(A most excellent collaboration featuring the vocals of Dervish, lead guitar Hank, and percussion of Mortarion.)

It was strange how quiet things became in the lull after battle. Where chaos and bloodshed had filled the air with the screams of men and the clash of steel only minutes before, an eerie lull took the day and the docks could have been indistinguishable from a crypt, save for the gentle lapping of waves against the foundations. The mercenaries had worked dilligently, not finding time for rest as the city's defenders had their own problems to deal with. While exhaustion, both mentally and physically, were a concern, there were still all too many bodies, and fewer still wounded. The company had seemed so formidable at first, but now it seemed like a broken shell, held only together by the threads of the very few who remained.

This was not how Do'Karth expected his first day to go, that much was certain. The khajiit had noticed things moving far too quickly after mounting the giant and trying to force it into submission. The next thing he knew, reinforcements arrived, drove the beasts back, and the docks were awash in friendly activity that drove the hideous hulls back into the waves, hopefully long enough for Windhelm as a whole to gather reinforcement and come up with a plan of dealing with the next landing. But for now, he helped drag and carry any who could be saved back to the warehouse that had acted as their impromptu headquarters and set immediately to tending to wounds amongst the raw coppery smell of blood. He decided rather quickly this would not be where he sets his bedroll tonight.

One of the few good things to come out of the giants smashing wood planks on the dock were that there wasn't a shortage of things to fashion braces with, and the lucky ones who only suffered from shattered or broken limbs could at least have some sort of mending before the mages could get around to them. And so he worked, setting limbs and bandaging gruesome wounds and lacerations while applying salves of more traditional medicine. For a change, people were far too gone for the most part to complain about him potentially leaving fur in their wounds. Had he been more rude, he would have certainly tried to cough up a hairball at their expense.

The next on the list of casualties, and possibly the first that resembled more of a person than red paste, was an argonian who had meandered into the warehouse under his own strength. Do'Karth wandered over to him, setting his supplies next to him. "Considering the day we're having, this one suspects you're simply thankful for the break... excuse the bad joke. It has been a coping mechanism, yes?"

Tsleeixth entered the warehouse with some difficulty, having some difficulty opening the door with only one good arm. He let out a sigh when he looked at all the wounded in the warehouse, the scene reminding him far too much of the aftermath of the assault to the Forsworn redoubt, but even worse. He was surprised when one khajit approached him, laughing slightly at the joke "Yes, I understand, don't worry" He said as he moved a bit further into the warehouse before sitting not he floor with his back against the wall, exhaustion finally catching up to him in the aftermath of the battle.

He looked to the khajiit that had greeted him when he had first entered "Hmm, do you know where a healer is? One of those giants hit me pretty hard, think that my arm is broke and perhaps a couple of ribs" He said as he tried to move into a more comfortable position for his broken arm, pain flaring form the limb as it moved and causing the Argonian no small amount of discomfort as well as pain.

"Someone asked for a healer?" Niernen said, appearing behind Do'Karth's shoulder. She blanched a little at the sight of Tsleeixth, her eyes narrowing. She had practically never spoken to an Argonian before and had barely laid eyes on any of them after the Blackmarsh campaign, other than a few slaves in Blacklight. She supposed now was as good a time as any to start setting aside her prejudice against them and get over herself; that was the real reason she was out here in Windhelm in the first place. Steeling herself, she brushed past Do'Karth with a quiet "Excuse me," and crouched down next to the Argonian.

Her hands started to glow with Restoration magic as she gently took Tsleeixth's arm, moving her palm up and down the length of it. That was the most obvious injury, but probably not the only one. "There, that should quench the pain at least. I can't mend the break completely, so you should probably wear a brace for a while. Truth be told," Niernen said, avoiding Tsleeixth's gaze, glancing up at his jaw every so often, "I'm not an expert on Restoration magic."

She had made her way to the warehouse after the fight, following the train of injured guards and mercenaries. Garm, her pet Nix-hound, had disappeared briefly, but Niernen wasn't too worried about that. She'd followed Do'Karth's path along the injured, applying Restoration magic wherever necessary. She'd already tossed back one of her Magicka potions and was starting to feel the toll on her magicka reserves again. Tucking a rebellious strand of hair back behind her ear, Niernen continued: "Either way, name's Niernen. I signed up for the company last night. Were your first days as interesting as this?" directing the question at Tsleeixth and Do'Karth simultaneously.

While the dunmer worked on the argonian's arm with her restoration spells, the khajiit prepared a splint, using a length of canvas he had procured from a shipping crate to give it padding. His glance caught a barely noticable tension coming from the woman, who given her elven physiology could either be in her 20s or 90s and he would be none-the-wiser. It made for a few strange intimate encounters in his travels where he came to the realization that the woman was only a generation or two removed from the Oblivion Crisis. His gaze followed the next obvious course and looked at the argonian, whom he sincerely hoped didn't owe her some kind of debt. Were that the case, this room would likely soon be filled with more screaming than he was particularly enamoured with.

"Here, allow Do'Karth to assist." he said, setting the splint on either side of the argonian's arm, straightening it out gently and tying it securely. He next set to work to securing the arm across his chest. "Considering how those giants typically leave their victims, this one considers you fortunate. He doesn't think there is much to be done for your ribs, save for spells, but if you do not have a punctured lung, the best thing would be rest." he looked at some of the others in the warehouse. "As you might have guessed, there's quite a line-up for our services."

This done, Do'Karth sat back and produced a wineskin, which he uncorked and handed to the argonian's good hand in offering. He looked back to the dunmer woman who introduced herself as Niernen, which he was certain would have rolled off his Anequinnan accented tongue rather smoothly. "This one has the pleasure of being Do'Karth. And this is more or less this one's first day. He brings a certain luck to the company, no?"

"Yes, I did, thank you." Said the Argonian when Niernen appeared, although the brief look that the dunmer woman gave him told Tsleeixth that his presence made her uncomfortable. He relaxed slightly when he felt restoration magic mending some of the damage to his arm "Yes, it does, thank you." He said when the dunmer woman mentioned that it should at least quench the pain "Ah, it's ok, I guessed as much, thanks for easing the pain." Said Tsleeixth when Niernen mentioned that he should probably have to wear a brace for a while.

He was about to answer Niernen's question when the khajit, who identified himself as Do'Karth, spoke to him "Thank you." Said the Argonian as Do'Karth set about to make a brace with the materials at hand, grimacing slightly as pain flared through his arm when the kahjiit secured it against his chest "Hmm, yes, although it was a pretty close encounter for me." He said grimly, remembering the Nord warrior who had given his life trying to save him "And thank you for your help, Do'Karth" He said, following the khajit's gaze of the warehouse, grimacing as he saw the amount of wounded. "Yes, I suppose so" He said when Do'Karth mentioned that there was a line-up for their services.

He gratefully accepted the wine skin that Do'Karth offered to him, drinking some of it's content as he listened Do'Karth saying that this was his first day "Well, I've been with the company since the Reach, although my part in the battle was pretty much helping set up the leaders and then get knocked out" He said in self-deprecating humor, chuckling softly. "But yeah, it was...interesting, as well." He said, letting a sigh as he remembered the incident with the Forsworn kids and, for a second, wondering if they were okay.

"Don't be too hard on yourself, Do'Karth -- could be my fault as well," Niernen said with a wry smile in reply to his quip about bad luck. She nodded at Tsleeixth, acknowledging his thanks, straightened, groaning slightly. She placed her hand on the wall for support. "I was born under the Serpent, after all." Niernen didn't reply to the Argonian with more than a short mumble. Taking a deep breath and trying to ignore the flashbacks in her mind's eye, she looked around the warehouse, seeing that other healers had arrived by now and took this as her cue to relax. She opened the pouch at her waist and chewed down a few of the juniper berries. Ever since the Argonian poison had almost killed her she needed to eat something frequently, or she'd become light-headed and shaky.

Garm appeared, trotting into sight with an object between his pincered jaws. Niernen narrowed her eyes, trying to make out what it was in the gloomy twilight of the warehouse, and gasped when she saw it was a severed human arm. "Garm, you s'wit!" she hissed, but the Nix-hound tilted his head back and started swallowing the limb. "Too late to stop him now, I suppose," she said and shook her head. Garm had found the limb out on the docks, no doubt. Nix-hounds were scavengers and omnivores who ate practically everything, so she shouldn't be surprised that this happened.

"The Reach? Quite the range of travels. From what this one has heard, it was... quite unpleasant that way." he said, regarding his furred with a frown. It would take quite a bit of effort to clear out the blood stains. "And think nothing of this one's services. He does not wish to take life, and whomever he can save eases his conscious." he replied, looking up at Niernen with a slight smile. "Do'Karth would not presume to put pressure on either of us, we are doing something our more battle-axe happy compatriots are clueless about. It makes us rather blameless if we do bungle it up." he said, watching her eat the juniper berries with some envy. Damn mages could keep their hands much cleaner than he could.

The Nix-hound entered the warehouse, or at least came into view, carrying some poor bastard's arm as a chew toy. The scene would have been comical, had its implications not been immediately dark. "Niernen does not sleep with both eyes closed around that thing, does she? You don't appear to be missing anything important."

Tsleeixth grimaced when Do'Karth mentioned that the Reach had been an unpleasant affair "Yes, that it was." He said with a sigh, but offered a smile to Do'Karth when he said that he should think nothing of his services, that he didnt wish to take life and that whoever he could save eased his consciousness "Still, thank you Do'Karth." He said, looking as Niernen began eating juniper berries, realizing his hungry he was now after the battle but was a little ashamed to admit it.

He would have mentioned something, or would have gone to his rucksack to get some food, had it not been for the appearance of a nix hound. He would have been more surprised, after all he had only read about the creatures never seen them, but the battle against the giants seemed to have left him dull to any other surprises, not even when he noticed that the creature was carrying a human arm. "I'd guess the Nix hound is yours, Niernen?" He asked the dunmer woman when he noticed that she had referred it the nix hound by name, letting out a soft chuckle at Do'Karth's question.

"True, true," Niernen said in response to Do'Karth. "But I think I'll leave the healing to the professionals whenever I can. And yes, he's mine," she replied to Tsleeixth. She absent-mindedly turned to look at the Argonian and met his gaze for the first time. Blanching, Niernen immediately looked away, first at the ground, and then at Do'Karth. It took her a few seconds to recover and process the Khajiit's question, after which she smiled and shook her head. "He's well-trained, really. Doesn't attack unless commanded to. I should have known he would do something like this, though."

Garm finished swallowing the arm and yawned, stretching his front legs. "What do you think is going to happen next?" Niernen asked, turning serious. "Those... things... haven't left. They're docked on the opposing shore. Do you have any idea what they are?"

"Let us hope he does not hold the same distain for cats as dogs do, then." Do'Karth said with a weary chuckle, eyeing the hound longer than he had strictly intended to. It was an unfortunate introduction to the dunmer's cherished companion. "Do'Karth is no soldier, not by trade anyways, but he is certain the enemy will be back... likely with more surprises and men, or whatever those things were. They are unlike anything he has seen, and he has seen many wonderous things. This one suspects Daedra, but is that not the response towards anything that seems otherworldy and quite rude?"

Tsleeixth shifted slightly uncomfortably when he noticed the expression on Niernen's face when she looked him in the eyes. "Ah, I see." He said when she mentioned that the nix hounds was indeed hers, relaxing slightly when she mentioned that the Nix Hound, Garm as she had called it, was well trained. He shivered slightly when she said that the creatures hadn't left "Yes, they haven't left and they are most likely to attack again as Do'Karth said." He said "As for what they are...well" Said the Argonian hesitatingly "I head someone in the docks shouting that they were Kamal, the Snow Demons." He said, letting out a soft sigh "No idea if that's true but, well, based on what we've seen I think it's best to keep an open mind." He said shifting slightly as he pondered on whatever to ask something to Niernen.

"Kamal?" Niernen asked, surprised. "From Akavir? That's... extraordinary. If that's true it would be the first invasion from Akavir in centuries. Makes more sense than Daedra, I think, what with the Dragonfires and the fact that I've never heard of Daedra like this. I know a thing or two about Conjuration. Kamal..." Niernen trailed off, her arms crossed and her brows furrowed.

"From Akavir?" Do'Karth repeated with a long blink. That was unexpected; dealings with that continent had been, as Niernen had pointed out, unheard of for quite some time. It was impossible to think of it as a real place at times, just a land of insane stories of snake men, dragons, and distant beast folks that would be similar, but different, to khajiit. He had never heard of Snow Demons or Kamal before, although he wasn't about to question how valid this was. Idly, Do'Karth grasped his amulet of S'renndar and began to work it over in his fingers absent-mindedly. It brought reassurance where words could not. "So... how does one stop a Snow Demon? Setting them ablaze seems too obvious." he asked.

Tsleeixth shifted slightly, thinking on for a bit "Yes, I agree, they didn't seem like Daedra to me either." Said the Argonian in response to Niernen's comment, truth be told he wasn't certain if the man shouting in the docks was right but it seemed like a plausible thing. He shifted once more, looking as Do'Karth began toying with a pendant, something that reminded him of his own pendant and gave his chest a light pat for a second, letting out a soft sigh when he noticed that his amulet was still in place.

"Well, their armor seems to have a weak spot in the knees, that's how most of the ones that have fallen had been defeated, make them fall under their own weight and attack their necks." He said as he began toying with his own amulet, mimicking Do'Karth's action. "It would seem that fire salts also work well against them, at least I think so." He said, shrugging as best as he could, remembering the men carrying crates of fire salts. "Hmm, I know it sounds impossible, but...well, I've got no other idea what else they could be." Said Tsleeixth, shifting slightly. And drank from the wine skin that Do'Karth had handed him once more, trying to relax slightly.

"I tried that," Niernen said to Do'Karth. "The fire wouldn't catch, though. Their armor isn't exactly flammable." She listened to Tsleeixth, agreeing with everything he said. Were these really the supposedly inferior creatures the Dunmer freely enslaved? Tsleeixth seemed intelligent and kind. Niernen felt increasingly uneasy, though it was now born from guilt instead of fear. She inhaled deeply, wondering what the hell she'd been doing with her life until now.

Shaking her head, Niernen said: "Right then, Snow Demons. They'll be back. You need to rest a little, Tsleeixth, but what do you think we should do now, Do'Karth? I'm at a loss, frankly."

"It's like Do'Karth's mother used to tell him when he was young, never think on an empty stomach." The khajiit said, acutely aware the only strong memory of his mother was found in the form of a stinging backhand for not gripping a dagger properly. He chased the thought from his mind, rising to his feet, making a show of brushing his hands clean. "This one understands there's a kitchen within the gates that is for us stalwart defenders, and this one is acutely aware that he has not had more than a few small bites since before sunrise. Do'Karth would rather not face his foes again on an empty belly." he said with a shrug. "Shall we? Nords eat a considerable amount, this one has noticed." he offered a hand to the seated argonian. "This one supposes you do not wish the company of the dead and dying."

Tsleeixth chuckled, taking the kahjit's hand to stand up "You are correct Do'Karth, plus I didn't eat in the morning to I am pretty hungry." He said, feeling his stomach grumbling slightly and then turned to face Niernen. "Will you come with us Niernen?" He asked to the dunmer woman, offering her a smile as he waited for her answer before leaving for the kitchen.

"A hot meal would be nice, yes," Niernen said. She met the Argonian's eyes when he spoke her name and saw that the corners of his mouth were curled up; she assumed this was a smile. Ignoring the clenching in her gut, Niernen smiled a small smile of her own and nodded at him. It wasn't too late -- perhaps she could make up for the things she had done in Blackmarsh after all. She followed the Khajiit and the Argonian outside, narrowing her eyes against the sunlight. Garm followed soundlessly.

@gcold

Utu-ja hadn't felt this bad... ever. Even after healing his insides felt bruised and slightly out of place, causing a queasiness that he hoped wouldn't remain too long. He had regained consciousness during the removal of the needles of ice that had been decorating his skin. When he recognized his surroundings his first thought had to do with it being a very good thing that he didn't value his looks very highly. The rest of his thoughts for several long minutes involved coarse words and daedra involved in dreadfully disreputable poses with a variety of deformed animals. It was fortunate for those around him that he held his tongue. By the time he would have thanked the healers, they had already moved on.

Finally, enough of his strength returned for him to struggle to his feet. And just then he was asked what seemed to be a very silly question. Utu might have smiled if not for the sickening feeling in his chest. But, he did answer. He spoke clearly and without fear, though fatigue laced his voice.

"This land gave me my first breath and my first taste of dust. It'll give me my last. The Nords can say the same. Who else should I protect?"

Then he walked slowly out of the warehouse filled with guards and soldiers and the cries of the unfamiliar wounded. He hadn't been close to the lines. How did he survive? Someone must have pulled his unconscious tail out of there. Who though? He stopped outside to let his eyes adjust to the light of day. That plan hadn't gone half as well as he'd hoped.

A collaboration of humor, desperation, hope, family and love. All brought to you by the creative minds of @Chrononaut and the Schaft. Enjoy...

After Vurwe snapped from the realization the armored monstrosities actually exploded, she had some doubts. Perhaps now was not the best time to confront Jorwen. Maybe she should go back, call Jorwens wife a cow, and go back to sleep, wait for all this to blow over. Then a shard of metal ripped through her dress following another "boom" out in the distance and she instantly became a 11 on a 1/10 scale of how pissed she could be.

She walked over to Jorwen, pointing angrily and glaring. She gestured to Gordo, who said, "Oh." and coughed into one meaty fist. "You, troll man, no know music. Gordo think dumb."

Vurwe nodded in what seemed to be approval.

Jorwen's brow was aching with how hard it was pinched together and his eyes were tired and angry slits in his face. The copper smell of blood was in every lungful of breath, he had to step over men he once knew and newbeard lads he'd never get to. He finally found his sword and lifted it up to tent his fingers over the pommel and heave in a sigh that tasted like death. It was only fitting that the next thing he heard was Vurwe and the biggest Dunmer he'd ever felt looming over him step up behind him. The big lad said something he more than likely was payed to say and Jorwen only turned his head, his words smoking out of his mouth as he looked over his shoulder at them, "D'you have to?" Jorwen sighed and frowned, "Be a cunt? Morning, by the way, you're welcome for the bed."

"You and your superfluous daughter were making a racket in the night and I wrote a letter, in response." she jabbed a scroll at Jorwen. "I want reparations! The letter also has a footnote about the bed."

Gordo nodded along to each word, "Gordo read letter! Very petty! Gordo approve!"

Vurwe groaned, "I pay you to approve!"

"Gordo approve that!"

Vurwe leaned over to Jorwen, "I taught him about the word approve and he's been excited about it. I think he may be touched."

"Mm." Jorwen grabbed the scroll and tucked it in his belt, "Good kindling." The smallest smile on his lips. Say what you wanted about Vurwe but if she meant half the things she said, she wouldn't have stuck around at all. There was at least an ounce of niceness in there. Maybe.

"Each day should be a new lesson, eh, lad?" Jorwen said, when Vurwe told him about her new stint as a teacher for the big mer.

"Mm," Gordo nodded deeply as if Jorwen had imparted great wisdom, "Gordo approve of notion."

He turned to Vurwe, "You came out of a scrape like this alive while a lot of unlucky others didn't." Jorwen shook his head, a frown returning to his face, "There's your reparations. 'Course, we could go for some eggs later, when I feel like eating again." His eyes scanned around the docks until he saw two men with a big Nord held at the ankles and under the armpits, limp and sagging like a bundle of rope. One of the men had the big man's mail shirt thrown over his shoulder, another had his axe in his hands while he was carrying him. White-Eye's things. And they carried the man himself, of course. He set off that way, "Come. Bring your Dunmer."

Vurwe frowned, "Where are we going? My dress was ripped by one of those gargling monstrosities turning into a damned fireball! These are expensive! I'm going to need to find a tailor! Does Skyrim even have tailors? Where's your daughter anyway? She better not be dead."

She looked to the Nord Jorwen was likely looking at and squinted, "Is he dead?"

"He look dead?" Jorwen said. The answer was before them in White-Eye's good glassy eye and slack face. Then he looked to the red noses and rosy cheeks of the two men carrying him. He planted his fist right into the nose of one and crunched it bloody and crooked in the man's face while Gordo took the obvious hint of violence and lifted the other man over his head and threw him into the icy water. The look on his face after doing it was of stone, like he threw men off docks most mornings. He approved. Cleftjaw's stomping feet brought him over, barely breathing any harder.

"Your daughter!" Jorwen looked over his shoulder to see Cleftjaw cradling Solveig's body, her nose was crooked and the bottom half of her face was a mess of blood. She was limp and it was all he could do to not just fall to his knees and die. "She's alive, but... she needs help." A shred of hope and he looked to Vurwe with pleading eyes.

Vurwe looked into Cleftjaws eyes and stared. She'd seen eyes like those, years ago. The fragment of a memory unfolding into being. It was a cold night and she had been walking in the dark hallways of her family's keep to look for more kindling for her boudoirs fire. There was the sound of footsteps. Then a yell. She ran down the hall to her father, Ganron's, chambers. There was blood leaking from under the door and when she opened it, he fell to the ground. There was a knife in his chest and it seemed to have pierced a lung. She screamed and knelt down. There were cuts all over his body, it seemed he had been stabbed by more than one assailant. She knelt there, crying, when the guards finally arrived. No healer had arrived in time and by the next day Vurwe had taken over as Eldest of the Highorin line. He had looked right at her with pleading eyes.

She knelt down next to Solveig, "Gordo, hold the girl, I don't think that man can keep at it." Gordo took over for Cleftjaw. She placed three fingers on the girl's face, a faint glow of light tracing along. She rubbed as much blood away as she could with her hands, making sure that any healing she had done was actually working. Gordo was eventually instructed to adjust her broken nose back into place.

Jorwen breathed a sigh of relief and looked at Vurwe. There was a distance in her eyes for a few moments that he'd never seen before, and then she set to work. Gordo lifted Solveig from Cleftjaw's arms and the man sighed a heavy breath, his body sagging all at once. Jorwen was like a doting mother and Gordo had to shrug Solveig away from his probing hands. Her face seemed to piece itself back together, but the damage was done. Scars that would've taken days to form crept across her skin like the roots of a plant. Her face was different, but it was still his daughter's. Her nose still had a crookedness to it and a slot was left in her lip towards the corner of her mouth from which dripped a scar that curved to fork at her chin. She remained asleep still in Gordo's arms before Jorwen held out his own. Gordo put Solveig in his arms with such gingerness he never would've thought the big mer had. He looked down at his daughter and then to Vurwe. "I-I don't know how to thank you, lass."

Vurwe gave him a icy look. Her eyes looked like they had been tearing up. "We'll talk about that later. I'd start with finding a good tailor."

"I've a needle and thread handy in the warehouse." Jorwen looked down at his daughter and gave her a gentle hug, "Walk with me." And off they went, leaving Cleftjaw to take care of White-Eye's burial, away from the mass grave the others were sure to go in. They found themselves in the big empty room and Jorwen retrieved his things from the little lockbox he kept his sewing tools in. He returned to where Vurwe and Gordo sat next his daughter, laid out on his bedroll. He didn't know how to phrase it, and had been working on how he'd say it while he was walking over here. Of course, he'd made little progress, so he decided to just come out with it. "I'm going to need you to change."

He looked at the rips in the skirts and the frayed stitching. There was no way he'd be able to fix the dress with her wearing it without stitching the thing to her. He offered her his cloak, though the thing hadn't been washed in a while, it was the best thing for the job. "Take this."

The Altmer swiped the cloak from his hands, judging it with a upturned nose and a wrinkled brow. She found the most isolated hole in the warehouse and changed, returning with the dress folded in her hands like she was going to offer it to a knight. She had pulled the cloak around herself as tight as she could and had cotton trousers. She quietly thanked Phynaster that he had seen it in his grand wisdom to make it so brutally cold in Skyrim that she'd need to wear trousers.

It was an hour before Jorwen came back. When he did, he unfolded the dress to let Vurwe appreciate the work. He didn't think it was too bad, but Vurwe always seemed to find the shit in everything. But he'd given his word to the woman who helped his daughter. "I'm no altmer tailor but I owned my own shop, what, a thousand years ago?" Jorwen mused, "Feels like it, anyways. It'll serve, and I owe you."

"It's...fine." Vurwe didn't really feel like making crucial judgments of a man who saw his daughter horribly wounded earlier, even if she thought harsh, brutal judgments would improve his tailor work. She would have to find someone whose hands were delicate, like a young boy's to get the precise movements required to fix the filigree. Then she could tell him he was horrible at it and he'd believe her because he was twelve.

"Where did you learn it?" Jorwen nodded to Vurwe's hands, "The magic. Healing." He sat down on a crate, his feet next to his daughter and he smiled down sadly at her. He could scold her when she was awake, but now she needed rest. How much, he didn't know. He'd seen wounds like hers, given them, and it could be a day or a week. He looked back to Vurwe, Gordo jutting up behind her like a spire of rock.

"Self taught. I would have my cavaliers bring to me those who injured in their work. Eventually I got it right. If I didn't, I sent them back with a sack of gold and pointed them in the general direction of a more practiced mage." Vurwe recalled that one of them had came in with a missing leg and she'd immediately shooed the armored men who had carried him in off. She had them work as horseshoe makers for six months. The only reason she had let them go back to their careers was that they were making shoddy horseshoes. Horse casualties had never been so high in Firsthold.

"Quite a thing to teach yourself." Jorwen chuckled, "The only thing I ever taught myself was how to drain a tankard as fast as I could and then play five-fingers after, you know the one." And he splayed out his fingers and mimicked stabbing between them with a knife. "Young man's games, the kind you play when you're craving the rush of battle but have to settle for drink and being stupid. Good at it, o'course, you don't get good at it for no reason. Reckon some of these scars are from myself." He laughed. Even if Vurwe didn't, it felt good to talk to someone.

"You have a game where you stab at your own hands?" she asked, incredulous.

Gordo looked dumbly at his own fingers, "Gordo need these play..."

Vurwe scoffed, "Violence must be in their nature. You can tell by the sloped foreheads and the hair. Distant relatives of bears. Or Dragons." she recalled that the "Dovookan" or whatever ridiculous title he had been given after having revealed to have the soul of beings literally filled with a love for destruction.

"I won't disagree, it's a stupid game." Jorwen shrugged, "What about you? What kind of games does an altmer play?"

"A game sort of like chess. There are black and white pieces and the objective is to acquire more surrounding territory than your opponent." Vurwe stared off towards the ceiling. "It's sort of the Thalmor strategy, now that I think about it."

Jorwen grunted and smiled, bitter, "You stick yourself in wars as long as I have and you'll see that's everyone's strategy. More power a man has, the more shrivelled his good bits get." He shook his head, "Maybe Skyrim'd be a better place if the Dovahkiin had died with Helgen."

There was quiet between them. Gordo looked at his fingernails and narrowed his eyes at one, Solveig slept soundly, Vurwe scowled at nothing in particular and Jorwen watched the goings on in the warehouse. The groans of the dying and sobbing of the wounded were almost as bad as the eerie silence the dead left. Jorwen cleared his throat and looked back at the group, "You never said why you were in Skyrim." He said, then he furrowed his brow, "Does it have to do with you having cavaliers? You're not a damned Queen or something, are you? A Direnni, or...?"

"Queen? I was a Duchess. Is that how it works out here? You have one leader? If I were a Queen they wouldn't let me out here." she said. She folded her arms, thinking she perhaps had said too much. "I have my reasons."

Jorwen frowned at Vurwe. She seemed like she caught herself and shut herself up. "A Duchess? That like a Jarl?" He asked. He nodded appreciatively, so Vurwe had a title, she was nobility. That was a bit unexpected, he always just thought she was stuck up because she was an altmer. "Well, you're important, then. I suppose we all have our reasons for being here. I used to be a tailor in Whiterun, tax man loved taking a Stormcloak's shop from him. Now I'm here. Nothing too special about it, but there you go."

"I was. Now my relationship to the courts is...complicated." She fidgeted around, deciding to change the subject drastically. "So, who was your-" she paused at that syllable, realizing she was about to commit social class implosion, but it was too late. "first lover?"

Jorwen coughed and looked around, awkward as Vurwe looked. "Well..." Jorwen shrugged, "There was a woman legionnaire. It wasn't love, but we'd see each other often. She was in a different cohort than me. After the battle of Anvil, I never saw her again. I still don't know what happened to her. When I came back from the war I met Halla and we each fell for the other. I was young, strong, a warrior to my bones. A damn idiot. But when I held my daughter for the first time..." He smiled down at Solveig, breathing slowly on his bedroll, "Maybe I'll move far away from Skyrim when this siege is done. Take Halla and Solveig, if she'll come with me. Got to go to new places to be a new man, places where they've never heard of Red-Bear." He snorted. He could see it now, a small house in Cyrodiil. Chopping wood in the front. Maybe he'd open up his own tailor's even, get back to the needle and thread, do something better. He chuckled softly to himself, "You? Some smooth-palmed page at court?"

Vurwe fidgeted with her dagger's handle "A servant? Absolutely not. There was a Skywatch heir when I was much younger. It didn't...quite, work out. Namely, his father had decided to not allow him to take succession. The courting was seen as less useful by my father."

"Less useful?" He frowned at that, not knowing how he'd react if Solveig brought home a man. Judge him by his usefulness? No, not unless he was a drunk and a womanizer, but he trusted Solveig to turn them away. He couldn't find anything to connect with in that. He figured having your every whim be controlled by the politics of the realm could certainly make someone as prickly as Vurwe. "You never felt... like you should've had a say in it? The boy wasn't a lackwit, you just never hear of anyone putting down a bond so easily otherwise."

"What? No, that would be betraying my family. Is that what you backwoods savages do? Do things against your family's whims? No, I don't need a say in it." She remembered that she had rather liked the boy, but choked down most of the resentment. Most of it. "Maybe you haven't heard of it because you haven't been important enough."

Jorwen shrugged, "If anyone tried to make me leave Halla, I'm not sure I would like to be important enough for that." Jorwen was surprised. Pleasantly. Vurwe still had an outside hard like iron and as spiny as a briar, but it was easy to forget she didn't just pop out of the air like that. Being the head of a family at her age and leaving it behind for whatever reason was a damned jarring change to make. Maybe she wasn't too far past getting to be friends with. At least, in the sense that one builds calluses from hard use. "Here in Skyrim, you can love who you like. People can either respect it, and if they don't, they can do something about it. Family included. Any friend or family worth a damn will love you no matter who you choose to love yourself." Jorwen shrugged and raised his brows, "No one place has the same views just as no one person can, but that's the way I've seen it."

"Well your views are wrong. And if you mentioned anything I said to anyone, I'll slit your throat." Vurwe said, doubling down. "Anyway, we should be getting about and seeing what the others are doing. Being dead, most likely."

"I tend to hope for the opposite." Jorwen chuckled awkwardly, of course he knew people never got what they hoped for often. "And your words are safe. Be seeing you." He looked down at Solveig and back to Vurwe. "I won't forget this. You have Gordo, but I'm here if things are fixing to get bloody." Despite the nice gesture, and he really didn't expect much more, she simply nodded and walked away, her dress folded in her hands. Jorwen watched her go, a frown on him like he was faced with a good riddle. Between Solveig and Vurwe, maybe the only differences were titles and the ears, a little bit more venom than the other. He smiled sadly down at his daughter. After the siege, they'd move on to better things, new places, and they'd catch up. He hoped.

Thankfully with the newfound reinforcements and some good old fashioned determination, with a little fear of death sprinkled around as well of course, the defending force was able to force the invaders into retreating across the river. Unfortunately that meant that the farms and fighters on the other side were decimated, the only movement that could be discerned was that of the lumbering mountains of iron that the portside fighters had just narrowly fought off. Sagax's help was not needed for the most part during the battle, not that he wasn't thankful for it, for his much larger and much more combat-adept allies were able to bring down a good portion of the initial assault force. He felt a little useless, but at least he was there in reserve. Besides, he probably saved Felix from an untimely demise, and that made him feel a little bit better. Coward or fearless warrior, no one deserved to die so horribly as to be crushed by the weapons of those creatures.

Mara's love and mercy knew no discrimination; from the most timid of deer to the most ferocious of troll and everything in between, all life was precious, and Sagax tried to follow her teachings as best he could. But that only made him wonder...did Mara also love those giants? They seemed to want only to destroy and conquer. Certainly though, there must have been some among them that showed mercy? That harbored discontent for the mindless slaughter and sought peace instead? There was a good chance of it, or so Sagax hoped, and deemed the invaders too small of a sample size to judge the entire race on. Every race, every culture has its fair share of such persons. The Altmer, for instance. Sagax knew very well that while a fair amount of High Elves deemed themselves above all other races, many mingled happily with the common masses. He immediately thought of the kindness and friendship of Varulae, the Altmer woman who opened up her home to his family. Surely there were such entities within the society that the invaders hailed from. Sagax would just need to wait for time to tell.

Sagax began moving about the city, lending a hand wherever he could. He started by moving bodies and wounded from the pier. He thought he could handle the bloody work, and he was fine for a little while, but eventually the smell of blood and the sight of mangled corpses got the better of the Imperial. He retreated further into Windhelm, away from the majority of the carnage, feeling like he was about to be sick all over the stone paths of the city. Fortunately he was able to keep everything down, taking deep breaths of the "clean" air to purge the smell of blood from his mind. Soon he found work much more suitable to his capabilities. Taking messages, supplies, or whatever else in hand for guards and other mercenaries, the small runner raced through Windhelm as fast as an arrow, delivering his assigned cargo and words to the intended recipients. The man had to revisit the blood-soaked pier a few times, mostly to deliver potions and such things, but he never stayed for any longer than he had to. On one trip he accidentally bumped, or rather, slammed, into a familiar High Elf on his way back through the gates heading away from the warehouse. He looked back momentarily and apologized as politely as he could in the second or so he made eye-contact. Sagax could feel her icy stare on the back of his neck as he left. He was certainly glad he was as fast as he was.

As great as his stamina was, Sagax had been running full speed all over Windhelm, and he hadn't gotten much sleep the night before. He was even more thankful now than before for Sevine's order of stew for him last night, it was probably the only thing giving him any energy. He leaned against the wall of Candlehearth Hall, stopping to catch his breath and waiting for his assistance to be called for again.

From atop the ramparts, Sevine knotched her bow as she carefully made each shot count. Leif continued to kneel beside her, curious to see if the Kamal would breach the walls defenses, but alas, they did not. Perhaps they were too big to take to the ladders. She watched in delight as reinforcements arrived to aid those still fighting below. Sevine spotted another three armored ships arriving in the bay, the feeling in the pit of her stomach made her feel apprehensive at the thought of more of those monstrous beasts arriving on the shores of Windhelm. When the docks cleared below, save for the dead, and for the wounded, Sevine looked down at Leif, and nodded with her head to leave. Roze mentioned that she was going to head inside, and Leif addressed her quietly, both of them watching as she departed.

Some of the guardsmen, and archers atop the walls, clasped her shoulder, and gave her words of encouragement, praising her for her accurate aim, and some even thanked Leif for not dying, though, he didn’t do much. The feeling of being thanked, made Sevine feel nauseous, as she felt that she hadn’t fully contributed to the battle, but felt like more of a coward for hiding upon the ramparts behind the safety of the walls. In fact, the carnage below left her feeling saddened that she had watched so many die, obliterated by the Kamal’s deadly weapons. She already heard whispers as to what those creatures were amongst those on the walls.

“The dead shouldn’t be left to a dishonourable burial, help me bring them in, unless you want to help heal the wounded.” With that, she slung her long bow over her shoulder, and ventured down the stone stairwell to the gates below. The iron gates had opened, allowing those that were wounded to be brought in, as well as the bodies of the dead.

“So many of our kinsmen gave up their lives today.” Leif quietly commented as Sevine, and him emerged on the docks, littered with the bodies of the dead, and those of the wounded. The organic matter made for a slippery going through the vast puddles of blood, as she carefully picked her way amongst those still alive, and able to move.

She came upon the body of some poor unexpecting victim, with a missing head, she couldn’t tell if the person was man or woman. Kneeling beside the corpse, Sevine looked at Leif, her eyes stinging with tears of anger, and frustration.

“Help me carry this person.” She instructed as she grabbed the arms of the corpse, while Leif grabbed the legs. Together, they lifted the corpse off the bloody cobblestone, and carried it through the gates, and down the streets of Windhelm, to the Hall of the Dead. When they reached their destination, in the graveyard outside of the Hall, those who had joined the crusade to recover the dead, had already amassed a large pile of bodies. Upon witnessing the dead, Sevine knew that too many had given their lives, for it took many warriors to slay but one Kamal. With utmost respect, and care, the two warriors laid the corpse down alongside the others.

On the way back to the gates, Sevine witnessed a man, whom she believed to be crazed, shouting that the creatures they fought against were, Kamal, or rather snow demons. She dismissed him without a thought, those that were interested would go, and investigate what they could. Continuing on, Leif, and Sevine removed more bodies from the battlefield, working in silence without speaking a word to one another. Her hands grew bloody, from moving the dead, and eventually, flecks of blood appeared on her cheeks, and upon her skin as Leif and her struggled to move the dead.

“So many have lost their lives today.” She whispered with a heavy note of sadness clinging to her words.

“We will bury them all, but we may have to dig a mass grave. There is simply too many to dig individual graves for.” Leif concurred in agreement.

Heavy footsteps led the begrudging duo back to the docks again, where they recovered what they could, as most corpses weren’t even corpses they could carry; either burned, or smashed to pieces, with nothing but organs, and chunks of human flesh remaining. The smell that was death permeated the air, and while Sevine found the work nauseating, causing her eyes to burn, and her mouth to water at the stench, nonetheless, she stuck to her task at hand. Beside her, Leif bent his head in prayer of the dead, praying for a safe journey to Sovrngarde through Talos, those that lost their lives that day were honorable men, and women, as they deserved a safe passage to into the afterlife.

Finally, as Sevine, and Leif exited from the graveyard, she glanced at her companion that strode alongside her in contemplative silence, and cleared her throat.

“Today was a strange day, no?”

“How do you mean?”

“Those…things, they weren’t normal men. Nor have I seen the likes of them before. I overheard some man shouting that they were snow demons.”

“Ah, yes. I have to say, the most peculiar thing I saw today, were the ships they came in on. I’m not certain as to how those metal ships were constructed. If I knew any better, I would have assumed that the weight of the metal plates, and those chimney-like stacks would have sank the vessels already. For as long as I have sailed upon the Sea of Ghosts, I’ve never witnessed such vessels until now. If anything, I’m more curious as to how they were constructed.”

“Mmm.” Sevine nodded in agreement, though in truth, she almost didn’t hear Leif’s words, as her thoughts led her elsewhere.

“Sevine, I’m going to go see what that shopkeeper was blabbering on about, with those books. There might be something useful I can learn from the situation at hand.” Leif stopped her in her tracks, as he grasped her shoulder firmly with one hand. Their eyes locked momentarily, before Sevine nodded once more.

“Very well, I think I’m going to head to the inn, and warm my bones up by the fire. Come find me when you’re done.”

And with that, the two separated, as Leif went in search of the shopkeeper, and Sevine headed to the inn. Her eyes were set upon the cobblestones under her foot as she walked without purpose towards the inn.

Utu's eyes adjusted to the daylight glare more slowly than usual. His nose was sluggish as well. But adjusting slowly does not make one blind, nor deprive one of a sense of smell. Utu's tail stiffened, ceasing its usual balancing movements. He stood perfectly still, hardly blinking as he took in the view of the docks. Many of the dead had already been removed by this time but some still remained, or at least pieces of them. The stones were covered with blood and organs. The place smelled like a slaughterhouse that had never been cleaned. It was testament to his years of experience hunting and hard upbringing that the argonian did not add the stench of his vomit to the stones. As it was, they were perfumed with horror and bathed in death.

He suddenly remembered the words that he had just said a moment before. His mouth felt dry and his stomach churned as his face twisted into a grimace. Cocky... arrogant, cocky and stupid. That was what those words had sounded like. They were the words of a child with something to prove and a strong desire to belong, to be accepted and acknowledged. He was too old for that now. He had come too far and survived too much to live like a child any longer. All of his careful planning, all of the angling for position and working his way closer to those with the power to protect him, it was worthless. It was less than worthless. It had distanced him from anyone who might have fought beside him.

Someone saved his life, pulled him from beside the water after his daedra cursed, fool stunt. He'd managed to kill one and nearly lost his life for it. Everything else he did during the battle was like throwing shiny toys at a giant, hoping that they'd stop to play and forget to kill the people running away from them. And, he hadn't even been brave. He'd been sneaky and murderous. He had hunted that armored warrior like it was a beast in the forest. Utu knew that some others would tell him that he had saved lives, that the way he fought wasn't a problem. But it was. It felt like his soul was being sharpened the wrong way on a coarse rock.

The intact bodies and identifiable remains were being gathered away for burial. The humans were seeing to their dead. If they all shared the same air for their first breaths, if they all would join with the same earth in the end, it didn't matter if they thought he didn't belong. Family doesn't always share blood. Family doesn't always share anything more than air and earth. The scattered organs and disparate body parts were being overlooked by many of those who were cleaning up the docks. Warriors deserved better.

He steadied himself and slowly began gathering the parts that people hesitated to touch into his arms, the bits that had been full of fear and strength such a short time ago. Then he began to carefully carry them to the Hall of the Dead in his arms. Some of the guards looked like they might accuse him of some vile perversion. But, the priests of Arkay heard his request, even though they could not grant it. In the end, the parts went into the mass graves with the other bodies. There was no time to treat the dead properly. He went back for more, and then again.

Utu's body still felt wrong, he couldn't move quickly or well, but he slowly trudged the distance over and over until every part large enough to be carried had been brought to burial. Then he went back to the warehouse, numb, weary, and sad. There he washed himself until he could not detect the smell of blood on his body or leathers. The armor was full of holes. It was not a quick fix. He would need new leathers, not that they would be able to do much in the next fight.

@Frizan@gcold
It was a short time later that he found himself sitting in the shadows beside the entrance to the Candlehearth Hall, cold and weary. He breathed slow and shallow, his eyes fixed on the stones. He heard the murmur of voices and the dull clunk of tankards mingling with the crackling of the fire within. It seemed that no one saw what he had tried. Either that, or no one cared. It wasn't like it had made a difference. All he had done was kill one and then get saved by somebody who probably didn't even know how the stupid lizard ended up in the water in the first place. He still felt queasy. But, warriors often seemed to turn to ale when the battles were done. Maybe it was time he gave it a real try. The only thing keeping him seated in the cold was the stale stiffness of old fear, the fear he had learned from his mother all those years ago. The blind fear that no nord would really accept an argonian, no matter where they were from.

A collab by @gcold@Peik@MiddleEarthRoze@Hyperdrive@MacabreFox

The shopkeeper tugged on the sleeves of Ariane's robes. Rough, calloused hand pulled on smooth spidersilk. The fine dress-like robe was slightly dirtied with dust and wood chips, making its formerly un-Nordic finery much more earthly. For an odd and rickety man, the shopkeeper pulled with a surprising amount of strength. The Dunmer man was no longer hunched like yesterday, and he blazed past guards and citizens in a light jog.

“Woah, slow down there.” Ariane beckoned him. She pried his hand off her sleeve and held the man steady. “What are you showing me? I thought you were just a regular merchant yesterday.”

“I am that, in most times. Sorry about the thugs yesterday, they were extremely persuasive with their blades.” The merchant murmured, barely loud enough above the rush. “Anyways, my shop also has the odds and ends, treasures most would call junk.” He began jogging forward again and Ariane had to weave through a batch of guards to keep up. When she lost sight of the shopkeeper and caught him again, he was standing with another dark elf.

“Is it true?” Madura asked, he could hardly contain his excitement. “You have an artifact, maybe the tear of the Ash-king, said to imbue normal men strength of heroes. Or is it Vivec's quill? It could re-write history-”

“I know none of your absurd fantasies.” The shopkeeper brushed the journalist off. He paused for a second for Ariane to catch up. “Is he another sellsword of yours?”

“Maybe, I've seen him beside Ashav.” Ariane shrugged. She would not have known Madura's role in the company, for she was not present with him in the Reach.

“I am the journalist, chronicler or recorder, as many call me.” Madura declared, quite proud of himself.

“Aren't you now,” The shopkeeper said. “You're going to be busy.”

Following the victory - that was, if one could call it a victory - Roze was unsure on what to do with herself. She had no skills in healing the wounded below, and frankly, the screams of the dying were more than enough to put her off going onto the docks.

"I'll meet you two back at the warehouse, or something." She began, looking to Sevine and Leif. No doubt Sevine wished to go down and find Jorwen among the injured and dead. Hopefully, he was unharmed. Looking back down the walls, she couldn't find him - normally, it would be easy, simply looking for the bright red of his hair and beard. But there was red everywhere - fires crackling from leftover mages spells; the fire salts; and the blood. So much damned blood. There hadn't even been this much at the Forsworn camp.

"I'm going to try and find out what these things were - and if they've hit any other places before Windhelm." Roze added in a somewhat dubious tone as she left Leif and Sevine, heading down the icy steps towards the street.

"We'll keep an eye out for you then." Leif nodded in response to Roze's words. Sevine looked at the diminuitive Breton woman before her, and offered her an exhausted smile.

The moans of the injured were even louder down here - guards hurrying by, carrying stretchers of the living and the dead, blood pouring from all. After seeing one too many missing limbs, Roze retreated further in the city - hoping to find someone who knew what these things had been, and where they had came from. Normally, she wouldn't be one to flee from carnage like this - but she had to know if there was any possibility if these things had stopped off at Solstheim.

Heading around a corner, she noticed two of her group talking with a particularly frazzled looking Dunmer. She recognized one as Madura - the journalist travelling with the company. Deciding that these three were as good as any to find information from, Roze headed over, bow still grasped firmly in her hand. She'd been unable to pry her fingers from it as of yet - the stress and the adrenaline had locked her fingers around the cold metal, as she had fired arrow after arrow upon the monsters.

"Excuse me - but do you know where those things came from?" She asked bluntly to all three of them, deciding to not wait on pleasantries.

"At last, some respite."

Huffing out moon smoke, Sadri leaned back on a crate containing fire salts, shifting his legs uneasily on another crate that contained Anu-knows-what. He was too tired to care, and too stressed out. Thankfully, Mora was helping with that, swelling more and more with every suckle from the side of Sadri's eye. Sadri had mended the wound with magick after he had entered Candlehearth Hall to get his belongings in case of an evacuation. Having gathered all his belongings, he was fully ready for running away for his life. But things had dimmed, and he had figured that a breath of moon sugar wouldn't hurt. His pipe thankfully had embers warm enough to smoke from. He normally preferred not to smoke in public, but after all the things he had been through earlier – he was just too exhausted to give a damn.

"Snow demons! Kamals! They are the terrifying demons!"

Sadri took a huff before turning his head to find the source of the shouting. The topic had brought him some past memories, of his time as librarian in bumfuck nowhere, Hammerfell. He had spent about a decade doing that job. At least every day had an unique read - the damn library was old and its past patrons were quite the collectors. Sadri was probably a disappointment compared to them, but he had kept the books safe and sound be it from burglars or bookworms.

'These things are from Akavir? Figures...' Sadri thought to himself as he got up, his skooma pipe, slung around his torso, clanging quietly with the movement. He started walking towards the heart of the commotion, which lead to the Gray Quarter. The signs of the battle were still around - wounded men, corpses, trashed material - but fortunately for its owner the shop was mostly undamaged. Or maybe it wasn't damaged at all and the building was simply of low quality. Sadri didn't mind. He moved his head somewhat uncomfortably to take another huff from his pipe and plucked Mora from his eye, rubbing its belly to make it puke out the blood it had drained, and stuffed the leech in its steel home.

Inside he could see more fellow Dunmer (one of them he knew well - Madura of the company, almost an inquisitor wannabe with his constant questioning) and then some others. One lady - somewhat familiar to Sadri's eyes - in particular had a question, whose answer Sadri knew.

"They're from Akavir, dear." Sadri entered the shop with the answer, eyeing the others, trying to figure out who actually owned the shop.

Accompanying farmers and militiamen into battle was the last thing Trius had in mind when charging into uncertain death. The docks was dotted with mutilated bodies and towering giants that he himself thought that these men beside him would falter at the sight - but they did not. He respected that, he respected that these men knew no fear. When the battle was over, he didn't think twice when he agreed to help with their wounded, it was the least he can do for such men of bravery. Though he wasn't a mer of medicine or restoration, he helped them by carrying the wounded where they can be treated.

“Kamals! They are the snow demons!”

Those words sounded like honey to his ears, finally, someone knew what they were dealing with. Instead of being inquisitive, someone spat on the man, and Trius felt nothing but disappointment for the people around him. Perhaps its the ignorance of the people that made him feel that way, or it was the act itself. Nonetheless, Trius felt that he should apologize in behalf of the men.

However, the Mer was too quick before Trius could catch him in the docks. The next thing he knew, he was already standing right before the doorway of a shop. Curious, Trius went inside for a peek, and to his surprise, there were one too many Dunmers inside. Inside, several trinkets of sorts presented before his eyes, most of it was new to him, while the rest he already saw in his own travels in the past. A curious bunch stood by the door way, though none looked like the Dunmer he was chasing earlier. Turning his gaze over to Sadri, he asks the mer.

"Have you seen someone enter here before you? someone spat on the man when he went to the docks, I just want to have a quick word with him."

“Yes,” The shopkeeper gazed intently at Sadri, an expression of surprise on his wrinkled features. “Finally someone willing to listen.” He searched through a small ring of keys before finding the right one to open his shop. Once the door opened, the shop revealed dusty desks and several struggling candles. It's owner wiped off the main counter and went behind, back hunch returning as he rummaged through items. He stood up semi-straight after a minute of searching apparently disappointed with lack of findings.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable.” The shopkeeper offered three unsteady chairs and a pot of cold tea. “I must of misplaced the tome in back, it'll be just a second.” And he went through the curtain leading to the backrooms.

At that moment, Trius came in with two Nord militiamen following him. The militiamen wore white armbands of the Braves. These two men looked rather calm and curious, their stances were relaxed and did not have indications of conflict. Nevertheless, they crowded the compact store and made the air tighter. For now, they huddled in a distant corner and kept to themselves.

Madura was first to speak, after Sadri addressed Trius's questions. “They say you killed two of these things; the Kamals.” He said to Sadri. “What was it like? Were they truly demonic? What weapon did they use?”

While the journalist spoke with his fellow Dunmer, Ariane took to sampling the tea. It was ice cold and smelled like sewage. She stopped at the first sip and placed the dingy cup back on the counter. Judging by the disgusted cringe on her face, Ariane had enough of this drink.

“A fellow countrywoman.” She turned around, and greeted Roze. “Here I thought it's just Nords and dark elves. Where are you from? You don't look someone from Daggerfall or Wayrest, maybe Northpoint or Jehanna?”

Although thankful for the Dunmer's answer to her question, Roze wasn't particularly versed in geography. She knew that Akavir was some mysterious continent, but unsure of where it was... but it still made things all the more odd. Why would these things come to attack Skyrim?

Nodding her thanks to Sadri, she followed the rest into the cramped store; allowing herself a small smile of amusement as the Breton woman gave the tea a disgusted look.

"I was born in Riften, actually. But my Mother, Belladyne; she was from Northpoint." Roze answered - she too, was surprised to see another Breton here. This one was obviously a mage, as many of her kin were, thanks to their natural affinity with magic. Not something Roze had particularly ventured into, bar some Alteration spells. She preferred more practical and down-to-earth methods like her bow.

"That's partly why I came here... the last I heard, she was in Solstheim. I was hoping that if I knew where these... Kamal, came from, I'd know if they attacked the island first." She added somewhat uncomfortably - the thought of it was not a pleasant one. It didn't help that the last letter she'd received from her Mother had been weeks ago - before she had joined the mercenary group outside of Markarth.

The chairs the shopkeeper had brought weren't exactly comfortable, but Sadri preferred sitting nonetheless. The man seemed somewhat anxious to keep up his promise, so immediately went behind the curtains after settling everyone down. Sadri took the opportunity to take another deep huff of moon smoke and breathed out audibly, filling the room with the sweet, sugary smell of second-hand smoke from his mouthful. After his huff of sugar, a man entered the shop - Sadri couldn't see his face and did not bother to look, but assumed he was Dunmer from the man's voice. "Nothing I would know of, ask the owner." Sadri dismissed with a rather soft tone. He then took another huff. This stuff was good.

After his response, Madura Dalas, the walking questionnaire, began asking Sadri questions again. The mer had been doing this nearly every single day ever since Sadri had signed up. Sadri was annoyed by the man's constant prodding, but never had the heart in himself to shoot the guy down. "I didn't kill two of them, just one," Sadri replied to Madura with a rather slow, sluggish voice. "I did help the Nord kill another though, if that counts." Another hit, "The damn things ain't like anything on Tamriel, I can tell you that." Yet another hit. Sadri was having trouble picking out Madura's face from amongst the smoke, "Nearly smashed my head to bits, one of them did." Sadri muttered.

"Had a mace the size of my torso. Or maybe that was just its arm. Can't remember." Sadri actually didn't take a huff from his pipe this time, considering that keeping it up could intoxicate the others in the room. He did keep talking, though.

"You know what they say, history repeats itself. It ain't the first time Windhelm's been attacked by one of these things, if my memory serves me right. Anyway, damn things are hard. Armor's harder than steel, can't cut through it. They hit harder than steel, too. Like oversized Imga."

Sadri looked at Madura's face questioningly from amongst the dispersing smoke, hoping that he would meet a satisfied expression.

Seeing everyone else relax, Trius removed his Gah-Julan helm and entered the shop. Two militiamen soon entered after him, though he did not recall being accompanied by anyone. Perhaps these men also came to apologize for the boorish acts by the docks, if it were so, at least there are some decency left in the city, even after the attack. Hearing Sadri's response, Trius turned to the other Dunmer male who is only a few steps away from him.

"Excuse me, shopkeeper? Would you happen to see a Dunmer enter here coming from the docks? Some ill-mannered men spat on him, and I came to apologize in their behalf."

Soon after he spoke his words, and the keeper responded to him, Trius heard Roze's inquiry about Solsthiem. Having been there himself just a few days ago, he decided to inject himself into the conversation of the two Bretons.

"E..excuse me, I don't mean to intrude into your conversation, but, hearing your story, I felt you deserved to know.. Solstheim was evacuated a week ago, under the orders of the Nerevarine." Trius says in a lowered tone. The tender voice of a concerned maiden allured Trius to do such an act. Who knows how often he fell to such temptations. "Whoever you're looking for is probably in Blacklight right now, everyone who wasn't infected were sent there."

"Me, yes." The shopkeeper answered as he emerged with a handful of books and tome. "Unruly brutes they are. Ignorant fools deserve to be ignored; no need to apologize for them." He then laid out several of these texts and coughed when dust bounced back at him. "Another Dunmer, our kind just has the talent to attract trouble." He spoke without glancing up through his collections. "You should of went to another city."

Noting Trius' interruption, Ariane commented. "Signs on the docks warn that Solstheim is quarantined. A disease? Or that's the rumor." She shifted her shawl and scratched her neck gently. "I doubt the natives left. The Skaals? Right? They could conjure up magical barriers to fend off threats."

Beside them, Madura was busy scribbling down notes on his notebook. He struggled to see through puffs of smoke, heckling as he waved off second-hand fumes. "Was the-" One of the puffs went to far up his nose and he choked. "Excuse me." His cough turned to dry-heaving and indeed, he excused himself out.

"Careful with the pipes." The shopkeeper warned. "These crusty ol' books are so delicate you could ruin them with a waft." Clearing his throat, the shopkeeper announced with a louder voice. "Come, gather around. The books say Kamals last came into our fair city during the second era, when the Ebonheart Pact united the Nords, Dunmers, and Argonians. In fact, and if I read the ancient wording correctly, fighting the snow demons was the very reason behind the Pact's founding." The shopkeeper reached for a cup of his tea, but when cool fluid hit his tongue, he cringed just like Ariane. "Would any of you be so kind as to heat this up before we continue. Some sparks in the fireplace would do." He lifted the curtain and pointed to a pile of half-burnt wood in the backroom.

After finishing up with the bodies, Leif departed from Sevine's side, and with inquiries placed to the fellow citizens of Windhelm, he found the location of the peculiar shopkeeper, that had babbled on about knowing what those creatures in the bay were. With a gentle push of the door, Leif's sky-blue eyes landed upon Roze, who stood next to another Breton woman, one he had not yet had the pleasure of meeting. He sidled up next to her, but withheld his words, as he was more eager to hear what the shopkeeper had to say. Leif caught the familiar scent of skooma, with it's sweet, smoky scent of the moon sugar, and found that a Dunmer man held a pipe. He noticed as well that there were two other Dunmer's in the room. He listened respectfully, he did not know the others that had gathered in the room, though he suspected that Sevine would know who they were, as they looked to be those who had fought in the battle just now. Perhaps they were apart of the same company? He had walked in at the right time, as he caught the words of the shopkeeper, he called the creatures in the bay, Kamal's, and that they were last seen in the second era at Windhelm.

Even though he had not intended so, Sadri's smoking had caused Madura to leave the premises of the shop - Sadri was somewhat amused by this, though had to put his smoking session to an end after a warning by the shopkeeper. Sadri had respect for books, having taken care of them for such a long time, and thus complied with the Mer's request.

The man called for everyone to gather around him after warning Sadri. While Sadri did not actually move from his spot, he certainly turned his attention as the man started speaking of a tale from the past. Others were talking about relatives and how other provinces fared in the meanwhile.

The man's speech was interrupted after he cringed after a sip from his tea, 'Must be hard stuff.' Sadri thought after seeing the man's reaction, but realized he was wrong after the man requested for someone to heat up the fireplace. While Sadri did not have any fire spells, he did have a still active skooma pipe, and the embers, he figured, could be used to set some branches aflame. Silently Sadri got up from his chair and moved over to the fireplace, and began searching for small branches amongst the wood. After finding some sufficiently small, he set his skooma pipe on the ground and opened its bowl, from which a surge of heat emanated. Sadri puffed a breath amongst the pieces of charcoal to overheat them if only for a few seconds, and then stuck the branches from the fireplace into the bowl, waiting contently. Upon hearing the crispy sound of wood being set aflame, Sadri pulled the branches out and placed them carefully back in the fireplace so that they would not be suffocated by the bigger pieces of wood.

Waiting until the fireplace was lit up properly, Sadri proceeded to move back to his chair with his pipe, content that he was able to do something.

"Evacuated?" Roze repeated, obviously surprised at this news. Ariane's added comment did nothing to stop her worries either. "A quarantine? Gods... I hope she wasn't stupid enough to stay on the damned island." Roze thought to herself, brow furrowing in thought. Thinking back to her last letter, she had mentioned she was thinking of moving on from the Island - but that had been weeks ago, and there had still been no further word.

As for Blacklight, well, she doubted her Mother would remain in Morrowind for very long. She never spoke kindly about the place, for some reason.

However, Roze's attention was brought back to the room as the elderly Dunmer began speaking about the Kamal - and their first attack centuries ago.

"Why do you think they attacked now?" She wondered aloud - not particularly versed in history, she had no idea why they attacked the first time. However, it was usually something to do with expanding empires or whatnot... all these bloodly battles were about power.

"Nonetheless, it was uncalled for." Trius said as he slowly walked closer to the group by the fireplace. "Can't say I disagree with you on that.. didn't really plan fighting Kamals when I came here for supplies.." He said right before leaning his Bonemold clad body against the wall beside the fireplace.

"Skaals? you mean those stubborn Nords that lived in upper Solsthiem? I'm certain they didn't leave. I was in Blacklight when the ships arrived, I saw not a single human face disembarked those vessels." Trius said as he crossed his arms together. "I wouldn't really risk going there though if you're planning to check for yourself, the place is swarmed with Ordinators sanitizing the place." He turned silent for a moment, glancing at the cloud of smoke that came from Sadri's pipe. "Besides.. it's not like these Kamals would let anyone out anytime soon."

Trius simply stood there as he listened intently to the story of the shop keeper. To some extent, Trius was familiar in subjects concerning Akavir, and its residents. Hearing the old Mer read the book somehow relaxed him, and made him feel as if he was home.

"It's just a rumor." Ariane guessed while shrugging.

"Thank you." The shopkeeper beamed. "This tea, I tell you, tastes all different depending on heat." The old elf drawled. When Roze asked her question, he flipped through book pages for the answer. "Here," He rotated the page around for everyone to see. The two Nords were standing closely behind everyone else now, their interest peaked at what was said. "The grammar is archaic but it meant they were searching for a 'Ordained Spectacle'. Some want to believe it a powerful artifact, others stuck with bungled translation. Me? I think us Tamriel folk made it up to comfort ourselves."

"You know," Ariane suggested, pointing to adjacent passages on the page. "The College of Winterhold excavated a magical relic supposed to be the Eye of Magnus. It was powerful and some even say it is an intelligent entity from the future. What if the Kamals sought this object?"

"Who cares." One of the Nords, who was quiet thus far, broke in. "It's not like they found it and left last time, or they wouldn't be here again." The Nord balled one first and pointed towards the book. "What matters is how we kill them."

The shopkeeper frowned and raised a disapproving eyebrow. He muttered some Dunmeri curses under his breath, S'wit and N'wah, if Trius and Sadri listened. "I was getting to it, if only you could stay patient." He scoffed. The book was pulled furthered back from the counter, as if he was shielding it from the Nord. "Several pages before tell us that mystical heroes were involved; Wulfharth the Underking and the late Almalexia. Beside them, armies of Skyrim, Morrowind and Black Marsh cornered the invaders in a river delta, where Vivec finished them off with Flood."

"If she hasn't got onto those boats, I'll kill her." Roze thought sourly as she listened to Trius - it would be typical of her curious mother to stay on an island that was being evacuated for some strange reason; disease or not.

Raising her eyes to the heavens in irritation at the passed comment from the Nord, Roze glanced at the two of them stood there. They had been part of the group who had showed up lastly - some infamous group known as the 'Braves'. Some bravery they had, showing up at the last minute, and then proclaiming all loot as their own.

Well - karma had certainly fought them back on that one, but it was still rather insulting to the many sellswords - and city guards, for that matter - that had lost their lives.

"A flood? I don't know - fire seemed to work pretty well on them. Normally if something is weak to fire, water wouldn't do much." Roze replied to the shopkeeper, peering at the book. "Also, wasn't Vivec some kind of God?"

"These writings are often not to be taken literally. Sometimes they are, but not often." Sadri's mind kept flashing back to his years in the library, reading deep into matters his mind was (still is) unable to comprehend wholly. Perhaps he owed his sanity to that, he was not entirely sure. "As for Vivec..." Sadri paused. Even with the moon sugar induced relaxation the matter made his mind go rigid.

"He probably made himself a God." Saying this, he reached the point in his mind where some things made some sense, and suddenly, his manner of speech became much more enthusiastic, since he had pieced this together before.

"Vivec... there were - rather, are - a lot of myths about Vivec. He was man. He was God. He is man. He is God. All these could be true. You see," Sadri immediately pulled out a book with a red cover from his satchel. "Vivec speaks of something called CHIM in his Lessons. And the book I have here..." Sadri started flipping the pages of the book quickly, and stopped after reaching somewhere near the end. "Here it says - 'CHIM. Those who know it can reshape the land. Witness the home of the Red King once jungled.' So Vivec found something that made him God."

Sadri shut the book and put it back in his satchel, and turned his face to Ariane, "Perhaps this Eye of Magnus can lead to CHIM, and that's why the Kamal seek it. I remember reading about the Kamal freezing," He leaned back on his chair, "Perhaps they wish to end that by reshaping the land? Or perhaps they wish to become Gods?" He eyed the others somewhat anxiously, hoping to get some validation for his conspiracy theory.

"Or perhaps it's just an ordinary invasion."

"Vivec doesn't deserve to be called a god, he's nothing but a betrayer and usurper of power he didn't deserve." Trius uttered. To those who knew Trius, his voice reflected a well rooted hate for the revered saint, though through the ears of a stranger, his words sounded more of a baseless, hateful comment.

A few moments of silence enveloped Trius after his remark, but the distasteful thoughts on Vivec still remained rampant in his mind. Hearing words about the Kamals intent for the invasion, Trius spoke. "If those Kamals want to be gods themselves, I say we let them try."

"Yes, flood." The shopkeeper acknowledged. "They cannot swim, they drown. I saw a few of them down by the docks; heavy armor, float it does not."

"He's right." One Nord warrior confirmed. "I saw some lizard dragging one into the harbor, damn thing sunk faster than a sack of rocks."

"And Vivec, much myth surrounds him." The shopkeeper noted. He heard the whistling of boiled water from the fireplace and picked up his tong. Before going back to retrieve the pot of tea, he clicked the tong in front of the others. "Profane tools they say, much like this in my hand but divine blessed. It takes not only the source of power, but also a conduit. The Three knows what our snow demons want." And with that, he turned for the pot of tea.

"You're probably right." Ariane said to Roze. She peeked around the corner and saw the shopkeeper returning with a small tray (the pot and several cups). "And you know the red-bearded Nord warrior? I saw him transporting crates of fire salt, maybe it would aid us in some ways."

The tray was placed on the counter and the shopkeeper wasted no time in pouring himself a cup full of his tea. He blew on the warm liquid to cool it off, and after few seconds, he took short sips, feeling of delight as he slowly savored the flavors. "Fire alters everything, it brings change to the stagnate." Filling another cup, he offered to everyone else. "Try it, much better now that it's heated." Ariane accepted the cup and drew a mouthful. The taste was foreign but much easier on the tongue compared to before. "Like this tea, flame brittles the resilient. Attack the snow demons with fire and perhaps, just for the off-chance in which it does suffice, their hardened shell will crack." He battered his lips and began searching through his books once more.

"I think those things can't handle fire salts. I was alongside Jorwen during the fighting. One of the Kamals got the drop on him but got a handful of fire salt to the face." Sadri rubbed his hand with his thumb to emphasize on just how much a handful meant. "Next thing you know, it's flailing around and diving into the waters." He didn't want to mention the fact he was also carrying crates and look like he was trying to steal some of the Nord's glory.

"Either way, it's a much more effective alternative than trying to get through their armor. Damn things must be enchanted or something." Sadri's mind went back to the fight earlier. He had struck one in the head with all his might, he had sprung up his entire body for the strike, and yet all he had managed to deal was a dent. A fatal dent, maybe, but it was nonetheless little more than a dent. He had cloven through helms of Elven make with such a swing in the past, and hell, Edith was witness to him nearly cutting a bear in half with a single strike, and yet against the Kamal it was just a cave-in. He didn't want to try it again and put further strain on his blade.

"Not to brag, but my hand is heavy, like my blade. Yet against those things neither hand nor blade didn't amount to much."

"I mean, they're snow demons. It's obvious that fire will give them a bad hair day."

Throughout the discussion, one thing was obvious - the Kamal were no foe to be trifled with lightly. They had wiped out so many of their forces, and had escaped on their ships upon being driven back - and only just, by the looks of things.

"So... at the very least, we know they have two weaknesses; fire, and deep water." Roze said aloud, finally relaxing her grip on her bow enough to wrench it from her frozen hand, and then sling it over her back. Her shoulder ached, but it was an almost pleasant feeling - it hadn't been used like this since her injury, so it had been good to get some exercise into it.

"Maybe we should try and find out what kind of spell Vivec used. I mean, creating a flood from a river can't be a very complex spell - or, at least not complex enough to allow mortals like ourselves use it." She suggested after a moment of thought, flexing her numbed fingers absent-mindedly. She knew there was no way in hell they could bring the fight to the Kamal - although the navies and armies of Skyrim had improved since the end of the war, it was nothing compared to some of the other continents; and judging by the look of the Kamal's ships and armours, she shuddered to think of what other indestructible war machines they had on their home shores.

Speaking of their home shores... her mind drifted back to a book she had read on Akavir, as a child. It hadn't interested her all that much, but one thing definitely stood out in her mind, simply because of the funniness her childish mind had found in it.

"Say, aren't their other races on Akavir that keep fighting this bunch? Monkey-people or something. I can't remember the names - Tan Ko? Something like that." Shrugging, Roze looked to the others, hoping they would know what she was talking about. Upon reading about them, she'd often pretended as a child that she was one - simply because it gave her the excuse to run around whooping, climbing over things and generally being a nuisance to the Guild and her parents.

Leif had graciously accepted the tea as the teapot made its way around the circle of curious folk that had assembled in the dusty shop to hear of his bizarre tales, and found the exotic taste to be pleasing to his taste buds when he took a sip after blowing on it gently, so as not to scald his tongue. He noticed Roze fidgeting with her bow, and with one hand, reached out, and grasped her shoulder, rubbing it carefully, so as not to spook her. Sevine suffered from sore muscles as well when she used her bow frequently, and there was not a doubt in his mind, that Roze suffered the same, though he was unaware that she had sustained an injury from the battle at the Reach.

"Tan Ko, eh? I haven't heard of these monkey-people before, they maybe too far for us to reach, but I will agree with you." He nodded towards the other Dunmer, smoking skooma from a pipe, and added, "They're weighed down with all that armor, and as you mentioned, I saw that they have a weakness towards fire. If we can amass all of our mages together that can use fire, and collect as much oil as we can, we can light their asses ablaze." The smoke alone, as it filled the room it great plumes of heady wafts, filtered into Leif's nose. A headache he had before, curiously disappeared.

"It's Tang Mo.. In Akaviri it's The Thousand Monkey Isles." Trius said while taking a cup of tea from the tray. "I heard they're fierce warriors, supposedly the Nerevarine himself was impressed by the way they fight." Trius continued.

"I fear the monkey people wouldn't be of any help to us, even if we reach them.. If the Kamals are launching an invasion here, it's safe to assume that the snow demons have dealt with the Tang Mo back in Akavir."

"The Monkeys, learned little I have of the creatures." The shopkeeper conceded. He was please to see his tea being drank, warm beverages tend to warm the manners of cold people. Even one of the Nord militiamen decided to take a pull, and judging by the lack of spitting and insults afterwards, it was assumed he found it tolerable at the least. "You saw their armor, yes?" The shopkeeper eyed Leif, studying the newcomer for a moment while he thought about the topic. "From the few sources I could gather, second era the surviving illustrations matched. Some details might changed, but the dimensions, the motifs and the outlines; all very much Kamalian." Finishing the last of his cup, the Dunmer continued. "Scholars from the past recorded three types of armor; light, medium and heavy, for mages, skirmisher's and line troops, respectively. Finally, one source say high ranking Kamals wear enchanted pieces, but it was unconfirmed elsewhere and might be a tall tale." Browsing through a scrolls closer to him, the shopkeeper hypothesized. "The skirmishers sound like what you have encountered."

To her fellow Breton's suggestions, Ariane couldn't help but protest. "The spell should not be hard." She said. "But the sheer scale of the endeavor. We saw hundreds of them, it would take a copious supply of magicka to submerge the grounds." To Roze specifically, she asked. "I take it you are not a woman of spells, but arrows?" Her tone was slightly edged and combined with her straighter gestures, it might of came off snappy.

"Fire, flames, heat." The shopkeeper emphasized on the last. He ignored Ariane, and blabbered on. "This is all that is left of a Dunmer's journal." He tapped on brown-stained leaf of paper. "This individual was a battlemage in Almalexia's army. His or her writing was not too legible to me, the expressions too, just foreign in the fourth era. Though one things was clear, heat-related words appeared six times, and four instances accompanied by weaken."

"I'd venture a guess that heating up the shells of snow demon would lessen its protective benefits." The shopkeeper reckoned. "Now, only if I can find the section about their ships..." It shouldn't came as a surprise when the old man's voice trailed off as he perused through his collection.

Leif nodded in response to the Dunmer shopkeeper's words, about witnessing their armor, yet he waited patiently for him to finish, and when he heard of the ships, a sudden idea blossomed within the confines of his mind, "Now, in all my years of sailing on the Sea of Ghosts, I have never witnessed such ships as theirs. However, when I watched them in the bay, I couldn't help but to think, that there had to be some way to sink them. I saw the port holes where they launched those ice spikes. If we could create, or devise a way to make some type of exploding bomb, perhaps even a rune, or a charge, and somehow get it into those port holes, we may be able to put a hole in their ships, and sink those bastards. Now that may be far-fetched, as we would need swimmers possibly to perform the task for us, but I would volunteer for that at least." Leif suggested with enthusiasm, "It could be a stealth attack even, if we went under the cover of darkness, though the water would be frigid indeed, we would need either potions or elixirs to repel the cold, at least long enough to get us over there."

Overhearing the other Breton that stood next to Roze, comment on her being a woman of arrows, and not spells, Leif couldn't help but to lean towards her, and remark quietly, loud enough for the three to hear, "Aye that she is. If I were you lass, I'd keep out of her way. She's got an aim that is something awfully fierce, might put your eye out if you're not watching." With that, Leif gave the Breton woman a playful wink.

Normally, if a man were to place his hand on her without her permission, Roze would have grasped their hand tightly, and pulled their thumb so far back it popped from the socket. However, Leif's touch was not a wandering one, but a comforting one.

Especially to her aching shoulder.

Before she could even give a grateful smile to Leif - because, damn, he was working out knots she didn't even realise were there - her fellow Breton immediately countered her comment on the spells... and adding a somewhat harsh comment about her arrows.

"Yeah, I don't see you complaining about my damn arrows when your magic runs out of juice, and suckers like me have to save your sorry ass." She thought to herself dryly - but countered Ariane's comment with a somewhat more civil response.

"I'm a woman of many things. I like to stay diverse - it keeps my enemies guessing." She followed Leif's comment coolly, then shrugged almost nonchalantly. "They never know how I'll kill them that way." She then darted a quick grin at Leif, amused - and somewhat grateful - at his own response to Ariane. He caught her grin, and could only wink in response to the curly haired maiden, whose shoulder he tenderly massaged. Leif was surprised that Roze hadn't chased away his hand, which inevitably led him to believe, that she was indeed sore from battle, or at least from firing a multitude of arrows like she did.

"If this plan of yours works out, I'd volunteer. Those Kamal would never see me coming." Although the idea Leif had just pitched was an almost suicidal one - it could be potentially useful. Especially if the ships were going to carry word of Skyrim's defences back to their homeland - or, if they chose to attack another dock. It could potentially save lives.

"If you say so." Ariane curved her lip slightly to Leif, showing a rare glance of her smile. Going back to Roze, her next lines had a hint apology in it. "I meant not to disparage, but very well, it is comforting to know your many skills."

"Ah-ha! Found it!" The shopkeeper exclaimed jutting everyone from their own thoughts or conversations. "Something about the crystal ports, misheard have I not? If not, then you are on to the right track." He went for his cup but only to be met with emptiness. "By the three, the pot goes faster when you're sharing. You there!" He ordered a Nord militiaman. "Fill it up and I'll let you go free." The Nord grunted, fuming on his way for water.

"Evidence points the White River being narrower in the second era, perhaps Ysmir cracked it wider with his shouts during his campaigns." The shopkeeper explained, leaning down closer to examine the pages. "How many ships? Ten, twelve? No more than eight could squeeze in the last time around. To add to our problem, waters have since been deeper, might be accumulating memories drawing up the surface. Anyways, I'm rambling again." He stopped himself when the Nord returned with the pot of water. "Good boy, uh, wait..." He went to pat the man on his, but withdrew on the last second when he realized his target was not a child or dog.

"In any case, the old Nord's managed to sunk a few vessels." The shopkeeper said. Filling up his cup, he didn't bother to give everyone else their helping. He drank half of it and wiped his chin with his sleeves. "Smaller river, crowded fleet, easier targets, all you need is, is, is what? Know I do not, something got to give." He threw up his hand sin frustration. "Of course the books are missing the right parts. Maybe we should try your ideas, swim there, stuff magical hocus pocus, hmm."

"And what we saw might be just the tip of an iceberg." He added. "These are the lighter class, the Ebonheart Pact sighted larger, ocean-going vessels that could not negotiate inlets."

"Overload the crystals with daedron currents." Ariane stated matter-of-factly, as if she was reciting from a textbook. "Elemental projectiles require temporal rift in creatia flow, the larger they are, the greater the disturbance." Her eyes lit up with the topic and Ariane was getting somewhat excited. "The fifteenth law of Aurbic exchange says exceeding the third power of soul signature will implode reality around the site of launch." Her words faded as dumbstruck glances fell on her.

"What I'm saying is, hit the crystals with spells or enchanted projectiles when they shoot, and they might just blow up." She summarized.

"Or you could attack the undersides and the top deck, armored these areas are not." The shopkeeper suggested. "You see, Skyrim was divided in two, like it was during the civil war, siege weapons were abundant. Windhelm was capital of West Skyrim, it must of retaliated with trebuchets." Turning to the next page, the old man mused. "Oh, dinghy's, fast and furious. It was small enough to get under the plating, all they needed was sails and sharp logs, then high wind would drive it through keel."

"Might as well get close and smash it with a hammer." A militiamen perked up.

"Hold on," Ariane questioned, she looked to Sadri and Roze. "Your quartermaster, Adidas? She said you had arcane charges in the Reach, we could plant some on the hulls. Does she have any left?" None answered her question. As if everyone in the room suddenly zoned out, the lack of voice was uncomfortable for the next few minutes. Even the shopkeeper himself became impatient.

"You can figure your problem out on your own." The shopkeeper grumbled. His eyes drooped and his attention weakened with every passing second. The old man's age was absolutely apparent. "Enough time I've taken yours, and mine you have taken." He waved everyone away. "So unless you are looking to buy Wance Milner's latest kitchen set, to bed this old bloke shall go." He finished. Gradually, the guests in the antique shop filled out. That is, until only Ariane remained.

"What is that?" Ariane pointed to a necklace, while she close to it in order for her comrades to pass. The object in question was hexagonal locket, the center of which etched a dimly glowing skull. It seemed nodescript before but now it stood out like wolf in sheeps' clothing. For some reason, it called to Ariane, a quiet buzz of chaotic energy propagating across the stale air of the room.

"That? Bad luck, I tell you." The shopkeeper said. "Some vagabond approached me months ago and dumped it on my counter." He yawned. "I gave fifty septims, in hindsight, it ain't worth more than twenty."

"I'll take it, fifty it is then." Ariane demurred, slipping that that on that counter. The shopkeeper's tired eyes widened for a second. "Actually, I'll buy your books on the Kamals too." She added.

"Not for sale, daughter." The old man countered. "Except for this one. Copied down I have, plus, the dog pissed on it twice."

Ariane cringed, the old man had no manner to speak of. Still, it might come in handy, despite how soiled the book appeared. "I didn't see your dog." She observed after forking over additional coins.

"Had to put the old girl out of her misery." The shopkeeper nudged towards a butcher knife. "Pretty sight it was not, but she made quite the, as you Bretons say, entrée."

A collab by @Haeo @MacabreFox @Frizan @MiddleEarthRoze @Mortarion

Sevine headed down the alleyway towards the Candlehearth Inn, her head hung low. Her blood-red tresses glimmered in the noon sunlight, with stray strands that had wrestled free from her braided hair hung loose over her shoulders. As she neared the steps to the inn, Sevine spotted an all too familiar face. Sagax. He leaned against the wall outside the entrance to the inn, where she offered him a friendly smile, one that seemed crestfallen from witnessing the tragedies of those that did not make it this day in battle, but a smile nonetheless.

“Sagax! You re a sight for sore eyes. I’m glad to see you alive.” She approached him, and wrapped her arms tightly around him in an embrace, holding him against her body, before stepping away again, and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

“I wasn’t sure if you would make it. Where were you in the midst of battle?” Sevine gestured for him to follow her inside to the inn as she stepped past him, and began to ascend the stairs to the inn, before pushing the door open for him to follow after her. “I could really use a drink, or some food. Won’t you join me?”

Leaning on the wall near the front door to Candlehearth, Sagax was able to get his breath back. He watched mercenaries and citizens alike come and go, the former discussing tactics and battle plans with the latter whispering skittishly about the Kamal, a name he heard amongst the rumors. Snow demons, they called the giants. Sagax set his head against the wall behind him and sighed. Forsworn were one thing, but snow demons? At least the Reachmen didn't swing around hammers as big as a man on stilts. He hoped things wouldn't get much worse, but a nagging feeling in the man's head told him that they would. Fortunately, things would get better before that got worse, even if momentarily.

Looking up to the sound of his name being called, a large smile formed across Sagax's face as he saw the huntress approach him. She looked worn down and solemn, but then again, who wouldn't be in the current situation? Even Sagax's grin only masked his own worries and sorrow. "Hello there, Sevine! It's great to see you too!" He returned the admittedly unexpected hug; Sagax never took Sevine for such an affectionate person, even though she was clearly approachable.

"Yes. I'm completely fine, thank Mara. I was at the pier, but I stayed behind the front lines. I'm no warrior like Jorwen, unfortunately. No warhammers or greatswords for me. But, hey, I was ready to jump in at any moment, counts for something I suppose." Seeing his friend gesture towards the inn, Sagax straightened himself and stretched out his shoulders. "Sure, why not? Nobody seems to need my help right now. Besides, you really do look like you need a drink. Can't have you going overboard though!" He said with a hint of laughter echoing in his voice, following behind Sevine into Candlehearth.

"No, I cannot afford to lose my head, not if we face another fight. But one will help kill the nerves. Like I said, Sagax, I am glad to see you alive. I would have felt horrible losing you in the frays of battle." With that, Sevine stepped inside, and headed for the bar, where she took a seat on the stool. She had kept her coinpurse at her hip, unsure if she would need it later, and thankfully it came in handy. Pulling out two gold coins, she slipped them towards the keep.

"Two Nord ales, please." Sevine said, as the keep took her coin, and went to fetch the requested drinks.

The battle had not been one of Rhasha's favourites. Not that he lusted blood so much to look for it like Sylvanis, but there were a few he looked back with more fondness than pain. This one most definitely fell under the painful category.

Thankfully, none of his troupe had died - the Nord girl - whose name he found had been Solveig - had been removed from the scene by who he presumed was her Father, but she had been breathing well enough for him to not be too worried. There had been plenty of healers around.

As for his own skills in healing, he donated all of the health potions he had on him, and also offered to bandage the wounded - but his magicka was severley depleted, just from healing a few, so after realizing he was doing nought but getting in the way of the Restoration experts, he and Sylvanis retreated back to the inn.

Some of the wounded had spilled out onto the streets by now, paired with frantic fighters looking for their friends, or shell-shocked guards consoling one another. It had been a truly bloody battle, one that would leave both physical and mental scars on the survivors.

Upon entering Candlehearth Hall, the air was sombre - punctuated only by further mutterings of the battle that had been waged on the docks. While Rhasha breathed a sigh of relief, upon hearing a Nord mutter than "The Cats over the bridge ran away at the first sign of trouble - cowards.." And further words to that effect. But he was pleased - they had left, travelling further inland no doubt to avoid trouble.

"I'm sick of this talk, Rhasha." Sylvanis muttered, glaring darkly at the patrons of the bar, who paid no heed to her, and instead cotninued gossipping about the battle. The word 'Kamal' and 'Snow-Demon' were mentioned once or twice. "I'll take my drink to my room. Come find me in the morning." She added gruffly, and after purchasing her drinks, she somehow managed to get the copious amounts of bottles up the stairs, armour clunking as she went.

For a moment, Rhasha'Dar stood, unsure of what to do. His ribs and head still ached, but he had no magicka, nor potions to heal himself with.

Sagax entered and took a seat next to Sevine. "Well, then it's a good thing I know enough to keep myself from being crushed by a warhammer or what have you. I know my strengths and weaknesses so I'm never too keen on just running straight into a battle." Unlacing his hood from the collar of his armor, Sagax shook his head vigorously to loosen his hair up. He hated the feeling of his hair sticking to the sides of his head, it just bugged him for some reason. "It was a mess out there, but we drove them away from the pier though! I'd say we have a good chance to get out of this alive, especially with the reinforcements that have arrived." These were words he actually believed himself. If they were smart about it, Sagax was completely sure Windhelm could beat back the invaders. There would be many losses of course, but they would have died gloriously in defense of Skyrim.

Seeing the door open out of the corner of his eye, Sagax looked over to see two more people enter the inn. One ordered drinks and gruffly ascended the stairs, leaving behind her Khajiit compatriot. They looked a little lost, so Sagax waved his way with a welcoming smile. "Come, friend! Sit with us, why don't you? It's been a long day, and it's probably about to get longer, so it's best to take the breaks afforded to you, yeah?"

As Sevine received their drinks, she caught the words of a few fellow Nordsmen calling the Khajiits cowards for high-tailing it out of Windhelm last night, and moved to a table away from the bar, near a four-paned window. She grunted to herself in annoyance at their ignorant words, shaking her head in dismay as she brought the bottle to her lips, and took a long sip. When she set the bottle down, Sevine spoke more to herself than to Sagax, "Those Cats probably had the right idea, with the moon as bloody as it was last night, who is to say they were in the wrong for fleeing?" Her head turned as she caught wind of Sagax calling out to someone. Her pine-green eyes landed on a Khajiit, and a Bosmer woman who departed upstairs. A smile spread across her face as she waved as well at the tall Khajiit standing.


"What is your name, Khajiit? Allow me to buy you a drink." She offered as she stood up from her stool. If a Khajiit looked tired, this one did; and what better way than to make friends with those who were shunned from society? Sevine never judged the Khajiiti people, infact, during the war, Sevine often traded with them to replenish her supplies, restock on food, and ale, and the likes. If anything, there was a deeply rooted secret in the heart of the huntress. She had always desired to touch the fur of a Khajiit, as she never had the opportunity to do so, solely because she was ashamed to ask. From afar, Sevine could not help but to admire the furred coat of the Khajiit, and the urge to run her fingers over the fur burned inside her like a fiercely blazing fire.

Despite his avoidance of tropes on certain races, Rhasha was undoubtedly surprised as two humans invited him to the table and a drink - an Imperial and a Nord, no less.

"Many thanks - This one is indeed tired." Rhasha replied, walking over to their pair - offering his hand first of all to the Nord woman who had stood up. She had a curious look in her eyes - one that was not common among Nords when it came to the Khajiit. A warm look - paired with the deep green of her eyes, he was reminded of Kyne - although he himself did not worship her, as she was unknown to the Khajiiti faith; he greatly admired her all the same. Simply for the things she withheld and represented, and the almost familiar sense of home he felt whenever around a shrine belonging to the Deity of nature.

"I am Rhasha'Dar - a pleasure to meet you, friends." Introducing himself with a heartfelt tone - their company was indeed a pleasant surprise. When seeing such gruesome things like he had this morning, the last thing he needed was to spend time alone in his room. No matter how Sylvanis tried to drown her negative emotions in mead - these matters had to be talked about sooner or later.

"A pleasure to meet you, Rhasha’Dar. The name is Sevine Varg-t’uk." She said as she extended her own hand to shake his furry, clawed one.

Sagax raised his hand and waved in greeting. "Sagax Speculatus. Good to meet you, comrade." Sagax hadn't seen many Khajiiti. Though not a complete rarity in Cyrodiil, the Imperial City was mainly populated by men and mer: Bosmer and, of course, Imperials, making up the majority. He always imagined the beastfolk to be taller for some reason. He made a mental note to ask a Khajiit in the future, perhaps Rhasha'Dar himself, about their culture and customs. May as well, since Rhasha'Dar would undoubtedly not be the last Khajiit Sagax would meet. There seemed to be several dotted across Skyrim running caravans, if he remembered right. "So, how did the battle treat you, Rhasha'Dar?"

After shaking Sagax's hand, Rhasha sat himself around the human's table.

"This one was very fortunate, compared to some of the others." He replied to Sagax as he began to remove his armour. It was light - leather armour over steel mail - but following a battle, it seemed to weigh on him far more. As he unbuckled the pauldrons from his shoulders, then propping them against his stool, the scars atop his arms became visible. He'd had people query about them before - despite a somewhat harrowing experience upon gaining them, he didn't feel uncomfortable talking about the subject.

"These... creatures, these Kamal... Snow Demons are an unfortunately accurate name for the beasts. It is difficult to imagine brutes of such strength are capable of emotion." He added with a light sigh, before his golden eyes darted back to Sevine and Sagax.

"And you both? You seem to be in one piece - no injuries, I hope?" He asked as he began removing his leather armour. There appeared to be a small tear on the side, where the Kamal had struck him. Perfect.

Sagax took notice of the Khajiit's wound on their side, and remembered that he had several perfectly good healing potions stashed away in his pack. He hadn't suffered any strikes against him so he hadn't needed to use any of them. "I'm fine, but you took a bit of a beating, huh?" The man fished around his pack, easily finding one of the potions in the section he usually had them in and handed the vial to Rhasha'Dar. "Here, friend. I don't need it, and I've got more anyway. Always pays off to see to what seem to be little things, so they won't turn into big problems." Taking a swig from his drink, Sagax exhaled slowly. "Too bad we don't know what they want, if they want anything other than destruction anyway. Something tells me ambassadors won't be of much use in this situation." After this was done, Sagax hoped they would be sent out to deal with something a bit less dangerous. Like an over-population of rabbits.

With an inquistive, curious, ever-watchful gaze, Sevine eyed Rhasha as he removed his armor. Her eyes went straight to the scars on his shoulders, faded, and long since healed over, she wondered how he obtained them, yet she bothered not to ask. A smile lit across her face at Sagax offering up his healing potion to the Khajiit, the Imperial had a friendly personality, something she favoured in people, beastfolk, and Mer alike. It never hurt one to be friendly, nor did it cost one anything.

"I was upon the ramparts, pecking those damned snow demons off. It is a difficult feat even for me, to find openings in their armor." She quietly added, a hint of sadness in her voice for those that perished. Truly, Sevine felt deep inside that she could have helped more in the battle on the docks.

"Are you with the company? Or are you just passing through?"

The sight of the healing potions was a pleasant one - as Rhasha had depleted both his magicka and potions, he had nothing else to heal himself with. With the discovery of a wound on his side, where the mail had bitten into the flesh, this was most helpful.
Reminding himself to mix some more health potions before leaving with the company, Rhasha took the vial with a grateful smile towards Sagax.

"This one will return the favour in the future." He promised the Imperial before downing the potion, then taking a swig of his mead. The potions... rarely tasted appetizing.

As Sevine began talking, Rhasha offered up a sympathetic look. He knew all to well about survivor's guilt. An unfortunately common occurence here in Skyrim.

"Myself and Sylvanis - the small angry Elf you saw going upstairs - joined just last night. Fair to say we weren't expecting any frays until we were on the road." He said with a light chuckle, and then paused thoughtfully. "It is hard, I have found, to watch others die before you. But fate can rarely be rewritten - and the people you lose will not be lost for long. There may be many races in Tamriel, but we all have our final homes in the sky." Taking another sip of his mead, he gently touched the Azurah amulet around his neck; he did that a lot - whether for luck, for comfort, or just when feeling alone. "Perhaps even these Kamal have their own Gods and Heavens."

"Well then, welcome to the company. Sagax here, has been with us since our first mission in the Reach. I myself took an arrow to the chest," Here, Sevine tapped the top of her left breast where the arrow had pierced her, "But boy am I glad that I had some thick armor to stop that blasted arrow, or else I might not be sitting here with you today." She took another swig of her ale, almost finished with the bottle now.

"The small angry elf, you say? I spotted her carrying all those bottles up the stairs, quite the drinker she must be, eh?" Sevine looked at the bottom of her bottle, squinting one eye, and staring down the neck of the brown, glass bottle. She swished the liquid around, and then looked up at Rhasha once more.

"You may think me strange to ask this, but..." Sevine hesitated momentarily, before carrying on, "Can I touch your fur? I have never had the chance to do so, and I do not get the opportunity to talk to a Khajiit such as yourself everyday." A dark, crimson blush blossomed across the apples of her cheeks, as she realized how much of a fool she sounded for asking the question. Personally, Sevine hoped she had not offended him by her words.

An eyebrow perked up and a thin-lipped smile crept across Sagax's face. He found the red-faced Sevine's request of Rhasha'Dar incredibly amusing. Not ridiculous, really, just very funny and unexpected. Accidentally laughing aloud, the Imperial took another sip of his mead. "No shame in being curious I suppose." He said not-quietly-enough.

At Sevine's request, Rhasha followed Sagax's suit by chuckling - a curious sound, like a combination of a man's laugh and a lion's grumble. This was not the first time someone had asked to touch his fur. Usually, it was young children, - who, despite their parent's discriminations and doubt agains the Khajiits, found the Caravan's most curious - who had never seen a Khajiit up close before. Of course, adults such as Sevine had requested it too - they were a strange and exotic thing, that was for certain. He couldn't blame the smooth-skinned humans for wanting to touch the fur of a Khajiit - to see if it was anything like mountain lion fur, or housecat fur, or something else entirely.

"Please - help yourself. It would be cruel of me to deny you - you humans, I think, are missing out." He said almost teasingly with a chuckle.

A smile lit across her face, like the dawn breaking across the land, as she stood up from her seat, and reached up with both hands, and gingerly began to rub the tips of his ears. A gasp escaped from her mouth as she felt the softness of his fur beneath her fingertips. She marveled over the sensation, how soft it was! Like that of a rabbit pelt.

"Oh my! Has anyone ever told you how soft your fur is? Certainly they have, that is a stupid question," She chuckled quietly at her actions, almost forgetting her manners. She even went as far as scratching the base of his ears, like she would have any other cat, almost expecting him to purr; if he did, she would have fallen over in joy. Finally, after remembering what she was doing, the huntress cleared her throat, and returned to her seat, her cheeks still the color of roses blooming in the summertime.

"Thank you, Rhasha. That was quite...enjoyable." She cracked a broad, toothy grin, and took another sip of her bottle, glancing at her furry companions sideways. In the back of her mind, she wondered what it woud be like to fall asleep, cuddle up against that warm, fuzzy chest of his.

---

Tsleeixth had stayed with Niernen and Do'Karth for a while, eating his food alongside hem and striking casual conversation. However, he eventually stood up and, after bidding goodbye to the Khajiit and Dunmer, he decided to go back to the docks, he let out a soft sigh as the cold air, mixed with the smell of blood, hit his face. Wondering for a few seconds, he looked over the former battlefield and spotted the Kamal that he had killed, along with the remains of the unfortunate warrior that had tried to help him.

He quickly retrieved his sword, still lodged in the Kamal's knee before quickly moving away from the former battlefield. Without any direction in mind he found that his feet eventually led him to Candleheart Hall, where he recognized an Argonian that stood outside of the inn. He approached the man "Greetings marsh-brother, what are you doing out here, instead of inside of the inn?" Asked Tsleeixth to the other Argonian. "But, where are my manners, my name is Tsleeixth." He said to the other Argonian before gesturing to the inn's door with his arm. "Shall we go in?"

---

Utu found his attention drawn to an unfamiliar Argonian who addressed him with questions and an open demeanor. His head rose so that his eyes could meet those of the one who addressed him. It was difficult to find the will to move but he did, rising to his feet and betraying his bent form and thin tail. His voice was soft and a little raspy when he responded.

"Greetings. I am Utu-ja, born of Skyrim." He paused, then added. "I do not know why. Maybe the firelight was too bright for my eyes at first." He lied, but there was little reason to tell a stranger of his personal defeat. "Very well, perhaps the light will not be so bright to my eyes in company."

With that, he moved slowly to follow Tsleeixth into the inn. The subtleties of Argonian skin were often lost on members of other races and Utu lacked this knowledge himself due to his upbringing among non-Argonians. His pattern seemed slightly duller and his scales around his eyes and nostrils showed the subtle signs of serious injury within. While he had been healed and was no longer in danger, it remained true that the signs of the damage remained.

---

Sagax's eyes were again drawn to the doors of Candlehearth. Peering over Rhasha'Dar's shoulders he was able to see two familiar faces. Two Argonians, one he immediately recognized as Tsleeixth, but he couldn't remember the name of the other, but Sagax definitely knew him. He was the Argonian the Imperial shared words with before the assault on the redoubt back in the Reach. "Tsleeixth! Good to see you alive and well. Figured it would have taken more than some overgrown apes to send you to the grave!" Tossing some gold on the table, Sagax gestured for two more bottles of mead for the newcomers. Making eye contact with Utu, he offered up an apologetic smile. "And good to see you too, friend. Ah...I'm much better with faces than names, I'm afraid. But I do remember you!" After getting some extra stools for the Argonians, Sagax stopped suddenly. "Oh! I'd better introduce you!" He glanced over to Rhasha'Dar. "This is Rhasha'Dar! He just joined up with the company." Gesturing towards Tsleeixth and Utu, he began addressing Rhasha. "This is Tsleeixth. He's been with us for a while, and...ah...you are, sir?" Speaking to Utu, he offered the same sheepish smile. He would let Sevine introduce herself, thinking that the change of subject would perhaps break whatever spell the Khajiit's mane had on her.

---

The greeting that Utu received from Sagax was enough to draw a corner of his mouth up a smidge. He was not surprised that the young man did not recall his name. They had only met the once after all, and two battles had followed without them speaking.

"Utu-ja is my name, Sagax. You have done well to survive these two challenges. I am happy to see you well." He turned his attention to the others who had been introduced as well as the one who had not. "Welcome to the company, Rhasha'Dar. I hope the rest of your time among us is less like today and more like an unending series of paydays. Tsleeixth and I met outside. But this lady is not entirely unknown to me, as we both were in the Reach. I saw her there, though I do not believe that we met properly."

Sevine leaned backwards in her stool, and looked at the two Argonians that had entered the inn, Sagax knew one of them by name, and called them over. She recognized both of them, though she had yet to learn their names until both of them were properly introduced. Saving her greeting for a moment, Sevine lifted the bottle to her lips, and finished off the rest of the ale, before pushing it farther out of her reach.

He stepped into place and sat on the stool nearest him that was free. He then attended to the mead that was placed before him. He sniffed it briefly, with a wary look, before slipping his jaw forward and swiftly downing the whole thing in a single sweeping series of swallows. Then he put the container down. It was drinkable. Maybe another would be more noticeable. He put coin down and another mead was soon before him, only to meet the same fate as the first.

Tsleeixth was startled when he heard being called out loud, but it soon turned into a smile as he noticed it was Sagax who was greeting him. "Sagax! Good to see you alive and well as well!" Said the Argonian spellsword, a modicum of relief filling him with the knowledge that at least another one of those he knew was alive. He let out a soft laugh when the young Imperial man said that it'd take more than some overgrown apes to kill him. "Aye, but I had my fair share of wounds." He said, pointing to the arm that was in the sling, and a few new scars that were on his face due as a result of having fallen face first into the harbor.

He made his way to where Sagax sat, taking the stool next to him. He recognized Sevine by face, if not by name, and noticed that there was also a Khajiit looked a bit when Sagax didn't knew Utu-Ja's,name, and was about to introduce his fellow Argonian but Utu introduced himself in the end. He listened as Sagax introduced the Khajiit, Rhasha'Dar, to him and Utu-Ja. "Ah, pleasure to meet you Rhasha." Said Tsleeixth as he extended his good hand for the Khajiit to shake, while giving him a friendly smile, or what passed for a friendly smile among Argonians.

Greetings out of the way, if one didn't count Sevine, who had stayed silent through the exchange and hadn't greeted the newcomers, Tsleeixth turned to his own bottle mead, taking it with his free hand he took a swallow from it. "Ah, I needed this." He said as he set the bottle on the table once more, before he turned to face Sagax and Sevine. "How are you holding up?" He asked to no one in particular, even though the answer was simple enough and the question itself quite foolish. But by the tone of his voice, it was obvious he was concerned over his comrades well being.

"It is good to see you both have survived the battle my friends, Tsleeixth, was it? I remember you, and Utu-ja? I recognize you both from the Reach. Nasty business that Reach was."

Sevine reached over to Tsleeixth, and held her hand out for a handshake. Both Argonians, to her at least, looked similar. Though in truth, Tsleeixth had black scales with a set of horns in a row down his head, while Utu-ja...well he was an odd character. He had lengthy arms, something she noted when he walked in, and now, as she leaned backwards, she noticed his tad-pole like tail, which look rather flattened, almost as if it had been crushed.

Utu-ja was a curious Argonian by all means, his scales were a mottled colours of greys, blue, and blacks, a perfect colour mix for blending in the shadows of night, or swimming in murky waters. Even his head creast was black, and like Tsleeixth, he had a slightly smaller set of horns, though not as prominent as Tsleeixth. Utu-ja even had a slouching posture, and was considerably shorter than his counterpart, Tsleeixth.

As she fell silent, studying the both of them, there was something nagging at the back of her mind, about Tsleeixth. Had she heard him coughing horribly, when they were escorting the children back to camp, and after he had chased down the eldest child that knifed one of their comrades when another comrade came to take the child away? There was not a doubt in her mind that he did, but she did not see him struggling now with his ailment. Perhaps he had cured himself on the way over to Windhelm?

"It's good to see you alive and Sevine." Said Tsleeixth, offering the Nord woman a friendly smile "And yes, I remember you as well from the battle at the Redoubt." He said, grimacing as he remembered the battle against the forces of the forsworn.

He smiled once more when Sevine reached over to him and held her hand in for a handshake, a gesture he returned immediately "So, how are you three holding up?" He asked. It was an obvious question, none would be holding up well after such a battle, but he question itself was motivated in part by a desire to start some form of conversation to breakf the silence but mostly by his concern for his comrades.

As he waited for an answer to his question, the Argonian reached for his bottle of mead, drinking some from it but as soon as he was finished he felt a small cough coming up while alerts began flaring in his mind, He thought about excusing himself, he didn't want to have a coughing fit in the middle of Candlehearth hall, but before that he could utter a word a violent coughing fit over came him, using his good hand to try and hold on to the table.

"Don't worry, I'm....." Was saying the Argonian before he began coughing again, a few patrons of the in turning around to look at the conmotion "I'm fine." He managed to finish his sentence as that particular coughing fit subsided. He took the bottle of mead once more in his hands and began drinking, but were it not a few seconds after that that his coughing fit began again, more violent this time, and soon enough he was coughing blood on the table.

Sevine started suddenly at Tsleeixth when his coughing fit began, as she did not even have the chance to answer his question, she nearly leapt out of her seat, especially when blood splattered upon the table top, "Mara bless you!!" She cried out, her brows raised, and mouth agape in astonishment. So he was sick! Reaching quickly to her belt, Sevine picked out a potion bottle fastened to her hip, and handed it to Tsleeixth.

"Here, drink this." A kindred smile appeared on her face, like that of a mother tending to a sickly child, "This is a Cure Disease potion. It should take care of that problem for you, within a day or two." She returned to her seat, embarassed she had reacted fearfully at his spell of illness. "I thought I heard you coughing back at the redoubt, on our way to camp, after you handed off that brat of a Reach child. I had no idea you were this sick, Tsleeixth. I should have given this to you sooner."

Although surprised that Sevine went straight for his ears - people usually touched the fur on his arms - he didn't show it. Partly because the scratching was more then pleasant. Much akin to the housecat, Khajiit did enjoy pettings such as this. Not that many would admit it - probably because they didn't want non-Khajiit races thinking them as intelligent as a common cat, which certainly wasn't the case. Even the Alfiq, which was indistinguishable from a regular cat, was far more intelligent than them.

Restraining himself was purring - Gods, he'd never live that one down - Rhasha returned Sevine's grin as she returned to her seat.

"If you feel the urge to do so again, please feel free." He replied with a chuckle, his eyes considering her own skin. It was still strange, seeing people furless. Only now did he realize that he'd never really felt the skin of a human, nor touched their hair. Would it feel any different from Khajiit hair?

His internal musings - and stare towards Sevine - was broken as they were joined by two Argonians - Tsleeixth and Utu-Ja. He welcomed them with smiles and handshakes, pleased to see that they appeared to be above any racial tensions that often existed between the Khajiit and Argonians - he himself, never paid attention to race. A foolish thing, to consider one's worth and heart on what they were born as.

Watching on as Tsleeixth doubled over, then as Sevine offered up a potion, Rhasha observed the Argonian more closely. He did seem to be in poor shape - with coughing up blood disregarded. A slight pallor to his scales, perhaps? He was unsure - not particularly knowledgable in Argonians, due to him not having met many.

"If you need more potions or healing, you can come to me, my friend. I'm quite skilled in brewing up concotions." He offered to Tseelixth.

---

Utu-ja had only ordered his third drink when Sevine adressed him briefly, commenting on the Reach and the battle for the Foresworn Redoubt. He had little to say about the battle since he had spent it waiting for orders in camp. Sometimes it was fortunate to be a scout, but it did no good to be proud of only being brave against the night. In fact, Utu wasn't feeling very proud of anything just now. The drink was not helping him feel more, or less yet.

He actually jumped in his seat when Tsleeixth suddenly began coughing, and then coughing blood. Thankfully, Sevine took care of him quickly. Utu had not taken any pains to meet or befriend anyone, especially not other argonians, before. It was time for that to change, among other things. But, Tsleeixth seemed like a pleasant and worthy person. So did these others, in fact. He tried to settle into his place again and winced, his fingers twitching briefly with the effort of not being more obvious. The sudden tightening of his insides had hurt surprisingly more than he expected. While a child of Blackmarsh might have sought rest or some additional healing, Utu was raised in Skyrim.

He ordered two more drinks and chugged the one in front of him. If his injuries got drunk before he did then that would be all the better. Still, maybe he could flesh out his tail if he filled it with booze. Maybe he was actually starting to feel the drinks after all. And, there was a lady scratching a Khajiit on the ear area. Weird thoughts, how does all that hair not tickle and itch?

Utu found himself staring absently at one of his new acquaintences after another. Then he tilted his head to one side in an effort to stop them from swaying. Then he drank another tankard. That was not helping them stop swaying.

"Damn invaders... they should take those atronachs and shove their glacial bits up the beasts other... bits." He mumbled softly, lacking the words to describe what he wanted to say and not realizing that he had actually spoken aloud in the first place. "Shot them... stabbed them, poisoned the daedra kissers... and what did it take? The ocean had to eat them!" His grip on his fifth drink was shaking. "I had to go and swim in the frozen drool of the ocean to drag that walking pile of spider ass into the deep. And then... then it finally died." He then continued to mutter too quietly to be made out.

Sevine watched with a careful eye, how many drinks Utu-ja downed. Was that five she counted? Poor thing, he was already muttering to himself. About what, she could not decipher, as he sat closer to Sagax. Leaning across the bar table, Sevine motioned with one hand for the keep to come to her. When the woman did, she whispered something quietly, that only those sitting close to her would have heard. The keep simply nodded, and retrieved the empty bottles Utu-ja drank, and disappeared with them, before returning with a plateful of a chicken breast, and salmon steak, along with the empty bottles, though now they were full. Full of water. If Utu-ja drank them, he would only find himself feeling oddly better over the next hours. She slipped another two gold towards the keep, as she set the plate, and bottles in front of him.

A large grin immediately spread across Sagax's face as he watched Sevine pet Rhasha'Dar. It was adorable, how childlike she was for just a moment. He almost forgot she was a hardened warrioress who had hardly a week before cut down several Reachman, and took only a non-lethal arrow in the chest, blocked by her armor. He stopped himself from laughing as Sevine returned to her drink; it was quite obvious she was embarassed enough already, and Sagax didn't want to make it any worse for the poor woman. After all, she was simply curious about the fur of the Khajiit. To be honest, so was he, so he couldn't quite judge Sevine.

It was certainly no shock to Sagax when Tsleeixth began hacking up blood, but he was still concerned. He was relieved to see Sevine hand the Argonian a potion that would help. To hear that Rhasha knew his medicines, and offered to assist Tsleeixth in the future pleased Sagax more. Mercenary companies were just as full of comraderie as any other outfit, to be sure. Anyone who says different obviously just had a bad experience, or just didn't get along with people. Sagax could tell he was going to have the time of his life with these people. He hoped it lasted as long as humanly possible.

Sagax was only halfway through his first bottle when he looked over and saw four empty ones in front of Utu, and he had yet another one to his lips. He was able to decipher his drunken mumblings, and they appeared to be centered on his fight with the Kamal. His hands were beginning to slip and he swayed back and forth. Sagax wondered if Utu had a bit too much to drink. To his left, Sevine whispered something to the barkeep, and the keep was gone for a moment, taking the empty bottles with her, and came back with the bottles plus some food. He only noticed they were the same set of bottles due to a bit of residue on the side of one of the dark vessels. They were refilled, but Sagax simply assumed with more mead. He returned to his own, downing the rest quickly. He inhaled slowly, starting to feel the brew kick in. His father was famous among his legion mates for his ability to hold his liquor, and Sagax wondered if he had inherited that ability. Hopefully, as he foresaw much more drinking very soon after the company dealt with the damned snow demon bastards.

Tsleeixth offered Sevine a weak smile, showing some of the teeth he had lost when his face had fallen on the docks "Sorry, I didn't want to bother anyone, plus I've had Bloodlung since I left the College of Winterhold." Said the Argonian spellsword, giving the Nord woman another smile. While it was true that he didn't wish to bigger anyone with his disease, that was only a half truth since -while he indeed didn't wish to bother anyone- his main motive for keeping his disease a secret was so Ashav wouldn't kick him out.

Giving Sevine another smile, he accepted the potion to cure his disease "Thank you Sevine, and my apologies for worrying you." Said the Argonian to the Nord huntress. He was about to drink the potion when he heard the Khajiit speaking to him "Thank you friend, I'll keep your offer in mind." He said, smiling again "Say, if you know restoration magic, do you know of any spell that makes teeth grow back? I've lost a few in this battle." He said trying to inject some humor to the situation, but he was afraid that the joke was in poor taste "Regardless, I once again offer my thanks Rhasha." Said the spellsword before he downed the bottle that Sevine had offered him, letting out a sigh of relief.

He turned towards the huntress once more, about to thank him again, but was in that moment that he noticed that Utu-Ja seemed to be overindulging hinself with mead "Easy there Utu." He told the misshapen Argonian as he began mumbling about he attack of the kamals, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder. He was considering some way to help Utu with his drinking, either by taking some of the share of liquor or by taking the bottles away all together but Sevine -Divines bless her- was ahead of him and had paid the barkeep to take Utu's bottles away and give him some food., along with a new set of bottles whose contents Tsleeixth guessed were supposed to help calm down the inebriated Argonian

---

The sudden awareness that he had a large platter of food and a number of filled bottles in front of him, disturbed Utu enough to stop his muttering. He had a moment to notice them before a hand patted his shoulder and a set of words that he recognized as being well meant but unintelligible passed his ears. He looked away from the platter and bottles long enough to recognize that it was Tsleeixth before suddenly realizing that it was a bad idea to look up. The inn did not like it.

He finished off the drink in his hand, which tasted remarkably like the previous four, and then reached for one of the new arrivals. One swig went back and he stopped. He blinked, twice, slowly. Then he swallowed it down at a deliberate pace. The empty bottle made a dull clunk as he set it down carefully. He blinked again and raised his head, quietly taking a long, slow breath and holding his tail very still. Then he looked from one side to another, focusing on each face in turn. That was when his tail wrapped itself under him, coiled around the legs of his chair. Then he lowered his head again and picked up the chicken, taking one deliberate bite after another with his eyes fixed on a single abstract point.

His body temperature was higher than before, by a marked amount. But, scales do not blush. Still, he would be pretty hot to the touch, as embarrassed as he was.

He continued to eat, pausing occasionally to drink from the refilled bottles. He noticed that the others, however politely, were now paying a notable amount of attention to him. He cleared his throat softly.

"Sorry, not a drinker." He said with a strange tenseness in his voice. "Just wish their armor was more like their boats. I put Frostbite Venom straight into that thing at the ankle and..." Here Utu was interrupted by a surprisingly delicate burp. "All it did was trip it up."

Daelin smiled, seeing Utu-ja back on his feet was reassuring to him. The Bosmer did not want to take up any more of Utu's time. The two of them worked a lot together, and he suspected they would be doing more of that in the future. For now, it would do the Argonian some good to get out of his metaphorical shell and socialize with his peers.

---

Meeting the jarl took up unforeseen amount of time. It started out at noon, when the first of wave of enemies were repulsed, and it continued on to the late afternoon when the sun started to set. Then, roughly four to five hours past noon, leaders of various fighting groups began filling out of the Palace of the Kings. The mercenary commanders were in the middle of them.

Clearly, many of these individuals left without glee. Discounting present concern with Kamals completely blockading the city, most leaders agreed on the jarl's son being an impatient moron. Ashav, Dumhuvud and Edith were on the same page with this issue. By asking any of them about the meeting, members of the mercenary company would hear the jarl's son acting out of his station. Sure, he was the child of the city's boss. Lineage alone doesn't excuse uncalled for insults. The kid was about seventeen years old, sixteen years spent in wealthy households and in the past year, even wealthier palace. Growing up Nordic, he clambered on heroic stories for dear life, though his powerful parents done their best to shelter him away from adventures. It had only made his fantasy further from reality. With lots of reading and not a lot of doing, the jarl's son had became the quintessential “armchair general”.

“Scolding the guard captain for inaction.” Ashav spat. “What have the kid done? Nothing.”

“Oblivion-damned twat never swung a sword in his life.” Dumhuvud cursed. “Now he rides on papa's chair like some halfass chieftain.”

Edith was the last of the three to vent, and her choice of insults was more thought out. “He said the guards should have prepared, but how could they know?” She commented. “The guard captain himself said his men struggled to take down a werewolf last night. If that was true, then they were more ill-prepared then we thought.”

Some Braves fighters injected themselves in the conversations. In the light of Kamal invasion, many had quickly forgotten the moons last night. Some of these folks though, were suspicious about both events, in the timing of it all and whether or not they were connected. “Maybe the invaders caused it.” A Nordic militiaman speculated. “It's all some voodoo magic they conjured up, mark my words.”

“Not impossible.” Another militiaman piped up. This one was a mage. “In my brief study with the College, I've read about the Thalmor controlling the moons just to terrify Khajiits.”

“Bloody elves, bloody snow demons. If the Dragonborn was here, he'd shout them all to bits.” Someone claimed. The mention of their high king was a controversial one, a mention causing a bout of silence followed by chaotic murmurs.

“The Dovahkiin,” Someone sighed. “Truly a bittersweet name.”

People lingered about on the docks for a while, in which time, some commanders (including Ashav) went in the East Empire Company office for further planning. Among them were the Nordic woman who commanded a small section of Dawnguards. She wore a full face helmet, and some could swear her eyes projected reddish glow when the lights dimmed. Of course, everyone was careful around the vampire hunters. Their participation was hard-earned, if not reluctant, and their crossbows; few weapons effective against Kamal armor.

The head of EEC security division, Adelaisa Vendicci, could not complain about the sort of help she got. Her office behind piers seven and eight was nearly breached during the first wave. Being an Imperial in Skyrim recently came with the perk of discrimination, and in Windhelm, it was tenfold of any other places. She was granted only a few guards as token support. These were lousy recruits, half frightened to death when the atronachs landed. Her own men fought the brunt of the battle, and as a result, suffered the brunt of the casualties. “Two in three gone.” She counted. Her shoulders heavy as if Mundus weighed on them. “I have a dozen men at best, if they come again, we're bound to fall.”

“And the guards?” Ashav suggested, looking around, no traces of blue sash or chainmail in the room.

“They're doing nil. Useless.“ Vendicci grumbled. “That's why only we, the honest people, are gathered here.” She explained, gesturing at the commanders. “Regardless, the guards had their shits pushed in pretty far. Most of them probably lined the walls, or set to protect piers one to four; near the gates.”

“I was wondering 'bout that in the palace.” A high-ranking Brave noted, he inched closer to a map and touched parts of it. “The jarl's plan basically leaves half of the dock unmanned, are we suppose to just hand them over to the invaders?”

“Better than his son's,” A Dawnguard said. “Could you all believe it; 'Charge across the river!' Do it yourself and save us the pain from seeing you again.” A couple of chuckles came. It was not amusing in any regular sense, but laughing at the brat's foolhardiness helped in sidelining the frustrations against him.

“We'll help you, Vendicci.” After the nervous laughter died down, Ashav stepped up. “We have about twenty able bodies.”

“Only twenty?” Someone surprised. “I saw at least fifty last night. Folks could gives their lives just to sign up with you.”

“Half of them gone. Some ran away when they got their heads back from mead. The smarters, I'd say. Those who stayed, well, a lot of them aren't ever getting their heads back.”

---

The superiors separated around seven at night. Ashav went back to the warehouse, where he found some eating dinner. He quickly had the rest gathered, and informed about reassignment. Pier seven was their new stronghold. As dusk approached, guardsmen were seen reconstructing layers of defenses. Proper wood and iron hurdles, racks, spikes came from the city forges, accompanying them arrived razor-sharp caltrops. The larger obstacles were set behind the piers, they would take much manpower to prepare. What Ashav was interested were the smaller caltrops. As demonstrated by earlier Kamal assault, the larger obstacles became prime targets for demolition efforts. The smaller ones, like crates of fire salt (a cache is now studied by the court wizard) caught the snow demons off guard. So for the better part of next two hours, many mercenaries went about spreading miniature spike balls.

Laying traps was not everything. Several members of the company were better off fixing their wounds, while others took time to improve their equipment. Ashav himself lost his orichalcum greatsword earlier. It stood blade to shaft against a Kamal weapon, unsurprisingly, it was soon flung off into the harbor. The replacement was a rusty iron two-hander. To be honest, this weapon was completely crap. However, the company leader refused better one-handed alternatives. “Divines gave me two hands, both for gripping the sword.” He lectured whoever bothered to offer him a lesser blade. “Everything gets better with two hands.”

What was the alternatives? Forsworn weapons. After the taking the redoubt, at least a dozen weapons were seized. Some were sold along the way, and some sold at Windhelm. But Edith insisted on keeping at least one of each kind for research. Being the fine craftswoman she was, she retained one Forsworn axe, one bow and two swords in the warehouse. If you asked nicely, she might just loan you one.

Obtaining a new weapon would be wise for Trius. Sometime after leaving the antique shop, he found his ebony blade no longer present. It was gone, plain and simple. Recalling to minutes earlier, he had brushed past several suspicious, hooded characters. Because heavy armor isolated his skin from the outside world, unstrapping sheath from belt went completely unnoticed.

On the other hand, Felix went to great length to rearm himself. During the battle, as he now recalled shamefully, he had lost his axe and shield. In the aftermath of his eventual recovery, aep Caileach spent every single one of his coins on a new set of arms. The blacksmith was all too eager to rip the nervous Imperial off. Felix cared not, he told himself he will be a coward no longer, and when the next fight happens, he will lead the charge against his enemies. Sooner or later, he would show the company that he was more than a helpless bard, needing to be rescued twice. His body still shook from the death of Helmi and Bjorn, two men he had gotten to know as friends. But he steeled himself with a mixture of resolve and compulsion, and in the process, completely glossing over the poor deal he received.

Whether by chance of design, Felix bumped into Sagax Speculatus again when the gathering adjourned. He clasped Sagax by the shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes. “I never got to thank you for saving life.” He began, lowering his head and bowed in respect. “I wanted to give you this,” He turned and dug out a manuscript form his backpack, it read; Devils of the Reach. “Listen, I've been writing down our fight since I first made camp in the Reach. It's nothing florid or extravagant like Madura.” Felix chuckled nervously. Clearing his throat, he continued. “Seeing my friends perish made me realize that good souls always fade before their time. I've finished the draft and dedicated it to them; Helmi and Bjorn.” Tears started to well in Felix's eyes, he pulsed for a moment and wiped some away.

“No, can't cry.” He whispered to himself. Sagax was close enough to hear.

“Anyways,” He continued. “I will fight in their name when it is time; no more shrinking from duty.” Felix declared. He extended the manuscript to Sagax. “Please, take it. I know you are fast, and I saw you running by these snow demon things. If I am killed, please, keep this book safe and get it published.”

War is calamitous like Dagon's Deadlands, but just as the eternally bound Dremora Kyns, blood-soaked warriors of Nirn earn their rightful names through the flames of destruction. The manuscript's foreword reads. To Helmi the Hammer and Bjorn the Bald, my brothers in arms.

The most incredible collaboration between Dervs, Shafty, Morty and Frizzle

It was odd. It was the first time Jorwen had the chance to truly appreciate a view. But this was not one he liked. Rows of them, like crops, waiting to spring up and be harvested. Always the same after a battle. Men stood around them, talking about how the men they'd buried were good, how they fought to the last breath, how they'd be missed. Always the same after a battle. He'd said the words over White-Eye's grave, but the funny thing was how the words came out like he was reading from a script. The words sounded the same as when they buried Thrice-Pierced, when they buried Aelfgar, and everyone else down the long line. They'd all left, Cleftjaw to tend to Solveig and the rest of the grayheads who knew White-Eye or at least his name and deeds left to go about their business.

That's how it always was for men of great and bloody deeds, who felled their foes and made their enemies quake. Covered up, given some words, a few misty eyed mentions at the fire, and then forgotten. Jorwen squeezed a handful of turned earth and let it dribble out of his hand in clumps. He sniffled and looked out at the roiling sea and then to the pillars of smoke rising up from the farms, made kindling for the fire, as if the giants were trying to smoke the Gods from their heavens. He had an urge to grab his weapons and charge at them in a moment of red and furious slaughter like the Red-Bear would've reveled in, but he wasn't young enough or strong enough. Or stupid enough. He heard someone's footsteps behind him and he addressed them without turning, "Don't let this appearance fool you, I'm very fucking joyous."

"This one thought as much, Jorwen. Nords are such a serious people, looks of murderous intent often are confused with mirth this one finds." Do'Karth said, using his quarter staff as a walking stick. His leg was throbbing considerably. He glanced up at the city walls for a moment, watching the guards pacing with torches or staring longly out at the bay, perhaps wishing for a ship to take them from their posting before the invaders returned to try their luck once more. "Perhaps you would prefer to be left to your own devices? The others seem to be finding solace within each other's company within the tavern, but tonight did not seem to be one for revelry, and Do'Karth is not one to drink away his sorrows." he tapped his temple with a padded finger. "A clear mind, a clear consciousness, no?"

"You're mostly right. I've tried to drink away my problems but they were waiting patiently for me to get a clear mind again." He shrugged and blew out a steaming sigh, "Today's not a day for taverns and drink. A lot of men just buried friends. I'm one. But I find stewing in it doesn't help any. The dead don't need your sorrows. At least it's not my daughter under here." He turned to Do'Karth, "You two should meet sometime."

"If she is anything like her father, then she is sure to be a most lovely individual." Do'Karth said with a grin. "Perhaps tomorrow you could introduce us. This one enjoys meeting new people, such stories to behold. Shall we?" He asked, gesturing for the two of them to continue walking. "This one was contemplating asking Mara to help ease the suffering of our wounded... this one has done what he could to ease their suffering, to help them heal, but there are too many and our friends at the docks are hardly gentle. Do'Karth anticipates the coming days will be even worse. What if we must abandon the city?" he asked.

Jorwen nodded, bending down to pat the wet dirt, "We'll meet sometime, you stubborn old prick. Just not too soon." He rose to his full height and stretched his arms up towards the sky and yawned, "And abandoning the city? We're in a siege. They'll have a party just waiting with open arms down the road. They're sacking our farms so we have no food. They know what they're about, these things." Jorwen shook his head, "We've got help from these folk here, but there still isn't enough of us. You ever done this in your travels before?" Jorwen chuckled. They found themselves on the docks soon enough. The only corpses there were a few of the giants. The red mass that had been one was still lying there and they passed through the gates, stared after by three tired-eyed guards.

"An odd choice of locations if one wanted to not think about today, this one feels." Do'Karth observed, regarding the location where he and the others had struggled to take down even one of the invaders. His leg screamed at him at the prospect of doing it againt the next day. The Moon Sugar would help with that, at least, but there was no promise of an easy sleep, of which he did not know where he would do so. "As for escaping a siege, well, this one suspects you have never met a khajiit who has had a series of daring escapes under his belt." Do'Karth said, looking for somewhere to sit, and deciding to angle towards the end of the dock. The sound of water lapping against the wooden frame was soothing. "But sieges and large scale warfare are largely new to this one. He suspected that life would be somewhat empty unless he had at least one war to boast of." the khajiit chuckled, setting himself slowly to lean against a post, his staff helping his decent. He sighed in relief, rubbing his throbbing thigh.

Jorwen looked at Do'Karth rub at his leg and frowned, "Never healed right, eh?" Jorwen lifted up his shirt to show his scars before he sat down and pointed to one at his ribs, "Spear. Khajiit sentry was having a nap until a lad stepped on a twig. The lad got the worst of it, thrust to the neck. Sentry turned around and poked me in the chest. Only barely survived because one of the men I escaped with was a battlemage and a healer. I've got a few escapes under my belt." He nodded to the pained leg, "How'd you get it?"

"Forgive Do'Karth for not removing his trousers to share scars." the khajiit smiled wearily, his face softening. "It was also a spear... this one made a rather uncharacteristic mistake. He lost sight of what was important." he said without elaborating, opening the front of his robes. Several scars and patches of bare skin were visible through the fur. "Other reminders of the same mistake. Do'Karth is not sure why he survived, but it was enough for him to learn that the world was not what it had always seemed. Fate is a compelling teacher."

It wasn't long before Sagax began to feel restless and jittery. The mead may not have helped with that, but that's beside the point. Putting the now empty bottle down, Sagax stood up and stretched tersely. He really was out of his element, far too used to the temperate climate of central Cyrodiil. The frigid air would take some adjusting to, but until then, the cold would be hell on his body. He decided that running around some more would help him at least feel warmer if nothing else. The Imperial waved and said his farewells to the company around him and headed back out the door into the cold gray of Windhelm.

Unable to find anything to keep himself busy inside the city itself, Sagax made his way back through the gates to the docks, though he was loathe to do so. The scent of death could still be sensed, but he told himself to just suck it up and ignore it. Besides, this was one of the only places that Sagax was sure that someone would need help. Something, anything, big or small it didn't matter. He just wanted to keep his skinny legs moving.

To his disappointment(?), nobody had any menial tasks to be done. The pyres were going strong and the dead that were intended to be buried had already been dealt with. Scanning the piers, though with no real reason to it, he thought he saw a familiar figure at the end of one. Squinting slightly, he made the person out to be Jorwen. With him was a Khajiit that Sagax had never met before. With nothing better to do and no one calling for his aid, the hooded man decided to go and see how they were doing.

Just like with Sagax, it wasn't long before Tsleeixth left Candlehearth Hall, following more or less the Imperial man's example, not to mention that after his little coughing fit he felt as if he needed some fresh air. But that was only after he had thanked both Sevine and Rhasha'Dar profusely for the potion and the offer of medical help respectively, along with giving Utu-Ja a kind pat on his shoulder and some kind words.

He had some trouble opening the door of the inn, what with one arm on a sling, but eventually he found himself standing in Windhelm's streets, the cold air hitting his face. With no clear destination in mind, Tsleeixth began wandering the streets of the besieged city until his feet unconsciously dragged him back to the docks. There he found Sagax, whom he recognized by the clothes he wore, heading towards a pair of men, whom were indistinguishable to him in the distance, that were by the end of the pier.

Unsure of what to do, he decided to follow Sagax until he realized that the pair of figures that the Imperial was heading towards was none other than Do'Karth and Jorwen himself. Realizing this, the Argonian hurried his step so he was next to Sagax, "Greetings once more Sagax. Seems neither of us were in the mood to stay at Candlehearth Hall." He told the Imperial man, having tapped him on the shoulder to announce his presence, and gave him a friendly smile "Well, shall we join them?" Asked the Argonian spellsword as he motioned towards Do'Karth and Jorwen boffe he turned to face them, waving his good arm at them as a greeting.

Halfway down the pier, Sagax felt someone make themselves known via touching his shoulder. Looking over, he saw Tsleeixth, arm still in a sling. "Oh, hey there. Yeah I got a tad restless. Someone squirrelly like me just has to be moving. Can't stand being idle." Following Tsleeixth's gesture with his eyes, Sagax continued forward. "That's the plan, yeah." He said as he took short, quiet steps towards Jorwen and Do'Karth, though he didn't really intend to, it was just how he walked. He learned early in his teen years to make his footfalls as quiet as possible.

Voices and footsteps on the docks caught Do'Karth's attention and he noticed the argonian he had helped earlier, Tsleeixth, heading towards Jorwen and himself with an unfamiliar Imperial in tow. Apparently they weren't the only ones who had the idea of getting way from the chaos of Windhelm's interior, and the khajiit offered them both a lazy raised hand in the form of a greeting. "My friends, to what does Do'Karth owe the pleasure?"

Tsleeixth flashed Do'Karth a smile "Oh,I just wasn't in the mood to stay in the inn" Said the Argonian to the Khajiit, not feeling like telling him about his coughing fit in the middle of Candlehearth Hall and the fact that he had Bloodlung was now more widely known "So, I decided to go out for a stroll" He said "Oh, and this is Sagax by the way" He said,more sending the Imperial man to the Khajiit before he turned to face Sagax "And this is, like you have probably guessed, Do'Karth" Said he spellsword as he moved closer to the Khajiit, leaning against a wall

Jorwen turned to the pair and smiled. He could never tell Argonians apart, but he knew the only two Argonians in the company, and the one before him wasn't Utu. This was the one with the impossible name, so he only nodded, "It's good to see more faces still live after this." He smiled at Sagax, "How was your second battle?"

Bowing slightly to the Khajiit, Sagax greeted the beastman. "Hail, Do'Karth. A pleasure to meet you." Turning to Jorwen, he returned the Nord's smile. "It was...an experience, for sure. I'm just hoping our next encounter with the giants will be more definitive." Pausing shortly, he continued with a grin. "In our favor, of course. We'll make them regret stepping foot on Tamriel, yeah?" Shifting the sword on his belt into a position where it wouldn't annoyingly slap against his leg, Sagax addressed both Jorwen and Do'Karth. "So, how have you two been holding up? That last encounter was rather rough."

Do'Karth nodded appreciatively towards the Imperial. "Likewise, a pleasure." He glanced at Jorwen, remembering the fuming anger he had discovered his Nord friend in not long ago. "The day has been trying. This one has been on many adventures, but perhaps the next one should not be so... final." he said, offering a weak smile in the way of apology. "Do'Karth thought he should enjoy what freedom he could outside of the gates while time remains. Who knows if we will be permitted to stand outside the gates again when the next wave arrives?"

Tsleeixth smiled at Jorwen, chuckling softly when he didn't pronounce his name and merely greeted him with a nod of his head "It's Tsleeixth for future reference." Said the Argonian, a hint of humor in his voice as he smile but before he continued speaking , Sagax began answering Jorwen's questions. He fell silent as the young Imperial man spoke, scratching his chin slightly out of boredom as his tail twitched lazily. He was about to speak once more when he heard Sagax making a question to both Do'Karth and Jorwen, and so the aargonian spellsword maintained his silence as the Khajiit answered.

Once the Khajiit was done speaking he turned to look at Sagax, throwing at him a mock accusatory glance "Truth be told I haven't been holding well either, like Do'Karth said, the day's been trying....we've lost too many men for what few of those Kamal bastards we took down." Said the Argonian, a mix of sorrow and anger innhis tone, giving a brief glance to the arm in the sling at he mention of the kamals "Some truth be told, I am not holding well,mI wish we could have something more to weaken them." Said Tsleeixth, his shoulders slumped down as he looked to the ground for a second, kicking a pebble towards the dock's waters,

He stayed silent for a few seconds, breathing to try and calm himself down before he turned to face Jorwen "How are you doing? I saw you and that dunmer, the one who lacks the arm, taking down one of the beasts, are you hurt?" He asked the Nord man, he knew that he was probably threading on thin ice -the man had most likely lost comrades and wouldn't be in the best of moods- but Tsleeixthz's question was motivated mainly by concern for the old warrior that stood in front of him, Soemthing that was evident by the kind tone in his voice.

"I've had worse wounds. I'll need new mail and my helm is useless, but I've still got all of me." Jorwen squinted off at the water and sighed, "I'm alive. We're alive." Jorwen frowned, "That's all you can ever hope for in this line of work."

In truth, he didn't know what to do with himself. He needed these people around him just as much as he wanted to be alone. He wanted to double over and bawl like a child just as much as he wanted to tear out the Gods' throats that spun ill fates. But he'd never see a god and it wouldn't do for a man like Red-Bear to cry. "And we have the salts. Me and the old Dunmer made sure to get as many crates as we needed. We'll give them something tomorrow. We'll put fear in them." He took a breath and opened his eyes when he was done with it, "And I don't reckon we'd be meeting them in the open again with what we've seen happen. Going against them was a narrow victory at our strongest and we're not that anymore. We need these walls, they're the only thing keeping them from strutting in and killing the lot of us."

He remembered Greenwall, where he had the fort taken from him in the night by Black Sutt and then wrested it from him and he became a companion for a time. He remembered breaking the siege of Riften, remembered seeing Whiterun starved out. Remembered Markarth, and all the blood that followed that made the name Red-Bear a curse in the Reach and hated. Remembered the redoubt. They all had walls, but they only lasted as long as the people on them. Not long. "A siege. This won't be fun, it'll feel like the Deadlands, being honest. But when we make it, our names'll be some of the hardest around, mark me on that." He nodded at Sagax, "That enough glory for your plan to work?"

Offering a sly smile, Sagax crouched down next to the Red-Bear. "If I get a summons from the Imperial Council, you'll be the first to know, Jorwen. If not...well, the gods seem to have it out for us. As much as I'd like us to get a rabbit-hunting contract or something simple like that, there's probably going to be a lot more of this..." He waved his hand in all directions. "...kind of nonsense." Staring into the reflection of himself in the water of the river, he noticed just how dirty he had gotten since he arrived in Skyrim. No scars just yet, but plenty of grime. Trying to rub away the marks did no good. He'd need at least four baths to clean it all up. No time for that, though. Perhaps when he could get back to the Imperial City, when he was much less busy. But certainly not in the middle of a siege. "But we've gotten this far, haven't we? Plenty more chances for glory and whatnot in the future, I'd predict." He paused and laughed shortly. "Though I wouldn't go searching for it! I'm no fool. Searching for glory will only find you trouble."

The Argonian listened as Jorwen spoke, answering his question but not addressing himself in particular "Yea, I suppose that at the end of such battles all we should be thankful for is being alive." Said Tsleeixth in a sombre tone, looking for a second at his arm that rest on a sling and on the blade that he had recuperated. The former needed healing before he could use it without why risk of injuring himself, while the latter probably needed to be repaired if not outright replaced, perhaps the same with his armor, A few minutes of silence passed as Red-Bear said nothing, as if debating with his emotions, but in the end the silence was broken by his own words "Yes, you are probably right, wonder why the salts affect them in such way though, and if we could find any form to use them more effectively against them." He said, the inquisitive part of his mind beginning to ponder on the mystery of the fire salts and why they affected the Kamal in such a way.

He listened when Jorwne said that they wouldn't be meeting the Kamal in the open one more. He was right,mid they tried such a tactic the most likely result would be that the company would be mostly -if not entirely- decimated while they would only manage to rise down a dozen Kamal or so. He nodded when the Nord warrior said that they needed the walls, his mind turnig towards any sort of traps they could set to hinder the kamal's advance towards the walls.

The spellsword nodded when Jorwen said that it was going to be a siege, but let himself laugh when he mentioned they if they would earn lots of prestige, enough to be able to accomplish Sagax's plan. He chuckled softly when Sagax said that if he got an invitation from the Imperial Council, major when would be the first to know "Aw, and what about me? Should I stay in the sidelines?" He asked Sagax, obviously joking before he gave the imperial man a pat on the shoulder "Don't worry, I am sure that in the battle to come there'll be enough glory for all of us, no need to chase it my friend." Said Tsleeixth, laughing a little but it was obvious that he was preoccupied "But seriously Sagax, don't do anything stupid, alright?" Said the Argonian to the Imperial man giving him a friendly squeeze on the shoulder along with a confident smile, but his eyes betrayed the nervousness and apprehension that he felt at the coming battle.

"Oh I have no doubt about that, Tsleeixth. Plenty of it to go around for sure." Thinking of the battle ahead and Tsleeixth's words, Sagax's mind went back to the last letter he recieved from Piper. Don't do anything stupid, and no heroics. He thought about his poor mother and how she must have been feeling. It was difficult to imagine Piper or his mother in such a down state. Not because they simply didn't have emotions, they most certainly did, though his sister was the stoic type and hid her feelings while Equa was someone who was always faithful and supportive, hardly showing anything other than motherly concern. It was difficult to think about because it made him feel horrible and even guilty, putting such an emotional burden on his family. It made him want to go back home. He knew he couldn't though, not while his father rotted in that damned cell.

He'd definitely need to alter his letter a bit to include the siege. Piper was always an inquisitive woman, she'd figure out eventually, and she'd give Sagax hell if he tried to keep that information from her, so he thought it better to just be honest. Maybe if his family back home knew about the siege and that he not only survived it, but also the assault on the redoubt, it would build more confidence in them and they'd worry less.Or...maybe it wouldn't, and he'd have a very furious lecture about needlessly risky actions and misguided notions of pride and sacrifice to come home to. That made Sagax smile a bit; seeing Piper angry was abolutely hilarious to him for some reason; she'd start a tangent and then he'd laugh, and then she'd get even angrier and it would be even funnier...must be a sibling thing, he guessed.

"So, Do'Karth, what do you think of Skyrim? I just got here, myself, and I find it quite beautiful."

The khajiit had been listening thoughtfully to the conversation that had evidently continued amongst the argonian and Imperial before they discovered Jorwen and himself and deciding all the talk of siege and hardships was making him rather peckish; he'd have to store some food away for the long days ahead. The question Sagax posed to him broke him out of his contemplation and was much more encouraging than the talk of doom that had been the rule of the day. "Skyrim is a beautiful land... this one considers it a wonder. The people may be hard and rude, but Do'Karth hardly holds that against them. He suspects he would have a mudcrab-like disposition if he had to live in the cold for overly long." the khajiit let out a throaty chuckle, making eye contact with the Imperial. "Do'Karth has heard of hot springs to the East he is most interested in inquiring about, and seeing mountains is nothing short of astonishing. Do'Karth has never quite seen something like that before, the ones in Hammerfell seem pitiful in comparison."

"The land juts up to get in your way, the rivers flow white and fast enough to break men, the winds rend flesh and the snow turns all it touches black and frozen." Jorwen smiled and had himself a laugh, "It's only natural we liked the place. We had to conquer it before it let us settle and we thrived. You'll find our women a little like that too." He chuckled, "You should hear how my wife and I met."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement and looked down the docks to see Cleftjaw waving him on. He nodded and rose, "I'd best check on my daughter. Reckon you should come along," he pointed to Karth, "Think I need an opinion. See you lot."

"Always a competition with you Nords." Do'Karth observed, rising up to his feet with the assistance of his staff. He offered the two others a nod of the head and a smile as he stretched his aching limbs."Tomorrow, Do'Karth will join you gentleman in greeting our friends when they return, but for now, it would seem his thoughts are needed. Shall we go?" he asked.

Several minutes later, Jorwen and Do'Karth were back in Windhelm, which despite the hour, was still bustling with preparations for the day to come. It was encouraging, at least; idle hands often meant unprepared men. "So, what kind of opinion are you looking for?" he asked after some length.

He pushed the door to the warehouse open, "You'll see." They meandered through the warehouse, stepping over bleeding men, groaning men, dead men too. They finally got to where Cleftjaw was waving them over and Jorwen sat beside his daughter, sleeping soundly on his bedroll. "This. She was unconscious, her face was broken in." He bit his lip and took a breath, the words almost catching in his throat before he cleared it, "Vurwe, the She-Elf, healed her with magic, but she still sleeps. I've seen wounds like this, but... but do you think she'll wake?"

The khajiit set his staff and goods down and knelt beside the young woman, checking her vitals and to see how her face was set. From what he could tell, the Vurwe individual's healing was adequate and the bone damage had been mended, but it was impossible to say without being able to see within the wound. The fact that the woman was not reacting to his touch and felt smooth and not shifting was encouraging. "It is Do'Karth's opinion that there is little else to be done except to have her rest. She is breathing fine, her pulse is steady, and she appears to have a slight fever, but that is to be expected when one's body is struggling to mend itself." he said, looking up at Jorwen. "This one believes she will wake, in time. If you prefer, Do'Karth can stay with her to watch over her condition and be there if she wakes. Until she says where she hurts or what feels wrong, there is not much else this one can do."

Jorwen nodded, "Mm." It was a good sleep, then. Jorwen couldn't have asked for more good fortune without asking for a miracle. He looked to Do'Karth, "That would be good. Least of all, you wouldn't have to fight one of those things with your stick." He laughed. He stroked Solveig's bent jaw and sighed, "They call this a naming wound. A wound bad enough to be named after. Some people are named for deeds or what they look like, like Red-Bear."

Cleftjaw chuckled, "Naming wounds." He pointed to his own face, where his black stubble refused to grow around the nasty scar on his bent jaw, "My name? It's Cleftjaw."

"Reckon Solveig'll need a name. O'course, wouldn't want to make it too close to another's." Jorwen sucked his teeth and shrugged, "Maybe we'll wait for her to wake and you'll meet her proper. Then we'll name her." He smiled at Do'Karth, "Her name is Solveig, by the way. She has a sharp tongue, fiery temper. Good luck handling her when she wakes."

The khajiit grinned at Jorwen and Cleftjaw. "Well, no one can fault you Nords for getting right to the point. This one admits curiosity at the colourful nicknames, but it would seem they largely stem from the fact you are too stubborn to move away from things that want to kill you." he looked over at Solveig, a curious name. "Perhaps you could call her 'Unbreakable.' She seems to be one of the few to face the might of the Snow Demons without emerging as a red mist. Do not worry for Do'Karth; he's handled his share of firey women." quickly raising his paws in mock surrender, he added. "This one promises not to lay a hand on Jorwen's daughter. He prefers to keep them where they are. Now, get some sleep, yes? Do'Karth will do the same after some meditation."

Gray metal-ships of Kamalian design lingered like storm clouds over the horizon. Windhelm was anxious, and rightfully so. The invaders would be back. That was indeed the case when night falls; the Kamals have returned for round two, and they want blood.

---

Ten hours past mid noon, Windhelm bid its time under another scarlet sky. Masser and Secunda bled stronger than yesterday. Wolf howls broke out once the darkness fell, but for many, concealing under familiar roofs no longer render a sense safety. Warriors of the city stood their posts on the docks and the walls. Crimson starclouds reminded many of the bloodbath during daytime. If the Kamal ships were not unnerving enough, then the skies certainly would be.

A river away, the Kamals returned in force. Three of the six ships parked parallel to the farms hoisted their anchors, their internal furnaces blazed alive as smoke drove out of their chimneys. Three vessels from the blockade line downstream joined in, and together, six metal-ships made the second landfall. The sound of metal cutting through water drowned out the howls of wolves. Within minutes, familiar shapes of snow demons piled onto the ship decks. The gray armor menacing under the reddish moonlight, a row of shield-totting giants took point, and further rows stood behind them. But just like the initial invasion, the pioneers on the docks were atronachs. Piers seven and eight, defended by a combination of EEC security, the White River Braves, local volunteers, the Dawnguards and twenty-some hired swords led by a venerable Redguard, both witnessed one Kamal vessel approaching. On the main stone berth of pier seven, their first opponents were a pair of colossus frost atronachs.

Two daedric golems emerged as magic brightened the ship's bow and stern. Each of the atronachs were the height of a two-story building. They moved slow and deliberate, taking short steps and crushing as many traps as possible under their ice-made feet. Behind the berth were makeshift wooden barriers. The ranged fighters started slinging projectiles when the atronachs came in range. Arrows and occasionally, spells, pounded daedric ice with little effect. The few fire spells were the only effective options, these made large dents and holes, with some even staggered the atronachs, though nothing halted them for long.

Behind a barrier facing the pier, Ariane felt the amulet from the antique shop beginning to heat up. Strange thing was that she threw no offensive spells thus far. Being a mystic, her repertoire of combat magic was lacking. Both her attempts at draining magicka and banishing fell through. Though in the course of casting, she found her own magicka drain offset by something in the amulet. When she glanced down at object, it was glowing bright cyan under her shawl. The energy was powerful, it made her hair flutter in the currents. Instead of tired, Ariane felt more ebullient than ever.

Control, what if she could do that?

Controlling spawns of Oblivion require expensive magicka expenditure combined with great focus of the mind. But with the amulet feeding vigor into her veins, Ariane straightened herself so her hands came above the barrier and blinding arcane lights flew from her to one atronach. The sheer amount of energy made her eyes glow, her hair stood upright and her robes bellowed around her. Ariane closed her eyes and poured every specks of creatia into the spell, and sure enough, one atronach stopped moving. At that moment, its frosty limbs felt just as Ariane's own.

With a wave of her finger, the atronach swung its arm into the other. The golems grappled on the berth, chunks of ice taken off swing by swing. In the course of several minutes, both entities unraveled in sloughs of ice fragments. Ariane breathed a sigh of relief, her magicka spent and the amulet no longer glowed. Gone was the movement in her hair and clothing. Her own concentration also faded. She fell backwards, unconscious as she either hit the ground or a catching arm.

As most attention were on the atronachs, not a lot of the defenders noticed actual Kamal warriors touching down on the berth. Indeed, only had the snow demons became visible once their ice thralls came apart. The invaders marched in tight line formations. Three rows of troops pressed towards the docks in coordinated synergy. The first line were shield bearers, holding teardrop-shaped shields over two meters tall, each one of these Kamals wore armor more impeccable then their skirmisher comrades earlier. In fact, all of their equipment must weighed down on them so much that the first line could not run, but only briskly walk. A line of spearmen were found behind the shield wall, the sharp tips came out ahead of the shields were made from the same near-unassailable alloy. The third row of Kamals, unlike the first two wearing ponderous bulwarks, were freer moving mages. Clad in brigadine studded with metal and face covered with flat masks, certain Kamal mages held staffs while others kept magic in their palms.

This phalanx proved just as hard to crack as the ice atronachs. Standard steel arrows bounced off shields harmlessly, while the few that managed to find narrow slits were defeated by armor. Like wise, most mage spells were equally ineffective. The shields must have some form of enchantment reducing magical effects, and to add to Windhelm's woes, the mages sprung up blocks of ice to intercept anything the shields could not fend off. Intact caltrops snared some invaders, but it failed to disrupt their formations to significant degrees. When the traps became apparent to the snow demons, their mages started to pave the berth floor ice, allowing their soldiers to safely traverse and no doubt causing reckless Tamrielics to slip.

Situation was looking grim, until Dumhuvud tugged out a reluctant young woman from the warehouse.

Relymna Vibato hid safely during the first battle, and she planned just so for the second one. She was nowhere in sight when the company first arrived in Windhelm. Some saw her delving into the Gray Quarter and then, nothing. The next day, she showed up at the warehouse late in the morning, her clothing was a tattered mess and she smelled like wet dogs. From the scant chatters of the few mercenaries, she apparently decided to quit her contract. But fate was not so kind on the young Dunmer woman. Snow demons came and she ducked. When the battle winded down, Relmyna tried her best to catch Ashav and give him her resignation. To no avail, the commander was busy all throughout the day. Ashav finally had some free time at nightfall, by then, Relmyna was gone again.

Turns out, she curled up in fetal position behind some barrels, inside the warehouse. Had not been Dumhuvud making a run for backup weaponry, Relmyna probably could continue whimpering in her dusty corner. That was not the case though. The Cat-Kicker was his old raging self, he dragged Relmyna by her shirt collar as acidic insults flew with every bit of saliva. But the Dunmer woman heard none of it, she was twitching uncontrollably, ever the more so as she reached the door.

“Please, no, not there!” She begged, shaking with every ounce of strength in her petite body. It looked like she was about to explode.

“Look, you miserable wretch.” Dumhuvud gibed, throwing open the wooden doors and hurling Relmyna on the moonlight stones. “A battle and someone trying to desert.” He hunched down and roughly grabbed Relmyna left arm. “Pier seven, now! Are you listening?!”

“Oh, shit!” Relmyna shrieked. Her attention was not at the invaders, instead, she locked dead on the moons. Her red eyes grew wide, they were perfect miniature copies of Masser and Secunda. Moonlight seeped into her ashen skin. Her weeps were at first sharp and baby-like, but they quickly deepened and turned into savage yowls. “Aah!” She howled, it sounded just like a wolf. The Dunmer girl thrashed, strong enough to send the Cat-Kicker tumbling back. And then, she lost all control.

Relmyna changed, to a werewolf.

A lycan creature bore nearly no semblance to Relymna saved for ragged pieces of her clothing. Boney flesh replaced by rippling muscle, and the werewolf rushed forward faster than a pouncing sabre cat. It appeared to have small degrees of control, as it took care to knock over as few of the defenders as possible. Still, in the seconds it took from the warehouse to pier seven, werewolf Relymna barreled through both human and Kamals alike.

The line inched across the berth far to close for comfort. Kamal mages were now sending ice mixed lightning spells into the barricades. Pieces broke and Skitprat the Salty, one of Dumhuvud's goons, died with a piece of ice in his throat. Shields marched forward undeterred, they were almost upon the defenders when a werewolf crashed into their midst.

The werewolf rampaged through the Kamal lines. Though it had considerable brawn over human, it was no heavyweight compared to Kamals. The advantage was its speed, its ferocity as Kamal line troops were taken by surprise. While the werewolf's claws were sharp and it could tear through leather, the alloys of the snow demons sheltered them well. However, the werewolf disoriented instead of killing the invaders. The shield and spear formation broke, a couple of Kamals were even tossed into the water. Not a lot of reacting attacks connected, even those that did bleed the lycan did nothing to stop its fury. Soon, the Kamals were in shambles. Kills were few but their ranks scattered.

Behind the three lines was one figure in medium skirmisher armor. This Kamal had a bronze disk strapped over its metal plates. The disk emitted blue light. The figure directed others, shouting unintelligible words before the lycan cleared a path and brought it down to the ground. The werewolf readied one set of claws, but an ice shard was driven through its thigh before the Kamal officer kicked it away. Some sort of metal-studded club appeared in the Kamal's hand. Two belligerents stood meters apart, the werewolf let a vicious growl before slamming into its opponent. The Kamal barely held balance, but with a surprising strike, hit the werewolf's head with club pommel. Quick bash followed across the werewolf's shoulder. The head was spared and the lycan, realizing it bit off more than it could chew, scurried away before an ice spell met its furs. It continued its berserk at pier eight.

Gradually, the defenders recovered from the shocking scene before them. The first to not-so-recover his bearings was Felix. He rose the earliest, and seeing individual snow demons disorganized across the pier, vaulted over the broken barricade. To quote a well-known bards' piece; Felix's palms are sweaty, knees weak and arms heavy. But as he tried his best to slap some sense in, or out of himself, he thought; now is not the time to vomit spaghetti.

“I'm going for the big one!” Felix unclasped his axe and charged towards the disk-wearing officer.

“Caileach! Stop!” Ashav warned as loud as his raspy voice could. He tried to hold Felix back but the Imperial bard slipped through his fingers. “Hold up! Stay together!” He barked, no help in turning Felix around.

By strokes of dumb luck, it seemed like Felix found perfect spaces between Kamal soldiers. He was going to catch the Kamal officer on its flank. More defenders now stood and cheered Felix on, with some even going over the barricades themselves. But then, the Imperial came to a complete stop; he was frozen in ice from head to toe in ice. The Kamal officer turned towards Felix, its disk lit up with blue light and its club raised high above its head. Soaring through the air, the club connected, and Felix became a jumble of red ice.

The only sound in the city was the cutting wind. It carried the whimpering of young boys and men at the prospect of battle. There was no respite except for restless sleep and Jorwen couldn’t even get that. He walked the streets alone, wrapped in his cloak with his seax kept pressed to his side. He looked up to see three big men in mail and fur standing in his way, their cloaks billowing in the wind as they stood wordless. It didn’t help at all that their helmets covered their faces. The man in the center was the tallest and the thickest, as big as Jorwen himself. They stood like that, staring at each other for a long set of painful moments. His legs wanted to run away, his arms wanted to draw his weapon, his heart seemed to want to burst from his chest. Then the man in the middle spoke, “You Red-Bear?”

“Aye.” Jorwen wasn’t any more comfortable hearing the man’s voice. It was cold and flat like winter. Reminded him of someone, way back. “How’d you find me?”

“Ain’t hard.” He said. That wasn’t a lot to go on, really. It was true, but it didn’t answer his question. He could tell there was no love here for him, but if they wanted to kill him, they could do it right now.

“True. Why you looking for me?” Jorwen asked, his palms getting slick. He rubbed his fingers against his palm and took a breath, readying himself to run at any moment. Three men against one aren’t good odds at all.

“Someone wants you.” Jorwen frowned and his grip on his seax tightened, only one man had the tastes for introductions like this and he wasn't set on meeting him again. “Alive, though. You know him from way back.”

“Black Sutt wants you to hug me for him, eh?” Jorwen still wasn’t any more comfortable, with Black Sutt, how long he wanted Jorwen alive all depended.

“Black Sutt don’t hug.” That much was true. He’d known the man, fought against him and with him for a time, and he was the most evil shit ever.

“What about you, Mire?” Jorwen asked, casting a glance at Mire’s two men, or Black Sutt’s, anyway. The man just slowly shook his head. “Fair enough. So, what’s to do?”

“We keep you from dying.” Mire shrugged, “Help me help you though, eh.”

“We’ll get along nice then. What about my daughter?” Jorwen asked.

“Black Sutt didn’t say anything about her.” That was both a blessing and a curse. They wouldn’t be throwing themselves on spears for her any time. Not that they’d do Jorwen the kindness, but Sutt was Sutt. “I hear there’s a siege on.”

“Where were you for it? You’re in this city too, should get yourself on the docks and fight for something.” Jorwen frowned at Mire.

“Black Sutt didn’t say anything about Windhelm.” He shrugged as if it was beyond his control, “Just you.”

Jorwen shook his head and growled, “Will you at least stand with me?”

“Long as you’re standing on the walls, I’ll stand right alongside you.” Mire said, no hint that he was trying at humor. Though, he probably wasn’t, knowing Black Sutt and the company he kept.

“Always were a pack of fucking cowards, you lot.” Jorwen hocked something up and spat on the ground.

“Maybe. White-Eye’s a hero, I’m here.” Mire stuck his arms out and let them drop helplessly, “You tell me who’s better off.”

Jorwen drew in a breath to say something but thought better. Just because it held more than a little truth. He sighed and all of him sagged at once as he spoke, “I’ll stand on the walls, then. We’ll at least dump salts and oils on them or some such.”

“Salt?” Mire asked.

“Fire salts, you’d know if you were on the docks.” Jorwen sneered.

“Aye, maybe.” Mire said, “But I’ve got better sense’n that.”

The battle horns and clanging bells were heard as men shouted to move to the walls. The ships were spotted again then, and it was time to get back to work. Jorwen's gut did the familiar flips and cramping as he worked to put the old battle lust in himself. To think there was a time where men reckoned him something worse than Black Sutt when he was in the Reach all those bloody years ago. But nothing good ever came of that, any of it. “To the walls, eh?”

“If you say so,” Mire sniffed and spat something of his own onto the ground, “Chief.”

TACTICAL NUKE INCOMING!!

(Just kidding, it's just @MiddleEarthRoze and I, being a couple of idiots.)

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________

With the rest of the party gone, Sagax was left alone on the docks, staring absent-mindedly at the water lapping on the side of the pier. It was actually quiet, the first semblence of silence since before the first Kamal assault. Eventually jogging his mind back into action, the man decided to make his way back into the city proper, maybe see Sevine or Roze again, whatever he could occupy himself with. Besides, he needed to get out of the way of other mercenaries and guards, as they were busy setting up defenses. Shortly after he went through the gates into the Grey Quarter, he heard the tell-tale signs of another attack coming. Guards yelling and citizens screaming. More Kamal had landed on the docks! Good thing he got out of there when he did, Sagax thought to himself. There were more barricades and traps set throughout the city. If the snow demons breached the gates, they would have no easier time fighting through the forces of Windhelm. Shoddy crate barriers wouldn't keep the Kamal back forever, though, but Sagax was simply not built for direct combat, especially with those giants, so he was at a loss as for what to do. He had to think quickly and get his proposal to Ashav, or gods forbid, Cat-Kicker. Closing his eyes and rubbing his temples feverishly on the corner of the path to the Grey Quarter, Sagax tried to think of anything he might be able to do to help drive back the invaders.

As soon as the cry went up, Roze was running. Not away from the docks, as every survival instinct in her body was telling her to do so, but towards it - she had to help. They were barely prepared for the first attack, let alone a second one. She had lost Leif and Sevine upon leaving the shop with the former - she had instead found a quiet corner to get some rest in. But any remnants of rest was unimaginable right now, with adrenaline running through her body. Hell, Roze hadn't even seen the ships yet, but the mere thought of them returning was enough to make a man - or woman, in her case - go pale.

Running through the Grey Quarter, she skidded to a halt as she saw Sagax, approaching him with a somewhat relieved smile upon her face.

"Sagax! Any idea on what to do? Or where the others are, for that matter?" She asked, slightly out of breath.

Arrows didn't work, and Sagax didn't know how to use a bow anyway. A conventional direct attack on the ships was completely out of the question, and even then...wait, what was that sound? Cocking his head up at the distinctive sound of quick feet tapping on the stone towards him, he saw a pale-faced Roze, quick breaths blowing cold mist into the air. "Ah, Roze! Good timing! I don't know where the others are, no, but I'd assume somewhere on the walls, as I haven't seen Sevine or Leif run past. As for what to do...that's what I'm trying to figure out. People like you and I can't just run up and smack these bastards in the head, now can we? Gotta be smart." Sagax racked his brain for something, anything, that they could use in the upcoming fight. Roze and him, they were quick, very quick, quicker than any one else in the company perhaps. Then he thought back to the Redoubt, how they used special charges to blow open the main gate...could they do something similiar here? Use magic charges to destroy the Kamal ship? It was worth a shot, and it was Roze and Sagax who would have the best chance at slipping past the Kamal.

"Roze, do you know if we have any of those charges left? The kind we used at the Redoubt. I've got an idea, but...I'll understand if you say no...and possibly call me a fucking idiot."

Catching her breath as Sagax spoke, Roze frowned slightly as she thought on his words.

"Charges? I should think so, we didn't seem to use many, from what I saw." She answered, then eyes widening slightly as she realised what he meant to use them for.

"You're thinking we should blow the ships up with them? Running across the ice that could break at any minute, to throw charges on ships that are heavily armoured, and crewed with ice demons that could easily pick us off from a distance? Sagax, you are a fucking idiot." She answered incredulously, but then a wicked grin grew across her face. "But let's do it anyway, you mad bastard."

Fairly similar to Leif's plan back in the shop, it was rife with danger. But still, what else could they do to help? She could pitch in a few arrows that likely wouldn't make a difference. But her sneak, her true forte, made her light and quick on her feet. A perfect person to go running across some ice to lob bombs at enemy ships.

At Roze's response, Sagax could only return a borderline psychotic smile of his own. "Good, very good! That's exactly what I'm thinking! I'm glad you're on board with this. I'd hate to steal all the glory away for myself. Besides, even if we fail..." Sagax shrugged, "we'll be heralded as two of the biggest badasses in the company, and possibly the entirety of Windhelm! Well, even if they wouldn''t want to admit it." Readjusting his hood, Sagax nodded his head towards the docks. "Well, if we have charges, they're probably in the warehouse and that's also where we'll find Ashav and the Cat-Kicker." Making his way towards the gate, he looked back to Roze, holding his arm out in a 'ladies first' pose. "Shall we, partner? Don't want to keep those snowy bastards waiting."

"Hmm... two of the biggest badasses? I think fools will be coined more often, depending on our outcome." She chuckled. "Let's just hope it won't become 'martyrs'." Pulling her hood up like Sagax, she inclined her head jokingly as he held out his arm. "Yes we shall - it's time they had a taste of their own medicine."

It didn't take long for the two to reach the warehouse, even despite all of the others scurrying around like frantic ants, some clutching weapons, others looking more than feverish in anticipation of the coming battle. Upon finding Ashav, Roze allowed Sagax to pitch the plan - it was his idea, after all. And she had the feeling Ashav would take the story better from a man than a small woman like herself.

Finding Ashav, Sagax showed his respect and saluted. Ashav, though, simply stared at him quizzically, as if saying "Well? What is it, runt?"

Clearing his throat, Sagax spoke with as much confidence as he could muster. "Ashav, sir, I have an idea I think you'd want to hear." To this, Ashav simply nodded. "What I'm thinking is that...Roze and I, we could use a charge to disable the Kamal ship. We're small, and fast, so the invaders would have a very hard time hitting us. We could slip past them, and toss the charge onto the top deck." It was silent for a few moments before Sagax spoke again. "So, uh...what do you think, sir?"

Frowning slightly and staring in a contemplative manner, the Redguard looked between Sagax and Roze. "I think you're absolutely insane and possibly idiots. But...." His voice trailed off. Ashav wouldn't turn down a chance to really deal a blow to this enemy, as suicidal as the plan was. He didn't exactly have the utmost confidence in the two, but he thought it better not to let that show. Besides, with the lives the Kamal had taken, it would be great just to see how much they enjoy dying. "It could work, maybe. We still have a few charges, yes. Grab however many you think you will need; they're scattered about in these crates. We'll try to give you a bit of archer fire to draw some attention off of you, but you'd better be as fast as you make yourselves out to be." The heavily-scarred man nodded again and turned away to address another mercenary, discussing battle plans.

Turning to Roze with a grin, Sagax spoke enthusiastically. "Well, we got the go-ahead from the boss himself. Let's get to work, yeah?"

Although not blaming Ashav for his less than enthusiastic look, he seemed happy enough to let them try their plan.

"Huh. I'm surprised he went for it, to be honest." She replied, but offered up an enthused smile to Sagax as the two made their way to the supplies. Strange, to be smiling in a situation as suicidal as this one.

"Okay - I don't think we should take all of them. Just in case things don't go to plan, yeah?" She suggested as they reached the charges. "Maybe one each? And maybe stop for these resist cold potions - if we fall into the water, I doubt it's going to be a refreshing dip."

Nodding in agreement, Sagax fished two charges out of a larger crate, fully primed and ready. In a crate across the room were two potions of resist cold along with some other irrelevant bits and bobs; a few petals of deathblossom, a dragon's tongue flower, things like that. He gave one of each to Roze. "Good idea about the potions...not even our Argonian friends can swim those tides for very long, I doubt we'd get very far without help. So, I'm thinking to get the most out of these charges, we should toss them onto the ship at the same time. Then perhaps we could dive into the water and swim to one of the other piers. What do you think?"

Taking the charges and the potions, Roze looked at the former somewhat dubiously. Hopefully these things would work. To their advantage, at the very least.

"Good idea - I'd preferably avoid the cold water, but it's better than being blasted to death by those bastard Kamal." She responded. Chaos continued within the warehouse, and outside of it. Already they could hear the sounds of battle underway as the first wave attacked the pier.

"Alright - let's do this, before we come to our senses." She muttered grimly, gripping the charge firmly in her hand. "I'm guessing we're to aim at the second wave of ships, before the others are overrun?" She asked as the pair exited the building.

"Yeah. Gonna have to slip right past their commander, or whatever the hell counts as a commander to the Kamal." Exiting the warehouse, Sagax surveyed the field. Kamal had already smashed through some of the barricades, with spears, shields, and sabers. The defense force had already come together, trying their hardest to form a wall across the pier. There was ice all over pier seven, with strange streaks of red strewn across it. He couldn't see Felix. Punching down his gut feeling, he rationalized that Felix was simply hiding somewhere, or perhaps he was obscured amongst the larger bodies of the rest of the mercenaries. Surely the man was not so suicidal as to charge in blindly...then again, that's what Sagax and Roze were doing, so he couldn't exactly judge. He returned his mind to the enclosing bombing run. "Speaking of slipping by...I'm thinking of using that ice patch to my advantage. We could glide right past that center mage and the commander, and run the last stretch. Then we toss the charges, and dive into the water towards pier six." He nodded approvingly to himself, grinning all the while. "A foolproof plan if I do say so myself!

Roze followed the path Sagax had laid out with her eyes, considering it. The ice would give them more speed... if they didn't fall on their asses, that was.

"Foolproof? Don't be jinxing it just yet, my friend. There's more than a few obstacles in our way just yet." She replied somewhat dubiously, then jumping back slightly as something exploded against Pier 7. Flames erupted from where they landed, forcing four of the Kamal away from the entrance to the pier. That left just one mage standing on the ice, between themselves and the ship they were set to bomb.

"Now's our chance! Hopefully everyone up top will keep that Mage's attention away from us." She alerted Sagax, pointing out where the fire had removed the Kamal spearman and shield bearers aside. And so, with their path somewhat clear, the suicidal pair made their way to battle erupting on Pier 7.

At first, it was easy for Roze to avoid conflict. The Kamal were too busy fighting their attackers to even notice the small pair slip by them - but as they reached the barricades and the fire, things got more tricky. Arrows were being volleyed overhead - although the archers up top were doing their job in aiding Sagax and herself, many of their arrows fell to early, one even nicking the side of Roze's neck as it whizzed by - burying itself in the wood much too far away from the Mage.

"Here we go Sagax... don't panic." Roze muttered - although it could be said that this placating murmur was directed more at herself than her Imperial comrade. Uncorking her potion bottle, she downed the resist cold elixir in one go - ironically enough, it felt icy as it settled down in her stomach. And yet, already she felt warmer - the ice beneath her feet no longer seeping into her boots and stabbing her toes with shards of cold.

Heart racing and fingers twitching, Sagax went with Roze to the center barricades. The sudden explosion worked very well in their favor, separating the Kamal, giving the pair a good opportunity to dive in. Archers rained arrows from above, a slight help at the least. He resisted the urge to turn around and scream unkind words at those on the walls when an arrow flew past his thigh, skidding across the ground in front of him. What the hell were they doing up there? Were they drunk or just stupid? He stopped his thoughts for a split second, and dwelled on his sudden anger. It made him so...uncomfortable, being angry. Such a concept was foreign to him, and these were his comrades! He shouldn't be angry with them, of all people, but he couldn't help it. As if he and Roze didn't have enough to deal with, they didn't need the incompetence of those who were supposed to be helping them screwing everything up!

Physically shaking his head clear of such distractions, he eyed the center Kamal mage. Just had to get past him, and then they could toss the charges and get the hell out. But were it so easy.

Suddenly, he heard a popping sound, like someone opening a bottle of wine. Looking over he saw Roze drinking a potion...of course! The potion of resist cold! Sagax hurriedly undid the stopper of his own bottle and drank it in one swig. He cringed slightly at the bitter chill of the brew as it went down his throat. "This crap better work..." he thought to himself after tossing the vial haphazardly. Breathing out slowly, Sagax looked Roze in the eye. "Well...now or never. Ready?" He kept his smile going, the confident facade masking his own gut-wrenching anxiety.

Despite the warmth spreading from her stomach due to the potion, there still lay a chill of fear in Roze's heart. Noticing Sagax's somewhat over confident smile, Roze plastered one on her own pale face. Fear was not a useful emotion right now - not on this stupid-ass mission that she'd volunteered for... for some reason.

"Ready as I'll ever be." She muttered, glancing at the charge in her hand. It had a ten second detonation delay, which would give them plenty of time for them to throw them on the ship, jump in the water, and swim like Hell.

However, the Gods had clearly examined their well thought-out plan, laughed about it, and ripped it to shreds, judging by the way things truly went.

Running forth, both Roze and Sagax didn't have too much of a hard time on the ice - it was no different than the skating she'd done as a child. Well... the Kamal and what was looking to be Death's favourite Tea Party was different, but the ice was somewhat the same. The arrows from behind them continued, some even finally reaching their mark of the Kamal mage... who, despite the arrows, had sadly noticed the pair skating towards him.

Could Kamal feel surprise? Disbelief? If they did, that's what this mage was feeling right now - seeing two small humans heading towards him with naught but harmless swords and bows.

"This is close enough Sagax, throw it!" Roze announced as they got closer to the ship - and the Kamal. Another arrow grazed her side, but her aim rang true as she activated the charge, and threw it straight towards the ship. It soared in the air, and landed with a satisfying thud on the deck of the ship. The Kamal mage now had his full attention on the pair, disregarding arrows completely.

For a moment, all Sagax could hear was the wind and his boots hitting the ground. Nothing else mattered to him; he didn't want anything else to matter to him, he needed to focus. Eyes on the ship, it grew closer and closer...as did that damned mage. Sagax let himself slide across the ice, letting gravity and momentum do most of the work, as he activated his charge. As they pair got to the mage, Sagax heard Roze yell to toss the charges, and he was about to before the Kamal mage decided Sagax needed to chill out. Weaving their hands through the air, the mage summoned a large chunk of ice and lobbed the whole thing at the duo. Sagax had no issue staying clear...or he did until he noticed that the larger chunk had several smaller pieces break off midflight. A sizeable block of ice, about the size of a Nord's fist, crashed into Sagax's left shoulder. The sheer force of the impact knocked Sagax onto his back, leaving him to the mercy of the ice patch as he struck the ground with considerable force and slid the rest of the way to the ship on his backside. Suddenly finding ground with friction, Sagax tumbled across the remainder of the pier. Foolishly trying to use the wounded arm to support himself and get back up, Sagax fell to the ground again. He forced himself to his feet using his other arm, and grunted loudly as his whirled the charge overhead towards the Kamal ship.

Sagax watched his charge soar through the air, and for a moment, pure joy overtook Sagax as it looked like it was about to land perfectly.

A bright flash erupted from the ship; Roze's charge. Then another bright flash...midflight towards the ship. Sagax had primed his charge after Roze set hers, but the blast radius of her charge set off his own. He tried to dive into the water to safety, but just as he did, he felt a sudden searing feeling on his arms and across his chest, as if he had been hit with a white-hot branding iron. The pure force of the explosion sent Sagax flying into the waters of Windhelm, and he hit the surface dazed and blinded, with hardly any feeling at all in his body save for the biting chill of the freezing waters, as if the river itself was trying to stab at him.

Roze would have been unable to aid Sagax without falling herself - thankfully she had avoided the larger bits of ice; only a few small flecks digging in her skin here and there. Thanks to the potion, she barely felt them.

However, the potion did nothing to aid her following the detonation of the charges. Hers exploded right on time, while on the ship; however Sagax's did not go so smoothly. She did not have the same quick reflexes of Sagax, and barely had time throw her arms over her face before the bast wave of the explosion hit them; lifting her from her feet as debris from the ship battered her. Then came a falling motion, and the breath-taking plunge into the sea.

Roze had expected numbness, even calm beneath the waves. But the explosion hadn't finished with them yet - debris launched itself after them, and it took all of Roze's willpower to not cry out in pain beneath the waters as a searing pain pierced her side - throught her blurred vision, she could see something sticking out of her body, but as the blood misted the waters, things were beginning to grow unclear.

Or was it the blood? With a sudden realization ripping through her dazed state, Roze realized that the last thing she needed was to take a nap beneath the waves. It wasn't too good for the lungs, she had heard. But her arms had become lead, and whatever she had been impaled with was quite happy to let her sink to the seabed. She had lost Sagax in the littered waters, and with no sunlight, she had no way of knowing which way was up or down.

The first charge dealt significant damage to the Kamal ship, the second one did not. Because the top deck of Kamal vessels were armored less than its hulls, the explosion created a large gap on the surfaces. Several ship crews were tossed about, a couple rocked back and forth, colliding with one another and knocking a few off balance. One Kamal sailor tumbled overboard, splashing into the waters and plunging down to the riverbed close to Roze and Sagax. Two Kamals near the edge of their ship were expelled onto the berth. The most notable damage would be inside the Kamal ship. After part of the top deck caved in, something started shaking in the ship's bowels and it swayed unsteadily. Foreign shouts carried across the vessel, as fast as the ship docked, it was gone. On the opposing shore, it seemed like Kamal sailors were forced to perform emergency repairs.

For the dual of foolhardy bombers, they would not have the leisure of watching their handiwork. The explosion, stray debris and water movement caused by ship leaving port all made Sagax and Roze struggle to stay afloat. Before the ship completely left port, it imparted souvenirs in the form of ice spikes. Three giant projectiles came out of the crystal holes, one hit water, another struck barricades between piers six and seven, the final missile met the midsection of Windhelm's walls. The first missile created a large wave, carrying Sagax chin first against the stone berth of pier six. Another projectile sent wood pieces hurling into the bay. Fortunately for Roze, a wooden plank floated near enough for her to grab on.

Still seeing white, Sagax drifted numbly along the momentarily-calm waters of the river. The constant stabbing of the cold water, though, eventually woke him from his stupor enough to at least move his head. His ears rang and his head felt like it was splitting apart; in general, he felt like absolute shit, as some Nord friends would probably describe themselves if they were in such a situation. Looking around for Roze, he saw no sign of the rogue. Unfortunately, he had no time to go and search for the woman, as the Kamal ship was already taking off, shoving debris in every way in its wake. It did not leave without parting gifts though, oh no, that would have been far too simple. Three pillars of ice erupted from the portholes of the chugging vessel. The only one Sagax cared about in that moment was the spike making its way through the air...right towards him. While the glacial chunk didn't hit Sagax directly, he was near enough to the impact zone to feel the effect of its landing. A large wave caught the Imperial, carrying him along shortly before oh-so-kindly slamming his face into pier six. While he was dazed before, now he was completely unconscious, everything fading to black shortly after the man began feeling a very worrysome pain in his jaw. He, once again, floated unmoving in the waters of the pier.

Hey, at least that went according to plan; he got to pier six.

Attempting to focus beneath the water, Roze was able to see the flickering of fire shimmering above her - so that way was definitely up. The silhouette of a wooden plank - large enough to carry her weight - bobbed above, and pushing her screaming limbs to work, made her way to the surface.

The first breath of air was both euphoric and agonising - the relief undeniable, but the cold air sending ice down into her lungs. That's what it felt like, anyhow. The sudden noise and light was an assault on her senses - despite the debris, it had been calm beneath the waters. Suddenly all she could hear was the battle raging all around her, lights putting spots in her eyes, and her pain increasing tenfold as her senses rushed back to her.

Looking around, she felt a spark of fear upon not finding Sagax at first. This fear increased further as she did spot him - but unmoving, head in the water by Pier 6.

"Gods no... please. Not another death..."

Paddling towards him desperatly, Roze pulled Sagax onto his back so he floated on the water. Blood poured from a wound in his head, and his lips had turned blue - she couldn't tell if he was breathing or not.

Quelling a spasm of agony, and attempting to ignore her pain, Roze hooked an arm around Sagax's body, using her other to head for dry land. Thankfully, he wasn't too heavy - but the swim was hardly an easy one. Especially without aid.

At pier six's edge, a pair of Nord warriors spotted Sagax and Roze. One of them casted a rope, and pulled the two in once they grabbed onto it. Sagax was taken out of the water first, he was hoisted by two giant hands on his torso. Roze, on the contrary, was pulled out by her arm. Her equipment soaked heavy with water, countered the upward force every bit of the way. Eventually, the Nord got her on dry land. But during the process, Roze's shoulders became unwilling fulcrums. Her injured shoulder from the redoubt battle torn open again, that very arm popped out of its socket and the muscle surronding it twisted in all kinds of painful knots. In the process of panic (or fainting, in Sagax's case), they failed to see a Kamal charging in with sabre raised high.

"Get the boy away!" One Nord shouted. He put his sword en garde. "I'll keep the giant busy!" Seconds later, Sagax was barely distant to the occurance of a horrible decapitation. Blood sputtered from the Nord's neck onto Roze's face, she first felt the detached head flying into her own, and then layers of blood caked on her eyes, effectively blinding her for the short term. Though in her dazed state, Roze was not perceived a threat to the Kamal, who chose to fight the second Nord dragging Sagax. For Roze, she was momentarily ignored, and it might be a wise idea for her to do something about an unmoving Imperial man.

Despite her bravado in keeping her pain out of the way, as soon as she felt the sickening 'pop' of her shoulder, Roze screamed as excruciating pain exploded throughout her body. Things happened far too fast after that.

The Nord holding her upright bellowed something, and all of a sudden there was a Kamal, and the world became red. For one awful second, Roze believed the Kamal had struck her, and these were her dying moments. But the thing to hit her had been the head of her saviour, and his blood covered her as she and his body fell to the floor. Wiping the blood from her eyes, the first thing to be seen was the death grimace of the Nord's head, laying on it's side directly in front of her. The eyes hadn't even glazed over yet, fury and fear still evident in the dead man's expression. It was as if he hadn't realized his death just yet.

Blinking sluggishly, the world seemed to slow down. Noises were muffled, as if she had just submerged her head in water once again. Blood continued to drip from her head, but she had no way of knowing if it was hers or the Nord's, who's still eyes were still fixed on her. Still looking down, she noticed what was causing sharp waves of pain to emanate from her side. A splinter of wood, about the length of arm, sticking into her side, running all the way through her from front to back.

"Oh, look. I've been impaled."

Tilting her head back up numbly, Roze noticed the Kamal was not, in fact, intending to decapitate her as well. In fact, it was heading straight towards the other Nord, and a still very unconcious (Or dead, for all she knew) Sagax. But was she going to allow this thing to step all over her friend, dead or alive?

Nope.

Struggling to her feet, (Which of course, just made all of her nerve endings punish her mercilessly) Roze headed down the dock, keeping low. Partially because it hurt too much to stand straight, but nobody needed to know that. As the Kamal reached the Nord, he swiftly dropped Sagax - in a rather ungraceful manner, and probably not doing any favours for his head wound at that - and began his struggle with the Ice Demon. Roze didn't expect the man to survive without aid, but she was in no position to give it. Instead she grabbed Sagax by the collar with her uninjured hand, and began dragging him the rest of the way off the pier. Now out of the water, and with more injuries, it was far harder to move him - not only were they both waterlogged, but the battle still raged on around them, and she was losing a lot of blood, pretty fast.

"By the Nine Sagax... did you have rocks for breakfast?" Roze muttered under her breath, a quiet bubble of delirious laughter escaping her lips.

What an odd sensation, thought Sagax, as he felt himself floating along an unknown path. At one point he weakly opened his eyes, the sudden light blinding him. Was he being carried away to the afterlife by an angel? Hm, this was quite the burly angel, though...and, hey! "What in the world? Did the angel just drop me!?" he thought to himself. The ground felt nice, though, so maybe they were just being nice. It felt so nice in fact, that Sagax closed his eyes again. Everyone needs their beauty sleep, right? Of course they do, people only became beautiful when they slept a lot...no, wait, that didn't make sense. That's not what that saying means...

Such strange thoughts continued to drift in Sagax's mind, as he went along in a half-conscious state. The floating motion began to shift into something much more rough. He heard something skittering across stone, and for some reason he felt really heavy. Well, as heavy as he normally was, as he finally began getting a little feeling back into his body. Wait, HE was making that dragging noise, it was his boots. But he couldn't have been dragging himself, that would be ludicrous! It would have to be another angel, of course! Looking over slowly and opening his eyes enough to see more than the stone he was being dragged across, he saw another angel, much different from before. Yes, they were much more fitting of the title...wait a minute...

That was no angel! It was just Roze! He began to notice the blood all over her, and the piece of wood jutting out of her body. Her mouth moved and, through the ringing bouncing all over in his head, Sagax heard her speak. Something about eating rocks? That would be silly. Oh, wait, she was commenting on his weight; how hard it was to drag him along. Right, that was much more sensible.

Taking in a shaky breath, Sagax worked through the pain in his jaw and responded. "No, no rocks...just a bit of bread, if I'm remembering right..." His voice came out much more raspy than he expected. He was messed up. Bad. "Thanks for dragging my useless ass out of the water." He tried to smile, but he could only curl his lips up in an unconvincing replica of a grin.

Roze could have cried with happiness to see Sagax speak - smile, even. Well... it looked more of a grimace, but he had obviously broken his jaw. All the same, Roze returned a smile herself, laughter not so much delirious now, but relieved.

"Technically I didn't get you out of the water... your fat arse was just too heavy for me." She answered weakly, then glancing up and blinking blearily as further commotion erupted ahead. Something on pier... was it five? Four? She had lost count, but some new monstrosity had appeared upon it, causing men to scream in fear.

Of course Sagax couldn't smile for crap, he just had his jaw broken. Seriously, who could smile with their jaws not properly attached? Still, he had the right idea about smiling. He and Roze were lucky, as the battle roared all around them, everything blew by like ambient noise. On pier five, a giant green humanoid creature with a pair of wings were draining red energy from a pair of Kamals. If the Breton and Imperial had been more lucid, they would hear panicked screams about a "vampire lord". Beside that, arrows whizzed past frequently. A Dawnguard's bolt exploded several meters from meter, and a Kamal exploded following suit. Finally, they came by pier three and the city gates. Coming to meet and greet was none other than Farid.

"Hey pretty," Farid said to Roze. Turning to Sagax, his expression soured. "Hey ugly." The Redguard examined the two, frowning as he saw Sagax's crooked jaw, Roze's embedded splinter and other bleeding or not-so-healthy looking bits.

"What did I miss at pier seven? Must of been quite a show." He mused. For some reason (probably luck), Farid was perfectly fine. Not a bit of him was scratched while men were dead or dying in front of him. Waving to some guards and militia troops by the gates, he called. "Get a healer over here!"

"You miss me, honey?" Farid winked Roze, and also not neglecting to tease Sagax. "Or are you here to see the vampire?"

Although immensely relieved to see Farid, Roze hardly thought that now was the time to start flirting. Sagax had now been left - more comfortably, this time - on the ground, and she herself was on her knees beside him. Hearing Farid's final comment, she looked back at the pier in surprise. Oh... so that's what it was.

"Yes, I'd love to have whatever blood is left inside of me to be sucked out by a vampire." She answered dryly, although still offering up an extremely tired smile to the young Redguard. She was pleased to see he was uninjured - but had she any strength left in her, would have sucker punched him in the side for his comment to Sagax. Like he hadn't been through enough already.

"They better hurry up though... a lot of it has leaked out onto the docks." She added with a tired chuckle, and at that, darkness swallowed Roze. She fell to her side, pale, bloodied, and very unconscious.

Sagax sat tired and drained on the docks, thankfully Roze set him down with much greater care than whoever was carrying him earlier. He simply stared and exhaled slowly at Farid as he "greeted" Sagax. But when he mentioned a vampire, he couldn't help but draw his ire away from the Redguard., By the gods' graces, there it was. Over on another pier, sucking the Kamal dry of life with some kind of magic. "Well I'll be damned...certainly something to write home about..." he muttered. His attention was not divided for long though as he went back to glaring at Farid. Though he was kind enough to call for a healer, Sagax was sure it was actually meant for Roze; Sagax just happened to be in the area. What an asshole.

Looking down to unbuckle his sword, he finally noticed why he felt as though he were being hit by a poker before. Almost the entirety of the right side of his armor and shirt was gone, leaving the tattered remnants of a sleeve and his glove, now singed and leaving several fingers exposed. His hood smelled like burned leather...surprise surprise, and bits were missing, leaving several holes all over. All across his arm and the upper part of his chest reaching slightly up to his neck were burn marks. To say the man was shocked was an understatement. He stared at his wound until he began feeling a warm stream of...something creep down his cheek. A brief dab with his now-bare fingers revealed that it was blood. "Oh, so that's why my head hurts. Makes sense." the Imperial said plainly. Of course the plainness betrayed the pain he felt, but complaining wouldn't solve much. Oddly enough, his main concern was getting a new shirt. It would be indecent of him to walk around without covering up, and besides, it was far too cold for that sort of thing. Windhelm was no Imperial City; there was no warm sun giving way to a cloudless summer day.

Using all of his strength, Sagax got to one knee and plunged the tip of his scabbard into a crack in the stonework. Using his sword as support, he slowly rose to his feet, wheezing with effort and pain, followed by a growling sound. Not a groan of agony, but an angry, hateful growling. He continued to glare at Farid. He was completely unharmed, skin still as smooth as a fucking newborn. What about Felix, though? There was no denying it any more for Sagax, Felix had perished. A simple, good natured bard died to the Kamal, but this uppity cunt was still standing? With not so much as a scratch, at that! The Imperial would have gritted his teeth if he could have gotten his jaw to work right. His anger was suddenly quelled as he noticed that Roze fell onto her side out of the corner of his eye. "Roze! Shit!" Looking up, the guardsmen that Farid waved to were still just standing there. "What the hell are you doing!? Quit standing around and move your asses!" He obviously couldn't shout, as even opening his mouth to speak slightly louder was hell on his jaw. Hopefully they got the message.

The guards got his message, sort of. While Sagax's curses were furious on paper, what came out was actually comical. It sounded like exaggerated speech from a children's puppet show. Nevertheless, the injuries tend to speak for themselves. The gates couldn't be opened for two people, not while dozens of Kamals battled human a staircase and a dock away. While they were settled in a fortified corner near a dock office (where Utu-ja and Orakh was treated earlier), Farid ran off to grab a torch for the healers.

"Try fire." Farid told Sagax. He turned to Roze, but only sighed at the unconscious Breton. "Would be a shame if she dies." The healer said something about stabilizing a wound. Farid shifted the torch around so light shone better in the area. "You know the secret, runner boy?" He bragged, pointing to the torch with his spare hand. "Wave this at them snow demons and they freak out. Trust me, if you can get a good burn on their armor, it'll weaken for you to cut through."

"It's a shame Felix didn't believe me." Farid shrugged. Eyes searching somewhere in the distance, he patted a pouch on his belt. "Dumb bard thinks it's a hoax. Now he lost the bet and owes me ten gold."

The healer started to fix Sagax, restorating aura carefully charged as he asked the battered Imperial to sit down and present his wounds.

"Better do it," Farid jibed. A patronizing smile shown to Sagax, as if he was showing off his intact jaw. "This will make your face more tolerable."

Sagax stood stoicly, gripping the handle of his sword harder and harder with each word that left that stupid bastard's mouth. It wasn't the personal insults, or the patronizing arrogance of Farid's voice. Sagax was not so petty as to be perturbed by such things. It's when he began going on about the bard that Sagax became more and more visibly angry. As visibly as possible with a busted up-jaw and a bleeding head wound. The way Farid tapped his gold pouch, how self-assured he was with his crooked smile. There was no way he didn't know Felix was dead, the grinning cunt. He turned to the healer when they addressed him, and looked between them and Farid. He wanted to just deck the Redguard, it would be so satisfying. His free hand was gripped so tightly that it was beginning to cramp up, clearly every part of his body wanted to bring pain to Farid. He had to calm himself though. "Lady Mara would show mercy. Lady Mara would not act in anger. Lady Mara would not act in hate." He repeated this chant in his head, over and over. It felt like he ran it through a million times before he finally set down his sword and sat on the pier once again. He ran the healer through his injuries; his jaw, the part of his head that was bloodied, and some of the more irksome burns. As an afterthought, the man also motioned toward his left shoulder. It didn't feel like anything was busted, but he wanted to make sure. He completely ignored Farid, and any words would continue to be ignored unless they came from elsewhere. Like not Farid. Anyone but Farid.

Good news for Sagax; Farid decided to shut up for the time being. The healer insisted on no distractions, and despite his ill-mannered treatment of Sagax, Farid still had enough courtesy to let others get the proper treatments. Both Sagax and Roze suffered intense injuries, but with the timely application of restorative spells, healing potions and mundane dressings, they were able to stay in stable conditions. Pieces of arcane ice lingered in Sagax's shoulder, nothing vital was shattered but the remaining fragments were reluctant to melt, due to their magical nature. Blood loss got the better of Roze for now, in the absence of blood transfusion on Tamriel, she would have to recover drop by drop until enough is able to kick start her head again. Meanwhile, the battle on pier three was a success. Guards and White River Braves held their ground. Casualties were lopsided, far more defenders gave their lives in order to force the Kamals' retreat. In the aftermath of the fight, many more wounded piled onto this makeshift clinic. Once their urgent bleeding have been sealed and disjointed fractures splinted, the pair of mad bombers saw their healer away with fresh patients. In conclusion, Sagax and Roze would be hurting for days, if not weeks, to come.

Somewhere near four o’clock, she headed back towards the docks, to see if she could be of any help. Upon arrival, she found work scattering traps across the cobblestone, assisting the others that assisted in setting up a line of defense for the anticipated return of the Kamal. An hour passed before there were no more traps to set, and she excused herself to go in search of Leif, as she hadn’t seen him since he left her side to seek answers from the bizarre, Dunmer shopkeeper. Her body ached from the worrisome sleep she had, dreams of bloodied cries, and a lonely Sevine wandering through darkness save for mysterious red clouds that blocked a full moon haunted her.Passing through the gate, Sevine discovered Leif coming down the pathway towards her. A broad grin spread across the Nord man’s face as the two locked eyes. He maneuvered through the thickening bodies of reinforcements preparing for battle, and made his way over to Sevine.

“There you are! I’ve been looking for you. I checked the inn, and the keep said you had left hours ago. I figured you would be down here.” Leif chuckled as he slapped the huntress across the shoulder, pulling her into a quick embrace before releasing her.

“Well, what did you learn?” She asked, peering into his eyes, with her hands firmly planted on her hips when he pulled away from her.

“Apparently, like we heard before, these creatures are called Kamal. In easier terms, they’re snow demons. The old Dunmer told us that these Kamal, come from Akavir.”

“Akavir?” She sounded bewildered, the fact that these Kamal had travelled all the way from the land of Akavir to lay siege, and possibly destroy Windhelm unsettled her nerves.

“Yes, but let me finish Sevine. So these Kamal, they’ve come to Windhelm before.”

“When?”

“Sometime during the Second Era. However, there was talk of a spell, that flooded the river here, that drowned the Kamal, if I heard right.”

“No wonder, with their heavy armor, they would have sunk straight to the bottom. Was there any mention about the ships?”

“Not that I heard. Who is our quartermaster? Some Breton woman was asking if she still had charges?”

“Ah… That would be Edith, we’re old friends from Falkreath. She’s with the company. When we were in the redoubt, I suppose she took some charges to blow up a back entrance so we could come in through two sides. I think she should have a few left. Did this Dunmer say if the Kamal have any weaknesses?”

“Yes… and no. They’re clearly weak to fire, however, our problem is that the Kamal, have more than the warriors that breached the docks earlier today. They also have mages, and warriors with heavier armor.”

“They have fucking mages?” Her eyes lit up in horror, the idea that the snow demons had mages worried her considerably.

“Aye. So, I had a plan. But now that I can see the bay here, it’s frozen over, so it might not work like I had planned.”

“And what did you have planned, Leif?” Sevine crossed her arms over her chest, cocking an eyebrow, as she was none too pleased at the thought of Leif risking his life for some foolish adventure.

“I was planning on swimming through the water, and planting the charges on the hulls of their ships, but seeing as how that,” He swept his arm towards the frozen water, “is frozen, I don’t think I’ll be able to do that. They could easily shoot me down with their ice shards, and a frozen Leif, I do not want to be.”

“It’s a stupid idea anyways.” Sevine grumbled, none too happy at the thought of losing her friend to the Kamal. “So, is there any way we can sink their ships?”

“Yeah, the Dunmer was saying that we could fire some type of missile into their portholes, where the ice shards are launched from, that would do some considerable damage.”

“Hmm. Let’s see what we can find, I think that if these blasted beings try us again, fire is going to be on our side this time around.” She said as she pulled Leif up the stairwell to the top of the ramparts.

When they reached the top, Sevine began looking over the preparations the guards had assembled. There were plenty of arrows, and potted jars, when she opened the lid, she identified the liquid as oil with a sniff of her nose. Grinning, a plan in her mind began to form.

“Leif, do you have any goat stomach?”

“Uh…what?” He was caught off guard by the peculiar question she asked him. What could she possibly want with the stomach of a goat at a time like this?

“I need a stomach, or a kidney.”

“What for?”

“I’m going to make a slingshot, well bigger than a slingshot per se, but it’ll work just like one. And find me some twine, and some wooden posts. Oh! Go to the inn, and ask for all of their empty bottles, bring those too.” She ordered, before shooing him off with the wave of her hand.

While Leif went to his house to look for the items Sevine had requested, she began to assemble a pile of objects that could be launched. Two guards approached the huntress, curious to see what the woman was up to, as she worked in a flurry of motions, running to and fro.

“What are you doing lass?” Asked the first guard. Sevine stopped, and looked up at them, almost as if she were mad for their interuption, but then it dawned on her, that the two guardsmen could be a bigger help to her.

“I’m making an improvised slingshot, I’m actually collecting things that I can use to launch.”

“Why are you doing that?” The other guard spoke up, if anything, he seemed curious as to why a woman like herself bothered with such a contraption.

“Because those damned Kamal, don’t like fire. I plan on setting shit on fire, and slinging it at them. If I can set one on fire, they’ll be none too happy.”

“Oh… So what do you need?”

“Anything, and everything. Something that can hold oil, or can catch a flame. Care to help?” She asked, kneeling over the pile she had gathered, from twigs, and branches, to strips of canvas. The two guards exchanged uneasy looks before shrugging in agreement.

“Sure, what can we get for you?”

“Empty bottles, anything with a lid, or something that can shatter, bricks, and logs even. Actually, if you can bring up three crates of ale, or mead, that would work even better, as alcohol is quite flammable as well. Bring me twine, and canvas, any type of fabric. Even tundra cotton would work. If you can, find me some potion bottles, go ask Quintus Navale if he has any to spare, and tell him what I’m up to. I’m sure he’ll help.” Sevine instructed, shortly after, the two guards went to go in search of the items they were tasked to find.

---

Following the leaving of his newly found friends, Rhasha retreated back upstairs, peeking inside Sylvanis' room to see if she had actually drank herself into an early grave this time - from her snoring, he judged not, thankfully. Upon rolling his friend onto her side - she deserved a death far more noble than choking on vomit - he returned to his own bed, curling up on the thin mattress in the hopes of getting a few hours of sleep before things became bad again.

And with the moons are bloody as they had been last night, Rhasha'Dar had no doubt that things were not going to get better.

---

---

As it happened, Rhasha was quite correct. Not that he was happy about it, but all the same, correct.

After a few hours of restless sleep, tossing and turning, he was fully awoken by the howls of wolves beyond the city gates. They sounded as a regular pack of wolves did - but since his incident a few years ago, the howl of any canine-like creature sent shivers down his back, all the way to the tip of his tail.

Although attempting to fall back asleep, Rhasha found himself simply too perturbed to find sleep again.

"Typical of me to avoid sleep now... this will be the comfiest bed this one will sleep in for a good few weeks, I think." He chided himself silently as he exited his room - taking time to glance inside Sylvanis' room adjacaent to find it empty. As he figured, the road was not going to be a comfortable one. At the very least with the Caravan he had a tent which he shared with his siblings - the combined warmth of them all, the protection of the tent, and the various heaps of blankets and rugs was enough to make the nights comfortable, even out in the elements. Now, he had but a bedroll with him.

"Hmm... at least this one has fur. Poor Men and Mer folk don't know what they're missing." Chuckling lightly to his thought as he left the building, Rhasha made his way back to the walls. Even from the Hall, he could hear the sounds of the people working there - either making hasty repairs to whatever was left of the broken piers, or putting traps down in preparation for the next attack... if there was one.

Unsure as to where Sylvanis had disappeared too (Although knowing for damn sure she'd be somewhere close to the ground), Rhasha ascended the stone steps of the walls, hoping to see her from above. Or, any of his newly found friends from last night, as it had happened. A few guards nad mercenaries walked by his way, but didn't even pay heed to him - a strange thing, in a town like Windhelm. If a Nord walked by a cat, they usually did something insulting or patronising... however, it seemed these Kamal had finally shook the stoic Nords enough for them to forget their petty racism.

At least for now, that is.

By the time Leif had returned with the items Sevine had requested, extra linens, and even the stomach of a goat that he found in his house, which he was quite surprised he even had, he had taken the time to boil lard in the cauldron that hung over the stone hearth in his home, bringing the elasticity back into the skin that Sevine required. His steps were light, and quick as he traversed the stone stairs to the ramparts, and spotted two other guards next to Sevine. From the looks of it, she had enlisted their help as well, for now he counted more than five crates of liquor bottles stationed around her. Some were empty, and some were full. There were also swaths of canvas, and other types of flammable materials like cotton, linens, empty flour sacks, a couple spools of twine, even a few potion bottles, some empty, and some with a curious red liquid inside, as well as bricks, and logs that had been cut into smaller, more manageable pieces. As he set the items down next to Sevine, he nudged her boot, drawing her attention to him. When her eyes landed on the goat stomach, her eyes lit up with excitement, and a sparkle of relief, there was nothing more satisfying to Leif, than seeing Sevine happy. He knew that she was a smart woman, especially when it came to battle tactics, as she had devised some crafty plans before during the war.

“You actually have a stomach?” She extended her hands out to him to receive the thin, oiled piece of stomach. Her eyes swept over the stomach, and examined it for any tears, of which she found none.

“Yeah, I wasn’t expecting to find anything really. This is left over from a stew I made a week before you got here. I soaked it in some lard, and I think it’s got the quality you were looking for, right?” Leif asked her, a triumphant smile on his face. She nodded vigourously, her head bobbing like a floating piece of wood on water in choppy waves.

“Aye, this will do just fine.”

“So what do you need now?”

“Help me rig up a post to fling these bombs from.” Sevine said as she indicated to the two broomstick handles the guards had brought her as well.

She passed one handle to Leif, and retrieved her dagger from her hip, where she cut the stomach open, widening it into one piece. She pinched the corner of the stomach together while Leif held the post upright, and reached for a spool of twine. Then, Sevine began wrapping the twine around the makeshift post, while holding the stomach in place. She spoke not a word until the stomach was secured, even pulling on it to make certain it wouldn’t slip out of place. She then moved onto the next post, and repeated the task, until the other side was secured. Now that she had the stomach secured to both ends of the posts, Sevine now needed to find a place to keep it upright. Her eyes swept over the ground, looking for anything that would keep the posts in place without moving it. She considered using the bricks, but that wouldn’t suffice. Her gaze landed on the logs that the guards had brought to her, and found that they had brought her two, lengthy wooden planks, each roughly the length of her leg, from hip to foot. She set the makeshift sling aside, and set about drilling a hole in the planks.

Her brow was slick with sweat, and the occasional bead rolled down, and stung her in the eye. When Leif, and her had finished drilling holes into the planks, she looked up just in time to see Rhasha’Dar from the inn, it was hard not to spot the Khajiit amongst the others on the walls, for he towered over them, and he was even easier to spot with his pointed cat ears. A grin erupted on her face, as she called out to Rhasha, the fond memory of his soft fur still prevalent in her mind. He didn't seem like such a bad cat, and didn't deserve the reputation that the other citizens of Windhelm bestowed upon his people.

“Rhasha! Would you care to help me?” She shouted, waving her hand in the air to draw his attention to her. A confused frown emerged on Leif’s face when he realized who Sevine had addressed. A Khajiit? Of all people? Well, more like of all beasts in this sense…

“You know this cat?” He asked.

“Aye, that’s Rhasha’Dar. I met him at the inn earlier today when the battle broke, he’s actually with the company.” Sevine answered without catching the dark glower coming from Leif.

“Oh great.” He mumbled the words quietly between a long sigh.

Leif wasn’t racist in any way, shape, or form, but he did have a suspicion of Khajiits, and didn’t trust them, especially when it came to exchanging wares with them. During the war, when Sevine had traded often with the Khajiit caravans that travelled across Skyrim, he had always felt that they had over-priced their items, and was only reluctant to buy anything from them when he absolutely needed to. Regardless, since Rhasha’Dar was with their company, he might as well give the poor cat a chance. But Talos forbid if the Khajiit had wandering paws, and claimed anything that didn’t belong to him, well, he might be missing a paw when he woke up.

---

"There's a lot of dead men down there." Mire said, peering over the stone ramparts at the crowd below. He shook his head like he was looking at a group of children going about something all wrong. Jorwen was starting to think the same way, knowing what he knew from being on the docks yesterday. There'd be a lot of dead men by sunrise, no mistake about it, and contrary to the stories and deeds of his past, Jorwen didn't earn a name by charging headlong into every fight. "This what you did yesterday? Just sat and waited patiently?"

"Aye." Jorwen frowned down, "Can't say I'd have the stomach to do it again. Fighting men's one thing, these are another."

Mire had a laugh like a crow softly cawing at that, "Think you folk might've learned your lesson. 'Specially for mercenary work, you can't get paid if you're dead. Ain't any amount of gold or women can get me to do something I don't want to."

"Aye, sure." Jorwen shrugged, "But dying rich is still dying."

"Better'n dying poor." Jorwen couldn't find anything to say to that. Maybe because it had a bit of truth to it and it gave him a little worry to think how much he was agreeing with Sutt and his boys. "How long they been paying you?"

"Couple months now. Shit pay, but I can't say I had a fucking palace when I was a tailor either." He shrugged and sat with his back resting against the battlements. Good strong stone between him and those things felt far safer than a circle of wood and rawhide. "It's what it is."

"Always reckoned a man should stick to what he's good at." He cast an accusing eye Jorwen's way, or maybe he just thought it was accusing, "You don't mend many shirts in a war. We all know Ulfric didn't want you around because his cloak needed stitching."

Jorwen felt heat on his face and his hands bunch themselves into fists as he stood, "What do you know about me, farmer-boy?" He snarled in Mire's face, but it was as flat and cold as always. A thin-lipped smile twitched at the corners of the Mire's lips.

"Man's got to be what he is." And he looked away like Jorwen wasn't even there. Jorwen cleared his throat and went back to sitting. He snorted something into his face and spat, seeing Sevine rushing about. He cocked a brow and watched her for a bit before he heard Mire's voice, "Pretty one, ain't she."

"You step one inch out of line and I'll kill you, Mire." Jorwen growled as he got to standing. "Or she will, more like."

"Who's she?" Mire asked, a smile across his face that was as revolting as it would be sly on anyone else. "You, uh..." And he gave a small thrust of his hips. Jorwen dug his fingernails into his palm and took in a breath, slow.

"She's a friend. Wife'd have my cock on a pike if I was doing that to anyone but herself. But her?" He nodded Sevine's way, "She's the Wolf-Tooth, the Huntress. From the war. She served a different Chief than me, but we saw each other a couple times."

"Skyrim's a small place for warriors with names. Stone-Fist, Black Sutt, Red-Bear, all you old shits care a lot for names and the old ways." Mire shrugged, "That's the Wolf-Tooth there, won't touch her, Chief. Sort of funny, though, don't hardly miss it til' it's there in front of you, eh?"

"Just shut the fuck up, Mire." Jorwen waved at Sevine and nodded, walking over and feeling the shadow of Mire and his men watching him, but as far as he could tell, they'd disappeared in the crowd as well as Cleftjaw could. But he felt their eyes and looked for them until he was next to Sevine, "What's to do, Wolf-Tooth?"

Honestly speaking, Keegan was ready to book it the moment he saw Kamal ships sailing up the White River. Sailing, wait, it seemed like they had internal propulsion that didn't even require sails. The chimneys on these corvette-sized vessels emitted smoke, and that in turn meant heat was generated from the inside. In his brief encounter with the dwarven ruin, and the research that accompanied it, similar steam-powered engines were constructed by the Dwemer. Knowing the possiblity of such ancient and advanced techology being commonplace with the enemies, Keegan was only made more determined to run as far as he could. Unfortunately for him and other cowards, their moments of realization happened after Windhelm was blockaded. Keegan cursed himself for staying too long with Ashav. Why did he have to be so greedy? First "easy money" in the Reach, now "routine assignment" turned siege in a bleak Nordic city. As if being stumped over by debt enforcers wasn't bad enough (his face still bruised from the beating yesterday), now there's an army of eastern armor-trolls while the Dragonborn engrosses himself in his military adventure. Whoever told him mercenary works are a breeze can have a talk with his staff.

Nevertheless, it's now much logical to fight than to run. With that said, Keegan knew his place was not on the frontlines. Being on the docks during the first wave was terrifying to say the least. He couldn't quite wrap his head around those who fought blade to blade with the giants. He couldn't, and he didn't do that, thankfully, and it certainly paid off by staying alive. Keegan figured sitting high on the ramparts gives him just the right distance, one that was far enough to avoid decapitation and near enough to provide supporting spells. The downside was hearing unending insults from the guards; Nords (what a surprise). Compared to before, some of these brutes were humbled by the larger brutes. Still, there were no shortage of "knife-ear" and "piss-skin". He kept his head down and restrained himself from throwing back anything venomous, Auriel knows which one would prompt an encouraged descent down the walls. So it was a bit more welcoming for Keegan to see Jorwen and two more Nords crafting some sort of object. Jorwen was an decent fellow, their short chat in the Reach was pleasant. The other two Keegan was unsure about, but assuming they were in the company, dealing with comrade trumped dealing with strangers.

"Jorwen." Keegan acknowledged the Red-Bear when he came closer. Turning to the other two, he nodded and looked over their components; guts and planks, not something warlike. "Need any help here?"

Sevine kept her head down as she carried on with her work, if Rhasha came to help or not, it didn't matter, he would come of his own accord, if she knew cats, she assumed they were the same as Khajiits, and couldn't be called like dogs. Her hands fluttered to and fro, grabbing at the empty bottles, tearing strips of canvas away, and securing it in place with a wrap of twine. Leif busied himself by taking the finished products from Sevine, and sat them inside a now empty crate. At the sound of an all too familiar voice, she glanced up from her work, and then glanced again in surprise to see Jorwen standing before her. A gasp escaped from her lips at the giant man.

"I didn't expect to see you up here! But am I glad that you're safe." She said as she rose up from her seated position, dusted off the knees of her trousers, and embraced Jorwen quickly before releasing him, her eyes looked him up and down, making certain that he wasn't missing any limbs. "I didn't see you on the walls before, so I assume that you were in the battle? Where's Solveig? Is she ok?"

Before Jorwen had time to give her an answer, she waved her hands, as if trying to dismiss the question she just asked. Yet, before she could answer, she noticed an Altmer that had come to stand next to Red-Bear. She recalled seeing the Altmer man before, during their travels from the redoubt, so she knew he was with the company. Curiously enough, Leif had stopped in his work, and joined Sevine, he recognized Jorwen, because Sevine had fought with him in battle, as Leif was apart of her company, and had exchanged words with the beast of a man during patrols, though only few, so he doubted that he would remember him, he simply nodded to him in acknowledgement, and to the Altmer as well.

"Yes, we could use all of the help we could get!" She said enthusiastically, before hooking her thumb at Leif, "This is Leif, I'm not sure if you remember him Red-Bear, we served in the war together too, same division. Saved my life countless time, and I his. Anyways, point being, Leif here found out that those damned Kamal's don't like fire all too much. We all saw, and heard about their adverse reaction to the fire salts that you had found down on the docks. So, I was thinking, well more than thinking, as I've already started it, but I made a big-ass slingshot rig, and well... I was kinda hoping to firebomb their asses. I had a few of the guards fetch me some more supplies, and now we've got all sorts of goodies. What we need help with is making the bombs. I've started on that, but as you can see..." Here she swept her hand towards the finished set of bombs, which was few in comparison to the rest of the supplies she had strewn about. "And, the more I look at this rig, the more I've been thinking, that I'm gonna need more than one person to help me with this."

"You see, we're gonna need a person to load the sling with ammunition, possibly to set it on fire as well, two people to hold the sling in place," She pointed to the two wooden planks, "so it doesn't slide about while we're launching, and another to pull the sling back. Mara forbid if we run out of supplies, so we may need someone to run and gather supplies." Sevine then directed her attention to the Altmer, and extended her hand to him.

"I know you're with the company, I've seen you around. The names Sevine. Do you know anything about potions? I had the guards go to Quintus Navale, he works the local apothecary, and he was able to spare us some potion bottles, some empty, some full, and I have no idea what's in them?"

Although pleased to see Sevine beckon to him, Rhasha noticed the glare directed at him by the blond Nord she stood with. The look was not friendly, but hardly an unfamiliar one. Regardless of this, he made his way to Sevine - stopping a few times to give aid to various people, who had yelled for any kind of help to lift loads from the bottom of the wall, or various things like that.

By the time he made it to Sevine, she had been joined by an Altmer, and an absolute bear of a man. He recognised the towering Nord as the one who had aided Solveig earlier... her Father, perhaps?

Overhearing Sevine's final question, Rhasha's ears pricked up slightly. Finally, something he could truly aid with. Peering at the potion bottles before them, it was easy - for him, at least - to pick out which were which.

"The smaller red ones are health potions. These ones, with the rounded bottoms, are weakness to fire poisons. Useful to coat your blades or arrows in them - it'll make the mages jobs much easier." He said to the group. He did notice a few bottles that were empty, but he doubted he had enough time to brew anything other than simple health potions. They'd have a much better use being filled with something more... destructive.

"With these empty ones, you should put oil, or alcohol - anything flammable - in them. Then soak rags with the liquid and place it in the neck. When lit and thrown, they'll make for a very sticky fire the Kamal will not be able to shake off." He suggested, folding his arms across his chest as he considered their options. Yes, they were far more prepared than before - but were they prepared enough?

Deciding that dwelling on this would cause nothing but worry, Rhasha directed a smile towards Sevine.

"This one hopes his advice was helpful." He added.

Not only did Sevine listen closely to Rhasha'Dar, so did Leif. He was surprised that the Khajiit knew his potions, because Leif had to be told what they were, unless he made them himself, but then again, he could only make health potions. Sevine grasped Rhasha's bicep, and patted him with the same hand.

"Thank you, friend." Her hand lingered unknowingly on his bicep, as the touch of his fur delighted her, still as soft as the fur on his ears, if not softer, she almost started to pet him again, but then recalled that Leif, and the others were present, and watching. Can't get carried away like before...

"Do you think, if we portioned out the potion bottles that contain the poison of weakness to fire, it would work the same? Or should we reserve these bottles for when we really need them?" Leif piped up, he didn't deal much with poisons, but since they had so little in their supplies, it would be a good idea to utilize them the best way possible. He figured that since Rhasha was apart of their company now, it didn't hurt to be friendly now. So if they poured a tiny amount of the poison into the empty potion bottles, and perhaps mix it with the alcohol available, it would provide a larger supply of fire bombs.

At Sevine's lingering touch, Rhasha blushed in the face slightly - although, praise be to Azurah, his fur covered up any redness of the cheeks. Clearing his throat slightly as he looked back to Leif, he considered the idea. It was an interesting one, that was to be sure. But could obscure ideas like this be tested out directly in the theatre of war?

"This one would consider attempting it, for it is a genius idea. However... at the risk of ruining the potency of the poison, this one would recommend trying it another time. Or, at the very least, only doing it to a little bit of the poison. Leave some for weapons, yes?" He answered Leif, glad the Nord was speaking to him in a fairly neutral tone.

"Let's try it with at least one bottle, if it doesn't work, then it'll at least be flammable nonetheless." Leif nodded in agreement at Rhasha's wise words, he had to admit, the Khajiit was smarter than he thought, and at least he knew his potions. Potions.

He found the Khajiit tolerable, but his eyes had caught Sevine's wandering hand. Was she about to pet him? He withheld a chuckle, but could only grin at her, and when her eyes met his, she blushed. So she liked cats, eh? It made sense to him, as he recalled the time when their division had holed up in an abandoned farm house somewhere in between Morthal, and Dragonbridge, on their way to Solitude. Sevine found a half-starved farm cat, and gave it a share of her jerky she had with her. She doted on the creature all evening until they departed the following morning, and he had witnessed her eyes full of tears. Later in the next evening, she had confided in him, how much she wished she could have taken the cat home with her.

Taking Sevine's extended hand, Keegan gave it a gentle shake before quickly withdrawing (he heard Nords tend to break others' hands when shaking). The Huntress, someone who Keegan saw prior in the Reach camp, and his Nord man companion, were already proving to be outliers of their race. They were polite, but still looked like meatheads; polite meatheads. Sevine then proceeded to ask him about potions, before Keegan could tell them he didn't know, a Khajiit appeared out of nowhere and responded to the inquiry. Khajiits, Keegan never liked cats. Of course, he wasn't going to kick them like Dumhuvud had. But the mangy texture of their fur, the spit smell from their self-grooming and the worst of all, sharp claws that were equally effective in both hooking out purses and eyeballs. He narrowed his eyes and kept away from this "Rhasha". Though getting too far would mean he would bump into sweaty Nords, so Keegan stood akwardly in his own space between everyone else.

Like Leif, Keegan was surprised to hear Rhasha's alchemical expertise. He nodded when the Khajiit spoke, taking mental notes of the bottles laid out on the ramparts. "I could ignite the projectile." He offered, a small spark cracking in his palm. "I am not much with destruction." He said. "But I persume mechanical launchers would serve us better; longer range and versatile. We should start with the lesser ammunition, to gauge the trajectory before flinging the greaters. I just hope we do not hit our own men." He whispered the last part. Indeed, Keegan had more than a little doubt about their rickety contraption.

"Good idea, we could use all the help we could get. Here I was thinking that we would use torches, but it would be quicker if you could give us a little jump. We'd still use the torches, but we'll save that for the bigger stuff. Yes, if we shoot the lighter projectiles first, we can see how this here doo-jicky will hold up, and what the range is exactly. If it holds up, we'll save the bigger stuff for last." Sevine nodded to Keegan. He seemed smart for an Altmer, that much she could say.

Khajiit. He'd only met a few decent ones and those he could count on one hand and not use all his fingers. Khajiit had constantly tried to kill him in the war down south, A Khajiit gave him the wound that he still coughs because of. All the rest were shifty-eyed and quick-fingered. This one was fine, and he scanned the walls for Do'Karth, hoping he'd decided to stay on the walls and not be found among the dead. Instead, he only caught a glimpse of one of Mire's men before he disappeared again. He shook his head and looked back to what was at hand, a rickety contraption, the Wolf-Tooth locking eyes with this Khajiit and the Nord fellow narrowing his eyes at them. He might not remember anyone named Leif, more than likely because he kept better company than Jorwen, but he knew the look he had in his eyes.

He clapped the man on the shoulder to get him out of his stewing, "A Stormcloak, eh? Being honest, I don't remember the name or the face, but I reckon I'll always remember a Shield-Brother." He nodded to the crates of fire salts and a few fires some of the men had gotten going for big pots of oil. "I don't know about the slingshots, but we've got salts and oil. If the salt touches them, they act like they were set ablaze. Reckon a good cloud of it would slow them down, the oil would play hell with them."

---

Before delving into the remainder of the evening in too much detail, it bears repeating that Utu-ja was not the drinking kind. Faced with his less than impressive conduct, he spent the remainder of the evening trying to drown the alcohol in food and water. The morning brought a stomachache but at least he avoided a hangover. He was also up with the dawn. His frustration was still there but now it was buried beneath determination. He was going to kill them when they came back and he wasn't going to stop at one.

But, first he needed supplies. His overdraw would let him use steel arrows against the ones from before but they weren't very effective. He went to a store that sold hunter's tools and caused a few raised eyebrows. Not many people were asking for heavy hunting blunts with a siege on. Utu had seen powerful blows crush the helmets that those beasts were wearing. He might not be able to do that from a distance but he could at least ring their heads like bells, and these arrows were cheap. He was able to purchase forty of them for very few septims indeed. The shopkeeper said he had been trying to get rid of them for a long time and complained that most of the other arrows had been either purchased by mercenaries or confiscated for use by the soldiers on the walls. There were some damaged arrows in the back room but they weren't useable.

Utu checked the arrows he purchased for damage as he walked the streets. The fletching wasn't perfect but they should still fly straight. It would be wishful thinking to believe that they had already seen the enemy's best. Either that, or the once frozen Argonian had developed a pessimistic streak.

He was going to have to find out who the god of drink was. He had met several fine people last night and he had seen their character thanks to booze. He owed that god a prayer or two. He had met an Argonian of manners and hospitality, a Khajiit who possessed principles and dignity, and a lady of perception and subtlety who had aided him without seeking to shame him. Though, that last had caused his embarrassment, in spite of her subtlety. Utu knew that to be his own fault though. He had also had the good fortune to share company of Sagax, a good hearted person and lucky enough to survive at the redoubt. He may one day call people like them friends, though he had little faith that his luck was strong enough for that. Still, he had people that he wanted to share time with again. For that, they would have to survive.

He busied himself with recovery and preparation in equal measure until evening came.
As the sun began to set, he armed himself and moved to the walls that overlooked pier 7. His misshapen form drew some soft comments from the Nords on the wall but his elven bow and the brooding sky answered them well enough that none grew loud enough to make out. Utu knew that here would be the best place for him. He hadn't seen Daelin since that moment during the battle, just before the only successful part of his desperate and opportunistic little plan landed him in the drink for the second time. But, he had seen enough to know that he would be more useful shooting arrows than dodging rocks.

Besides, here on the walls, he found a gathering of familiar people. And, they were playing with wood and leather and potions. Still, Jorwen was there and he was no fool. The others did not seem mad or foolish either, once he took a closer look. Their discussion sounded worthwhile too, as he approached them along the wall. He missed a lot of the discussion but what he did hear was interesting enough.

"Would that Weakness to Fire poison be better delivered by arrow before the oil?" Utu spoke up without preamble.

He found his attention diverted from Sevine, and Rhasha'Dar when Jorwen clasped a bear-like paw of a hand on his shoulder. Talos be damned, that man had the strength of one too. Nodding at his words he offered him an aloof shrug with a dashing grin, "Aye. I remember you alright. Wouldn't be surprised if you didn't know me, not many do. That lady over there stole a lot of my glory." Here, he offered Jorwen a playful wink, he was only joking of course. "But like I said, I remember you. Hard not to know who you are, what with the beard and all. Sevine often talked about you, guess our divisions ended up occupying the same field on a rare occasion, said you were a beast of a man. Shield-Brothers, that's right. Talos bless us for saving our homeland. Now only if we can keep them," He gestured blindly at the Kamal ships in the bay, "out of here, that would just be fine and dandy with me."

Sevine recognized Utu-ja by the sound of his voice, and smiled at him in a welcoming manner. "Good to see you've kept your head, Utu-ja." She shook her head at his question, "No, not unless you aim for those with little to no armor. I tried yesterday, and it's damned near impossible to aim for a nook or cranny, and actually have it do some damage. It's like sticking a needle in a bear, they won't notice it much. In case you do see those with lighter armor, by all means, try your aim, but the idea is to set them bastards on fire. So by coating it with the poison, and then dipping it in oil, and letting it catch flame, you'd be striking them with double the damage."

---

With all of the ammunition now readily assembled, Sevine sat hunched down along the wall, her eyes looking out at the bay. In the far off distance, the chilling sound of wolves howling prickled the hair on her arms. She could feel it now, the calm before the storm. Leif sat next to Sevine, with his back against the stone wall, his eyes shut in a light slumber. He wanted to have all of his energy ready in case things went south. Then, the distinctive black smoke from the Kamalian ships rose into the air against the bloody night sky. She inhaled sharply, and roused Leif from his nap.

"Leif, wake up. It's time." Sevine whispered, though there was no need to do so, it was more out of habit. She was accustomed to working night patrols from the war, and old habits died hard. His blue eyes snapped open, and with one hand, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and turned around to see three ships enter the bay.

"Damn shit." He muttered quietly, and sat on his knees, hunkering down next to his friend, the two watching in silence, waiting for the scene to unfold. It didn't take long for the Kamal themselves to emerge onto the gunmetal grey decks of their ships, rows after rows of them lined the decks, most carried towering shields.

The first line of attackers to depart from the armored ships were the frost Atronachs, they were horrifyingly tall, as tall as Leif's house to be exact. Sevine gritted her teeth, and called sharply to the others that had offered their help to operate the sling, her voice no louder than a hiss.

"Look sharp! They're here."

A curious scene played out below, as one of the two daedric golems that had disembarked, paused, and swung it's icy arm into the other. They began to battle one another, chunks of glowing ice were scattered across the docks, before nothing remained of them. Her eyes darted around the docks, trying to determine what was the source of their self-suicide attacks. There, she discovered a woman behind one of the barriers, that glowed an eerie blue. It had to be her! But how was she controlling them? It mattered not to Sevine, at least those golems were taken care of. As she watched, Sevine noted a formation of approaching Kamal, the first line being shield-bearers carrying curious, tear-dropped shields. Behind them were a line of spearmen, their pointed spearheads rising upwards into the air like omnious fangs; and behind them, were mages, that much she determined when they made a path of ice, clearing the traps she had helped set earlier that late afternoon.

"Utu, look!" She sidled over to the Argonian, and kept her voice down. It is was best not to draw attention to themselves, not until they made their appearance in battle by unleashing their volley of fiery hell they had assembled. "They have mages in their back line, I think you could take them out. Try your arrows first, and if nothing works, here's a bottle of that poison. Be sure to dip it in some oil. Keegan can help you ignite it." She pressed one of the bottles into Utu-Ja's scaly hand and returned to the wooden sling.

"Jorwen, Leif, hold this in place." She instructed as she grabbed a bottle of ale, filled with alcohol, best to save the ones filled with oil for later.

As her gaze shifted to the battle below, she witnessed something she had never seen before. What. Was. That? Sevine squinted, and realized that her eyes weren't playing tricks on her, instead, she could only stare open mouthed at the unravelling scene below. Watching with astonishment, she watched as a werewolf, yes that's right, a werewolf, emerged from pier seven near the warehouse. Her eyes darted from the mages that began casting brilliant bolts of lightning into the barricades, and back to the werewolf that knocked over humans, and Kamals alike. As the werewolf scrambled across the invaders, they became disoriented, dividing the shield-bearers, and the spear-wielders apart from one another. Luckily, a few Kamal were knocked into the bay, and met their deaths through drowning, thank goodness they had that heavy armor. She watched as the werewolf made its way through the ranks of Kamal warriors to the line of mages, where her eyes caught the sight of a bright, blue ray of light emanating from the chestplate of one of the mages.

"There! That's where we need to strike. Rhasha, can you load the sling?" She asked, looking over her shoulder frantically. If they could keep the Kamal from reforming, they would have a better chance of taking out their mages. Moving to the sling, Sevine grasped the oily goat stomach with both hands, and pulled on it, testing its elasticity before nodding to Rhasha. Leif stood beside her on one of the planks to hold the sling in place, he could only watch the scene below in horror, he hadn't expected the Kamal to return with so many numbers.

Rhasha could not find rest as easily as Leif - the combination of the sacred moons bleeding in the sky; the approaching Ice demons; and the chilling howls of the wolves in the distance was enough to keep his fur up on end. By the time the Kamal landed, he was already buzzing with adrenaline - watching on in amazement with Sevine as the female Mage began controlling one of the Atronachs.

"Amazing... this is a woman with some power." He thought to himself, then frowned slightly. Hmm... not all that power is a good thing - not in the hands of one person. This became apparant as she passed out soon after casting her spell.

And then all thoughts fled Rhasha's mind for a moment, as an uncharacteristic flight of terror took him - upon hearing an awfully too familiar howl.

One of their comrades below had morphed into a Werewolf, and Rhasha became frozen to the spot as he watched. She tore through the crowds, Kamal and men alike, bringing back none too fond memories.

He barely heard Sevine's request, glancing at her after a few delayed moments before taking the missile they intended to launch. Hopefully nobody had noticed his small bout of terror - but his ears were still pinned back in apprehension. For all his fur covered the changes in skin colour the Men and Mer suffered from, his ears and even tail were enough to betray his mood at times.

Utu was quick to grasp his place in this plan and shake off the awe inspired by such a display of power as those atronarchs. Unfortunately, his first clean shot was blocked before he could loose the arrow by a sudden and violent werewolf rampage. It was the first time that Utu had seen so many people fail to suffer injury while standing in a werewolf's path. He almost felt grateful to the cursed beast. But, that moment passed swiftly and his bow returned to its raised position with a steel arrow drawn back past his ear by a good six inches.

The path was clear. The target was occupied with the battleline ahead. For an instant, the wind eased. Utu loosed the shot. It struck just behind the beast's right arm as it turned with its arm raised to cast a spell, plunging into it's side slightly below the armpit. That place had no armor. The arrow bit deep with the added power of Utu's overdraw and the beast-mage missed, sending its spell to shatter uselessly against the wall. It could be a mortal wound but Utu was not sure. It was still standing. But then it began to stagger, struggling for breath. A lung shot. If it had been a man it would have pierced clear through to the heart. It fell to one knee and stopped casting but it would probably take several minutes for that wound to kill it.

It was down and mostly out of the fight. But, if there were fire involved, that wound might have been far more decisive. Utu prepared his next arrow with oil and looked at Keegan as he readied his second overdrawn shot, another mage that was preparing a spell. He spoke to the Altmer calmly, his attention completely absorbed by lining up the shot and holding the overdraw.

"One down but not dead yet. Light."

Sparks began to crack in Keegan's hand as he smothered it as close to Utu-ja's arrow as possible. He moved methodically, carefully not to pierce himself on the arrowhead and injecting poison into his veins. Once the arrow was burning with a sizable flame, one that could withstand the blow of the winds, Keegan left it and nodded to a concentrated Argonian.

"Ready." He told Utu.

However, this lethal projectile failed to hit its mark. Instead of hitting a Kamal mage, the arrow found it buried in a broken piece of barrier directly behind the berth. Wood quickly caught on fire, several Kamal warriors standing near it scattered further apart, opening a lane down the middle. Unfortunately, it also forced defenders behind cover into open engagements.

The retaliation came swiftly, a large spike of ice flew towards Utu and Keegan. Before they could duck, someone already tackled them to the ground, saving the two from a close shave. It was Daelin, who arrived on the ramparts. He gave the two a small grin, before helping them up on their feet. For a short-statured Bosmer, Daelin was uncharacteristically strong.

"Too low," Daelin commented on Utu-ja's shot when they both stood. He lined his own bow down the walls and gestured with an arrow. "You overcompensated for height, try aiming higher."

"Get down!" Yelled Leif, and Sevine in unison as they dropped towards the ground to avoid the impending ice spikes, the ice shards sailed over head, and smashed into the wall behind them. The two comrades exchanged knowing glances, thankful that they hadn't been impaled, or struck in any way. To her surprise, they had the aided support of another member of their company, Daelin, the Bosmer. She knew that he was with the company, but hadn't said much to him asides from a friendly hello, or a nod in acknowledgement. Thankfully, he had tackled the two of them, and prevented them both from suffering the fate of being frozen, or worse. A smile of relief appeared on her face as she turned her attention back to the sling where Rhasha had placed one of the bottles into the stomach of the sling.

Gingerly, and with careful movements, Sevine eased the sling back, still unsure if the sling would even hold under pressure, her eyes scanned the area below, trying to determine where to aim. She decided that the mages would be her best shot; she had noticed too that , until her rear brushed against the ground. Leif caught her gaze, and nodded at her, it seemed that it would hold after all. With a slow sigh, Sevine turned her head to correct her aim. She looked over her shoulder to see one of the guardsmen standing idly by with a torch in hand, watching their group work, when she shouted at him.

"Bring that damned torch over here!" She growled menacingly. He must have been a new fellow, for he jumped at her words, and scurried over to her like a kicked puppy with its tail betwixt its legs. "Light that piece of cloth there."

She had no time for pleasantries, let alone being nice in the face of battle. The strip of canvas that had been pushed down into the neck of the mead bottle caught fire immediately, and with a slight whoosh the flames of the torch took hold. She waited until the flame had taken a firm hold on the canvas, and released the sling. The bottle sailed forth through the air, but she had no time to see where it landed as she fell backwards onto her rear before she called once more to Rhasha in an excited manner. When Sevine released the sling, Leif had his hands planted firmly on broomstick handle that held up his side of the sling, so that it wouldn't slide or move during the launch. His weight alone prevented the wooden plank upon which he sat from moving as well, as he remained in a crouching position. He could have sworn that the fire singed some of his hair when Sevine released the fiery bottle of mead, for the distinct smell of burnt hair filled his nostrils.

"Reload!" Her pulse began to race as the excitement of launching fiery projectiles over the wall filed her with a sense of madness, and a touch of pyromancy. If she could, she would set the whole damned place on fire. Of course, being careful not to take out any of their own.

He looked down on all of it and felt guilty that he wasn't in the thick of it. But what could one man do? Nothing, most likely. Like a devil on his shoulder, Mire congealed out of the shadows of rushing men and his voice dripped out of the myriad yells like poison, "We got salts."

"You fixing to throw them?" Jorwen asked, still looking down.

"Was fixing to sell it. 'Course, no one to sell it to with these things about, eh?"

"Mm. Bring it here, you see that mass, the close one there?" He pointed to one of the formations and Mire nodded, "Dump them there. Spread it like a cloud, make them break."

"Aye, Chief." Mire waved over his two companions, "Temper, Blacktongue! Dump that shit over there."

"Right, right." Brittle said, his smile full of gaps. It was only now Jorwen noticed how ugly and evil his company was. But you don't pick your band, he guessed, no more than you pick your family. Temper brought himself over, hefting the crate full of clay pots filled with the orange salts. Brittle took one and tried to pocket it but Temper grasped the man's wrist in a fist the size of a big rock. He didn't have to speak, his bulging eyes did everything for him and Brittle laughed sheepishly as he put the pot back.

Temper was a big man, and he lobbed the crate hard enough to prove he was a strong man too. The pots broke apart and sent its dust crawling over the ground, the formation forsaking any cohesion and giving the cloud a wide berth, but the things were still able to kill well enough when not in formation. Even so, it was the type of thorn in all of their arses Jorwen wanted to put there. Suddenly, one of the ships exploded so fiercely, Jorwen could feel it in his chest from the distance he was standing. Even Temper was awestruck at its brilliance and the four of them stood, appreciating the destruction.

"Shit." Jorwen said.

When Sevine released the next round of flaming projectiles, and righted herself, she witnessed the explosion down in the bay. She let out a loud whoop in delight, surprised that someone, and quite foolish at that, had managed to blow up one of the Kamal ships. Thankfully, Jorwen had thought quickly, and had one of his men, though Sevine had never seen them before, chuck a clay pot full of fire salts over the walls. It broke into a red cloud of dust, and sent the Kamal scattering as they tried to avoid the toxic dust. Yet, her gaze shifted to something more peculiar down in the bay. Was that a... vampire lord? The beast was hideous in appearance with its green body, and massive wings hovered above the Kamal, as a wave of red energy emanated from their bodies. She knew that typical vampires couldn't fly, or transform like that, so the one in the bay had to be a vampire lord, though she had never seen one until now. She had only heard of tales of these infamous creatures. Her gaze shifted towards Leif, who watched with her now in the same dazed wonderment.

"Are you seeing this?" She asked.

"Aye. At least that thing is helping us. If it turns on us, we'll be in a whole world of hurt." Leif simply shook his head, what an evening this was turning out to be. First a werewolf, then someone managed to explode one of the ships, and now a vampire lord.

It really was too much to ask for the Kamal to take a day off. The defenders waited nervously for the ugly alloy ships to resume their onslaught of Windhelm, sobered with the knowledge of what was to come and the fear of what they didn’t know. The red morning skies earlier in the day hinted at storms later, while the more superstitious murmured about the blood to come. One didn’t have to look past the sufficiently reduced numbers of defenders on the docks compared to yesterday. Do’Karth stood, his posture widened and staff held off to the side, resting on the planks of the dock. He was clad simply in his budi, waist sash flapping lazily in the cool winds. He had decided to eschew the cloak today, despite the cold. He would be moving plenty in the minutes to come.

At least the company was pleasant. Niernen, his dunmer friend from the day prior, stood astride with him, looking about as grim as the others at the dock, her coppery eyes wider than they usually were. The two of them had found common ground in being the vanguard in staving off death the day prior in their efforts to save lives, and now they had agreed that the best way to avoid a repeat of yesterday was to simply keep as many people out of harm’s way as possible. The defenders had to fighter smarter, not harder. And so, playing off each of their strengths and the fact both of them needed space to work, they stood apart from the others with a pair of guards on the flanks in case a more brutal touch was required. Niernen’s ample ability with Destruction magic would be brought into full force against the invaders, relying on Do’Karth’s agility and not insubstantial luck to keep the Kamal distracted and off balance. Even stopping one of those monsters would be an accomplishment, and the khajiit believed in keeping his goals modest, especially when it came to one-sided battles. Garm sat expectantly nearby, no doubt reassuring the dunmer woman that she’d have some protection of Do’Karth failed to keep the Kamal from her.

The khajiit’s free hand clutched his amulet of Mara, staring at the approaching Kamal ships, knowing only minutes remained. “Is Niernen having second thoughts? Do’Karth is glad he is in good companionship, but he professes a certain displeasure at our chances. Do you think your flames will work?”

Niernen frowned and pursed her lips at Do'Karth's question. She knew that the khajiit didn't mean anything by it and wasn't insulting her ability deliberately, but she found her pride was stung regardless. Of course they'll work, you stupid cat, she thought to herself. Her arms were spread, like a meditating monk, and small flames were dancing over her upturned palms. Out loud, she said: "They were... ineffective last time, but I was far away. With you as a distraction I hope I can get a little closer and really make them feel the heat. We'll see."

Watching the ships approach, Garm started growling. Niernen shushed him quietly, reaching down to pet his head with her left hand; the dancing flames extinguished abruptly. "As for yourself, are you confident you can stay out of harm's way? If one of their attacks connects properly, I'm afraid we'll have to send you back elsewhere," she said, smiling at her own joke. She was glad she could still find the willpower to make jokes, but her confidence wasn't boundless. Her right leg was shaking, muscles suffering at the memory of old war-wounds and fearful of what could be coming.

"Fret not, friend. Do'Karth has faith in your abilities. He would not have asked for your assistance if he felt you could not keep him safe." He tapped his quarterstaff against the dock twice. "This one would not use such a weapon if he did not have confidence in his ability to avoid being roasted or crushed, Niernen will see, Do'Karth is very quick. The Snow Demons will have very little consideration for you with this one in their midst." He returned her smile. He noticed her shaking leg and thought of his own, still somewhat tender from the exertions of the day before. Everyone had scars, it would seem. "Fear not, we will keep each other safe, yes? Besides, what better chance will we have to show the Nords how terribly uncreative they are at dealing with their problems." He nodded ahead. "Ah, our friends have arrived. Let's not disappoint."

"Right," Niernen said, clenching her jaw. The Kamal warships were on their final approach to the ends of the docks. The defenders had learned yesterday that the hulls were practically invulnerable without heavy-duty weaponry, so the skies remained clear of a barrage of arrows. Niernen herself reached inside of the essence of her being and drew on her magicka reserves, bringing the flickering flames in the palms of her hands back to life. Her mind was as taut as a bowstring, ready to unleash a horrific firestorm. She suddenly thought of her brother, Narzul, ebony warblade in hand, directing her incendiary wrath. Images of charred Argonian corpses flashed before her eyes. Niernen took a deep, shuddering breath, intensely aware of the devastation she could bring to bear, but she steeled herself with that knowledge. The Kamal were foreign invaders that had come to their shores. This time, she wasn't the aggressor. This was self-defense. During the Dunmeri-Argonian war she'd always been bothered by their position as conquerors and slavers. No such doubt clouded her mind now. Her flames grew larger and the air around Niernen shimmered with heat. She was a Dunmer. This was Tamriel. "Mephala, weave my fate," she whispered. "Boethiah, fuel my wrath. Azura, judge me righteous."

The warships hit the docks and the Kamal had no time to waste; gangplanks were laid and the icebrood warriors and mages stormed out of the hulls, leaping onto the docks with vigor, bellowing things in a foreign language. Drawing breath, Niernen responded in kind, yelling "N'wah! S'wit!" as loud as she dared without overexerting herself. Garm added a ragged howl, shaking his pincered head to and fro. "Let them approach, Do'Karth," Niernen said, her voice low and dangerous. "I want to cook them alive."

The khajiit's hand tucked his amulet back into his budi without hurry, and he watched the enemy disembark, finding his center and letting the world around him go dull as he began a battle meditation, willing himself to become a single instrument that felt neither fear nor apprehension for what was about to come. Limbering his muscles, he began to twirl his staff in a rhythm, moving it in close sweeping motions as if rehearsing the many strikes at his disposal. All the while, his eyes did not leave the Kamal that marched towards him with bestial determination. He did not join Niernen's verbal sparring, instead preferring solstice in the building energy as the demon closed the gap. Sensing it was time, Do'Karth stepped forward to greet his adversary, knowing that he had the range and mobility advantage.

Feinting a step and a strike to the right, the khajiit quickly flipped to the left when the Kamal shifted to meet him, his legs suspended in air as he already was beginning to bring his staff into a downward swing, aimed for the briefly exposed neck. The Kamal wasn't quite quick enough to shift entirely back with the shield, but its weapon managed to deflect the staff, causing it to harmlessly graze upwards. Do'Karth kept the edge of the water in his peripheral vision, knowing the Kamal would be wary to approach or make any wide movements around the edge of the dock. Doubtless they knew exactly how precarious of a position they were in in the vulnerable few minutes they were on the docks. The khajiit was counting on it. Pressing his attack, Do'Karth slipped low on a knee, swinging under the shield to strike the ankle, which connected, and bringing it back around behind his neck to quickly strike for the head, this time catching the shield-wielding beast off guard as it had flinched from the hardwood smashing into the unarmoured joint. The hit was staggering, and the Kamal stumbled briefly before regaining its composure. By then, Do'Karth had already rolled backwards onto his feet with an easy grace and had two feet perched on two of the support beams that held up the dock. The Kamal couldn't charge without risking itself, and the sudden flurry of feints, jabs, and quick swipes aimed at the upper torso and head forced the Kamal to take a cautious approach, holding its shield high.

Its attention was not on the dunmer mage, and its exposed flank was a sign the plan was working. Do'Karth grinned at his foe. "It must be hot inside all of that armour, no? Look at this nice refreshing water, so crisp. Here, let me help you get that helmet off!" He exclaimed, thrusting hard towards the exposed eye socket.

Gods, he's agile, Niernen thought to herself while she watched Do'Karth pivot, leap and strike. The kahjiit embodied everything Niernen had lost to the Argonian poison and she was struck by a pang of envy at his physical supremacy, but she suppressed that feeling quickly. Now was not the time for jealousy. Taking advantage of the opening on the Kamal's flank created by Do'Karth, she maneuvered around their foe's side, Garm and the bodyguards following close behind. The shimmering in the air intensified and fiercely hot flames surged around her hands, accompanied by a horrible, roaring noise. The very oxygen in the air was being consumed by the intensity of the Destruction spell Niernen was preparing. The Dunmer would have loved to just blanket the area in a wall of fire but that wasn't an option, what with Do'Karth jumping around, so it was time for precision strikes. Aiming at the Kamal's flank, Niernen fired off two shots of superheated plasma-fire with the force of a cannonball; the Incinerate spell at its most potent. She whooped in delight when the spells struck exactly where she'd intended and burned right through the outer layer of the Kamal's armor and melted the creature's skin in the cracks between the plates. It howled in agony, but Niernen gave it no respite and she fired off a third shot with the last of her magicka. Incinerate was a very powerful spell but it cost a lot of magicka to cast. The third spell barreled into an already weakened part of the armor on the Kamal's flank and shattered it completely, exposing the creature's ribcage to the air. Residual flames took hold and started eating away at its skin -- the howling turned into screaming.

She hadn't felt this alive in years. Her blood was singing in her veins and and her muscles seemed to rejoice instead of whimper. Even the shaking in her legs had stopped. "I have to restore my magicka, Do'Karth! Keep it up!" Niernen yelled and reached for a vial of potion at her waist, quickly unstopping it with steady fingers, throwing her head back as she swallowed it in one go. Two more vials left.

The world had become an intense wall of flame, and Do'Karth recoiled, leaping back onto the dock and putting some distance between the Kamal and Niernen's fierce assault. The heat was oppressive, and he found himself covering his face with an arm to shield his eyes from the intense light and heat. After the last barrage in the mage's salvo, the khajiit recovered himself and took stock of the situation and was both impressed and somewhat envious of the apparent harm the dunmer had caused; whatever straps had fastened much of the armour of the Kamal had incinerated from the heat, and eventually the alloy had conducted enough of it to cause quite visible surface damage to the Snow Demon. Further confirming the Kamal's rather otherworldly presence, the repugnant stench of its scorched flesh was unlike anything Do'Karth had the misfortune of smelling, his sensitive feline snout recoiling in disgust. He almost felt bad for his quarter staff for what he had to do.

Offering Niernen a wave to acknowledge he heard her, Do'Karth pressed his assault, the staff a flurry of savage blows against the creature's now exposed flank, which it was far too slow to properly react to. When it moved its weapon to cover the boiled-over ribs, Do'Karth struck low at the ankle, and when it bent lower yet to guard against that, he struck for its head, smashing the face plate so hard the Kamal's head recoiled back, filling the air with a sickening crack. The creature was howling in agony, stumbling blindly, and it was clear the fight was beginning to leave it. Once Do'Karth had the Kamal close enough to the edge of the dock, he planted his staff into the dock after a quick run and leaped forward, driving his feet into the chest of the larger fighter while the staff prevented the khajiit from falling. The Kamal stumbled backwards, foot catching the edge of the dock, and slipped into the frigid waters. Do'Karth righted himself, taking a moment to observe the wake with a frown. He had vowed to himself to never kill, but could these things been considered people? The atrocities they committed were unforgivable, and Do'Karth and Niernen had bested the Kamal to save more lives, but it ate at the khajiit that there didn't seem to be another way to stop his foe without resorting to means he knew were likely fatal for the Kamal. Did he really break his oath willingly, even if there were no other choice?

It wasn't the time to ponder that, as more Kamal approached. He hoped Niernen was prepared, because the battle had scarcely begun. As Do'Karth squared off against the next Snow Demon that bared down upon him, a sudden explosion rocked the docks with a deafening blast that made the khajiit have to brace himself against the concussive force. The world seemed to stand still for a moment, save for the icy water that lapped over the tops of the dock as large waves rocked the harbour, and even the Kamal seemed to hesitate in the moment as all eyes were on the damaged ship, a large gaping hole in the side. "By the twin moons..." Do'Karth gasped in stunned disbelief, shaking his head to clear the sudden disorientation. He noticed two figures he immediately recognized as Sagex and Rose fall into the icy water and he felt his chest tighten. What had those fools done? If there was one thing that was decided, it was that the khajiit was tired of seeing his companions die, even if they were little better than strangers. Hissing in anger, his misgivings of his agency in potentially killing one of the Snow Demons was set aside as he rushed into battle to meet his spear-wielding enemy, intent on making the Kamal pay for its role in what had happened.

The bodyguards that flanked Niernen cheered Do'Karth on as he slammed the Kamal into a watery grave with a beautiful pole-vault assisted leaping kick. Niernen was about to say something congratulatory when the concussive force of the explosion snatched her breath away. Her long, dark hair whipped around her face and the world went dark for a split second, after which she felt her knees hitting the dock with a painful thud. Muttering an oath, she was glad for the protection of her padded leather greaves or she would have surely torn open the skin of her kneecaps on the rough wooden pier. Garm growled aggressively, body low to the ground, his pincers snapping shut repeatedly. One of the Nord bodyguards helped Niernen back to her feet, swearing colorfully himself, and the Dunmer woman tucked her hair back behind her ears. She stared at the destruction with wide eyes. Some of the Kamal had been blown out of the ship into the water by the explosion, which was good news, but she also spotted a distinctly Tamrielian body floating in the water. Hell, she recognized that man -- it was the Imperial from the day before. She'd seen him down on the docks when she was providing fire support from up on the walls. Niernen's brow furrowed and she shook her head, preparing another flaming onslaught as she did. The Nord bodyguards wisely backed away a few feet and kept their distance.

She held her arms loosely by her side, palms upturned and flames dancing over them, while she stalked closer to their newest foe, a spear-wielding Kamal. Do'Karth had already approached and she could hear the cat-warrior hiss in anger, a sentiment she shared. Senseless, she thought to herself. This is all senseless. She raised her arms and put her hands together, like an artisan molding a clay pot, and poured magicka from both of her hands into a single spell. An unstable ball of fire started forming, sizzling and hissing like a furious animal and it seemed so hot and bright that the very air itself might catch fire around it. "Give me an opening," she said, her voice low and steady. It took great concentration to maintain the spell. "I'm going to blast this thing straight back to Akavir."

The spear posed a great threat to Do'Karth, who suddenly found his advantage in reach overcast by the much larger weapon, scaled up to match the Kamal's massive frame. Even its blade was almost as wide as the khajiit's arm, and the blade was long enough to piece through his chest and out the back. Unencombered by a heavy shield, the Kamal was much swifter, and it wasted no time putting Do'Karth on the defense with a series of swift and calculated thrusts, which Do'Karth either managed to avoid or deflect with his staff by striking against the shaft with his own weapon, causing a staccato of wooden thunks that wouldn't have sounded out of place in a training field with practice weapons. He realized his only hope of doing anything against this foe was to get within the Kamal's reach, where the blade's thread was neutralized. Deftly side stepping a thrust, which passed by his head close enough for the khajiit to hear the faint whistle of the blade cutting through the air, Do'Karth stepped in with both hands clutched firmly on the staff as he drove it up towards the Kamal's throat. The beast was quick, however, and Do'Karth suddenly felt the side of the spear smash into his side, throwing him off balance and skidding across the dock for several meters.

Not having much time to react, Do'Karth scrambled to bring his staff above his head to block the sudden spear thrust that was aimed for his heart, catching the quillion behind the blade with the length of his staff and struggling with both hands to keep the blade from burying itself in his chest. The khajiit gritted his teeth, his arms straining under the intense effort and finding that he was losing ground, with the blade being driven steadily closer to his chest. The strain was enough that he didn't, and couldn't, call for Niernen for help. It was all he could do to hope she would not hesitate to do what was necessary. As if to emphasize Do'Karth's peril, the shaft of a flaming arrow hit the dock just shy of his head. Wonderful, Do'Karth will either die by this Demon or his friends on the walls. he thought as his elbows began to bend under the strain.

There was something infinitely poetic about the dance of death between Do'Karth and the Kamal, like the ancient tale of Pelinal Whitestrake facing off against Umaril the Unfeathered. If the skalds were here to see this, they would sing about Do'Karth for generations to come, Niernen thought to herself. Her breath caught in her throat when the Kamal seemed to get the upper hand and forced Do'Karth into an extremely defensive position, resisting the Snow Demon with nothing more than the strength of his arms. He didn't call for help but Niernen could see that Do'Karth was about to lose this contest of might and be disemboweled. Pouring every last drop of magicka into the spell she'd been forming between her hands, fueled by wrath, fear and righteous retribution, she cast it and the world went white.

Accompanied by a horrifying, screaming noise, the spell snaked its way through the air towards the Kamal at blistering speed. It was fire, but almost unrecognizable; too bright to have a color. The air around them became so torrid that arcs of static lightning sparked off of every surface. It missed Do'Karth by inches, roaring past his right shoulder (possibly singing the outer layer of his fur coat), and hammered into the Kamal with the force of a laguna blade. The spell detonated violently on impact, showering the area behind the Kamal with gouts of liquid fire that caught hold onto the wooden docks and sparked tongues of flame that reached almost a dozen feet into the sky before fizzling out. In fact, the intensity of the spell's release was such that Niernen herself was forced backwards and almost fell down.

During its brief, hypernovaic existence, the spell consumed so much oxygen that a significant vacuum had to be filled. Niernen could feel her teeth ache when it seemed like the world itself slammed slut with a sickening crack. For a few seconds she couldn't see anything, the afterimages of the spell burned into her retinas, but the sound of enormous flames and boiling flesh was unmistakable. Fear struck her. The spell had been unstable, unwise and possibly out of her reach. What if she had killed the Kahjiit? "Do'Karth! Are you alright? Please be alive!" she yelled, her voice hoarse. Enormous fatigue struck Niernen and for the second time that day she fell to her knees, head swimming. "Please..." she whispered as her sight returned to her.

The Kamal was immolated from head to toe. Its spear had disappeared, flung uselessly into the icy waters. As the flames covering it died out, Niernen could see the damage she had done; the Snow Demon's breastplate had fused with its flesh and enormously foul-smelling, dark steam was wafting out of it. Its footing had been excellent when the spell struck, considering how much forward momentum and force the Kamal had been applying to Do'Karth, and that meant it hadn't been bowled over. It stood, teetering from side to side, before something gave away beneath it and the Kamal abruptly fell halfway through the wooden planks of the docks. Its wide torso caught on the edges of the ragged hole and there it remained, like a half-buried statue from an ancient civilization.

It was still alive.

Niernen saw Do'Karth and almost cried when she realized the catfolk wasn't dead. "Oh, thank the gods," she said and closed her eyes, her head sinking forwards. Faintly, she could feel Garm poking her side with his pincers, whining quietly. The Nord bodyguards cursed somewhere behind her. You have to kill it, Do'Karth, Niernen thought, too weak to say the words out loud.

And the world exploded. One moment, Do'Karth's eyes were locked with the hateful orbs hidden behind the crude and hideous helm, and the next everything was fire and unbearable heat. Do'Karth couldn't even yell as the oxygen around him was consumed by the hellstorm, the sudden sensation of not being able to breathe being almost as panic inducing as the flames that surged over him, engulfing the Kamal and mercifully avoiding him entirely. His eyes clamped shut as they felt like they were drying out, and the damp water that had permeated his clothing and fur from the wet dock was evaporating in painful vapor.

What felt like one hundred years passed, although it couldn't have been more than several seconds, and suddenly the heat passed with what was a sudden chill as the Skyrim air filled the void the spell had caused. Do'Karth wheezed as his lungs greedily took in the much needed air, forcing the khajiit to cough violently for several seconds as he regained his senses. Fumbling for his belt, Do'Karth found his potion pouch and his heart surged as he discovered his vials were intact. Pulling one of his health potions free, the khajiit pulled the cork free and he drank the fowl-tasting elixir in hurried gulps and collapsed back to the dock, his strength ebbing. You cannot stay here. Get up. Move. a voice in the back of his mind urged. With effort, Do'Karth rolled to his side and pushed himself up, finding himself staring at the charred body of the Kamal, incapacitated but somehow still alive, the creature making a sickening wheeze as it clung to what little life it had left. It would be a mercy to put the thing out of its misery, but it was defeated. The gods would decide its fate, not Do'Karth. It had not been all that long ago he had found himself in similar peril, clinging to the barest thread of life with wounds that should have been fatal, but the gods had seen fit to give him a second chance. Perhaps that was the fate of the Snow Demon, or it would perish in agony.

Do'Karth found his staff, miraculously unscathed in the hellstorm, and he used it to prop himself to his feet, where his old injury screamed at him in his leg. The staff became a crutch as he limped towards safety, and away from the no-doubt dazed and disoriented invaders, and he reached Niernen and the Nord guards that had watched over her. He offered a weak smile, hoping his fur didn't smell like the Kamal did. "This one is quite pleased at your mastery of the flames, Niernen. A lesser mage might have made this one's day much less fortunate." he coughed, his throat painfully dry. One of the Nords offered him a water skin, which he took gratefully and took a drink. It felt liked a parched parcel of farmland being irrigated by water after a drought, the sensation wonderful beyond words. "Perhaps a bard saw our deeds and will compose us a song." He mused, looking at the dunmer with renewed admiration. "Do'Karth thinks we make a good team."

After taking a few deep breaths, Niernen's head stopped spinning. She found her feet with the aid of one of the Nords and watched Do'Karth approach, struck by a pang of guilt when she saw he was limping and leaning on his staff. Then again, he would have been killed by the Kamal if she hadn't intervened. Lesser of two evils, she thought to herself. "Perhaps they will," she responded to his quip about the bard, and returned his smile with her own. "I agree. We do make a good team. I don't think I've ever seen such a gracious, acrobatic distraction before. You were amazing." Taking another deep breath, Niernen ran her hands through her hair and laughed as some of the morning's tension left her body; a pleasant, pealing sound that elicited chuckles from the Nords and a content growl from Garm.

She turned her head to look at the trapped Snow Demon and stared at it for a few seconds. When it became evident that neither Do'Karth nor Niernen felt like delivering the coup de grâce, one of the Nord guards drew his sword, carefully approached and ended the Snow Demon's wheezing agony with a thrust to the chest. Niernen averted her gaze, her jaw working and her fists clenched. So much senseless death. "Let's be away from this place, Do'Karth. We both need to rest," she said, hoping the Khajiit wouldn't be so fearless as to want to continue fighting.

The khajiit offered a tired, but grateful smile. "This one is humbled. One needs to be nimble when eschewing armour, as is the preference of Do'Karth's people. The desert is no place for heavy plates and mail." He said, feeling relief at the sound of the sword ending the Kamal's life. Arrows continued to rain upon the attackers, and there were screams about vampires and werewolves, convincing Do'Karth everyone had lost their minds. Nodding and limping in step beside Niernen, the two fell back towards the reserve lines to be relieved. "Let someone else have a turn at combustion. Once was enough for Do'Karth." the khajiit agreed with a tired chuckle.

Sadri hadn’t been able to sleep, ever since the first assault by the Kamal. He wouldn’t admit it – he himself did not accept it, he wasn’t aware of it, even – but he was too nervous to sleep. The city was blockaded, and even though he had survived the first assault, he had no idea if he would survive the next. He did not even know if they would attack again. They could just use some Akaviri magic mumbo-jumbo to hurl the damn city into Masser or Secunda from their weird ships. The ships made echoes in Sadri’s mind – back when he was with that digger group, disassembling Dwemer remains, one cog at a time, he had stumbled across similar things. They weren’t ships, of course. Some weird shit like huge, conical drills, attached to chassis that bore chimneys not unlike the ones that were on the ironclads waiting across the river.

The moons were still radiating blood still over the night sky, a sight that reminded Sadri of the tales about the Daedric Lord of the Hunt. Combined with the howling from outside the city walls, it made quite a foreboding atmosphere. Perhaps the Hunter was watching his most dangerous game fight these exotic creatures. Perhaps he was amongst them, partaking in the fight, even. For all Sadri knew, Hircine liked to have a physical presence in his machinations, and Sadri thought that the Kamal assault could be intriguing for the Hunter. Or maybe the theorist inside him was further fueled by the flin. Sadri preferred to consume his flin for special occasions, thanks to its rarity in Skyrim. But the East Empire Company had a monopoly on flin trade, and he believed that he could buy some from them if he managed to run out. And survive. Maybe that last one was more important.

Sadri eyed the Kamal ships further. He felt a glint in his eyes as he viewed them – they were cold, lifeless, and industrial. A sign of impending doom maybe, but that did not take away from his admiration, his awe. Few on Tamriel could say that they had faced the Kamal and their machinations. Few could say that they had seen them, even. Deep down, Sadri felt elation rise from the puddle of flin in his stomach. The cutting snow, the waters, the ice, the mantlet he was leaning on, and the cobblestones underneath his feet – they would remember. The bleak, white nightmare in front of him somehow suddenly felt welcoming. They had seen the men and mer before. They remembered. These men, mer and beasts here, defending this city for various reasons, they would all be remembered. Maybe it was coping – maybe it was the flin, but for once, what he was doing felt meaningful. He, like everyone here, was making history.

‘’Anu’s sake, I’m waxing poetic again.’’ He shook his head in disapproval.

‘’What’re you up to, Dunmer?’’

A rather young lad in a mail hauberk leaned on the mantlet, next to Sadri. With the plain mail, cropped hair and the scar on his forehead, he looked like a member of the Imperial Legion more than anything. His pale skin and blonde hair implied to Nordic ancestry, however.

‘’Not much. Watching the ships.’’

‘’Yeah, haven’t seen anything like them in my life.’’

The lad paused after the remark.

‘’You sure this place isn’t dangerous? Everyone’s on the walls.’’

Sadri shrugged with his absent hand. ‘’They’ll have to come down when they attack again. If I’m going to die, I want to die with a good view.’’

The lad paused for a moment again.

‘’I’m Cilo, Cilo Livius. I’m with the East Empire Company.’’

‘’Sadri Beleth. Came here with the Mercenary Company.’’

‘’Oh, you’re one of those guys! I think it was one of you guys that figured out the thing with the salts.’’

‘’His name’s Jorwen. Pretty strong fighter. Smart too.’’

‘’I see,’’ Cilo seemed nervous. He was probably trying to strike up some conversation to distract his mind. ‘’So, is it true that these things are really from Akavir?’’

‘’They say so, I mean, shit, that ship’s moving.’’

Sadri immediately got onto his feet to confirm his sighting. After a second or two, he decided that yes, the ships were on the move again. The distant churning of infernal mechanisms inside the ships played a rather ominous tune accentuated with huffing smoke from the chimneys. Movement started on the walls and on the docks, and the defenders began brandishing weapons once again. Sadri went behind the makeshift barricade and crouched behind it, and pulled his sword out of its scabbard, just in case. Cilo, on the other hand, ran back to where he had come from. Sadri watched as he ran away – he wanted to shout after him, but for some reason, didn’t. Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe he thought one man wasn’t going to save him from death.

Either way, Sadri figured the only reasonable thing to do at this point was to watch. He was already at position, and couldn’t think of anything else to do than wait for the snow demons to set foot on the docks again.

Suddenly, Sadri was startled by someone shouting his name. Turning back, he saw Cilo alongside a few others, similarly armed. ‘’Had to get some reinforcements, you know.’’ Sadri smiled. ‘’We ready for this?’’ The fighters brandished their weapons, and one of them snapped her fingers to set a spark of flame in the air. ‘’I’m ready,’’ Cilo said as he pulled out his sword. As one of them advised another to open the salt crate, a bright flash of magicka momentarily blinded Sadri. He opened his eyes back to see two giant, humanoid bodies of frost tread upon the docks. And upon seeing the giants, Sadri promptly dropped the idea of making history, and began to think that the smartest course of action would be to fucking leg it. But being a mer with a sense of shame, he realized he’d have to wait a few moments to ‘disappear in the chaos’, a much more preferable alternative than ‘pussying out’. So he just bid his time.

Then, much to everyone’s amazement, one of the atronaches smashed the other in the face, eliciting a few remarks of excitement from amongst the group. With the first strike, the giants began a rather noisy grapple, one that caused the vicinity to tremble with thunderous sounds of ice shattering ice. Cilo seemed rather amused by this, despite the rain of sharp ice shards erupting from the hits, and the impending attack by the Kamal. ‘’They should’ve stayed frosty, eh?’’ Cilo suggested. Sadri shook his head in disbelief.

Soon after the atronaches crushed each other to shards, the Kamal appeared out of the mist that was emanated by the crushed bodies of ice. In their jagged, heavy armor and weaponry, and with their ice magic, they were definitely fear-inducing, but Sadri had made them bleed in the recent past, with proper aid. After the spectacle, he felt roused. The giants were gone, so now, they had a chance. Likelihood of survival was slim nonetheless, but, being born under the sign of the Lord, Sadri was much more likely to walk through what would fell lesser mer. At least, that’s what he liked to believe. He braced for the incoming attack, and suddenly, he saw Smokey the Bear jump from behind him into the Kamal formation.

At first, Sadri thought that Forsworn magic was at work and that somewhere in the Reach somebody was real pissed off at the death of his or her pet, but soon he realized that the beast was more wolf than bear. And that’s when he realized there was a fucking werewolf on the docks. He was shocked – everyone was – and could only watch as the beast rampaged amongst the Kamals and eventually whimpered away from his direction, much to his relief. Suddenly, a lone figure, armed with an axe, let loose from amongst the defenders and rushed into the shattered group of Kamals. Sadri walked away from the mantlet, despite the arrow fire from the walls, to see the warrior’s charge, and was rather disheartened after seeing the fellow get shattered into pieces of tinted ice. Trying to look like the display didn’t get the better of him; he turned to the group as nonchalantly as possible. ‘’Anyone got a bottle of some sort? Fill it with the salts, empty it beforehand.’’

One of the members complied, and Sadri had Cilo hold onto the bottle of what was once mead, telling him to throw it when Sadri told him to do so. The Kamals were getting back into proper position again, and Sadri wished to strike before they managed to do so, mostly because Sadri didn’t think that he could go blade to blade with a giant saber of Akaviri metal. He hailed Cilo to follow him, and ran out from cover. With every closing step, the idea felt stupider and stupider. All he had was a sword, a good one, but in the end it was nothing but a sword – and the Kamals in front of him and Cilo could fill a mine with all the metal on them. But the arrow was let loose, and there was no going back now.

As the Kamal bellowed from behind its flat, lifeless mask, Sadri shouted for Cilo to throw the cocktail. The frost giant set its weapon arm back for an overhead swing, and as it was brought down with the force of a troll matron in rut, Sadri immediately flung himself backwards, managing to void the blade by a few inches. Right after the blade landed, so did Cilo’s cocktail, flat on the beast’s mask. It stood still for a moment, then started letting out screams that would haunt Sadri for a few weeks. Not letting the bloodcurdling sounds get to him, Sadri immediately dared to go in for an attack, but was stopped by another saber landing short of his head, on the painful Kamal’s shield. It appeared that the snow demon’s comrade was angry at the Dunmer’s attempt. Sadri fell flat on his buttocks from the sudden strike, and spontaneously decided to propel himself through the gap between the attacking Kamal’s legs by pushing himself off the stunned beast’s trunk-like leg. Almost crushed by the beast’s shield in its attempt to stop the Dunmer from getting away, Sadri propelled himself back on his feet as fast as he could and stabbed the Kamal in the back of its neck, from a gap opened by the snow demon looking down on where it had landed its shield. The Kamal’s body suddenly went limp from the strike and fell backwards, nearly crushing Sadri under its sheer weight.

As the beast looked up at the crimson sky, unable to move, Sadri plunged his sword through the Kamal’s helmet’s visor, ending the beast’s life. Following the kill, the Dunmer raised his head to observe the battle – there were flames, ice, and blood everywhere, with bolts, arrows, pots of salt and flammables cracking themselves upon the Snow Demons or the ground. Moments later, one of the Kamal ships blew up in a magnificent display of arcane fireworks, igniting the red sky with magical energy. Caught unaware by the blast, Sadri waved for Cilo to get back behind the mantlet and frantically followed suit as drops of cold water, sent flying upwards with the explosion, rained onto the docks.

"WAKE UP DAMN YOU!" Shouted the Imperial as he shook the slumbering mer into consciousness. "W-what the.. what's happening?" Trius replied while balancing himself off from the crates he haphazardly slept on the previous night. Even as the mer's body was covered with plates of bonemold, the Imperial caught the strong scent of alcohol coming from the mer. "You drunken mess.. get up! the Kamals are attacking!" The Imperial said while assisting the mer to his feet. Instinctively, Trius patted his gear to see if everything is still in place. Upon reaching for the sword sack he bought for his mentor's sword, he remembers as to why he spent 50 gold coins on mead last night.

"...Damn it."

"Look out!" shouted by one of the guards upon seeing several spikes of ice heading for Trius and the Imperial. The two ducks for cover near one of the barriers close to the Fire Salt barrels, though the barrel itself still remained far from their reach. The barrier they took cover from was separated into three sections, but each portion provided enough cover for one. The spikes of ice rained on their position, almost penetrating the the entirety of the cover. With each spike shattering upon collision, the ringing sound of breaking ice echoed in their ears, giving both refugees from the projectiles a stressful time communicating with each other.

"Hnnhhg... how long was I out?" Trius inquired.

"Long enough for those damn Kamals to set up shop and send those guys in the front." The Imperial points to the hulking Kamals donning large shields in the frontline.

"When did they have those guys in their side?! Bah, forget it, so what's your plan?"

"Do I look like I have a plan? If I did, I wouldn't have woken some alcoholic mer just to exchange words."

While chuckling to their conversation, Trius began examining the surroundings to formulate a plan of action. Looking at the Kamal's positions from his point of view, the left flank appeared to be less guarded from the right where the officer looking Kamal stood. Noticing the shadows casted from above, he concludes that there's someone above them, though he feared that whatever gear those above them had might have little effect on the enemies in front of him. In a moment of brief clarity, a plan comes into the light. Although he had admitted to himself that the mead last night wasn't doing him any favors right now while he's thinking, it does deaden his sense of fear and gives him a little boost of courage for what he just came up with.

"Hey Imperial, I got something.. but first, what do I call you?"

"Maurius, what's yours?"

"Trius, now, do you think you can give me a distraction?"

"Depends, what do you have in mind?"

"See that N'wah on the far left? Distract that guy for me and I'll provide your guys a clear shot at the mages."

"I can do that.. but what are you going to do?"

Trius comes out of his cover for a few seconds to cast a fireball aimed towards the Kamal's shield. "Just trust me, now go!" Maurius runs away from Trius' position and moves past the Fire Salt barrel and takes cover from the farthest barrier on the left. Upon seeing his newly-met friend arrive safely on the other side, Trius began casting a spell that sent his left hand glowing with an ominous purple tint. The glowing purple orb launches itself away from Trius' hand and onto the cold stone floor where its glow began expanding to the size of a man. Before the people beside Trius managed to take a look, the orb erupted into a flash of purple light, leaving only the sight of a hunched humanoid with ebony colored skin on it's wake.

"Master R'is.. how may I serve you?.." The Dremora uttered to Trius in a distorted tone. Hearing the words from a Dremora might horrify an individual untrained with summoning Daedra, but not Trius, hearing those words comforted him.

"Hush, I need you to attack that Kamal for me when I give you the signal. Draw its attention towards the right side, but don't attempt to kill it, it's no match for you alone."

"Your will, I will obey."

"Good." The master replied

Trius turns to Maurius and nods towards him, giving him the signal to distract the enemy. To his surprise, Maurius didn't take out a bow just like what Trius believed he'd do. Instead, Marius casted a spell which immediately sent a large ball of fire towards the right temple of the Kamal vanguard. The towering monstrosity turned towards Maurius, giving Trius the opening he had in mind for his plan.

"Now!" he shouted to his summon, sending the Dremora dashing towards the Kamal's open flank with its Daedric greatsword. The Dremora hacks its sword onto the flesh of the Kamal's left arm, almost cutting off the hand which held the Kamal's offensive weapon. As his summon does this, Trius runs to the Fire Salt barrel and grabs two jars filled with the salt with both hands and charges towards the now distracted Kamal.

Everything now was going according to his plan. Maurius distracting the Kamal to make an opening for Trius' summon, while Trius himself attacks with the Fire Salts to finish off the Kamal. But just as Trius threw the first jar towards his target and coating it completely with Fire Salt, a sight he wish he didn't see presented right before his eyes.

The Kamal was relentlessly stomping on the Dremora that slipped on ice just a few moments after Trius' arrival. The Dremora's armor stood no chance to the brutal force of the Snow Demon that the only thing left after the Dremora vanished was a crater where the body of the summon was once were.

"...Fuck." That was the only thing that came out of Trius' mouth while he watched the Kamal's head turn to face him.

The Kamal raised its weapon high above its head, ready to strike down the Dunmer clad in Bonemold armor. At the same moment Trius accepted his apparent fate, a ball of fire collides with the Kamal's arm which blows off the hand and weapon of the Snow Demon.

"GET OUT OF THERE, NOW!" An Imperial sounding voice shouted to him.

That exact moment his life was spared would've been the perfect time for Trius to escape and re-think another plan, but not today. Perhaps it's the alcohol still clouding his mind, or it's the adrenaline rush making him act rashly, but nonetheless, he does the complete opposite of retreating and charges towards the Kamal that is still retching in pain.

Positioning himself behind the Kamal's back, he summons a bound sword and plunges it deep into the Kamal's exposed skin. Though in pain, the Kamal manages to swing back the massive shield it had, forcing Trius to slide between the Kamal's legs, which were spread widely at the time, to avoid being hit. With another opening in front of him, Trius summons another sword and impales it right at the gap of the Kamal's armor and into it's stomach. The previous action sends the Kamal into a frenzy which drove it to let go of it's shield and upper-cut Trius with its closed fist. The Kamal's fist struck at the Dunmer's armor, tossing Trius harshly against the floor.

Feeling broken within the armor, Trius grew desperate himself and tossed the other jar of Fire Salt towards the Kamal's face. With his other hand free, Trius follows up with a fireball that connects with the jar, creating a huge explosion that blows off the Kamal's face and setting Fire Salt that was thrown earlier into flames. Trius himself gets caught up with the blast and was thrown towards one of the barriers before passing out.

Now with a breach on the enemy ranks, it's up for the rest of the men to finish the Kamals off.

Could you believe nobody bothered to catch Ariane when she fell? Maybe mercenaries were truly selfish, or the Breton mystic didn't earn many's trust. She fell hard and fell painfully. So hard and painful, in fact, she knocked herself out. Someone dragged her away when the Kamals drew near. A healer said she got a bad concussion. Ariane herself was too knocked out to care.

With Ashav, Edith, Dumhuvud and two EEC fighters ganging up on a single Kamal mage, they managed to cut it down in relative ease. In the process of closing distance, one EEC fighter suffered a fatal lightning bolt to his face. When they finally got to hacking the Kamal, Ashav couldn't be more disappointed to see his iron greatsword reluctant to penetrate brigadine. It was either that the Kamals had incredible light armor, or he could blame it on the rusty piece of shit the guards gave him. Judging by the others actually doing the cutting, it was likely the second. Fed up after many times his blade skidding off armor surface, Ashav threw it at a Kamal rushing to down the berth.

Wait, every other Kamal was following the first. The important one with the disk on its chest was waving to something. They didn't move in the disciplined line they came in, but rather a hasty dash through the left corner of the pier. They broke through, and they went for pier eight.

Unlike pier seven, the defense at pier eight was a struggle for survival. Without a mage like Ariane turning the atronachs, nor were there the presence of concentrated ranged weapons like the piers closer to the gate, the ice golems trampled much before eventually put down. Then, the Kamal formations ripped through the barricades. The defenders nearly took off fleeing, before a werewolf started running amok. They barely held the invaders back, and now with surviving snow demons coming from pier seven, the EEC and the Braves fell apart.

As the fights of two piers connected, many started to notice Kamals changing their tactics. They were no longer fighting to advance, instead, they sought to retreat onto their ship in pier eight. It was safe to say not many willingly pursued the Kamals. People were more than happy to see the snow demons retreat. If they didn't, few caught the Kamals' backs, as they retreated making sure their way was clear.

And so, for the second time, invaders were repelled from Windhelm docks.

Different from the first time, the Kamals did not just leave the docks alone. When the last of the ships departed carrying surviving assault troops, they stopped at the middle of the river. Ships blockading from downstream and ships anchored near the opposing shore joined them in a neat line. Together, roughly ten vessels lined the broad sides of hulls parallel to Windhelm's walls.

And opened the crystal hatches.

Dozens after dozens of oversized ice spikes flew into the docks. Each one created earth-shattering explosions, vast craters and thousands of lethal fragments. The barricades suddenly felt flimsy in the face of such force. It must have been what Kynesgrove felt when a dragon razed everything in its path. Defenders previously cluttered together were killed in droves. Just as Windhelm thought it bargained enough Kamal corpses for its own deaths, the casualties once again turned lopsided.

The gates opened in desperation as survivors ran to get inside. The jarl's son was standing behind it, stunned but somehow still trying to shove people out. In mere seconds, someone's fist clocked the young man in his jaw, knocking him aside. Other guards opened the gate further, allowing in greater volume. Ashav and Vendicci led whoever still lived from the far piers to the gates. The last of their followers made it in just in time as ships turned their focus on the gate, showering it with unnatural chill, thus forcing the guards to close it once more.

Most that ran and didn't get blown away on the way got inside. Though some still pounded the gate after it closed, they quickly stopped after Kamal missiles plunged against them. Looking on the bright side, the EEC recovered many valuable items from their office. Because pier eight was so close from being overran earlier, they fortunately prepared most of the stuff to go. Ashav scooped up an axe on his way back, though he had yet to recognize it, it belonged to Felix. He left the weapon near some wounded folks, close to Sagax and Roze as he checked after the others in his company.

Immediately behind the gate, a commotion of Nords and Argonians engaged in heated exchanges. Apparently, even as the Kamals converted the docks into winter wonderland, xenophobic Nords still wanted the lizards out. It stopped when the guard captain himself strolled by. He declared the Argonians have to stay in the Gray Quarter and help with defense efforts. A lot of Argonians continued to rage, but most of them paused when one of their elderly kin clenched his head and fell to his knees. Two younger Argonians went to help him up. The elder, who wore tribal robes and jewelries, tugged his youngers to his sides.

“The Hist cries!” He exclaimed. Standing up abruptly, he went from one Argonian to another (including Tsleeixth and Utu, if they were nearby). “Our Marsh is under threat! The East plunders our land! It needs us home!”

The old lizard continued his speech about the Hist under attack. It didn't take much to understand Skyrim wasn't alone in an Akaviri invasion. Nords harassing the Argonians gradually dissipated, some heeded the guards' instructions, some went about more urgent business and the most stubborn ones beat down by Argonians (and other foreigners).

For the mercenaries, they would have to judge one of their own. In a corner of the Gray Quarter, one EEC fighter and a militiawoman stood guard over a battered female dark elf. Relmyna used up whatever caused her werewolf transformation somewhere around pier eight. The EEC employee appraised her for single-handedly taking out four Kamals. Another side of the story was told by the militiawoman, who said in Relmyna's careless rampage, she (or "it") bowled over a dozen friendlies. Allies were hurt or killed. Relmyna herself said nothing, she sat under the thatch of a rundown house and gazed nervously into the sky. The moons were fading and sunrise crept ever near.

Ashav took over guarding Relmyna with his lieutenants. Other groups had their own issues to deal with, so what becomes of the Dunmer werewolf was left to the company's own discretion. Ashav could not make a decision, and neither could his fellows. Dumhuvud wanted to end Relmyna straightaway, he claimed he knew the girl was trouble when she walked in, and keeping her around is just another disaster waiting to happen. Edith argued for the opposite, she said they could not have held without Relmyna, and she could still be useful in other task. At the worst, Edith proposed, they'll lock Relmyna up at night. Daelin wanted something different than everyone else, he had an idea: dropping Relmyna outside of the main gate tomorrow night, and watch her tear into the Kamal camps.

More mercenaries joined their leaders and soon it became a voting decision. For Keegan, he was rather impressed at what Relmyna did. He agreed with Daelin and wanted to unleash the werewolf for a second round.

Somewhere else in Windhelm, the Dawnguards faced a dilemma mirroring the mercenaries'. Who could have thought the commander of vampires hunters was a vampire herself? Not the Dawnguards, despite how well they claimed to know their foes. Their next man in line to take command wanted to rid himself of his former superior right away. “We are letting our foes infiltrate us.” He lectured his fellow fighters. “First our fort and now our team, we need to cut off vamprism's ugly roots wherever it spreads.”

“Wait, what?” The vampire woman, now wearing no helmet and ripped armor, clung for mercy. “You have no idea what they did to me! The cultists, they sacrificed me to Molag Bal. I could of turned feral a long time ago, but I wanted to fight fire with fire.” She pleaded on her knees, crossbows aiming down at her from all sides. “Please, I had to use my power to turn back the snow demons. I can control it. Don't kill me!”

Just over half the living Dawnguards concurred with killing. There were barely ten choosing the vampire's fate. If someone else wanted to change their opinion, they could simply walk in and deliver a convincing case (or a couple punches to softer parts). Should no one intervene in due time, the vampire woman would surely be a pincushion of bolts.

There wasn't a lot of time to decide. Not long after the bombardment of the docks, Kamal vessels turned to the walls. About half an hour after the ships started shooting, the docks looked a maimed muddle of broken stone, broken wood, flooding water and sharp ice rising as far as the eye could see. Several Kamal ships detached from the line some time later. A few of the crystals were glowing eye-blinding bright. Two ships even had sparks coming out of their chimneys. Half of the original ten remained on the river, they now shot at the walls. Defenders tried to counter with arrows and limited trebuchets, but their efforts only damaged on one ship before most were forced down, lest they fall victim to the superior barrages.

Having thinned out on the river, the opposing shore became clear. Before everyone withdrew from the ramparts, the last men down saw the Kamal's own siege weapons getting into action. Some of them were clearly Nordic in design. Majority of catapults and slings were stored outside of the city. Unfortunately, the Kamals took possession. Stacking on Windhelm's woes, the enemies crafted simple flingers of their own. Shipborne ice-launchers flew straight. Beside fragmentation, little reached over the walls. Siege weapons changed the everything, just before the morning came, Kamals were slinging everything from rocks, wood and even corpses of dead farmers. What the projectiles lacked in accuracy were made up by demoralizing effects.

Enduring a siege is universally agreed to be bad. For certain reasons, not everyone gazed upon the projectiles in dread. Farid was actually smiling as a large stone crashed into the Palace of the Kings. He sprung up from his seat, running to make rounds with peers. “Come with me now!” He yanked on the serviceable mercenaries. “I need help at the castle, the Palace of something.” The Redguard explained quickly as he went to man to man, woman to woman, elves to cats to lizards. “Someone asked me to free a man in the dungeons, said it was a thief who stole pages the jarl held dear. They said we'll get paid good.” Pointing to the latest impact against the Palace, Farid tried to attract as much attention as possible. He sounded unlike his cocky, patronizing self. Farid, serious, how about that? “Now is the time. You all want gold. Isn't that what we signed on for?”

By the time Sevine had exhausted half of their stockpiles of fire bombs, leaving the bottles of poison largely untouched, a cry of shock, and despair escaped her lips as she watched momentarily as the ships in the bay withdrew in retreat, she wanted to cheer in victory as others were doing below, yet an onslaught of ice shards began to assail those gathered below, and those stationed on the walls. Leif let go of their make-shift sling, and forced Sevine to the ground, seconds from possibly losing her head as a massive shard of ice sailed over her head. Screams of the dying, and the desperate filled the air below as she could hear the creaking of the gates lift, allowing those still alive, and wounded into the city for a retreat. The pummeling of ice ran for a good part of half an hour, and they remained hunched down waiting for the barrage of ice to stop, before someone, she couldn’t identify who, called out for those on the walls to evacuate, and re-group for the next onslaught as siege weapons by the Kamal's were set into place. She managed one last look over the walls, and the sight of familiar, Nordic weapons caught her off guard. Or at least she was sure they were Nordic, she had seen some before during the war, but they weren’t really used much. Leif pulled on her hand, a worrisome look in his sky-blue eyes, one that she had seen before on the fields when things were turning sour. Careful not to be caught by any more stray ice shards, Sevine and Leif made for the stone stairwell, and exited the ramparts. When they reached the bottom, Sevine leaned against the stone walls, and cast a weary glance at her friend, as if exhausted by the idea of the siege weapons alone. The docks had been nearly destroyed, and just over the gate, she knew many had lost their lives in this last part of the battle. Her eyes scanned the area around them, looking for Sagax and Roze, praying to Mara that they had made it through safely. She had no idea where they went during the course of the battle, and felt the salt of tears sting her eyes. Blinking them away before they could spill, Sevine sighed again, this time more shakily as her nerves were rattled. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she felt as if she was getting too old for this, sure she may only be twenty-six, but she had seen enough death, and blood to last a lifetime.

“Are you ok? You look a little pale.” Leif said, his eyes sweeping over her. He couldn’t help but to feel a twinge of sympathy for Sevine. He knew she was a battle-hardened warrioress, but the look on her face spelled of concern, pain, and anguish. If he had ever seen anyone green in the face, it was Sevine. It reminded him of the look the new sailors of The Courtesan experienced while they learned their sea legs.

“I feel sick. My stomach is in knots Leif.” She mumbled, and it was true, her stomach had knotted in a series of tight, painful pangs of worry, making her sick to her stomach. Her mouth salivated as her stomach itself threatened to up-heave the contents within, even her hands felt shaky, and her head ached.

“We’re going to be okay, I promise you that. These Kamals won’t stand a chance against us.” Pulling her into his chest, Leif held her head against his shoulder with one hand, and rubbed her back, trying his best to console her, and ease her suffering. “Be strong, Sevine. I know you all too well. Grab a bite to eat, or drink some mead or water, it’ll settle your nerves for a bit.”

A curious chain of words spilled out of a Redguard’s mouth as he went from man to man, woman to woman, beast to Mer, seeking their aid to free some sort of thief who stole pages from the jarl, and was now locked in the dungeons at the Palace of Kings. Leif released her in due time, cocking an eyebrow at her with a wondering smirk before hooking a thumb over his shoulder at the man. “I don’t suppose he’s with the company too?” Farid gestured towards the Palace as they both watched in astonishment as the fortress took a hit from one of the siege weapons.

Sevine as well, had heard the words of Farid, and questioned silently what he intended to do with this man in the dungeons, the offer of gold sounded tempting, but she was in no mood to do any form of prison breaking. Not at a time like this… “Aye, that’s Farid. Some think he’s a bit full of himself, but he’s alright really. Are you going with him?” She turned her gaze back to Leif, and even though her stomach threatened to blow chunks, she managed to curl her hands into knuckled fists on her hips, more concerned that he would get himself into more trouble than was necessary.

“I will, wouldn’t hurt to make some coin in a time like this. Like he said, that’s what we signed up for eh? To be paid? I’ll let you know what happened when I get back. I’ll come and find you, alright?” He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly before darting after Farid, eager to see what the proposition entailed, leaving Sevine alone with her thoughts.

“Don’t get into trouble…” She mumbled to herself, watching Leif before he disappeared amongst the throngs of the wounded, the dead, and the living to chase Farid down.

She sighed hopelessly, the thoughts of the Kamal’s plagued her mind, and she could think of nothing else. For the time being, she figured it would be best to take a walk for some fresh air, to clear her head. Heading off towards the Stone Quarter, her steps were slow, and heavy, as if down-trodden with the outcome of the battle so far, and she knew that any moment, any second, the warning bell could ring again, sending them all back to defend the city. Typically, Sevine wasn’t so easily moved by such events, yet with the ominous blood moon lingering in the skies, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen. As she entered the square where the vendors sold their goods, she hoped to find at least one of the merchants with food, she found none, except for a mysterious gathering of Dawnguard’s surrounding a woman. She caught their words just in time to discover the source of the situation, and felt surprised that they would judge her so harshly, even though she had potentially saved so many lives. She had watched this woman, in her vampire lord form, suck the very life out of the Kamal's. Crimson brows furrowed together, she charged over to the assembled group, and forgot about her stomach in knots, or the ache in her head. She had heard the woman pleading her case to live, how a group of cultists had sacrificed her to Molag Bol, how she chose to hunt those like her down for the very same reason that the Dawnguard had formed. With teeth gritted, Sevine barreled through the group, elbowing, and shoving aside the members of the Dawnguard without a care, knocking several off their feet as they were caught by surprise at the lithe woman that broke up their circle of aimed crossbows. She found the man that had spoken, the one seemingly in next in line to command and grabbed him by his throat in one smooth motion, lifting him off his feet. By all means, the man was heavy, but Sevine was angry, and the surge of adrenaline that coursed through her veins proved otherwise. With eyes locked, the two gazed fiercely at one another as he tried to claw at her hands, desperately trying to free himself from her grip, feet kicking and swinging like wheat in a windy field. Spittle flew from his mouth as he struggled to catch a gasp of air under the vice-like grip of the huntress. The man she held ensnared in her grasp was of Nordic descent, with pale skin, thick brown hair, with a beard to match. Disgusted, Sevine tossed him to the ground, her lip curled into a snarl, revealing a line of gritted teeth, leaving him to collect himself as she turned to step in front of the woman who knelt before them all.

“And what in Mara’s name do you think you’re doing!?” She roared, as she took a defensive stance before the woman, one hand placed protectively on her shoulder. Her eyes swirled with hot, poisonous venom, like that of a mother bear protecting her cubs.

“You’re telling me that you mean to kill this woman, simply because she’s a vampire? Didn’t you hear what she said? She was sacrificed to Molag Bol, for Mara’s sake! You may be Dawnguard, but look what she did for us out there. Would any of you be willing to do the same, to put your own life at risk, for the possibility of saving others instead of hiding behind your bolts? You’re not thinking straight here, we’re in a war against demons more powerful than our own men, and women. It takes at least four of us, to hopefully bring down one. She can clearly control her powers, if you haven’t noticed until now that she’s a vampire. I don’t give a damn what your motto is, she can be of more help to us than anyone else right now. Didn’t you all see how she drained the life force out of the Kamal? None of us can do that, and we don’t have mages strong enough to do anything similar. She can change the tides of this battle, and did you not hear what she said before? She’s killing her own kind, she doesn’t want to be one of them, she’d rather kill them all, just like yourselves. If you kill her, you may as well kill every man, woman, and child in this city right now, because without her, we’re all dead.” Her gaze shifted to everyone that stood before her, looking them each in the eye until they looked away, nervous to meet the same fate as their second-in-command.

The man she had choked, and tossed to the ground seconds before, rose to his feet as he rubbed his throat, coughing as he went, while he glowered at her and took a step forward. “Who do you think you are? You don’t know what we stand for. We seek to eradicate this horrific disease that has taken so many lives. The vampires are a curse to us all, and they must be killed, so that others may live in peace, and in the safety of their homes. Step aside.” Her eyes narrowed dangerously at his words, he had no idea what kind of woman she was, and she was a woman that wasn’t going to let some group of vampire hunters decide the fate of the woman whom she stood in front, hand on her shoulder, when that very woman could help change the course of battle.

“Reconsider.” Her voice was a guttural growl, almost inhuman, her words elicited a wary exchange of glances from the others surrounding them. She remained steadfast in her position, and refused to step out of the way. No man could tell her what to do.

Sagax spent the time after being treated sitting next to Roze, who looked just as pale as she did after getting out of the water, as the battle raged on nearby. Not that he could have done much else. He was sore all over and his head would periodically burst into an inferno of searing pain. At times, it would be so great that he felt like he was going to throw up over the stonework of the city. Gods, it was so nice to be back inside Windhelm proper, behind solid walls. Out on the docks, they were sitting ducks, but in the city they had some actual cover from the missiles of the accursed Kamal warships. He was even more grateful to be back behind solid wall as he continued to hear the docks being pounded with giant ice spikes, courtesy of the Snow Demons. The ground shook and the shattering of stone could be heard beyond the gates. Looking over at Roze, Sagax was surprised to see her still out of it, eyes closed and breathing slowly. It was quite clear Roze was in a real bad way if not even the quake of spells hammering the city could rouse the Breton from her sleep. She was going to be alright though, definitely. "Oh please Lady Mara, let her be alright...it was my idea, not hers, she should not be punished for my recklessness." She was so pale, and undoubtedly very cold. A sympathetic Nord guardsman, a rare thing indeed, helped Sagax carry Roze to one of the nearby sconces around the Grey Quarter. Hopefully what little warmth the fire could provide would make Roze more comfortable.

Deciding that there wasn't anything more he could do to help at that moment, Sagax steadily rose to his feet with the support of his scabbard; it hadn't gotten any easier with rest and healing, unfortunately. As he began to make his way...somewhere, he didn't quite know what his destination was going to be, he noticed an axe laying on a crate nearby. Picking it up and examining it, he thought it looked familiar. Thinking back before the battle, he recalled that it was Felix's. He saw it dangling on the bard's belt as the man handed Sagax a manuscript, which was in his bag...in the warehouse. No chance of getting back at that moment. He wasn't stepping one damn foot on those docks. Thinking that it would be better off with himself instead of in the open for anyone to take, Sagax clipped the axe to his belt. Felix died in defense of Windhelm, and his weapon deserved an honored place in the hall of the dead in his body's stead. No way was he going to let some random layabout loot it.

Sagax felt, and no doubt looked, lost. The screams of the dying and the scared were harrowing, and the constant battering of the city by the Kamal were having a very ill effect on his mind. He just needed to walk, think about other things. Like rabbits. Rabbits are such nice creatures, so fluffy and docile. The world could use more rabbits, thought Sagax. Maybe he would find a rabbit and tame it when it came time to go back home, and...oh who was he even kidding?

Stopping somewhere in the Stone Quarter, he wasn't of a mind to know exactly where, Sagax let himself fall against the side of a building as he put his hands to his face. This was hopeless. What could they do against the Kamal? They were giants, with giant swords and giant shields and giant ships and giant mages...they could have taken Windhelm hours ago. They were just toying with everyone. It was probably a game for them. Pick on the little humans, and kill a few for good measure. Bastards. Where were the gods in such a time? Where was Mara's benevolence? Stendarr's righteous might? Where were they when they were truly needed, when these beasts were slaughtering their followers like cattle? Surely they would help. Yes, soon. They were just biding their time, waiting for the Kamal to be at their weakest. The Demons would grow arrogant and careless, and that's when the might of the gods would strike them down.

In his thoughts, he was deaf and blind to the squad of Dawnguard nearby, and to the pleas of their commander. It took the continued shouting of Sevine to bring him back to the sordid reality he so desperately wanted to escape. When he looked towards the commotion, a Dawnguard and the huntress were face-to-face, glaring at each other in a deadly staring match. Sagax didn't even know what the hell was going on.

"Sevine? What are you doing?" He said as he made his way to the group. "What's going on over here...and why is there a hand print around your neck?" Sagax had turned to the soldier that Sevine was trying to kill with her eyes, as there was indeed a large red mark going across his throat. Did Sevine just do what he thought she did?

Oh gods, and Sagax thought he had a knack for getting into trouble...