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How many people died in the attack? How many were lost, buried under rubble, burned in fire, thrown into the sea? How many children will never go to school again, never grow up, never have their own lives?
How many people went forward with the attack? How many from the place I have lived, worked, and breathed in?
This wasn’t some daedra worshipping cult. This wasn’t a group of desperate bandits. This was an army of people from my home. These were soldiers with families, with lives. This was the Covenant.
I stopped as much as I could. I saved as many as I could. And I slaughtered many of the people I once thought of as my own.
As I watched them bombard the city with indiscriminate attacks, hitting homes, schools, temples, and stores, I could not think. I could only kill. I used magic against them, summoning storms and shattering bones. I used magic I had learned in the Daggerfall Mages Guild against the people of Daggerfall. The majority of the army were Bretons, like me. They would have once walked the same streets as me, some at the same time as me.
Now, as I stare across the horizon, I see bodies. So many, laying in the mix of sand and ash.
I turn around, and continue on my quest. It will be a long time before I return to my home in Daggerfall. Maybe I’ll buy a place in Riften.