For Caius Cosades

Care to meticulously pick this apart into it's various faults?

> Tired, tired, tired, she was so very tired. To her it seemed that she had been wandering for decades, although in truth it was more like centuries. The ever-present ash bit into her skin as notes swirled around her, forming a terrifying ever present crescendo. It occurred to her that the dead who lay before her were but boys, barely fifty at most, young for an elf. She was five hundred now, although she was only thirty in memories that seemed like yesterday. More warriors charged, and she dispatched with them. These “Sons of the North” had come to extinguish her as a heretic, she assumed, for renouncing the Aedric Gods. For days she fought, and more and more fell before her. Fighting for this long soon became dull, and her mind began to wander. Perhaps her time was up. Perhaps she had grown to be the strongest of her time. Perhaps she did not know what her time even was anymore. With these thoughts, she removed her old, cracked helmet, and turned to face the “last man standing,” as so many men had wished to be. Even in this gray waste, his armor shone like jade starlight, glimmering scales seemed to dance and flow like water across the young, muscled body of a young warrior. She could not have appeared more opposite. She stood, clad in dull ashen bonemold, cracked and warped with time. She removed her artifacts of gods and men, allowing them to return to ash. From her waist she drew a simple steel mace. From his back he drew a shortsword, inset with sunstone and silver. Eyes of fire me those of ice, and he charged. For hours they fought, no clear victor emerging. She felt a strange sensation, and she looked down to see his hilt emerging from her stomach. She had made a mistake, for the first time in centuries. Blood flowed from her wound, warming the frosty ash. It burned like the fires of Red Mountain, and how sweet it felt. She felt, for the first time in so very very long. She began to sing, and her wounds closed. In astonishment the young warrior sheathed his blade and knelt. She sang a song of sorrow and pain and love and loss. He felt it all, heard it all, as if the memories were his own. Finally, she sang of death, and her body and armor turned to ash, joining with the wind. The warrior looked on, and saw that a ring was left behind, half buried in the ash. It was a ring of pure silver. It is said that when he placed it upon his finger, a beautiful concerto emanated from it, and it flashed with the inscription “For Caius Cosades.”

EDIT: Because xhuth the lore!