Apologies. I kept my initial comments brief, because I wanted to post before the site spazzed again and I got too nervous to do it at all. Some more robust commentary.


His name starts with an 'H', I remember that much, but I wasn't paying much attention when I first met him and I've developed nothing but contempt for him since. I vaguely hope he dies so I can stop having to listen to him.
I love this bit. It's funny and, right away, it gives a good sense of Jal's character.

Stealth. Finally, an Imperial who speaks my language. A ghost of a smile crosses my lips, making the man in front of me laugh lightly.

"Are you ever going to wear your uniform, Jalrissa? All that black makes you look like some kind of assassin."

The ghost of a smile broadens, "All the better to make those Stormcloaks fear me then, eh?"
Something about the idea of the ghost of a smile broadening bothers me, but it's a very small bother that's easy to put aside.

--snipped for awesome dreams--
Very nicely done. I'm making a note of this next time I try to write dreams or flashbacks.

The stars twinkle at me from the clear sky above. Damn, I'd been hoping for some cloud cover for this.
I enjoy these little observations. They really efficiently deliver insight about the character.

"I trust you to do your job. Trust me to do mine," I say quietly as I get up into a low crouch. I stretch a little, staring at him with a flat expression, "An Imperial's idea of stealth is not blowing the horn before you fire the catapults, so I'm not about to take your advice on it."
I'm not sure if that bit was your own invention or something from the game, but it was beautiful regardless.

I slip out of the grate tunnel and land silently on the stone floor, glad it isn't wood but cursing the fool that didn't include wood. Wood makes noise, helps you detect intruders. Whoever this architect was, I hope Sithis is tormenting him eternally.
Just to double-check, Jal is upset because she's taking this fort and architectural failings directly impact the Empire's success in holding it, right? Otherwise, I am exceedingly confused. Also, you repeat the word wood a lot. Maybe “glad it isn't wood, but cursing the fool that didn't think to include any”?

I grit my teeth as a dozen blades converge on me, suck in a breath, and summon the power of the Thu'um within my blood. The dragon-tongue sings in my veins with addictive intensity, needing only the Voice to shape it, and I scream out the words of my intention - "Fus ro da!" The Shout picks up the Nords and hurls them off of the battlements, and I smile darkly as I hear bones snapping and the screams of dying men.
*squee* You said the thing from the game! Okay, I'm done now. But yeah, this is the sort of writing that makes me want to have the dollars for Skyrim.

Assassins do not thrive in chaos, because we require secrecy. Chaos makes secrecy irrelevant, puts all of your enemies out in the open. When 'do as thou wilt' is the only law, we wither and starve, a redundant service in a world where murder is only technically a crime. There is no secrecy on this battlefield, and it is no place for an assassin.
Well put, and a refreshing diversion from the more typical bloodthirsty, anarchical sort of assassin.

The healing brew is bitter and foul but it works, staunching the flow of my life's blood and filling me with vigor. I crawl a few feet before springing up and sprinting along the wall. The Stormcloak I'm running at thinks I'm charging him and raises his shield to receive me, but I spin around him and sink my knife into the back of his neck, and I feel the Blade of Woe drink his life. I grab him and use his armored body to absorb a few more arrows and grit my teeth in angry rage.

This is not what I am supposed to be doing, and these clumsy oafs may well be the death of me if I continue like this.

"Lucien, kill them," I order harshly, and the ghost forms at my side. I point at the archers on the battlements and he nods once, charging forward in utter silence.
Good description of the healing potion. Apparently Skyrim folks don't gussy that stuff up. I have no idea why Jal has a ghost, but it's awesome, so doesn't really matter.

I am no stranger to the scent of death but this isn't it. Death is a small, quiet smell - a coppery tang, mixed with the smells of the body's last few convulsions. This is not death. This is slaughter, a charnel house just like the last two forts I helped take. I look at my cheering men, and then look away. Their barbarism disgusts me.
So is she upset because they butchered everyone in a distinctly unassassin like manner or because they're so darned happy about it?

"Victory for the Empire, eh Jalrissa? Jal? Are you alright?"

"I need to report," I reply, not looking at whatever-his-name is. "Hail the Emperor."

As I walk away I hear his confused, "Hail the Emperor." He thinks I am his friend.
Good interaction between these two. Even without directly saying so, you can tell H is trying to be friendly because he calls her by a nickname.

All told, Jal strikes me as a very well-developed, natural character for the world she inhabits. You don't just label her an assassin and let those associations carry the work. In fact, she seems to be a lot more of a solider than some of the barbarians who serve under her. The characterization is spot on, the combat feels varied each time Jal snuffs a dude out, and my reaction half the time to a unknown term or phenomenon was, “Not entirely sure what's going on, but who cares? This is awesome.