc gestured to the entrance. As Jorwen and Sevine stepped inside, they were greeted by a grim scene. Children huddled in the corner. Reachmen were littering the ground like broken dolls. If they had taken them for warriors before, the closer Jorwen looked, the dead men and women were old, well past fighting age. Mothers, grandmothers, fathers, grandfathers, all of them dead. Why children were in a place like this was beyond him, but he stood there, gawping. A man stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder.

“You reckon we should kill-” The sentence was cut off in a howl as Jorwen took the hand on his shoulder and squeezed it as hard as he could. His free hand struck out, quick as a snake and took the man by the throat, cutting off the cry in a gurgling moan.

“I reckon I should fucking kill you.” He hissed through gritted teeth. The man was sent stumbling back to crash against a table and flop to the ground. He turned back to the shaking children, too scared to cry, too scared to scream. Who was left to scream for? He edged closer to them, showing his hands before he knelt down, still a head taller than most of them on his knees. He held a hand out and they shrank away from it, which he couldn’t blame them for. One of them- the oldest, but still young by far- reminded him of Solveig at that age, the same piercing blue eyes and fiery red hair, face speckled with freckles and an unbreakable air of defiance. That got him rethinking his place here, reminded him that even the Reachmen had things to care for. He rose back to his full height and went back to Orakh, “I’ll take the children away, let them scurry back to the mountains. Any man, Cat-Kicker or otherwise, wants to criticize my actions can refer to the man on the ground for advice. Until the battle’s done, I’m staying here to keep them unkilled.” He didn’t wait for an answer because he wasn’t asking for permission.

He walked back into the building, letting himself fall into a chair on the far side of the room from the children. He grasped up some strips of cooked meat and put one in his mouth before tossing the rest towards the children. Solveig darted out from the huddle and snatched them off the ground, handing out some before wolfing the meat down, her hard eyes never coming off of Jorwen. Just like Solveig’s never would have when she was angry with him.

Sagax shrunk a tad with embarrassment when Orakh yelled at him to focus after loudly cheering for Sevine. "R-right, sorry sir!" He called out sheepishly. The orc was right, Sagax had to keep an eye on the horizon. On top of the wall, he had the best chance of seeing an incoming group of flanking Forsworn. The Reachmen had a reputation for retreating only to show up behind their attackers and stab them in the back. He was going to make sure that they wouldn't get such a jump on his comrades, and so Sagax, hand resting on the hilt of his sword, peered over the top of the palisade. He scanned every inch of land visible to him, looking for any shuffling shadows or even the slightest hint of torchlight, though he knew the chance of the Forsworn using torches this far into the early dawn was fairly slim. Still, he wasn't about to let anything slip past him or go unnoticed. Except, you know, that still-unconscious Forsworn mage below. Baby steps, though, baby steps.

Sagax took a liking to his watch duty. He got to sit up on a vantage point and enjoy the the beauty of Skyrim. The wind hit him gently, and the early morning sun illuminated the far horizon. It was moments like those that made Sagax wish he knew how to paint. Though a mere painting could not do such scenes justice, one had to see it for themselves to really be able to appreciate Skyrim's geographical charms.

The Imperial jumped, startled by a sudden explosion coming from behind him. He swung around, expecting to see his allies burnt to a crisp by some Forsworn spell, but it was just Orakh setting off some sort of charge, blowing open the door of a small building, to Sagax's great relief. He also turned around in time to see Jorwen and Sevine enter an ever-so-slightly on fire building in the center of the redoubt. He knew they could handle themselves, so Sagax stayed at his post on the wall.

At the back of his mind, Sagax felt as though he was forget something. Something fairly important and pertinent. The Forsworn mage. He forgot about the damn mage he knocked out! He wouldn't be waking up for a little bit, but Sagax felt that it would be better to deal with him now. Jumping down, Sagax looked to Orakh, but he and his men seemed to be occupied with something. He glanced over the Altmer, not giving her any thought, and set his eyes on Dumhuvud. He was a brute, but was Sagax's superior by most definitions. Cupping his hands, the man shouted over to Cat-Kicker. "Dumhuvud, sir! I have a neutralized Forsworn here! Do you perhaps want to question him?"

Before melting into the shadows, Roze was sure to flash a quick grin at Farid - however, any conversations would have to wait until after the siege was finished.
Although any and all magical enhancements to her armor were useless in battle - staying very much in line with Guild requirements, they were to enhance Thievery, not battle - the dark colour of the leather and her own skill with sneak allowed her to stay very much undetected. Not invisible, certainly - but she made more than a few of her comrades in arms jump as she suddenly appeared, slicing throats of the Forsworn dogs, and then retreating back into the shadows. Thanks to this manner of fighting, she was able to avoid too much detection and harm. However, as happens in battle, when one Forsworn berserker focused her attacks on Roze, she didn't exactly have the skillset to deal with the opponent with just her blade.

As her opponent closed in on her, screaming like a damn Hagraven, Roze back-pedalled, only just raising her blade to block the brutal attack from the two war-axes the woman wielded - and wicked looking things they were. Forsworn weapons always looked brutal; made from wood, stone, and jagged metals, they looked more like torture instruments than weapons for battle.

In the second attack, the woman easily disarmed Roze - one axe smashing into her steel shortsword and easily sending it flying, the other catching Roze's right arm and adding another wound. Falling to the ground, Roze raised both arms instinctively - ignoring the screaming pain from both wounds on her right, and her hands pointing directly at the Forsworn's face.

"Burn in Oblivion, mountain whore!" Roze yelled, and then let loose with her spell - Magelight.

Now, Alteration spells can't really be used much in combat - certainly not the lower level ones anyway. But, here she lay, injured and without any truly destructive spells, when she swiftly remembered that light, when too much of it is shown, can be quite damaging in it's own way.
As Magelight is both made to shoot up with some speed, and to stick where it lands, it proved to be rather painful for the Forsworn woman's eyes. As it landed right between them.

As she screamed bloody murder and began waving her axes around erratically, Roze rolled to the side, unsheathing her steel dagger, and slicing across the Forsworn's left ankle. The fur boots she wore did nothing to stop the blade slicing open her hamstring, and she fell to the floor in agony - allowing Roze to plunge the dagger into her throat, and retrieve her own blade.

Thankfully it was still intact - but the cut on her arm was rather deep, and hurt like a bitch.

"On the plus side, it's not as bad as her wound." Roze thought to herself, glancing at the Forsworn who lay twitching on the ground - eyes rolling back into her head as she choked on her own blood. A nasty way to go.

But then again, these were some nasty individuals.

Pausing for a moment, Roze looked over as she heard a call go out - Sevine and Jorwen then hurrying to one of the buildings. Roze followed swiftly, trying to avoid any further attacks. Coming to a stop outside the entrance where Sevine - and a rather haughty looking Altmer - stood, she offered up a smile to her friend. There was a shaft remaining from an arrow sticking from Sevine's shoulder, but the woman seemed unperturbed.

Guess it pays to have nice battle armour. Roze thought to herself before glancing in the building, her face falling in the process.
"By the Nine! Why in fucking Oblivion would there be pups here?" She said aloud, shaking her head as she looked at the children. The oldest couldn't have been any older than five or six.

It hadn't even occurred to Roze that there would be children in this place - she had always assumed any children would have been born and raised in the out of reach places, like the deep caves and nigh-impossible to reach mountain peaks.

Upon seeing Jorwen sat inside - and looking like he wasn't planning on going anywhere anytime soon - it seemed Roze found a place that she could be helpful, rather than taking down a few Forsworn from the shadows.

"Would you like me to stay as well?" She asked, directing the question both at Jorwen and Sevine - the Orcish soldier before her, who was undoubtedly in charge, likely didn't even know who she was... and if Sevine valued her aid more than babysitting some Forsworn brats, she would go with her.