[i]6th of Second Seed[/i]

Within hours of ridding Elenglynn of the Dwemer, they had secured and destroyed the airships from the brute strength of Solandil and Brynja. By early evening, they had buried their dead, and began the trek through the forest to Skingrad, Brutus explained that it was best if they left sooner rather than later in case reinforcements came. They had started with fifty or so Rangers, and after the fight in Elenglynn, they had buried over a dozen men and women. The sky had remained clear, allowing the numerous twinkling stars to emerge in the eastern horizon. Night came like a gentle veil descending, turning the sky from a red hue into a blanket of indigos and violets. They were coming home with less people than with what they had started out with, and it saddened Brynja greatly, though she expected this, from her experience in the Civil War, she knew that when Men came to blows, death followed close behind. 

She kept to herself on the journey back to Skingrad, allowing Daro’Vasora to keep Latro company. She had wanted to spend time with her thoughts anyway, reflecting on what had come to pass since fleeing the Imperial City. Moreso, she wondered how her companions were doing. She thought of Judena, Megana especially, Anifaire, Alim, Rhea, and Durantel. Brynja’s gut told her to not to be shocked if anything had happened while they were away. But if they were all and well, their faces would bring some cheer to her heart.

For the most part, the journey back to Skingrad was uneventful, the nervousness that they had set out with had dissipated, for now, the threat of the Dwemer reaching Skingrad or any other part of Cyrdoiil had been halted. In two days’ time, they had reached the outskirts of the forest, the sight of the sea of tents gave Brynja a twisted sense of comfort.

[i]Meanwhile…[/i]

[i]8th of Second Seed, Skingrad[/i]
Back in Skingrad, Rhea and Alim had taken to making supply runs every night. They stole what they could, and for the time being the guards hadn’t caught wind. Together the two of them had created a small stockpile of supplies. Altogether, they had a dozen cabbages, a dozen potatoes, three bags of flour, somehow Alim managed to sneak out an entire case of cheap wine, there were various dried meats they had pilfered, including salted venison, dried jerky, and lamb. The two of them were utterly exhausted, they stayed up each night until the moons were high in the sky, and then they snuck off to meet Severus at the secret entrance, only returning when the grey light of dawn had broken the spell of darkness.

It was early midday when the Rangers returned to Skingrad. 

Brutus dismissed the Rangers, encouraging them to rest up, and that there were plans for another scouting mission, and should anyone wish to partake, then they ought to be close by for convenience. However, Brynja did not linger around the tent, no, she headed straight for the campsite, she wanted nothing more than to have something to drink, and to rest her aching bones. 

It didn’t take her long before she found the campsite, along with her old companions. She settled into the camp, shirking off her rucksack. It wasn’t long before Latro, and Daro’Vasora also arrived soon after. By dusk, Brynja had built up a blazing campfire, fixing up some stew in a pot over the fire. It was then that the one called Raelynn appeared with two strangers in tow, along with Durantel who had a strange female companion. Moreover, there was a blond man with a goat by his side. It seemed that everyone had returned, including Rhea and Alim, and as well as some new faces. 

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Hubris, incompetence, disappointment.

The words danced like fireflies in the cold anger that could best describe the mood walking among the Ayleid ruins and the bodies of fine Dwemer warriors who had been cast down by parties unknown. They had been left where they’d fallen, some stripped of equipment, and sowed around the evident battlefield was the remnants of the automations that had been designed to reduce the very real cost of Dwemer life in war. General Falinar’s blood began to boil, feeling very much like the scorching steam that powered the Dwemeri cities. Above him, two of the airships were still burning while the ones that he’d come in on were searching the area, unlikely to find the culprits who were long gone. 

The outpost had gotten careless and sloppy, and let a group of primitive men make a mockery of their superiority. Had they forgotten the success of the sacking of the Imperial City? The Dwemeri forces had barely sustained casualties and had completely destroyed or routed the defenders. However mighty as you may be, you were still vulnerable when you were careless; if you leave your gates unbarred, do not be shocked when assassins slit your throat in your sleep. Falinar would give the commander a reprimand and corrective assignment, but it seemed that his head had nearly been cleaved off with a battle axe. A pity; survival would have meant experience to put towards future endeavors, and it was much harder to field the inexperienced. Perhaps the failure here would lead to renewed efforts in other detachments. The people of Tamriel might have been barely above floundering in their own muck and superstitions, but it did not mean they did not outnumber the Dwemeri forces considerably and have a degree of martial ability and a savagery that could not be understated. 

Retaliation was required. But what?

“General, quite the mess that was left behind. Shame about the loss of equipment,” A voice said from behind. “And the men too, I suppose. Captain Nychulak and I never did quite see eye to eye. Something about him finding the practice of magic detestable and me being a weak toad for pursuing it. Alas, someone has to. His lack of respect made him and his warriors pay the price.”

Falinar let an irritated grunt escape between clenched teeth. He turned to face Vvarnoc, the High Magister of the Central Dwemer Command, and found the mer holding a piece of armour that had cracked. That surprised him. The only thing that differentiated Vvarnoc from the rest of the warriors were that his armour was accented by a blue loincloth over the hybrid armour he wore; it was mostly the medium-range armour that those in the piloted Centurions typically wore with the more cumbersome aspects removed. Vvarnoc had to travel a lot, and since he was not one to be on the front lines in interest of maintaining the supply of soul gems the Dwemer forces required for operations, he wasn’t interested in running ragged with more weight than necessary.

“Now is not the time for your personal squabbles, High Magister.” Falinar grabbed the strut out of the mage’s hand, examining it. That definitely wasn’t normal.

“Thermal stress. When your devices run off of hot steam and are built for gradual heat exchange, it makes it particularly brittle when suddenly it’s plunged below the freezing point. The enemy figured this out and used mages who utilized frost magic. Did you really think we were invincible, that they would keep running into your cannons with swords in hopes of a valiant success?” Vvarnoc asked rhetorically, an infuriating smirk crossing his features. Falinar collected himself, remindinging his incandescent rage that he was technically the commander of this impudent stooge. Perhaps the magister, as infuriating as he could be, offered keen insight that most of the rest of the Dwemer army lacked. 

“Is there a way to prevent this sort of damage from occurring?” he asked.

“Apart from training a cadre of mages in ward spells to protect the heavy units or enchanters to add resistance enchantments to them, nothing comes immediately to mind. I’m all to aware of how you feel about mages, but if I may be so crass, look what that train of thought brought the dearly departed captain.” Vvarnoc mused, although his tone was far from the snide veneer from earlier. He was genuinely contemplating. Despite their ideological differences, they had been able to work together to a reasonable degree and were capable of coming to an understanding on most matters, so long as the concessions requested weren’t too asinine. 

“So, magic then. We lack the numbers to do that ourselves. What of the prisoners we’ve gathered?” Falinar asked. 

The magister thought on that for several moments. “It’s possible to coerce some of the mages into working in our service. If they understand that we are here to stay and they have a bright future of being alive under our rule, then I imagine that it wouldn’t be difficult to press  a few of them in service. Threats against family tend to be effective, as is the promise of proper lodging and food. You could ask Governor Rourken how she handles these dilemmas?”

“Ugh. No, I’d rather not consult [I]her[/I] on these matters. Very well, see to preparations. If not, you do need to acquire a new source of soul gems since our supply of Welkynd stones have been stolen from us here.” The General replied. He turned his attention to the two burning airships. “Now, to deal with the rodents that bloodied our nose. Fetch me Major Stovin; we’ve got ourselves a camp to construct. Let’s see what happens when we dangle an irresistible carrot for them to bite.”