It happens too fast!

You see your opportunity. The soldier, his fear of the black dragon easily overriding his desire to keep hold of you, lets your arm go. In an instant you dash away, past a few more soldiers conveniently ignoring you in favor of the creature. You dive in between two buildings as something strikes one of them. Some kind of burning rock from the sky. And that wasn't the only one; all around you now you can hear them striking wood, stone, and earth, between people shouting and panicking.

Concentrating as best you can, you light a magefire in one of your palms. The fire in your hand doesn't burn you, but the flame of the rope binding your wrists does. You smell burning hair as well. At last the rope burns through. You quickly examine your wrists - definitely burned, but nothing severe - and start to rise to your feat, but---

...

Ugh... your head throbs... You touch the place that hurts the most, but it's hard to make that determination - you hurt all over. You feel blood caked in your hair, but the idea you may be hurt doesn't sink in. Instead, you climb to your feet, shaky, but able to stand. Rubble. You must have been struck by a piece of wood knocked from the house by the rain of brimstone. You clothes fared worse than you; the itchy rags were almost totally obliterated. You simply grab it and yank the remainder off; it didn't cover you at all anymore anyway, no point in keeping it. Using a strip of it to tie your hair back, you finally start wearily making your way out from between the ruined houses.

The destruction leaves you breathless. The entire town was in cinders; even the keep, the only mostly intact building in the town, was only barely standing.

A corpse, burnt beyond recognition, lies not far from you. You approach it carefully, covering your nose to hide the overwhelming stench of burnt flesh, and pick an iron dagger from his belt. You frown; the metal is partially melted. Useless.

Stark naked, covered in dirt and ash, you start scouring the area. At last, you find an Imperial sword that is undamaged. You had little knowledge of swordplay, preferring your Altmer magic where possible, but you knew enough to protect yourself.

Satisfied, you turn to go back to where you think the inn was, hoping to salvage some clothes, but freeze in your tracks when you hear a voice. You take cover in the rubble of a home just in time to avoid being seen; an Orc man, wearing only a furred skirt and boots, kicks over the charred corpse of what you think was a child. He mutters something, complaining about scouting alone. He was definitely making his way towards your position.

If he gets close enough, you think, you can douse him in fire, or maybe get him with the sword. But, if he's alone, perhaps some creative use of your predicament might be the wise choice.