It was at that precise moment some dreadful howl echoed over the town and as everyone turned to see what on Nirn that was, two shapes leapt from the undergrowth. Humanoid... but with heads like wolves. Very big wolves. Werewolves.
As one, the Stormcloaks turned, weapons drawn to face this new threat presently tearing into their ranks, and Elisif realised she wasn't going to get another chance. Ulfric was already running towards the wolves, Galmar between him and her, and Elisif wasn't such a fool as to go up against Ulfric. She wasn't strong enough, not yet. But with his men distracted, torn between the werewolves, and Jordis and Ria, there was time for her to get away.
“Jordis, Ria, come on!” Elisif cried, hacking into one Stormcloak with her ebony axe and her glass axe finding another.
Jordis' greatsword took the head off another, but she showed no signs of breaking off the fight.
“Go, my Queen,” Jordis said, not taking her eyes off the foe for a second. “We'll hold them off. Get yourself out of here, it's you they want.”
“But you'll be killed!” Elisif cried. “I can't leave you!”
“Elisif, go!” Ria shouted, bashing a Stormcloak to the ground with her shield. “You're the Dragonborn and true High Queen, you're too important to be captured or killed. For the love of Kynareth, run! We'll see you back at Whiterun.”
Elisif nodded, lump in her throat as she carved her way through one Stormcloak, dodged another and finally Shouted “WULD!” In truth, she had no idea if she'd ever see either again, but she couldn't let them die in vain. Tears in her eyes, she ran.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Of course, being a Jarl had one advantage in a situation like this. It meant that Elisif knew where the Imperial camps were, and more to the point, that there was one a few miles south of Ivarstead. If she could get there, tell the Legate that Ulfric himself was here, get reinforcements on the way, they might just win this day.
She ran on and sure enough the camp was where the maps had said, she could see campfire smoke – smoke? That much smoke?
She got there to see barricades smashed, tents smouldering, dead horses, dead soldiers – and in the midst of the carnage, five Stormcloaks still there, lying in wait for any stragglers.
Before Elisif could fully process that the camp was no more, they'd seen her.
“Move along kinswoman, this is Stormcloak business,” one snapped. Mutely, Elisif stepped back, having no problem with running, right up until one of them developed a brain.
“Wait a second, she's dressed awful fancy for a mercenary. And she's young, Nord, red hair – that's her! Lady Elisif! Get her.”
Well crap. That was her disguise seen through. Five against one – not brilliant odds, but they probably weren't Ulfric's elite either, not if they'd been left here to guard a destroyed enemy camp.
“FACE YOUR DEATHS WITH SOME HONOUR!” she screamed, and that gave three of them pause, which meant only two with raised blades to deflect. “SU!”
The Thu'um took hold and this was how it had been with Skjor, except far more intense, nothing but them and her and the dance, dodging away from their blades while striking out with hers, and first one fell back bleeding, then the other lay dead and the other three had recovered by this time but it wouldn't help them. Shrieking with the rage she'd been trying to contain all this time, Elisif fell on to them with a demented howl, hacking into human flesh as if it were meat, imagining they were Ulfric, and two died quickly while the third fled in terror. Elisif's Thu'um wore off and she finally sank to her knees, arms bleeding from where she'd taken a few hits. Eyes closed, she drank the last of her healing potions and concentrated on the healing spell Sybille had taught her. It proved to be enough. Elisif got to her feet, still swaying from post-battle exhaustion. Time to get out of here, that fifth Stormcloak would make for the main camp and Ulfric's men would be here soon enough. Turning for the Helgen Pass, Elisif fled.
Re: The Wolf Queen Awakens 4.5
As one, the Stormcloaks turned, weapons drawn to face this new threat presently tearing into their ranks, and Elisif realised she wasn't going to get another chance. Ulfric was already running towards the wolves, Galmar between him and her, and Elisif wasn't such a fool as to go up against Ulfric. She wasn't strong enough, not yet. But with his men distracted, torn between the werewolves, and Jordis and Ria, there was time for her to get away.
“Jordis, Ria, come on!” Elisif cried, hacking into one Stormcloak with her ebony axe and her glass axe finding another.
Jordis' greatsword took the head off another, but she showed no signs of breaking off the fight.
“Go, my Queen,” Jordis said, not taking her eyes off the foe for a second. “We'll hold them off. Get yourself out of here, it's you they want.”
“But you'll be killed!” Elisif cried. “I can't leave you!”
“Elisif, go!” Ria shouted, bashing a Stormcloak to the ground with her shield. “You're the Dragonborn and true High Queen, you're too important to be captured or killed. For the love of Kynareth, run! We'll see you back at Whiterun.”
Elisif nodded, lump in her throat as she carved her way through one Stormcloak, dodged another and finally Shouted “WULD!” In truth, she had no idea if she'd ever see either again, but she couldn't let them die in vain. Tears in her eyes, she ran.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Of course, being a Jarl had one advantage in a situation like this. It meant that Elisif knew where the Imperial camps were, and more to the point, that there was one a few miles south of Ivarstead. If she could get there, tell the Legate that Ulfric himself was here, get reinforcements on the way, they might just win this day.
She ran on and sure enough the camp was where the maps had said, she could see campfire smoke – smoke? That much smoke?
She got there to see barricades smashed, tents smouldering, dead horses, dead soldiers – and in the midst of the carnage, five Stormcloaks still there, lying in wait for any stragglers.
Before Elisif could fully process that the camp was no more, they'd seen her.
“Move along kinswoman, this is Stormcloak business,” one snapped. Mutely, Elisif stepped back, having no problem with running, right up until one of them developed a brain.
“Wait a second, she's dressed awful fancy for a mercenary. And she's young, Nord, red hair – that's her! Lady Elisif! Get her.”
Well crap. That was her disguise seen through. Five against one – not brilliant odds, but they probably weren't Ulfric's elite either, not if they'd been left here to guard a destroyed enemy camp.
“FACE YOUR DEATHS WITH SOME HONOUR!” she screamed, and that gave three of them pause, which meant only two with raised blades to deflect. “SU!”
The Thu'um took hold and this was how it had been with Skjor, except far more intense, nothing but them and her and the dance, dodging away from their blades while striking out with hers, and first one fell back bleeding, then the other lay dead and the other three had recovered by this time but it wouldn't help them. Shrieking with the rage she'd been trying to contain all this time, Elisif fell on to them with a demented howl, hacking into human flesh as if it were meat, imagining they were Ulfric, and two died quickly while the third fled in terror. Elisif's Thu'um wore off and she finally sank to her knees, arms bleeding from where she'd taken a few hits. Eyes closed, she drank the last of her healing potions and concentrated on the healing spell Sybille had taught her. It proved to be enough. Elisif got to her feet, still swaying from post-battle exhaustion. Time to get out of here, that fifth Stormcloak would make for the main camp and Ulfric's men would be here soon enough. Turning for the Helgen Pass, Elisif fled.