Hey guys, I haven't posted in quite a while, but here is the next chapter. I know a few of you have been waiting for a very long time for this.

Chapter 10: May You Walk On Warm Sands

A hot, dry wind blew across Burz gro Ka's face as he stood atop a small mountain on the edge of Elsweyr. It reminded him of a dragon's breath right before he used his Thu'um. He wondered if his breath got hot before he shouted. He looked to the north and saw a vast sea of golden grass and sand. He felt like he could see for miles across the barren land of the Khajiit. He took his Orcish helm off and let what little hair he had left blow freely. His once jet black hair had turned to thin, silver-gray strands over the years like his father's. The top of his head was bald from years of wearing helmets. The past decade in the gray, snow-filled Skyrim and drained most of the color from his skin. He was a green-tinted gray now from lack of sun. His armor was snug from 10 years of inactivity, however the last few months had alleviated that slightly. He had yet to brush up on his skills as a fighter. This 'war' had failed to provide much conflict thus far, but he was glad for it.

Burz thought back to his days in the Golden Coast of Cyrodiil. In his younger days, not yet 15, he and his brother Gallic would venture to Skingrad, and then go to the Elsweyr city of Riverhold and spend days away from home. From time to time, Brinyon would tag along. Being about 10 years older, he could get them things because he was considered an adult. They felt the power of youthful authority until they would return home and face their father's disapproval. That was many years ago. He would turn 35 within the year; old for an orc man. He should be the head of a tribe by now, if his father hadn't been exiled. His thoughts drifted to his family. He mused over where his younger brother ended up. On his 15th birthday, Burz's father had sent him away to "become a man" and he had never returned. If all went to plan, he would pass within miles of his childhood home.

The wind shifted to the south west, blowing towards the city of Corinth. That was their target, the Khajiit Mane lived there. They would have to capture the city to capture Elsweyr. Burz closed his eyes as the wind blew across his face. It was hot, but cooler than stagnant air. He knew once they descended the mountain there would be very little wind, and when there was, it would be riddled with harsh sand. Burz wondered what a Khajiit is his natural land would be like. All he knew were the tame Khajiit of the Skyrim caravans.

General Rikke finally topped the mountain and walked towards Burz. She saw that he was deep in thought and did not disturb him. This was the first peace she had seen on his face since knowing him. She gazed at the vast savannah until her gaze met a small village to the south west. It looked to be a few miles from the base of the mountain, but Rikke could not be sure with so little reference points in the wasteland. She wiped a cool bead of sweat from her brow. She knew she would grow to hate the burning hot of Elsweyr's air. 'May you walk on warm sands' was something the Khajiit of Skyrim had always told her. She finally understood how out of their element they were. She almost felt sorry for them.

Within a few hours time, the Imperial Army descended upon the small village to the south west. The townspeople were caught off guard, and provided little in the way of resistance. Burz was gasping for air as he swung his mighty warhammer at his enemies. He remembered how to feel the subtle crack of bone when he made contact. He felt alive once again, like he had years ago during the Civil War. His Thu'um echoed far and wide in the flatland. The battle was brief and easy. They lost no soldiers as they faced simple warriors with little more than spears, but Burz knew a new foe. There were Khajiit that crawled on all fours like the saber cats of Skyrim. They had great manes, and showed incredible strength. He had heard stories of these beasts on his trips to Riverhold, but had never seen one in person.

"Clean up the bodies and prepare a pyre. We shall use this village as a camp." General Rikke gave the command. The village was small and would not hold the hundreds of thousands they had with them, but this would be a base of operations in this foreign land. From this point on, the army would be split.

"Burz, I want you to take a detachment and scout ahead before we move on." Rikke said. They had moved to a small hut for the high ranking officers to meet. Though Ambarys was not a part of the Legion, he was allowed admittance.

"Yes ma'am." Burz said, his voice gruff from action.

Ambarys chimed in, "General, the night will soon take this place. The Khajiit can see in the dark. We should not have soldiers out long past dark. It will be dangerous."

"You are right, Ambarys. Burz, for now, secure the perimeter. Nightfall is close, and you wont be able to see much anyway. You can scout in the morning," Rikke said.

"Yes ma'am," Burz left the tent. He looked at the village. It's perimeter was growing as he stood. Soldiers were pitching their tents to prepare for the night. Many soldiers had refused to use the small huts that belonged to the locals. A cool wind blew across Burz's face indicating the impending night. He thought back to the cool summer nights in Marcarth. After he had defeated Alduin, he would go on nightly walks with his wife around the city. He would tell her everything, and she would heal his wounds with her words of wisdom. Together, they reveled in the relative peace that he had brought to the land. Some where along the way they stopped. Their nightly walks had turned into his nightly visit the the pub for mead. Her eyes would be filled with sadness for her husband every time he walked through the door. How could he let that happen?

Rikke stepped out of the tent after a few moments and saw that Burz was deep in thought. It was a rare occasion to see tears on an orc. "Lot on the mind, orc?" She asked, her tone was smooth.

"A man of my age has many regrets. My kind has never been known for long, loving marriages. But I love my wife so deeply, and I let her down. 34 years on Nirn, and she is the only thing I've found worth living for, and how do I treat her? Like a glorified maid." His words were slow. He took long pauses between each thought.

"That was forthcoming, for an orc," Rikke said with a smile. Bruz let out a slight snort. "Burz, I don't know you that well. I haven't seen you with your wife that much. I can't sit here and claim to know your marriage, but what I can say is when you are with your wife, it is obvious to every one in the room that you love her. Are you the best man you could be? No, of course not. We are all flawed, but you are a good husband who loves your wife." Rikke felt uncomfortable. She wasn't good at these kinds of talks. And the tears on Burz's face were unsettling.

Burz stood silent for a while. His wispy hair blew in the cool wind. He took deep breaths as his thoughts went back to his childhood, remembering the cool night-wind that always came in across the hot sand when he and his brother would sneak to Riverhold. Rikke stood with him, silent. She had said what she could.

"I've had ten years of the quiet life to think about things. It is so hard in war to stop and muse. Ironic that I choose now to finally start thinking again." Burz said, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. Rikke glanced at him, slightly surprised by his voice. She averted her gaze back to the open savanna. The sky was turning a hot orange as night was approaching from behind.

"Burz, you should get that patrol going. I don't want you out there long once the dark hits." Rikke said, her voice stern again.

"Yes ma'am." Burz's gaze was still on the savanna, but his voice was strong again. He turned to go gather a few troops. Rikke remained outside her tent and continued to gaze at the savanna. This land was so open and flat, yet she felt as though she couldn't see anything. She felt as though she was being watched from the tall grass, but was helpless to stop it. Anything could be hiding in it. The cool wind blew, and sky burned a deeper orange. Darkness would soon take the land.

The soldiers followed close behind Burz as the sun vanished completely behind the horizon. The night took longer without mountains to hide the sun prematurely. The moon was out, and provided an adequate light source for the patrol to see. The camp was less than ten minutes away, and Burz could see the campfires in the distance. Everything was so visible here, yet there was so much grass to hide in. He felt the patrol was pointless, as they could easily miss something just a few steps from where they were. As he moved, the grass licked at his naval. If he wasn't wearing armor, it would tickle him.

"Sir, I can't see anything, may we head back soon?" A soldier asked. His voice was feeble. It sounded familiar.

Burz turned around to look at the owner of the voice. He looked very familiar. He stared for a moment when it clicked. He was the young soldier that had come to him in Marcarth. "Sending in a Currier to do a soldiers job," Burz muttered.

"What was that, sir? Can we go back now?" His voice quivered slightly.

"What is your name, son?" Burz asked, his voice full of authority. "I didn't get it 4 years ago in Marcarth."

The soldier looked shocked that Burz remembered. "M.. my... my name is Johnathan Marro..." He stuttered out.

"Johnathan Marro..." Burz thought for a moment. "Lets head back, boys. Marro has a point. We have seen all that can for now." Burz turned to the camp and began to walk back. As they made their way back, Burz heard rustling in the grass close by. He stopped to investigate. He scanned the top of the grass to see if there was any movement, but he could not see much because his eyes had not yet adjusted to the darkness. He made his way towards the rustling, the hair on his neck was elevated. The soldiers had stopped to see what was happening, they were at the ready. Burz stopped as he saw two glints of light in the grass, like eyes in the moonlight. He leaned forward and held his breath from anxiety. For a moment, all was quiet.

Out of the still came a thunderous roar as a large cat leaped out of the grass at Burz. In what felt like slow motion, Burz grabbed at a small blade he kept at his side. He didn't have enough time to unsheathe his hammer. He embraced the cat as it's body descended upon his. He let the blade sink into the front of it's neck as their bodies fell to the ground. Before his head was swallowed up in the sea of weed, he saw a dozen more of the beasts leap from the grass at his party.

"FUS ROH DAH!" He shouted the cat off of him. He stood up and yelled at the village for help as he clamored for his hammer. He grabbed it and swung just in time to meet the skull of his assailant. The cat's body went limp as it flew through the air and landed on another cat. An onslaught of electricity burst from behind him as the Breton battlemages joined the skirmish. The dark scene was illuminated be enchantments. As the cats where met with steel, they would disappear back into the grass only jump back out and attack from a different angle, their large teeth sinking through the steel armor of the Legion.

Burz swung his hammer in a fury at grass and fur. His errant attacks met with little more than grass tips. He felt blind as he could not see anything below his naval. "Set fire to the field!" He yelled to the mages as he retreated back. The mages began casting fire spells on the grass as they ran to the village. "YOL TOOR SHUL!" Burz shouted fire at the cats. If he couldn't see them in the grass, he would draw them out, or get rid of their cover. As they dashed back to camp, more soldiers came from the ranks to help quell the disturbance. Burz began to count his party. He had taken 10, and came back with 8. Where was Marro? He must have been a casualty, the poor fool.

A cat leaped out of the grass at one of the mages, and Burz tossed his blade. It met with the beasts eye, and it fell to the earth in a whimper. The soldiers stood and waited for more, but none came. The mages began putting the fires out to see if they had killed any. 15 roasted corpses laid in the ash. One of which was a Legion soldier. They could not see any other attackers.

"How many were there?" Rikke asked, her tone furious.

"There was no way to tell. They hid in the grass. We killed at least 25. We only lost three men." Burz said, his voice was gruff.

"Some could have escaped. They could be on their way to Corinth, Burz. They could ruin our plan before we even get started! We will have no idea where they will take the Mane!" Rikke shouted.

"General, the Mane is too prideful. He will not flee Corinth. He will remain there to fight us off. That is the Khajiit way." Ambarys said, his voice calming.

"We better hope so. In the mean time, take the mages out to burn the grass down around the perimeter. We need to be able to see those cats coming!" Rikke said, her voice was more calm, but still had anger in it.

"I will scout in the morning, ma'am." Burz said. Rikke nodded him out of the tent. He would need sleep. On his way back to his tent, he looked at his armor for damage. No punctures or dents. Only scratches. His Orcish armor held up once again. He took pride in his craftsmanship. He felt alive again. The first major combat of the war, and in over a decade. He missed it more than he knew.