Just perfect, five men after Virk. They were climbing the building as Virk tried to rationalize. He had almost died due to a loose tile, which meant his only advatage was knowing the danger of the roof. With his shiv, he loosened all the tiles he could before the five blades arrived, and then he backed to the opposite edge of theirs. "Surrender now, imperial. We won't hurt you." Without a word from his side, Virk raised his hands, simulating his surrender causing the men to smirk. One of them stepped forward. "That was easy..." Two steps after those words, the tiles had slid beneath his feet and made him fall from the giant building. In response to the dasterdly trap, one got out his bow and aimed at Virk, who gracefully spread his legs and made the arrow fly above his head. One thing he didn't think about: His own tiles were loose as well, and he failed to get his legs back together without falling to a lower roof with a steely clank from the stunt. THERE was the pain on his back again. Lying on the ground, he opened his eyes and found the blades carefully treading to the edge of the higher top, already unsheathing their bows. As soon as they arrived, they fired in uncompassed moves all the arrows they could to Virk's non deadly spots, like the stomach, arms or legs. To dodge them while on the ground, the madman began doing an awkward breakdance for his life on the roof, avoiding arrows ridiculously. That padron proceeded for a while, until finally, all the four archers had to reload at the same time, and allowed Virk to roll and perform a kick-up to get back on his feet. "I'm sick of this!" The largest of the four jumped to Virk's level and unsheathed his sword and shield. On a furious slashing movement he made Virk back up, probably with the anger caused by the time Virk had made them waste. Before he had lost the hope and surrendered, he spotted one of the archers trying to aim at him, so he illuded him and exposed himself from behind the behemoth of the man. The string was soon released and the arrow flew straight to Virk. Or would have if he didn't pull the warrior to use him as a meat shield. An arrow well placed on his neck was enough to take down the fighter. But now the other three remaining had jumped to the roof where the madman was. Virk, in despair while having already lost a lot of energy with acrobatics, began throwing shivs at them. No use. Their shields were deflecting all the incoming steel. When they got close enough, he got ready for melee fighting. With their shields again, they began torturing Virk through bashings, making him fall back again, an begin bleeding from his nose and lower lip. With no other choice, he stunted to the streets of Markarth, falling with a stylish roll which raised some dust of his clothes. Before he regained his awareness of where he was, he found himself just in front of a fearsome Briar Heart. "Virk's not a Bla..." The breton striked regardless of his words and forced Virk to try to flee to the opposite direction, but the remaining three men caught up with him soon enough. The Briar Heart ran whilst a strike towards him, but he dodged a placed his foot in front of his steps, to make him fall on one of the Blades. The forsworn's anger allowed him to tear the poor man appart, but the other two executed him afterwards without hesitation. Now with a clear path, Virk fled from the remaining two men, but it was useless this time. They had caught him, and were pressing their swords against his back when one said "Annoying man, you are coming with us now!" Virk wiped the blood of his face and with a sigh, after nodding, he shouted. "WULD!" And there, he was released with such a force that it made the two men that were grappling him fall on the dusty ground. Laughing at the two ridiculous units, Virk failed to look forward in time to dodge Destrik, bumping into him and falling to the ground. "Damn it!"
