Private The invasion of the Damned

[death raider]

J'Oran was about to carry on the conversation with the woman, but then there was a shout that they were under attack and J'Oran was absolutely ready for a good fight. J'Oran took out his bow and began to load an arrow and then ran out of the inn ready to kill some zombie scum. J'Oran readieed his bow adrenaline running through his body the zombies were coming ever closer and a zombie had already been killed and Breton was laying dead with large hole punctures through his body. J'Oran pulled back the string on his body and let the arrow fly upon the a zombie and a large howling cry was heard like the creature was in pain.

J'Oran shot another arrow and it hit another zombie in the throat and the zombie fell to the floor, it's black guish blood was littered across the ground.
" Take that zombie scums and I hope you burn in Oblivion!" J'Oran cried out feeling more confident than he ever had before. J'Oran then remembered his friend the female Khajiit who was his best friend who was now dead because of the zombies and J'Oran shore he would avenge her.

J'Oran was now wanting to kill those creatures even more so he sheathed his bow and took out his dagger and ran at them at full speed giving a battle cry. J'Oran got into the thick of things and started to slash and stab towards the creatures, black blood spraying across his body and onto the ground. Soon enough a zombie grabbed hold of him throwing him to the ground.
" Help please, I need help!" J'Oran screamed wanting someone to help, but he didn't expect anyone to come so he waited for the moment he was slaughtered.

 

[Mini Mongo]

All was fine and peaceful, and then suddenly a scream awoke Gerans calmed mind.
Jaygue came running, telling Geran he had been attacked and was committing a patrol, and maybe 2 minutes after that, the small village was under attack.
Geran thought that maybe, just maybe the minor chance of actually going somewhere during this damned invasion would have been unnoticed, and undisturbed, but of course he was totally wrong.
As Geran ran to Jaygue's side he saw a huge horde of Zombie charging forth, so many so that it was almost impossible to tell.
But that wasn't the only bad news, as the huge horde made there way to attack Geran, and the Witcher got ready to attack, not only were they to small a group, but JO'ran, being a fool ran into the group, only to get slammed to the ground.

He was alone, in the middle of a horde of Zombie, he had maybe 1 minute to live, and the Witchers could not get him.
Geran hoped this wasn't the second casualty to behold the group, Arith dead, now J'Oran?
But then, in the corner of the eye Geran caught glimpse of a familiar face.
Unsure of if the person was real Geran took no notice, but curiosity got the better of him as he ran over to the figure.
It was exactly who he thought it was, which in many ways was bad and good.......Bruynzeel.
''What the hell are you doing here Bruynzeel? I thought you moved to Cyrodil? And you haven't aged a day! Anyway that's irrelevant follow me, my friend is in danger, and you're the best person to help.'' Geran said in an incredibly rushed, and somewhat muddled tone.

Without saying a word Bruynzeel followed as Geran and him ran into the horde of Zombies.
This was probably a terrible idea but in the corner of his eye Geran saw Jaygue escorting the group over to the Throat of the World, but Cyrus ran to aid them
The Zombies heavily outnumbered them, perhaps 1-30, it was an insane battle, but if they could get in there quick and get out they would survive.
Unfortunately not all went to plan, just as Geran, Bruynzeel and Cyrus began to make a hole in the ranks of the Infected Cyrus was struck down.
Pushed against the ground the Zombie totally surrounded him, and just before they got him he ran of in the opposite direction, a few Zombie chasing after him.

This left a gap, Bruynzeel and Geran put J'Orans arms around their shoulders as they began to make a desperate attempt to escape to Jaygue.
Geran only hoped that Cyrus would survive, but he wouldn't let his sacrifice be wasted, Geran taking the fall wait of J'Oran putting him over his shoulder ''Defend me Bruynzeel'' Geran shouted as they maintained a much faster speed.
A few Witcher began giving cover fire to the Zombies, and eventually they all lay dead.
Clearly Cyrus had alerted alot of the infected.
Tired Geran placed JO'ran down, he seemed a lot more in the world now, laying down for a moment but getting back up.

Saying nothing Geran looked behind, the Undead gone, and no sight of Cyrus, Geran could only predict the worst.
He turned back to Bruynzeel, still in shock, merely saying a few words ''Just like the old days eh'' a small smile reaching his face as he shacked the Khajiits hands.
''You can join us or not my friend, but I hope you decide to stick around, if so, follow me. We will get better acquainted in a while.'' Geran then turned around and started jogging up the Throat of the World.
''Follow me'' he said to the Guild and survivors, all of them following him.
It had been quite a day for Geran, losing his best friend, losing a man, having a Witcher severely hurt, and another Survivor hurt, along with a very old friend appearing from no where.
Geran was indeed, very confused.

 

[death raider]

J'Oran tries to fight off the zombies, but it's too much and their claws and nashing teeth proofed too much of a challenge. J'Oran fought harder and he began to stab in random places not knowing if he was even hitting his target. J'Oran was blinded and he then heard people getting closer and soon bodis of zombies were falling on top of him, their blood drenching into J'Orans armor.

Next he felt hands on his shoulders and he was lifted away, causing him to regain proper sight and he looked round to see Geran and a new comer lifting him and he was soon in the middle of the village where all the witchers were. He was lifted onto the floor and he suddenly felt a surge of happines run through his body.
" Thank you." J'Oran said taking deep breathes. He looked to where the zombies were and they were now going after another witcher.

J'Oran heard Geran's new orders and he began to get up only with a few injuries from the cuts of his enemies claws. J'Oran sprinted ahead of the group eager to getv up to High Hrothgar hoping that they would have another show down there, but exept him not nearly getting killed.

 

[Bruynzeel]

Bruynzeel had again stepped away from the world, becomeing a hermit again for a few years to quiet his heart and lessen his worries of the changing world. But here in this little hide-a-way cave, he knew life was still marching on and for some reason his heart knew something had gone wrong recently. Then the smell of decay and death had started to waft into his cave. The sickly sweet smells over powering everything else til the question they brought up in his mind was overwelming. Why? The amount of death needed to bring that smell here was on level to almost wipe Skyrim of every living soul.

Bruynzeel feeling a great dread dons his strongest armor. A custom leather set covering just about every inch of him in a demonic looking visage. Designed for two things to deflect blows and to instill fear in his enemies. His katana sharp and ready, his bow prepared a stock of arrows in his quiver. he ascends to the surface and opens the claw gate that had sealed him in with the dauger, and their pretender lord. The smell of decay even stronger now and the sound of many shuffling feet greet his emergence. He exits the ruin just to the north of Ivarstead and witnesses a army of... is that a undead army? How is this possible. Daedric influence surely. There were no others who would dare. No necromancers were this powerful. The undead started to scream and a swarm followed He couldn't see from his vantage what they were attacking but he knew it had to be worth defending if the undead wanted it. A scream for help reached his ears. He quickly centered himself and let his muscles take control in a dance of blade and steel of parry and thrust, he entered the fray trying to reach the surrounded and in need figure. In the heat of this frenzy his mind senses more to his left and he takes the smallest moment to look. Geran and a small group of weary but hardened warriors stood a small ways off. he made his way in the their directions while still battling the undead troupe.

When Bruynzeel had gotten close enough for Geran to notice him he heard from him. ''What the hell are you doing here Bruynzeel? I thought you moved to Cyrodil? And you haven't aged a day! Anyway that's irrelevant follow me, my friend is in danger, and you're the best person to help.'' Bruynzeel remained quiet for two reasons he had a mouth piece in to protect his teeth. And he and Geran hadn't exactly parted on the best of terms. The two of them wade into the zombie horde and it falls to their blades. They save the man who had been surrounded. At first they both try to help him but Bruynzeels limp wouldn't allow him to carry the man. Geran instead takes the full weight of the man and Bruynzeel turns and continues to defend their escape with his sword as they all fall back eventually with his sword and the arrows from the group the horde falls.

Geran after the heat of battle walks over and shakes Bruynzeels hand saying ''Just like the old days eh'...''You can join us or not my friend, but I hope you decide to stick around, if so, follow me. We will get better acquainted in a while.'' Bruynzeel still wary the sense of danger not completely faded decides that just yet is not the time to remove his helmet, and as its been a long while since he even talked to anyone, he thought he should wait until they were secure.

 

[MissingOne123]

Ambrosia sat up as the man walked into her darkened room. She narrowed her eyes and stared at him, listening as he stuttered as he struggled to strike up a conversation. Throwing her legs over the side of the mattress, the elf crossed her arms, her lips pressed into a thin line, daring him to continue. Walking into a woman's room in the middle of the night, she thought sourly. Did this man have no common sense?

Shaking her head, Ambrosia opened her mouth to suggest the recruit run along now, but her words were cut short by someone's frantic shouts. Furrowing her brows, the woman shoved past J'Oran and stepped out into the common room, her arms already raised with flames lapping at her palms.

She watched as the guild filed out the door, brandishing their weapons as they marched into battle. She stood in shock for heartbeat, then turned on her heel. She rushed into her room again, nearly running smack into J'Oran as he charged off after the guild. Gritting her teeth, Ambrosia ignored the encounter and hurried to grab her sword. She gripped it by the handle, hoisting the blade into the air. She flexed her fingers, adjusting her grip before straightening her back.

Sucking in a deep breath through her lips, the flames in her free hand grew. The bright light swarmed around her hand, swirling and building up power. Her armor was no where to be found, and going into the horde of undead was suicide without any sort of protection. It took a moment, but soon the room was illuminated in a bright light, a starburst of fire engulfing the young elf.

The cloak was warm and welcoming, flames dancing across her arms. It was a familiar feeling, almost, despite never having achieved the high level spell. Already she felt drained, and the armor of fire was dying. No time to waste, she told herself as she followed the last few members out of the inn.

The scene before her was shocking to say the least. The smell of death and sickness was heavy in the air, choking her senses. Already bodies lay abandoned and lifeless- Some zombies, and others with vaguely familiar faces. The guild was outnumbered, the forces of the undead quickly gaining the upper hand. Instinctively, Ambrosia took a small step back, her mind reeling as she tried to come up with some sort of battle plan. Strategizing.

While her mind was busy, Ambrosia didn't notice the pack of zombies sneak up behind her. 3 animated corpses stood behind her, hissing and growling under their breaths. Their movement was laggard, but what they lacked in agility they made up in their lethal teeth and claws. One of them reached out to seize her by the shoulder; To yank her back and sink their poison-filled fangs into her flesh or maybe snap her neck.

As soon as she felt the hand on her shoulder, Ambrosia whirled around. Her good eye widened in surprise when she saw her attacker clutching its charred hand, screeching and spitting. It's 2 comrades looked equally dumbfounded. Before any of them could regain their senses and remember their mission, Ambrosia raised her sword. She lashed out with her arm, hacking through the neck of one of the undead. It's head fell off it's shoulders, tar-like blood spewing from it's neck for a split second before it crumpled to the ground.

Snapping her head back up to the remaining two, Ambrosia didn't hesitate before swinging again. She struck one of their arms, and another in it's discolored thigh, maiming them just enough to send them stumbling backwards. Snarling feral, she reached out and grabbed the one who'd tried to grab her by it's shoulder. With great effort, she pushed the monster to it's knees and brought of her knee. She burned it's neck before slamming her blade into it's back. The thing fell forward with one last animal-like, gargled scream, squirmed and twitched and then finally fell limp.

Breathing heavy, Ambrosia pulled the sword from the corpse and turned towards the last remaining zombie. Her cloak had died out, taking her energy to summon another spell along with it. This left her with only her sword to defend herself with, which didn't do much help when the zombie lunged forward and racked his claws down her right forearm.

Biting back a yelp, Ambrosia leaped back, thrusting out her sword and piercing the zombie through the chest. It, too, let out an unearthly wail before sinking to the ground along with it's 2 friends. With a shaky breath, she pulled her blade back and slowly turned around.

The battle seemed to be over- Bodies of each group laying dead. Those of the guild who did survive looked exhausted and maimed. Or, what she could tell through the black dots that obstructed her vision. As time went by, the pain in her arm only grew, scarlet blood dripping down her pale skin.

With measured steps, Ambrosia managed to make her way to where the guild had gathered, about to start the treck to the throat of the world. It took her last ounce of energy to slap her hand over her wound, weak restoration magic coursing through her arm as she slowly followed everyone.

 

[Bruynzeel]

Bruynzeel followed slightly to the rear of the group. His limp and a questioning mind making him slow... unsure as to if he should follow or make his own way. What if he just returned to his meditations and continued his hermitage? Would the world care, would it be better or worse? He didn't know.

Then a young mage stepped into view. Her arm harrassed by a new bloody wound. She must be spent as her merger attempt at self healing was failing. Bruynzeel unbuckles his helmet and shakes out his tigerlike features as he approaches he says "Mind if I try to help?" Some of his social skills lost in the time away from others he doesn't even introduce himself, And he doesn't wait he starts mumbling a heal other spell under his breath in the original akaviri language. And puts his paw over her hand on top of the wound. He feels the pain move from her to him and her wounds start closing up stitching itself together and halting its flow.

A few mere moments pass and he satisfied of her repair stumbles and limps away pulling his precious music box out and giving it a wind and starts feeling better.

 

[Mini Mongo]

The Guild continued to traverse the Throat of the World, it truly was a pilgrimage, each step dangerous, risking your very life, the ice and snow making you sleep and freeze.
Not only that, but they had to get up 7000 steps, with the chance of being attacked, and with night being in play now, Geran seemed to expect higher infected activity.
All that was on Gerans mind was getting to the Scholar, he could save Sal-Dus from the mighty infection that plagued him, that's all he cared about, and he wasn't going to give up on his Witcher.
Geran then looked behind among the tired ranks of the Witchers and survivors, noticing the missing faces, the biggest one being Cyrus.
Geran was a tough and strong man, but Cyrus had been with him since childhood, being without him wasn't right, he was like family to Geran, and knowing that he was gone was near impossible.

Not only did Geran notice the missing faces, and the new ones like Bruynzeel, which Geran couldn't get his head over, but he also notice the rash amount of bleeding from Ambrosia's arm.
It appeared she had been lucky enough not to be infected, which showed that either Ambrosia had been clumsy, Magic users had a defined resistant, or that the chances of actually being affected by the plague was 50-50.
Either way the blood worried Geran, and just as he was going to call a halt he saw a strange site.
Bruynzeel walked towards the women, placing his paw over the wound he began to mutter a few words that appeared a foreign tongue, Geran could not tell.
But either way, the gushing wound slowly stopped bleeding until fully healed, and Geran could only thank Bruynzeel.

Unfortunately, due to their, somewhat bad karma when Bruynzeel left Skyrim, Geran said nothing and remained stubborn and silent, in truth he was happy to see Bruynzeel again, but he didn't want to seem weak, and even though they had been good friends, he retained the hate that he had when he last saw Bruynzeel.
Geran secretly hoped that Bruynzeel would approach Geran and they could let the past be the past, but he wouldn't do so, and Bruynzeel probably already knew this.

As the group continued on they began to get closer and closer to High Hrothgar, the Headquarters of the powerful Greybeards.
The only thing that started to trouble Geran is what if the speaker Arngeir had died, but he dismissed it as he realised that the power of the voice is so strong that even a greybeard speaking echoes throughout Skyrim, so it was doubtful they had even been bothered by the undead menace.
Besides, ever since the Dragonborn defeating Alduin, everyone knew of the Dragon that secretly led the Greybeards.
Of course like all Nords Geran thought it stupid for such evil to be trusted, but nevermind.
''We are nearly there'' Geran said as they continued forth.

 

[MissingOne123]

Ambrosia winced as they hiked up the enormous hill, clutching her wound still. Despite the pain, she still managed to be thankful that it wasn't worse. She could have been infected, or killed on the spot, but instead she got out with just a rather nasty gash.


Her feeble attempts at healing herself didn't do much more than stop the wound from oozing fatal amounts of blood, but as time went on the magic weakened and soon the scarlet was seeping through her fingers again. Quietly, Ambrosia's eyes searched for anything she could use as a bandage of sorts. In her search she found a largely build feline man. She watched silently as he unbuckled his helmet and paused in his steps, his own cat-like eyes meeting hers.

"Mind if I try to help?" He offered, putting out a clawed hand. She hesitated, arching a brow at him questionably. She searched her memory for anything on this stranger, but came up with nothing. He didn't seem to be an official member of the guild- Not one she recognized, anyways. Maybe a survivor, she mumbled under her breath.

Before she could even muster a reply the Khajiit had placed his paw over her hand. She gasped, cringing inwardly at the pressure. "Hey-!" She started, about to pull away. He hadn't even given a name or waited for an answer.

Clenching her jaw, Ambrosia tensed up and had intended to pull herself away when Brunynzell breathed out a spell, a faint light forming between their hands. The pain dulled into a sting, and then to an ache. She felt the wound close with a tickle-ish feeling- A sensation that became familiar and gladly welcomed when battle wounds were a common occurrence. Once her wound had healed to a long, pain-less pink scar running down the length of her arm, the Khajiit man pulled away and gave a small nod before turning and taking his leave.

Glancing at her arm, Ambrosia gingerly took hold of the former injury. A pretty good job. "Thanks." She mumbled begrudgingly. Rolling her shoulders and flexing her hands, the elf shifted her focus from her arm to the guild and realized she'd been lagging behind.

With a grunt, Ambrosia picked up her pace to catch up. She shot a look at Brunynzell as he pulled out a music box and began to play. An odd man, she observed with a slight shake of her head.

Shouldering her way through, Ambrosia soon came up to stand near the head of the guild. They continued up the stairs, bracing themselves against the cold and the snow. It wasn't long before Geran could be heard, shouting over the wind. "Almost there!" He announced, which was quickly followed by a collective sigh of relief.

Ambrosia squinted, barely able to make out the faint shape of High Hrothgar. Soon, they'd be standing in front of the great building that all their hope had been resting on.

 

[lbrasz44]

"You have got to be kidding me."

Thorral looked up from his spot next to Sal-Dus, only to see another horde of undead coming, looking to kill. Just when he thought that they were in the clear, they had to get attacked. Withdrawing his greatsword, Thorral observed and knew they would not hold their position for long as they were all outnumbered greatly.

Turning towards his guild members, he only managed to witness the death of one of their own, a wood elf, and a Khajiit getting surrounded. The guild is dispersed in a time where they need to be at one place, but Thorral cannot move himself as it would leave Sal-Dus, the infected witcher, unguarded.

"Well pl*ps." breathed Thorral. Usually he relished in fights, but being outnumbered like this isn't something Thorral was used to. Ducking an undead's swipe, he kicked the corpse down and stabbed it. Immediately, Thorral pulled his greatsword out high, and brought it down to the trapezius of another, and kicked the body off.

A minute later, Thorral knew he is getting overpowered. The undead keep coming unrelentlessly, and Thorral cannot defend himself and Sal-Dus forever. This was when he heard Geran shout to make a break for High Hrothgar. Looking for a way to get himself out, Thorral noticed a thin tree next to him, hanging loose due to the trunk being splintered and almost snapped. Taking care of a couple more undead, Thorral made his way to the tree and kicked as hard as he could to bring it down, causing it to fall between houses and block the undead's most direct route to him. With this opportunity, Thorral quickly picked up Sal-Dus and ran towards the other guild members, retreating and making their way up the steps.

Observing the group, Thorral saw that two were gone. One he saw died, and the other was Cyrus. Knowing whether Cyrus is alive or not, Thorral could not say, nor the others. The Khajiit that was in the group managed to survive however. Seeing the group, there were new faces as well; another person who actually seemed to be good friends with Geran. He also managed to be a healer, tending to the injured members of the guild.

Continuing forward, it seems that they managed to escape the horde back at the village, but it won't be for long. In fact there is nothing beyond High Hrothgar, and there are no other routes back than the one they are taking.

Bracing his eyes to shield from the wind and snow, shifting around to make carrying Sal-Dus on his shoulder all the more comfortable, Thorral looked up the steps that leads them to their goal. We're gonna need all the help we can get.

 

[Bruynzeel]

Bruynzeel had learned all too well his true nature a few years back. The music box and its secret somewhat revealed its self to him. He knew his long life had been a side effect of something and as only he and his brother had these matching boxes. He had suspected it was the box. The only thing he knew for certain was that it healed his wounds, and when he used his magics to pulls others pain into his own it would heal that. All he had to do was keep it safe and wound. Its soothing song always seemed to play as a echo in his head. Geran had tried to take the box away and Bruynzeel had surprised himself with his response. Lashing out like a feral cat. When he had realized his mistake he fled. Entering the hermitage to save those around him from his rage. Could Geran forgive him, it seemed like was his nature... He saw Bruynzeel as a potent tool in this fight. But no more than that, he'd be thrown away as soon as he was of no use.

Bruynzeel shakes his head and says under his breath and to himself. "Bru, you need to lighten up. Your fears are what bind you."

"Almost there." he hears looking up he can just see through the wind blow gusts of snow and cloud the outlines of High Hrothgar the home of those contemptible priests of the Way of the Voice. Dragonborn, dragonborn, dragonborn. Like the messiah, some mythical savior and yet there were no dragons anymore save one. His own knowledge of the dragon language had yielded him nothing except a couple of conversations with Parthenax. And the anger of his Blade compatriots.

 

[meben15]

As the hoard swarmed towards them Jaygue retreated with the others across the river. In the heat of combat he noticed Geran, the Khajiit J'Oran, and some other unknown Khajiit battling their way towards the main group of Witchers. Jaygue tried to make a path for them, sending out bursts of fire into the zombies all around him as his blade flashed through the air in constant defense, slashing through the decayed limbs grasping at his arms. He received several stab wounds and gouges in his flesh were the undead claws found weak points in his armor, and several nasty bruises from pure bludgeoning fists, but he could still stand and that was all that counted

The group, including Geran and the two Khajiiti, waded safely across the river and were able to run forward up the path to High Hrothgar. When they had gotten far enough away from the hoarde the group slowed back down to a walking pace, and Jaygue realized for the first time Arith was not the only one missing from their ranks. Cyrus was also gone. He felt a pang of anger and sadness at this loss, even though he had never found the cheerful redguards jokes funny he had respected the man, and he was a good person to have at your back in a fight. Looking back the way they had came Jaygue whispered into the wind, "Meridia guide you, Cyrus. Wether you be alive or dead."

As they proceeded Jaygue went back to walking next to Thorral, who was now carrying Sal-Dus. The Breton man did not attempt to reclaim his burden, he was to tired to walk up the steep slope, channel constant healing energy, and cary the armored man as well. If he tried he would likely kill himself, and that would not benefit any of his comrades.

They walked for hours on end, through the night. As they trudged along Jaygue cast a glance at the new member of their party, the Khajiit. He seemed a strange one indeed, yet Geran acted as if he knew the man. Quickening his pace he moved up beside the Guild Master just as he stated they were almost there. Indeed the group had crossed over into the much much colder western side of the mountain, and bitter northern winds now blew in their faces. Shielding his eyes from the cold Jaygue looked over to Geran and asked, "Who is the Khajiit?"

 

[Mini Mongo]

The walk was becoming very tiring, and it was a beautiful site to know that they were nearly at High Hrothgar.
They had been fortunate enough not to encounter any infected on their way, but Geran had gathered that the clumsy, slow and loud Zombie had probably fell to their death, or severely damaged their body.
What the infected could physically take was mind boggling, only if their brain was damaged could the men and women of Skyrim kill such a foul beast, and of course this had been learnt to late.
Geran then noticed Jaygue carrying Sal-Dus, unlike before when Thorral had, he quickened his pace and got besides Geran before asking ''Who is the khajiit''

At first Geran was unsure on how to reply.
A dangerous man, half possessed by a music box who had nearly killed Geran for trying to take it away from him, or simply to reply with ''An old friend''
That was all he would say to Jaygue about Bruynzeel for now, he would keep the name quiet for either Bruynzeel to reveal, or for it to remain a hidden name in the ranks.
''Know this Jaygue, the man is a good team-mate, but leave him be, he is better alone. That is a order'' Geran added at the end, he didn't want any bloodshed in the ranks, and although Geran would have faith in Jaygue besting Bruynzeel, it was probably a foolish decision, they were both killers.

The cold air had began to reach even lower level as they trudged up the vicious mountain, it was tiring and cold, and the cold breeze that was but a small little breeze in the wind had erupted to a storm of some kind.
Although Geran understood why it was needed for the Greybeards to be so high up, due to solitary confinement, and a Dragon Guildmaster, but he had always asked, why make it so far up?
All the Guild needed was a bed, and up here, it wasn't a option to stop moving, people were already suffering from the sheer cold, to stop for the night would only add more deaths, and Geran conscious couldn't take it.

Geran raised his hand in the air to signal everyone to stop and crouch.
A strange roar echoed in the air, and Geran couldn't tell whether it was an infected, or a normal creature, like a frost troll.
Geran scouted the postion, he started slowly sneaking towards the sound until he could here the grunts right next to him.
Geran peeked around, the Zombie did not react and was facing the other direction.
Whatever it was, it was otherworldly, a huge frame, somewhat fat but looked far stronger than the average Zombies Geran had encountered.

It let out several grunts, and Geran mustered a idea, it was risky, but due to hints on the body it would work.
You see it appeared that where the Zombies ears had been, there was nothing, as if the creature was completely deaf, this could have been down to infection, but Geran would test this.
He picked up a stone threw it ahead of the Zombies, and as it swished past the eyes of the creature it walked over, staring at the stone in some kind of confusion.
Time for test two.

Geran picked up another stone, this time he threw it directly behind the Zombie, and as it landed it made a loud noise, and yet, no reaction to Zombies.
Perhaps this Zombie was dead, and by it's structure very strong, if the Guild could sneak past it they would be safe, but no, this was the only way, and with the amount of them, to easy to spot.
Geran now knew that he could contact the Witchers and survivors with ease.
But still, he did not risk setting of other Zombies that could hear him, and let out the order for everyone to move up.

The sound of the weapons and people moving may the Zombie not budge, and still stared down.
Jaygue made it to his side, and Geran could contact him now ''The Zombies deaf, but eyes work, we're gonna take it down if we can't sneak past.''
The Witchers and survivors began to follow Gerans lead, they used a side path to sneak past the Zombie, but just as they thought they had been victors, the Bruiser entered the end of the side path, staring at Geran.
''Attack!'' Geran shouted as he unsheathed his greatsword, running to the Zombie he jumped, bringing his heavy greatsword down on the Zombie, but it only just penetrated the skin, and when Geran pulled out his greatsword, the Zombies mighty hand smacked him back into some ice.

His back was in pain, and yet the rest of the group continued to attack the Zombie, Geran guess, of the Zombie being incredibly strong, was indeed correct.
''All of you, aim for the head, he kill this thing, or die!'' Geran shouted to the men and women.
He got back up to his feet, studying his surroundings, no one would die from falling, both side were covered by ice, but the hits would hurt the everyone.
He picked back up his greatsword, and prepared himself for another charge.

 

[Bruynzeel]

Bruynzeel pulls his bow, holds his breath, time slowing to the merest crawl, while pulling an arrow from his quiver. Nocking it he pulls back to his chest and releases.

The arrow flies just over the heads of his new companions narrowly missing Geran and a few of the others but its mark is true and it embeds itself to the fletching in the zombies head. The dang thing still turned around to look at the troupe of warriors headed for it. Bruynzeel nocks and releases another. It buries itself in the eye of the giant creature. Taking a step it falls forward and is still. Bruynzeel releases his breath and time returns to normal. He puts away his bow and steps forward toward the creature.

Retrieving his arrows his only thought. As he retrieves them and starts back toward the rest. The creature stands and strikes out. Knocking Bruynzeel head long into the group. His already wasted leg burns in agony. As he tries to stand he is dropped to the ground in pain.

 

[MissingOne123]

Ambrosia skidded to a stop as the guild came to a halt, Geran peering through the thick snow and making vague gestures towards a darkened figure standing a ways away. She watched with tense muscles as he stepped forward, wielding his sword and attacking with all his might. The zombie swept out its arm and tossed him aside, letting out a savage snarl as it did so. The man didn't seen to be hurt though, seeing as he was on his feet again in a matter of minutes. He picked up his sword again and lurched forward, shouting for the guild to follow.

As a handful of members followed in his lead, Ambrosia darted to the side, taking cover behind a crooked, leafless tree. She drew her arms up, putting her hands together and focusing energy through her fingertips until an orb of flames formed in her palms. She put one foot back and squinted into the distance, struggling to see through the snow with her lack of depth perception.

By the time she'd managed to get a good shot, the beast had already fallen forward and went limp, an arrow sticking out of its eye. Cursing, Ambrosia doused the flames and brushed her palms off on her robes. Shaking her head, the elf walked the distance to regroup with the rest.

As she walked, she kept her eyes on the monster. It was too big to be a human, but didn't seem to be anything recognizable. As she drew closer, she noticed the way one of it's legs seemed to twitch. She didn't think anything of it at first- It always took awhile for things to go completely motionless. Though, when the thing rose back up her heart stopped.

She froze for just a split second before instinct took over. Her hands moved to find her sword, drawing it bravely and holding the blade out in front of her. It threw it's arms again, thrashing and scoring a hit to a familiar form. She watched as Bruynzeel went flying forward with a groan of agony, falling to his knees with visible pain. He struggles to stand again before falling over, clutching his leg.

Gritting her teeth, Ambrosia turned her attention back to the beast. It lumbered forward, lashing out at her. Jumping back, she threw up her blade and deflected the blow, pushing it's arms out of the way before lunging forward herself, piercing the tip of the sword through it's chest. It gave a mighty growl, clawing at the injury as she pulled the weapon back, but only succeeded in making it worse.

Before it could move to attack again, Ambrosia struck once more. She smashed the flat edge against it's shoulder, forcing it to it's knees. In a flurry of movement, she swung her arm again, slitting it's throat. Black sludge spewed from the wounds, oozing down it's body and staining the snow. She shuddered at the sight, taking a step back from the zombie as it's life trickled away.

 

[Mini Mongo]

The beast had been conquered, with all the furious attacks the Guild had thrown at it Ambrosia manged to finish the foul creature of, forcing it to it's knees and slicing it's throat. The creatures black, dark and plagued blood splatted across the Snow and a few of the members. It was a disgusting site, the plagued blood seemed almost slimy, and lay across the wight ground.

The creature fell forward into the snow, it's face pummeling down, a few twitches got the Guild members, taking a few steps back to see of the creature would stand once more, but it did not make a effort, it lay there, still and lifeless.
''Good job'' Geran said to the Guild as he looked around, making sure no other disgusting undead creatures would make an attempt on his life. Unfortunately Bruynzeel looked hurt by the attack of the undead, he limped, but more than usual, and although he was good at hiding pain, he could not hide it from Geran.

He walked to Khajiit, aiding him to walk as he put his arm around his neck to give him support. They carried on walking, making their way to High Hrothgar, but everyone was now far more tired or injured, the battle had severely damaged morale, and was forcing everyone to their limits, their bodies wanting to fall to the ground, but their mind fighting it with best attempt. Though Geran hated to admit it, and was for sure a very strong man he he had begun to get tired, his muscles ached and he felt completely weighed down, if the Guild and the survivors were to make it, they'd best hurry up.

Geran continued to help Bruynzeel walk until finally High Hrothgar lay in sight, he seated the man down and stared at the sight, looking behind him to see everyone else doing the same thing. He was a proud Nord, and to be following the foot steps of some of the greatest Nord heroes of Skyrim was a proud moment. He flexed his muscles and clicked his bones, attempting to make himself feel less weighed down and achy.

Though it was a happy sight to see High Hrothgar the peoples comments made earlier on their way to Invarstead had begun to ring in his head, but how, they couldn't of died, they were perhaps the most powerful men in all of Skyrim, maybe even Tamriel. The building reminded him of the Guild, the beautiful architecture from outside almost mimicked that of the Witchers H.Q, it was stunning, and the mere thought of it began to get Geran tired, to know that they had a place to sleep was wonderful. But Gerans mind soon got caught up on worries, what if the Guild had been taken over? There was perhaps 35 people left at the Guild, and if they had been attacked and taken over, Geran welcoming home sure wouldn't be a nice one.

This behavior was his normal, he cared not for the lives that could of died, but for the current ones he had, and as much as he somewhat cared for them, he would not hesitate to kill any one of them should they be infected, or should insanity take their minds. And most of the time, it was difficult telling the difference between mastery, or pure dread and cruelty.

 

[death raider]

J'Oran felt the harsh cold wind on his fur on the Guilds way up to High Hrothgar, it was truly horrible and the snow was nearly blinding him as the snow blew into his face. J'Oran walked infront of the group, but soon falling behind as he had never gone up to High Hrothgar before and he swore he would never gon up there again if he died, which would be quite likely as he hated the cold and he prefered to be in Elsweyr his homeland which was a lot warmer and exotic.

J'Oran was soon aching all over and he walked with small slow steps because of the pain. J'Oran was soon nearly falling to his knees in pain. J'Oran pushed on still in agony and he didn't see why they were going all this way just for one man, when one man had already died and it was likely more would follow.

Soon the guild master Geran had seen a creature, a zombie, but it looked stronger then the others and it was disgusting and truly horrific to look at. The guild's first approach was to try and sneak past the creature as it was supossidly deaf. Though the creature mustn't have been that stupid as it attacked the group and it managed to throw some guild members out of the way and onto the icy ground.

J'Oran managed to shoot the zombie in the arm, once, with his arrow and the zombie seemed to take no notice. It was soon impaled by arrows and the woman he tried to make conversation with managed to get it onto the ground and then slit it's throat. J'Oran admired the strength and determination of the guild and felt proud to be a part of them.

Soon they reached High Hrothgar and J'Oran was so tired he felt like fallling into the snow, but he decided thatb he would just get more snow onto him and increase the coldness of his body. J'Oran walked on nearly to the great doors which he admired greatly with the greatness of the architecture.

 

[Bruynzeel]

"Geran, I will be fine." Bruynzeel says but thinking the opposite. "Just let me reach my music box and have a few minutes rest."

Sighing with each step he wasn't very convincing.

He whispers so that only Geran can hear. "I know and you know. I would be nothing without that accursed box. I want you to know I regret my actions those years ago. I would never have attacked you like that if it hadn't been for the boxes influence. I know things are strained right now between us. But I want to return to the friendship we had. But first I need to understand what we are fighting. What has happened to these people and creatures?"

 

[Mini Mongo]

Geran walked back to Bruynzeel, again aiding him on the final few steps before they were in the warm again.
Bruynzeel began to speak, at first saying he was fine, but nevertheless Geran carried on aiding his old friend, apart from Cyrus, Bruynzeel was the only true friend Geran had had for years, they had stuck together during hard times, but how they left wasn't exactly the nicest of terms.

Bruynzeel spoke the truth, but Geran said nothing, luckily the Khajiit continued to talk.
''A few nights past, one day before the virus started in Whiterun, me and my Guild, the Witchers were on a contract. Our contract was simple, investigate a simple murder in a manor house, of course it did not go to plan. We investigated the house, we found a few dead bodies, they looked like the infected, but completely mauled and rendered useless. Eventually we came into combat with the undead, and we found a child devouring his mother, of course infected. It was a bloody sight, and I made the worst mistake of my life. I said we should keep the creature, and so, my loyal Guild did so, we took it to the Jarl of Whiterun for safekeeping, and yesterday morning I woke up seeing flames.'' Geran went silent for a moment, he was unsure on how to explain, so much had happened in such a short amount of time.

''Eventually we arrived, and well, we came into contact with the undead, we found a couple of survivors'' Geran says pointing to the survivors found in Whiterun ''And we found no sight of the Jarl, we were attacked by the undead, our horses killed, and a Witcher infected. We now need him cured, I am not having any more deaths on my name, and as cold hearted as I know I can be, I'm no fool.''

Geran then stopped again, he aided Geran up the stairs of High Hrothgar, seating Bruynzeel down on a step.
''Stay here, call for backup if anything moves, when you're ready, rejoin us in the hall'' Geran said to his old friend, still somewhat dreaded by the decision that had changed the world, literally.
''Come on people, get ready, we don't know what lies behind these doors.''

Geran then unsheathed his great curved Greatsword, it truly shined now, it seemed as if it was the only light, if it could be considered light, in the entire world. Geran felt incredibly weighed down, not physically, but mentally, his mind struggled with handling everything, and even for this man, it was nigh impossible.
Geran slowly walked to the door on the left of the fortress, Jaygue taking the right, the men shook their heads and charged into the middle of the hall. Nothing.

Geran scanned the room, pointing out areas for the Guild and survivors to search, they needed to clear the area and find the Greybeards.
Geran went to the Courtyard, ordering the survivor J'Oran and Ambrosia to follow him, letting everyone else do what they needed to. Jaygue took the left side, and Edwyn the right as Geran continued to the courtyard. He opened the doors, but nothing, just the cold fresh air brushing against their face ''Look around for any signs of struggle'' Geran told Ambrosia and J'Oran, he could only think the worst.

Geran looked around, he saw nothing, no blood, red or tainted black, it was clear that nothing had happened in the courtyard. Of course he let J'Oran and Ambrosia look around to, they checked every corner but Geran was drawn in by only one thing. A barrier. It was like a vortex, it looked dangerous, able to rip someones hand off if they dare even put their hand beyond the barrier. Geran stood in awe at the mystical magic, it was perhaps the only beautiful thing Geran had seen for a while. ''Why does this plague haunt our world....'' Geran said to himself, mummbling as he stood staring at the barrier.

 

[Skyrimosity]

After all the fighting, all the walking, all the fear, all the horrible sights and sounds of a nearly dead Skyrim, they had reached High Hrothgar. There was a sense of accomplishment, though little, that could be seen in the eyes of some of the men.

Edwyn and Jaygue had been carefully walking alongside Geran through High Hrothgar, investigating the rooms and courtyard. Nothing was found of the Graybeards or Damned. No blood no nothing. It was very mysterious yet to a certain extent it held an aura of protectiveness in and of itself.

As the three men reached the barrier, a massive and unexplained gusting of wind and snow, it was realized just how beautiful the barrier was. Geran mumbled a little something of to himself and Edwyn didn't quite hear it. Edwyn decided to say what he was thinking. "Geran, I believe the Graybeards must have used some of their Dragon Magic to pierce the barrier and proceed further up the mountain to guarantee their own safety. If that is true, there is no way we could get through to them. That is, unless one of us is the Dovahkiin. Perhaps we should try to signal them?"

(rather short I apologize.)

 

[Bruynzeel]

Bruynzeel still wary of the zombies, but needing to heal. Let the others continue into the greybeards refuge. He had studied under them many many decades ago and knew the words but his power was forced not natural like the dragon born or the fabled Dovakiin.

But that was unimportant his injuries and dealing with a undead breakout. Those were the important things right now. He centered his mind and put his legs into the lotus position his ailing one screaming in pain as he did so. Whincing he reminded himself it would all go away in just a short while.

Pulling the ancient music box from his pack. Winding it up, he lifts the delicate lid. The intricate and sublime tune starts up and his pain fades as the notes play. The entire tune plays, He feels decades younger and his leg feels better. Much better almost like the day before he injured it those era's ago. He will still have the limp the box couldn't actually heal him past the point when it came to his possession.

​

In the long years he had owned the music box he had researched its tune. The search had actually been the spark he had used to become a bard. The song was unique but it had a legend to it. Some of it was tied to him and like looking in a mirror he was often faced in his research with stories of himself. But the older stories told of a song called the Llano (Yan-o) The song of life. This is where he thinks the healing and ageless powers come from. He also knew from the outburst against Geran and looking back against a few of his other companions dating to his distant past that the box demanded protection. Along with its care, and winding it demanded to be kept safe. ​