Private The invasion of the Damned

[The_Madgod]

The wound on Sal-Dus's leg began to pulse slowly, heavign up and down, as the healing magic flowed into it. The bite continued to fester, unable to move any farthjer, but definitely spreading around the alloted area, which grew as the magic stores of Sal-Dus's healer ran out. Meanwhile, inside the wound, there was a battleground of platelettes, blood cells and the virus. The only way one would be able to see it is if they somehow acquired the wondrous Dwemer invention known as the microscope. Alas, only one was known to exist on the surface, and it is highly doubtful that the high-chief of Orsinium would hand it over to a group of Meridia-worshipping undead hunters. Yet, the battle raged on, regardless of whether or not any outside viewers could see the carnage.

A white blood cell travelled along it's normal route, propelled by the clear liquid surrounding it. The blood cell was surrounded by others of it's kind, as well as red blood cells and platelettes. There were more than usual, amny being pushed into one another. A path was pushed open by the cell, who was nearing mitosis and so was large rthan many others. Soon, it reached a clot. This clot was not made of cholestoral, though. It was made of dead cells. For some reason, platelettes appeared to be trying to scab over the cells, which would not dissolve into their base components, as they should. Instead, the cells appeared to be sticckign to the walls of that particular artery, with platelettes sticking on top of them. The white blood cell was pushed through the small opening by the current and other cells. Once past this barrier, the cell continued on it's way, joined by very few other blood cells, and absolutely no platelettes. A giant, gushing wound loomed before them, covered with many foreign cells, which were quikcly spreading in an almost organized fashion.

The nucleolus of the white blood cell sent a chemical messenge to prepare to attack the invaders, as was normal cell protocol. The cell did. It continued on it's way, slow, steady and ready to fight. A red blood cell was quikcly killed, sinking to the bottom just like the ones that had blocked the path earlier. A couple of smaller vessels and veins were being blocked off by the invaders and the carcasses of other cells, all of which refused to break down. The white blood cell attacked an invader, engulfing it. Then another. This attracted the attention of others. The nucleus of the white blood cell would be unable to see the pattern, but these invaders were obviously organized, as if they were man-made constructs, designed to invade a person's body. The major group by the wound split off into three smaller groups, attacking the various invading cells.

Right about then the mitosis process finished. There was now another white blood cell. But, right about then another cell was killed. The clot was finally completely filled with platelettes, stemming the source of reinforcements, and possibly causing the loss of Sal-Dus Eliki's leg. The battle raged on. Eventually, the invaders won out, their organized and deadly tactics easily trumping the blood cells. The bacteria tried to spread, but was stopped at every corner by some form of magicka. So, for now, they waited, unable to advance. But they would. Oh, they would. This spell couldn't hold forever.

 

[lbrasz44]

Walking down the steps from Dragonsreach, Thorral made his way to the plains district. The smell of death was overwhelming and bodies are littered everywhere. Deciding to go the general store, Thorral wanted to try and get everything that he could. The rest of the guild could use these... thought Thorral as he went to gather up all the armour and weapons found. The rest of the members back at the guild headquarters should be doing well for themselves; if 10 witchers could take down an army of undead, then the entire guild should have defended the hold with ease. However, they are mainly recruits, and the amount and tenacity of undead that the Witchers faced here might pale in comparison to what the recruits faced. Heavy losses might occur and the guild will be set back significantly.

Making his way to the outskirts of the city, wagons and caravans still presided at the stable's. Unloading the loot onto them, Thorral prepared the horses. The guild is going to need every bit of help in the future, and a couple of carts full of supplies will probably not cut it.

As he was preparing the carts, Thorral looked towards the entrance of Whiterun. There were two people, a man and a boy making their way to the gates possibly seeking help. Knowing that Geran will handle the situation, Thorral didn't say anything and went back to loading the carts.

 

[meben15]

Jaygue followed Geran as they made there way down from Dragonsreach, back towards the entrance to the city. Geran had called for everyone inside of the Jarl's palace to follow them, and the Witchers formed up behind their guild master, Cyrus and Edwyn in the lead. As they marched down the hill in disciplined formation they saw three people walking down the road towards them. Upon closer inspection Jaygue identified them as the elf Arith, and some big Nord man holding a child by the hand. Jaygue experienced a brief moment of pain as his vision flashed. Blood. Screaming. Death. The witcher gasped, stumbling slightly under the force of the sudden flashback. He stumbled and steadied himself on the Khajiit mans shoulder. "Ah, sorry," Jaygue mumbled as he straightened back up again, berating himself for such weakness.

As the Nord and Arith approached, the Nord man called out to Geran asking to join up with the men. Geran nodded and waved his hand, "Yes, you may. Just make sure you keep up. We can't have a child slowing us down." As Arith and the Nord man took their places in the Witchers ranks Jaygue heard his leader whisper, "we have a job to do."

The group continued down towards the gate out of the city. The streets were now almost empty of people and zombie alike, but they could all here the keening sounds of the noisy ones. The creatures had left the dead city and were spreading out across the tundra, calling more dead things up from their graves.

They finally reached the exit of the city to find there horses had vanished. "Zombies must have scared them off," Jaygue said, his voice strained due to Sal-Dus on his back, "I wouldn't worry, they likely made there way back to the guildhall." The group had no choice but to continue on foot.

As they trudged through the snow Jaygue looked at it, trying to distract himself from the constant drain of energy from both carrying Sal-Dus and holding back the Plague. Everything seemed to be so dull now, the sun darker, the snow grayer. He would make it to the hall. He had to.

Geran walked next to Cyrus, and as they were walking he looked towards his old friend. "You know what we must to now, friend," The two men looked at each other and Geran said again, almost in a whisper, "We must get to the Throat of the World."

 

[Mini Mongo]

As Geran and his trusted friend, ally and Lesser Master of the Guild finished their talking Geran and Cyrus began to head towards the Throat of the World.
The Guild followed in contempt silence, everything was darker and damper than before, peoples emotions sinking lower than possible, if that was actually possible for Jaygue.
Each step Geran took, each breath of air he breathed was different, as his boot would sink into the snow it felt damp, as he breathed the air stunk of death, death and living dead.
The world was corrupted, and though his was what seemed to be of sources of the unknown it was clear it was down to Molag Bal and Peryite as consulted before, and that was not exactly good news, because the Daedra always had only one mode, and that was to kill.
For the Guild to truly stop this plague they would have to kill the Daedra, which was impossible, and it was clear that the only way for them to win was with the barrier, and though Geran and prepared for this for years he still couldn't handle it, the fact that for them to win he would have to die.
Perhaps he would go down in history, but Geran would never know, for now his mind was with saving Sal-Dus, he along with his Guild members could not be slowed down by thoughts, or new numbers within the ranks.
''Cyrus, promise me to survive when I sacrifice myself, because if you don't I will have to kill you.''

Geran and his guild-mate let out an uneasy laugh, they knew this wasn't a laugher matter.
Finally through the dark corrupted air Geran caught site of the Throat of the World, but it would not be a easy trip.
The Guilds best bet would be to get to the Greybeards, and then perhaps with their help they could find him and heal Sal-Dus, but they still had to get to the 7,000 steps, and fight of a lot of Zombies.
And at this time, who knows what was being infected, just humans, or perhaps animals as well.
The Guild finally reached the outskirts of Whiterun as they crossed a bridge, but as Geran looked over the bridges sides he could tell the water had changed, and all the fish totally gone.
Then a body of a deer came down the water, it's veins black as night, exactly like the infected mer, men and beasts, but it was totally dead, perhaps this was a sign of weakness against the infected, or that the virus killed the animal before it managed to infect it, which was a good sign.
The Guild had finished crossing the bridge and a few whispered began to emerge from the silence of the Witchers, survivors and the new recruits.
Everyone was jumpy and weary, but Geran kept a keen eye, he was ready for an ambush, if that was even possible for these stupid virus plagued zombies.
Geran kept his right hand resting on the blade of his small dagger, and his greatswords remained on his back, if they were attacked he would be ready, would the Witchers be ready? Not certain.

 

[Skyrimosity]

Edwyn, Cyrus, and Geran were leading the other Witchers toward the Throat of the World. There was an eerie silence among all the men even though most were experienced killers. It really showed how the plague of the undead had already infected them. And if this were bad, once could only imagine what damage could be done in only one week.

Edwyn felt like he was being strangled by the death filled air, unworthy of even being breathed. He had been thinking about what things would be like in a week. The undead roaming free through the lands... the other nations being devoured the same way in which Skyrim would be. Edwyn had been pondering on what exactly that sight would be like and, in no way possible, would it be pretty. Edwyn looked back at all the other, less experience Witchers. Edwyn was not worried about how Jaygue, Cyrus, Geran, or himself would fight. He was worried how the others would handle themselves.

Then another thought occurred. They were going to be walking up seven-thousand steps which, to even get to the steps, one would have to pass a city, Ivarstead. Ivarstead could already be filled with the undead. And even a worse thought, High Hrothgar could be... Edwyn shuddered at the thought. He turned toward Geran and said, in a low eerie voice which was very uncharacteristic of him. "Geran... what if... the Greybeards.. are them?"

 

[cazzer14]

"We must get to the Throat of the World."

Geran's sincere, almost emotionless voice slithered into Cyrus' ears. It wasn't like Geran to be as serious, or as dull in personality, that was Jaygue's thing, his social trademark. Cyrus looked away in silent acknowledgement. He loved Skyrim, its geography, its nature, its people, but not once did the thought, or the idea occur to him that he needed to climb its highest peak.

No, he liked it just fine at ground level, why anyone would want to ascend its deadly cliffs, transcend those 7,000 steps leading to arctic dangers of variety for something such as leisure was beyond him. Now necessity called for this occasion, this challenge of endurance of both the physical and mental type to be taken. At least he would not climb the Ceiling of Tamriel alone, he had his brothers by his side, and comfort was taken in that thought, even though it might not have extinguished the apprehension from his mind.

The guild would no doubt run into trouble on their way to the Throat, whether trouble came in the form of hordes of undead or some mythological creature, it didn't matter; it would find them.

Geran spoke to him, breaking the silence of the wind dusting the cold air.

''Cyrus, promise me to survive when I sacrifice myself, because if you don't I will have to kill you.'

Cyrus accompanied his friend with a nervous, almost forced chuckle, but one of light-heartedness and established friendship nonetheless, but replied with an uncharacteristic-ly sincere follow-up;

"If."

He looked seriously at his long-time comrade, and a hint of contempt was apparent in his stare, contempt for Geran having fallen to a illusive certainty that Cyrus refused to lay down to. Nothing was set in stone, Geran doesn't have to sacrifice himself, not yet, and Cyrus had promised himself that it wouldn't come to that, and he would do everything in his mortal power to make sure it didn't, and that started with making sure Geran understood just that.

He elaborated no further on his reply, and looked away, hopeful that Geran got the unspoken message Cyrus had relayed. Edwyn spoke, once again shattering the ambience of Skyrim's nature;

"Geran... what if... the Greybeards.. are them?"

Cyrus took note of Edwyn's point, a decent one, before replying;

"Let's hope they can't shout anymore, eh?"

Cyrus chuckled at the thought, at the same time dreading the possibility. Thu'um using zombies, that's something that no writer could've ever imagined.

 

[death raider]

J'Oran followed the others towards the Throat of the World to try and cure Sal-dus. J'Oran looked around at the others and all was silent sending a shiver down his spine as they walked. J'Oran looked at his surroundings and there it had a certain darkness about it that wasn't normal. The smell of death and decay fiiled the air forcing J'Oran to hurl and grasp his mouth trying not to be sick. "I hope that what were doing is worth it" J'Oran thought to himself.

 

[Mini Mongo]

The group became closer and closer to the 7,000 steps, soon they would be heading up each of the steps, countless dangers, Zombies could be awaiting, infected animals or even the mere chance of slipping on the steps.
It was true getting to the throat of the world held countless dangers, and though in this horrible infected virus plagued world, the biggest he feared above all else was losing friends.
All Geran had was the Guild, and without it he would be a lost man, wandering around Skyrim with no hope, and Geran couldn't let that happen.
Edwyn then asked Geran ''"Geran... what if... the Greybeards.. are them?"
The point was valid and Cyrus made a little remark, but what he said did not catch Gerans ears and he was unable to process to Cyrus's comment.
''Edwyn, if the Greybeards are them....then I fear that we are already doomed. Remember they are powerful and wise men, and are protected by the Dragon. I highly doubt they are dead.''
Geran's reply wasn't exactly relieving, nor was it disturbing, it was truthful, and the only think Geran could say he had done all his life was speak the truth. And that's the truth.
The Guild carried on walking through the sand, and the night began to stalk its prey as the sun started to go down, in a hushed tone Geran announced to the group ''Nightfall shall be here in 1 hour, we have 1 hour to get to the Greybeards, unless you want to sleep in the wildlife.''

Geran then began a jog, it would not tire anyone, nor would it make noise, but it would certainly secure a higher chance of survival, and Sal-Dus's savior.
Geran tilted his head to Jaygue, as he saw the huge bulk of a man job with Sal-Dus over his shoulder with ease ''Jaygue, how is Sal-Dus doing? Keep him alive, if you run into trouble tell us, we will stop.''
Geran kept up the light job, they were almost half way to Ivarstead, but even once they were there their objective wouldn't be reached, instead they would just be staring upon a greater challenge, an icy giant mountain with 7,000 steps to travel only to ask if they knew where 'he' was, then have to climb it's treacherous mountain landscape and find him, only to heal Sal-Dus and carry on there adventure.
It was clear now that by the time the Witchers reached Riften it would be overrun, then they would retreat to the H.Q, which would hopefully be defended by the Guild, or infested by the rotting corpses.
Finally in the distant Geran's eye caught sight of hope, Ivarstead was in sight, whether it was overrun was another question, but all it said in his mind was food, supplies and weaponry. Hope.
And that's what everyone needed now, hope, hope was what drove Geran to carry on, hope is what drove Geran to sacrifice himself when the time comes, because when he does......if he does hope will be restored to Tamriel.
It was a fact that Skyrim would never be the same again, whether the plagued died out, the Zombies were destroyed and the landscape itself was back to normal the people would change, everyone would change, and it could never be the same.

 

[lbrasz44]

Looking up to hear what the guild master was saying, Thorral was surprised to hear the new orders: to go to the greybeards. At least if there is someone tht would provide answers, it would be them. But who knows what has become of them?

The plan was to go around the mountain, and reach Ivarstead, then travel the steps. The journey was to be done as quick as possible before nightfall. Sending the carts back to the headquarters, Thorral started the walk with the guild towards their goal.

The scenery was all too familiar to Thorral. After living ten years by making camps and doing mercenary work, he had grown all to accustomed to the views of Skyrim. However, with the plague, everything seems... darker. Trees are dead, and wildlife is practically nonexistent. The land has quickly come to ruin. Even the water has become unusable. Turning into the murky black that is similar to the blood of the dead, drinking it will turn a person. Based on this observation, Thorral knew that every man in Skyrim will be dead within the month.

Looking back at Sal-Dus, the man was sleeping peacefully, but the infection will start up again. Most likely, the infection will turn him into one of the undead if the group cannot reach the greybeards in time.

 

[death raider]

J'Oran looked up at the huge mountain which seemed to tower the group like a cloud in the now darkened sky. The whole of Skyrim looked grotespue and didn't look like anything he had ever seen even though J'Oran had traveled every where from Cyrodil, to Black Marsh to the very edge of Valenwood and now he was in a place of death and decay. J'Oran looked down at himself fearing every step he took incase a zombie just appeared and he would be turned into the same as the creatures he had just had to kill not long ago.

J'Oran took out a small notebook and began to right things down on his recent discoveries about the zombies and all he knew about the infection, which wasn't much so he just hoped that he wil get more info from the rest of the group, but his unconvident side kicked in so he didn't ask anyone and just decided that he will ask them later on. If he was still alive that was.

 

[MissingOne123]

One minute, the future of the guild were being trained, the next, chaos had errupted. She stood rigid, the familiar flickering flames in her palms as they marched. She followed the guild, slaying zombie after zombie, stepping over bodies of various citizens of Whiterun as they advanced through the city. It was a hard sight to see, leaving the high elf with a tight knot in her stomach and a newly found determination in her heart.

Gritting her teeth, Ambrosia pressed forward. She walked with the men into Dragonsreach, and what they were met with made the fire in her hands glow brighter, fiercer. She straightened her back, peering around the broad shoulders of the various Witchers. The place was in ruins- Once priceless dishes laid in shards on the ground, tables and chairs knocked over, not to mention the slash through the cushion on the Jarl's thrown.

She listened to Geran's orders without objection- Now was not the time for her defiant attitude. The guild worked as one, protecting their brothers and sisters in arms all while keeping the faltering flame of hope kindled. Soon, the undead lay dead and defeated, spreading the stench of death throughout all of Whiterun. Though the horde had been defeated, the tug in her chest made her think the worse had yet to come.

Taking in deep breaths to calm herself, the battle induced adrenaline coursing through her veins, Ambrosia followed the guild as they moved like a pack back through the city, the survivers they'd saved surrounded by various members in an attempt to protect them. Once they had reached the entrance of the city once more, the group came to a halt, and Geran began speaking once more. "To the throat of the world" he had announced, followed by a murmur of disagreement and doubt from the guild.

"Geran... what if... the Greybeards.. are them?" Edwyn questioned, voicing the doubt that was running through the minds of the Guild. Geran replied with uninspiring words, implying that doom would be upon them if the Greybeards were no longer human. A lot rested on the old, wise men who stayed secluded at the very top of a ridiuclously high mountain. Would the protection of even a dragon be able to keep them safe?

Blowing out a exhausted breath, Ambrosia stayed silent for the rest of the conversation. She stood with her arms crossed, shifting weight from leg to leg, anxious to get moving once more. Might as well get it over with now, she told herself. After another round of talk, they started to move once more, climbing the thousands of steps that coiled around the icy tower of earth. She chose to stand near Jaygue, who continued with carrying the injured survivor on his back. She didn't say much, but stayed mindful to help if the situation called for it. Despite Sal-Dus seeming to be at peace for the moment, Ambrosia had her doubts. Although restoration magic wasn't her forte, any help with healing the cat-man could be appreciated.

 

[Mini Mongo]

The small, yet determined and brave group of survivors, along with the Witchers began to get ever closer to Ivarstead.
It was a strange feeling, knowing that Ivarstead could be their easiest challenge yet, but the Throat of the World their hardest, it seemed that the saying 'life is hard' was made for this very moment.
The group had kept quiet until they finally entered Ivarstead, a haunting, perhaps even frightening silence surrounded them, this wasn't made easier with the large amount of bodies piled, and the foul stench of the dead and the plague whisking through the cold air.
All the group kept a firm, strong and somewhat tight formation, checking every shadow, every corpse, every slight hint that a zombie could jump out and attack the group.
This was no mission, no contract hired by a rich noble to pay their debts, buy drinks or generally live a nice life, this was not something they could walk out of, this was not something they were doing for themselves, but the entire nation.
This was a life or death situation, no running, no hiding, no returning to the rich noble to say the mission is succeeded or failed, all of this was for Tamriel........for Nirn. Everyone acted as such.
The Witchers were far more advanced than usual, this was proved during the battles, and proved now as they scanned the area, checked the dead and listened to every command.
Even Ambrosia hadn't argued as yet, and that was saying something.

In a hushed tone Geran tilted his head behind him to the group he had gathered ''Check all building, Cyrus, Ambrosia and me will check the Inn. Everyone else make small groups and check every building, loot as much as possible. If you run into trouble shout and retreat to the entrance, that goes for all of you''
Geran then led Cyrus and Ambrosia to the Inn, slowly walking up the small steps as they approached the Inn door, Geran placing his ear against the door. He heard nothing.
Geran placed his hand onto the door, slowly opening it as it creaked, and slipping into the Inn, holding the door for the other two.
He unsheathed his greatsword slowly, the mettle making a noise as it was taken out of it's sheath.
He gestured for Cyrus to check the left room, Ambrosia to check the right, and he would take the basement.
They nodded and got to the duties, Cyrus and Ambrosia making their way to their targets slowly, as Geran went through the middle checking the shadows, slowly approaching the stairs as he began to walk down them.
Suddenly a glass bottle fell and shattered, the noise coming from the basement, Ambrosia and Cyrus didn't react, knowing that either Geran was very clumsy, or knowing he would call for backup if he needed it.
He approached with even more caution after this, heart beating fast and a small amount of adrenaline reaching his pulse.

''Know that who you meet today will change your destiny'' a small voice echoed in his mind, which Geran presumed was Meridia.
Suddenly, as he counted to three in his head Geran ran into the middle of the room, constantly turning his head to check the entire room ''Anyone here? Come out now.'' Geran said, in the small hope that someone would come out, preferably not a dead someone.
No one replied, no one walked to him, nothing attacked him, he was alone...........
Geran then turned around and began to walk out of the basement as another glass fell, the basement door shut and all the candles lost their flame.
This was a scared to Geran, his heart instantly beating and adrenaline kicking in, looking around the room again he dismissed it as wind, but he knew something else, something evil was at play.
Geran opened the door and closed it behind him, walking up the stairs as he reached the main room of the Inn.
Everything was gone.
Parts of the Inn floated in the sky, weird visions of his friends dying flushed away in the wind, in great stress and terror Geran looked around running out of the building to suddenly find himself in a forest.
His father was their, he was hunting.....Geran never knew his father, and what was his father began to turn to mist raising in the air.
He turned.
Suddenly the forest was dark and raging flame was burning the tress as a werewolf jumped out him. Geran closed his eyes.

As he opened them again he was in the basement, in the middle of the room life before, alone........
He ran out of the room and looked around the Inn rushing to Ambrosia as she turned around, flame in her hand, staring at Geran.
He turned around and to Cyrus who also turned ''Are you okay Geran?'' he said to see what was wrong.
He merely fell to the floor, fainting and slamming his head against the oak.
He appeared in the skies, a ghostly figure was in front of him ''Geran, you will fail, I wish to make that happen.'' the figure said as Geran was confused ''What do you want with me!!!'' Geran shouted at the top of his voice, pure horror in his eyes.
''I want your death'' the ghostly figure replied as it disappeared, Geran waking up in one of the beds of the Inn, Ambrosia and Cyrus staring at him.
Geran looked around the room, pouring with sweat and totally confused, he jumped from his bed, picking up a dagger that lay on the desk to his side.
He pushed Cyrus against the wall and put the dagger to his throat ''Who are you! Tell me or i'll slit your throat!!!'' Geran shouted, oblivious to who Cyrus was.

 

[meben15]

Jaygue continued walking, ignoring the pain throughout his body. Over the years he had acquired an amazing ability to block out the pain of his body and focus on the task before him. Jaygue did not think of anything but putting one foot in front of the other as they traversed the dark, cloudy landscape. He hardly even acknowledged Geran as he asked him if they needed to stop, simply grunting and muttering, "I'm fine."

While it took all day, they finally reached Ivarstead. The group trudged into the town. There was nothing moving. Jaygue set down Sal-Dus and looked around, trying to focus through his tiredness. Jaygue sighed as Geran ordered a sweep of the area. He sunk to the ground next to the injured witcher and closed his eyes. "Thorral, stay here. We will guard Sal-Dus, and I need to collect my thoughts." He closed his eyes, allowing himself to become one with Nirn as he meditated, not thinking of anything at all. Without looking he reached to his belt and picked out a potion, drinking it and feeling the energy coursing through his veins. He had to breath, focus. Balance within the mind leads to balance of the body. He would not fail, he would not falter, he would not give up. He would fight this battle until his very last breath. This was his calling, this is what it meant to serve Meridia and be a witcher.

 

[death raider]

J'Oran walked into Ivarsted immediatly throwing his hands over his mouth the smell was completely imbarable. J'Oran saw the disgusting rot covered bodies. He listened carfully to Geran's orders and began to decide where he was going to go to have a look. It was eigher anb abandoned looking stable house, a small shop or a house which windows were broke and the house was nearly falling under force of the the wood. J'Oran made his pick of the stable house, so he walked over to it and went inside very catiously making sure he didn't wake anything. Dead.

He was in small room and it looked like all life had left and now it was just an abandoned place. J'Oran looked around and saw a small chest which he opened up hoping there to be a chest full of gold, but no there was just some ragged clothes.
" So everything is just pointless now!" J'Oran shouted to himself in frustration. He stood up and did another quick sweep, but nothing not even one piece of gold. J'Oran picked up a chair and threw it at a nearby wall wanting to behead another zombie.

J'Oran stormed at of the house then senceing a weird deamonic feeling about the place and to be honest he felt scared for the first time in his life. He wanted everything to go back to normal so badly he would kill. J'Oran was so angry with everything and he remembered his best friend who was killed and suddenly felt an urge to kill Geran and the others as apart of him felt like it was their fault everything happend.

 

[MissingOne123]

Ambrosia looked up as Geran ordered her forward, motioning for her and Cyrus to follow. She frowned, glancing at Jaygue and Sal-Dus as her brother in arms sank to the ground with the other man still unconscious on the ground near him. She straightened her shoulders and nodded, taking her place beside the two others as they made their way to the inn.

She flexed her fingers, rolling her shoulders as they approached the inn. The flames that formed lapped at her palms, welcoming and reassuring in her hands. Swallowing down here worries, she put on a straight face and climbed the row of stairs, shouldering her way through the door frame.

The inn itself seemed to be relatively intact. Unfinished meals laid cold and forgotten, the fire in the center of the inn now a pitiful heap of smoldering ashes. Arms held out in front of her, Ambrosia took cautious steps towards the counter, peering around the corner for anything that might be hiding. She let out a sigh of relief when she found nothing but stray coins and a few dusty tankards. Straightening herself, she turned in semi-circle, eyeing the fully-stocked shelves- Loaves of bread, bottles of wine and ale, wooden plates and wheels of cheese sat abandoned while rabbit and pheasant hung, strung up along pillars of wood.

Sighing, Ambrosia stepped around the counter once more and looked to Geran. The guildmaster gestured towards the right. She gave a nod and turned, walking into the empty room. 2 beds, a chair and a small table. More stray coins and a dagger, but no zombies. She dropped into a crouch at one of the beds, stretching her neck to see anything that might be lurking. Nothing. Muttering to herself, she stood back up and brushed her hands off on her skirts.

Just as she was about to exit the room again, the sound of shattering glass echoed through the inn. She furrowed her brows and snorted, shaking her head. So much for stealth, she thought, assuming that one of the men had managed to drop and break something already.

Sighing, she shook her head and walked out of the room again. She took one last walk around the main room, peering behind shelves and re-lighting candles as she passed.
The sound of a closing door followed by a muffled thump came from the basement just as she was about to take a seat at one of the benches. Arching an eyebrow, she slowly stood back up and made her way to the stairs. "Geran?" She called out, reaching to grab the railing just as the man burst through the door again.

She backed up and let him pass, glancing to Cyrus. She blinked and gave a small shrug before returning her attention to Geran. He wobbled, swaying from side to side. Ambrosia lurched forward as his eyes rolled back, throwing out her arms as Geran's knees buckled. Her attempt at catching him failed and he slipped through her hands, his head hitting against the stone floors with a dull crash. She cringed at the noise he made, leaning down and slipping her arms beneath his.

She hoisted him up, adjusting her grip. Gritting her teeth, she gave a tug and began towing Geran towards one of the rooms. "Help me." She snapped, looking to Cyrus as she struggled to keep her hold on Geran.

Together, they lifted their Guild master and gently placed him in the bed to the far right. Pulling back, Ambrosia shook out her arms and shuddered, muttering about how heavy he had been.

After another long silence, Geran finally opened his eyes. He seemed dazed, sitting up and looking around the room with a look of utter confusion. Then his expression changed, shifting into anger. He jumped from the bed and pulled the dagger from the table, threw himself at Cyrus and pressed the blade to his throat, demanding an explanation.

Stepping forward, Ambrosia seized Geran by the shoulders. She yanked him back and away from Cyrus, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion. "What do you think you're doing?" She demanded, her one good eye focused on him. "That's Cyrus, you old fool."

 

[lbrasz44]

The Witchers had made it to Ivarstead finally, and the guild members looked at Geran for the next orders which were to check the building and loot. Looking at Sal-Dus and Jaygue, Thorral decided that it would be best to stick with them for the time being. Sal-Dus could start acting up anytime soon.

Leaning against the tree, right next to the infected member, Thorral observed the view. "Weird how the whole damn nation just turns into this like that eh? I mean, its kinda strange seeing how the whole place just erupt with dead things in a little over a day and there were no signs except for that one zombie in the mansion, which we killed. Molag-Bal has got be pretty pissed in order to cause this". Thorral let out a dry laugh at the last comment he made.

Ivarstead looks relatively peaceful, despite the stench of death that surrounds it. Not a single person-dead or alive- was found so far in the small village and all of the crops were dried, black and rotting. Looking up at the sky, the moon was out but it was at the beginning of its cycle as it was a mere crescent now. The full moon was out a couple days back, which was when the werewolves had attacked the guild members. Shaking his head at the memory, or lack thereof, Thorral stopped leaning against the oak tree and began to walk around the area, scoping the village yet staying close to Sal-Dus and Jaygue.

"I think we can make refuge here for the time being," Thorral called out to Jaygue. "We should still make our way to the Greybeards for sure, but at least we can make a checkpoint for this side of the mountain. We have easy access to the Throat o' the World, we still have easy roads to anywhere else in the east an-" Thorral heard a thud and instinctively drew his greatsword.

Making his way to the inn, he saw Geran holding Cyrus up to the wall with a knife to his neck, threatening him. He was still a bit far away to do anything about it though and was forced to watch what would happen in the next few seconds.

 

[Mini Mongo]

As Geran held the dagger against Cyrus's neck, the very blade touching his skin as a small drip of blood came from his skin Ambrosia grabbed in on his shoulders throwing him back.
For a moment everything went white, and Geran opened his eyes to see his closest friends and Ambrosia holding their blades, or spells to him.
His eyes fading from the blackness of space, and he regain all his senses, his body was cold and pale, and his veins were deep in blood.
It took Geran several moments before he realised the dagger in his hand as he looked up ''What happened?'' Geran said in a confused, puzzled and almost frightened voice.
He knew what happened, the spirit that had tormented him spoke again ''This is a taste of the fury I will bring to you. Many surprises shall erupt with you, and many Guild members will die.''
Geran kept a cool head and acted as if nothing had happened, Ambrosia dousing her spells and Cyrus drawing his blade Geran stood, he walked past Ambrosia and out in the main room of the Inn, and took a seat, bringing it close to the flame for warmth.
Something was happening to him, and he had no idea what to do, it was like he was infected, but he acted as if intelligent, and his signs of infection, or the plague was gone.
Cyrus came into the main room, picking up a seat and sitting next to Geran, taking a bandage out of his pouch and placing it around his neck tight for pressure to sustain the bleeding, and chances of fainting.

Geran stared into deep space, but Cyrus interrupted the silence ''Geran, you got up, grabbed a dagger and held it to my throat, when Ambrosia touched you and pushed you back your eyes had changed, your skin had become dead, and your veins shot with blood. You attack me Geran, and I could see in your eyes the pure hatred you had'' as Cyrus finished his sentence Geran looked up to Thorall and Ambrosia standing before him.
''Geran, if you are infected tell me, we can help you.'' Cyrus offered, but Geran knew his was not infected, and answered ''I am not, but something strange happened to me.''
He was scared, for his entire life he knew he had a destiny pre-set, he was the champion of Meridia by luck, she had no reason for guiding him.
His entire life he had been commented on his looks relating to the dead, and his entire life he was referred to as 'The White warrior' or 'Deaths hound''
His eyes were in the color of a vampire, his skin like a dead man, and his strength matching that of a werewolf, he had fears of the full moon, and yet he was a normal nord man.
He ran a successful Guild, men and women of pure steel and great histories, or dark ones of mystery surrounded him, he grew up always to know Cyrus, and now he feared he was destined to kill him against his will.
Geran couldn't help but disregard the feeling.

Geran stood up as he had warmed himself, offering to help up his friend Cyrus, who accepted and gripped his hand as Geran assisted in pulling him up.
The men stood as equal Masters again, Geran leading the way as the others stood, Cyrus following along, and the rest remaining in the Inn, probably trying to work out what had just happened.
Geran had threatened Cyrus's life, and now they were walking out of the Inn as friends, allies and comrades again.
The moon was a crescent, which meant the chances of attacks by werewolves were improbable, though most active during the full moon, there were some who could survive any night. And some who could change at will.
''We head for the Greybeards in the morning, everyone will sleep in the Inn. It's a first come first serve basis for the beds, me, Edwyn and Cyrus will take patrol duties, so do not worry about us. Enjoy your sleep my Witchers.'' Geran said rather dull, that was another advantage of him, he could go without sleep for days before it effecting him.
Geran then tilted his head to Cyrus ''You have first watch, call if you see anything, me and Edwyn will come right away.'' Geran said as Cyrus took a seat outside the Inn.
Geran then opened the door, walking to the fire and taking a seat, he needed the rest, it had been a long and hard day.

 

[MissingOne123]

Ambrosia watched intently, her eyes trained on Geran with her arms held out defensivly in front of her. She blinked once, her gaze going from Geran to Cyrus to Thorall, then back to Geran. He seemed to have snapped out of it, overcame whatever had clouded his judgement. He seemed dazed, staring at the weapon clutched in his fist then back at Cyrus. He asked what happened, a look of fear flashing in his eyes.

The man froze for a split second, his eyes going wide before he relaxed again. With careful steps, Geran walked past her and out of the room, soon followed by Cyrus, then soon Thorall was at their heels, leaving Ambrosia alone in the room. With a sigh, she doused the flames and let her arms fall to her side, reluctantly following the men.

The four of them huddled around the fire, Geran and Cyrus sitting in chairs with Ambrosia and Thorall close behind. It was quiet for a long time until the lesser master broke the silence. He recapped, explaining what just happened- How Cyrus had fainted, he and Ambrosia carrying him to one of the beds, then him finally waking up and raising a blade against him, Ambrosia pulling him away, and now they stood here. It rose more questions than answered, but the high elf didn't voice her inquiries.

Instead she stood, with her arms folded across her chest, her pointed ears listening to the crackling of the fire. The small group was at a stand-still, perfectly willing to comply with the warmth and let it push away the cold for awhile before anyone moved.

Geran was the first. He stood up, with the help of Cyrus, and together they made their way outside. Ambrosia watched the two and let out a sigh, shaking her head. How could they just go on with this journey without at least questioning what had exactly happened? What the guild master changed again in the night, while everyone was asleep? He would wipe out the entire guild with the element of surprise on his side.

Muttering to herself, Ambrosia turned and walked away. She picked up one of the candles from a bench and brought it into the room on the right. She set the mound of wax on the table and lit the wick, her fingertips acting as a make-do match. The dark room was soon illuminated with light from dancing flames.

Shadows crept across the floor, along the walls. The golden text along the spine of various books shone in the darkness, reflecting the candle flames from their place on the shelf. She stood in the center for a moment, drawing in deep breaths. Out of habit she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, gnawing at it as she walked to the door again. She stuck her head out of the doorway, peering outside and into the now-empty common room. She let out a long breath and closed the door before making her way back to her bed.

Ambrosia gingerly sat down on the straw mattress, watching the candle as it slowly melted down. Already the light source was shrinking, melted wax running down the sides. Combing her fingers through her hair, the elf slowly laid down, facing the ceiling. She folded her hands over her stomach and shifted slightly, as if getting comfortable despite having no intentions of actually sleeping tonight.

 

[death raider]

J'Oran heard the new orders and came away from the wrecked stable house and began to walk towards the inn which all the others were at currently. J'Oran didn't like sleeping indoors incase he had to make and excape and because he was inside he couldn't excape. He had also been put in prison a few times and he felt sufficated and he actually nearly lost all air once and became unconsious.

J'Oran decided to sleep at the entrance to the inn so there was atleast an easy source of air which made him feel more comfortable. J'Oran took a few deep breathes and began to remeber everything from the day to gatther all his information together as it had been a truly strange and bizzare day as he was sitting down. He turned his head and decided he had to make an effort to get to know his new comrades so he got up and walked to one of the rooms to a woman who had her arms crossed and looked like she was about to sleep.
" Ermm... my name is J'Oran... er whats... whats... yours?" J'Oran asked nervously as he stoodd in the doorway to the room.

 

[meben15]

Jaygue stopped his meditation after a while and looked around him for the others. They all seemed to have moved into the shelter of the abandoned Inn. Jaygue picked up Sal-Dus and carried him into the Inn, walking past the others who had built a small fire in the hearth. He laid the Tsaesci down on an empty bed, taking a potion from his belt and pouring it down the mans throat so he would not slip any further into darkness, for now.

The pale Witcher decided to then move out of the Inn, he needed to take a walk and stretch his muscles. Walking back through the common room he exited the inn through the back door, walking over to the river and kneeling down by the edge looking into its crystalline depths. He saw his face in the mirror like surface of the water and reached out a finger to touch the surface. His touch sent ripples through the still water, distorting his features. As the rippling subsided Jaygue stepped back, startled. He did not see his face in the water anymore, only that of a twisted beast. As he stood back up surprised a demonic voice hissed into his ear, Jaygue.... your soul is mine.

Drawing Blightfire the witcher spun around, looking for the source of the voice even thought he knew it was only in his head. He turned around to see Arith, the Bosmer they had rescued, looking at him strangly. "What is the matter with you?" the man asked, chuckling. Jaygue was about to respond with a short, cold statement when something caught his eye.

A hulking creature was perched upon the rooftop of the inn, its eyes set on Arith. Jaygue yelled, "Above you!" balling his fist he sent a bolt of silver fire at the beast. But it was to late for Arith, the undead monstrosity jumped from its perch, smashing into the bosmer man and stabbing a great wicked claw through his body in a matter of seconds. It they looked up at Jaygue, its completely black eyes glaring at him with hunger and malice. The Breton simply took up a defensive position and waited calmly for the thing to attack.

After a second of tense silence the beast sprung with uncanny speed. Unfortunately for it Jaygue was also very fast. As soon as the creature sprung Jaygue dodged to the side, bringing his sword down on the creatures back. The enchanted blade slashed cleanly through the beasts flesh, cutting the creature in half. Before the thing could bite at him again he jumped forward, pinning the thing to the ground with his foot and stabbing it through the head with his blade.

His foe vanquished Jaygue wiped the foul black blood from his sword and looked around to make sure there were no more enemies. He didn't see any initially, but decided it was best to do a boarder patrol anyways. the Senior witcher paused for a second and called into the Inn, "GERAN! Another beast has attacked, I am doing a border sweep!"

Not waiting for the guild masters reply he set off at a jog around the building. He was on the road when he saw them. A hoard of human corpses, with black veins and eyes, running towards him. Snarling Jaygue yelled at the top of his voice, "WERE UNDER ATTACK!" Balling his fist he sent a orb of fire into the hoard. The orb exploded on impact, killing dozens of the creatures. but there were hundreds more. Backing up onto the porch of the inn Jaygue hoped his comrades would get out here soon. He quickly realized that their small group would not be able to defeat this hoard, it was to large.