Journal of a Redoran Soldier By Unknown [The following entry is from the journal of an unknown Redoran soldier] As dawn came, and the sun rose into the sky, I fell in rank with the rest of the formation and marched to the west of the city of Kogotel. Taking up our positions, the sun gleamed brightly across our blades, and a shield wall was formed by the infantrymen. My placement filled me with honour, standing on the front line, shoulder to shoulder with the other proud warriors of Great House Redoran. Our battle lines were at least ten mer deep. Rows upon rows of archers knocked arrows behind us. We were ready. Across the open field they came; spewing out from the mouth of the Rift Pass, like the tide come to swallow us up. A heathen horde of savages! Time and time again the Nords had attempted to steal the land from beneath our feet, and time and time again we've sent them running back to their frosty wasteland defeated, like the dogs they truly are! The frenzied wave of Nordic scum charged us, crying out to their false gods as they approached. "Ysmir be with us!" "Shor guide our strikes!" The heathen gods could not hope to buffet them with strength or a fury great enough to fell House Redoran. A command bellowed out from along our line: "Loose! Loose!" The archers heard the call. Like a torrential deluge, the arrows flew over our heads, hissing like a great swarm of insects. The aerial wall of death crested, and fell back to the ground. Many arrows hit true, and the Nords began to fall. Shafts bit in deep at exposed gaps in armour. I must give the savages some credit, as their attack was not deterred by this assault. Instead, the invaders clambered over the bodies of their fallen comrades, continuing their charge forwards, seeming even more determined than before! Like the waves against the harbour walls of Baan Malur, the Nords crashed into our front lines. We held them with all our might, not willing to surrender even a single step to their advance. Our commander barked: "Not one step back! Hold the line!" The warriors of House Redoran roared in unison; a defiant roar of solidarity. It was no crazed battle cry. These were our lands. We would not see them lost to such barbaric outlanders. Blows rained down upon my Bonemold armour like a great storm, as I cut and thrust, running through Nord after savage Nord. An endless hail of arrows streamed overhead. "The Three shall guide us this day! Almsivi shall smile upon our victory!" our glorious commander cried. This rekindled the fire within me; to remind me of why I stood to fight against these outlanders. I fought not only for my homeland, but for my Gods! The One True Faith! With pride burning through my veins and conviction consuming my very being, I cleaved through the enemy. After losing most of their men to the arrows, or to the blades of our infantry, the n'wah turned tail and fled back through the pass. It was in this moment that I could finally look around with clarity; to move sure-footed and unhindered by the adrenalin rush of battle. I saw the true extent of the carnage before me. We had known victory once more, though many of our own warriors had fallen. As the last of the invaders retreated, our commander climbed atop a mountain of twisted Nordic corpses. Splattered in blood, and with his blade gleaming crimson, he raised it high over his head. "Honor and faith!" he screamed in triumph. We raised our own swords and roared in response. Morrowind and the Tribunal had won another great victory, but the price of that victory had been paid, as always, with Redoran blood.