to his shoulders. "Stay behind me if it returns. I will do what I can to draw its fire."

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Inexplicably, he wishes it were moonlight falling upon them, but the smoke above has replaced the sky, separating the group from the world that much more. "I'll... I'll lead." Their hidden weapon is still at his belt. His own shield bends and reforms into a shield that spans from his feet

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He hears the prayers of the bards and wishes for the certainty carried in their words. Tabitha's magic falls over him like a cloak whipped in the wind, offering protection and the icon of a brave hero standing against the storm – if only he could grasp it, master it for more than fleeting moments.

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The fallen shieldbearer might never be found, name forever unknown, and all memory of him— of them, of course, of the unknown defender —lost in smoke and ash. It felt foolish to believe any different. He hears the resigned shock of the Dragonborn, and her resolute order in spite of it.

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Beneath his booth, he finds fragments of a shattered shield, brittle with the the heat that had shorn it in two. Its other half must rest, now, somewhere upon this decimated field - perhaps still strapped to the arm that had borne it against overwhelming onslaught. There is no sign of survivors.

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