Roze winced at every crash and thud the falling bridge - and two Dunmeri - made as they hit the bottom of the chasm. The sound seemed to reverberate into the night air, and the rogue knew immediately their chances of continuing this part of their journey stealthily would be impossible. Especially when a near-dozen Armigers showed up, looking equal parts confused and suspicious at the destroyed bridge. Had Roze been in charge, she would have recommended a sneak attack on the group. There were a fair few decent archers amongst them, alongside those who knew plenty of ranged spells. That way they could dispatch their enemies and retrieve their fallen comrades without making too much of a racket, and potentially gaining more unwanted attention from their foes on the island.

Naturally, Dumhuvud had a different plan.

The Cat-Kicker rushed forward before anyone else could get a word in edgeways. Roze groaned inwardly at his brashness, but at least she could appreciate that there wasn't time to dither about what to do. Not with two of their own possibly already incapacitated and needing help. Still, Roze couldn't help but be reminded at what an idiotic idea it was to place Dumhuvud in charge of a stealth mission. Following the others from their hiding place, the Breton nocked an arrow and scanned the field, waiting for a target to present itself. By now, Roze had learnt to keep her distance from the middle of a fight. Too many close calls at Windhelm and Bthamz had just reinforced the fact that she was no warrior, and sneaking would do no good when out in the open like this. She'd be far better picking off her enemies further away - Roze only hoped that her aim was a bit more true than last time. A pang of guilt hit her as she reminisced; an arrow of her own had scratched Sagax in the Dwemer ruin. He'd been gracious about the potentially fatal mistake, but it was not so easily forgotten for Roze. Especially after the last time they had spoken. Roze powered forward, pulling a face as she tried to squash her feelings down. Now wasn't the time. Not when there were friends in front of her being injured.

Sevine was clearly struggling with her foe, and Niernen had just fallen with a screech of pain to a Dunmer with a spear. Before Roze could even pick which companion to aid first, a new target caught her attention. Roze seemed to have caught the Armiger's attention too, for he was already sprinting at her, bellowing and grasping a particularly heavy looking hammer. She supposed it made sense, in the Dunmer's eyes, to take down the ranged attackers first. Still, she wasn't particularly happy about it. Nor was she going to let him be successful.

Deciding to forgo Dumhuvud's order of "try and keep them alive", Roze had pulled back her bow; her face calm and hands steady, but heart hammering away with adrenaline and fear as the Dunmer swiftly approached. As she loosed her arrow, the effect on the attacker was darkly comedic, in a way. As his left eye socket became home to her arrow, his steady sprint descended into a slow stagger, and he gave a few sloppy, confused swings of his hammer before toppling to the floor only a yard from her feet, a most peculiar expression of bewilderment on his face as he died. Roze stepped over his body, convulsing due to the foreign object now embedded in his brain, and nocked another arrow and found her second target. None of her friends would be dying today; not if she could help it.