The Shores of Dwynnen

It has been a long, hard night. We watched the Daedra dance in the fires of houses and burn the bushes and trees and all else in the land. This morning a thick smoke obscures the whole of the coast, casting a sooty fog over the Usurper’s forces. Here and there, a bony white skull or a twisted visage peeks out through the smoke, but only for a moment. The morning has brought with it the shift in winds to carry the acrid scent that has plagued us for many nights back to the shore from whence it came from. 
In the clear morning sun, I can see ships to the horizon on either side of our vessel. I doubt there will be a gathering of this many ships in Tamriel again. It is unfortunate that to fill them all, we had to take on such a number of Bosmer. Certainly they have fought the horde before, but I suspect that most will flee at the first site of danger. At least now those of the pure blood do not have to be in harm’s way scouting and running messages.

  
Flaming arrows and energy balls of sundry types have assailed the fleet for what seems like days but in what actually has just been hours. Many ships have been hit, some sinking, others already sunk. The ships have not been the only targets; our messengers and those who attempt to escape a doomed ship are as much at risk. The weather even seems to be against us, as the wind has shifted so that the smoke has approached the sea to the point the shore is very nearly out of sight. The Usurper has learned to keep his beasts within the smoke, after the loss of many beasts and perversions to skilled hands of our archers and the keen eyes of our battlemages. 
Syrabane has favored the Victory's Hand today; our spells have repelled all attempts on our crew and my skills have only been necessary once. A young Bosmer message bearer caught an arrow delivering a message to Baron Othrok. Notorgo was near death when he was brought to me, but after I had revived him he was able to deliver the good news of the battle turning in the north due to a strong wind pushing the smoke far enough inland for our forces to make landfall. 
When he had recovered and privately delivered his message, he was given a waterwalking spell and sent south. I was surprised power was wasted on something so simple, but the Baron thought it was necessary. I heard the Baron mutter something about the fate of the world on his feet, as the Bosmer was let over the side.

  
The ships have been gathered these past hours as we prepare for our assault, much as the clouds on the horizon have been gathering. The Victory's Hand shall be part of the force to land at first light. I do not envy those who have the duty of landing tonight, even though they have the fortune of stormy winds to push back the cloud of smoke. Those brave mer will stand firm against the horde until we have the light to make landfall with the bulk of the forces. It will not be an easy duty in the rains to come. The Baron has ordered everything battened down, as the storm will probably hit us and the shore before the bulk of our forces can land. 
In the rising darkness, I can see the beauty of the lightning dancing in the clouds. The scene reminds me of watching the sea storms from my father's villa back on the isle. Times were so much simpler then: no wars, no danger, just life.

  
Bones of the fallen horde lay broken and cracked all over the dunes. I am amazed at how we could not hear the battle on the shore over the roar of the wind and the crash of the waves. The horde has utterly destroyed the coastline; what hasn't been burned is twisted, torn apart, or set at odd angles. In the distance, I can even see where some of the vessels, now cracked and charred, have been drug ashore by the horde's abominations. However, it appears that the storm extinguishing the fires and the landfall of such a great host of soldiers has forced the horde's retreat. 
Injuries have been few among those who landed this morning, although those who were on shore since last night suffered many losses in the night. Despite their preparation and grit, they were broken and scattered. The fiends brought foul magics to play; hurling about trees and buildings without laying a hand on them and tossing soldiers like the toys of a spoiled child.

  
Our scouts have reported that the horde has been decimated! Those foul beings that have not been destroyed are fleeing so fast that even the horses of our cavalry cannot catch them. There are rumors that the Usurper himself escaped; some even speak of a sparkling rod that he carried. How absurd some tales can be! 
The word of Notorgo journey is as stretched as any other. It is said he ran the distance to Haven in a night's time, and then convinced the Bosomeri weather-witches to conjure up the storm for us. It is repugnant to think that some of the pure blood are even starting to believe that those lesser creatures can bend the winds with magic, when even the greatest among us cannot. 
Whatever is true, mer and men alike have shown their mettle and proved that darkness has no place on Tamriel.