Tagged : Naariko | Words : 699 | Notes : This is not the best starter ever and tiredness hit me and I failed to do the other posts and I'm sorry. u.u I'll do them tomorrow! I love you. :D

And so it began, to the tune of swords clashing and fireballs breaking through the icy air of Skyrim. To a seasoned warrior came the sound of its music. And he would provide its lyrics.

”Citizens of Winterhold, cast down your weapons and make the evening easier for the lot of you, if you have the sense to do so,” came Tyertilar’s taunting declaration from his perch at the staircase of the college, as he looked over them and brandished his sword above his head. Though his powerful voice cut through the cries of rage from the Nords so foolishly rushing forward, eager to quicken their demise, their stubbornness did not disappoint. Tyertilar released a sigh of amusement and a short, dignified chuckle at the sight of them breaking like waves against the sturdy force of Thalmor pushing into them and sending great numbers of them skidding back into their precious, snow-covered town with well-timed destruction and alteration spells. If the initial shock had not trod them into the snow permanently – a dozen Thalmor troops rushing them from the college in the early evening in the midst of a considerable snowfall – Tyertilar and his wife would ensure that the second shock would see them all buried in that snow. How dare they even entertain the notion of standing against them?

As the fresh fight proceeded, Tyertilar’s eyes turned to his wife at his side, his almost entertained expression seemingly unsuited for the bloody situation taking place a short distance away from him. In fact, he appeared far more interested in taking in the appearance of his wife for a long moment than in the skirmish, though his eyes did turn back to face the combatants, a hunger in them. ”The fools need more encouragement before they collapse like Winterhold itself,” he said aloud to her, before glancing back and offering his wife a hand. ”Shall we, my dear?” But of course they shall, Tyertilar knew, as he took her hand lightly and began leading her down the steps until they too stood with the rabble in the snow. Ahh, Naariko struck a fine figure, even in these miserable conditions, and he took his sweet time in taking his hungry eyes away from her before he began marching forward to push into the edge of the town of Winterhold, almost unnervingly casual as he moved towards the Stormcloak guards and other imbeciles who dared approach him.

His voice took on a harshness with the first one that reached him. ”If your martial gifts matched your ignorant bravery-“ The hand that he raised at the man crackled with shock magic, before he flicked it forward and sent a sharp, cutting series of bolts into the man’s chest, cutting him down where he stood but avoiding an unnecessary killing. Tyertilar wouldn’t bother killing him unless he got up again. ”-you would conquer all Skyrim yourselves.” He proceeded on in a slow march past his Thalmor, not providing his foes with the honor of his looking to them as he did so. His eyes instead looked across the entrance to his town, where his wife busied herself with similar work. In a sudden movement, his sword came down to deter a screeching barbarian from impaling herself on the blade. As she stopped in front of him, taking a wild swing and almost collapsing in the snow when she did, he stood over her and simply laughed mockingly, shaking his head. ”You proud Nord battlemaiden,” he said to her spitefully, almost to the point of spitting on her. Instead of gracing her with any more words, he simply reached forward to shove a fireball into her face and send her reeling back into the snow, dropping her axe and groaning in pain as she did so. Tyertilar simply shook his head again. Foolish, simply foolish, how these Nord threw themselves to the spikes.

And the others seemed to be making good progress with their work on the rest for the time being, including Naariko. Ahh, the city of Winterhold would fall this day, whether the people were prepared to admit the fact or not. Judging by their wild swinging and yelping, they did not.