'What could have gone wrong, went wrong.'
'Choice word for the one who sent us to our deaths.'
"Retreat!" cried the leaders. Death was in the air, it loomed heavily. Upon the veiled foggy mud path, soldiers crawled their way from the battlefield. Explosions rang, marksmen fell by the sound of cleavers – spells exploded. The river froze in deep blue, the fog permeated poison, taint, Aedric in nature.
"Lady Tharis," a messenger ran up to the camp, "-we've ordered our men to regroup. Many have fled into the forest, they're being chased."
"I know, I know," she inhaled and looked at the map, '-even if I see them, it's not like I can predict how they'll move. We were forced out of lower-Midhest during the night, what could have gone wrong…'