High Hrothgar; a place of solemn respite, a sanctum for hallowed meditation, and a vessel for tranquil silence, has shifted far from it's namesake since the arrival of the Dragonborn. This, under expected circumstances, would not create a noticeable change. Much of the Greybeard's practices already aligned with the Dragonborn's training, making day to day life virtually the same.

Unfortunately, this scenario did not please everyone.

Elyvaea: Mmmmm, yes...

Elyvaea: Ger- Dragonborn! Mmmmm!

Elyvaea: Ah! Ah! Ah. Ah...

Elyvaea's moans faintly die down. Her eyes flutter open as her voice trails off. The cold, stone ceiling stares back at her as she listens to the fading moments of transient bliss echo throughout the halls before it slowly fades into an all too familiar silence.

Elyvaea: Ugh...

Elyvaea: This isn't working.

Elyvaea rolls to the side of the bed, letting her arm, heavy, flop over the edge. Her hand thumps against the stiff, leather surface of a book; one of the many that have accumulated around her bed the past week.

Elyvaea: Where are you, Gerruck?

Gerruck was usually gone throughout the day, doing whatever it is the Greybeard's have of him. At least they could see one another at night. But for three days now she hasn't seen him at all. Sure, he did warn her, saying something like "I'm about to do some real training" or whatever, but that doesn't mean she should have to deal with it.

She groans and rolls her head, tracing her eyes across the mound of leather and papyrus that surrounds her. Every book in the entire temple and not a single mention of Gerruck's destiny.

Elyvaea: What a waste.

Exhaling an aggressive huff, Elyvaea pushes herself up and glowers at the pile.

Elyvaea: If I have to read another passage about how wonderful Kynareth is I'll probably puke.

She scoots over to the edge of the bed, kicking books aside with her heel.

With a swish of her legs, she kicks off the bed and onto her feet. An open book crinkles and rips as she lands.

Elyvaea: It just doesn't make sense.

Elyvaea: Obstinate worship isn't enough to make someone an "Aedric Champion"...

Elyvaea: Unless that isn't the point... He already is the Champion...

Elyvaea meanders over to the wardrobe, as if in a trance.

Elyvaea: Kynareth. That's who they worship the most. But why?

She bites her lip, scouring the endless stream of words and paragraphs that have accumulated in her head.

Elyvaea: Goddess of wind and sky... Good fortune... Aided Lorkh- oh!

Lost in thought, she doesn't even notice the wardrobe as she nearly bumps into it. Letting out a sigh, she retakes her composure and redresses.

She tugs the warm tunic over her head, suddenly aware of how cold she was, and returns to her thoughts.

Elyvaea: I could have sworn she did something ages ago with another Aedra. A disagreement or something.

Elyvaea sighs. Whatever it was, it wasn't mentioned in any of the books she read.

Elyvaea: Either they're missing a book or they're hiding that information.

Elyvaea makes her way down the halls, taking in the intricate stonework surrounding them. Translucent, glass windows are embedded into the sides, allowing a faint white gleam to cast through. It shines against the stones, giving them a crystal-like glow.

At the end of the hall, an archway jets out of the wall, housing a massive crest hewn of the same stone making up the temple. Seven candles sit scattered around its base, causing it to sparkle with a faint yellow.

Elyvaea: Who even built this place anyway?

Elyvaea: And what is this supposed to be? A dragon?

With a shake of her head, Elyvaea rounds the corner and enters the main sanctum.

The large gap in the ceiling lets cold air and sunlight stream into the temple, alighting it in an almost hallowed way, but giving an unbearable chill at the same time.

On his knees, meditating in the center square, prays Master Arngeir. It seems he never leaves; shifting from one corner to another every few moments. She doesn't understand the purpose of his stubborn devotion, but if Gerruck can respect it then she should to. Yet as she hops down the steps into the sanctum, her lips curl and all she can feel is distaste.

Elyvaea: Excuse me. Arngeir.

A slow, drawn out exhale ruffles the hairs of Arngeir's beard. As it concludes, Arngeir slides open his eyelids to see Elyvaea impatiently tapping her foot.

Arngeir: Ah, Elyvaea. Are you troubled, dear?

His voice slips out leisurely and croaky. Haggard brows rest dully atop his dreary, sluggishly blinking eyes.

Elyvaea: I need to talk to you about Gerruck. And since you're the only one here you can, I-

Elyvaea is cut off by an unnecessarily loud sigh. Arngeir unhurriedly clambers to his feet, stumbling slightly.

Arngeir: Very well.

Arngeir: We will speak elsewhere. I do not wish to disturb Borri's meditation.

Elyvaea clenches her jaw to stifle a groan and follows Arngeir's lead.

Arngeir: You wish to discuss his absence, I am sure.

Elyvaea: In a way, yes. But more importantly I need to know why he has to do all of this. It's about time we actually learned something about his "destiny".

A glimmer sparkles in Arngeir's narrowed eyes.

Arngeir: Yes, I suppose it is. Has your snooping not yielded what you desire?

She stops, glaring coldly at the Greybeard as he trudges up the steps. She is not surprised that he took notice, she wasn't very stealthy about it at all. But for him to reveal it so haughtily...

Elyvaea: No, I found nothing in your books.

Elyvaea: I wouldn't come to you unless I have to.

Arngeir: Your distaste in me is apparent.

Arngeir reaches the top of the steps and turns into one of the temple's smaller passages.

Elyvaea: Differences aside, you did say you suppose it's time to tell me.

Arngeir halts atop the last step. His shoulder's heave an uncomfortable sigh.

Arngeir: No. I did not say it is time to tell you.

Elyvaea falters.

Elyvaea: Excuse me? You did sa-

Arngeir: You are not to learn of his fate, Elyvaea.

Arngeir: It is his burden to bear.

Arngeir: Alone.

Arngeir: This is something that he will be forced to accept. One way or another.

Arngeir: This... training... was not to make him a fighter or a warrior.

Arngeir: It was to cut his ties to this world, to teach him to love the divines.

Arngeir: Because if he loves this world...

Arngeir: ...then he cannot go through with it.

Arngeir: In his fate, you have no role to play, Elyvaea.

Arngeir: And neither in the final war to come.

Death...

Stench...

Cold...

Riften is devoid of all but these.

The corpses from the battle have been left scattered across the city like trash, left to rot away. Not a single daedric corpse lies among them.

The daedra patrol the city streets and walls, vigilant for coming foes. Bodies in their way are treated as nothing more than a weed or pebble, crushed or kicked aside.

The path to the Jarl's Palace is littered with them; brave souls who gave their last to defend their home.

Under it's helmet, the daedra sneers. Some good bravery did them.

Should they have fled or ended it themselves, a far less cruel fate would have met them.

Now they burn in the fires of Coldharbour instead of feasting in the halls of Sovngarde they so highly boast about.

As the daedra nears the massive, wooden gate to the palace, it's sneer transforms into a contemptuous simper. It has good news to bring to it's mistress.

Firmly pressing it's hands against the doors, it gives a heavy shove, forcing the doors open with a resounding creak. Light streams into the dark chamber, illuminating the horrors inside for only a moment until the doors doors swing shut once again.

Outside, an unsettling stench wafted in the air; causing little more than the occasional squirm of one's nose.

Inside it is rancid. The fresh scent of decaying, rotting bodies is profuse in the air like a choking smog. To walk through it feels like trudging through mud.

It should be abhorrently unbearable.

If not for the trophies.

They decorate the throne room, befitting the Lord of torture and domination in a way only his most devout servants could.

The bodies are posed and mangled by blades impaled into them; degrading their lives with graves humiliating enough to crush any warrior.

Ellia: Ah, look who it is.

Ellia: Look, Laila, can you see him?

Laila Law-Giver: Mmmphff...

Ellia: Ah, no... I suppose you can't.

Ellia chuckles as the former Jarl of Riften moans helplessly. Her eyes trace over the Jarl's exposed, goose bump covered body, watching it shiver with fear.

Ellia originally planned to have her swinging by the neck outside the front gate, but after slaughtering Laila's subjects before her, she chose otherwise. The Jarl's screams and begs were just too delectable to throw away so soon.

Ellia: Fortunately for you, he's here for a different reason. Otherwise I'm sure you'd recognize his... touch.

Ellia pauses, slipping out the last word with a hiss and curling her lips into a sly grin.

A muffled whimper sneaks out from under her captive's hood, twisting her grin into a devious smirk. Laila turned out to be quite the enjoyable toy; a shame the fun will be so short lived.

Ellia: They're here, aren't they?

The daedra haughtily marches towards the throne.

Daedra: Them and more, my lady.

A stifled moan slips from the Jarl. Ellia ignores her and sits up, perplexed.

Ellia: More?

The daedra nods silently. Ellia gestures for him to continue, a twinkle flashing in her narrowed eyes.

Daedra: The Dawnguard as well as the Vigilant of Stendarr. They've set up a garrison outside the front gate.

Ellia's smile stretches even further as a series of incredulous moans blurt out from her captive, suddenly struggling against her bindings more than ever.

Ellia: So they really think they can retake the city...

She sits back in the throne and raps her fingers against her knee.

Ellia: They've united against us. I suppose that shouldn't be surprising.

Taking in a breath, she turns back to the daedra.

Ellia: It seems we have the chance to squash two of our enemies in a single blow. Tell me, spawn, how are they preparing?

The daedra gives a firm nod.

Daedra: Stockades and tents have been set up directly before the front gate.

Daedra: A series of stakes and walls seal the entrance shut from their side. It's tough, but if we could break through them-

Ellia: I don't need strategic advice from a lowly spawn. Just tell me what you have observed.

A loud gulp echoes from behind the daedra's mask. With an unsteady bow, the daedra continues.

Daedra: Yes, Mistress Ellia. Those defenses would be trivial had a ward not been placed upon the city.

Ellia cocks her head slightly.

Ellia: Oh really? They feel safe behind their manufactured walls?

Daedra: It encompasses the entire fortress. No daedra can get in and none can get out.

Ellia glances about her surroundings, taking a moment at each corpse. Oh how their spirits were shattered as they watched their companions die. The skinny Nord with the dagger shrieked the most. The burly one only hollered a battle cry before he was swiftly gutted by Ellia's conjured blade. With each one that fell, the rest became easier and easier to slay. Until only Jarl Laila was left, cowering with a mix of horror and fury that Ellia had only seen a few times before. She was so crushed she was practically willing to be stripped and bound.

Ellia: They've kindled their false flame of comfort long enough.

Ellia kicks out her legs and hops to her feet.

Ellia: It's time we shatter their sense of ease.

Ellia smugly ogles her captive as her wrists struggle and squirm. After a moment the wriggling dies down, a suppressed shiver taking its place. Laila's head slowly turns until a hooded, vacant stare meets Ellia's.

Ellia: Grab the Jarl, spawn.

The daedra bows it's head as Ellia swiftly marches past it. It hikes up the steps to Laila and grasps her shoulder, yanking her to her feet. A gagged grunt sputters out form behind her hood as it does.

Ellia: And follow me.

She marches down the steps to the throne and around the center table and fireplace. She comes to the doors and knocks them open with a jut from her knee.

The daedra and Laila trudge shortly behind and pass Ellia by as they exit through the doorway.

Outside, Ellia points her talon-like finger towards an outcropping platform in the staircase.

Ellia: Take her there.

The daedra does as instructed, shoving Laila forward until she nears the edge, then tugging her aggressively by the arm to stop.

Ellia: Perfect. Now hold her still.

The daedra places it's cold, armored hand firmly against Laila's shivering back. Her whole body begins to cower while soft whimpers slip out behind her gag.

Ellia: Yes. Fear for your life. Let your body soon be as bloodied and broken as your soul.

A familiar spell hums in Ellia's palm, anxious to be cast. Giving a light flick of her wrist, the tiny sphere in her palm explodes. She pulls back and wraps her fingers around solid, shimmering air.

Ellia: Let the cells of Coldharbour begin to fill once again.

Ellia raises her arms, holding the conjured weapon out before her. Her other hand pulls back on the magical string, as steady as ever.

Ellia: And let the minds of our enemies be wrought with fear.

Before the final words even recede, Ellia releases her grip, sending the conjured arrow flying towards her captive. As soon as it makes contact, an ear splitting scream ruptures her ear drums. But only for a moment.

Not a split second after, the arrow explodes into a massive sphere, swallowing Laila with a loud fwoosh!

The next moment it disappears; taking Laila with it.

Ellia: Now then...

Ellia slides her bow over her back, dissolving it away with the breeze.

The daedra staggers back, nearly stumbling off the platform, incredulous.

Daedra: Is she...

Ellia can't suppress the grin.

Ellia: In a few seconds, yes. Now come.

Ellia: The real battle for Riften will soon begin.

The outside of Riften bustles with commotion. Dawnguard and Vigilant hustle throughout the encampment, working together for the first time in ages. Tensions were high at first. The Vigilant turned a cold shoulder to their vampire hunting comrades, adamantly setting up their tents and stockades on the west side of the garrison, while the Dawnguard settled on the east, rolling their eyes.

It did not take long for their close proximity to force exposure on one another, however.

Once they actually started talking, it was quickly realized that the quarrel between their two groups existed purely between their leaders. The common soldier of one group harbored no distaste towards the other, and soon enough they were coexisting with ease.

Almost.

Celann: Our scouts have reported multiple Daedra patrolling the outer walls.

Celann: If their ranks are anything like ours, we assume there to be at least fifty of them in there. That may not sound like much, but if they are anything like Dennis described, we have to be caref-

Keeper Carcette: Will you relax, already? By Stendarr, you Dawnguard are the most overcautious lot I've ever met.

Celann curls his lips, appalled by Keeper Carcette's blatant disrespect. He was relieved to have the Vigilant's aide in this siege, and was ecstatic when he heard from Dennis that Carcette herself would be joining them along with the majority of the Vigilant's forces. But all that glee was erased when he was reacquainted with his former leader.

Keeper Carcette: I have two Vigilant manning the ward all hours of the day. No daedra are getting in and none are getting out.

Celann stammers in dumbfounded disbelief. He tries to speak up but doesn't get the chance as Dennis does so first.

Dennis: Exactly as Carcette says. We know we have to be careful already and we're perfectly safe out here with the ward up.

Dennis: We need to actually agree on a plan.

Dennis: I still think we should open a hole in the ward for the front gate.

Dennis: The daedra will be forced to funnel through it and into out defenses. The pikes and barricades will slow them down considerably while we rain hell on them with spells and crossbows.

Dennis: They'd be overwhelmed. We have the defenses set up, why not use them?

As soon as Dennis concludes, Celann blurts out his response, refusing to be cut off again.

Celann: You are too headstrong, too belligerent. If that plan fails we will lose immediately. How do we know they can't blast our defenses away with spells?

Celann: Or even with pure strength of muscle? We shouldn't underestimate our foes here.

Keeper Carcette scoffs.

Keeper Carcette: Oh right, because a deserter like you would know so much about killing daedra. Leave this to the professionals, and go back to hunting your little blood suckers.

Celann huffs in an effort to maintain his composure.

Celann: I may have left the Vigil, but I still know what it is like to hunt daedra. Besides, we have reason to believe these are daedra of Molag Bal, creator of vampires himself. We certainly know plenty about what we're dealing with.

In the back of the tent, Isran listens to the quarrel silently. In the day and a half they'd been here, no progress has been made in the creation of an offensive strategy.

He isn't surprised. He and Carcette were unlikely to see eye to eye anyway, and he knows Carcette will remain obstinate no matter what. Sometimes he wonders if it really was a blessing to have the Vigilant's aid after all.

Sighing, Isran curls his fingers and brings his fist to his lips. Then, taking in a deep breath, he loudly clears his throat, immediately stifling the argument. He earns a cold glare from Carcette, but nothing more as she keeps quiet.

Isran: I know vampires. I know daedra. And these bastards are just the combination of the two. But I'm not about to start making hasty decisions because of a little impatience.

Isran: We need a different approach.

Guard #1: Woah, stop it right there, you. This tent is off limits to common soliders and...

The guard pauses and looks the man before him up and down. After a moment he stops to look the man in the eyes, only to stare at a thick leather hood hanging nearly to his nose.

Guard #1: ...uh, outsiders.

The man cocks his head, his lips purse as he repeats the guard's same examination that was just done on him. As he brings his head back up, a light smile crosses his lips.

Man: Ah, that's where you're wrong lad. This tent isn't off limits.

Man: Now if you'll excuse me.

The guard stammers, completely taken aback, as the man brushes past him. He looks to his partner to see her pulling out her crossbow.

Guard #2: Hey! Stop it right there!

The discussion in the tent comes to a sudden stop. Celann, Dennis, Carcette, and Isran all turn toward the commotion, a mixture of aggravation and bewilderment taking each of their expressions.

Dennis: Who the hell are you?

Guard #2: Don't take another step.

Guard #1: Or we'll loud you full of crossbow bolts.

The threat seems to work as the man plants himself firmly onto the snow. His tips his body back, as if doing one big eye roll, and stares blankly towards the back of the tent.

Man: Gonna call your dogs off me?

His blithe request takes them all of guard. The man obviously has a lot of nerve to so smugly trot past armed guards, but his casual demeanor about the situation is even more perplexing. They look around at one another, each shaking their heads in confusion, until they come to Isran, who gives a firm nod.

Isran: Lower your weapons.

The two guards look at each other, back to Isran, then at one another again before giving a simultaneous shrug and swinging their crossbows back over their shoulders.

Celann gives Isran a curious look, receiving a raised hand and a slow nod of the head.

Isran: Listen up, everyone.

Isran marches past the table and out to the tent's opening. He gestures to the man with a wave of his hand.

Isran: This man is from the thieves guild. He is here to help us.

Before he even finishes, the two Vigilant make their opinions very clear. Dennis groans in a manner that seems more to get attention than as a reaction, and Carcette wastes no time expressing her feelings vocally, as always.

Dennis: Ugh... You can't be serious.

Keeper Carcette: Thieves, is it? Is this how you were able to rebuild Fort Dawnguard to easily? What else did you steal, huh?

Celann: Sir, are you sure this is such a good idea?

Isran ignores them all.

Isran: I understand all of your hesitancy, but hear him out. He is from inside. He has valuable information.

Dennis and Carcette mutter some obscenities under their breaths, but quiet down as the thief speaks up.

Thief: I met with Isran last night in secret. I told him about the situation in the city, which is why I am here now. I know you are here to help and I know you have no reason to trust me.

Thief: But I'm openly admitting to being a thief, and I've freely walked into a garrison of armed soldiers. I hope you can put the same trust in me that I am putting in you.

Thief: Almost the entire city has been slaughtered. Everyone on the surface is dead. However, there are still survivors.

Thief: We've been hiding in the Ratway. An underground drainage network. The daedra don't even know it exists yet, and it has access to nearly every part of the city, inside and out.

Thief: I can get you in, take the daedra by surprise. We don't stand a chance fighting them in an open battle, you know that.

Dennis: Pfft, maybe you can't...

Keeper Carcette: I'm not about to send my soldiers into a sewer drain with a thief.

Thief: Look, I know you're all skeptical, but-

Celann: My squad will go.

The bickering stops. All eyes turn to Celann.

Isran: It's a suicide mission, Celann. You know I can't send you with them.

Celann doesn't waver, meeting Isran's concerned stare.

Celann: I get that. And it may be suicide... for any others. But my men, Isran...

As Celann continues, A confident smile spreads over Isran's face.

Celann: ...there's no better men for the job.

Isran: Hmmphf. Very well.

Isran: Let's give the order.

Talen, Davey, Mike, and Vorn lounge by the campfire blazing beside their tents, enjoying a much deserved rest. For the last day and a half, they've been hacking down logs and sharpening the ends into jagged points. If that wasn't tiring enough, they then had to dig holes deep enough to hold them in the ground, angling them at Riften's front gate.

Mike kept complaining during the process, constantly referencing the ward the Vigilant have keeping the daedra out. Vorn kept shutting him up, giving his usual optimistic smile and consolation, but there was always a slight hint of aggravation in his voice.

On the other side, Davey and Talen actually enjoyed the work. Davey referenced his life a kid in the reach, growing up with his brothers in the mountains. He boasted about how they built their own home from chopped timber, and the experienced showed.

Talen was just happy for a distraction.

The nightmare's continued to plague his sleep. He hardly gets any rest each night, waking every hour in a cold sweat. The day is his only chance for respite; working with the Dawnguard, training with the squad, or just talking to one another is enough to maintain an unsteady bliss.

Davey: So after I killed the deer... this is where it gets interesting... some girl emerges from behind a rock. Completely naked! Well, except for some chains and funky warpaint. But I wasn't really looking at that, believe me.

Davey: Anyway, I was just standing there gawking, right? She mouthed some words and had her hands on her hips; I think she was scolding me or something.

Davey: I come to my senses just as she says, "fine. If you won't apologize, Baum will make you." Then a giant tree, yeah, a tree! Comes stomping out from behind her... I don't know how I didn't see it, believe me... and is swinging a branch like a club.

Davey: I've ran from hag ravens, forsworn, sabre cats, bears, and pretty much everything else when growing up in the reach. But this tree? I couldn't out run it, believe me.

Davey pauses to catch his breath. He has a reputation in the squad for telling thrilling stories, but always at the expense of his lungs.

Vorn: So what happened? Did you escape?

Davey holds up a finger before taking a deep breath and continuing.

Davey: Nope. It swept that big branch clean under me. I smacked right onto the ground on my back; knocked the wind right out of me.

Davey: I closed my eyes and waited for the end, but it didn't come. Instead, I opened them to see that same lass standing above me. Her breasts weren't even four feet from my eyes, believe me. She looks at me and says, "kill for sport again, and I'll do the same," then just walks away with her tree.

Davey: Long story short, I learned my lesson. I still hunt, but I make sure nothing goes to waste.

Everyone chuckles as Davey finishes, concluding with a tiny bow.

Talen: This might sound crazy, but I think I actually met that girl too.

Mike guffaws.

Mike: Come on, Talen. You actually believe, Davey?

Davey shakes his head at Mike and turns to Talen.

Davey: Bah, he never believes me. So you've seen her too? What happened?

Talen bites his lip, immediately regretting opening his mouth. He hasn't told them about the fiasco at the shrine of Boethiah, or his misguided journey to sacrifice Ellia. He didn't even mention Taeyva's presence in the vampire den.

Talen: Well... I, uh...

Mike: Pfft, I knew it. Davey didn't meet some naked girl and neither did Talen.

Davey: Well, I believe you Talen. She left me pretty speechless as well.

Vorn: So whose turn is it no-

Celann: Listen up, lads!

Vorn cuts off and whips around at the familiar voice. The rest of the squad follows his lead, jumping to their feet.

Vorn: Sir! I didn't see you there. Oh, and Isran, Carcette, and Dennis as well. Hello.

Talen, Davey, and Mike speak after him, awkwardly greeting the array of superiors that have come to greet them.

Isran steps forward and clears his throat.

Isran: I'll cut right to the chase. Your squad was chosen to undergo a crucial operation in the battle to come. The man beside me has all the information you need.

Carcette sneers and Dennis turns away with a snort.

Keeper Carcette: I think thief is what you meant.

Dennis: Ridiculous.

Ignoring them, the thief steps forward and begins to take off his hood.

Thief: As Isran said, this is a crucial operation. You four will be accompanying me.

He flicks off his hood, letting it drape over his back.

Thief: My name is Brynjolf. I'm a member of the thieves guild in Riften, and I want to take my city back.

Mike: Woah woah woah. You want us to work with him? A member of the thieves guild? Is this a joke?

Keeper Carcette: At least one of them has some sense.

Dennis: Yeah, for real...

Brynjolf: I get it. You don't trust me. But if you could ju-

Isran: Yes, you are working with him. A thief. That's an order.

Isran abruptly concludes, causing an uncomfortable tension to settle in the air. They fumble around, unsure of what to do, until Celann finally shatters the silence.

Celann: It sounds fishy, I get it. But it's an opportunity we can't pass up. I chose you four because you're the best for the job. But unfortunately, I can't come with you.

Talen shifts uncomfortably on his feet. Celann probably only said four out of courtesy. There's no way he considers him as one of the best.

Celann: Vorn, you're second in command. You know what to do.

Vorn nods confidently, smacking his fist into his palm.

Vorn: You can count on me.

Celann: Good. Now I-

A shrill scream blasts over them like a shock wave.

Everyone stumbles backwards. Every soldier in the area freezes, their eyes dash around frantically. Then, just as soon as it began, the scream cuts off, as if the entire world went deaf in an instant.

The entire garrison falters. A light breeze billows over the snow. The only sounds to be heard are the rustling of the grass and the heavy, tense breaths of the soldiers. None dare move. They trace their eyes across one another apprehensively.

A few seconds pass.

The heavy breathing starts to settle into eased sighs. Everything seems to be fine when a blast, louder than the scream, explodes in the center of the camp.

Crossbows click, sword scratch against their sheaths, and magic spells are readied, all fixed at the massive, purple orb, that seems to have appeared out of nowhere.

Davey: Get ready!

Keeper Carcette: What? How did they get past the ward?

Dennis: Shit...

Dawnguard Soldier: Daedra!

The portal hums and ripples in the air. Some soldiers shake with fear while others grit their teeth, but each of them hold their weapon firmly, prepared to face whatever steps out of that portal.

Or so they think.

Talen: What the...

The entire garrison stands rigid as the portal fades. Suddenly every expression is the same mix of horror and bewilderment.

A woman, wearing nothing but a hood, iron cuffs, and her own blood, stumbles onto the snow.

Everyone stands frozen. Not daring to even take a breath.

The woman takes a heavy step forward, nearly collapsing from the effort, and raises a trembling hand. From underneath her hood, a faint moan squeaks out.

Laila: Mmmm... Mmmmphf...

Her arm begins to quiver. Her knee shakes and budges, but her foot doesn't move.

Laila: Mmm-Mmmuuu... Uh... U-

The faint moans sharply cut off as her hand drops.

Then her body.

It tumbles absently through the air, colliding into the snow with a lifeless flop.

The snow underneath it melts and trickles down the hill in a dark, crimson hue. The air grows still as everyone stands aghast. Their eyes glue to the body and suddenly reality dawns on them.

They are on the eve of battle; The Battle for Riften.

To be continued...