Raheem al-Baz and First Battle

Commander Raheem al-Baz stood at the edge of Taneth's central square, his weathered face twisted into a permanent scowl beneath a greying beard. A veteran of minor border skirmishes and internal city disputes, he had never truly grasped the finer points of strategic warfare. Yet now, the fate of Taneth had fallen squarely upon his shoulders.

Raheem stared at the smoldering remains of the granary, docks, and drydock. His fists tightened. Clearly, Dominion spies had struck at the heart of the city—or so his mind quickly concluded, overlooking the fact that the Dominion had little motive to cripple the very infrastructure they hoped to exploit.

But Raheem's thoughts rarely allowed for nuance. The sabotage was the push he needed to finally accept that the Sulharen boy's warnings had been right all along. Fear took hold, and driven by urgency more than calculated strategy, he ordered a rapid, almost chaotic retreat to defensive positions along the Yer River. For one frantic week, he directed every available resource toward fortifying their position on the riverbanks, his voice cracking like a whip as he barked orders to withdraw troops, erect barricades, and reinforce battlements.

Raheem also issued a city-wide proclamation urging civilians to evacuate, desperate to remove potential complications from what he now saw as an imminent battlefield. The people complied in droves, leaving behind homes, possessions, and entire livelihoods.

In the chaos, a stroke of fortune presented itself. The substantial stores of bread, meticulously crafted and left behind by the Sulharen family, became a lifeline. Originally intended by Rashan Sulharen as a provision to encourage fleeing, the bread's value now shifted. Soldiers gratefully stockpiled it, understanding its long shelf-life and nutritional value made it ideal for sustaining a drawn-out siege.

Raheem paced along the riverbank defenses, oblivious to his own strategic missteps. To him, the plan seemed flawless: a solid defensive line along the Yer, civilians cleared from danger, and ample supplies thanks to the Sulharen stores.

He stopped briefly, looking across the river at the looming silhouette of Dominion sails approaching on the horizon. "Let them come," he muttered grimly, entirely unaware that his narrow focus had inadvertently given Taneth a stronger chance to hold.

——————————————————

The sun rose harsh and unforgiving over Taneth, casting sharp shadows over the defenders who had entrenched themselves along the banks of the Yer River. Young Ahmed shifted nervously, gripping his scimitar until his knuckles whitened. Beside him, fellow Redguard soldiers—men and women alike—stood shoulder to shoulder, eyes fixed ahead, hearts beating to the rhythm of war drums.

Across the river, Eldarel, an Altmer infantryman, adjusted his golden helmet. He glanced briefly at his fellow soldiers—Altmer, disciplined and precise, and Bosmer archers, swift and silent. Eldarel inhaled deeply, his pulse quickening at the first notes of the Dominion's trumpets, signaling the advance.

The riverbank erupted into chaos as volleys of arrows filled the sky, falling like deadly rain upon Taneth's defenders. Ahmed barely raised his shield in time, hearing screams as comrades beside him fell wounded or dead. He took a steadying breath, adrenaline surging as Dominion forces began their crossing. Boats swiftly launched, elves climbing rapidly onto the sandy banks with fluid grace.

Ahmed charged forward, scimitar raised, clashing violently with Eldarel's comrades. Metal sang against metal. He felt the heat, the fury of battle, his blade slicing through the air, connecting harshly with an Altmer's armor. The elf stumbled, recovered, and countered fiercely. Ahmed dodged narrowly, striking again, this time finding his mark.

Across from him, Eldarel pushed through the chaos, maintaining formation. His unit moved like a machine, blades sharp and precise, carving a path through Taneth's defenders. Arrows from Bosmer bows covered their advance, precise and deadly.

Despite their discipline, Eldarel found himself staggered by the ferocity of the Redguards. They fought as if possessed, every loss driving them harder. The banks of the Yer became slick with blood, boots slipping on mud and gore.

Ahmed, breathing hard, glanced along the line. Defenders were holding—barely. But for every Dominion soldier who fell, two seemed to take their place. Despair flickered briefly in his heart, then vanished beneath determination. He roared defiantly, rallying those around him for one more push.

Eldarel, exhausted but unwavering, pressed onward, hearing commanders shout for breakthrough. Victory felt close, tantalizingly so. Yet as he pushed forward, he found himself struck by the stubborn, immovable resilience of Taneth's defenders, their lines bending but never breaking entirely.

As evening fell, both sides drew back slightly, regrouping amid their dead and wounded. The Yer ran red beneath the fading sun, its banks now forever marked by the brutal reality of war's first clash.