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"These bastards stand no chance." Arren said, smugly. His dremoran-made sword glistening with Daedric blood. And its paralysis enchantment still charged. His steel armor was slightly battered, showing his multiple engagements with the Daedra whom stormed the city. And there was multiple marks where an arrow had dented. But none of it mattered, only bolstering the look. He was proud. Undefeated. He was ready for what lay next in the days to come. More Daedra. More death. More glory. And it all awaited him. Tierra, however, was confused.

"Who the hell are you?" She asked, a raised brow.