Private The invasion of the Damned

[Mini Mongo]

Geran smiled as Thorral and a few others attempted to train the recruits, they had skill yes, but not the skill of a true Witcher, Geran would train them himself.
''Ahh very good training, but not good enough. Please all recruits stay here, anything above back off and watch.'' the Guild member reacted almost immediately, which was definitely a good sign.
Geran walked in, picking up a steel sword, one for him and one for a unlikely recruit.
''Face me!'' Geran shouted at the top of his lungs, many of the recruits quickly turning, but one was rather slow, Geran's first volunteer.
Geran let out a smile, a few of the Witchers and other ranks smiling as well, probably remembering their first time Geran did this to them.
Geran walked up to the Recruit, the others moving out of the way, he handed him the steel sword, he looked scared.
''We shall spar, try to kill me please.'' Geran said calmly, he readied himself, the Recruits and members looking scared, the rest merely smiling.

Geran went into a perfect defense, nigh unbreakable against any blade, wielded by anyone.
''Charge boy!'' Geran shouted again, the Recruit hesitating, then charging at Geran, screaming as he did.
The recruit brought his blade down upon Geran, an easy block as Geran placed his blade in front of the Recruits, blocking the attack.
In a split second after Geran blocked his sent his blade thrusting towards the Recruits face, before even knowing it Geran blade was on the tip of digging into the Recruits face.
''Boy, if this was a real fight, you would be dead. AGAIN!'' Geran said calmly into shouting the last word, before the Recruit reacted Geran charged, as he did he slid across the floor, his feet contacting with the Recruits shins.
He fell to the floor, Geran quickly standing, his blade against the Recruits neck.
''Seriously? Come on is this boy a Witcher, or a fool.'' Geran said calmly, a few Witchers letting out a laugh as Geran turned his back facing his Witchers.
''Cyrus, let's show them the meaning of being a Witcher.''

The recruit gained a angry expression on his face, getting up quietly, which was of course what Geran expected.
He smiled, the rest of the Witchers joining him, they all knew he would get back up, a fatal mistake.
The Recruit stood, charging and screaming ''Argh!!!!!!'' the Recruit swung his blade with all his might.
Geran ducked, not even facing the recruit as he let the hilt of his sword hit against the Recruits knee, braking his bone.
Geran wasn't finished yet though, the Recruit still stood, more or less.
He faced the Recruit, a easy fight, the man swinging his blade randomly, each hitting with Geran's blade.
As the Recruit went for a hit, Geran easily countered it, getting in close combat with the Recruit, Geran headbutted the man.
Once again he still stood, and just to finish him off he swung his blade into the Recruits knee that he broke, the man falling in pain.

''They all do the same thing boy, never attack a man as his back is turned. Take him to medical, and by the way boy. Attack me out of this ring, or when my back is turned, and I shall have to teach you a few lessons. Got it?
The Witchers laughed, the Recruits and low ranking members staring in shock at Geran, his veterans laughing or smiling.
''Come on Cyrus, let's have a spar friend.''
Geran took the steel blade that had fallen from the Recruits hand as he was taken to the Medic, Geran picking it up and chucking it to Cyrus.
''Prepare to be beaten'' he smiled and let out a wink to his good friend, taking a very aggressive position, ready to go all out on Cyrus, no harm done of course.
Unlike the poor Recruit that is.

 

[cazzer14]

Cyrus had a constant, continuous grin on his rugged face as he watched Geran spar with non-volunteer, unprepared recruit. It was something Geran did with every fresh batch of newcomers since the Guild had started, tell all the lined up recruits to turn around, the last one would be an example as to how inferior their skills are compared to a true masters, and that knowledge of weakness would hopefully push them to train harder, faster, better, so that they can live up to the potential that their higher-ranked elders show.

Cyrus had to wince at the sight of Geran breaking the recruit''s knee, everyone witnessing did, even a little bit, no matter how much they tried to hide it under a reputation for being ethically and visually immovable. However, everyone grimaced more at the sound of the man's cartilages being torn apart by shattered bone, the unmistakable crack that echoed and rang in the ears of the hearing, and the immediate cries of agony of the victim soon afterwards.

Although he understood that Geran wanted to solidify the point that 'the world was harsh, hence training must be equally so', he still felt the temporary disability a little extreme. But he kept his smile on his face, as did the other veterans who had appeared to merely observe and assist in the training.

Geran explained to the newbies to never attack him whilst his head is turned another way, who gave intimidated reactions to let him know they understood, before turning to Cyrus and offering him a spar/duel-to-the-(near)-death.

Before he could even consider thinking about denying, which he wouldn't anyway, he had a steel sword chucked into his hand by his challenger and superior in rank. Cyrus let out an audible amused breath, followed by a sly smirk, before remarking aloud to everyone in the room;

"Hmph. Not gonna break my leg, are you?"
He followed his comment with a quick smile and wink towards the crowd of recruits, who gave chuckles of humour at his joke. Cyrus spun his sword around, using his wrist, getting used to the weight and feel of the blade.

Geran, having already finished his pre-sparring customs, taunted Cyrus with ''Prepare to be beaten'', followed by a smug wink. He then took to a very aggressive, primal stance, and to the inexperienced who have yet to fight or spar with Geran, it would look as if he had sacrificed all of his defensive aspects of duelling, in favour of going all out attack.

But Cyrus knew Geran a lot more than most, and he knew that the defenceless stance was merely a ruse, an adept counter-attacking stance that Geran had adapted to using, like a shiny, unknown-to-be-deadly trap to a magpie. Cyrus answered Geran's taunt with one of his own;

"Arrogance, Geran? I'm disappointed"

Cyrus said these words with a patient, confident smirk, his eyes locking with Geran's as he spoke. Cyrus took to a stance mirroring his grin. Tension filled the air in the room, to the point where it was no longer confined to the room, but leaked out and filled the skies of Skyrim, and silence highlighted it, the clatters of the servants in the kitchen muffled by the many stone walls were the only sounds the performers and spectators were able to hear.

Geran struck first. He lunged forwards and Cyrus had little time to react, but it was more than enough for him. As Geran's blade came into his area, Cyrus used his own to parry and force Geran's blade away from them both, and used his off-hand to grab the wrist of the arm the Geran was using to hold his sword.

Geran had absolutely no time at all to respond as Cyrus twisted his friend's hand, forcing his opponent to drop his sword, and then flipped Geran over his back and shoulders and slammed him to the floor, winding him.

Round One to Cyrus.

He patiently waited for his sparring partner to rise to his feet, ready for the next round. But, whilst he was waiting, he decided to taunt his mentor.

"Wow. That arrogance is really helping you out, isn't it? My 'Lord'", saying "Lord" in a mocking, playful way, much to the amusement of the audience, who had increased in number during the fight.

 

[Mini Mongo]

The first round had been won by Cyrus, due to his great hand to hand fighting abilities Geran knew as he lost his blade the round was already over, but Geran had the greater abilities in sword fighting.
He would use such things as a advantage, time to put Cyrus in his place.
''A good shot Cyrus I admit, if you hadn't been a coward and disarmed me the result would be different.'' Geran mocked to Cyrus, in a quite playful tune, as he smiled and winked to his friend.
They both knew this was mere joking insults, neither of them taking anything to heart, but the others surely thought they a rivalry was at hand.
Geran knew he had only one choice when it came to Cyrus, pure great skill with the sword, he would counter any attack made by Cyrus, and use it to his advantage.
Cyrus took the first shot this time, running at Geran, as he did Geran ducked, the very blade wielded by Cyrus skimming Geran back, his leather armor blocking any pain.

Before the hit had finished Geran tackled his opponent, Cyrus falling to the ground with a large thud, clearly causing some pain to his back.
In a second Geran jumped to his feet, and hit the hilt of his blade against Cyrus's stomach, a painful blow indeed, this round was to Geran.
''You are so full of yourself Cyrus, if only you had any ability with a blade perhaps you would of had a chance aye?''
Geran winked to Cyrus, both of them letting out a smile, Geran lending his friend a hand to get up.
Round two was about to begin, whoever won this one would come at victor.
Both Geran and Cyrus knew each others style, after fighting side by side with each other for almost all their life every move was predicted, a very even and fair spar indeed.
Cyrus was a better hand to hand, and Geran a better swordsman.

Even though this match was a mere spar, crowds gathered around as they watched in marvel, their elders fighting each other pretty ruthlessly.
Round 3, the decider was about to begin, but this time Geran thought he should add a little more tension between the fight, and the crowd.
''You, you and you.'' Geran said as he pointed towards three more unlucky recruits, hesistating for a moment but stepping up, picking up their steel swords as they prepared to fight.
''This is a free for all, get anyone to the ground, once they are on the ground, do not touch them.'' Geran said calmly as he prepared himself, getting in the most defensive solid position you could ever see.
Geran had added the recruits to not only add tension, but distraction.
Every true fighter knew the more on the battlefield, the harder to concentrate, he wanted to see whether the recruits could handle tension and numbers like that.
He knew both himself and Cyrus would be fine, during their young days all the raids they did helped such things.

Cyrus always let one had free during a battle, such was his fighting style, this was as a counter, he could make a heavy punch to your face, as you stumble he would slice you.
Of course Cyrus, Geran and the Recruits weren't here to kill, but you still had to know their style.
The Recruits, ruthless and random, not very disciplined, but acted as if they were true warriors.
Cyrus, a great man for counter attacks, able to catch almost anyone of guard, loyal, honorable and disciplined.
Geran, perfect swordsman, brilliant for any kind of attack, defense or counter, just as Cyrus with all traits.
Of course Cyrus being a fist fighter added gain to his counter, but Geran would use that as a weapon.
The match began, before even anyone starting to move Geran went for a Recruit, that way Cyrus would go for him just yet, he wouldn't attack a man from the back.
He's no coward.
''Come on Recruit, defend yourself!'' the Recruits were defenseless, yet okay at attacks.
Geran wished to improve on this bad style, ruthless attacking was not the way, Geran and Cyrus had learnt that during their days as Bandits.

Geran charged in to the Recruit, the other two Recruits going for Cyrus, abit unfair Geran admits, but he wasn't aruging, it just means he'll be weaker when Geran and him fight each other.
Of course unlike Cyrus the Recruit didn't know Geran's twisted stances and attacks, and as he was in his defensive position the Recruit went for a swipe from the right, this stance was in fact a solid counter stance.
As the Recruit attacked with the right swipe, Geran parried his blade to the left and stabbed his blade forward.
The tip of the blade scratched the Recruits chest, a painful strike, and Geran took advantage to this.
As the Recruit pretty much whelped from the attack Geran went for another strike from the left, his blade digging into the Recruits arm, not heavy but fairly light.
The Recruit fell to the floor, a good sign as Geran didn't want to disable this man ''Think yourself lucky, sometimes it's best to stay down okay?''
The recruit let out a nod, Geran turned his head back to Cyrus and the others Recruits.
''You are indeed taking your time Cyrus.'' Geran mocked as the Recruit's and Cyrus fought each other, Cyrus gaining the upper hand on all attacks.
But as soon as he went for a strike, the other recruit would just go for a strike, meaning he had to defend himself.
A annoying situation, Geran merely standing by his opponent, and waiting for Cyrus to finish up, or for the Recruits to somehow catch Cyrus of guard, if that was possible with him.

 

[cazzer14]

Geran had won the second round the same way Cyrus had won the first : flawlessly. Geran helped his lieutenant to his feet, and the two prepared themselves for the penultimate final round. Geran then decided to add 3 more recruits into the fray, so this personal duel was now a free-for-all, a gladiator-like match. No doubt the recruits would fall first, either by Geran and Cyrus disabling them, or picking off one another, although it seemed more likely that they would gang up on the two mentors.

Geran outlined the rule of once on the ground, stay on the ground, before commencing the match. Geran had but one recruit to focus on, whereas the other two went for Cyrus, perhaps seeing him as the weaker one of the two veterans.

How wrong they were.

Cyrus remarked the situation in a humorous manner, "Oh, yeah, I see how it is, 'pick on the black guy', how original.". A few chuckles from the ever-increasing crowd were heard, and Cyrus gave a devilish smirk towards his two assailants. He raised his off-hand slightly, so it was in line with his waist, but clearly eye-catching to the two recruits, and made a 'come and get it' gesture.

The larger, more bulkier of the duo obliged, rushing forward at Cyrus, blade raised, and voice screaming in anger. Cyrus was fully prepared for such a blind, reckless charge, and in turn parried the strike from the recruit easily, grabbed his sword hand to prevent further ones, and proceeded to punch the Nord in the stomach twice, stunning and winding him, gasps of air and pain escaping out of his mouth.

The other recruit then arrived, and forced Cyrus to sacrifice his submission of the first recruit to defend himself from the blow. He literally caught the recruit's sword mid-swing with one hand, able to do so because of his reinforced gloves that were also fingerless to allow flexible movement of his fingers, a mostly unnecessary thing, but Cyrus liked having his fingers free for some reason. Besides, he didn't need to take them off if he needed to do something fiddly.

The recruit looked mystified as he found his blade caught in Cyrus' hand, and further found his gormless face turn into one of agony as Cyrus kneed him in the stomach, and then picked up him briefly by his armour on his shoulders, and threw him into the wooden floor, taking any fight out of him while Cyrus dealt with the other recruit.

As soon as he had launched his accomplice into the floorboards, the large Nordic-looking recruit had recovered, and was ready to get another strike on Cyrus, hoping to actually succeed in getting a blade in touching distance of the unarmed Redguard.

He didn't.

The Nord went for a low strike, attempting to take out Cyrus' legs. Cyrus was far too quick to react for the recruit to do so in turn, as he kicked the blade away mid-swing.

Cyrus then elbowed the recruit in his jaw, fracturing the bone, and noticed the other recruit advancing, coming to the aid of his future-comrade. Cyrus then threw his defenceless, stunned opponent into the other one, and the two stumbled as the collided, and Cyrus took the opportunity to 'Sparta kick' the chest of the front recruit, the sheer force of the impact sending both men to the ground, both winded and bruised, but the front man significantly more so.

Cyrus patiently waited for his two inferior opponents to get back up, and brushed his knuckles with his palms as he waited. The thousands of times he had punched dummies, walls, boxing bags, humans, animals and even Daedra on one occasion, had meant his knuckles had grown thick calluses on them, reinforced skin that armoured and protected them and also meant that Cyrus could give a harder punch without feeling the repercussion of force.

Geran poked fun at how long he was taking to pick off the two recruits, to which Cyrus rolled his eyes and gestured to the two men who were struggling to find their feet again.

Only one got back up, as the other felt himself too winded, and his confidence beaten down, both physically and mentally, and he crawled over to the steps, where the audience was gathered, he was the one at the front of the two-man tumbling train, the one who had felt the full blow of Cyrus' boot. The crowd paid him no attention, as most eyes were fixed on the fight in the ring, and the ones who did catch sight of the defeated recruit either gave a mocking sigh, or shook their head at his pathetic easy surrender.

The one who remained gave an expression of raw nervousness once he realised that he re-entered the fight alone, and gulped in anticipation of pain as Cyrus gave him a small smirk of acknowledgement of the recruit's obvious discomfort.

Cyrus attacked first this time, with a jab to the chin of the recruit who was too demoralised to defend himself, and Cyrus gained momentum of a pre-planned flurrying, devastating combo. He followed up his punch with a kick to the recruits leg, synonymously grabbing his left shoulder with his right hand and pulling him into a following knee, and then following that with two hard jabs to the recruits' diaphragm with his left fist, and then a upper-cutting strike to his chin, sending him out of Cyrus' released grasp and back two or three small steps, setting up a perfect distance for a combo of punches.

Cyrus smacked the dazed recruit in the jaw with a narrow left hook, then a right, then two alternating jabs to the area centring around the bridge of the recruit's nose, followed by a left elbow to his temple, and then ending the ferocious flurry with a devastating uppercut with a clenched right fist to send the recruit's unconscious body into the air, and down into the ground. The decimating combo lasted only around 5 seconds, nobody in Tamriel could've defended themselves against such a brutal blur of obliterating strikes, not Geran, not the Dragonborn, not the Champion of the Arena, such was the abilities of an unarmed master.

The majority of the crowd were amazed with Cyrus' display of unarmed brutality, a few whistles of astonishment and whispers of "Wow", and even a couple of quiet claps of applaud were heard. A couple of bystanders came and dragged the downed man out of the ring and to the medical wing.

He'd probably come out with the diagnostics of a broken jaw, around 4 fractured ribs, a broken nose and around 20 stitches. Perhaps he want slightly overboard with the force of the punches, but Cyrus needed to show the recruits, as well as the Witchers, just how much he shouldn't be messed with, he needed to assert himself above them.

Cyrus turned to Geran, and picked up the sword on the floor that his helpless victim had dropped prior to his beatdown. He wasn't going to face Geran unarmed, such a decision would be undecided foolish. Awaiting Geran's confirmation that he was ready to duel, Cyrus wiped blood off his face, not his own, but the blood of the recruits nose that had spurted out as Cyrus' fists had burst and broken it. He then cracked his neck and knuckles, the clicks echoing in the silent, tense air.

 

[Mini Mongo]

Geran had watched as Cyrus dealt with the two recruits, they had been beaten badly by Cyrus's skill at unarmed combat, Geran sighed a the recruits stood to their feet, only to fall again.
In the long run Geran was pretty impressed that they managed to take lots of hit's, but toughness doesn't keep you alive, good skill with whatever your preferred weapon does.
After perhaps 2-3 minutes of fighting Cyrus had finished with the Recruits, them staying down, during the hole battle he had been mocking the Recruits and making funny remarks.
Finally Cyrus turned his attention to Geran, he got his guard up as Cyrus prepared himself, and just as Geran was gonna give the order to start, a huge bang on the door went against the front door.
The entire Guild stopped looking at the training room and turned their heads to the sound, Cyrus and Geran doing the same.
''Let's check it out, all of you follow me.'' Geran said to the entire Guild as he walked to Cyrus, leaning his head in so only he would hear ''Whatever it is, it's something to do with what we found yesterday.''

Cyrus nodded in agreement, as Geran began walking down the hall to the front door, the entire Guild following behind him, Cyrus and Jaygue to his sides.
They finally reached the door until hearing a knock again ''Let......me.......in'' a voice said from behind the door, but whoever it was sounded in pain.
This was not a good thing, it almost reminded Geran of when he first met the Jester a few nights ago.
Geran opened the door as he senced huge amount of fear, as it opened a body fell into the Guild room.
It was the man who was knocking, a dark elf, covered in a huge amount of bites and scratches.
He was able to only just let at few words out ''Whiterun...........Undead..........help.........'' the dark elf said before completely dying from the scratches.
Geran, Jaygue, Cyrus and the entire Guild stood silent, exchanging looks, Geran and Cyrus locking looks.
''Cyrus, we need to get to Whiterun. Prepare the Guild.'' Geran said to his Lesser Master.

He nodded in agreement, but before he was able to move the corpse of the Dark elf began twitching.
It was as if the Dark elf was becoming one of the Undead, but it was so fast, abnormally first.
The corpse starting moving with more strength, the lifeless body gaining life after death, it was then that the eyes opened and the veins began to darken, it was such a fast transformation it was unreal.
Before the Undead managed to get to it's feet Geran unsheathed his Steel Greatsword, bringing the great weapon to the neck of the Undead, instantly decapitating it.
''All Recruits clean up this mess, all to the Witcher and above prepare yourselves, we move for Whiterun.'' Geran said calmly, depression in his voice.
Geran did the exact same as he opened the door ''Members stay here with the Recruits, defend this building, anything above Members apart from Witchers and Lesser Masters gain control of the courtyard.
Set up defensive positions along the mountain, I don't want anything getting here.'' all the Guild nodded, straight away getting to their duties.

Geran, Cyrus and Edwyn would take the Witchers to Whiterun, they needed to see what happened.
Of course Geran expected the worst, his thoughts stumbling towards the idea that the Undead boy escaped from the Mage, but such a thing was unlikely.
Or was it?
Their were so many possibilities, but the plague was the most likely, otherwise the Dark elf wouldn't of changed like the other Undead they had encountered a few days ago.
Geran feared what everyone did at this point, the end of Nirn was upon them, and the Daedra were behind this foul plan, Molag Bal and Peryite had to be punished.
Of course Geran didn't have such a ability, but perhaps Meridia did, he needed her help.
Geran opened the door to outside, a couple of Undead stood there, but before Geran reacted his Guild members quickly dealt with the Undead, no casualties.
If Geran could keep the Guild safe, Skyrim might have hope, if not Geran would resort to sacrifice.

 

[meben15]

Jaygue watched as Geran 'taught' one of the newer recruits. While the man may have been able to best a common bandit he was far to unskilled to stand toe to toe with Geran. After bruttaly putting down the recruites atempts to hurt him, Geran invited Cyrus to spar with him. The two fought back and forth for a while before Geran decided to spice it up a little with some more recruits. This ended in the poor men that had been chosen laying on the ground moaning.

Before Geran and Cyrus could resume thier sparing, there was a pounding on the great wooden door of the keep. Not knowing what to expect the entire guild went towards the door, with Geran Cyrus, and Jaygue in the lead. When they entered the entrance hall Jaygue heard someone on the other side moan, ''Let......me.......in'' Geran heaved open the door and a battered dunmer man colapesed into the hall. He said something about whiterun and undead before colapsing to the ground dead. Jaygue drew his sword as he noticed the many bite marks across the dunmer's body. As they watched Jaygue felt a pulse of negative magical energy and them mans dark skin turned pasty white, his veins black, "Infection! Kill it!" Jaygue yelled, balling a sphere of fire into his left hand.

Before he could through it however Geran rand forward, slashing the creature to ribbons before it could attack. He then ordered the witchers to get ready for battle, they were leaving for whiterun. The members and recruits would stay and defend the keep. As Geran shouted the orders all hell broke loose as the members ran about, preparing for attack and suiting up for battle. Already fully armored Jaygue ran out into the courtyard, grabbing the reins of his steed and mounting up. The horse was nervous, it could obviously smell the stench of death floating through the air. Jaygue felt it to, he cursed that fool court mage for allowing the beast to escape, they should have simply struck down the thing where it stood. But then again that probably wouldn't have done much, daedric princes found ways to acopmlish their goals despite mortal intervention. Jaygue just hopped they wouldn't be to late for at least some of the people in whiterun, they needed information on how the thing got out.

 

[The_Madgod]

Sal-Dus was deep in thoght, meditating in the courtyard, when he heard the sound of fighting coming from the training room. "Apprentices...", thought the Tsaesci. He went back to his meditations, listening to the nearby river and the birds, the animals rustling through the leaves just outside of the HQ. The fountains water flowing gracefully into the marble bowl. He shut out the irregular and erratic noises of the sparring and focused on the nature. He heard panting from just outside the base. He assumed it was a recruit who had left the HQ due to the intense training. He chuckled and went back to meditation. He opened his eyes and looke dup at the sky. Then, he saw smoke. Lots and lots of smoke coming from Whiterun. The Tsaesci walked up the staircase to the balcony and looked out across Whiterun hold. There, not a mile away, was the most prosperous city in Skyrim. And it was on fire. He walked over to the HQ to tell Geran and the others.


Sal-Dus heard a loud noise coming from right inside the Witcher base. He assumed it was just another recruit screaming from Gerans vicious attacks. Then he felt a charge of negative energy, the same he had felt on his homeland before... It happened. He slid his katana from his back. The Tsaesci snuck through the trees and silently entered the building, leaving the serene courtyard. He saw everyone running towards the front gate. He followed suite, pushing his way to the front of the mob. People tried to push by him, but he kept his hand on his sword, discouraging most of the recruits. This left enough room for the other more experienced members to stay at the front. At the gate, Geran, Cyrus and Jaygue were standing over a shredded up Dunmer man, covered in bite marks and with obvious signs of infection. Sal-Dus muscled his way up to the three high-ranking members and somberly inquired, "Did this man say anything before the infection took him? Or did he arrive here like this?" He looked at the mangled corpse. After his thorough shredding, it was hard to tell what deformations had happened because of the infection and what Gerans bloodied sword had done to him. The bite marks were oozing pus and black blood. It seeped onto the stone floor. "That may be a problem for the maids...", thought the Tsaesci. Sal-Dus took a step back, afraid that the blood could contaminate him as well as the saliva.

 

[lbrasz44]

The sparring session was a great thing to watch as the two masters were squaring off against each other as well as making some work out of the recruits as well. Seeing the recruits repeatedly go down to only come back up was entertaining to say the least, but unfortunetly it was all cut short as a dark elf soon brought their attention. It was a civilian who was cut up badly, brink on death. He started to speak, ''Whiterun...........Undead..........help.........'' and collapsed to his death. After sinking in the message, it started. The elf seemed to... turn. Rather quickly. Just like the zombie in the house. Black veins, dead skin it all was just like the incident in the house. As it rose, Geran quickly cut it down and yelled his orders ''All Recruits clean up this mess, all to the Witcher and above prepare yourselves, we move for Whiterun. Members stay here with the Recruits, defend this building, anything above Members apart from Witchers and Lesser Masters gain control of the courtyard.
Set up defensive positions along the mountain, I don't want anything getting here.''

The entire quickly went straight to business and a bit of chaos started with everyone racing to their positions. Thorral quickly made his way to the training room where his equipment was and retrieved it. Making his way back the front gate, he yelled out to gain some strategic order. "You all heard Geran! The plague is coming so all the archers go the rooftops, hills and trees and all of the experienced members to the courtyard!"

Opening the gate, Thorral could see Whiterun. It lays there coming to ruins and so there isn't any time to waste. Looking at his horse, there was a sigh that came out of Thorral as he preffered to walk and not burden the horse or have it burden him but it was the only way to get to Whiterun quickly. Thorral went on his horse and proceeded with the Witchers to Whiterun.

 

[MR-WIKI-96]

A Few Hours Ago...

Arith walked up too the bar in the bannered mare in Whiterun. He took a seat and waited for Hulda too come over too him. The usual please, Hulda, asked Arith. Hulda then brought over a bottle of ale and poured into a tankard, she then handed it over too Arith. Cheers. Arith took a sip of it. He loved his evening ale. He knew that it's a good refresher after a day of hunting. So what's new with you Hulda? Asked Arith. Nothing much, although today I couldn't get into the hall of the dead too plant a flower on my brother. Today was the day he died. I miss him. Hulda gave a sigh, and started looking depressed. Arith put down his tankard and gave Hulda a pat on the shoulder. He's in a better place now. Besides Andurs probably forgot, you know how he is. A small smile came too Hulda's face. Arith managed too slightly cheer her up. I'm going too drink this outside, said Arith. He went too the door and opened it with a smile. I love it outside, the wind against my face and the grass beneath my feet. It feels natural and right, thought Arith. He started drinking his ale again. Arith was a hunter by heart. He has an ebony bow on his back that he never leaves home without. Arith took another sip of his ale and then heard a scream. AAAAAHHHHHHH! Arith dropped his ale and he then ran as fast as he can to the screams. It was coming from behind Belethor's shop. Arith arrived at the scene. Is everybody here al- Arith stopped dead in his tracks at the horror he saw.

A man was eating a dead woman like a wolf too a deer carcass. The man stopped and looked at him, he had bloodshot eyes and bits and pieces from him were falling off. Arith recognised the man. Andurs is that you? Andurs ignored his question and ran straight at him. Andurs... Andurs grabbed hold of Arith, he started trying too bite Arith's neck, blood and spit came flowing out of his mouth. Arith was using all of his strength too push him away, but Andurs was like a monster from Oblivion. Arith grunted, he knew what he had too do. I'm sorry. Arith plunged his glass dagger into his chest. Andurs fell back into the ground. Arith took some deep breathes. That wasn't Andurs. What's going on here? Thought Arith. He turned around too walk away, but then he felt a hand on his leg pulling him down too the ground. What the!? It was Andurs, crawling at him with a dagger in his chest. Fear struck Arith's heart. I plunged a dagger in your heart! Arith was confused, but he had no time to be. He quickly tried too crawl away, but Andurs woudn't let go and his mouth was inches away from his foot. He quickly looked around for something too help him. He then notices a woodcutter's axe within near arms reach of him. He started stretching for it. He used all his energy too get it. Andurs was getting close too biting him. Come on... Arith got a a grab of the axe. Yes! Andurs was close too biting, until an axe came slashing down on his head. Arith slashed the head several times too make sure. He stood up and looked at the dead body in front of him, an axe sticking out of its head. He bent down too take his glass dagger out of the body's chest. What on Nirn was it? It appears the head is the weak point and it was like he was...undead, thought Arith. He notices the dead woman Andurs was feasting on, started too rise up exactly like Andurs. Arith too his bow out and drew an arrow out of his quiver. He readied his bow and shot right in the middle of her head. Arith soon heard screams coming from all over Whiterun. Arith knew that this was big. Very big.

Arith ran out too the street. He saw people like Andurs attacking men, woman and, in the distance, he saw a little girl get mauled by a guard like Andurs. I have too help the people get out of here, thought Andurs. He ran too the drunken huntsman too help his friends, Elrindir and Anoriath. He made his way too the archery shop. Three of the undead were in his way. He shot three arrows into their heads. he wasn't proud of it, but his father taught him too survive. He opened the door too the shop. We have too get out- Arith saw a crying Elrindir at his brothers dead body. I'm sorry...*sob*...I didn't mean too...*sob*...you were going too kill me...*sob*, Arith walked up too him. Elrindir had killed his brother Anoriath. His brother became undead. Arith walked up too him, too let him know of the events, but an iron dagger came swinging into his right arm. AHHHH! Screamed Arith. Elrindir had gone crazy with fear. Stay away from me! We're doomed! You're all going too kill me! He then crawled too a corner and started rocking back and forth. Arith took out the dagger in his arm. It was bleeding slowly, but in a few hours without proper treatment by potion or spell, he'll be dead. Arith walked out, leaving Elrinder too sob by his brother's body. I wish I could do something, but he's crazy now, thought Arith. He then stepped outside too see people running towards the gate. He went and joined them. He reached the gate. Only a few made it out. He was outside, he noticed that nobody had closed the gate doors. If they get out, we'll all be doom, thought Arith. He then ran back to the gate doors and tried too close them. He used all his strength. He then looked and saw the undead running at the gates. Come on, come on... He pushed the doors close before they got there. The door seemed too have locked automatically. He lay back on the ground, breathing heavily. He can hear the scratches and moans of the Whiterun people behind the doors. I have too get help, thought Arith. He then started running.

Now...

Arith was running for a few hours now. His speed started too slow as his wound got worse. I need help. Where is it!? Thought Arith. His wound was starting to pain him more. He wanted to rest, but his instincts told him not too. He was on the edge of death he needed water and a healing spell, fast. He then saw a group of people riding on horses. They were heading towards him. He went down on his knees in relief and shouted Help! Help! The men were coming closer, but he fainted before he could catch a glimpse of them.

 

[Mini Mongo]

Geran and his trusted Witchers, including his Lesser Masters Edwyn and Cyrus all walked outside, they heard a huge amount of screams coming from Whiterun, and a foul smell with the smoke from fires came from the great trading hub City.
Geran walked to his horse, stroking it's head and mounting up, the horse seemed strong and happy, probably because Geran was wearing his nice light Leather armour.
Geran had already shown of his great steeds strength, now he thought it would be time to show it's incredible speed.
He put his Greatsword on the right side of his steed, that way as he was riding the blades wouldn't pierce the steeds skin, he then began stroking it for a moment.
He waited as the other Witchers and his Lesser Masters mounted their horses, some wore light armour, some wore heavy, he had improved his numbers back to 10 during some talks with his trainer.
Geran was happy to have a few more Witchers, then being at full strength was important, but like most Witchers, they would fall, thinking they were invincible.

For years the Witchers had been gaining numbers, and the actual small elite group of Witchers would gain members, but only ever did 7 actually stay, only ever did they survive every encounter.
The new ones would always fall, thinking they were the most bad ass fighters in the entire county, they would act as if they were immortal, and always fell because of such things.
It was as if making one a Witcher was sending them to their death, but Geran had to accept it, if they were worthy enough to become a Witcher Geran would have no choice but to recruit them, but it was sad that they always fell.
Once the Elite group was mounted up they began to march in a triangle form, good for powerful attacks, and their general marching positions.
Geran at the front, his Lesser Masters behind him, then the rest of the Witchers making up the full triangle, not only did it look fierce, but it was a powerful attack, capable of devastating blows to any enemies, mortal or immortal.

As they approached Whiterun the air gained a foul smell, and the screams began to stop, the fires still burnt.
The worst situations came to mind, but Geran hoped they had just escaped, and luckily his preys were answered.
A man began to run to the Witchers, perhaps looking for help, he looked scared but strong, as he made his way to Geran he just fell before he was even able to say a word.
''Jaygue get the man on your horse, guard him well.'' Geran said to Jaygue as the mighty Witcher dismounted from his horse, picking the man up over his shoulder and placing him on the back of his horse.
As Jaygue got back on his horse Geran and the Witchers descended upon Whiterun.
He could feel the fear and death in the air, it was almost terrifying, but Geran and the Guild kept a strong head, and carried on marching, no fear showing among the group.
They eventually reached Whiterun, a man with his sword unsheathed was fighting a Zombie before he was jumped and attacked.
Before the man managed to die Geran quickly picked up his knife that he always had on his personal, throwing the dagger into the Zombies head as it fell on the man.

He was terrified, two zombies Caracas's including the one Geran had just killed around him......and a dead woman.
The thing that turned Geran's heart was the fact that the woman had sword cuts, not the cuts that a Zombie or any type of Undead would cause, unless their was any Draugr around, and their wasn't.
Geran marched to the man, the Witchers staying in their formation until they reached the man, he aimed his sword at Geran.
As he did the entire Guild un-sheathed their sword and bows, aiming them at the man, and the magic users among the group aiming their spells at him.
Geran then began to speak to the purely terrified man ''Look mate, you're scared, but that didn't give you any reason to kill her, or aim your sword at me. Don't be a fool, drop your weapon.'' the man was scared and dangerous, as he began to nearly cry, but got angry again ''I....I had no other choice, she was one of them, she was going to kill me! And you........you are the Witchers! Where were you when we were attacked! Umm you you should of been here! I'll kill you all!'' the scared man said, flinging his sword randomly as he spoke.

''You always have a choice, you had a choice not to kill her, you know she wasn't changing, I know you're lying to me. Look, drop your weapon, and we will take you somewhere safe.'' Geran said calmly, but at the end of his sentence the man hesitated then charged at Geran, but before he made it within striking distance of Geran, he was cut down by the Witchers.
Geran then turned around to see the bridge was closed, clearly survivors had blocked it off, but maybe they were still in the area, Geran needed to get them out of their, kill the undead and close of the entire of Whiterun. Checking for survivors as they did.
The group walked up to the bridge as Geran shouted out ''Let us in, we're here to help, I'm Geran the Guildmaster of the Witchers! Let us help you!'' he shouted over, as the bridge was then lowered, but no reply.
Geran and the grouped walked in, the entire group in the small courtyard in front of the gates, but no one alive was here.
Then suddenly a Zombie attacked a new Witcher, the man began to scream out as the Zombie jumped from the small bridge, knocking the man of his horse.
The Zombie began to tear into the man, and then the Guild let out fire.
Already a new Witcher was dead ''He dead guys, close the bridge behind us, we'll go in when this man wakes up'' Geran said as he pointed to the man he had found.

 

[death raider]

J'Oran woke up exhausted from the day before. He looked around and saw his friend J'Dora crouching frozen with fear. Very quietly she told me to draw my swords and without thinking he did as she asked he then crouched down next to her behind a boulder getting ready to pounce on their enemies.

Then out of no where a figure came in to view running towards the god forsaken creatures and he suddenly realized it was J'Dora! She was running and yelling at the same time he could sense the anger in her voice. She unsheathed both here daggers and began to cut apart anything that got in her way undead or not. He heard the screams of undead as they fell to the floor body parts missing. J'Dora got out of the surrounding crowd of undead and began to run away as far as possible. Then what happened next put J'Oran's heart in his mouth. He felt like the whole world had stopped except from the scene that was unraveling before him.

J'Dora's leg was grabbed by a zombie and with great force her body was thrown to the floor. She lost grip on her only weapons and the next think she knew she was picked up by her shoulders to face a muscular and fierce zombie and the zombie then opened his mouth and sunk his teeth into her neck. J'Oran couldn't move, it was like all the life had left his body and he watched the zombie sinking his teeth into her, the life draining from her face.

J'Oran looked away he then felt a sad emotion and burst of rage go threw him he then ran towards the zombies he sheathed one of weapons and just leaving one left to carry and with the other hand he conjured up a flame atronach and immiediatly fire started to hurl in all directions and even from were he was still a good few yards from the zombies he could smell their burning flesh. He then got into the thick of things and started to chop zombies into pieces he saw the two zombies that had killed his friend standing next to her body he then got away from the zombies heading toward the two zombies that he wanted dead. Within a few seconds the zombies were on the floor lifeless. He turned round to see the other zombies lying in heaps on the floor. He turned to friends body, but before he even looked at it he knew she was dead and he was sadly right.

He then burned her body as he didn't want her turning into one of those creatures he felt tears building up in his eyes, but he had to strong and to make sure he delivered his promise to his friend that he would rid of the undead once and for all! He then turned to gate of the city knowing it was best to leave he opened the city gate to see a group of people carrying weapons and there was a lot of them he watched as three men led the way towards the gate he drew his sword hoping that they were not a members of the undead army!

 

[The_Madgod]

Sal-Dus snuck into the city while the rest of the Witchers were occupied by some insane man. He opened the giant gates, seeing only carnage. Buildings were on fire, undead roamed the streets, guards were being destroyed, creating armored zombies. The Tsaesci was terrified. He felt a hand grab his leg and nearly pull him down. In one fluid moment, he turned, drew his sword, and stabbed a female zombie with no legs in the torso. She opened her maw, revealing deformed teeth and gore. Sal-Dus said a quick prayer in the old language and stabbed her through the skull before she could bite into his armored leg. He turned, shaken, as the rest of the Guild began the city. He ran into a nearby building, The Drunken Huntsman.

Inside, there were three dead bodies and a zombie feasting on them all. The zombie was a male Wood Elf with nice enough clothes on, though tattered and stained with the blood of an old Nord on the floor. Next to him was another Wood Elf with a huge chunk bitten out of it's neck and a female Imperial missing an entire leg. As Sal-Dus approached the zombie, the other Wood Elf rose from the ground. He jumped at Sal-Dus and bit his boot, just barely failing to break the skin. Sal-Dus stabbed him in the skull and kicked his body away, attracting the other zombie. The two other carcasses began to twitch as the Wood Elf began a long moan. Sal-Dus lopped off his head and turned to the old Nord. He sliced his arm off to see if it would affect him. He just moaned and lunged, barely missing Sal-Dus.

The Tsaesci jumped back, then stabbed the Nord through the eye as he fell forward. He turned towards the reanimating woman and stabbed her in the eye, feeling no remorse and no pity. Then he fell into a chair, exhausted, and grabbed some Argonian Ale lying by the fire. It was the only alcohol he would drink, as it reminded him of home. He warmed his hands on the fire as another zombie fell through the weakened roof, impaling itself on the cooking spit. Her head slowly roasted on the fire. Sal-Dus sat back and watched, laughing. After a little while, he left the building to see what the others were up to.

He approached Edwin, whom he saw first, among the wreckage in the street and said, "Hey, anything important going on out here? That building over there was crawling with the beasts, but I managed to take care of 'em." Then, he heard a low moan and turned, face-to-face with another zombie. It tried to bite into him, and would have suceeded, but it had no teeth. The entire jaw was gone. Sal-Dus simply lopped off it's head and turned back to Edwin, slightly more cautious.

 

[meben15]

Jaygue rode near the guild master as the cantered the short ride to the Whiterun gates. He looked out over the burning city, wondering again what may have caused such a disaster in so little time. The answer was simple of course, that blasted zombie no doubt with the aid of a few daedric princes.

As they got closer a man came running towards them waving his arms and shouting for help. Jaygue instantly drew his sword, thinking the man may have been like the dunmer before, not yet dead but soon to turn against them. As he collapsed to the ground Jaygue jumped off his horse, running towards him ready to pierce the risen zombie throught the chest or heal the injured unconscious man. As he rolled over the wood elf Jaygue was relieved to see that there were no bite marks on the mans skin, nothing but a few scratches and gouges and what seemed to be a slash from a dagger on his arm.

Jaygue quickly cast a combat healing spell, which stopped the bleeding and scabbed over some of the mans smaller wounds. As Geran ordered Jaygue to get the elf up into his saddle he was already doing it, gently slinging him over the back and mounting up again himself.

They rode onwards the short distance to the gate were the group found a man fending off several zombies with a crude iron sword. The guild quickly destroyed the undead host assaulting the man and Geran offered him a greeting as he quickly spun to face them. Jaygue looked into the mans eyes and saw a crazed look, that of one who has lost his reason and is acting on pure instinct. He felt a brief stab of annoyance as he saw the dead woman, cut down by the mans blade rather that eaten by zombies. Chaos made people do stupid things.

Geran seemed to have noticed the woman as well and confronted the man about it. After a brief moment of attempted negotiation the crazy man charged the guild master. He was cut down in less than a second and Jaygue shook his head in disgust. People were so stupid.

As they passed by the corpse of the man and woman Jaygue made sure to send a bolt of fire into each one of their bodies, hopefully to stop the plague from spreading to them. They continued onward to the drawbridge, which had been raised up, either to keep others out or the poor people inside the walls were they were.

Approaching the gate Geran called for it to be opened. Jaygue was surprised to find that it actually did until he noticed Sal-Dus, a strange lizard man who had recently been promoted to witcher was not with them. The sly man must have scaled the wall to open the gate, Jaygue approved of such initiative it made for a good warrior. He hoped the man would prove to be as intelligent in combat as well.

With all ten witchers inside the walls of the city the gate raised itself back up again to prevent any more of the zombies escape. Jaygue doubted that the low walls of Whiterun would be able to contain the plague of undeath but it was certainly better to try than to just give up.

As soon as they entered the walls zombies attacked. One jumped down from a from a rooftop onto one of the newly recruited witchers, tearing at his face with its rotten teeth. Jaygue quickly jumped from his horse, throwing a ball of silver flames at the zombie. As it staggered off the poor unlucky man Jaygue beheaded it as it was still recovering from the surprise flame attack. Looking over to his fallen comrade Jaygue instantly realized he was dead, and, without flinching in the slightest, he strode over to the fallen mans body stabbing him through the head to prevent reanimation. "Meridia guide you off this cursed world my brother," Jaygue whispered as he preformed the dark deed.

While there were a few other zombies around no others attacked the group and Geran sugested that they revive the injured man they had rescued before proceeding. Jaygue agreed, "Very well, I will revive him. Cover me." He lifted the man off the back of his horse and layed him on the ground. Trusting his brothers and sisters in arms to defend him as he healed the man Jaygue focused on the task. He channeled a short, powerful burt of magicka into the bosmers body, intending to shock him into conciousness as well as heal his wounds.

 

[death raider]

J'Oran looked at these new arrivals with disbelief the way they killed the zombies was magnificent he then felt carm about them and went to help unsheathing his throwing daggers and started to throw them at unlucky zombies that caught his eye. He then went towards one that had nearly lost his head if the zombie even had a jaw and asked " Who are you? Are you here to stop the carnage?" The race of this man he did not recognize maybe an ancient race like the Tsaesci, but he needed answers and also, even though he didn't want one, he needed an allies!

 

[MR-WIKI-96]

Arith felt a feeling of tranquility over him. He was floating through a space of darkness. Am I dead? Arith didn't even move his head too look around, he was feeling so calm that he didn't even want too move a muscle. He then heard a voice. It was quiet, but it then started getting louder. Arith could now hear it like it was beside him. No you are not son, you are stronger than that. Arith came too his senses and and started too look around in wonderment at the voice. Father is that you? Asked Arith. A small ball of light came towards him, it was the source of the voice. Arith stopped floating and was hovering right in front of the ball of light. Yes it is son, it is not your time too die. You must stop the undead. They will destroy all of Tamriel if let loose. Arith felt confused. How do you know this? Asked Arith. I have watched you from the skies since me and your mother passed away. We love you son. Destroying the undead is your destiny son. Just remember my son, we are proud of you. A tear came down Arith's eye. He missed his parents. I will father. I love you too, said Arith. The light and darkness then all of a sudden disappeared. Arith felt a sudden shock too his body and all of a sudden he woke up.

Arith suddenly woke up. He was leaning on the back of a wall. He saw a Breton man with healing hands beside him. He must be the man who saved my life, I owe him one, thought Arith. He then looked at his arm, it was clean and like new. It looked like a dagger had never hit his arm. Arith took a good look around. He appears to be at the Whiterun entrance. It was a shadow of it's former self. Undead roam the streets now. Father was right. It is my destiny. I have too stop this, thought Arith. He saw a group of men killing the undead around them. They kill them like it was an ordinary thing. Arith then looked at the man who saved his life. Who are you? Before the breton could answer his question, Arith saw an undead man walking up too him from behind, about too bite him. Look out! Arith shoved the breton man out of the way. He then took his glass dagger quickly out of his holster and threw the dagger at the undead man, hitting it right in its head. The undead creature fell down on its back. Dead. Arith stood up and pulled his glass dagger out of his kill. He placed it back in his holster. He walked back up too the breton who was on the ground after being pushed over and having his life saved. Arith gave the breton man a hand too help him up. Sorry about that. The name's Arith.

 

[lbrasz44]

The Witchers had made their way to Whiterun. The city is in ruins and people are going mad, such as the man who tried to attack the guild earlier off his own insanity. There were some survivors however. Two so far, a Khajiit and a Wood Elf. The two barely scraped by the undead.

Thorral looked around the city, one Witcher is already dead and another has gone to inspect the Drunken Huntsmen. Seeing the Smithshop "Warmaidens", it would be a good place to start. "I'll go and clear out some buildings."

Entering the shop it was relatively empty; gear and weapons lying everywhere as well as supplies. Unsheathing his greatsword, Thorral went to move cautiously throughout the shop checking each corner. Making his way upstairs, Thorral went to clear each room individually. Upon going on to the bedroom, the shop didn't seem to have anything in it. Putting his greatsword back, Guess no zombies are here... better get back to the grou-

Out of nowhere a zombie came to tackle Thorral. Catching a glimpse, it was the large nord who owned Warmaidens and he was infected. The owner was about the exact same build as Thorral so the two had no advantage in size and strength. Managing to kick the infected off, Thorral went for his back to get his sword... except that it wasn't there. His only weapon had flew off to the corner of the room. There was no choice but to fight the large man with fists.

A straight hit the zombie on the chin, but it just shook it off and went straight for Thorral. Sprawling, the zombie's takedown was nulified which allowed a clear shot for multiple knees to the head. The infected got bothered this time as it backed off. The two circled for two seconds before Thorral went for a hook, but it seems that zombies still have a sense of reaction timing as it ducked and charged. Unable to sprawl, Thorral got picked up as the zombie charged forward. Not stopping, the two had gone through the window and out into the yard near the forge.

Holy crap... thought Thorral, who was in disbelief of what just happened. Lying down, with the zombie on top, the signs of the infected was clear. Grey, cold dead and waxy skin. Black veins popping out filled with the sickness. The spit flying everywhere as the infected was screaming in Thorral's face. Wincing at the sight, Thorral couldn't stand the undead man. He could never stand the dead at all.

Bringing his legs back, he kicked the zombie off and managed to get back up. Looking at the forge, there was a sword in it, just new yet still red from the heat as the steel didn't cool yet. Quickly taking it, Thorral swung the sword cutting the infected chest as it screamed in pain. Seeing his chance, Thorral front kicked the large infected nord sending it into the forge where the flames had erupted to life, engulfing the zombie.

Realizing that this fight is over, Thorral leaned against the wooden post exausted. And that was just one... Looking back at his group who were gathered around and taking care of the undead that were bothering them, Thorral looked at Geran before heading back to retrieve his sword, "This building's clear."

 

[Skyrimosity]

There had barely even been time to think. Edwyn had been giving some instructions to some recruits when Geran gave the call for all witchers, and of course lesser-masters, to gather. Geran instructed them they would be riding to Whiterun once more. Edwyn once more got on his jet black steed, being sure to feed the worthy horse some of the finest carrots. Then they set forth once more to Whiterun, the sound of death and the smell of decomposition filling the very air that Edwyn was forced to breathe. Edwyn was sickened by the stench, even he a hardened witcher had trouble managing not vomiting.

The sight of Whiterun was gruesome. Fires seemed to be sweeping the city as the moans of the undead horde seemed to arise from every direction. This fight would be tough for the witchers. Edwyn, as always, faithfully followed Geran into the city, being on the top of his guard. From the inside, the chaos which swept every single corridor and every little crack in the entire city was plain to see. The undead were... eating... the newly dead, causing them to rise up as undead. The confusion with zombies is that you are never sure which ones are dead and which ones are undead. Edwyn let out a dry laugh despite the burning tavern beside him.

Edwyn saw a group of 5 zombies attacking a lone guard. Feeling the need to help the man, Edwyn charged in that direction screaming the name of Meridia. Edwyn charged straight into one of them, piercing his sword through the monster's neck as had seemed to work in his previous fight. Yes! They're powerless without their heads! Edwyn laughed once more as the 4 remaining zombies turned on him. Edwyn was quick on his feet and relentlessly back-stepped whilst slashing at the zombie's hands. He attacked and managed to quickly take down 2 of them with precise slashes aimed around the neck area. They fell down in a pool of blood, unable to move.

Edwyn smiled toward the guard, and the guard was instantly uplifted by the sight of Edwyn's smile. Edwyn's mother had always told him "A smile is sometime a great weapon against your enemies." Edwyn's mothers words reigned supreme as the guard drew his greatsword and decapitated 1 of the zombies. Edwyn took this as a competition and decapitated the other zombie's head with all his might, the head flying onto a building.

Edwyn was now standing in the middle of 5 dead zombies. The guard was only able to stand in pure awe as Edwyn prepared for 10 more beasts charging directly down the road. Edwyn was standing in front of a giant pile of black blood, his figure the very image of epic glory when a... lizard man? approached him.

"Hey, anything important going on out here? That building over there was crawling with the beasts, but I managed to take care of 'em."

"Oh, well nothing too important. Just a small horde of zombies running directly at us. And how about that weather? Can really smell the zombie, can't you? Now if you cleared a building of zombies, stand with me here and kill these pathetic excuses " Edwyn pointed to the 10 zombies running at them, making sure the man got the message.

 

[The_Madgod]

"Oh, of course Master Edwyn. I despise these creatures...", said Sal-Dus as he drew a katana. He held it across his chest in the traditional Tsaesci style and waited for the attackers to come close enough for him to kill. He thought of his homeland. This scene reminded him so much of his last day on Akavir... The burning city... Bodies everywhere, all rising up from their eternal rest. One of the zombies still had fully functional legs. An old female Nord. Sa;-Dus walked forward, stabbing her through the torso, then neatly decapitatin her. Blood spurted from her neck for a second before the lifeless body fell onto the lifeless head. The Tsaesci stepped forward and stabbed another in the eye, his blade becoming stuck in the skull. He opened his eyes wide in surprise. His katanas normally never got stuck.

"Damn, I forgot to polish it last night!", yelled Sal-Dus in anguish. He left the sword in the dead Imperial mans head. He drew a small dagger from his belt and slit the throat of an attacking male Nordic zombies. The zombie kept gnashing at Sal-Dus' face. He stabbed him in the eye, blood spurting onto his warpaint and into his black hair. This zombie was also armored, an odd steel armor. He looked up and saw a huge building, a meadhall, with a Werewolf standing in front of it. It howled a p[rimal, hungry howl. Then, it tore into a nearby zombie. Sal-Dus was so distracted he didn't notice the zombie lunging towards his back. He felt the heat emanating from it's still-warm body before it managed to bite him, spurring him to jump forward. He put his dagger over the back of his head, puncturing the creatures skull. Edwyn, it appeared, had taken care of the other zombies.

Sal-Dus turned and saw Gerana looking down at a Khajiit in the mud. He turned to the other side and saw a zombie grappling with a poor civilian. The creature took a huge chunk out of his shoulder just as the man stabbed it in the eye. He fell to the ground, shuddering. Sal-Dus shook his head and dispatched him, turning his attention to the Werewolf. It had changed. It was growing skinnier, its limbs shortening and its face shrinking. It howled and used what appeared to be the last of its' energy to sprint inside the meadhall. Sal-Dus ran towards the giant dead tree in front of the Nordic building, ignoring any undead that passed him by. He knew that if they could get a Werewolf on their team, they would be set. He ran up the stairs to the hall and threw open the dor, revealing a dead woman covered in bite marks wearing just some tattered cloth. She had red hair and tattoos all over her body. One eye opened, the other bitten out. She rose to the ground slowly and limped towards Sal-Dus. He said another quick prayer and stabbed her in the empty eye-socket. He walked outside, bumping into a Breton man standing over an Imperial. "Is he... Bitten? Healing hands won't work, I'm afraid.", said Sal-Dus with a terrible feeling in his stomach. He liked the Imperial. He didn't know why, but he did.

 

[meben15]

With a gasp the Bosmer regained consiousness, stareing at Jaygues face for a second blankly. He quickly snapped out of it looking around at the horendous scene surrounding them. The elf asked Jaygue who he was, and he was about to reply when the man shouted Look out! Jaygue whirled around as the Elf pushed him aside, throwing a dagger at a zombie that had leapt down towards him from a nearby rooftop. The glass weapon hit the monster in the head, killing the zombie instantly.





As the man retrieved his dagger Jaygue got to his feet, retrieving Blightfire which had falled to the ground beside him. The elf asked him who he was and introduced himself as Arith, "Jaygue, Witcher." Jaygue replied simply. He knew that most would thank the man for saving his life a few seconds ago but for Jaygue it meant nothing. Jesturing to the other witchers around him Jaygue said, "These are my brothers and sister in arms. This is Lord Geran, our leader. We have come to aid the people of Whiterun, if you are with us then follow otherwise flee." The speech was blunt and to the point, Jaygue always had problems with introductions, he felt like he should try to push new people he met away from him so they would not be corrupted by him.

Leaving the Elf to do as he wished he went back up to the front were Geran was. Jaygue saw further into the city Edwyn and Sal-Dus had taken up a defensive station, they were surrounded by corpses and were aided by only one guard. Jaygue did not stop to ask why they had strayed so far from the others, he simply looked to Geran, "Geran what are our objectives here, get to Dragonsreach? We may want to see how this whole thing started. And we should probably move to support Edwyn and Sal-Dus."

 

[CHIM]

Spoiler: OOC

Casimir is joining this roleplay officially, as a survivor, but possibly as a Witcher in the future.

Some Ayleid-Cyrodillic translations for the reader's benefit;​

- bala means power​

- laloria means dark times​

​

Casimir Farano pulled his steel spear out of the dying... thing. He hadn't a clue what in Oblivion the things were, but some of them were slow, and some of them were fast. Perhaps they are Draugr? Casimir had heard about the undead denizens of Skyrim, that inhabited old Nordic tombs. However, these undead were different to the ones he had already encountered; skeletons and such. They didn't possess any special abilities, like being able to shoot a bow even though they may have been dead for hundreds of years. Casimir looked at his spear, slick with blood, and sheathed it back onto his back. He took out his saber and shield instead, as he was more akin to using them than his shield.

A small 'thing' jumped on his back, clawing at the blue cape and Indoril armour. "Get the... Oblivion... off!" His shield smacked against the side of the 'thing's' face, nose broken, but more importantly, its neck. Casimir charged a small group of perhaps two or three 'things', sword flashing and shield at the ready. The group dropped, blood oozing from the open wounds. Casimir towered above the corpses, in all his mighty glory, and said to himself, slowly, "I sometimes doubt my bala." He looked up, expecting more things, but saw a group of uniquely-clad fighters and a Whiterun guard. He dashed towards them, shouting clearly, without any trace of panic in his voice, "These are some laloria. How may I help you?"