Private 6E 1147, Sun's Dusk

[Melee]

Y'ffre, send me strength.

The thought surprised Fen, almost enough to pull her out of her "death" and to openly laugh in the faces of the Elves scouring the trenches for survivors. She had never been one to take part in any of the old religions, since many were considered obsolete and foolish nowadays. The only thing she could remember about the Old Gods was the stories her grandmother would tell her years and years ago when she had still been young enough to be interested and gullible enough to believe in them.

The man who had saved her (and she was still surprised that he had) told everyone to lay on the ground and basically play dead until the Elves hunting for survivors had passed. Fen didn't need to be told twice; with the combination of pure terror and the overwhelming amount of debris and chemicals in the air, she felt about ready to faint.

So, she pretended to do just that.

After a few moments and some terrifyingly close calls with being discovered, Fen heard the squelching of boots grow fainter as the enemy (are they the only enemy) moved further away. She heard rustling next to her, and slowly opened her eyes as she watched everyone start to get up. They were a motley crew; there was the Imperial who freed her, a man wearing a red coat (she admired it, but didn't think it was proper attire for blending in with the battlefield), another Elf who appeared to be badly injured, and a Breton man as well.

The sound of a person in a great deal of pain came over the ridge, startling Fen as she looked around for the source of the sound. Before anyone else could do anything, the Imperial jumped over the side of the trench and came back just a few seconds later. He's brave, I'll give him that, she thought as he slid back into the trench, dragging an injured Argonian behind him. Her eyes widened; she had not seen an Argonian in some time. In the city she had lived in, Argonians experienced much more trouble than the rest of the "sub-races" crammed into the noisy and crowded lower districts. Most had either been imprisoned for trivial matters or had taken what few possessions they had and left altogether.

Forcing her legs to move, Fen stumbled over to the Imperial and knelt down next to the Argonian, his rasping breath sending dismal shivers down her spine. "Is he badly hurt?"

 

[Duon]

“I’ve had about enough of that…” Caeder sighed into the facemask of his coat, pushing the fat imperials body off of him as he pulled himself up out of the muck lining the bottom of the trench. “Even for being dead this oaf smells Gods awful.” He coughed crushing off dirt and grime he slowly got to his feet; crouching with his back rested against the dirt walls of the trench, surveying the war-torn scene laid out before him. The Thalmor death squads were just barely visible through the thick black smoke that lay over the battlefield as they advanced further in searching for more survivors.

The battlefield was now a scene from the pits of oblivion; bodies lay burnt and mangled, some half buried in the mud or blown completely apart. Thick plumes of black and multicolored smoke bellowed into the sky; which itself was dyed almost a hue of dark crimson red under the glow of the chemical laden clouds hanging overhead. What tree’s remained standing were burnt, leafless and permanently scarred; standing like grotesque scarecrows or grave markers looming over the battlefield. Caeder thought he could even make out body parts hanging from some of their smoldering branches where the shelling had blown them.

Turning his gaze back to his immediate surroundings he found his relief the people around him had also managed to remain undetected; searching through the pockets of his coat he watched the Imperial who had told them all to get down run off and return shortly with a injured Argonian. Lizards thought Caeder to himself having fought skirmishes against the Argonians in the past; finally finding what he was looking for he pulled out his last pack of cigarettes, finding them all broken and destroyed. That was my last pack… He thought crushing the broken cigarettes in his hand and gritting his teeth. “This Just keeps getting better…”

Throwing the cigarette pack as far as he could Caeder stood back up and walked over to the Imperial and the cluster of survivors. What the hell am I going to do now? He thought knowing getting paid was well out of the question now. Grimacing under his face mask he hooked his thumb of his automail arm into the strap of his rifle straightening it on his back while he wiped the sweat and grime from his brow with his free hand before yanking loose the buttons on his collar, letting his face mask fall open before resting his hand on his Katana. “That was only a scouting group, they’re going to come marching through here in full force…” Caeder said feeling the chemicals still lingering in the air around them burn his nose with their acidic aroma. “We need to get the hell out of here.”

 

[Mr.Self Destruct]

Claude stared blankly at the Argonian before him, who was drifting in and out of consciousness. A groan escaped the reptilian's lips, his head lulling freely in a discombobulated daze. Though Claude had killed Argonians before, this was the closest he had ever been to a still living individual; to find their corpses, eyes glossed over and mouths agape and their bodies writhing and brewing with bile and maggots, was not unusual. Claude had seen many from afar, across scorched fields of former marsh and forest, but to find one still living, still breathing, put Claude at a loss of words.

"Is he badly hurt?" Someone asked, breaking the silence. After a brief pause, he knelt down beside the Argonian. "He's concussed." Claude noted, then again how could he be sure? Could Argonians be concussed to begin with? Suddenly Claude was at a crossroads, pondering whether he should leave the unconscious lizard or find it in his heart to save him from death; at the further risk of all of them dying. "We need to move, there--" “That was only a scouting group, they’re going to come marching through here in full force…” Claude reeled around, totally oblivious to the mercenary as he made his approach. Claude found himself clutching the handle of his pistol hard, though it was only nerves and he was quick to settle. “We need to get the hell out of here.” He took the words right out of Claude's mouth.

There wasn't time to make introductions, the mercenary was right, it was standard practice to send out small patrols first. The group flinched as an Aldmeri plane roared past, quickly followed by more. "Let's go, fast." Claude said, realizing the main force wouldn't be far behind the planes. The group begin navigating through the trenches at a jogging pace, stepping over corpses and rubble. This continued for a while in total silence, the sounds of the Aldmeri scouts had completely faded. It was eerie, how quiet things became, as if the world was holding it's breath.

The group rounded a bend, and stopped as they came across the trench's end, a steep incline leading into the open. A knot formed in Claude's stomach, a sickening feeling. "We can't go back." He said, in the distance the roaring of engines wailed. The sounds of thousands of boots thudding against mud filled the air.

He took a glance, the lights and shadows of the distant army drew nearer. Visible through the smoke and burning haze. Few cover would serve to protect them, a few piles of debris, burned out wrecks, scorched wagons. But it was their only option.