[b][centre]Bruma Dunegons, Bruma Castle[/centre][/b] Vladstone continued to harass the Khajiit until dawn. He had beaten her, stripped her and almost came close to ripping her tongue out, but he learned to control himself. When she had fallen unconscious repeatedly, he slowly took her off the torture rack and pulled her bleeding body into her cell. He kissed her soft head before he left and closed the cell door, locking it behind him. He met the Count and Legate at morning. Vorenus was instantly put off his eggs and black bacon by the mere sight of the torturer. He was covered in blood and smelled like a man who refused to take baths. Vorenus pushed his breakfast away and looked at the man with uncertainty. "She says nothing of importance, just screams and cries. She's a thief, was running from the city..., she claims to know nothing of the city." "Do you believe her, Vladstone?" The Count asked, while swallowing a piece of warm bread. "I do, sadly." He said as his eyes scanned upon the food on the table. "Go on, sit." The Count smiled. "What is to be done with the thief then?" Vorenus brought himself to ask. Vladstone laughed and smiled, showing his yellow teeth. "I usually let thieves and murderers go to the mercy of Vladstone. It is an effective way to discourage crime," The count said with indifference. "Is that a problem?" Vorenus was silent, half disgusted and yet half fascinated."Your house, your rules," he brought himself to say. ----- [b][centre]Castle Bravil, Bravil[/centre][/b] The surviving city-folk scurried into the castle as the legion had ordered. They huddled together in fear, dreading that their city would burn and the people who had yet to make it inside. There was crying, and from the balcony above the civilians looked up to see their Count looking down upon them. Terentius had clearly not been informed of the arrangement the legion had made. He whispered to his soldiers and soon enough the innocent men, women and children stopped arriving. The makeshift bridge to the city had been removed, and the legion and the civilians in the city were locked out. From somewhere within the castle came a shriek. ----- [b][centre]The Docks, Bravil City [/centre][/b] "VICTORY! VICTORY!" The loud chorus was taken up from legion and surviving guardsmen. The dock had been cleared, and all around him lay dead Argonian's. Won't-Back-Down pulled his axe out of an Argonian, whose body squirmed and twitched in return. He turned his attention to the slowly burning city and his smiled drifted from his lips. Victory never lasted long. When Windhelm fell, and Ulfric's rebellion died the celebrations were expected to last all through the night. They didn't, however. There were too many casualties to be happy with, and there was always work to be done. "We can control the fire and keep it away from the market and the Inns," Kala told him as they walked towards the castle. "It has done some damage to the living estates already, and the chapel is lost," Won't-Back-Down acknowledge her with a nod. "Right, soldiers! To the castle! We'll break out the ale, thirsty work killing Thalmor scum!" There was laughter and applause. "Last one to the castle can serve in their fucking smallclothes!" One soldier said, receiving more laughter. When they reached the castle the Legate was met with a large line of soldiers. "Let us in! The battle is over! We've won!" There was no reply. Won't-Back-Down pushed ahead to the front of the line. "Terentius! They speak the truth. The city is saved, now pull back the bridge. The sons and daughters of the empire are thirsty!" Silence. Then the arrow sprouted out of Kala's head. The Legate looked across the large gap as several figures stood upon the castle ramparts. From across the large crevice there was a lone Altmer. He stepped forward, right to the edge and threw out his hand. The head rolled to the Legate's feet. It was Count Terentius. Soon after, many more heads showered down upon them. Men, women and even the heads of children soon littered their feet. "I believe an introduction is in order, Legate." The Altmer spoke softly. Arrows were notched from above, ready to rain down once the word was given. How? How was there so many? Won't-Back-Down had been so careful, how had they got passed him? "My name is Lord Decimus. Lord of Dusk, and heir to the Aldmeri Dominion. I give you the option to surrender-- you can see what happened to the last person who denied my offer." "Bastards!" An imperial cried out. Decimus just smiled, "They ran as quick as they could, but the bridge had been pulled in. And one by one we cut them down." "I will never bend the knee to you, Thalmor." Won't-Back-Down found himself saying on instinct. "Listen carefully, pondscum." The elf spat. "This is twice I have met your forces and twice I have defeated you. Anvil will soon fall, and Cheydinhal after-- the Imperial city is already lost. There is no line of defense after you. Cyrodil is ours." His heart skipped a beat. "Liar." Decimus laughed cruelly. "You hadn't heard? Oh, what a tragedy. The high and mighty Won't-Back-Down, first Argonian legate, an honour, a privilege against these... men. I think it's time you take a new name, Pondscum." "What would that be?" He didn't know why he was taking out his axe, but as he did he heard the swords draw from behind him. It would be a hopeless battle, there was no way into the castle. "Six-Feet-Under." The Altmer threw his hand forward. Arrows and spells rained down.