Daelin smiled, seeing Utu-ja back on his feet was reassuring to him. The Bosmer did not want to take up any more of Utu's time. The two of them worked a lot together, and he suspected they would be doing more of that in the future. For now, it would do the Argonian some good to get out of his metaphorical shell and socialize with his peers.
[hr]
Meeting the jarl took up unforeseen amount of time. It started out at noon, when the first of wave of enemies were repulsed, and it continued on to the late afternoon when the sun started to set. Then, roughly four to five hours past noon, leaders of various fighting groups began filling out of the Palace of the Kings. The mercenary commanders were in the middle of them.

Clearly, many of these individuals left without glee. Discounting present concern with Kamals completely blockading the city, most leaders agreed on the jarl's son being an impatient moron. Ashav, Dumhuvud and Edith were on the same page with this issue. By asking any of them about the meeting, members of the mercenary company would hear the jarl's son acting out of his station. Sure, he was the child of the city's boss. Lineage alone doesn't excuse uncalled for insults. The kid was about seventeen years old, sixteen years spent in wealthy households and in the past year, even wealthier palace. Growing up Nordic, he clambered on heroic stories for dear life, though his powerful parents done their best to shelter him away from adventures. It had only made his fantasy further from reality. With lots of reading and not a lot of doing, the jarl's son had became the quintessential “armchair general”. 

“Scolding the guard captain for inaction.” Ashav spat. “What have the kid done? Nothing.”

“Oblivion-damned twat never swung a sword in his life.” Dumhuvud cursed. “Now he rides on papa's chair like some halfass chieftain.”

Edith was the last of the three to vent, and her choice of insults was more thought out. “He said the guards should have prepared, but how could they know?” She commented. “The guard captain himself said his men struggled to take down a werewolf last night. If that was true, then they were more ill-prepared then we thought.”

Some Braves fighters injected themselves in the conversations. In the light of Kamal invasion, many had quickly forgotten the moons last night. Some of these folks though, were suspicious about both events, in the timing of it all and whether or not they were connected. “Maybe the invaders caused it.” A Nordic militiaman speculated. “It's all some voodoo magic they conjured up, mark my words.”

“Not impossible.” Another militiaman piped up. This one was a mage. “In my brief study with the College, I've read about the Thalmor controlling the moons just to terrify Khajiits.”

“Bloody elves, bloody snow demons. If the Dragonborn was here, he'd shout them all to bits.” Someone claimed. The mention of their high king was a controversial one, a mention causing a bout of silence followed by chaotic murmurs.

“The Dovahkiin,” Someone sighed. “Truly a bittersweet name.”

People lingered about on the docks for a while, in which time, some commanders (including Ashav) went in the East Empire Company office for further planning. Among them were the Nordic woman who commanded a small section of Dawnguards. She wore a full face helmet, and some could swear her eyes projected reddish glow when the lights dimmed. Of course, everyone was careful around the vampire hunters. Their participation was hard-earned, if not reluctant, and their crossbows; few weapons effective against Kamal armor. 

The head of EEC security division, Adelaisa Vendicci, could not complain about the sort of help she got. Her office behind piers seven and eight was nearly breached during the first wave. Being an Imperial in Skyrim recently came with the perk of discrimination, and in Windhelm, it was tenfold of any other places. She was granted only a few guards as token support. These were lousy recruits, half frightened to death when the atronachs landed. Her own men fought the brunt of the battle, and as a result, suffered the brunt of the casualties. “Two in three gone.” She counted. Her shoulders heavy as if Mundus weighed on them. “I have a dozen men at best, if they come again, we're bound to fall.”

“And the guards?” Ashav suggested, looking around, no traces of blue sash or chainmail in the room.

“They're doing nil. Useless.“ Vendicci grumbled. “That's why only we, the honest people, are gathered here.” She explained, gesturing at the commanders. “Regardless, the guards had their shits pushed in pretty far. Most of them probably lined the walls, or set to protect piers one to four; near the gates.”

“I was wondering 'bout that in the palace.” A high-ranking Brave noted, he inched closer to a map and touched parts of it. “The jarl's plan basically leaves half of the dock unmanned, are we suppose to just hand them over to the invaders?”

“Better than his son's,” A Dawnguard said. “Could you all believe it; 'Charge across the river!' Do it yourself and save us the pain from seeing you again.” A couple of chuckles came. It was not amusing in any regular sense, but laughing at the brat's foolhardiness helped in sidelining the frustrations against him.

“We'll help you, Vendicci.” After the nervous laughter died down, Ashav stepped up. “We have about twenty able bodies.”

“Only twenty?” Someone surprised. “I saw at least fifty last night. Folks could gives their lives just to sign up with you.”

“Half of them gone. Some ran away when they got their heads back from mead. The smarters, I'd say. Those who stayed, well, a lot of them aren't ever getting their heads back.”
[hr]
The superiors separated around seven at night. Ashav went back to the warehouse, where he found some eating dinner. He quickly had the rest gathered, and informed about reassignment. Pier seven was their new stronghold. As dusk approached, guardsmen were seen reconstructing layers of defenses. Proper wood and iron hurdles, racks, spikes came from the city forges, accompanying them arrived razor-sharp caltrops. The larger obstacles were set behind the piers, they would take much manpower to prepare. What Ashav was interested were the smaller caltrops. As demonstrated by earlier Kamal assault, the larger obstacles became prime targets for demolition efforts. The smaller ones, like crates of fire salt (a cache is now studied by the court wizard) caught the snow demons off guard. So for the better part of next two hours, many mercenaries went about spreading miniature spike balls.

Laying traps was not everything. Several members of the company were better off fixing their wounds, while others took time to improve their equipment. Ashav himself lost his orichalcum greatsword earlier. It stood blade to shaft against a Kamal weapon, unsurprisingly, it was soon flung off into the harbor. The replacement was a rusty iron two-hander. To be honest, this weapon was completely crap. However, the company leader refused better one-handed alternatives. “Divines gave me two hands, both for gripping the sword.” He lectured whoever bothered to offer him a lesser blade. “Everything gets better with two hands.”

What was the alternatives? Forsworn weapons. After the taking the redoubt, at least a dozen weapons were seized. Some were sold along the way, and some sold at Windhelm. But Edith insisted on keeping at least one of each kind for research. Being the fine craftswoman she was, she retained one Forsworn axe, one bow and two swords in the warehouse. If you asked nicely, she might just loan you one.

Obtaining a new weapon would be wise for Trius. Sometime after leaving the antique shop, he found his ebony blade no longer present. It was gone, plain and simple. Recalling to minutes earlier, he had brushed past several suspicious, hooded characters. Because heavy armor isolated his skin from the outside world, unstrapping sheath from belt went completely unnoticed. 

On the other hand, Felix went to great length to rearm himself. During the battle, as he now recalled shamefully, he had lost his axe and shield. In the aftermath of his eventual recovery, aep Caileach spent every single one of his coins on a new set of arms. The blacksmith was all too eager to rip the nervous Imperial off. Felix cared not, he told himself he will be a coward no longer, and when the next fight happens, he will lead the charge against his enemies. Sooner or later, he would show the company that he was more than a helpless bard, needing to be rescued twice. His body still shook from the death of Helmi and Bjorn, two men he had gotten to know as friends. But he steeled himself with a mixture of resolve and compulsion, and in the process, completely glossing over the poor deal he received. 

Whether by chance of design, Felix bumped into Sagax Speculatus again when the gathering adjourned. He clasped Sagax by the shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes. “I never got to thank you for saving life.” He began, lowering his head and bowed in respect. “I wanted to give you this,” He turned and dug out a manuscript form his backpack, it read; [i]Devils of the Reach[/i]. “Listen, I've been writing down our fight since I first made camp in the Reach. It's nothing florid or extravagant like Madura.” Felix chuckled nervously. Clearing his throat, he continued. “Seeing my friends perish made me realize that good souls always fade before their time. I've finished the draft and dedicated it to them; Helmi and Bjorn.” Tears started to well in Felix's eyes, he pulsed for a moment and wiped some away.

“No, can't cry.” He whispered to himself. Sagax was close enough to hear.

“Anyways,” He continued. “I will fight in their name when it is time; no more shrinking from duty.” Felix declared. He extended the manuscript to Sagax. “Please, take it. I know you are fast, and I saw you running by these snow demon things. If I am killed, please, keep this book safe and get it published.”

[i]War is calamitous like Dagon's Deadlands, but just as the eternally bound Dremora Kyns, blood-soaked warriors of Nirn earn their rightful names through the flames of destruction.[/i] The manuscript's foreword reads. [i]To Helmi the Hammer and Bjorn the Bald, my brothers in arms.[/i]