Militarily Wrong

Nahkriin, one of the last remaining Dragonpriests that still loyally serve their lords, looks down from where he was standing at the tens of thousands of draugr that eagerly await the chance to defend the temple. While dead and unable to retain their minds as he and the other priests had, they still knew of whom they served... Especially when your lords were easily in view.

He tilts his masked face upwards to the sky in which hundreds of dragons circled the area. Their lord, Alduin, knew they would soon be besieged, the mortals wishing to halt the World-Eater's destiny.

Dragonborn, Akatosh's greatest mistake and that which brought about the dragon's downfall. First with the traitor Miraak, then the many others that came afterwards. After Alduin was banished it turned into a war of attrition, one which the dragons couldn't win with how numerous the ant-like mortals were.

Their schemes also played a factor, some even daring to poison their lords to bring them down. Even as a Dragonpriest, there was little Nahkriin could do... When the dragons stopped answering his call, he decided to bid his soul in service, allowing him to stay 'alive' until Alduin returned.

And it had finally happened. The end was near, their ultimate absolution. All that stood in their path now are the mortals that were and always would be their greatest obstacle. Nahkriin vowed that no scheme would deny them, not this time.

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Another week passes and everyone had finally gathered in the tent-city that lay outside Riften. Tens of thousands of people, Nords and otherwise had gathered to commit themselves to the Dragonborn's service.

Many didn't even have proper equipment, simply wearing regular cloth and furs with iron weaponry. There were cases to the contrary too, of course, people wearing glass or even ebony armour.

Thankfully for the less fortunate, Michael had Skyrend donate enough gold to equip everyone with basic iron armour if they lacked anything better, along with steel pikes that, if used properly, may be able to pierce dragon scale, especially with the various enchantments layered in their tips.

The Dawnguard had also helpfully donated a thousand or so crossbows to the cause, complete with enchanted bolts, from lightning to explosive. These would be used by those who weren't strong enough to properly utilise a bow and arrow... With the population's general superhuman physiques, most of the time bows would hit much harder than crossbows, and if you take into account the ease of drawing another arrow to reloading a crossbow, it was an easy choice if you had the option.

Michael lets out a sigh as he enters the 'commanders tent', which was essentially just a larger, more brightly coloured tent than everyone else's. While the equipment problem had been sorted, he was unnerved by the unorganised nature of the whole operation... He'd thought Surtr would've dealt with this shit already since with the numbers they were working with, any forgetfulness could lead to disaster...

Once inside the tent he locks eyes with Surtr, or at least, tried to... As the man currently had a wood elf girl bouncing erratically in his lap, the sound of slapping flesh tortured the air.

...

"Surtr, what the fuck!" Michae exclaims, throwing the bro-code out entirely and causing the Bosmer girl to scream in shock and embarrassment... Which was stupid since she was fucking the Dragonborn in broad daylight in the COMMANDER'S TENT!

The runs out of the tent, but comes back when she remembers her discarded clothes before leaving again. All the while, he and Surtr were glaring at one another...

"I wasn't done, Michael." the Dragonborn growls, as if he hadn't been ignoring his duties to fuck some Bosmer bimbo.

"Really? I figured you'd be a quiet shot! And put that thing away," he gestures at Surtr's still visible member, "I'm surprised she wasn't put off when she released it wasn't a 'dragon's cock'."

"If you have something to say, Michael, say it. I haven't got time to-"

"Haven't got time!? But you've got time to fuck some slut as we're preparing for war! A war that you called for! Forget that, have you looked outside at all!? Do you have any idea what's going on!?"

Surtr scowls, "I don't hear burning, so I assume we haven't been attacked." he states.

Michael palms his face, "And I thought I was fucking stupid. Stand and come with me you fool." he says before leaving the tent. Ignoring the grumbling Dragonborn who reluctantly gets to his feet after properly clothing himself.

"What do you see, Surtr?" Michael asks while gesturing around at the camp.

"Tents, soldiers, what's your point?"

...

"Surtr, point to where our supplies are held." Michael asks while folding his arms, waiting for the Dragonborn's answer.

...

Surtr nods his head over to where all the equipment should be, along with the volunteered smiths maintaining and creating gear.

"Uh huh... Well you're wrong." he points at the city, Riften, nearby. "That's where all of our supplies are. The only reason everyone here hasn't starved is because Brynjolf knows what the fuck he's doing!"

"And? You have a lot to say but take no responsibility, maybe you should evaluate yourself before you comment on my actions." Surtr grouses back.

"Surtr, did the Fighter's Guild teach you nothing about logistics and military conduct? The phrase 'An army marches on its stomach' never come up!? Right now we've got a huge army of disorganised people with varying views on each other, without a proper command structure barring yourself, and no one managing logistics! What the fuck are these people going to eat in the mountains!?" he angrily exclaims, causing a view people to look over in their direction.

Surtr, of course, notices their eyes and scowls at the disrespect Michael was publically showing. Fuck his fame and high repute, his men couldn't see him being talked down to! "If you're so worried why don't you take up the role then, Michael? Or are you too cowardly to accept that!?"