Somewhere along the pallisade walls, Sevine glanced over her shoulder as she heard shouting. Wait? Was someone cheering her on? Indeed they were, she could barely make out who it was, but she knew it to be one of the men from their company. She could only grin widely at the cheering, nothing felt better than hearing someone cheer one on in the midst of the battle. As she turned her gaze away from the wall, she proceeded onwards in her mission, and in the back of her mind, the huntress hoped that whoever the man was, that he was careful enough not to take an arrow to the knee.
                 
                 Sevine’s use of her left arm had grown painful, and she could not manage to wield her bow any longer. She returned her longbow to her back, and withdrew her axe instead. Just as she, and the other two pushers were about to head off further in the redoubt, to eliminate any other remaining threats, she heard a voice all to familiar.
                
“[i]You’re hurt, little sister[/i]” The words uttered caused the huntress to whirl about, and before her stood Jorwen Red-Bear. A smile as bright as the dawn’s rays erupted across her face as she recognized the thickly, bearded man. 

“Jorwen!” Sevine exclaimed with joy, “I thought you were back at the camp.” 

If the woman could laugh, she would, but the pinching of the arrowhead in her breast twinged painfully. Her free hand, clutched at the arrow shaft that she hadn’t fully removed, but merely snapped off, and a pained look came across her face.

“I’ll be alright. It doesn’t hurt too much, but it’ll have to come out when this is over. It feels as if the arrow-head as just pierced my skin.” She grimaced sheepishly, feeling a pang of shame for being wounded so early on in the fighting.

"I came to bring you back to camp, but I see you lot are set on staying." Jorwen chuckled, and he nodded towards her wound, "No shame in it, scars and blades are two things Nords are known for."

Despite the pleasant reunion, it was still a battlefield. As if to serve as a reminder, an opposite shieldwall formed in front of them, archers covered by their brethren hefting shields to the front. To display their bows weren't just for flaunting, they let loose a volley that downed a fair few on the walls. Needless to say, Jorwen knew who needed to die next. "Forward!" He roared at the men behind him and to either side, the giving of commands returning to him as familiar as lover's hands to warm skin.

Forward they went, keeping as well an organized shieldwall as they could. They came within spitting distance, and already a few spears lanced out from behind Reachman shields. Some stuck uselessly into wood and rawhide before recoiling, others found their bloody marks. Two men in their wall faltered and dropped. Jorwen's face was contorted in even fury. The fire in his belly was tempered by a life filled with lessons to control it. He didn't have to utter a word for the men on his own side to respond with the tips of their spears, the edges of their swords and the heads of their axes. They chopped, lunged and stabbed out from behind shields and the Reachmen did the same. Jorwen did some chopping of his own, burying his seax in the leather rim of some bastard's shield and almost losing his grip. The man jerked his shield wildly from left to right before Jorwen's leg snapped out into his shield and sent the man tumbling back while he wrenched his seax from his shield. The man he kicked down left a gap and he pushed forward, Sevine and the others following him.

                Time was of the essence, and there was no time for chit-chat on a field of battle. Sevine fell in line behind Jorwen as he led a charge against the Forsworn’s archers, and their own shield bearers. With their own men forming around them, Jorwen and the others lurched forward, spears, and swords drawn to inflict as much damage as they could, it did not matter if they maimed or killed, as long as the Forsworn could no longer assault them, that’s what mattered to Sevine.
                
                Before charging into the fray again, Sevine drew out her shield, and held it ready on her left forearm, with the leather straps secured firmly against her skin. The weight of the shield pulled on her sore muscle in her shoulder, yet she ignored it. Pain was nothing. If one succumbed to pain, it meant death, or at least so she believed. Besides, with adrenaline coursing wildly throughout her being, Sevine felt nothing more than a pinch. She hung back behind Jorwen, and the others as they met with weapons clashing against their enemies. However, once Jorwen planted a firm boot to one of the shield bearers and sent the man toppling to the ground, Sevine pounced on the opportunity and slipped in behind Jorwen. With her axe in one hand, she rammed her shield into one of the Forsworn that had stood behind the one Jorwen kicked aside. The warrior held his shield firm, though the force of the shield ram almost sent him off his feet. Again, Sevine rushed him, giving the spear-wielding Reachmen, little time to regain his stance as she rammed her shield into him once more, before he landed on his rear, falling into his other comrades. 
                
                To Sevine, fighting was an eloquent art form. Knowing where to seek out weaknesses in one’s opponent, being wary of their every move, and not acknowledging the fear within, was easier said than done. The last time she had fought like this, was four years ago during the Dragon Crisis while the civil war in Skyrim tore itself apart.
                
“I’m behind you!” She yelled to Jorwen, communication was key for their comrades, as it allowed them to know that they indeed had comrades with them in the frays of battle.

Pushes like these were dirty, cramped and felt like shit. Once Jorwen charged forth, the other men became zealous with their charge and pressed Jorwen up against another Reachman that could probably give even him a throttling. Luckily, the man was similarly pressed up against him and Jorwen managed to squeeze a hand up and over his chest with a knife in hand, one of his smallest. The man reached up and dig his thumb's nail into his eye and Jorwen screamed, his head shaking but unable to get away. Thankfully, before he'd be contesting White-Eye for his earned-name, he reared back stuck his knife into the Reachman's face. A shrill scream and Jorwen's knife ripped a deep gouge in the man's cheek in his writhing. Another stab had the finger-length blade in his eye, another in his neck. Jorwen's hand came back bloody but he lost the knife when the mass of bodies he was pressed in jostled.

Finally, they pushed the Reachmen back and their line broke into four smaller groups. Before they could congeal again, Jorwen called out, "Charge, you dogs!"

All around him, blood-chilling cries of war went up as they went after the stragglers, cleaving them, bashing them, cutting and gouging. The archers stood little chance, and Jorwen and Sevine's group fell among them. They turned to run, but Jorwen was beyond mercy, he remembered Thrice-Pierced's skin, dead and cold. Remembered comrades dead and gone. He opened up one's back deep enough to see his spine peeking through the gaping wound. Another, he cut deep into his leg and broke his neck with the rim of his shield. He stood amidst the gore, dead of both sides around him. His shoulders rose and fell with each breath and he brought a sleeve up, screwing his eyes shut as he let go a wretching cough and spitting out phlegm. His chest hurt and he cleaned the blade of his seax before he put his hand to his chest. His heart was pounding, his bottom eyelid burned and he felt wet there, blood. He noticed a cut on his right shoulder when it started to sting. He sniffled, looked at his hands. Bloody. But they always were.

"Flush them out! Take what you can fucking carry, you shits!" Cat-Kicker arrived with White-Eye. "Let's leave this place burning behind us, and us with full pockets!"

He couldn't disagree with Cat-Kicker this time. It shamed him a little, how he had to fight the urge not to get to looting right away. "We should help clear the buildings." He muttered to Sevine, his voice tired.

Somewhere, out in the far distance, just above the horizon and a teensy bit to the left. No, less left, more right. There. That's the spot, wherein, for reasons that were at that moment unclear but many assumed to be tangentially related to the current matter of war; the entrance of a large circular building released what seemed to be a plume of fire followed by the sound of a bird caw. There was a a sudden silence, as many stopped to try to ascertain if that noise was something anyone would need to be worried about. A few fur covered men rushed out of the building, flailing their arms in an attempt to signal to the rest of the Forsworn 'Help! I'm on fire and this is a state I would, all things considered, wish to cease being!' They fell to the ground with, in the current silence, was a deafening thump. After a brief moment, the mayhem continued when it was soon realized that people being set on fire was, for most of the Forsworn, really not something they hadn't expected. The building itself began to become somewhat more on fire than it was previously.

              Sevine lost Jorwen amongst the masses of the bodies that pushed against one another, until the line of shield bearers and archers dissembled into four groups. Once the Forsworn separated, and Jorwen gave the word to charge, Sevine let out a ferocious war-cry, and targeted the group of archers that Jorwen and her descended upon. She dove into the fray with her war axe swaying back and worth, hacking, and chopping anything that came into her range. Sevine charged one of the archers who fumbled to string up an arrow in his bow, when she smashed him to the ground with her shield, and blood sprayed from his nose as he lay upon the grass in agony. Beneath her feet, though the morning sun inched ever closer to the breaking of day, she could barely make out the traces of the crimson liquid that saturated the ground beneath her feet. With one heave, the huntress brought down her axe on the man, and split his abdomen wide open as the blade of her axe tore through his furred armor. Blood spilled from the corners of his mouth as the man went into shock, though Sevine did not care for the pain he felt. She put him out of his misery with a clean swipe of her axe, and his head rolled away from his body. 
              
                Another archer caught her attention as the man with streaks of blue war-paint across his face, readied his bow, and notched an arrow. He let the arrow sing from its bow, though the arrow lodged itself in Sevine’s shield as she caught the arrow dead-on. A wicked, and deadly grin captured her face as she charged the man down, this time however, she used her shield as a weapon, and swung it like a disc above her head with her axe drawn, ready to make the next kill. She forced the man backwards as he rushed to notch another arrow and loose it upon her. Large drops of sweat rolled down her forehead and stung her eyes, but the huntress ignored it, as it was something she was used to. She didn’t have time to wipe it away, yet she did clip the archer in his jaw with her shield. He dropped to his knees with pain, and gasped for air at the impact. Yet, his breath stopped once Sevine’s axe swung sideways at his head, flesh met blade, and his skull tore open from the blow. The huntress struggled to retrieve her axe as it was lodged deep within his cranium, but with one good yank, and a boot firmly placed on the dead archer’s chest, she wrenched it free.
                
                From behind her, she suddenly heard Cat-Kicker’s voice filling the air, commanding them to flush out the rest of the Forsworn, and to take what they could. Sevine thought that scavenging for loot in the midst of battle, wasn’t the best idea, as they still had enemies to deal with. She felt that scavenging for loot was best left after the battle, and the only item she cared to pick up were any extra arrows. A deep, raucous cough caught her attention, and she whirled around to find Jorwen coughing vehemently; Sevine was surprised to see the warrior struggling with it, but felt relieved when he managed to dislodge the chunk of phlegm that choked him. 
                
“Let’s head for that one over there, or we can split up.” Sevine pointed to what looked like an armory, as a forge stood on the outside, along with a grindstone and a workbench.

                However, a large plume of fire shot out of a circular building further up the way from them, followed by a mysterious bird caw, Sevine turned her attention to the building and raised her brows in surprise at the sight of Forsworn fleeing the building ablaze.
                
“…Or should we go over there?” Sevine pointed at the building for Jorwen to see.

The roaring of flames caught Jorwen's ears right before the shrill cries of panic pierced the din of battle. He turned around as Sevine pointed to find a couple Reachmen rolling on the ground fruitlessly, one of their own already still and lifeless as he burned black. Jorwen looked to Sevine and swallowed, "Reckon they're not keeping a dragon in there?"

The pair inched closer to the building, Jorwen taking the lead, though he would very much rather not. He closed his eyes and took a breath, peering into the still-smoking and soot-blackened room to find an altmer girl ringed by the only cleanliness still in the place. "Don't do that to me or I'll have your scalp, she-elf." It seemed a flimsy kind of threat seeing as she'd set fire to four Reachmen just a few seconds earlier. "I'm coming in to untie you."

Step-by-step, he walked into the room, holding his shield in front of him before he finally got behind her. He cut her bindings first before yanking down the cloth that covered her mouth, which he found was damming back a slew of vitriol.

"GET AWAY FROM ME YOU FROST TROLL." She screamed. She squinted her hard brow and gave the towering man-ape a look over. She shot to her feet and began brushing off the dirt that had accumulated during her capture. Her voice turned to a tone suggesting that she was unhappy a filthy commoner was helping her, but she had needed the help. "Look, we need to get out of here. Fire is bad. It burns when it touches flesh and if we don't get my things, which are more important than your life, we and it will turn to ash. Do you understand?" Vurwe moved her glare to the wall.

Some of the bear skins on the walls had been ignited during the initial explosion and during this conversation, fire had been creeping along towards pots of lantern oil scattered about on shelves and small tables full of what were probably other chemicals that shouldn't be set on fire.

She returned her gaze to Jorwen, "And no, I'm not carrying my things." she pointed to the rucksack and carrier bag that had been set aside in the corner with a gesture that suggested she fully expected Jorwen to carry both. Now that he understood his place in life, she dashed over to a desk and pulled open a drawer so frantically a pot of oil fell to the floor and shattered. She removed a bronzed amulet with a Sunbird flying over a roiling sea engraved upon it and a knife sheath, which she hitched to her waist belt. The knife seemed to be glowing a faint yellow color.

After she managed to return every single ring she was missing back on her person, she booked it towards the entrance.

        Thick, black smoke rolled out from the entrance of the circular building, as Jorwen and her entered the building. Ash, and black soot coated the walls, from Sevine assumed, to be from whatever the source the fire came from. To her surprise, the huntress and Jorwen came upon an Altmer woman, gagged and bound to a chair. From the way the ash surrounded her, yet left her unscathed, it seemed that she was the source for the fire plume they had witnessed earlier.
        
         As Jorwen approached the woman, and ordered her not to do what she did to the Forsworn, he pulled the gag away from her mouth, only to be met with a slew of insults. Sevine would have decapitated her right then and there for her unkind words, yet for all she cared, they could have just left her there to catch fire and die. Yet, Jorwen had a kinder heart than her, and cut away her bindings. 
         
        If anything, the Altmer woman sounded like a spoilt brat as she basely explained to them what fire could do, if it reached the lantern’s full of oil that sat atop a table along the far wall, already, the bear skins that hung on the wall began to smolder before catching fire. 

“I’ll grab her bags.” Sevine grumbled unhappily at the woman’s ungrateful behavior, as she moved to gather her things, she wouldn’t let Jorwen carry them with his cough the way it was. She hoisted the rucksack over one shoulder, and grasped the carrier bag in the other. 

“Let’s go before you catch a spark in that beard of yours. That would be a shame to lose.” Sevine said, more to herself than to her bearded friend, and with that, Sevine darted after the woman that had been a captive of the Forsworn, only mere moments before.
 
Vurwe stood frozen in what looked like indecision outside, staring out to a fight she hadn't really been thinking about inside of what had seemed to her to be decent shelter. "Which way is [i]away[/i]?" 

"I don't suppose it's too late to say we couldn't get to her before the fire?" Jorwen grumbled, patting out a tiny flame that had caught on a stray thread on his sleeve. He and Sevine stood together, watching the she-elf look about her with none too little nervousness in her eyes to see what she'd stumbled into. He could see Cat-Kicker near the gate point at the woman and his voice carried over well enough to hear.

"Who the hells is that elf whore?" Jorwen only shrugged in response.

“Well now it is.” Sevine returned as Cat-Kicker shouted loudly for all to hear. “He’s seen her.” She sighed heavy heartedly, before flashing him a daring smile. 

“Come on, the least we can do is take her back to Ashav. He may have some use for her yet.” Her brows furrowed at her what she had just said, and corrected herself, “No. That’s not what I mean.” With that Sevine cleared her throat, and addressed her attention to the Altmer woman.

“If you stick with us, we can get you out of here safely. But before we do, you’re gonna help us. Cover us with your magic, and you’ll live to see the sun rise on this morn.” Sevine looked her straight in the eye with a look that could stop a horse dead in its tracks. She meant for no funny business, but if the woman turned against them, she would have no problem lopping her head off. 

“Down through here, we'll go, keep your eye peeled for archers, and mages like yourself. And runes, and traps too.” With that, the huntress started away from the circular building, and back into the fray. They would have to retreat to the camp, or stick around to see the end of the battle.