Laila burst out of the doors of Dragonsreach and swiftly descended the stairs. For a relatively small Imperial woman, she was strong, and she was fast: a consequence of being brought up by her uncle, who happened to run Leyawiin's fighters guild, in Cyrodill. After his death, there was nothing left for her there, so she decided to travel to Skyrim, to join the war against the Stormcloaks. Things hadn't gone entirely to plan, but she was here now, a fresh young soldier of 22. She'd built herself up from nothing to a respectable soldier, although she was fighting two wars: one as a Legionnaire, fighting to keep Skyrim from the control of a bigoted dictator, and one as the Dragonborn, fighting the war against the dragons. Not that she felt in anyway powerful or important. There were much better fighters out there, and she almost always had help slaying dragons. She was just a rookie soldier in the Imperials ranks too: although a competent fighter, Laila hadn't had much chance to prove herself. She felt almost used as a symbol more than a soldier, and was determined to show what she could do.
As she reached the wind district, chaos surrounded her: villagers frantically dashing about as their world fell down around them, panic and desperation in their wide-eyed faces. Here and there, spitting flames licked up the side of half-collapsed buildings, their harsh brightness illuminating the ravaged city as smoke billowed into the blood-orange dusk. Nobody was stirring in Jorrvaskar, she noted angrily. Stormcloack-loving bastards. Despite all their big talk of honour and battle, they wouldn't lift a finger to save their own city. When Laila had first come to Whiterun, she joined them. Their mercenary companionship reminded her of the fighter's guild at home, and her aptitude as a fighter had bought her a bed to sleep in. However, she soon discovered they had little honour to speak of and were corrupt to the core. Eventually, she made enough coin to buy herself a small house, which was likely to be obliterated, looking at the state of the rest of city.
She pulled open the heavy gate and just made it over the drawbridge before some guards, who had been following her out of the city, pulled it up. She raced down the wooden pathways with some difficulty, as most of them had been blasted apart by the flaming catapult rocks which continued to rain down upon Whiterun. The usually peaceful green plains were crawling with advancing soldiers; the orange glow from their fiery catapults and torches making cheery farmland look like the pits of Oblivion. She reached for her bow, a natural reaction, although it would be futile to shoot: they were much too far away, which she felt was slightly reassuring. A mixture of Imperial soldiers and Whiterun guards stood, weapons ready, on the outskirts of the city. Laila rushed to join them, glad she wasn't too late. Here and there, guards were constructing wooden barricades, which presumably would block the paths up to the city gate. Legate Rikke was making a speech about the "glory of the empire" and "everlasting victory." Only half listening, she checked her supplies: she only had 2 healing potions and 20 arrows to last this fight. After travelling from Winterhold to Whiterun to find full scale battle greeting her, she wasn't exactly prepared for combat. Panicking slightly, she put the arrows back into her quiver.
"Want some more arrows?" she heard a familiar voice call from behind her. She whipped around expectantly, and saw a fellow Imperial soldier smiling at her, a full quiver of arrows in his outstretched hand.
"Hadvar!" she exclaimed, in shock. She took the arrows off him and stowed them in her quiver. "Fancy seeing you here" she grinned. Laila and Hadvar had escaped Helgen together when a dragon attacked, although at the time Laila was prisoner there, having crossed the border into Skyrim illegally. However, with her resourcefulness and a bit of help off Hadvar, she had acquired armour, a sword, and some coin, and fought her way out. She hadn't seen him since.
"Well, as you know, I've been a legionnaire much longer than you" he replied, a playful smirk on his face. "Shouldn't I be shocked at your sudden appearance?"
"You were the one who recommended that I join up" she said, a smile playing in the corner of her lips. "Although I was already on my way when your lot tried to off me."
Hadvar laughed. "Apologies. Although, I did save your life..."
"Well, you helped to" she quipped cheerfully in response.
"Been busy since we last spoke though, I hear" said Hadvar. "Off being the great dragonborn of legend and all that. So, was it your ma or your pa that was the dragon?" he questioned.
"Very funny" she responded drily, her heart feeling lighter for such a cheerful conversation. For a shining moment, the ongoing attack seemed miles away, until one of the flaming catapult rocks crashed close to where they stood. An Imperial mage, wearing robes with his standard boots, gauntlets and helmet, rushed to put it out: he used some form of ice spell to control the flames, which quickly subsided. Gods, the attackers were getting very close now. Laila quickly checked her own standard leather armour to make sure it was tightly secured. It may not be considered the best thing to wear be wearing when a heavy-handed Nord swings an axe at you, but it was light: as a quick-footed Imperial, she could easily dodge and prevent that from happening. She slung her shield off her shoulder and fixed it onto her left arm, and pulled her elven sword out of its sheath.
"Nice sword" Hadvar commented. "Hardly standard issue. Who'd you nab that off then?"
Laila punched him on the arm playfully. "Oi! It was a gift, I'll have you know" she retorted. "Anyway, you might want to draw your beautifully standard sword out. It's time." She was ready, determination written on her face and adrenaline pumping through her veins.
"Come on!" Legate Rikke bellowed, her voice carrying over the sound of the turmoil. "Let's go and meet them!"