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Private {18+} Ascension

Discussion in 'Active Stories' started by Madrar, Jul 24, 2018.

  1. Rafen

    Rafen Active Member

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    Djorn ignored the mild taunt of the wood elf ranger at his side. The mer clearly had something against humans, but Djorn had met more than a few humans with something against humans. But that was only part of the reason for his silence. The pass was coming to an end and once they were through they'd be in Skyrim. His home, and the place he had been exiled from so long ago. Falkreath hold was not too far from Riverwood, and the odds were not too low that he'd be recognized. If any of his family still survived. Skyrim had been dangerous when he'd left, and he very much doubted that the place had become any safer in the years since he had left.

    He had little doubt he would be recognized. Whether the price on his head was still in place was somewhat of a mystery. Both the imperials and his own kinsmen would be glad to see his head parted from its shoulders. Even those who didn't know him personally or the reason for his bounty would likely turn him in. Times were hard in Skyrim, and the reward for turning him in would far surpass any moral qualms they might have. The steady snowfall was starting to change into a wetter, heavier quality and mixed with ice shards. The scent of imminent precipitation and the pines of Falkreath reached him. They were definitely approaching the rainy, forested hold.

    He first set foot on the ground of Skyrim several minutes later. The snow had thinned even more, and was starting to veer towards ice rain. He started to shrug into his cloak when he heard the first howl. The nord ranger froze, holding a hand out and gesturing the elf to stop as well. Another howl rang out, closer this time. The wolves of Skyrim were savage things, and the war had driven them to attack targets of opportunity. Surely, he thought, they would not be so bold as to attack a company as large as ours. But the howls were nearing. Something was not right about them though. He strung his bow and fit an arrow to the string. "Those sound like no wolves I have ever encountered." He said to his fellow scout. "Be ready."
     
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  2. TheArgonianDrell

    TheArgonianDrell Well-Known Member

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    Iornaths' grim mood did not dissipate as they neared the end of the pass. If anything, it darkened, and the elven ranger found himself eyeing the shadows of the pine trees that grew near the mouth of the pass. The elf paused, then shook his head ever so slightly. He couldn't allow paranoia to rule his actions, especially not when the rest of the company was counting on his eyes and ears to spot any actual ambushes. True, he owed nothing to the mercenaries he traveled with, but a pardon was something he could very much use. Not to mention the actual reward would help him move throughout Tamriel and keep him a few steps ahead of the imperials.

    The howl of a wolf shook him out of his thoughts, and in an instant, he had an arrow nocked and his bow half drawn. The elven ranger saw the nord along side him hold up a hand, signalling Iornath to halt. The two stood in silence, and he cocked his head to try and pinpoint the source of the howls. The wolves, if that's what they were, obliged him with more howls, closer this time. But something was off about the howls. They were no more natural than the monsters the imperial Confessors had created. The nord had realized as much, and warned Iornath of what he already knew. Normally, the elf would have been irritated by being told the obvious, but he merely nodded. The closer the howls got, the stranger they sounded. More like men howling than wolves.

    Then he heard it. Shouted orders echoing among the tall pines of Falkreath hold. The elf cursed and drew his bow fully. "Fall back. We've stumbled into a trap." As if his words summoned them, they emerged out of the rain and snow, men in grey and black furs draped over scale, and iron armours. An arrow hissed past the elfs' left ear, and the ranger pivoted to fire an arrow of his own. The enemy archer pitched backwards, the elfs own bolt buried in his chest. But there was no time to celebrate the small victory. Other archers loosed their own shots, and many hissed past him, thudding into the snow near his feet. Turning to run, he shouted again "Fall back!" And made for the company of mercenaries who were just now leaving the pass.

    "Statues, eh?" The argonian repeated with a snort, "I think you're giving our generous lords a little too much credit, friend." The pale imperial said nothing after that, and the one horned mercenary shrugged and moved ahead, to the front of the company. He wondered where he'd end up after they did away with the rebellious breton king. He planned to still be alive. Even if the odds seemed stacked against him. Shouts drew Rajeems attention away from the company as he slogged along. Iornath, the murderous ranger, was sprinting towards them, with arrows burrowing into the snow behind him. It took him a mere moment to realise just what was going on. "Of all the goddamned luck" he drew his falchion, and bellowed "ambush!" Over his shoulder.
     
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  3. Madrar

    Madrar The Shadow in the Dark.

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    The company had only just left the pass when Thalien saw the bosmer ranger sprinting towards them, arrows arching towards him. The one horned argonian, not too far away, echoed the half-nords' thoughts. It was indeed an ambush. "Spellcasters and archers at the rear! Everyone else, keep them from surrounding us." With that, he drew Ferrum Noctis, and rushed to engage the oncoming enemies. There were more than Thalien had originally thought, thirty, perhaps forty men and women in assorted armours, and most sporting some sort of fur on their gear. With Joren on his right and Varr'Hess on his left, he crossed blades with a scarred man with a knotted, grimy beard, wielding an axe. The nord snarled and shoved, but Thalien was faster, stepping back and slashing horizontally across the mans' midsection. As the nord doubled over, the mercenary leader stepped away, eyes taking in the surrounding forest and the onrushing enemies.

    The nord bandit attacking Joren made the mistake of lunging for him with a short spear. The assassin stepped quickly, slapping the spearhead away with the haft of his halberd, and continued moving, bringing the blade down on the side of his attackers neck. Headless, the man collapsed, and Joren quickly moved to block the path of a second man, this one wielding a pair of axes and a fiercesome snarl. The man leapt to attack, but the Crow was faster, spearing the man through his meagre hide and scale armoured torso. A third was quickly, efficiently dispatched, but for his part, Joren was barely breathing hard. Varr'Hess cut down a nord woman in furs and iron, his axe cutting into her thigh before a swift backhand took her head.

    All around them battle was being joined, screams and shouts mixing with the clang of steel on steel and hissing arrows. Thalien parried a stab then slashed his attacker from shoulder to hip, stepping away from the dying man. There were, as he'd noted when the battle began, far too many for a mere camp of bandits. Had the company stumbled across some multi-group raiding party? Whatever the case, it was clear the bandits weren't planning on talking. He adjusted his grip on his sword, and continued on to the next foe.
     
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  4. TheShadedOne

    TheShadedOne The Angry One

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    If Elwyn had been planning on saying anything further, Athara never got a chance to hear it. Howls floated through the air as the mercenary group left the pale pass behind. Her ears perked up at the noise, and the fur on the back of her neck stood straight up. There was something...off about it. She drew her falchion a couple of inches before her ears picked up something even more disturbing. Voices- human voices, nearing them at an alarming rate. She heard the argonian shouting about an ambush just as the nord and wood elf who'd been scouting ahead came sprinting back, pursued by a force that the assassin assumed were some sort of bandits. Their weapons and armour indicated that, at any rate.

    Athara dodged a fierce looking man, with a matted mane of dark brown hair and glaring blue eyes. He swung an axe at her as he turned, but the khajiit was faster, slipping away from the heavy handed blow. The man growled, apparently seeking to intimidate his opponent into making a mistake. She parried his second swing, then led him on, waiting for her opportunity. It came a moment later, when the nord went for an overhand chop that would have split her skull in two. If she'd been where the blow fell. Instead, she swiftly sidestepped, and delivered a heavy, two handed slash of her own. The keen blade bit into the mans' neck and torso. Gargling and gasping blood, the man dropped his axe, and fell to his knees.

    She heard a roar as a greatsword wielding brute charged towards her. The blade of the falchion was stuck in her late opponent, and she didn't have time to draw her short blade. Instead, her free hand went to her belt, and unsheathed one of the small knives there. Then she waited, counting the heartbeats as the man thundered closer, raising his arms to deliver a fatal blow. With the weapon well above his head, there was no chance he could counter the spinning blade that dug into the soft flesh of his throat. He fell heavily and Athara yanked her falchion free. The battle had only just started, but she could tell these men weren't as disciplined as she'd first feared. Or perhaps they weren't prepared to encounter a force like theirs.
     
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  5. Rell

    Rell Champion of Malacath!

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    The pass was coming to an end, but Uzar did not feel much better about that. They might have been in the wilds since leaving Bruma, but their destination was Falkreath. A city in the wasteland of the nordic homelands. But with his curse, he was worried about what happened if he lost control. He didn't know how the others would take seeing his berserker tendencies overcome him. But he doubted very much that it would be with acceptance. He feared repeating history and murdering innocents. He frowned as a sound came to his ears...something that normally wouldn't have even stood out in the wilds had him on edge. Maybe it was his thoughts...maybe it was something else. A moment later, he heard the voice of one of the other mercenaries shouting. Then the howling he'd only faintly heard turned to shouts. Many shouts.

    An ambush, his warriors mind realized. His eye twitched as a red haze seemed to coat his vision. His breathing turned harsh and ragged as the ambushers charged into view, wearing ragtag armor and furs. Uzar grasped the hilt of his warhammer, and gritted his teeth. In years past, he would have joined the others in a coordinated defence. But that time was long since past. Time to kill the voice in his head demanded. For once, the orc agreed with it. A guttural roar broke from his lips, and without thought of anything except the thrill of combat, he charged.

    The first unfortunate he came across made the mistake of raising his shield, rather than jumping aside. The raging orc rammed him like a stanpeding mammoth. A moment later, his hammer descended and crushed the nords' skull into pulp.
    "Blood for Bal! Kill!" He bellowed to noone in particular, ignoring an axe that glanced off his shoulder armor. He grabbed the attacking woman with his free hand, and lifted her like a sack of grain. She struggled futilely at his iron grasp, before Uzar slammed her to the ground, disarming her and more than likely breaking a few ribs. As she struggled to get back into the fight, he stomped a steel shod boot onto her throat, crushing her windpipe. A third enemy he sent sprawling as his hammer crushed the mans' chest. He was in the middle of the enemy force, and he was loving every moment of it.
     
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  6. Screeching Spasmodically

    Screeching Spasmodically Spasmodic Screecher

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    Adalia had barely finished reading the elfs' message when she heard the howling. They had only just left the pass behind, and the weather was starting to change. Not for the better either, the mage reflected, shrugging into her robes as much as she could. If she was honest, sickness due to the weather worried her far more a few wolves. Which, of course, was when the howling turned to shouting, which turned to the sounds of fighting from up ahead. "Spellcasters and archers at the rear! Everyone else, keep them from surrounding us." She couldn't see who'd shouted but she guessed it was their leader. She grabbed Lilliana's wrist and pulled her away from the mercenaries who were rushing to the fight. "Stay close to me,dear."

    The ambushers were visible now their armour and cloaks standing out against the snow on the ground. Four or five were not rushing to attack the sword and axe wielding members of their party. It looked like they were trying to flank around which just happened to be where Adalia and her younger charge happened to be. But the redguard mage wasn't as helpless as she looked, and she brought up her hands, lightning dancing between her fingers. The chain lightning struck the first man in the chest, struck a second, before terminating on the third. All three shrieked and spasmed, smoke raising from their bodies and weapons dropping from their hands. A moment later all three fell beside their weapons and didn't stir again.

    Lilliana did as she was told. She wouldn't stand a chance against any one of the bandits or...whatever they were. Never mind three or four of them. To make matters worse, she could feel the pain, fear and misery of the combatants as they died. Their pain warred with the pleasure her curse brought her and her vision blurred. The hiss and crackle of magic sounded, and fresh pain bloomed in her skull. With a gasp, she fell, conciousness blasted from her even before she hit the ground.
     
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  7. Drahkma

    Drahkma Dashing Imperial Officer.

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    Blood. Not yet spilled, but carried to him on the chill winds of Skyrim. And not the familiar scent of those nearby either. The vampires' nose was nowhere near as good as a khajiits, but he could smell prey from a fair distance away. His ears too, were enhanced by his vampirism, and he could hear the thud and crunch of many boots making their way towards them, between the skittering impacts of the ice and snow striking the ground. Mere moments later, Kyros heard the elven ranger shouting to the other scout. By now it was no secret as to what was happening. The one horned argonian shouted a warning to the others, and their leader started to give commands. Kyros listened to none of it, instead drawing Razor from its' sheathe. The blade glistened in the snow and rain, water running down its' blade.

    The would be ambushers rushed into view, wearing gear that was reminiscint of raiders or bandits. There were enough to overwhelm a small troop, and by the sudden surprise on some of their faces, they had not expected to encounter such and eclectic band. Kyros didn't care, striding towards them at a measured pace, his longsword angled across his chest. An arrow hissed past his ear, but the vampire knight didn't so much as flinch. Then the first wave of the bandit warband was upon him. Razor blurred through the air and relieved a grizzly, one eyed nord of his head. The mans' face was still shifting to surprise when his brain realized he was dead.

    The others were starting to realize that the tall breton in their midst was not an ally. One man swung a heavy warhammer at the vampires' chest. If the blow had landed, it probably would have done a considerable amount of damage, even to the heavy plate Kyros wore. But it didn't connect with him. His gauntleted hand stopped the weapon, much to the bandits surprise. The breton sneered as he plunged his blade into the humans' breast. These fools were just as weak as he'd feared. He backhanded a third bandit as the man attempted to stab him in the ribs. As he stumbled back, Kyros adopted a two handed grip, and cleaved the man open from sternum to groin. As his entrails slopped onto the cold ground, the knight contemptously turned his back on the archers still firing in his general direction. A wistful sigh escaped his lips, as he searched for a worthy challenger among the rabble.
     
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  8. Harkatti

    Harkatti Sorceress Supreme!

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    Elwyns blade was in her hand in an instant. The howls that had rung through the trees changed to shouts and war crys, she pushed her way forwards. Athara was already among the enemy, dodging and weaving their strikes. But the altmer spellsword couldn't spend any more time looking at others. An enemy was already upon her, face twisted with hatred as he brought his axe up over his head. Rather than try to parry the overhand blow, she lashed out with her free hand and loosed a stream of flames directly into his face. The nord had no time to scream as the arcane fire ate into his flesh. The stench of burning flesh was nauseating, but she had no time to dwell on it. She stepped towards another bandit, for that's who she assumed these men in wolfs' fur and assorted armours were. A second nordic warrior swung his sword, which she parried, but at the same time, she slipped in a pool of blood that had mixed with the icy snow. Her leading leg struck out, and her other folded beneath her as she fell with a shouted curse. Luckily, the fall caught her opponent by surprise as much as it did her. Elwyn recovered first, and plunged her blade up, into his chest. The man gurgled his last breaths, falling down the length of her sword. Shoving him to the side, she stood and checked herself for injuries.

    Cyrius saw the elf slip and fall, and his lip curled in an arrogant smirk. The imperial vampire was in his element with the enemy closing in. He drew his sword and approached the first nord he saw. "Lovely day for a duel" the vampire murmured parrying the lunge of a spear before slashing open the mans throat. A second made the mistake of rushing him from behind, but the vampire was too fast, turning and slashing low. The bandit fell with a roar, one that was cut short as Cyrius plunged his blade into the mans back. He scanned the skirmish for fresh victims, when he saw an axe lugging nord charging towards Thaliens exposed back, as the captain and his two companions carved a path through the enemy force. "Thalien!" Cyrius had no idea if his shout was heard, and there was no guarantee the man would know where to look if he had. With a burst of vampiric speed, Cyrius lashed out, hamstringing the man, before beheading him on the backhand.
     
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  9. Morbidbread

    Morbidbread Fight for the lost

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    Elrasur was already on high alert as the company began to file out of the Pale Pass. He was no soldier, not in the conventional sense anyways, but he knew that the best time to ambush someone would be when they were leaving a fairly narrow area, and had little time to react or retreat. The fact that two of their number were scouting the terrain ahead offered him some comfort, but his hands stayed near his blades, just in case. The robed nord, Caleb, had given up on pestering after he'd shown little interest in continuing their conversation. He did not hold the mans' curiousity against him. It was simply that he was unwilling to relive those memories in detail, even to himself. He'd come to terms with what had happened, but that didn't mean he was going to announce his actions to everyone else.

    His head snapped around, towards the faint sounds of howling. They had been walking for some time, but it was far from evening, and Elrasur couldn't believe a pack of wolves, not matter how large, would attack the mercenaries in broad daylight. Despite that, the howls were closing. Rapidly. He heard shouts moments later, and not all of them were from strangers. It appeared their scouts had run into some manner of ambush, and the would be ambushers were in hot pursuit. Elrasurs' blades cleared their scabbards in the blink of an eye, and the dunmer rushed ahead. He was just in time to see a large group of men and women, nords, as far as he could tell, rushing forwards, in gear that brought bandits to mind.

    As the others counter charged the oncoming bandits, the talonmaster dashed out to the flanks. If the attackers were smart, they'd look to flank the mercenaries, and use their greater numbers to their advantage. If that happened, their mission would be over before they even reached High Rock. That, could not be allowed to happen. His ears confirmed his theory as he approached a stand of tall pine trees. Heavy boots crunched into the snow- more than one pair.

    The trio of nordic bandits registered surpise as they came around the trees to find a lone dunmer with white hands waiting for them. "I will say this once. Turn around, and leave." The dunmer said quietly. The leading bandit, an axe in one hand, and a curved dagger in the other, shared incredulous looks with his comrades. Then the mans' face hardened, and nodded to his fellows, and recieved nods in return. The three spread out, seeking to catch Elrasur in a triangle of steel. And their fate was sealed "so be it" the dark elf murmured.

    His blades flashed almost too quickly for the eye to follow. He rattled off a series of blows on the shield of the man on his right. The blows were not made to harm, but rather distract. The three of them would do more harm to themselves, than they would Elrasur. A pair of enemies, in tune with each other would have worried him. A single skilled opponent might have proven a slight challenge. But a trio, especially when they were lowly bandits, tended to stumble over each other in their attempt to dispatch their prey.

    And so they did, the man on the left charging forth, bringing his sword down at Elrasurs' back and cutting in front of the axe and dagger bandit. But Elrasur was no longer in the middle of the triangle, and the left hand mans' sword thudded off the right hand mans' shield. That man shouted with annoyance, and both turned to stand side by side, facing the troublesome elf. But once again, the talonmaster was already moving, blades working in a blinding pattern. Not against either of the two, but the central man, who'd bulled through and disrupted their shoulder to shoulder formation in his eagerness.

    The human managed a single parry, more out of luck than anything, before Elrasurs blades carved into his chest and arms. He fell, bleeding out into the snow. The man on the left attempted a stab with his sword, but tripped over his fallen friend. Which left his neck exposed as he stumbled in an undignified manner towards the dunmer assassin. A moment later, his head was free of his shoulders. The final bandit roared a challenge, hefted his shield, and advanced, more cautiously than his two friends. But one on one, he was no match for the master bladeself. Elrasur leapt forwards, blades stabbing and slashing. In three moves, the bandits shield arm was hanging limp at his side. In six, he was falling to the ground, blood running from the fatal stab wound between his third and fourth ribs.

    Elrasur took no real pride in the victory. His hand had been forced when they'd chosen to fight rather than run. But they hadn't necessarily chosen to become bandits. Some circumstance or disaster may have forced them into a life of lawlessness and looting. Perhaps they had families of their own back at their camp, and were merely trying to provide for them the best way they could. Cleaning his blades on the snow, he said "may you find peace, in the halls of your ancestors."
     
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  10. Rafen

    Rafen Active Member

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    Calebs' somewhat less than charitable thoughts about the imperials and the empire in general dissolved when he heard the howling. Wolves didn't hunt during the day, and he was sure they'd run from such a large group. As if challenging his conclusion, the howls grew closer by the moment. It wasn't until he heard the shouted warning from the argonian up ahead and their leader issuing commands that he realized what was going on. They'd left Cyrodiil only to stumble into an ambush in Skyrim. He'd heard stories of how outlandish and vicious the wilds of Skyrim were after the war. That still hadn't prepared him to see a small army of bandits barreling across the snow covered forest floor.

    The healer cursed to himself and reached under his robes, fingers curling around the hilt of his sword. Then he released the weapon, remembering his promise. He could help the others, but he wouldn't take lives. Not if it could be helped. A crackle of lightning sounded from nearby and a chorus of shrieks as Adalia unleashed her magics on a group of unfortunate bandits. Three fell, their bodies smoking and twitching. A fourth, smoke still rising from his singed beard, hefted a battle axe and continued to charge, roaring the whole time. Out of the corner of his eye, Caleb saw Lilliana fall. He hadn't seen what happened, but she was defenceless against the brute. With another curse, he stepped in between the fallen girl and charging man. The axe came down, but not all the way. Caleb caught the haft of the weapon midway through its' swing. The axeman frowned, surprised that the man in the simple robe could hold him at bay. For now, Caleb thought grimly, but not forever. Already his muscles were beginning to tremble from holding the grimacing bandit at a stalemate.

    Djor fired an arrow, felling another of the outlaws. He felt little pride in killing his own countrymen, but they had attacked his companions. While he owed them little allegiance, he was as much an outsider here as they were. Perhaps more so. He tossed his bow away and drew his axe, unwilling to wet his ancestral blade with the blood of these ruffians. He hewed into the chest of the first man to charge him, and slapped away the blade of a second. He noted the robed man, Caleb, he thought his name was, struggling with another bandit, but the ranger was powerless to help. Caleb would either triumph on his own, or have to hope one of the others could help him.
     
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  11. The Seraph

    The Seraph Bringer of Dawn and the Morningstar

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    Sylandres had held up his tablet for scarcely a moment when the Redguard tensed up and the group began to assemble. Sylandres looked around wildly and soon from the forest they came; mountains of men and women bedecked in fur and iron. He looked to the forest for an aid, and soon he found it. Sylandres lept into action and veered off to the side. A vicious looking Nord pounded a mass of steel into the ground as Sylandres approached him. He smacked his staff into the Nord's face, achieving little more than irritation. Sylandres passed by a brute of a woman, making sure to trip her up along the way. His destination was nearing, a massive widowmaker with only a scantily clad young man wielding a sword in the path. He sliced through the air, failing to hit Sylandres. As he passed the Nord, Sylandres hit him about the midsection. Finally, he stopped at the ancient and long dead tree. He looked behind and there were his three pursuers. Perfect, thought Sylandres. As they neared, he kept up into the tree and pressed himself upon the base of the deadened branch. The Nord woman launched her ax with fury unbridled at the branch. It fortunately missed Sylandres, and the widowmaker came crashing down.

    The young man was wholly crushed and impaled by the weight of the branch, with the other two trapped below. As the man tried to wrest himself free, Sylandres kept from his precarious spot on the tree and, with the full force of his weight, brought his staff upon the man's skull. As he withdrew his weapon he began to make for the road and the others. It appears that there fewer ban - CRUNCH. As Sylandres fell forward, he caught a glimpse of the furious Nord woman, barely scathed by the great branch and standing upon his now mangled leg. As she reached for her ax, Sylandres quickly thrust his staff into her eye. As she stumbled, he kicked her shin with his free leg. She tumble forward, driving the staff through her skull in her fall. As Sylandres caught his breath, he glanced around. No more bandits, no one to see the light of his spells. He gingerly lifted his leg, brought his hand to it and concentrated. Bones shifted and wrought themselves had into place, tendons and ligaments found their place yet again and muscled rejoined. After the painful affair, Sylandres grabbed his now unfortunately blood soaked staff and made his way back to the road.
     
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  12. Signus

    Signus Active Member

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    The pass came to an end, and the weather began to change as they entered Skyrim. Not for the better, either. It changed from heavy, if pure snow to a miserable mix of ice rain and snow. But that was far from the worst of their worries, Orien realized as the shout of ambushers met his ears. The battlemage drew his gladius, and snapped his fingers, bringing a flickering flame to his free palm. He heard the orders of the captain, Thalien, and began making his way to the front of the company. Ahead, coming through the trees, snow and rain, was a large group of men and women in armour that had little to no unity, and dark furs draped over their shoulders. Bandits, then. The battle mage had assumed his days of fighting in Skyrim were over when he'd been forced out of the legion.

    Apparently, he was mistaken. "For the fifth!" He shouted, and unleashed a bolt of orange-white flame towards the nearest of the enemy. The bolt struck a charging nord woman in the centre of her chest, burning through the rough leather armour she wore, and the flesh beneath. She fell, smoke rising from the charred mess of her breast, and Orien brought up another bolt, seeking a second target. A shout from behind drew his attention, and he turned to see the robed man, Caleb, struggling with a brute of a man wielding a battleaxe. Struggling, and losing inch by inch. Honestly, Orien wouldn't have been dismayed if the man had met his end right then and there. Except for the robed lump on the ground. A lump that looked suspiciously like Lilliana.

    Orien prepared to hurl the fire bolt, then lowered his hand. There was no guarantee that the bandit wouldn't move at the last instant, or that his aim might be off by the slightest amount. He dismissed the magic and stalked towards the struggling pair. The nordic bandit didn't dare turn away from the struggle with Caleb and that would be his undoing. Orien plunged his gladius into the mans back, drawing a pained bellow. As he started to turn Orien freed his blade and stabbed again, his blade scraping through the mans ribs and up, into his heart. The man died with a snarl still on his face, until he collapsed face forwards into the snow. The imperial nodded to Caleb, then pointed past him. "See to her. I'll keep them at bay."
     
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  13. The_Lost_Foxtrot

    The_Lost_Foxtrot Lord of Shadows

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    As Mathias hummed at her answer and was about to reply he stopped, rasing his hand slightly to indicate for female Altmer beside him to quiet Down for moment. With a tilt of his head he faintly heard the sounds of howling in the distance and was about to ignore it until he sudenly realized something, the 'howls' sounded awfully human made, when he realized what it meand he heard the one Horner argonian cry out ambush.

    When Thalien shout orders for the spellcasters and Archers to take the the rear while the rest took the front, the masked assassin gave his elven Companion a nod of good Luck before running to the front. Once he reached the front he saw the Nordern bandits, quite a few of them too already charging towards the Company. He drew The Fallen One from its sheath and raised it in a parry a pair of axes from an iron armored bandit, smoothly sidestepping her before spinning his sword and took her head off before focusing onanother two of the would be ambushers running towards him, one wielding a simple sword while the other a spear.

    The cursed man huffed silently and walked towards them quickly, ducking under the swing from the sword wielding raider and qicked him in the leg before he had to jump to the side from a stab of the Spearman. Mathias had to jump and duck a bit to avoid the rather clumsy jabs that the spear wielding bandit was atempting as his comrade was regaining his footing. The assassin raised his sword and pushed the spear to the side before grabbing his weapon With both hands and swept the blade over the spearman's chest, he gave the sword a little twirl and ended the gasping man's pain by stapping him through the heart. The masked man pulled his sword out from the falling corpse only to hear the angry cry of the outlawed swordswoman as she charged him With her sword raise, feeling annoyed With the ruffian, he expertly pulled out one of his throwing knives from his belt and shot his hand in her direction, not even looking as he was met With the sound of the knife piercing her throat by the sound of her gurgling and gagging while she fell to the snow covered ground, painting it red.

    Looking over to the bandit Archers With narrowed eyes he stepped out of the defencive circle that the merceneries had formed up and staretd to run through the horde of raiders, swinging his sword through some of the Outlaws to thin out the Flock for the rest as he made his way to the bowmen of the ambush, noting that that knightly looking fella was seemingly doing to same.

    Mathias raised his hand and snapped his fingers just as a rather nasty looking waraxe was swung at him, only for the weapon to meet air, said bandit hoolding the Axe paused and looked around in confusion before his head split from his shoulders, Mathias appearing behind him With his sword raised to his side before he snapped his fingers again and disappeared again, using his invisibility spell to stay hidden as well as Calm to sneak by some of tha bandits as he ran towards the enemy Archers, some of the ruffians wearing poorer armor suddenly falling over With their throats cut or slashes over their stomachs out of nowhere.
     
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  14. Thesius

    Thesius The Imperial Paladin

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    Vintor said nothing to Thaliens comment. The other man had brushed aside the issue of trusting the others in the company. It wasn't his place to worry about the man. It wasn't like Thalien needed looking after. But Vintor still owed him a debt, and he'd be damned if some upjumped mercenary with a grudge knifed him in the back.

    Worries of being inter-company fighting were dismissed a couple of heartbeats later, as he heard shouts and war cries from the forest beyond. The former paladin gripped his mace as the two scouts- the nord and the bosmer, came back into view, arrows dogging their heels.

    The bandits chasing them, at least, he assumed they were bandits, didn't even hesitate when they came across the rest of the mercenaries. Thalien, Var'Hess, and Joren rushed forwards, with the captain shouting for the rest of the company to stop the bandits from surrounding them.

    Easier said than done. Their company was not small, but Vintor counted at least thirty bandits. The first 'wave' was already upon him. An upswing from the former paladins' mace shattered bone and lacerated the flesh of one unfortunate highwaymans' face. He fell like a sack of rocks, and didn't move again.

    Vintor moved with practiced ease, his desecrated armour letting him shrug off the few blows that got through his guard. A second nord fell to an overhand that crushed through the iron armour he wore. There were more coming, but the former paladin was less worried now than he had been. These bandits were no more skilled than the average peasant, and it showed.
     
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  15. TheArgonianDrell

    TheArgonianDrell Well-Known Member

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    Iornath heard the arrows of the enemy hiss past him. They wanted him dead, and the bosmer very much wanted the same for the humans who thought themselves to fire on him. Having reached the rest of the company, and the battle lines having crashed together, the elven ranger took a moment to catch his breath.

    His eyes narrowed as he scanned the battlefield. The bandits certainly outnumbered them, but what the mercenaries lacked in numbers, they made up for in skill. Most accounted for at least two of the enemy. Setting an arrow to the string, he selected a target, a lumbering nord with a heavy, two handed hammer in his hands. The elfs' arrow lanced neatly between his ribs, into his heart.

    The human stumbled for several more metres before collapsing, but Iornath was no longer paying any attention. He drew another arrow, and loosed, striking an enemy archer in a similar fashion. His third a man who was sprinting around to flank the group in his right side, punching into the mans' lungs. He spent his last moments gasping pink froth onto the snow. Movement not far away revealed the one horned argonian, Rajeem, locked in combat with the others.

    "Gods' damn it all" the argonian in question snarled, his side stinging from a sword blow that had failed to cut through his armour, but still left him favouring his right side. He stabbed the offending nord in the chest with his own blade. While he struggled to free the blade from the falling man, a second rushed him, howling like some rabid beast.

    Triumph shone in the mans' eyes. With a snarl, Rajeem swung his free arm up to intercept. The blade skittered off his cestus, and the nord grunted in surprise. "Piss off!" The mercenary snarled, slamming his scaled forehead into the bareheaded human. The man stumbled backwards, bleeding and disoriented. Wrenching his sword free, he hacked into the mans neck, putting him down for good. "God damned bandits" The argonian muttered, spitting on the corpse for good measure.
     
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  16. Aethalia

    Aethalia Well-Known Member

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    The howls weren't particularly unnerving, but they were a surprise. The elven assassin narrowed her eyes and tilted her head, trying to discern the source of them. She wasn't sure what it was, but something about the howls seemed...unnatural. Then, she was no expert on wolves, and hadn't come across many in her travels. After all, most wolves avoided the cities which was where Kylira spent most of her time. Before she could question the others about the noise, the elven scout and the nord came rushing back, arrows and shouts chasing them. Apparently these particular wolves were the type that walked on two feet, and wielded weapons.

    As the men rushed into sight, the assassin allowed herself a small, eager smile. It had been too long since she'd last seen action, and her body ached for the thrill of combat once more. Her axe was in her hands and she bounded forwards even as the masked man to her left ran in the to the other side. She didn't pause at the first nord to cross her path, swinging her axe in an overhead arc that chopped through the humans' torso with a wet crunch of splitting flesh and bone. She tore the weapon free and spun away from a hurled spear, loosing a savage laugh as she did. The weapon punched into the slippery, ice covered snow, and the nord woman who'd thrown it drew an axe of her own from her belt.

    The woman was fast- she ducked under Kyliras' first swing, and leapt away from another overhand chop that had ended her comrade. But neither could she land a strike on the altmer. The assassin ducked and dodged, parrying the occasional strikes that posed any real threat. It was then that the human made a fatal mistake, over extending on her attack. Kylira moved quickly, stepping to the side and turning, building momentum with her axe. The keen blade easily parted skin and muscle once again, and the nords' head was separated from its' shoulders in an instant.
     
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  17. Madrar

    Madrar The Shadow in the Dark.

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    As the battle raged around him, Thalien looked for the leader of the band of bandits. He was no champion to seek out challengers, but the half-nord knew full well that if their leader was struck down, the surviving thugs would flee. It did not take long to find the man among the horde of nordic warriors. He stood a full head over many of them, and his wild, long blonde hair whipped around as he bellowed orders to his men. A pair of hardened warriors stood around him, clad in steel plate and wolf pelt cloaks. Each of them carried a greatsword in good condition. "Of course he's the leader" Thalien snarled, nodding in the mans direction. Together, Thalien, Joren and Var'Hess approached, blades at the ready.

    Thaliens' two companions engaged the bandit leaders bodyguards, halberd and axe slashing and chopping against the heavily armoured foe. The nord eyed the other man with sneering dismissal. The two clashed in the snow and ice covered forest, the light rain speckling their armour. With Ferrum Noctis in hand, Thalien launched a series of blistering slashes and thrusts, all aimed at ending the battle quickly. The bandit leader was a stripe above his subordinates, however. He met or dodged each of the mercenarys' attacks, and didn't seem to have broken a sweat. A riposte with the massive axe opened a long, shallow gash above his right eyebrow.

    Half blinded by a mixture of rain, sweat and blood, Thalien was forced on the defensive, parrying a series of surprisingly fast axe-blows. He retreated quickly trying to find an opening in the bandits defences, and being foiled everytime. The mans armour was every bit as good as it looked. Master crafted for sure, and without a speck of battle debris or rust on it. Even the mans' cloak seemed well kept. Not that the finer points of bandit grooming was a priority for Thalien at the moment. The half nord retreated another half dozen steps, frustrating his opponents attempts to relieve him of his head.

    The mercenary moved to step back once more, when something hard caught the back of his leg. A low hanging branch or exposed root, he wasn't sure. With a surprised curse, he tumbled backwards landing in the wet snow. With victory assured, the bandit lord brought his axe over his head in preparation for a powerful overhand chop. Thalien spat at the man, but his sword had fallen from his grip when he stumbled and lay out of reach. He was dead and they both knew it.

    Before the axe could fall, however, there was a resounding thwack! and the bandit stumbled. With a groan, the man fell face first into the snow, nearly landing on a very surprised Thalien. Joren stood over the man, staring down at his long time friend. "I thought you might like some assistance" he explained with a shrug.

    The would-be victim clambered to his feet and accepted his sword from Var'hess' waiting grasp. As he'd suspected, with the loss of their leader, the bandits lost their will to fight. howling and cursing, they fled back the way they'd come, abandoning the dead and dying. Thalien gave the unconscious former leader a kick "bind his hands and relieve him of his weapons. There are some questions that this one needs to answer."
     
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