18+ Nightfall

[Aethalia]

It has been two years since the citizens of Skyrim began disappearing. A group of companions discovered the source, and attempted to warn the rest of Tamriel. They were dismissed without a second thought. A month later, an inestimable horde of creatures swarmed from below the surface of Skyrim, known only as 'The Blight'. These creatures have spread throughout Tamriel, killing randomly, and taking civilians for unknown, but undoubtedly horrifying purposes.

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Rules​

1: No Godmodding, super powered characters, weapons or spells.


2: This will be an 18+ Roleplay, that means gore, sexual situations, and coarse language.

3: Madrar, TheShadedOne, and Myself spent about three months working on this RP. If you can't be bothered to commit to this, then please, don't waste our time with a character card.

4: This is not going to be a very cheerful, heroes saving the day roleplay. If that's the kind of roleplay you want, I suggest you not apply here.


5: In order to apply to this RP, you must have proper grammar and spelling.

6: Please be respectful to your fellow RPers. Otherwise this doesn't work.

7: More of a notice than a rule. We are only accepting three people. You will be accepted based on your spelling and grammar, and, of course, your character card.
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The Blight​

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The main Antagonists of the story.​

The blight are a 'race' with unknown origins, although it is suspected that they can 'infect' other races with some dark alchemy, deep in the bowels of Tamriel, though this has never been proven.All members of the blight have yellow eyes, but lack pupils.​

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Corpsers: The weakest 'strain'. Emaciated looking bipedal creatures, with pale green-grey skin, and looking somewhat like Goblins from LOTR. Surprisingly strong, with long, black claws, and fangs. Their bite poisons their victims, causing rot, and debilitating their target, until they either die, or the Corpsers can catch up to them. Can use weapons, but prefer their claws and fangs.


Slayers: The main soldier 'strain' of Blight forces. Steel grey skin, with shorter claws, and hands designed for holding weapons. Their fangs are shorter as well, allowing them to speak the common language. Holding themselves higher than the Corpsers, they often use weapons, ride mounts, fire bows, and wear armour.



Brute: Believed to have been created from the common troll, this creature is covered in short, coarse black hair, and has four eyes, two higher up on its forhead, and two slightly further apart, and lower. It has large, curved tusks and long claws as well. Immensely tough, with a keen sense of smell and hearing. They are able to use weapons, often larger than anything a normal warrior could hope to wield.



Gargant: Formed from the peaceful giants that wandered the plains of Skyrim. Now covered in slate grey scales, that are strong enough to resist all but the strongest attacks. Their only weaknesses are the gaps in the armour that allow them to be surprisingly manoeuvrable, and their necks and eyes.

Warg: A mix between wolf and bear. Used as mounts by slayer patrols.

Darkwolf: A twisted version of a lycan. All of them have black fangs, claws, and fur, with the only exception their glowing eyes. Unknown if they share the lycans weakness to silver.

Wraith: A spectral creature that wears tattered robes, and is often hooded, with only its' eyes visible from the depths of the hood. Their bodies are nothing more than black skeletons, and they are the only members of the Blight that use magical spells, at the same level of some master level wizards.

Battle-Masters: Red skinned commanders of the Blight forces. Notoriously tough to kill, masters of most weapons and unarmed combat. Can think creatively, and often pride themselves on their tactical genius.

 

[Aethalia]

The ruins of Riften​

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Aliah Stormwind snuck through the ruins that had once been the city of Riften, home to the thieves guild. The Altmer vampiress had arrived shortly before the Blight had struck. She'd been looking for one of her former companions, a Khajiit assassin by the name of Shadari. Until recently, she'd been arguing with several Altmer politicians, trying to make them see that there was, in fact a threat. They'd dismissed her claims as those of a mad woman, and she'd returned to Skyrim, hoping to assist her companions in their own quests to warn the people of Skyrim. They'd already discussed the threat, and agreed that Skyrim would be one of the hardest hit, when the Blight finally emerged from their supposed centuries of biding their time.​

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If the state of Riften was any indication, all warnings had fallen on deaf ears. Even before the attack had occurred, security in the city had been lax, and once the Blight had emerged, the people of Riften had been slaughtered. She knew that not all of the population had been killed off, of course. In fact, she'd stumbled across a few survivors, and one of them had fired a crossbow into her shoulder. The vampiress winced, feeling the phantom pain in her shoulder. Since then, she'd avoided the few survivors, except to feed on stragglers. The Blight knew survivors remained in the ruins as well, obviously. She'd seen groups of the grey skinned 'slayers' combing through the city wreckage, along with the long clawed, fanged, creatures prowling around. She'd already had several encounters with them, which, had luckily, been resolved quickly.​

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Being a vampire, Aliah could have escaped easily, through the ruins or the water, but she'd come across several slain patrols, all slain by what had looked like stealth attacks. Knife thrusts, and curved cuts, that Aliah knew were caused either by a scimitar or a very specific weapon that she'd only seen one person wield with such skill. 'So, Shadari is here. Or was recently' she headed to the water, keeping her ears open. It was noon, or near it, and a cloudy day, making her passage through the ruins easier, but not safer. Despite most of the city having been destroyed, the canal still ran through it, and Aliah took a moment to stare into the water. The murky liquid didn't even reflect the sky, not that she cared. She leaned on the rotting rail, letting out a heartfelt sigh. 'This could have been prevented. Easily. None of these people needed to die.'​

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She heard something then. A footstep, heavier than any humans. Aliah froze as a foul stench filled her nostrils, and a low growl reverbrated the air around her. She spun on her heel, hands flying to the hilts of her two ebony swords. A hulking creature, that might have been a troll at one point, now twisted by the Blight, into a monstrous Brute, covered in coarse, black hair, four eyes, and sharp, large fangs. In one of its' hands, was a large hammer, the haft of it as thick as her leg, and the head nearly as wide as she was. "Oh, you have got to be joking..." she muttered, dodging aside as the brute bellowed and swung its weapon. Boards splintered, and splashed into the water, and Aliah turned, her blades slashing into the brutes side. It howled in pain, and its' backhand swing caught her in the chest, loosening her grip on her blades, and sending her into the water, knocking her head against something hard as she fell. ​

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[TheShadedOne]

Shadari sprinted through the remnants of the inn, chased by a cacophony of angry shouts. "There she goes!" "Get the cat bitch!" bellowed the grey skinned Slayers that were charging after her. Some things, she reflected, never changed. She'd been chased by furious guards back when the guards in Riften had still been alive. Except, the worst that would happen if the Nords caught might be a stint in jail. If the Slayers caught up to her...that was a different story. She'd seen what they'd done to the civilians.

Shadari wasn't opposed to torture, if it had a purpose. However, tormenting people for no other reason than pleasure, rubbed her the wrong way. She'd been dispensing her own unique form of justice, taking down Blight patrols, displaying their bodies for other Slayers to find. If it angered the beasts, she couldn't tell. They always seemed to be full of fury, not that she minded. Killing the Blight seemed to be all of Shadaris' existence now. Of course, she could, and probably should move on. But she had a little vengeance to dish out on behalf of Riftens' citizens. She knew there were survivors, somewhere, but she had no real wish to join up with a team.

Besides, she was doing fine so far. The Slayers chasing her probably knew that the corridor was a dead end. What they didn't know about, was the spike traps she'd fashioned out of debris. Her keen eyes noticed the tripwire, at about shin height, and she hopped over it, moving on another yard, before turning and drawing her falchion, trying to look desperate. The Slayers arrived, thundering down the corridor, snarling as they closed in on their 'prey' Then the leading Slayer hit the tripwire, and flew forwards, shortly before the sharpened piece of wood impaled him through the throat. Screams of pain and anger emerged from the three others, as they too fell prey to the makeshift prey. "Watch your step, uglies" she muttered, prodding one of the Slayers, to make sure it really was dead.

A noise outside drew her attention to the window, and Shadari saw someone she'd thought she'd never see again. An Altmer woman in a black leather trench coat, wielding two ebony swords faced off against a brute. And she was losing. "Aliah...how are you-" she left the last word unsaid. Last she'd heard, the Altmer vampiress had been going to Alinor, trying to convince politicians their that there was a threat. Since she was back in Skyrim, Shadari guessed that she'd been unsuccessful. As she watched, the brute knocked the vampiress into the murky waters of the Riften canal. As much as she wanted to charge in, her falchion swinging, the brutes weapon was almost larger than she was. Rushing in like a fanatic would only get her killed.

The brute was almost underneath her, about a couple of metres away from the window. Which meant a running start. Drawing a pair of her throwing daggers, she backed to the far side of the hall, and took two long steps forward, lunging out the window. She aimed for the brutes back, smashing into it, and sending it stumbling forwards. It bellowed in surprise as Shadari wrapped her legs around its middle. Its' roars turned from surprise to pain as the Khajiit assassin began stabbing, puncturing its' thick hide easily. Shadari had no idea if the brute had the same regenerative abilities as a troll, so she simply kept stabbing until the brute crashed to its knees, and from there to the ground, fatally still, its' head barely attached, by a few strings of flesh and muscle.

Falling to her knees, she dropped her daggers, and stuck her hands up to her elbows into the water, until she felt something yielding, with the solidity of bone underneath. "Got you" she closed her fingers around the Altmer woman, and pulled. The vampiress came out of the water sopping wet, and unconscious. She did her best to force the water out of the Altmer womans lungs, not knowing if water in a vampires lungs were bad or not, but she didn't want to take any chances. "Come on, don't you die. Er, again" she said, shaking the woman.

 

[Madrar]

Salthar Vivarian unleashed another bolt of dark magic, feeling a certain amount of satisfaction as it tore through the chest of one of the dozen or so emaciated creatures that had come to be known as Corpsers, during the weeks following the emergence of the Blight. The vampire lord couldn't help but feel a certain anger towards the rulers of Tamriels kingdoms. His agents in the Dominion had informed him that neither the Aldmeri government nor the Thalmor had taken Aliahs' warnings seriously. He hadn't heard from her since the companions had split up to spread their dire warning.

Salthars coven had taken him at his word, and begun preparations for defence of the Bloodlet Throne. They'd been one of the few. Some of the races had stepped up training, or recruitment, and the Empire had increased the number of garrisons in its cities, but besides that, no actions had been taken. Not until it was too late, anyways. Most of the meagre defences that had been put in place were contemptuously swept aside by the Blight. Hundreds had died, and even Salthars coven had lost around a quarter of its members. Which brought Salthar back to his current predicament. He'd received a call for aid from a group of rogue vampires that promised their loyalty, if he rescued them from Blight forces.

Salthar had departed to rescue the other vampires personally, only to find them slaughtered, and a group of Corpsers waiting for him. However, it was the mysterious, robed, hovering creature that had joined the attack shortly after the Corpsers had seen him. At first glance, it appeared to be a lich, but Salthar, like most vampires, could sense other undead. The hooded, levitating creature that was keeping the Corpsers ahead of it, protecting it from physical attack. Which meant the creature was clever, if nothing else. Unlike its minions, who charged the Thalmor vampire, hatred plain on their faces. Several had fallen, but the remainder of the group were undaunted, and were seriously starting to get on his nerves. They were little more than irritants, but dangerous, irritants nonetheless.

"Enough" he said, softly, and unleashed a blast of black lightning, the tendrils blasting the creatures off their feet, to the forest floor below, thrashing in agony. Leaving only the hooded, robed...creature, that continued its' approach, appearing almost indifferent to the loss of its' minions. Salthar lifted his gloved hand, and unleashed another spell, this time a bolt of midnight lightning. The bolt struck it in the chest...and didn't even slow it. That was far from encouraging, and Salthar knew his magical reserves were running low. He wore a ring that contained a reservoir of power, but he was loathe to draw on the rings power, especially against a single foe, no matter how powerful.


The wraith like creature extended a single hand, and a blast of magic blew Salthar off of his feet, into a nearby tree. The vampire felt several bones in his back fracture, and he snarled in anger, and more than a little pain. It had been decades since he'd been bested in combat, but this...wraith had knocked him to the ground in moments. Struggling to his feet, he began gathering power around himself, and could sense his opponent doing the same. The air between the two spell casters literally crackled with magical power. Salthar unleashed his spell, an expanding ball of dark magic, that obliterated several small trees and boulders, decimating the ground in the center of the blast, and destroying the wraith-Blight in an eyeblink, and exhausting Salthars magical reserves. He slumped to the ground utterly spent.

(OOC: Not the best intro, but at least it's something)

 

[Stormmaiden]

Lythare glanced over her shoulder at the line of refugees struggling to keep a steady pace over the rough terrain. They numbered maybe fifty, certainly no more than fifty five, and were all that remained of the village of Riverwood. Among the villagers were three guards, although there had originally been thirteen, including their lieutenant. Looking to the empty skies, she felt another bolt of sorrow pierce through her. Aethos, her loyal falcon companion no longer roamed the skies of Tamriel. During the brief siege of the village, he'd swooped down, intercepting an arrow that had been meant for her.

Lythare had been contemplating rounding up the villagers and attemtping to force through the ring of Blight forces for days. Her companions death solidified her musing into action, and she'd rounded up the surviving guards and outlined her plan. It had been met with resistance, at first. The guard lieutenant, a young Nord by the name of Orthjolf, had wanted to remain and await reinforcements from Helgen. Await reinforcements that hadn't been heard from for days. Fortunately, the villagers were less than keen on awaiting their deaths at the hands of Corpsers or Slayers, and pressed the man to agree. As a concession to him, Lythare had suggested heading to the heavily fortified fortress town of Helgen. Rebuilt by a joint Imperial-Nord force, after it had been destroyed several years before.

They had set out at first light, and had barely left Riverwood behind, when they were set upon by waves of Corpsers. They'd managed to defeat them, but one had bitten the lieutenant on his bicep. The unnatural rot had already destroyed most of his arm. His last wish had been for her to put him out of his misery. She'd complied, but she'd taken no satisfaction from the kill. Orthjolf hadn't been a bad man, simply a little too secure in his own plans and beliefs. Unwilling to listen to anyone else, unless given no other option. Once they'd left Riverwood behind, ambushes had picked off the guards, and more than a few villagers, until there were three guards and herself left protecting more than ten times that number of civilians.

An eerie howl had the fine hairs at the back of Lythares' neck lifting, and gooseflesh erupted on her arms. In an instant, she had her bow in her hand, and an arrow on the string. There were cries of fear from the villagers, and the noise of weapons being readied. The howl belonged to a warg, a horrifying mix of wolf and bear, and with the ill-temperament of both. Lythare had seen a few while in Riverwood, serving as mounts for the Slayers as they scouted the villages defences. However, once they'd broken through and fled towards Helgen, they hadn't encountered any, until now, that was. 'We must have outrun those on foot. They know we can't evade wargs. Not for very long at any rate' she thought grimly. Clearly, the Blight forces had adjusted their strategy.

"Ma'am, what should we do?" Called one of the remaining guards, the slight tremble in his voice reminding the Bosmer how young he was. She lowered her bow. It was obvious that the wargs weren't upon them yet, and wouldn't be for perhaps another hour or two, if they moved quickly. "We keep moving. Make all speed for Helgen" she replied. Turning to face the frightened villagers, she declared "Move as fast as you can! We're not far from the safety of Helgen. Children and elders in the middle. No one is left behind!" The group shuffled around, rearranging themselves, throwing nervous glances at the surrounding trees. 'I just hope the soldiers there are ready for a fight'

 

[WindWalker]

Julius stumbled across the ground, not bothering to look up from the ground beneath his boots. Blood from a scalp wound had run down his cheek, and dried there. His shield hung limply in one hand, and his sword hand was covered in blood, none of it fresh. He glanced up at the sky from time to time, wondering what time it was. Probably around noon. From when the battle had started, to when it had ended, noon made sense. Or maybe he was dead, like all the others at Helgen, slain by the Blight.

He remembered the battle, vividly, and the deaths of his squad. How sergeant Vanus had leapt in front of a spear thrust meant for him, and with his dying breath, sent him to warn Riverwood. Which was why Julius was on his own, wandering south, towards the village. His comrades might be dead, but that was no excuse to just sit down and wait for the Blight to catch up with him. No matter how much he wanted to. As far as he knew, everyone he'd ever known was dead by now, including Elizabeth and Aliah and Torin. But he had a job to do, and he wasn't about to mope over death. In the skirmishes that had lead up to the battle of Helgen, he'd grown used to death. He didn't particularly like killing, but he was better at it than he'd been two years ago.

Sighing, he stared back down at his boots, and scowled as his helmet toppled from his head, landing in the dirt. Briefly, he thought about picking it back up, but decided not to. After all, it hadn't done any of his fellow soldiers much good. And it wasn't like he was being followed. When he'd cut his way through the horde of corpsers and slayers, they'd been more concerned with overrunning the defences, rather than hunting down a single soldier. He estimated he was perhaps another hour, maybe two from Riverwood, when he heard a hair raising howl. He needed to hurry.

 

[willowwisp]

Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder keeping an eye on the refugees from Rorikstead. She was worried about several of them, that had started coughing harshly. More importantly, their hunters could hear them. Slayers mounted on fierce wargs, that had been dogging the group ever since they'd left the village. The Blight hadn't managd to cause to much damage near the farming village, but scouts had arrived, both the goblin like 'corpsers' and the more soldier like slayers, most of them mounted on wargs. She'd heard stories of a few packs of odd, werewolf-like creatures. According to all reports, they were members of the Blight.

Which was most certainly not good. Luckily for them, she hadn't noticed any of them near the group. Elizabeth had been on her way through Rorikstead, on her from Markarth to Winterhold, in order to advance her studies, since she'd been forced by the situation to break off her apprenticeship under the vampire lord Salthar Vivarian. He'd been a good- no a great teacher, but when they'd agreed to seperate and attempt to warn the various leaders of Tamriel about the imminent threat. She had been on her way to Winterhold to learn under the mages there when the Blight had struck just under a month ago.

She'd put the spells she'd learnt under Salthars' tutelage, to fight off enemy scouts. Days later, word had arrived of a much larger force on their way, numbering hundreds strong. Fortunately, she'd met Torin Greenbow, a skilled ranger that she'd first met two years ago. He'd saved her life from a group of bandits, and she'd grown close to him. He hadn't approved of her learning from Salthar, but he could be trusted. Looking ahead, where the ranger was scouting, making sure the road to Whiterun was clear. She found her thoughts turning inwards, towards her magical skills. The spells she'd learnt under Salthar were...impressive, but the more she used them....the less she felt like herself.

So far, she'd stuck to the spells she'd known originally, and when things got desperate, she relied on her glass dagger.The dagger from her grandfather. She wondered what was going on in her homeland of Cyrodiil. She'd not even thought about heading back to the throne of the Empire. She had friends in Skyrim, and with the Blight launching attacks all across Tamriel, taking a vacation to Cyrodiil wasn't an option. "Torin! Can you see anything?"

 

[Baneloth]

Donath Stonesplitter rested his axe against his shoulder, and stared into the distance. He did that alot, recently. He was in the plains outside of the city of Whiterun, patrolling. Or, at least, he was supposed to be patrolling, keeping an eye out for the Blight. Not that a single old warrior like himself would be able to do much against the tens of thousands that made up the ranks of the enemy. 'Ah well. It's not like I've got anywhere else to be' and despite being nearly fifty years of age, Donath could still hold his own in a fight.

He wasn't sure how useful he'd be against a horde of beasts, but the few scouting parties that the guards had noticed at the fringes of hold, he could take. Probably. The old warrior let out a long, tired sigh. He wasn't tired of fighting, or drinking, certainly not, but he'd heard the reports out of Riften. An entire city destroyed, and that was only in the first month of the Blights' arrival from under Tamriel. How much more damage had occurred, all over the continent, Donath didn't know. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. What was happening in Skyrim right now was bad enough.

He continued his patrol, walking across the plains, enjoying the slightly overcast, but otherwise pleasant weather. He remained vigilant, and it was good that he did, for a moment later, he heard a fiercome snarl from his right. Turning, the veteran warrior spotted a hulking, wolf like, bipedal creature with the yellow, pupiless eyes that identified it as one of the Blight. He stepped back, swinging his trusty steel battle axe at hip level. The creature, now identified as a 'darkwolf' growled and leapt away.

Obviously, it possessed some kind of intelligence, or at least enough to realize that Donath was a dangerous foe. "Bring your hideous face to my axe, beastie" growled the stout Nord, lining up another attack. The darkwolf snarled and moved to the side, attempting to get behind him. Donath turned with it, expecting what came next. The twisted beast lunged forwards, its' black claws scratching against his armours chest plate. The Nord fell back, lifting his axe, and bringing it down at a sharp angle, the sharp edge of the weapon slicing through the beasts chest with ease.

He glanced up from his vanquished enemy, chopping his axe down into the dirt to clean it as he did so. He spotted dark figures rushing in from Rorikstead direction, and despite not being able to make them out from such a distance, but the other figures, mounted ones, struck him as something other than human, riding something other than horses. Yanking his axe out of the ground, he headed towards the group at a steady pace.

 

[Blackwhite1223]

Torin Greenbow stayed ahead of the procession of tired and frightened villagers. The ranger had taken it upon himself to scout ahead, keeping an eye out for the Blight, and prepared to serve as the refugees first line of defence, if the situation called for it. They were destined for Whiterun, and already the rangers keen eyes picked out the city, with its' walls and towers. It made sense for the capital of Whiterun hold to increase its' security, and Torin wouldn't be surprised to encounter guard patrols once they neared the walls.

However, at the moment, guard patrols were the least of the rangers worries. There had been reports of the Blight moving cautiously more west, probing the defences. The fact that they didn't simply swarm over Skyrim in waves. The Enemy was cunning, strategizing before crushing opposition with overwhelming strength. He'd heard about Riften, and how quickly the city had fallen. Torin didn't dwell on it, but still, all the deaths the Blight had caused saddened him. Innocents died in wars, but that didn't make it any easier to bear. In the two years that had passed since the fellowship had seperated, he'd spent wandering the wilds of Skyrim.

He was hardly as charismatic as some of his companions, like Salthar and Aliah had been. He knew that the Nords were unlikely to listen to him, or his companions. He'd done what he could, though he still felt it was not enough. Perhaps someone should have rounded up the rulers of Tamriel and shaken some sense into their skulls.'Enough. Musing on past mistakes won't help anything' he scolded himself. He brought his focus back to the present, searching for an elevated surface, so that he might scout out the lay of the land.He knew the plains around Whiterun well enough, but he didn't want to make a mistake that lead to the deaths of the refugees, or Elizabeth.
He spotted a suitable location, a rocky hill, just ahead of them, thrusting into the air about two metres.

Climbing the gently rounded slope, he surveyed the landscape, searching for foes. To his alarm, he spotted them almost immediately. To the west of the them, about half a dozen warg riders. No threat to a properly equipped military force, perhaps, but to the refugees, they would wreak havoc. He heard Elizabeth cry out, asking him what he saw. He turned towards her, stringing his bow as he did. "Wargs! We're under attack!"

 

[Drahkma]

Averain Silverblade ignored the snow. Its' chill touch didn't bother him, and had no significant meaning. After all, Dawnstar was in the North, and was hardly prone to sunny skies and warm temperatures. Not that the vampire knight would have particularly cared if it was. Over the years, he'd grown immune, or nearly so to the rays of the sun that his kin found so irritating. He still felt a slight prickle when exposed to direct sunlight, but his journey with a company of mortals and two fellow vampires had taught him to ignore the sun. It had also taught him that the Nords were fools. Not that he hadn't known that already, but when the companions had returned, and attempted to warn the others, their dire words had fallen on deaf ears.

Averain glanced behind him, towards the recently walled city of Dawnstar. He'd stayed inside the city for several months after the fellowship had broken up, attempting to convince the Imperial jarl, Brina Merilis, that there was indeed an imminent threat. For the most part, she'd brushed his insistent warnings aside, but she had relented in constructing a wall that encompassed the town, both mines, and ended at the cliffs near the bay. A single, narrow gate had been made, on the road, allowing merchants and travellers safe passage. Averain had assisted with the planning and construction, using his former military experience to set up the walls.

However, the citizenry didn't trust him. He wasn't sure if it was because of his half-blood heritage, his unusual, vampiric eyes, or simply the fact that he was from outside of Skyrim. Either way, he knew that his remaining in Dawnstar would not end well. The people of the city would never survive if they were too busy expecting him to stab them in the back when the real enemy was hammering at their door. Of course, no one this far north had actually seen any of the Blight, which probably lead to their scepticism. Whatever the case, the vampire knight had mounted his trusty war horse, Luther, and left at dawn.

He had heard that Blight scouts had been seen near the city of Whiterun, a few hours ride to the south. 'There's nothing more I can do in Dawnstar. But I may be able to assist the people of Whiterun.' Or maybe they wouldn't trust him either, but in his experience, the people of Whiterun had been more welcoming than those of the North. The knight shook his head, berating himself for dwelling on such things. Long ago, he'd learnt not to let rejection bother him. Despite his best intentions, prejudice against vampires, sometimes deserved, was everywhere. 'Not through words, but by actions' one of Averains favourite quotes. The snow tapered off, leaving an overcast noon day sky.

The wind blew towards him, shifting his hazel hair, and causing his horses mane to move gently with the breeze. The wind also brought the baying, like those of hounds used on hunts, but deeper, more vicious. There was a scent as well, and Luther didn't like it. The horses ears went flat back against his head, and he let out a low whinny. A warning, to his rider. Stroking the large war horses neck, he gently urged the beast forwards. Wargs were about, if the sound did indeed match the great beasts. Loosening Goldbrand in its' sheathe, he rode forwards.

 

[Stormmaiden]

They were making good time, Lythare knew, but not nearly good enough. There was no way the group would reach the safety of Helgens walls before the warg riders launched their attack. Not without swift horses, or magical assisstance, at any rate. Worse, the trees that had shielded the procession were thinning out rapidly, exposing them to preemptive archer fire. The Slayers didn't have to be marksmen in order to hit the villagers.

Another howl, this one much closer, rang out, and the warg riders attacked. "Ready yourselves" the wood elf cried out to the guards nearest her. They lifted their shields, and readied their swords, determined to fight to the last. To the refugees, she called, "keep going! Don't wait for us!" It did strike her as a little odd that she was willing to give her life for humans. Two years ago, she wouldn't have spat on a human dying of thirst, but now here she was, fighting along humans against a common enemy. Despite the rest of the world pretending the enemy didn't exist.

She nocked an arrow, her sensitive ears hearing the repeated thuds of heavy paws striking the soft earth. The first warg to come into sight received an elven arrow in its eye. It yelped, and toppled head over heels, sending its' rider flying. Another, she shot in the throat, knowing that the mounts were just as dangerous, if not more so than their riders. Her third shot struck a warg in the chest, sending it to the ground, but its rider was fast enough to leap off, and approached, brandishing an axe. Lythares' fourth arrow struck the Slayer in his right eye, and it toppled backwards, very dead.

But four casualties had not made much of an impact. There were perhaps a dozen, with two or three of them having reached the guards. The three Nords were back to back, shields up, engaging the wargs and their riders, holding their attention away from the fleeing villagers. Lythare stood apart, and drew their attention with more arrows, until they'd closed in, and she drew the two long elven daggers at her sides. She slashed one warg across the throat avoiding its' riders panicked swings. But more were charging her, and the refugees weren't yet gone.

 

[Aethalia]

Aethalia burst into conciousness, vomiting water as she did so. For a few moments, everything was blurry, but she could see the dark grey armour of a certain Khajiit woman. The vampiress sat up slowly, turning to face the assassin. "Shadari. I've been looking for you" she glanced down at her wet leather clothing, then back to the Khajiit, glad that being undead hid her embarrassment. "Not exactly the reunion I had in mind" she struggled to her feet,and noticed that the sheathes on her belt were empty.

At first, she thought she'd lost both of her swords, but soon spotted them on the board walk. She also noticed the dead brute, nearly decapitated by what had undoubtedly been a ferocious attack. "Thanks for that. I should have been paying more attention to my surroundings, instead of moping. Let's-" sounds from above interrupted her. More specifically, the sounds of heavy, armoured boots on wooden boards. She didn't need to look up to guess what was coming. Corpsers didn't wear much, if any armour, and brutes she'd only ever seen with spiked gauntlets. "Slayers" she hissed, scooping up her swords.

The creatures spoke among each other in their own harsh language, and peering up, she noticed archers taking position near the water. A shout rang out and several more Slayers thundered down the stairs, and headed towards the two women. She looked to her companion and saviour. "I guess we're fighting our way out"

 

[willowwisp]

Elizabeth felt a jolt of adrenaline go through her as Torin reported that the wargs were closing in. Or maybe it was fear. Even after she'd spent all that time travelling with Torin and Salthar and Aliah, it hadn't made her feel overly brave or tough. She'd been content, true, but mostly because of the fact she had such powerful protectors. Yes, she'd learned quite a few spells under the vampire lords tutelage, but they were hardly spells she could ever see herself using. They seemed so...dark. Every time she'd used the spells, she'd felt like a little bit of the young priestess of Arkay was slipping away, replaced by something...else. Something darker.

She shook her head to clear it, knowing that doubting herself when their hunters were upon them was a great way to get herself, and all the villagers, massacred. The howls, snarls, and war-whoops of the wargs and their riders reached her ears, and moments later, they rounded the spur of rock that Torin was standing on, most concentrating on the villagers, and she noticed they had drawn bows. They wouldn't even need to get within range of most of her spells in order to kill off most of the terrified villagers. "I don't think so" she muttered, lifting her hands and bringing forth a transparent magical barrier, designed to deflect projectiles.

Immediately, she felt her strength waning. She'd only ever used the barrier for personal defence. She'd never attempted anything of such large scale before. The slayers fired their bows, and the black shafted arrows struck the barrier, bouncing off. The slayers looked confused for a few seconds, then almost as one, turned to glare at her. Kicking their mounts, they charged towards her, obviously thinking it would be simpler to kill her, and then slaughter the villagers at their liesure. That was true. "No,no,no,no" she muttered, shrinking her spell to encompass her. The strain was less, but she had no idea how long she could hold the barrier spell. She couldn't call out to Torin either, as he was probably fighting his own amount of wargs and their fierce riders.

 

[Blackwhite1223]

Torin nocked an arrow, waiting patiently for the warg riders to come into optimal range. Six more wargs had joined the original group, effectively doubling their number. To his alarm, half of them veered off to attack the refugees and Elizabeth, who seemed to be casting some sort of spell. The slayers attacking the villagers fired their bows, but their darts were deflected by the protective spell the priestess had cast. The enemy figured it out quickly enough, and sent their wargs barrelling towards the young woman.

He fired his first shot, striking a warg in the side, and causing it to yelp in shock, before collapsing, trapping its' rider beneath it. He'd lessened the attackers facing Elizabeth, but there were still more approaching. Drawing a second arrow, he turned on his heel, spotting the leading warg rider. He fired, striking the slayers mount square between the eyes. The beast tripped and went down, its riders expression changing quickly from bloodlust to fear. He fired another arrow, this one striking a second warg, and killing it, but the third was fast approaching. Too fast for Torin to be able to draw and fire again.

Tossing his bow behind him, where it wouldn't be trampled by the fight, he drew his sword. The third warg launched itself at him, and was unable to reach the ranger, but that didn't stop it from snarling, snapping, and scrabbling at the rock. Its' rider whooped and swing his scimitar, which Torin parried, then stabbed the warg in the neck. The beasts eyes widened in shock, and it collapsed, taking its' cursing rider back down the hill. Torin wasn't too worried about the slayers on foot. They were much more vulnerable to attack without their fierceome mounts than they were mounted.

He glanced over his shoulder to see how Elizabeth fared. Her shield spell held against the numerous attacks, and the attention of the slayers and their wargs, but he knew she wouldn't be able to keep it up forever. A patter of paws caught his attention, and he turned to see a leaping warg. At once, he stepped to the side, slashing open the wargs own side with his sword. The beast, however, wasn't the real threat. Its rider leaned sideways, swiping with its' weapon, catching Torin across the forehead. The wound was shallow, but it bled madly, half blinding the ranger. He took up a defensive stance, though he was unsure how useful he'd be if he could barely see.

 

[Drahkma]

Averain heard the battle long before he came across it. Harsh shouts, the ring of steel on steel, mixed in with cries of fear. He tapped luthers sides with his heels, the horse so in tune with his rider that he needed no further encouragement. Breaking into an easy canter, Luther carried his rider to the field of battle, and Averain drew his sword. He saw a familiar ranger on top of a rocky hill, his bow behind him, his blade out, in a defensive position. There was only one ranger the vampire knight knew that wielded a sword like that. Torin Greenblade.

Nearby, a young woman was surrounded by a group of five wargs and their riders. Judging by the robes, and familiar brown hair, it was none other than Elizabeth. A priestess that Averain had travelled and fought alongside two years prior. Seeing them in danger both concerned and angered the knight, and he sent Luther towards the fray. It did not take long for the enemy to detect the newest arrival. One of the warg riding slayers, wielding a long, broad-headed spear, bellowed a challenged, levelled his weapon, and kicked his mount into a charge. Averain stopped Luther, and awaited the arrival of his opponent.

The slayer thrust with his spear, not at the horse, but at the knight sitting upon him. Averain caught the weapon just under the head, and held tightly. The slayer snarled at him, and attempted to yank his weapon away. Tightening his grip, Averain allowed him to do so. The slayer, obviously expecting resistance, nearly fell off his war. The knight helped along with a sharp push, thursting with the butt of the weapon. Cursing, the slayer toppled off the warg, and Averain whistled sharply to Luther. Neighing fiercely, the horse reared up, and came down again, his hooves crushing the wargs skull.

Meanwhile, the warg-less slayer had gotten back to his feet, and drawn a short, wicked looking, serrated blade. A quick slash from Goldbrand had the creature on the ground, and Averain continued the search for more enemies. Then he saw something that made his blood run cold. A warg was crouching, preparing to spring at Torin. For a moment, the knight wondered how the ranger hadn't noticed it, but then he saw the blood running down the humans' forehead, into his eyes. He was blinded, and the warg was planning on taking full advantage of it.

Urging Luther into a gallop, he flipped the spear, and pulled his arm back, ready to throw. When he judged he was in range, he threw the weapon, and, enhanced as it was by Averains vampiric strength, the shaft buried itself in the wargs side. The beast was thrown to the ground, where it lay perfectly still. After assuring himself that the ranger was safe, or at least as safe as one could be while in the middle of a battle.

 

[TheShadedOne]

Shadari sighed as the slayers charged towards them. She'd hopd to be able to escape the ruins through the canal, but with archers covering that way, it was no longer an option. Not unless she wanted to turn play archery target for the slayers. Which meant Aliah was right. They had to fight their way out. The first slayer hefted a square shield, wooden, with two bands of iron, and rushed the assassin. Against a normal, lightly armoured opponent, the tactic was genius. Against her, it was just suicide. Waiting until the last possible moment, she flattened herself against a building wall, drawing her falchion at the same time.

She slashed the back of his legs, and when he collapsed to his knees, she stabbed the base of his skull, instantly killing him. This hadn't convinced the others to leave her along, however. Another, wielding a sword rushed at her, slicing from the right at an angle that would cut her open from shoulder to hip. With her free hand, she grabbed the slayers weapon arm, pulling him over her back, and using his greater weight, flipping him into the waters of the canal, where he instantly started to sink. A third slayer rushed her, swinging a notched war axe back and forth in a desperate attempt to hit her.

Drawing one of her throwing daggers, she faced off against him, drawing him away from the building side, and closer to the canal. On another swing, the assassin stepped close, intercepting the axe with her falchion, and slipping the dagger into the slayers side. It grunted, eyes widening in surprise, and she shoved him backwards into the water. Others were fighting Aliah, but Shadari didn't want to get involved in her fight. Honestly, she was surprised the Brutes howls hadn't drawn more. Unless there was a bunch of them waiting for the two to reach the main level

 

[Madrar]

Salthar recovered from the battle with the wraith, slowly. He managed to clamber to his feet without too much trouble, and despite feeling disturbingly weak, he was unharmed. He listened intently, seeking any unnatural noise that would indicate to him that he'd missed a few enemies, or that some had heard the detonation at the climax of the magical duel and decided to investigate.

He heard nothing in his immediate vicinity, but in the distance, his keen ears caught the howls of wolves and the noises of battle. He'd heard much of wargs when he'd been defending the Bloodlet Throne, but had yet to see any in the flesh. Deciding to sate his curiosity, and perhaps deny the Blight some victims, he headed out in that direction, pulling the shadows around him as he did so. Creatures such as brutes and gargants were too stupid to know when they should be afraid. Corpsers were brave as long as they outnumbered their 'prey' the wraiths didn't seem to fear anything, and slayers seemed to have the same mindset as their smaller brethren.

He increased his pace as the sound of desperate battle grew louder, and the scent of mortal blood wafted towards him on the breeze. He emerged from a clearing to see a vicious battle taking place, between a trio of guardsmen, and a black haired elven maiden, who wielded a pair of long knives, holding off several wargs, and their riders. He was surprised to realize that he recognized the elf. She'd travelled with Aliah, Salthar and a few others, two years ago.

The Altmer vampire was relieved that at least one of his companions from that time had survived. His relief was short lived, however, when he noticed the warg charging her from behind, its' rider lifting a cruel looking axe for a decapitating blow. "I think not" Salthar said softly, preparing his first spell since the duel. He knew that the beasts both hated and feared fire. His firebolt slammed into the charging warg, literally blowing the slayers mount out from under him . The warg shrieked as its' fur burst into flame, and the slayer crashed into the ground and didn't get up again.

 

[Iceman75]

Deep beneath the surface, Antaures flitted in and out of an uneasy slumber. The Imperial sentinel was quite sure that his camp, which lay deep within the dank bowels of the legendary Labrinthian, was secure. The multitude of traps he had set had better keep it secure.

A distant roar sounded from the entrance. Antaures was on his feet instantly, his enchanted waraxe, "Harvest" in his hand, the steel shimmering in the light of the campfire's embers.

The roar sounded again, closer this time, along with the heavy thuds of monstrous feet, as a slayer came into view, mounted upon his Warg. The slayer let out a bloodcurdling war cry and spurred the Warg into a charge. The Imperial sentinel wasted no time of his own, as he sprinted directly towards the slayer and his beast, leaping over his own tripwires,the polished black leather armor he wore reflected the dull light of the fire as he ran.

The slayer raised its spear above its head and prepared to heave it into Antaures, but he was never there. The Imperial took flight, performing a front flip with a twist, landing behind the slayer on the Warg, his feet sinking into the monsterous Warg's fleshy back, and Harvest sunk directly into the slayer's skull. He kicked the slayer's body off with disdain, slit the throat of the Warg from on top of its back, and stretched as he straightened. "That'll teach me to sleep during this damn apocalypse." he mutters to himself as he sheathes his axe and makes his way to the surface.


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[Baneloth]

Donath arrived at the scene of battle a little after it had started. Refugees from Rorikstead pushed past him, shooting panicked looks over their shoulders. The shorter Nord grumbled in annoyance, shoving back at those that brushed too close. He wasn't about to miss out on a good fight because of a bunch of civilians blocking his way. Once he'd cleared the river of panicked refugees, he saw the combatants.

Three people the Nord warrior hadn't seen in the past two years. The vampire knight, Averain, the Ranger Torin, and the young priestess, Elizabeth. The warrior felt a snarl come to his face, as he watched four wargs and their riders attempt to bring down a type of defensive spell she'd erected. Taking a deep breath, he bellowed, "Oy! Over here ye dumb bastards!" One of the wargs turned to him and snarled, its rider pointing a serrated blade at him.

The warg and its' rider charged towards him, and Donath set his legs shoulders width apart, and lifted his axe up. Once the beast was within range, he swung down, and with a mighty crack, the blade of his axe embedded itself in the wargs skull. The rider, stunned by his mounts sudden death, stared at Donath, who grinned. With a snarl, the beast lunged forwards swinging its sword. The blade struck the hardy Nords armoured shoulder, and bounced off, leaving him unharmed. "Ye'll have t' do better than that, beast" he lunged forwards, grabbed either side of the slayers head, and twisted, snapping his neck.

As the creature slumped, Donath returned to his axe at the head of the beast, where his weapon was embedded deeply into its' skull. Grumbling, the warrior grabbed the haft of the axe and pulled, putting his considerable strength into it. With a wet 'pop' noise, the weapon came loose, and Donath stumbled backwards, caught by surprise. After quickly examining the weapon for damage, he turned back to the battle, searching for more wargs and slayers to introduce to his axe.

 

[WindWalker]

Julius continued on his way, wishing he had a horse, and at the same time almost not. He was tired, sure, but a horse would most likely draw attention to himself, and he'd been fighting for hours before being sent from Helgen. His sword arm was still numb from continually blocking and hacking at the enemy. His shield arm wasn't doing much better. A slayer had slammed a mace down, and broken the shield, and although it didn't feel broken, the arm was bruising painfully.

And now he was without a shield, and he wasn't sure how well he'd do with just his sword for protection. A howl had his glancing up from the ground, to survey his surroundings. The howl had not come from the mouth of any normal wolf. It was too deep, too full of menace to be even close to normal. Which meant "wargs" he muttered to himself. He'd seen the large creatures circling Helgen during the siege.

They couldn't climb the ladders, but their riders had fired arrows at the defending troops while their comrades climbed siege ladders to get up to the walls. Despite not having fought them before, he knew they were dangerous. Before the siege had begun, scouts had gone out, with only few returning, telling tales of large wolf like beasts, ridden by the grey skinned slayers.

On foot, without a shield or spear, Julius wasn't sure how well he'd do against them. Another howl rang out, sllightly farther away, followed by the sounds of battle. The young Imperial froze, hand going to his sword, scanning the trees for any hostiles. Nothing. Or atleast nothing that he could see, but the battle had to be fairly close. Heading towards the trees, he drew his sword. The weapon, like most of Imperial make, was designed to be used alongside a shield, with a unit of fellow legionnaires alongside.

Julius was tired, without a unit or shield, and less than a few seconds to make up his mind. Or so he thought. A snarl behind him told the young soldier that he wasn't the only late comer to the battle. He turned to come face to snout with a warg. The slayer riding it chuckled evilly, obviously anticipating an easy kill. His instinct taking over, he swung his blade, catching the warg across the nose. It yelped in surprise and pain, giving him the time he needed to slash at its' neck. The warg let out a wet sounding gurgle, but its' rider leapt off in time to avoid being trapped, and brandished a large, curving sword at him. It looked like the fight wasn't going to be as simple as he'd hoped.