This big fuck-off wall of text brought to you by the creative forces of The Schaft, [@MacabreFox], [@MiddleEarthRoze], [@Mortarion], [@Chrono], [@gcold]

Sorry if I forgot anyone. Here we go...

            Everything had gone swell for the most part, as a majority of the Forsworn were scattered now, and few; many of their kin had died under the mercenary’s blades, countless arrows, and magical spells from the company’s mages. As for Sevine, and Jorwen their attention called them to the Orc, who stood in front of a once-locked building, the same Orc who had placed Sevine in charge of breaching the redoubt with the ram. They rushed to his side in unison, the elf-woman in tow; she wouldn’t leave Sevine’s side for the mere fact that she held her bags, and apparently, were of dear value to her.

                One of the Jorwen’s companions fell in behind them, the huntress had seen the man before, but she hadn’t learned his name. She gleaned from the situation, that inside the edifice in front of her, that the Orc had a problem with its contents. In step, Jorwen and Sevine moved to the entrance, the sight stole the very wind from her chest. With rounded lips slightly parted in a silent gasp, Sevine could only stare in shock at the sight before her. [i]Children[/i]. Precious, precious children. To her, it mattered not that the children were of the Reachmen, but as her eyes swept around the room, she took note of the lifeless bodies of the men and women that lay on the floor. Not a single adult remained alive. A chill crept through her spindly fingers clenched tightly around the fabric of the bag in her left hand, and spread like fire through her chest, with lips pallid, and the colour faded from her cheeks, Sevine could barely keep her head up. How could [i]children[/i] of all creatures be left so carelessly in the midst of battle?! Her throat tightened as she fought back the sting in her eyes, was there not a care in the world for the sake of children? A buzzing sound filled her ears that made black spots dance before her eyes, threatening to steal away her vision as she leaned against the wooden doorframe. 
                
                Everything became a blur, and a pounding headache; what a sight she must appear to the young children, an arrow shaft sticking out through her breast, a face splattered with blood, and war paint? She hadn’t seen Jorwen strike one of the men, she didn’t even hear his words. She had to get out of there, to breathe fresh air. As Sevine turned abruptly, she finally heard the Breton woman’s words. [i]Would you like me to stay as well?[/i] With red, burning eyes, the huntress could only nod “yes” in response to her words, before her throat softened enough to allow her to speak.
                
“Yes. Please, Roze. Can you do that for me? Can you stay here with Jorwen and watch over [i]them[/i]?” She swept her hand towards the children, the oldest no older than six in age huddled amongst the others, mostly toddlers, barely able to walk on their chubby, new legs. 

“I’m getting her out of here.” Sevine gestured to the woman behind her, “Taking her back to camp.” Then, the huntress’ eyes spotted the tear in Roze’s darkly coloured armor, there in her right shoulder, it bore the hole of an arrow shaft with blood drying around the outer edges.

“You’re hurt…” She mumbled the words more to herself than to Roze, as she couldn’t help but feeling responsible for not making sure her tent-mate went unharmed. 

Orakh sighed in relief when Jorwen and Sevine arrived before Dumhuvud. He also casted a suspicious look at the Altmer. Suppose the juvenile elf was on their side, that much he could determine from Jorwen and Sevine not smashing her skull in. But was she another mercenary? Orakh never saw her around camp and she certainly was not equipped like one. Whatever the case, Orakh quit pondering as the Red-Bear put some bloodthirsty mercenary back in his place; the ground. 

“Take it easy.” He told Jorwen. As the Nordic man interacted with Reachmen children, Orakh knew Jorwen had chosen their fate for them. “You'll get them out, or whatever you wish to do with them.” 

Roze joined their mix-up when a child came up to Sevine. More clutter around, Orakh was not too keen on a dozen or so people bunched up inside a wooden building, fire hazard and all, the Forsworns were not yet eliminated. Therefore, Orakh left the newcomers to sort the situation out themselves. After all, that was why he asked them there in the first place. He was no carer of youth. In an Orc stronghold, the chief's job was teaching his sons and daughters the art of combat, to uphold their virtue of honor and impart iron will in the face of danger. 

“You two, come with me.” He mentioned to Dazzi and another man. “And you, make sure the Red-Bear didn't punch him to death.”

Not three steps outside, Orakh caught the shape of Dumhuvud coming this way. He's not sure what exactly the Cat-Kicker would do if he saw the children, but unwanted outcomes already played in his mind. He should not let Dumhuvud know, it would be for the better if they tackle the problem without him.

“The Cat-Kicker is coming this way.” The Orc turned back and peeked through the building door. “I'll keep him distracted. Whatever y'all planned to do, it'd be wise to make it quick.”

Vurwe hadn't the time for this nonsense. The lives of Forsworn children fit somewhere on her radar beneath that of the lives of katydids and far less visible for certain. The morale play that everyone was acting out was as ridiculous as the notion that Talos at any point had been a true god. A band of killers, likely here for gold as much as false causes as honor or defense of their country had no place judging who should live or die. In many ways their ancestors were just as responsible for the Forsworns existance as the Forsworn were for their brutality.

Vurwe addressed Jorwen, whom she considered somewhat less intelligent than the Trolls she felt he was similar to, "Are you going to sit here and wait for death to come for the sake of these peakfilth? At the least if we're going to send them off to die, we can let them do it at the bottom of the mountain as well as the top and there their bodies won't freeze in time as to terrify future travellers for generations."

No matter how much the she-elf's words made him want to shove her back into the flames he found her in, they held an inkling of truth that he couldn't deny. These tiny ones would only serve as food for bears or wolves on their own. He wasn't about to put something such as these children out of sight and out of mind like soup bones after the boiling. "Do you want to help me escort them away, she-elf?"

"I want you to come down with me and..." she looked to Sevine who's name she hadn't bothered with and who Vurwe had given as much attention as an actual servant carrying her bags, that is to say none at all. She went back with the safe route of ignoring her existance, "At any rate I don't care what happens to these whelps. Bring them with if you like, though I don't see how we're going to get a bunch of waist hugging swaddlers back down to wherever your lot came from."

In Altmer society, especially that of the higher circles -if there were lower circles Vurwe was not interested in them-, children were expected even after the cycle of four moons to heed their parents. These undisciplined dirt spawn seemed to have been raised in the opposite fashion, though she supposed it was more of a cultural issue than that of poor parentage. If she were as lowborn and ignorant as some of these lot, then perhaps she'd have raised children as the animal she'd have in fact been.

Tsleeixth let out a groan as he felt himself waking up, quickly grabbing his head with both hands when he felt a throbbing pain on it before rapidly examining the battlefield or -as he quickly found out- what was left of it. He tried to retrace the events that had led him to his current situation; he, for one, remembered Jorwen grabbing the ladder that Sagax was trying to carry.  

[i]Sagax![/I] He thought for a second as he remembered the imperial man, scanning the battlefields for any signs of him while hoping that the young man was still alive. He breathed deeply to calm down his nerves [i]Alright, after Jorwen carried the ladder to the wall Sagax quickly climbed it that much I remember...and I think that I followed suit with my own ladder[/i] Thought the argonian spellsword as he stood up and walked the battlefield, finishing off a few dying forsworn he came across. As he walked the memories of the battle slowly came to him, he remembered climbing the ladder and fighting on the battlement and almost facepalmed when he remembered the particular series of events that had led him to his current predicament. After he had cleared a spot he had started working on summoning a frost attronach, hoping that the daedric creature could help distract a few of the forsworns and as such minimize the wounded and dead from the battle but he had been caught by surprise by one of the reachmen when he was concentrating on the summoning spell.  

They had fought for a while with their fists, for they had ended disarming rather quickly at the start of the fight wit the forsworn knocking off his sword and him biting the hand with which the forsworn held his sword in desperation, and hand ended up falling from the palisade into the redoubt proper. He cursed himself for not having thought about using any of his spells to weaken the forsworn "Damn idiot" He muttered as he remembered his vision fading to black as a mercenary dragged him to a safe spot after he had defeated the forsworn soldier that had knocked him form the palisade.

He continued moving until he noticed Sagax talking with the Cat-kicker about something. He was about to go and greet the imperial man when he noticed Sevine coming out of a building. He slowly moved around Dumhuvud, not wanting the man to notice him, and made his way towards the building but what he saw inside of it equally shocked him and confused him. On one hand, the sight of the forsworn children shocked him, disgusted that the natives of the Reach hadn't bothered to evacuate their children from their stronghold, but on the other hand the sight of an Altmer woman -who was obviously not part of the company- did puzzle him, specially since she seemed indifferent to the plight of the children in front of her. He calmed down a little when he noticed Jorwen was inside of the building and the Breton girl that had recently joined, he approached Red-Bear and tapped him on the shoulder slightly "Do you need help Jorwen?" He asked the nord man, unsure of what to do -and even say- but ready to offer his help in any way he could.  

Jorwen turned to see an unfamiliar Argonian tapping at his shoulder. He gave him a once-over and nodded, "We'll leave soon, we need to take these pups somewhere. With us, most likely."

As soon as the Altmer opened her mouth, Roze took a dislike to her. No matter how valid her points were about the children, certain things shouldn't be said - especially when they could hear their fate being decided right before them.

However, Roze instead chose to focus on Sevine's words - giving the Nord a comforting smile.

"As are you, Sevine. Don't be concerned - I'd consider it a failure if I didn't spill at least one drop of blood in a fight like this. It would mean I wasn't trying hard enough." She said with a light chuckle, before leaning in further and lowering her voice. "I'll watch these children - you have fun with the High Elf." She added with a sly grin, hoping to get at least a smile from Sevine. Obviously, the presence of the children had severly bothered her - as it had with plenty of others. She hoped Sevine knew she would do her best to keep these children out of harms way - because no matter their parentage, or the path they would undoubtedly take as adults, they were at the moment innocent.

Walking indoors and pulling up a chair beside Jorwen, she began taking off her armoured glove on her right hand - well... saying it was armoured was a bit of a stretch. Hard leather built up over soft leather was hardly armour, but it had stopped the blow of the axe a little bit.
Pulling up her sleeve, Roze winced as she looked at the wound. There would be another scar. Thankfully, it was quite a neat cut - about five inches long, no jagged edges.
[i]I must have been attacked by the local surgeon.[/i] Roze thought to herself, smiling wryly, then glancing at Jorwen.

"Nice to see you alive, Red Bear. Do you have any bandages on you? I've got a slight papercut here." She said with a grin.

"Rub some dirt in it." He smiled to Roze, "I'm glad to know you made it, little one."

    The huntress found relative comfort in the words of Roze, and she managed to offer her a weak smile. All other words before Roze's fell on deaf ears. Indeed, Sevine's nerves were shocked from the sight of the Forsworn children, however, she knew that she had to reground herself. Roze, Jorwen, and now an Argonian had come to offer their aid in protecting the wee babes; she could rest easy now as the blood slowly returned to her pallid cheeks. The tears that had threatened to spill forth, left her pine needle eyes dry as she turned her attention to the High Elf woman once more.

"Let's get out of here. The fate of these children lies in their hands now, and I did say that I would get you to safety." 

    Her words were cold, and empty, without emotion; something Sevine had mastered in stowing her emotions away. The huntress' composure changed entirely, as if her memory was wiped clean of seeing the helpless children before her, now it bothered her not. Being weak in the midst of a slowly-ending battle did not bear well with her, it never did. Fighting always came first in battle, followed by survival, but showing emotions such as love, or fear were deadly. It could get you killed, and Sevine knew that all too well.

    Only once did she turn around, and mouth a [i]thank you[/i] to Jorwen, and the others that had chosen to stay behind. With that, she exited the building, waiting for the Altmer woman to join her, bags in tow. Truth be told, Sevine wasn't bothered by toting around her luggage, not that she would do it again, but to her, it was better than having the High Elf hoist around her own bags, as it would slow them down. Besides, if need be, Sevine could always chuck the two bags into a ravine, or throw it in any of Skyrim's numerous rivers.

"Okay, we're following Sevine and the She-Elf back to camp. Anyone stops us, it means they feel a pressing need to lay down. Put them on their arses and keep moving, but let's not spill any blood we don't have to." Roze, Tsleeixth, White-Eye, Orakh and all the rest were stood around him, looking at him like he was Chief of a sudden. Jorwen sighed, rubbed his face and then stood, "Let's go."

Whatever violence ran through the mercenaries, they put it away to scoop up the little lads and lasses. Some maybe thought saving a life among all the blood today would make them better men, some maybe didn't want Jorwen or White-Eye to see them to their graves. Whichever one, they made it across the redoubt in a mass, the bleating and biting of the children readily apparent from inside the wall of muscle and metal. It couldn't have come soon enough but they'd made it out of the redoubt, Jorwen catching up with Sevine and the She-Elf. He put a reassuring hand on the obviously weary woman's shoulder, "Reckon we're done for the night, little sister. We've earned our rest back at camp."

"That, I'm looking forward too." Sevine agreed, as she offered him a smile full of exhaustion.

            Indeed, she had lost her kill count for this battle, was it 6 or 8? It mattered not to her, for when she fought in her blood-lust, survival became the only thing she cared for, how many foes died at the end of her axe, she lost count over the years. The pain in her chest subsided, and it felt nothing more than a burning pinch in her breast. As the group made their way back to camp, the morning sun rose ever higher, spreading its warming rays across the quiet landscape. A young girl, about the age of three, caught Sevine’s attention as she stumbled into her. The toddler had eyes the size of the moon, a shade of burnt sienna; she gazed up at her in fear, her lower lip pushed forward and quivering. The huntress stopped briefly in her tracks, set the High Elf’s bag down in one hand, and grabbed the toddler around the waist with a hook of her arm. Within moments, the young babe was seated atop her shoulders, her tiny fingers clutching at Sevine’s crimson, braided tresses. She picked up the bag she had set down and kept moving. The others had joined them now, the Argonian, the Orc, Roze, and a few others from the battle aided them in guiding the children. 

Laughing at Jorwen's response, Roze figured that as they were on their way back to the camp, any bandages could wait. Although wincing, she replaced her glove, hoping the tightness of the leather could do something to apply pressure to the wound. 

Walking back, Roze was unfortunately unable to carry any of the children with her injured arm - however, upon walking behind one of the bulky men, who was holding one of the younger girls over his shoulder, she was able to get a smile out of the kid upon sticking her tongue out at her. The poor bairn was probably still too young to realize that her parents were dead, killed by the very people carrying her from her home; but she was still able to find some comfort in a funny face from the young Breton woman before her.

Working her way through the crowd, Roze caught up with Jorwen and Sevine, giving the pair a smile.

"I'd say we all deserve a drink after that. How about I take a look in our esteemed Commanders tent? I'm sure he has a fine stash of mead hidden away in there somewhere."[/color] She suggested jokingly with a chuckle - although to be honest, if someone asked her, she would have no qualms in doing so. It's not like Ashav had been down in the dirt and fighting like them. Also, what kind of thief would she be if she didn't jump to that oppurtunity? It would be like taking a sweetroll from a baby - even with an injured arm.

[i]Hm. Perhaps get it bandaged before doing any burglaries. I may just have to track down Farid to see if he can work his magic again.[/i] Roze thought to herself; ushering forth yet another grin.

Vurwe gave Roze a look that might seem motherly, if you were found stealing from a cookie jar. She spoke to no one in particular, "Quite a band of upstanding heroes you have here. At one moment they're worried for the safety of their enemies children, the next they're trying to steal from their superiors." She was almost certain you could get your hand cut off for that in Hammerfell.  That was a judicial punishment she thought should be more widely used.

Minutes into their trek, the group was stalled by the oldest Forsworn boy. He initially walked along side a mercenary man, keeping silent but keeping pace with older adults. However, the boy stopped when they reached a dark part of the trail, where the morning sun struggled to shine on. Most of the group, leading people such as Jorwen, Orakh and Sevine proceeded ahead of them. The lone mercenary stopped with the boy, he knelt down impatiently.

“What's holding you back?” The man asked.

The boy's arms fidgeted, then he hid them behind his back. His facial muscle tightened when the mercenary asked again. With an impossibly fast flash, a knife appeared between his fingers. Then it buried in the man's chest.

“A-” The mercenary gasped, only for a split second before going silent and falling on the ground. Foam dribbled from the man's lips and his body twitched exactly five times. Poison was applied to the knife, the same hyper-lethal poison the Forsworns used in their darts, the same poison that dispatched a man prior to the main assault.

Orakh turned at a the short gasp. Was he hallucinating? Was it fatigue playing tricks on him? It could not be. He turned around just when the mercenary ceased moving, and the Reachmen youth took off in a sprint.

“Hey, we got a runner.” The Orc alerted his companions. He jogged after the kid, but the weariness in his legs and the weight of orichalc plates encumbered his movement, preventing him from catching up.

Tsleeixth smiled back at Sevine, out of gratitude and trying to reassure the Nord woman with it although he was unsure if she was paying attention by that moment since she had gone back with the Altmer woman. He nodded at Jorwen’s words and scooped up one of the kids in his arms, placing him on his shoulder after having reassured him that everything was going to be ok.

He was glad when there were little troubles with the other mercenaries and was glad when they were able to catch up to Sevine and the She-Elf, letting out a soft sigh when he heard Jorwen’s comment on them having earned a good rest. He felt that his contribution to the fight had been minimal and as such was considering asking Ashav if there was something else he could do to earn his pay. He was brought out his gloomy mood however when he heard Roze’s words, laughing a little bit at them and then smiled.

He was a bit surprised when they stopped moving after a few minutes and turned to look at how a mercenary approached one of the forsworn kids, the oldest by the bunch by his estimate. He felt his jaw drop when he saw the kid plunge a knife into the man’s chest, being brought of his stupor by Orakh’s comment; he placed the kid he had been carrying on the ground gently and began to run after the older kid “Don't worry, I've got him” He shouted to the old Orc as he began to run after the kid.

After a few minutes he managed to tackle the kid to the ground, grappling slightly with him but ended up taking a few punches and kicks as the kid tried to get free. He started coughing slightly, feeling that he was about to have another of his coughing fits but managed to subdue the kid before he started coughing blood by tying his hands and then chucking him over his shoulder, but only after he had checked that the young forsworn wasn't carrying any more weapons with him. The argonian managed to carry the kid back to the group, handing him the nearest mercenary before finding an excuse to get away before he started having a coughing fit in the middle of the group

Vurwe couldn't say she was surprised from the older boy's behavior. Everyone about these mountains had proved to be savages, her party included. If these mercenaries couldn't follow their own chain of command without stealing from one another, why should the child follow prisoner conduct without violence? So when he stabbed a mercenary who had moments earlier been killing his kin and ran off, she swallowed down a startled yelp and let fate handle the rest. The boy was caught by an Argonian, a race known primarily for violence and the determination to commit it. She furrowed her brow but chose not to make any further comment.

"Why'd you bring him back?" Jorwen asked, after his gaze went from the dead man's chest wound to Tsleeixth's eyes. When the Argonian was at a loss for words, perhaps asking himself the same question, Jorwen pushed past him. The children he would take, even fierce-eyed Solveig with her looks that could kill. But this boy, he was made of something different, and his retribution was anything but uncalled for or undeserved. The mercenary holding the boy in his thick arms was having trouble with the lad's struggling, even being more than twice the boy's size. "You took a life. Killed a man."

The child swallowed and nodded, "He killed Pa." He growled, though some of the conviction had left his voice now.

"There's not a single soul among us here hasn't killed someone." Jorwen reached a hand out to take the boy's chin between thumb and forefinger, "Not even you now, boy. And what, did it bring him back?"

"Wha-"

"Did it bring your Pa back, killing that man?" The lad was starting to tear up and he shook his head, "The dead can forgive. The dead can be forgiven. Vengeance though? That's only for you. Not your Pa, not Ma, just you. Reckon you're a right blooded man now, eh?"

The lad sniffled, a line of snot finding its way to his chin, though not winning the race against his tears, "Please don't kill me. Please don't, I'll do anything, please, please!"

"Hush. It's not in a man to cry, least of all a killer, eh?" Jorwen looked to the mercenary restraining the child by his twig-thin arms, "Eh? What age were you when you first killed?"

"Sixteen." The Nord grumbled out in a gravelly bass, "I'm thirty now."

"Now, this man's going to let you go. You're a man now, man does what he wants. Not my place to tell another man what to do. You follow us, you keep up. You run? You'd better run faster'n before." With that, Jorwen rose to his full height, casting his shadow over the child. He figured they'd reached an understanding. That lad below him had killed a man at an age years before Jorwen did, and Jorwen reckoned he was the youngest killer he knew. That was war, things happen. Awful, shit things. But they happen. "Let him go."

"Aye, Chief." And he did. The lad just stayed rooted, though Jorwen wasn't watching him. He found his place again at the head of the group with the others. He was at a loss for words himself now.

"You ain't fixing to knife me are you?" He asked Solveig, and she just looked at him with those same fierce eyes of hers. She only frowned and shrugged. "At least you're honest."

          The huntress' attention was distracted by some type of commotion occuring in the group, and turned about to discover its source. She witnessed in horror, as the eldest child in their herd grappled with the Argonian, and once she saw the reason why, a knife blade sticking out from the chest of one of their mercenaries, Sevine felt the urge to take the child from the Argonian, and drown the culprit in the river until the bubbles stopped. 
        
            Jorwen, to her surprise, confronted the young boy, in a fatherly voice that she was unfamiliar with after the Argonian handed the boy over to a much stronger mercenary to keep him still as the tall-reptile had a worrying coughing fit. She kept her eyes glued upon Jorwen and the boy, as he made him realize his actions. The boy pitifully explained that one of the mercenaries had killed his Pa, and it almost brought the huntress to tears. Once Jorwen finished lecturing him on becoming a man, Sevine could only shake her head in dismay. What they were to do with the children when they reached the boundaries of the camp worried her, what would Ashav say? Would he be furious? Certainly they could drop the children off at some orphanage, or at a temple for safe-keeping.

“I’ve never heard you speak like that before.” Sevine addressed Jorwen quietly, “Do you have children of your own?”

"One." Jorwen mumbled low in an exhausted whisper, eyes getting distant with memories of her now, "A girl. A woman, more like, by now. Reminds me of..." He looked at Sevine and then little Solveig tagging along at his side as best she could, staring at the ground as if it had owed her blood price. "We'll talk sometime. Drinks first, and we should get that arrow looked at."

With that, they made their exodus from the redoubt with fatherless orphans of war clutched close to their breasts or hands folded in their own, protecting them almost as if they were their own. Some, like little Solveig, had earned pet names from the mercenaries. Knife, who stayed at the back, not meeting anyone else's eyes, stuck to himself. No one could say what Ashav's verdict would be, but either way, they'd done one good thing. It was good, wasn't it? Jorwen left those questions to the philosophers. Or tried to, anyway.