Skathi could not believe herself. Last night's events left her shaken. So, there was a reason she forgot how she killed a man and ate his flesh. When she thought about it, there was good reason she was cast out of Falkreath. That place was famous for its graveyard of heroes from the ages; no one wants that sullied with a cannibal.

None of that kept her from riding out to Reachcliff Cave. It was a strange compulsion, almost beyond her control. She could not believe she was going to eat someone. Whatever laid at the end of this was closure, no matter how it came about. She prayed this would not lead her down the wrong path.

To the road just ahead of her, Skathi could see the Stormcloak army marching on. The battle was soon or else they would not be here. She hoped they were not doomed to die in retched display, that they could go home and hold their families again. May Stendarr show mercy, Kynareth guide them and Arkay save them from Oblivion.

And her.

As she approached the cave, she found a small party at the entrance. Other cannibals, she supposed. One of them was a butcher she had seen in the market, raising some disturbing implications. Another was a dog breeder she had seen by the stables, raising even more implications. The last were a woman she did not recognize, two High Elf sorcerers and Eola.

"You've come," Eola greeted, "The draugr infesting Namira's sanctuary are inside."

So that's what the undead were called. Last time Skathi fought them, she had a housecarl to stand behind her, the one before being with an Imperial Legionnaire.

"I could use a hand," she asked.

"I was hoping you would say that," Eola smiled like a cat.

The drew their blades and entered the cave.

Rena awoke with a hangover and orders. The Stormcloak warband had crossed the border. Two thousand soldiers in all, a fifth of what they should be. Legate Admand awoke all Legion forces and the Forsworn host and had them march to meet them on the field of combat. The final battle for the Reach was at hand.

The regiment marched on the roads, the Forsworn were encouraged to disperse so they could ambush the Stormcloaks. Rena tried to tell herself this wouldn't end the same way as always. The two battles she fought were in fortified cities, one ended in defeat and the other in victory. This was the field of battle, somewhat equal chance to see the quality of each sides' soldiers.

It was all so terrifying. She had fought in Helgen, the Rift, Whiterun and Markarth and this was the battle she wasn't sure about. She fought against dragons and Stormcloaks before, but this was different. No battle before was a test of warcraft like this. It was just walking onward to a certain end. It was terrifying.

Marching around the bends for the road and valleys, they made a lot of noise. All the steel armor and weapons and footsteps mashed together to make a regular sound that would tell anyone that an army was on the move. So, it was true terror when Rena noticed it was getting louder.

And louder.

And louder.

When the Legionnaires turned the corner, they found the Stormcloaks forming a shield wall. Rena called for box formation just as a volley cut through the air. The arrows didn't pierce but instead were just a warning as another volley went straight at the front lines. They did pierce the shield barriers and they fell, shrinking the box. And they kept loosing arrows into the Legion ranks as fast as they could.

Rena knew they couldn't keep this up, neither side. They'd run out of soldiers before they were safe from arrows. But the Stormcloaks were also loosing their arrows too fast, meaning they were going to strain their bows and would break before long. They could wait, but it was far too foolish to test their bow's construction against their headcount.

"Archers, battlemages!" she ordered, "Rain fire and death upon them!"

The Imperial archers sent a volley into the loose ranks of the Stormcloaks' and many were caught on arrows. The Legion shields gave way to battlemages that sent fireballs and lightning against the wooden shields of their opposition. Ulfric's resistance to embracing wizards as frontline war machines would cost him many men before the day was over.

The Stormcloak shield wall broke and they began to swarm the Legion ranks. Their swords were mostly ineffective against the formation, but the Imperials' were not so unlucky. They found purchase against their cuirasses and necks, but that was not to say they weren't chipping at the Legion lines.

"Ulfric's head is forfeit!"

From the ridge came the host of Forsworn warriors that fell into the Stormcloak lines and tore their young men apart. Amongst them as Ansgar, having split off to make the most of his horse's ability on the rocks. He swooped down and began smashing blue paint shields like logs against and an axe. If the Stormcloak's defeat was at all in question, this would put an answer to it: yes.

But something didn't make sense to Rena. Ulfric fought here before. He must have known every trick to fighting Forsworn, fighting in the Reach. And surely the two victories beforehand weren't a fluke. There had to be something else. If there wasn't, where was the Bear the Markarth?

But then it hit her. Ulfric had to have more men. And there was more than one road to Markarth. He could easily have another thousand past their patrols and been at the city by now. As much as it may or may not, she had to check. There weren't enough in the city guard to defend against an attack.

"Company!" Rena ordered, "Prepare to move out!"

Legate Admand rode up on his horse. "Captain, what are you doing?" he barked.

"Legate, I don't think this is Ulfric's full force," she explained.

Before another word could escape anyone's lips, an arrow struck Admand in the chest and he fell from his horse. Only the briefest glance told her it was no Nord or Imperial arrow. She looked around and the Forsworn had turned away from the Stormcloaks and were attacking the Legion lines.

"For Madanach, the King in Rags!" Wulded bellowed.

The Forsworn charged into the frontlines like madmen and were far and away more effective than the Stormcloaks. They fought without armor to weight them down and had a sword in each hand, swinging them together and spinning around to become a hurricane of blades. Some could be slain easy, men with what was said to have a briar heart in their chest would take a sword like it was nothing more than the wind.

Rena had lost sight of Ansgar. She may not have agreed with him on many things, but his strength with a blade might have carried them through the battle. If the briar heart warriors had gotten to him, then they couldn't slay these animals.

And then one found Rena. She raised her shield, but the warrior spun, and it was flung out of her hand. Two Legionnaires tried to stand in his way, but he took their blades as they couldn't in their steel armor. He was about to bring his spiked blade to her throat, but a mighty blade made it through his open chest, and he fell, dead.

"I found out how to kill these Briarhearts," Ansgar stated, cover in blood and stood a little shorter than normal.

"Ansgar, the Stormcloaks might be using this as a diversion," Rena stated, "The bulk of their forces might be on another road."

"Yeah, we should've just stayed within the walls," Ansgar replied, "Go, take our companies and secure Markarth. I'll cover your retreat."

Ansgar raised his mighty blade and cut down a Forsworn as she came at him. Rena called another retreat and around a hundred and fifty soldiers followed her initiative. The chaos of the battle left its end uncertain, but much blood would be spilled in her absence. She only hoped that in the end, Ulfric would not take the city if she left. She prayed to Julianos that she was not mistaken, or the battle may be lost.

Ulfric had a solid plan; Jeanne could say that much. The Stormcloaks couldn't take the combined efforts of the experienced Legion and Forsworn forces, not with the fresh soldiers they had. So, he chose to split his forces. A host would go the southern road and take the brunt of the Legion's defenses, while the other half would take the northern road straight to Markarth. This is most likely how he survived this long.

That didn't mean it would be easy. The northern road was far more populated than the southern road. While it was a priority not to be seen, that wasn't as important as making sure no one could warn the Legion. Scouts or patrols were to be dealt with quickly by the closest twenty soldiers to their position. While they marched on the road, no civilian dared cross their path.

When they stood on the verge of Markarth dale, Ulfric sent Mikaela and other guerillas to open the gate. From his experience in the city, there was a hidden passageway that led to the gatehouse. Jeanne got the impression he knew this place better than the hundreds of Jarls and captains that claimed to protect this city. A dangerous enemy, she supposed, to have.

They waited four minutes and they could hear the gate fling open. Ulfric stood toward his men, called to charge, and the fifteen hundred and more charged into the dale, beholding the Dwarven ruins called a city that was awaiting their blades. The battle began.

The city guards stood in a shield wall at the gate, but Stormcloak hammermen ran ahead of the rest and broke their wooden defenses. The Markarth regulars fought with swords in hand, but there were too many and their position would fall soon. Oh, they gave such an end that was worthy of Sovngarde.

Once the path was clear, the Stormcloaks scattered to the streets to secure the city. But something was wrong. Jeanne could feel something was far too easy about this. The Legion was occupied, yes, and the hold guards were no matched for their tactics unorthodox and overwhelming, but there was something else. Like at any moment, a thousand bandits could jump out of the shadows and stabbed them.

And damn them to Coldharbour if that didn't happen.

"Behead the bear!"

From windows and alleys came a swarm of irregular soldiers in steel and leather armor immediately struck the Stormcloak lines. They moved too fast for their shield arms to block their blades. It was as though Hircine had declared them prey. Jeanne knew not where they came from, nor where they learned how to strike like a torrent, but it would be far too much a challenge to learn now.

Of course, shield walls were formed, but over a hundred dead weren't saved in time. Jeanne could hear their blades shredded wood, but it wasn't so easy to pierce these shields when stack on top of them. Stormcloak blades came out and stabbed the attackers, though not enough.

But while their flanks were taken care of, Jeanne could see a glaring disadvantage; there weren't enough shields for their heads. That was so obvious, it wasn't a surprise when arrows began raining down upon them. They tried to meet them with their archers, but there were far too many targets.

It seemed the battle was surely lost, but Ulfric wouldn't be so easily broken. He gave a shout in some language unfamiliar to all who could hear it and the archers above them dropped their bows like they were burning elements. They were much easier to pick of without those.

"Soldiers!" Ulfric ordered, "Stand with me!"

Ulfric, blade in hand, began leading his men to break these attackers' resistance. Hammermen pushed these lean swordsmen apart and were no match for their axes. Jeanne herself began setting them alight. Perhaps if they couldn't win this battle, they could give their foes a black eye.

The warband began pushing for the keep, even though that was where the greatest resistance was. Ulfric shouted again the they were flung apart. Perhaps it wasn't so unlikely that he slew Dead King Torygg with his voice, Jeanne considered. She would have to see if that would make the duel illegitimate, seeing as he had won with that little trick.

Soon enough, the warband was surrounded. Behind them were far too many soldiers to count or distinguish. Ahead of them, not much better. If they did push further, it would surely kill them, but retreat was going to be even harder. Jeanne's father taught her that the most casualties in a battle would be in a rout. If that didn't happen, she didn't know if they would even have the option.

"Ulfric!" Jeanne called, "We can't fight forever! We need to retreat!"

"No! Not here!" he barked back.

"My Jarl, even if we win this day, we won't have the numbers to hold the city!" Jeanne explained, desperate. They hadn't the ability to win the city and him being here jeopardized the entire rebellion.

"I won't let it fail to anyone but me!" he proclaimed.

But then he fell. His eyes shot wide in shock and pain and he fell over. All along his back were arrows, riddling him to no end. Jeanne spotted where they came from and threw a fireball at them, which disbursed them. From there, she picked Ulfric up and threw him over her shoulder. It was cumbersome, given her height and his weight, but it was better than just leaving him there.

"Protect your king!" she ordered.

The Stormcloak ranks surrounded her and the light was blotted out by the shields. Now was the time to decide the fate of the battle. Jeanne knew there was no way out of this battle that didn't end with the city returning to the Empire's regime. They lost too many soldiers to hold the city, and they would lose even more in a retreat. She was damned if she stayed this course and damned if she chose to break from it.

Then damn it all. Jeanne knew that the pressure would influence her decision in some way, but that's what it's there for. If she could throw away all these soldiers' lives like they were numbers, she had no doubt she would, but she knew too many of the people here to truly consider them tools to be used and thrown away when they broke. Ulfric would surely punish her for this, but there was one lesson her parents taught her that she didn't pay attention.

No matter what you do, whether it's for glory or not, make sure it's worthy. It won't matter to anyone else but you if you make the right decision. Jeanne hoped that was true, even in retreat.

Rena found her legs were worn from travel. She had spent the entire day on her feet, marching from morning to past noon, stood in the battle to command and was trying to make it back to Markarth in time. All that time was like the flames of Deadlands on her legs and she sworn she'd spend a week in bed after all this. They could dock her pay and she wouldn't care.

The Legionnaires behind her would surely join her. Not only had the march worn them, but the battle had given them all the reason they need for nightmares. So many of them, young to everything, now forever impacted by what life had to offer them for their choices. They may not find their rest kind on them, as it surely wasn't kind on her.

When Rena's soldiers reached the shadow of Markarth, they found the city in flames and the gate wide open. There was no sign of another battle in the field, no sign that there had been a struggle. It all reeked of one thing: betrayal. Rena made a silent vow that, whoever it was, she would kill the traitor and hang his body from the walls as a warning to any who shared his sentiment.

When arrows fell on their heads, the Legionnaires raised shields, but did no slow. They needed to enter the city. They suffered the volleys from the gate house, it being clear that the Stormcloaks had taken this much. They lost a few soldiers, but returned in kind, letting their blue clad bodies fall on their shields.

When they entered the city, they saw a strange battle. The Stormcloaks, numerous and overwhelming, were surrounded by not only the city guard, but also numerous warriors of no clear alignment. It was though they were sellswords that sprang out from the ground and started fighting for the city, but Rena recalled nothing regarding the jarl or anyone else hiring them. For now, it was enough to have allies.

"For Markarth!" Rena cried, "For the Reach, and for Skyrim!"

And the Legionnaires joined the battle. The Stormcloaks were beyond count, without a single soldier being fallen for long until nine more crawled out the stonework. There could be the entire Stormcloak warband in this city and Rena would have to believe, were it not for the two hundred she left for Ansgar to deal with. They fought from building to building, but that wasn't enough to contain them.

It felt as though Rena were just a fly picking away at Mehrunes Dagon's ankle. It was pointless for the such a small creature to even bother with something bigger and more powerful like a Daedric prince. But even a fly knows its part. Even a fly knows that it is better to fight this than let the battle be won by the enemy of everything it holds dear. Rena admitted that was a bad example, as Ulfric was unlikely to storm the Imperial City, but the principle was sound.

She would not let this battle be won by Ulfric. She had lost too many times to let the Reach be another mark on her record, another weight on her soul. The dead souls left to Arkay's stewardship, may she find herself there before anyone else, but the Stormcloak warband.

Even the greatest Giant would fall by mortal hand if it were persistent enough, fast enough and strong enough. The Stormcloaks would fall soon enough, if she could find an end to their host. She looked over the crowd and saw an endless swarm of soldiers, no knowledge of when they would end. A fresh corpse at her side, she raised her shield and sword and bolted into the enemy lines.

Something Rena found an easy trick to use in the streets. The Stormcloak ranks were too large to move with easy. If one tripped, they would be surely dead by ten others that stepped on top of him. Her plan was to force the Stormcloaks into a corner. They may have far more soldiers, but that could easily be exploited by anyone who knew how.

Rena had the Legionnaires raise shields, back up into an ally and let the street fill up with Stormcloaks. Then she would have her soldiers force them down walkways of the ancient city. She found a path to the forge works, where there was a massive watercourse. She forced the massive host into the water and let the currents push them away into a grate, crushing them.

As the horizon warmed with the signs of night, the Stormcloaks began to retreat. Rena joined the city guard and sellswords in encouraging them out with a shield wall and archers. She stepped over many bodies whose lives were the payment for the Stormcloaks' arrogance. It was hard fought, but Ulfric's warband was thrown out into the yard and archers on the walls volleyed into their ranks.

It was over. The battle for Markarth was over. Behind the defenders was bodies of thousands of souls who would rest in whatever realm awaited them upon death. Stormcloaks, Legionnaires or sellswords, they were all amongst the ranks of the dead. Rena prayed Arkay would take them home to rest in their lands of peace in Sovngarde, Hircine's hunting grounds, Moonshadow or anywhere else that accepted good souls.

Rena stride over the fallen as they were taken by the priests, careful not to desecrate their bodies. She made her way to Understone Keep, where she found Jarl Igmund, Faleen, Thonar and the steward, Raerek, with an entourage of guards. They seemed to have watched the battle unfold, if only the end of it.

"Captain, where is your commander?" Jarl Igmund inquired. He seemed annoyed by the Legates absence.

"Locked in battle," Rena explained, "He was struck by an arrow and he's still on the frontline." Igmund impatiently scowled. "Are you waiting for him?" the captain asked.

"There's a matter we need to discuss," Igmund stated and nothing more.

Rena figured there was only so many topics there could be. "If you're looking for how the Stormcloaks got it, it's clearly a traitor's hand," she remarked.

"If you refer to the gate opening to them, it wasn't a by traitor's hand," Faleen stated, "Ulfric knew there was a path into the gatehouse from the outside."

"But a traitor still stands," Igmund interjected, looking at Raerek, "One that gave information to our enemy."

So, this was the traitor. "I swore to take the traitor's head," Rena stated, drawing her sword, "and I will."

Thonar held her back as she approached him. "You'll get him if we decide that," he stated, "But we need you to get Legate Admand first."

And so, Rena mounted up with an entourage and rode to the frontline. She would have the traitor's head.

The resulting battle against the dead took some time. The draugr were difficult opponents, more powerful than any Skathi had fought before. Perhaps their strength is why Eola's cult were forced out, though the cannibal implied they tasted terrible, so maybe that had something to do with it.

Still, few could stand against the Dovahkiin. It was strange. She seemed to have a unique ability to slay the dead without magics. Eola had to use fire to slay them. Eventually, they reached the end of the cave.

They came upon a strange chamber. It was much like the tombs Skathi had been to, but at the center was a table meant to hold a feast from days old. Yet that was not the most unnerving part of it. At the focal point of the room was an alien altar, spiked and winged at first, but it revealed more frightening imagery the further one looked.

"You've done it. The shrine is ours again," Eola proclaimed, "Now, we need to prepare a grand feast to welcome you into Namira's coven."

A feast. That meant flesh. Skathi felt strange at this. One part of her was tempted to taste it again, but the other was horrified. The memory of its flavor was unclear. To refresh it was both intoxicating and disgusting. Her mouth was filling with fluid, but whether it was the sign of vomit to come or salivation, she could not say.

"You'll have the honor of killing the main course," Eola grinned, "And I know the perfect person."

"Who is it?" Skathi asked, as afraid she was of the answer.

"You'll see," the cannibal answered, "I have someone hunting for him."

The hall soon filled with the coven. They brought cheeses, bread and meats of unknown origin. They nibbled, waiting for the main course. Skathi barely made conversation with them. When they asked why she was not eating any of the meats, she excused herself by saying she wanted to save herself for the main course, too afraid to tell them she was nervous about any of it.

Skathi could not relate to the other cannibals at the table with her. They each had reasons for why they ate flesh, but they were all terrible. Their 'first meals' were murdered, not killed to protect someone. Her one lapse in judgement looked logical compared to their madness. Why was she still here, except to relive the taste again?

The appetizers were almost through when the main course arrived. A Bosmer in Legion armor led the familiar priest of Arkay into the chamber. Upon the sight of this, he almost drew his blade, but Eola coaxed him into submission. Was that what gave her these desires, these memories? Was this woman using Namira's magics to hypnotize people into thinking they were cannibals and make them so? Was that it?

Eola led the priest to the altar and signaled for Skathi to follow. This was it. She would kill the man and eat his flesh. But could she?

As the priest laid on the altar, Eola whispered to Skathi, "The meal is on Namira's table. Go ahead. Carve."

Without thinking, the outsider took out her dagger, this gift of Nord heroes and stained it with the blood of a priest. She looked on his now lifeless corpse. What was she doing? Eola told her to take the first bite. It was a bitter meat, no sweetness or strength. At the taste of this, Skathi went into a rage.

When she awoke, the holy man's blood stained her mouth, his body half eaten. The coven was dead, she could find most of their bodies scattered throughout the dining hall. She had done this; the blood on her armor said as much. She was overcome with horror at the sight of this. In her hand, there was a bloodstained sword and a ring on her finger.

"Mortal," a voice from the shrine echoed, "I am Namira, the Lady of Decay. Your consumption of the blood and bile of Arkay's own is pleasing to me."

She still murdered him.

"I give you my ring. Wear it, and when you feast on the flesh of the dead, I will grant you my power."

And Skathi ran, like had so long ago, ashamed. However, unlike before, she was not running to save her life. She was running to find someone to kill her.

As she ran out the cave, she tripped and fell. She cried for what she had done, in pain and horror. She was not worthy of the powers and life she had been given. Of all those in this world who could have been Dragonborn, she did not deserve it. She was foolish to think she was.

Her mouth full of dirt stained with her tears, the wretched taste of flesh persisted. Her body gagged and threw up what she had eaten of the priest. It was painful, but practically apple pie compared to everything else. But then she stopped. She was not empty, like when she vomited other times. On her hand, the ring began heating up until it turned to molten metal and burned her finger and she screamed. When it was off her hand, all that was left was a band of burnt flesh around her finger.

And then another voice. "Get up and walk."

This one was like the wind, the earth, river and fire in one breath. Skathi was compelled to obey and walked all the way toward the river. She tossed her bloodstained blades aside and threw off her sullied armor. And then she bathed in wild water. When she emerged, she felt cleaner than she ever been before.

Skathi asked herself who this was. She was answered with a hand on her face, invisible as the wind.

"I won't let you fail yourself, Skathi," the voice proclaimed, "I love you too much."

The nothingness gave way to a woman of nature. Antlers wreathed her storm cloud gray hair that sprouted from her skin as dark was fertile soil. She wore fine armor as fluid as water over robes like autumn leaves. On her face was crowned eyes with irises of fire. If she was anything less than Kynareth, she would not believe it.

"Go, the world needs you."

And she faded away. It had been so long since she cried tears of joy, maybe never. She believed she could still be the Dragonborn.

It didn't take long for Rena to reach the healers' camp. She could thank the Forsworn for leaving the Stormcloak camp intact enough to use like this, with some refurbishment. That was the only thing she would thank the Forsworn for, as she would think a fair amount of the wounded here were their doing.

Healers ran around, checking one patient, believing they had it the worst, but they had been brought to the surgeon's tent or were yet to be diagnosed. Their restoration spells were fine at encouraging the wounds to heal, but their magicka was finite, and potions to rejuvenate them had side effects. It was a familiar sight, but that's what made it hurt.

Rena found that Ansgar was there but had no serious injuries. He was sat outside the recovery tent, leaning on his Zweihander and covered in blood. Beside him was Mariqa, his fur and steel plate equally drenched. Now to think of it, Rena was probably covered in gore from the battle before, but hadn't noticed with all the excitement, as terrible it is to describe it that way.

"I'll assume Legate Admand is in the tent," Rena stated.

"He is," Ansgar confirmed, "The arrow was poisoned, but some minor thing the mages could deal with."

"Was he one of the lucky ones?" the Imperial captain inquired.

The Nord nodded. "How many have you lost at Markarth?" he asked.

"Six."

"Then, we're only done to seven-hundred and ninety-three," he sighed, "The Forsworn and Stormcloaks did their damage and now the regiment is barely two battalions."

Rena silently cursed. The way they were losing soldiers in this war was always fast, and this was a better than before, but it was still a blow. It meant that they couldn't defend the Reach effectively. Held in Markarth, maybe, but not patrolling the roads or holding the borders. Fort Sungard was probably in taken, as no word reached them in days. If the Stormcloaks came back, they could take the hold.

"I'm here to escort the Legate to Understone Keep," Rena stated.

"Yeah, he's probably good to go," Ansgar remarked and he picked himself up.

The two captains entered the recovery tent and were met with a wretched stench. The wounds were treated, all they need was to rest, but this stench was far more than anything their injuries could make. It was like they entered a chamber pot. A glance down at the floor revealed buckets filling with piss and shit that had yet to be taken out.

"Nurse!" Rena called.

A slightly stressed looking mage ran up to them. "Who died now?" he asked in a broken voice.

"Don't you think you should empty the chamber pots?" Rena inquired.

The mage nodded. "Right." And he started carrying the buckets out and throwing their contents off the cliff. There was probably a traveler or two that was less than amused.

The captains looked over the beds of patients. Their pain varied from soldier to soldier, looking as though they fought the pain to even sleep. Rena cursed Ulfric that this was nothing new to her. They found Legate Admand on one bed, unarmored and reading a book. He seemed to recover fine.

"Legate," Rena spoke, "I'm here to escort you to Understone Keep."

He nodded. "Yup, that make sense," he remarked, "I'll head over now."

As he picked himself up, Rena asked, "Do you think you're strong enough to ride?"

"It was an arrow to the chest," he stated as he put on his armor, "I've taken a lot of those in my life and I've been just fine after each one, poison or not."

Legate Admand carefully mounted his horse, still affected by the arrow, and rode to Markarth. When they arrived, they found bodies of Stormcloaks dragged out and burned in piles. They found people that went around, terrified by the idea they lost someone. Rena's heart went out for them, but she didn't know if she could help. This war needed to end.

Admand entered Understone keep, but Rena was kept from entering. She supposed that made sense, as she vowed to kill Raerek for his traitorous actions. She waited outside, sharpening her sword. When Admand came back out, the jarl's entourage was with him and they led the steward by a rope.

The Legate nodded. Rena smiled.

To a crowd of those who survived the battle, Rena wore an execution's hood and robes with a headsman's axe in hand. With Raerek on the block, she brought her axe through his neck and his head rolled down the stairs to roaring applause. They wanted the traitor dead. She wrapped his dead body in ropes and dragged it to the top of the wall, secure the other end to a beam, and threw him off the other side. To any who entered the city, they would see an example of betraying the Legion and Markarth.

As she vowed.

The fog was thick, near unending to the naked eye. This was a good thing, as it hid their approach. No clue as to why the lighthouse wasn't working, but it only meant they could reach Dawnstar with an element of surprise. With this battle, the tide of the war could easily turn in their favor. This was the Legion opportunity to show their quality to their Emperor.

The fleet lasted longer than their eyes' ability to pierce the fog. Around half of General Tullius's forces were packed in the vessels to the point of bursting. While it was ill-advised to sail the northern waters of Skyrim, they needed to so the hold guard wouldn't see them coming. While the defenders lacked their numbers, the Legion offensive was built to be brutally fast. Their Jarl would be given no quarter.

Eventually, the fog came to an end and Dawnstar was in the Legion's view. Upon seeing the smaller city, Ravani nocked her bow. She had joined the offensive to make bring the fight to Ulfric, just as she wanted. If he wouldn't accept that they needed to end the war and focus on more important things, she would make sure his cause would fail.

Along with Ravani, the two thousand archers maybe more of the fleet nocked their bows and awaited the order to let them loose. Then the legate gave the order.

"Light your arrows!"

Fire arrows, eh? Well, Ravani and the other archers obeyed and gently lit their arrowheads and awaited his order. When he called it, a volley bright enough to burn the entire fleet to ashes was loosed into the air, creating a constellation of orange stars. Oh, what the locals must have thought as they came upon the city. While not every arrow met dry light, it was enough to send a warning: The Legion had come.

Oars extended from the Imperial vessel and pushed the fleet faster forward. Ravani nocked another arrow, as did the other archers, but didn't light them out of the desire not complete burn the city down. They met the city again, but Ravani couldn't help but think this was cruel. The people of Dawnstar awoke to find their homes ablaze and were now met with a killing arrow. As such, she held her arrows until she spotted a target.

The fleet was too large for the docks, so many ships would land on the beach for the sake of speed. Ravani was at the docks and cut down a pale clad hold guard as they tried to meet the Legion's numbers. The host burst out of the vessels with and Ravani was almost caught in the rush, but she'd learned how painful that could be and stood out of the way. The Legion was here.

Ravani led some of the archers to the side to begin loosing arrows into the hold guards' ranks. Their lack of numbers would be their undoing. Of course, perhaps the Legion's size would be unwieldy in the close quarters of Dawnstar and the experienced hold guard would be able to make their stand with ease. It was difficult to say, but the thousands of Legionnaires did present a challenge to the five hundred men of the Jarl.

Speaking of which, the old man, Jarl Skald the Elder, was spotted leaving his keep. He had armor on but made no show of his presence. Whether this was cowardice, or a humble submission was not immediately obvious, but Ravani would still go after him. She loosed an arrow in his direction and it landed in a post next to his head. That got his attention.

Through the crowd and chaos that was the battle, Ravani cut through with Skald the Elder in her sights. She would have his head if nothing else. Guards tried to stop her, but she ran around them, over them and dodged every blade in her path. She had grown up in place where you couldn't let yourself be caught and Ravani was specialized in this regard.

Eventually, the Elder was before her, half a dozen guards between the two. They tried to stop her, but she avoided their blades and let their heads fall off their bodies when her sword met their necks. Then there was Skald to finish, so she charged him to put a blade to his neck hidden only by his white beard, then a shield bashed her aside and she fell on the ground. Another guard, but still not too difficult.

This guard was difficult though. When Ravani tried to take his head, he blocked her on reflex. His axe caught her in the side, leading her to recoil on the ground. The pain was unbearable, but that wasn't good for him. The angry Ravani took blade to his foot and he backed up. She bolted onto his shield and he could block her body, but not her blade and she caught him in his shoulder. It pierced his mail caused him to drop his shield.

"Stop!"

After all this time, Skald spoke up as Ravani was ready for the killed. "If you want Dawnstar," he spitefully said, "you have it. It isn't worth this bloodshed."

"You surrender?" Ravani recounted through gritted teeth from her wound.

"Yes," the Elder replied. He turned to his city in flames and announced, "I surrender Dawnstar to the Imperial Legion." He turned back to Ravani and said, "Are you happy now?"

She wasn't but didn't say anything. If he was willing to surrender all this time, then why didn't he when he saw the fleet approaching? The lives lost could've been saved if he had spoken up sooner. Whatever reason he had for this stubborn resolve; it wasn't worth it. He made Ravani a murderer and she would bury her victims herself.

One of the Legates, Tituleius, caught up with the Dunmer. He had company, including an older woman who didn't seem to be part of the Legion, though carried herself as such.

"Auxiliary Faren," Tituleius greeted, "Good to see-. "and he spotted her wound. "By the Eight! You should get that looked at!"

Ravani looked it over. "Probably," she replied.

"You might have some broken ribs," the Legate stated.

"Nah, not from that," the Dunmer remarked, "I drink milk."

And Ravani left for the healers' tent. She planned to find any civilian that fell by her arrow and treat them later, but it would be hard with how similar her arrows were to rest of them. She still tasked herself with it.