To Orakh's delight, Sagax lived up to his acrobatic expertise. Sure, the boy's sword maneuvers were also raw as fresh game. But the quickness he handled himself on dangerous crenelations made up for his shortcomings. Acrobatics skills paid off for Sagax, and his fate was the kindest compared to other ladder assaults. Two ladders burned before anyone could reach the top, and one burned with a man on it. Two more became deathtraps, as the mercenaries climbing them climbed right up to sword impalement. In the end, success or not, many defenders on the ramparts were forced to turn their attention from Sevine and the ram, giving them less pressure to deal with. 

But the situation at hand wasn't good enough for Orakh. The gate was breached, and two newcomers, who Orakh didn't bother to discern, joined the fray, and the Forsworn numbers thinned with every death or retreat. Even so, the failed ladder assaults still left several wall sections occupied. Orakh understood that bypassing them would leave enemies on the rear. He could not have that, the Orc needed to take them down. He needed an explosive edge; the arcane charges. 

A magic skeptic himself, Orakh had his reservations when it comes to these, weapons. He didn't wish to touch them, and he probably end up blowing himself up anyways. In his place, Orakh sent a more magically-inclined mercenary, who ended up blowing himself up instead. It all happened in a blur, Orakh sent the mercenary on his way. He saw the soul gem being installed and an explosion occurred in the blink of an eye. Didn't Ashav say they would have the time to clear the backblast? Apparently not. Well, at least most of the explosion were unidirectional towards the wall, so the mercenary, despite being charred and stuck with wood splinters like a porcupine, survived even as Orakh stepped on what he perceived as a lifeless corpse.

What was ironic was that the second mercenary behind the charge primer, someone thought himself as safer than the first man, tripped through the poorly cleared hole and fell onto a pike. His death was instant and gruesome, because the pike pushed out his eyeball out of the back of his skull. The death of this man convinced Orakh to not follow after. The Orc had retrieved Sadann's poisoned spear from earlier, he lobbed the weapon into the still smoking hole, and was rewarded with a pained scream from the other side. As the smoke cleared and he could see through, Orakh chopped down stubborn pieces of wood and jumped over afterward. His shield caught an incoming blade and his axe removed half an arm. The arcane charge provided an advantage for Orakh by leaving everyone on the other side dazed or hurt. Therefore, the Orc and his fellow warriors fought an easy fight. 

After defeating his opponents, the area quieted down for him to hear Sagax cheering nearby. “Oi, you there!” He tried to grab Sagax's attention. “Quit howling and watch our backs. Focus, you're in a battle here.”

Not far behind Orakh was Farid. You can say Farid had quite the day. With all the un-pleasentries he went through, Farid was not in top shape when the battle came to him. What kept him going was his youthful energy, and the signature Redguard adrenaline pumping like a geyser in his bloodstream. He was divided between actually heading back and joining Jorwen in the mess they call battle. Before he could decide, he spent a couple of seconds making sure Roze was ready to go. He might carry her back to camp if she couldn't manage tit on her own, after all, Farid found the Breton woman attractive enough to invoke certain sense of romantic chivalry, as they say in the books. Roze didn't look like she needed help though, as quick as she went down, she was soon back again and slithered into the shadows. 

Eyes following Roze lead Farid to Orakh and his followers. Farid was unfamiliar with this particular Orc, but his life before enlisting in the company had many sour notes with the Orsimers. The particular incident with Orakh's attempt to use breaching charges struck an adverse first impression. Sending someone else to take their own risks was not something a leader should inspire to. If Orakh sending the mercenary to blow himself up wasn't bad enough, he decided to trample over the poor sod just to add insult to injury. Farid grumbled in disbelief, did he finally find an equal to the Cat-Kicker?

Speaking of the Cat-Kicker, Dumhuvud was recovering from his injuries. Apparently Dumhuvud could see now, unlike before. The healer said something about Dumhuvud losing one eye, and the other one lost sight temporarily due to “hysterical blindness”. Farid was far enough to catch the gist of it, he grinned inside knowing that this irritating man was humbled by forces beyond his control. Even though the Cat-Kicker got on his feet and obscenities returned to unlucky mercenaries, the healer had no shortage of patients. Since he won't be carrying Roze back, he might as well ease up the healer's job and drag back the ill-fated man Orakh left behind.

The return trip, for the second time that night, took Farid longer than the outgoing one. He carried the unconscious mercenary on his shoulders, and hefted flesh and armor through uneven terrain. By the time he arrived in camp, Farid practically dropped the man flat and nearly collapsed into Ashav's tent. His ripped shirt was sweat-drenched, overlying armor dirty and weighting down on him like the Adamantium Tower of Balfiera. To the surprised looks of Ashav, Daelin, Keegan and Utu-ja, Farid ungracefully landed himself on the closest chair him could find.

“Sorry,” He panted, throat raspy akin to scratching sandpaper from dehydration. “Got delayed a bit.” Farid nudged his head at the tent entrance, where the injured mercenary lied. “Anyone have water?”

“It's just you.” Daelin noted after passing a cup to Farid. He waited for the Redguard to down his drink, in one swig, before pressing on. “Does that mean the assault is-”

“Going according to plan.” Farid answered. Eyelids drooped and his arms hung loose against his sides. “Red-Bear, you better make it out this alive, you stubborn old fool.” He mumbled.
[hr]
If Orakh had a plan, he would say it's going right where he wanted. Fact is he didn't, Dumhuvud, being ever the helpful person, decided no one other than him should know what to do. So Orakh led his men the way he would. Many of his followers, who had come to prefer the Orc as their [i]de facto[/i] commander over Dumhuvud, were frustrated over Sadann's death. A couple charged with seething rage, some careless souls ran themselves through enemy steel, while other fought harder and dished more pain than they received. 

Orakh got in line with Sevine and Jorwen for a while. After they pushed the Forsworn back, he and his followers broke off and flanked through the side. He managed to find Roze somewhere in the chaos, and called for her to stay back with Sagax. This sub-group chased a small band of Reachmen far into the redoubt. Many of their enemies fell, but those survivors regrouped and barricaded themselves in the building beside the central, circular one.

Some of his men panicked when flames engulfed the circular building, the other building sheltering the remaining Forsworns were far enough out of the reaches of fire. The mercenaries surrounded where the Forsworns fled and murmured about the bird caw they just heard. However, one of them, the Argonian girl known as Dazzi was so jubilant over her latest kill that she barely bat an eye at the burning house.

“Did anyone see that?” She gloated. Her tail bounced up and down in seemingly ecstasy. “I jumped in, spun one-eighty degrees and didn't even aim. Bam! Headshot. That was Milg!”

“Milg?” Someone beside her said.

“Aye, MiLG!” Dazzi exclaimed. Many tend to view Argonians as emotionless creatures, but there were no better creature embodying childish joy better than this one. “Get wrecked!” She shouted to some corpse, somewhere in the distance.

“Could have been a three-sixty though.” Someone else scoffed.

“Or four-twenty.” None of them were impressed.

“I'm beginning to think the Cat-Kicker's right about you lot.” Beside the tightly locked door, Orakh cursed. “Look, here's a door and bad men behind it. Why don't we give the arcane charge another go.”

“Ain't me, chief.” The charge carrier dropped his goods and held up his hands.

“Sure, alright, I'll do it.” Orakh admitted. He took a deep breath and held the charge in hand. It felt heavy, not only for his fatigued arms, but also the images of his smoking corpse tugged his mind. He shook these feelings away. Orakh saw worse in his life, this one won't be his last. “Stay back, I don't want to drag anyone else down with me.”

Alright, do or die. Orakh methodically pushed the soul gem closer and closer to it's slot. The moment it clicked in, Orakh wasted no time hopping back while drawing up the shield. The charge didn't detonate immediately, and Orakh was afforded a good seven seconds to clear the backblast. A relieved sigh came when the Orc realized he stood unhurt. Beside him, the mercenaries streamed into the building like a herd of charging bulls and made quick work of the dazed defenders. 

“Chief!” One man shouted from inside. Orakh strolled in and nodded in approval at the dead Forsworns. That was the main room, off to a side room, the mercenaries surrounded half a dozen of children. They found a litter of Reachmen offspring; the oldest should be in the final days of their nursery school, the youngest barely walked on their own, and most were somewhere in between.

“We should just kill them. Every witchman kid is another killer in the works.” One mercenary, a man with gaping wounds both arm and leg, spat.

“Listen to yourself, you sound like that gods-forsaken Cat-Kicker.” Another one said.

They looked to their leader, who was anything but certain. Why does it always have to be kids, Orakh thought, these little buggers have a talent of getting into trouble, including battles. He was confused, lingering memories when he massacred a Breton hamlet never left his dreams. He told his men to stand firm, and not lift a single blade. Then the Orc went outside, he saw the two Nords he fought with earlier leaving the burning building with an elf in tow. In the distance, Dumhuvud was up and at it again. He needed someone else here, to make the decision for him before the Cat-Kicker works his usual magic.

“Over here, make haste!” Orakh chose a voice audible to Jorwen and Sevine, but not Dumhuvud. “We've got a problem.”