The next morning...
Dumhuvud woke first the next morning. Unlike other mercenaries who drowned their sorrows or commemorated their survival with mead, the Cat-Kicker stayed amazingly sober. The warehouse was semi-hospitable after a lighting a fire. Dumhuvud didn't both to chew out the shivering men on fire hazards, because gods knew he himself needed warmth as well.
He strolled carefully between the haystacks, stepping over still sleeping men and occasionally not-so-accidentally stepping on one of them. Farid was snoring close to the locked door, with a mug of something beside him. Dumhuvud grinned and kicked it over, splattering some on Farid's face. Like Jonimir, Farid stirred but otherwise remained asleep. It felt like a repeat of Jonimir. Dumhuvud would have been more satisfied should the Redguard opened his eyes in shock. Maybe it was some innate Redguard ability to sleep through disturbances; Dumhuvud would try it on an elf or one of the new cats next time.
Anyhow, the Cat-Kicker opened the door and stepped outside. This morning was clear and beside the typical ocean fog drifting in from north-east, Windhelm docks were sunny. However, he had to adjust to seeing with only one eye. The left of his face was a mangled mess of scar tissues and burn marks, with the left eye covered behind an eye patch. Therefore, he had no idea when a hysterical sailor raced off the boat and collided straight on with Dumhuvud.
“Watch your steps.” The Cat-Kicker growled, he seized the sailor's collar and hoisted him in the air. Maybe a morning dip in the water will clear the man's head.
“Please, put me down.” The sailor began, words flew out his mouth faster than ever. “They-are-coming-two-boats-sunk-need-to-warn-attack!”
“Spit the crap out of your mouth.” Dumhuvud dropped the man.
“I'm sorry, but this is real danger.” The sailor pressed on. He took deep breaths to calm himself and spoke with slightly slower rhythm. “I went out with captain Ragna's fishing party early, three boats, Sea of Ghosts, right before sunrise.”
“What?” Dumhuvud groaned.
“There were strange vessels out there, ships with hulls made completely from metal, and there were more than fifty of them.” The sailor gasped. “They came from the east, but they were not Morrowind ships. We tried to avoid them but they attacked us, with ice shards shooting out of holes on their hulls. Captain Ragna and hauler Gjord's ships were torn apart, our decks are leaking but most of my men were lucky to survive.”
“This is a waste of my time...” Dumhuvud fumed, his typical frown returning.
“Listen to me, you vapid dolt! Look at what's left of my ship!” The sailor dragged Dumhuvud's head to where a beat-up fishing vessel docked. The ship had major breaches in its hull, and sabrecat sized ice shards still impaled on it; how it still floats was a miracle. “Their warships are nothing like I seen on the seas of Tamriel and they are hellbent on wrecking everything in their way! The delta, I bet they're crossing it as we speak. We need to warn the jarl, warn the entire city about an attack.”
A small band of mercenaries emerged from the warehouse at that moment. At the same instance, the sailor's mates scurried around the dock shouting to everyone in sight. “We are under attack!” “Hide the elders and children!” “To arms!”
A serene morning was just the calm before the storm, calamity was at the horizon.
Dough-Boy caught words of what happened first. He passed it on to Ashav, who dozed off in a corner of the tavern last night. The company commander, recognizing an urgency from years of fighting, immediately felt Yokudan adrenaline clearing his mind of the hangover. He rushed into Edith's room, where the second bed was given to Ariane instead of Sevine. Ariane still had her weariness but Edith leaped out of her bed and donned her armor in minutes. When the three of them met with up with Daelin outside, they were joined by a black-haired Nord teenager. This person was the buddy to the jarl's son, not exactly an authoritative office but someone in position know things. She told Ashav the jarl was notified, and with the knowledge of a mercenary group in town, Ashav and his men were contracted for defense.
Then Dough-Boy ran again. This time, he was given a checklist of persons scattered around town. Keegan was the first to be found. After the awkward introduction to Ariane last night, he excused himself to rent a room. However, Candlehearth's rooms were full, so he bunked in a Dunmer hostel instead. His sleep was restless, Keegan laid awake half of the night, and when the shriek that was Dough-Boy assaulted his eardrums, Keegan felt like a cold bucket of water dumped on a pre-soaked man.
For his next stops, Dough-Boy raced to where Leif, the newcomer, lived. He banged door several times, and without waiting long for a reply, sprinted for the following destination. "Arise! Behold glorious battle!" Dough-Boy beamed, seeing the opportunity to take part in his first fight, he was unseemly cheerful to the point where ancient war poem were quoted. These recited lines became so superfluous by the time Dough-Boy reached Halla's residence, he was mixing up Ysgramor with The Lusty Argonian Maid.
In short of an hour since he started, Ashav roused awake his subordinates from the inn, and the last of the city dwellers were just arriving behind an gleeful Dough-Boy. Most of them lacked enthusiasm. After all, those sane enough to survive combat rarely left jovial. They met in front of Candlehearth, on a busy street where guards were scrambling left and right. Dumhuvud also brought his lackeys with him, since the time was between nine and ten hours past midnight, most in the warehouse were no longer slumbering. They could not even if they wanted to, as guards and local citizens ringed bells and blew signal horns; early morning was uncharacteristically loud, a sight unseen since the rebellion days.
Ashav directed Dumhuvud and several others to liaison with the jarl. His reason, or at least the plain one, was that the Cat-Kicker not yet recovered from his injury. The rest followed Ashav to the docks, who jogged with blank concentration masking his wrinkled feature; outwardly concentrated on the events to come. In reality, scant were the ways of preparation. Ashav had exchanged information briefly with a guard lieutenant, and then consulted with Daelin, Edith and Ariane. They decided to aid the guards on the docks, to protect it against the harm-doers. Some men spent the night in the warehouse, so that was where they headed to rally everyone.
The plan lasted till they descended from the gates onto the docks. The fog was no more, and across the unobstructed waters flowing into sea, a dozen ships encased in gray metal plates cruised toward Windhelm. There were no time to prepare; the enemies have arrived.
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