"Understood."

She takes off at a fast trot.

The problem seems to be...

A dremora.

Specifically, a tall Dremora in very expensive-looking armor - the thin strips of twisted metal arc over her shoulders in jagged patterns and meet at a pair of nipple pasties with sharp metal thorns arcing out from them, barbed chains connected them to each other. Barbed chains form the skimpy connectors of her metal thong, too, and wrap up her legs from sandals with a sharp stiletto heel she puts through a guard's chest as Bérengère rounds the corner. Her right hand holds a slender, wicked sword, and a chaotic ball of lightning crackles in her left. 

She's significantly higher ranked than the churls they've been dealing with - clearly an officer of some caste or another - and well above the paygrade of anyone currently present at the scene. 

Not hers.

Berengere draws her greatsword and prepares to charge.

She turns to Bérengère and smirks, flicking her left hand - the swirl of lightning she's holding whirls into a storm dancing over her skin. It instantly kills the wounded guard she'd just stabbed with her shoe, and scorches the ground. 

She spreads her arms and asks, "Aw, does the little mortal really think she can challenge a Kynmarch?" 

"You are not welcome here."

She licks her lips. "Delightful, isn't it? I do so enjoy showing terrified mortals their place." She stalks towards Bérengère, sword at the ready, lightning snapping around her. "Now, is the little mortal going to play, or just stand there?"

"I will banish you back to the hell from which you came, fiend." She takes a guard position.

She laughs and charges - 

And a woman drops from the sky between them, an ebony dagger with viciously jagged blade-catchers on the hilt raised before her - she catches the dremora's attack on it, and the lightning snaps at her but the oddly shallow wounds heal as quickly as they form - 

And she slashes at the dremora's stomach with a thin ebony blade that glows with the subtle red-orange runes of fire enchantments. (The dremora attempts to laugh, then turns to horror as her race's vaunted fire immunity fails.)

The dremora isn't putting up no resistance - she's definitely giving the newcomer a run for her money - but it's clear the dremora could have slaughtered most of the guards here, and it's increasingly clear that the newcomer will win their fight, fire swirling around her and mixing with a frankly impressive use of combat telekinesis and levitation. 

(The strange woman is a khajiit, with doubled black cat ears and tails. An Ohmes or Ohmes-raht, most likely, by the soft fuzz on some of her exposed skin and the strange way her black hair lies and her posture - and she's hardly furry. Her outfit is the complicated, many-layered fashion typical of Morrowind: numerous weaker armor pieces rather than a few strong ones. Far more expensive and often weaker than the system popular in Cyrodiil, but worlds more flexible, and a skilled enchanter can take it to ridiculous heights. She wears soft black slippers embroidered with black sequins that fade into netted tights with tiny circles of engraved metal bound into the knots, rising into a woven thong. A tiny slip of a skirt flares out over the side of her thighs, a bloody red contrast to her dark skin and clothes, and it clips to a belt of golden chains. She has a ropework harness on her torso - it very clearly doesn't cover her breasts, but she has a red-and-gold robe (really more of a scarf) that just barely covers those, wrapping around her neck and then splitting into two strips that flow down her front, ending in two golden heart-shaped buckles. And between the harness and the robe - a meshwork of ruby shards as her cuirass, spilling from a sleek pauldrons of gold and obsidian, to golden cuffs on her wrists and golden chains wrapped around her hands to attach to a bevy of rings. A gold and black plate-choker circles her neck, an obsidian skull with ruby eyes dangling from the front, and golden chains weave through her braids to connect to a matching circlet-helm.)

...Must be an adventurer. An- impressively experienced one.

She seems like she has the main fight in hand, so Berengere shifts her focus to scanning for other threats, guarding the khajiit's back.

She skewers the dremora through the heart after a few more rounds of their dance, and the dremora gasps and burns and crumples into ash.

She's taken damage faster than she's been healing - but her wounds start closing, and as the healing effect peters out she sighs and sheathes her dagger in favor of a soft golden healing spell.

(Bérengère has been having to deal mostly with attempted interference - scamps and clannfear trying in vain to come to the dremora's aid, a few creatures she'd summoned.)

The strange woman turns to her then, helps her finish off the few scamps that start fleeing when the dremora is destroyed. Then: "You've got good discipline," she says, approvingly, "Do you need healing?"

"I do not."

"The Guard is creating a safe zone at the Chapel of Akatosh, if you need time to rest. There are priests tending to the wounded. Or your assistance with that perimeter would be appreciated."

"I can keep fighting."

"You seem very skilled."

"I've been to a few rodeos in my time."

"How does the current state of affairs compare?"

"Things are chaotic and an incursion like this is a pretty alarming development, but it's not the worst fight I've been in. And if the daedra can gate to this plane now, they'll keep doing it, and they'll be smarter next time."

"We could use your help, if you're willing to coordinate your efforts with ours."

"I am. I don't like daedra, and they seem to be running low on the sort of heavy hitters it makes sense for me to focus on."

Berengere will lead her back chapel-wards, then.

"What's your name?"

"Dar-Kha'azi, or really just Azi." It's not a name Bérengère recognizes. "What's yours?"

"Berengere. It's good to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine."

"Now, what can I do to help?"

"We should report that Kynmarch to the guard captain, and what other notables you've fought."

Nod. "Sensible." She gestures on ahead. "Lead the way."