Fardelkus was perhaps the largest Argonian of his kind, he was strong and needed to melt two nordic armours together to fit across his bulky chest. Over his back was a large sword made out of glass, he had claimed it himself off a knight back in his homeland. The memory of that fight made him smile with delight.
The Thalmor had come to him with a chest full of gold, sapphires, rubies and diamonds,-- and that was just for him. They supplied each of his chosen best with armour and weapons and promises of the chance to pillage first. They had stayed true to their word and Leyawiin was theirs for plunder, and his men had enjoyed it. They took the women as bedslaves, and beheaded all the leftovers who were too young to hold a cup, and too defiant to follow orders. It had boosted morale considerably, seeing as there had been much distrust over the Thalmor. Bravil was a chance for them to show them their worth, and Fardelkus rarely disappointed his contractor.
"You put a lot of faith in these men, Fardelkus." The skinny elf said from behind him. He was a wizard, some son of a lord. He spoke too much and expected the Argonian to answer his every beckon call. He was a wizard too, and if there was anything Fardelkus hated more than elves it was elves that were wizards.
"They won't disappoint. They are warriors," He hissed as he overlooked the large river, in the distance Bravil was just a speck.
"They will serve their use," The High-elf smiled. "A suitable distraction."
"Distraction?" Fardelkus asked. Thinking made his head hurt. Why think when the stroke of a sword often held better results and less noise?
"You did not think the Dominion would wager the outcome of a battle on you and your pondscum? No. I can assure you we have been planning this invasion for a very long while."
Fardelkus felt his hand slam across the table. "My brothers will suffice. They have the hist. We do not need your help, Yarundil."
The Altmer smiled, the glint in his dark eyes were chilling "It is already in motion,"
The priests offer of help seemed sincere enough. "I thank you, priest. I'm sorry, I did not get your name. I was..., you and the count know the local community better than I. Many men fall onto their knees for guidance from the Eight at times of peril. I would be most pleased if you could announce to the local community of the terrors that plague use down south, and give them what I cannot at present." Hope.
"As for your studies, I am out of my element. I read of the Oblivion Crisis when I was a boy, but I never expected there to be a repeat of the disaster. I would suspect a cult of Daedra worshippers are behind it..., but it is just a guess. My men saw nothing unnatural. Who knows if this is even just the end of it?"
"And what is the Legate's suggestion we do to prevent more of this terror?" The count asked.
Vorenus thought for several moments, his hand never left the pommel of his sword. The count did not seem afraid. "Imprison those that would leave suddenly until we question them. My history on the oblivion crisis is limited, but it only got as bad as it did because Mankar Camoran had spies everywhere, acting out a single objective as a loyal unit of madmen. If we find one, they will lead us to others. I'm certain."
The count raised his eyebrows and folded his hands. "How would you like me to go about it? Torture?"
"It is better to be safe than sorry," Vorenus nodded. "I would act quickly though, Count Carvain. They may have left the city already when they saw the legion arrive on our doorstep."
Won't-Back-Down was not one to..., well, back down in the face of danger. His personal guard had heard him call over the balcony and they were trained to take the initiative. When he stepped in from the balcony his battle-axe was waiting for him. It felt warm in his hands, but it had been enchanted by the mages guild back in Leyawiin a couple of years ago, a gift from the city that he was sworn to protect.
Won't-Back-Down remembered the surprise he got when General Torrhen had announced he was to be a legate. He almost cried in front of his supperior, but it had been his dream to be something that his race could be proud of. He was representing everything good about the Argonian culture. For centuries they had been vilified as criminals and cutthroats, with no honour or discipline. The axe was a symbol of his hard work and devotion to the empire. It was recognition, it was hope, it was acceptance. But more than all that it was a promise.
It felt right that he would soon be avenging the fallen mages with the gift they had flattered him with. Promise was held tightly in his hands as he crossed the courtyard.
"L-L-Legate. Sir, Legate, I--" Count Terentius wide frame hid in the shadow of his soldiers. "Is it wise to leave the castle so unprotected?"
"Fear not, Terentius. Your fat head is worth more alive than dead. It is your people who are only at risk of dying," The Argonian hissed as the doors were shoved open before him.
The count was a coward. When the legion arrived, he did everything in his power to deny them entrance. The fat fool thought the Thalmor would pass them by untouched if they chose not take a side. Won't-Back-Down said he would enter the city with his men to protect it, or he'd burn it quicker than the Thalmor and make sure they were denied possible supplies or fortification. The threat had worked, but since that incident his soldiers followed him around, growing in numbers each time the count approached the legate. Won't-Back-Down hated cowards.
"Oh, t-thank the divines!" There was fear of battle, which was natural to even the bravest of warriors at times, and then there was fear of helping others which was something that the legate loathed. A ruler should be willing to die for his people. The count would choose his life over his subjects within seconds, and if the battle turned badly the castle could be handed over willingly.
The large wooden doors slammed shut behind Won't-Back-Down, and he heard the chaos stirring nearby. The bridge had been cut down, keeping him from the city. He peered over the edge, it was far too dark to make out friend from foe.
"LIGHT! THEY NEED LIGHT! WHERE ARE THE BATTLEMAGES?" His voice echoed off the walls of the crevice below. Spells were fired into the darkness, igniting the enemies in light. Bodies of legion soldiers littered the waters below, men scrambled up the side of the cliff, but the Blackwood Company was numerous.
"ARCHERS! GIVE OUR BOYS SOME TIME! NOTCH! DRAW! LOOSE!" The arrows struck down, latching to the skin of their enemies. Yet, even pierced with several arrows they still persisted, dragging soldiers down and slitting their throats, and making great speed up the opposite side of the cliff.
"Why aren't they dying?" A voice questioned from behind him.
"BECAUSE YOU AREN'T FIRING ENOUGH ARROWS! SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH AND FIRE!" In truth, he was certain that the Argonians were numb to the pain and were high on Hist Sap, his men did not need to know that however. As the first of the soldiers began to reach the castle,
Accross from them the Blackwood Company was making their way up the opposite cliff across from them. The bridge had collapsed, leaving the castle soldiers unable to move towards the city, arrows followed their enemies movements but for every Argonian that fell another two gained entry to the city.
"Ladders. Get ladders," He ordered his soldiers as the battle moved into the city.