Do’rhajul had heard the Altmer’s request, though he had already been taking his assessment of the situation. Their momentum was stalling, which was particularly dangerous for a battle against a larger force. Perhaps doubly so with the composition of their own forces. He had been a commander in Skyrim’s civil war, and he had experience fighting with and against Nordic forces. Their warrior culture, and particularly their belief in Sovngarde, could make them both ferocious and surprisingly fearless in battle. The Nordic recruits in his own forces tended to fight harder and did not easily waver, though they sometimes broke formations and became “lost” in the fighting. Legion training could even out their eccentricities, but the Stormcloaks fully embraced those tendencies, molding them into their strategies. If they had high morale and momentum in a battle, the Stormcloaks could seem unstoppable. Their attacks were quick and powerful, and their victories devastating. But, the other edge of that blade was that they could be reliant on their morale. When their momentum could be stalled, when they could be made to call into question their victory, the formations they fell into were undisciplined. In Do’rhajul’s experience, Stormcloak retreats were costly, and their losses disastrous. He did not know the histories of Hjergir’s soldiers, but he could see plainly that they fought much more like Stormcloaks.
What the Dominion commander wanted might have been appropriate for his own forces, but Do’rhajul had to adapt his approach to the soldiers he was given. Hjergir himself was embroiled in a duel with a Xivilai, so Do’rhajul had to be the one to act. “These are Nords; we must use them to their strengths. Push the frontline when we make the opening.”
“Yerig, behind me. We need to clear a path.” Do’rhajul said to the old Nord. They moved closer to the battlefield’s right flank, where many of the Nordic warriors were fighting. The frontline had become a brawl between the Thu’um-empowered Nords and the Daedra. The Nords were more deadly, but every kill the Daedra did make was more impactful. If Do’rhajul wanted to take advantage of the Nords’ ferocity, he needed to give them a more clear advantage, and for that, he had to make sure none of his allies were in front of him. Do’rhajul himself took up the task of clearing the way for Yerig. Over the years, the threat that the lycan clans had perceived from Do’rhajul as Vile’s general had diminished, but he was the man who had once defeated Meesei in single combat, leaving a mark on her health that had lasted a decade. He had not grown as the Champion’s pack had, but he was still showing that prowess.
Do’rhajul’s push through the brawl looked almost effortless. He too had the winds of Yerig’s shout guiding his weapon, and he knew more than most how to take advantage of it. Skaafin and Dremora both saw the towering Khajiit as an obvious threat, but each encounter lasted mere seconds. A single decisive thrust to exposed flesh from Rhajul’s ebony sword, or perhaps a quick parry and counter if the Daedra sighted him first. Without an organized effort from the Daedra, there was hardly anything that could be called a fight to slow his steady and sure advance, and with Spellbreaker as an impassable wall to opposing mages, Yerig could simply walk behind his protector as they moved into position.
With their allies finally behind them, Yerig, his breaths deep and steady, gave a gentle tap with his sword’s crossguard to the back of Do’rhajul’s shoulder, prompting him to move out of the way just as Yerig filled his lungs with air. “FUS-RO-DAH!”
While they were outnumbered, this was still a much smaller fight than out on the main battlefield, and they had killed enough of the Daedric force that Yerig’s shout was able to reach to the very rear flank of the Daedra’s loose formaion. The unrelenting force of Yerig’s shout threw everything from Scamp to Ogrim through the air. Many would survive, though depending on how far they flew or how they landed, some would not be so fortunate. Yerig’s shout had only affected a long line of foes directly in front of him, but he had still cleared out an opening straight through to the rear of the Daedric forces, and the Nordic warriors around him were more than happy to charge straight through, inspired by the might of Yerig’s voice. Do’rhajul did not have to even give the order.
There was still a small force of Daedra on the far right flank that had not been caught in Yerig’s shout, but they were caught between the Nords on one side, and Senche cavalry on the other. The main force of Daedra would now find themselves with both Nordic forces and cavalry moving around their flank and behind them, with an organized Dominion formation in front of them. The Daedra would fight to the last, but that advantage they had in numbers would not be as relevant when they were outflanked on nearly every side.
From Sabine’s portal, Meesei landed on the ground with a thud just behind the Dominion forces, so she was not in a position to lead the charge among her own soldiers. Though, that did not terribly concern her. Even if she had no actual authority among them, she did not need to be giving orders to fill an impactful role among a magically inclined force. With the gaps they had initially opened up to accommodate the Nords’ retreat, Meesei moved forward between the Dominion ranks towards the front. She stood tall above them, taking a moment to observe, perhaps even inspect their formations. They were professional and disciplined like the Legion, but there was something even more to them than that. It was something that was difficult to really identify at first, but Meesei felt that she finally understood it. It was a trait shared among soldiers from some of their own clans from Dominion territories. It was confidence that make them seem like more of an unbreakable unit compared to even Legion soldiers. They had the same degree of training, but also complete confidence both in that training, and in their leadership. Even in the face of Daedric hordes, their formation was as clean and organized as if they were putting on a show in a parade, because they trusted fully in the skill of the commander that ordered them into that formation.
Nevertheless, as enlightening of an observation as it was, Meesei still had the battle in front of her to fight. She supposed she would see how adaptable they could be to the actions of an outsider among their ranks. For magically-inclined allies such as these, Meesei could easily think of what would serve the greatest advantage to them. Something that was, perhaps, familiar to them, if not surprising to see come from a werewolf.
Though not a damaging spell, the power Meesei pushed through her fingertips was still great. Once at the frontline, Meesei extended her hands out wide, giving structure and form to a spell for which that very idea seemed like a paradox. Long, sharply-glowing dispelling chains shot forth from her hands, which she then lashed across as much of the Daedric frontline as she could. Compared to her early attempts at the spell during her duel with Teroiah, she had refined the technique considerably. They now tore apart the structure magical structure of spells and enchantments more easily, and without as much of a drain on her magicka. All across the Daedric front, wards and other spells were essentially ripped apart into formless magicka, leaving them with no magical defenses to speak of. Meesei was not sure if any rumors of her duel with Teroiah had escaped that arena, but if they had, then Meesei was certainly giving them credibility.
