[i]Thirty minutes ago, inside the Forsworn redoubt…[/i]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Very well.” Ashav conceded. He stood up straight and gave the map one final glance. “Before you depart, know this. You will only advise a withdraw if, and only if, the attackers failed to reach enemy wall. Otherwise, you will observe and report back, understood?”
[hr]
Out on the battlefield, the mercenaries enjoyed their first success. The Forsworn fighters, overly brazen and unknowingly outnumbered, fared poorly in combat. The have only managed to hurt or kill a select few, one of whom being the Imperial man that socialized with Felix earlier. The unnamed Imperial was inexperienced like Sagax, but unlike Sagax, his luck was strained and clashing blades against a hardened enemy resulted in him dead on the ground, and intestines spilled out of several large cuts in his midsection. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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