Private The Last Dragonborn

[IAmRoggvar98]

Roggvar lunged his body into the vampire, his right shoulder forcefully bashing into Destrik's head. They went to the ground in a mess of limbs, but managed to roll to his feet and pull his sword. We really have no time for this distraction. The Forsworn are losing this battle, and we need to help them. Regardless, Roggvar knew he had to face the vampire, although it may be the last time.

 

[heliumradio]

The others were throwing themselves at the vampire, something Anya considered a completely hopeless endeavor. He was not their biggest problem. She had no interest in helping the Forsworn scum, but she was interested in survival, so she accepted their temporary alliance. The vampire leaped at Virk, and she felt time slow around her. She grabbed the boy's arm, threw him behind her, and raised her head to the vampire. "YOL TOOR SHUL!"

The blast of fire pushed her back toward the boy, and she tumbled into rock, smashing her head on the way to the ground. Before she lost consciousness, she prayed to Talos that the full strength of the Thu'um would be enough to bring the beast down.

 

[Writes-Many-Posts]

Virk was losing control, again. The vampire had sped up and his hands had clashed on his neck, forcing him to kneel before he could swing a shiv. Suddenly, Anya bursted fire from her mouth, which probably saved his skin. Regardless of his state or the vampire's, which had probably changed drastically with the inferno, Virk looked at the vampire's feet, which were right in front of his knelt down body and pierced one of his last two shivs on the back of his shin. Then, using his leg as a ram, he swung it right against the rusty dagger, nailing it down deeper inside the flesh and muscle that opposed the cold steel. It couldn't come down to anything better than this: Flee. He hadn't wasted his energy with a full Thu'um cast, so he could still make something up to escape. Holding his head, now smitting the vampire with his eyes, Virk shouted. "FUS... ROH!" As soon as the raw force pushed the blood sucker back, Virk got up, with no acrobatics this time, showing how exhausted he already was, and began running, nay, skipping around, picking up more shivs from corpses awaiting for anyone who distracted Destrik again. No use... He was angry at him. After more energy was spent fleeing from the freak, he looked at the buiding where he was on at first. Climbing it again would get him more shivs back! And some time as well, from the little the vampire gave him. First he set his foot on a parapet, then a stunt to an open window's wooden door, a little exploiting in some outstanding bricks, and there! The top of the roof was again his! Already forgetting the trap he'd set, Virk slipped with a loose shingle and rolled to the edge of the building, barely escaping a painful fall. He got up and began walking as softly as he could to the closest spot to his tracks he had used to climb. Picking a tile up, he aimed at the ground searching for any enemy. "Sweet Beatrice this is heavy!" A blade was not aware of him, and instead of aiming at the vampire, Virk dropped the shingle on his head and probably killed him with the loudest neck snap he had ever heard. He immediatly sat down at his sniping edge, with his legs swinging, hanging from the top of the building, and put a tile on his lap, breathing heavily. Virk hadn't noticed, but all he did was exhausting. Sighing, focusing his energy in one last shot, before literally taking a nap on the roof, or trying to, he tried to spot the abomination. There it was, the paler of the blades, with the big hatchet in his hand and the angry pissed off look on its red eyed face. He roared not very loudly, squeaking his teeth with effort as he lifted the shingle with his both arms. Instead of insulting him, as Virk really wanted, the imperial remained silent while throwing the golden square at the aberration. Before even seeing what he had hit, he fell back, sweating a lot and closed his eyes. Not to lose all the prudence, Virk remained very silent in case someone climbed up to where he was.

 

[The Phantom]

Malitiasicarius was about to proceed into the throne room when he received the news that the greybeards apprentices had arrived and were currently in a tangle with his lieutenant. He rolled his eyes beneath the mask and ordered his Blades to secure the throne room but capture the Forsworn leader.

The Last Dragonborn had wondered what his assailants would exactly be like. Under most circumstances he would have killed them on the spot however he enjoyed a challenge. Or at least he hoped that they would be a challenge. As they were trained by the greybeards to face him specifically he doubted that they would be as worthless as most others, however he still had faith that they would not be a problem.

As he approached the bridge near the front gate, Malitiasicarius looked down upon the battle. He admired his Blades skill as they butchered the Forsworn who were fighting back with surprising force. Bodies lay strewn across the Dwarven architecture as the spectacular battle took place. The Dragonborn was interested to see Destrik in his own battle with the new heroes. They seemed to be hitting Destrik with everything they had. Though Destrik appeared to have the upper hand at the moment he anticipated that soon he would be overwhelmed.

His suspicions were proven as their continued assaults began to wear him down until finally the girl used a remarkably powerful Thu'um that knocked herself back causing her to fall unconscious. This prompted a laugh from Malitiasicarius, revealing his presence to the fighters below. Malitiasicarius jumped down slamming his fist into the concrete causing it to crack.
"Will you surrender willingly or will I have to beat you all into submission? Behold my power! MUL QAH DIIV! ZUN HAAL VIIK!"

 

[IAmRoggvar98]

As Roggvar collected himself, he looked up at the Dragonborn, who unleashed two shouts in rapid succession. How did he recover from that shout so quickly? Not even a master of the Thu'um can do that! As a glimmer of mystic protection spread over Malitiasicarius's armor, Roggvar realized what the second shout would do. He braced himself, but even then an overpowering magic ripped the sword from his grasp and shattered the bow on his back, sending them sprawling across the courtyard. The ranger spun quickly to recover and pulled the Orcish Dagger from his boot. Luckily, the Dragonborn was focusing his attention on Anya and Virk, who were far away from where Roggvar then stood, meaning he was most likely unseen. Slipping quietly into the roaring battle, Roggvar entered a nearby building, and sneaked onto the roof, hoping the others would do similar.

 

[Humbungala]

Irelius closed in Markarth, seeing the destruction that was taking place (Assuming hes with remy?)., Remy closely following on his dwarven riding machine. He heard the roar of one of Mal's shouts, and the ground shook beneath him. He entered through the front gate and lost control of his dwarven machine, leading him to tumble to the ground while the machine shattered on impact against a wall. Irelius got up and a forsworn attacked him. The forsworn lunged his sword toward's Irelius' stomach, but Irelius side-stepped to dodge it. Irelius grabbed the man's arm and twisted it behind him. He put his free hand to the man's face, and froze it with frost. After throwing the forsworn onto the ground, he realized that Destrik was here, fighting the others who had come before Irelius.

He conjured a fireball and threw it at Destrik to get his attention. "Let's see how well you fair against me." Irelius readied his hands, awaiting to try his new frostfire spell against Destrik when he charged.

 

[Zander Feredon]

Destrik was on fire, and the impact of yet another fire spell did not do well to lighten his mood. The smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils and he stumbled around for a few moments before hearing a voice.

"Let's see how well you fair against me."

Destrik was growing weary of all the fire. He unclasped his armor and droped it to the ground still blazing. His chest and face had sustained serious burns and he couldn't see out of his right eye, it had been burned shut from the force of the girls shout.

''Sorry to disappo...int you mage, but i feel as if i am in no positions to do battle. I will leave you in the more than capable hands of the very men you hoped to save.''

Destrik drew a complex series of runes upon the ground and slammed his fist into the ground. Upon impact a bluish tinted smoke enveloped the entire courtyard. Slowly the bodies of the slain forsworn began to rise and take up arms against the very people who were sent to save them. Destrik smiled. ''Ha....h..*Cough*'' Destrik collapsed.

 

[heliumradio]

Anya awoke to noise and hazy light, and she couldn't make any sense of what was going on around her. There was a lot of movement, and she could smell blood, but she couldn't figure out what any of that meant. She realized she'd hit the ground hard enough to knock her senseless, so she stayed down hoping not to get killed. After a moment, she managed to pull herself up enough to move closer to the wall, where she laid back with her eyes closed and listened to the harsh sounds of battle.

 

[Artemis Shadows]

Markarth. The city her people had fought to victoriously reclaim as theirs.
And what was she, the daughter of a Briarheart, doing? Murdering her brothers and sisters in an attempt to take the city away from them. The thought made her nauseous, so she chose to keep her mind and emotions blank.

Seryn crept along the edge of the dwarven rooftops, keeping out of sight as fighting went on below. Her task was to make her way to the Keep and take care of whoever was in charge. Seryn stopped and measure the distance between the next rooftop and the one she currently stood on, with a deep breath she ran and jumped while stretching out her hand which successfully caught onto a window frame. Her eyes glanced down and then back up as she began climbing. Seryn's hand grabbed onto the tile of the roof and she began pulling herself up. There was a cracking sound and she found herself falling. She bit her lip, holding back a scream of terror and she urged herself to turn over. It was too late and she crumple onto the pavement with a muffled sound of a bone snapping. Seryn groaned and clutched her ribcage, she carefully rolled herself over and slowly managed to stand. By the gods! Her rib hurt.

She needed to hurry, valuable time was wasting. Seryn kept along the shadows of battle, as she made her way to Markarth's keep. The forsworn guards at the door had long since dispersed and she kicked the door. As suspected, it had been shut and locked up tight. With a shaky, pained sigh, she eyed the walls. Pushing the pain out of her mind, she climbed slowly up the wall. Spotting a open window, she hauled herself in and rested herself on a table, removing her mask in the process.
Seryn had made more noise than she had anticipated and the door of the room soon opened and two Forsworn entered. The Bosmer quickly threw up her mask and armed herself with her daggers. She waited for the two warriors to come at her before attacking. Her daggers met flesh and the Forsworn slumped to the floor.
Seryn released a sigh and began hunting in the Keep for the leader she was meant to kill.

 

[Humbungala]

Destrik had collapsed, but dozens of other forsworn rose in his stead, all of them ready to kill Irelius. They all groaned and rose their weapons ready to charge. Irelius summoned a frostfire spike and shot it at the first undead. It pierced through him easily, but the undead seemed to feel nothing. Irelius closed his hands together, trying to manipulate the spike, and then spread his hands apart. The spike exploded and consumed the body of the undead in fire. One down, too many to go. The undead charged at him. Irelius shot his frostfire spikes in as many of them as he could before they reached him. As they grouped up closely in front of him, Irelius yelled, "FUS RO DAH" The force of his voice blasted the undead forsworn several feet away. Irelius closed his hands and spread them apart again, and the explosion this time was much larger. The fire reached several feet in the air and all the undead forsworn were caught in it. Irelius looked around him, seeing what else he could do. He saw Anya leaning against a wall, disoriented. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Irelius checked her body for wounds before she could answer. "We have to kill Malitiasicarious, or else this will never end."

 

[Writes-Many-Posts]

Just when Virk was finally resting, silence in the battle bursted out. Not entire silence. Steel and shouts were still heard. But no cries, no taunts. Just the clashing and fighting. It even reminded of awkward moments at inns where all that could be heard was tankards hitting wooden tables and kitchen wares scratching the plates. Obviously, the shift in the environment caused his eyes to open and get up. Destrik had collapsed! Well done indeed, mage... Then he looked at his comrades. Irelius appeared to be the only fighting and actually capable of doing a good job while at it, due to showing up fresh after the chaos started mostly. Roggvar had disappeared when the vampire freaked out, more than his usuality, probably taking similar strategies to Virk's since he was a ranger and height would provide a great spot. Anya was worn out after saving Virk from the abnomaly with the fire breath and was also being helped by Irelius. Where Remy was was unknown to the madman, but he should show up very soon or else no hopes would outstand the Blades plus the undead bretons. The short nap revived some stamina for him to aid the two of the group that were together, whose field was beginning to be tightened by both Blades and Forsworn. After a magnificent swan dive, Virk landed on the shoulders of a unit of the army of Blades, stabbed him voratiously in the neck. His body fell down and so did Virk's, rolling on the floor to the spot next to Irelius and Anya, blossoming his spine and arms at a combat position, facing both undead and living enemies. Between his heavy tired breathing he uttered the following words. "Virk... prefers being a dead loyal friend... than... a tired... coward traitor..." With no further delay, he threw a shiv to a forsworn's neck and placed himself in front of the Irelius, so he could use ranged magic, and Anya, so she could recover her strengths. A toughened forager leaped at Virk furiously, which only resulted in his second death with a shiv to the chest after the imperial's successful dodge. But he was tired, so tired... "We... must..." He kneeled and took another deep breath as the enemies kept cornering them slowly, just like hunters torture bears when they reach a spot where they cannot flee any further, even though they both fear each other. A blade reached closer to the knelt imperial just to bash his shield against his sweaty head, making drops of his sweat strengthen the rays of light to the ground for fractions of seconds. In despair, the madman crawled a little backwards, and the blade got back to his spot, proceeding with the torture. Virk's eyes welled tears as he looked up. "Fus!..." Nothing, he couldn't shout without any strength left. But he wasn't to give up. "Fus, fus fus fus!!!" A forsworn tribal arrow flew straight to his left arm, and made him fall to the dust of the soil, to an even more disadvatageous position: Lying down. He glanced at both of his companions at their fuzzying due to the loss of blood. He coughed and got up, looking poorly mangled and ripped the arrow from his flesh. "Arrrrgh! Ha ha ha!" The tears were falling through his cheeks, he was weakened, but still not feeling like giving up. The loss of blood was making him lose even more control over his brain, which could explain the laughter in his slaughter. Before leaping into battle, he still tried one more time. "Fus..." And another blooded cough was his only answer to allow him to realize it wouldn't work so soon. The next attack was another failure, which wasn't exactly new to Virk. His last shiv was thrown against a soldier's armor, but instead of finding its way to the deadly spots of his body through the weak parts of the armor, it simply reflected itself and fell to his feet. He still picked up his necklaced shiv but... "No... Ha ha... No! This... ha... this won't help! Ha ha ha!" His trembling fingers opened and let the blooded shiv dangle in his neck. He closed his eyes and awaited the approach of his enemy, this time without falling back, surely expecting a sudden death.

 

[IAmRoggvar98]

Roggvar had a perfect view of the battle from the rooftop where he hid. Irelius's fire had defeated Destrik, but he was a skeever compared to the Dragonborn himself. They were going to die if they stayed. Roggvar saw the Blade approaching Virk, and knew Virk was weak from his wounds. The ranger instinctively reached for his bow, only grabbing air as he remembered how the disarming shout shattered the Orcish metal on his back like a brittle branch. He knew he wouldn't reach Virk in time; the Blade was already lifting his sword to strike him down. With nothing left but his dagger, Roggvar flipped the blade, caught it by the tip and threw it, aiming for the soft neck between the attacker's helmet and breastplate. The dagger was not weighted for throwing, nor was Roggvar an adept knife thrower by any stretch of the imagination, but he still managed to hit the man in the thigh, embedding the knife in the man's quadriceps. Pained, the man stumbled and fell over. Roggvar sighed in relief, leaning against a support pole momentarily. He had to go into the fray to help everyone escape. Roggvar braced himself as he jumped from the roof with a thud onto a forsworn archer, who crumpled under the ranger's weight.

In a sudden epiphany, Roggvar pulled the animal, horned helmet from the fallen forsworn and placed it on his head, recognizing the smell of hot leather that he often smelled in his childhood, after leaving a hide of an elk he'd killed to bake in the sun. Yanking himself from the memory, Roggvar quickly pulled the body into a nearby house and changed into the man's armor. They would be looking for someone who stood out, so he best stood a chance incognito. He pulled the savage, jagged bow from the man's back, testing its draw weight tentatively. Satisfied, he also took the quiver and a strange bone sword from the body. Aiming for the direction Virk was last seen, Roggvar plowed into the fray, making savage cries like the others and being careful to only engage the Blades he passed.

 

[heliumradio]

Kill the Dragonborn? Kill the Dragonborn?! THAT was the mage's solution? Anya took a deep breath and tried to stand. The world spun viciously in front of her eyes, so she dropped back down to the ground. They were all in trouble. This situation was not exactly the fault of the Forsworn, but she was fully prepared to hate them for it. "I don't think I can help," she said, closing her eyes. "Try to get them out, all of them." She hoped he understood what she meant. She couldn't find the energy to clarify it.

 

[IAmRoggvar98]

Now with only one army to face, Roggvar found it slightly easier to keep his head above water in the fighting. Although he had yet to sustain any major injuries, he was tiring from the endless hordes of blades, and often had to be aided or saved by Forsworn who assumed he was an ally. Roggvar was working his way to where he had last seen Virk and Anya, hellbent on helping them get out of Markarth before he fled himself. The fighting in the main courtyard by the gates had been slowly swaying in favor of the Blades, as the Forsworn lost inch after inch of ground to them. Since Roggvar had entered the fighting, he squeezed himself to the front line, barely fending swarms of Blades off. The fighting came to a standstill, both sides pushing, jabbing and swinging, but gaining no ground. Suddenly, a single Blade cut a hole in the Forsworn defense, and others pushed to spread the hole. Roggvar pushed through the forsworn to reach the source.

 

[The Phantom]

Malitiasicarius laughed at their futile attempts at fighting. In fact he found the fact that they had taken out Destrik quite impressive however. Using a voice loud enough for the whole of Markarth to hear he shouted
"I ORDER YOU TO CEASE YOUR FIGHTING, AND GIVE UP YOUR PETTY GOAL! COME AND KNEEL BEFORE THE DRAGONBORN! IF NOT THEN I WILL DEFEAT YOU PERSONALLY. TRY ME HEROES. STRUN BAH QO!"
Upon the final word the sky turned dark as lightning began to rain down, striking Forsworn and Blade alike. The warfare was psychological as he hoped to crush their spirits as opposed to their bodies. He saw one of the heroes in the distance, from what he overheard he assumed her name was Anya, fall to the ground. Beside her was a mage. Malitiasicarius began confidently walking towards him while killing all in his path. When he was within punching distance of the mage he spoke "Mage. You must know that you are outclassed in every way. All of you both physically and magically." The Dragonborn raised his arms with two spells, the first spell he used was sending tendrils of electricity in Irelius' direction and the second, paralysis.
"Blades! Here!"

 

[IAmRoggvar98]

Roggvar pushed through the forsworn to a large Redguard in Blades armor. He was towering, about 9 feet as the ranger estimated. He barreled into two forsworn warriors, sending them sprawling to the ground. The man had no weapon or breastplate, but instead used gauntlets that glowed red with magic, seeming to add force to his every swing. As Roggvar suddenly found himself standing before the brute, the attacker brought down both of his fists.

Out of instinct, Roggvar hit the ground and rolled on his side out of the way. A few of the men around him weren't as quick, and were pummeled by the giant. Seemingly confused at Roggvar's speed, he turned to him and threw a punch. Roggvar faked left and spun around the right side of the brute, feeling the flesh of his side bruise as the fist grazed his side. Roggvar brought his sword down on the man's exposed back, its teeth getting stuck in his flesh. The man spun and thrust his elbow into Roggvar's gut, sending the ranger flying to the ground without his sword. He recovered quickly and loosed an arrow from his new bow. It suddenly became obvious why this was ineffective before, as the barbed projectile was unable to penetrate his thick skin. Remembering a horseback trick he'd learned, Roggvar ducked another punch from the towering man and used his arm as an obsticle to swing on, grasping his muscled back as if he was riding a horse. The giant bellowed in rage, trying to swat Roggvar off, but his thick arms were unable to reach him. Roggvar grabbed the brute's right glove and yanked it from his hand, putting it on and repeatedly beating the man's back. The ranger could feel the magic accelerate and fortify his hand, and a crack of the man's spine brought him to the ground dead.

Roggvar yanked the other glove from the corpse's hand and donned it, charging into the Blades. The gloves were less effective in his hands, but still caused immense damage. As rage and adrenaline gave way to tiredness, the pain of the day's battle became more prominent. He suddenly gasped with pain, noticing the stabbing pain in his chest. The Redguard's elbow must've broken one of my ribs... Roggvar's pained rage suddenly stopped as the Dragonborn bellowed orders that echoed on the stone and dwarven metal of Markarth: "I ORDER YOU TO CEASE YOUR FIGHTING, AND GIVE UP YOUR PETTY GOAL! COME AND KNEEL BEFORE THE DRAGONBORN! IF NOT THEN I WILL DEFEAT YOU PERSONALLY. TRY ME HEROES. STRUN BAH QO!"

 

[heliumradio]

Just as Anya's head began to clear, the Dragonborn screamed at them to give up, and she was wholly tempted to comply, but incredible rage stopped her from doing so. If they gave in, he would probably kill them. If they kept fighting, he would probably kill them. She never wanted to join the war for precisely this reason, and now that she was here, helpless to save herself or anyone else, she felt nothing but fury. She pushed herself up, glared at the Dragonborn, and picked up her weapons.

"You want me to kneel? Come here. Make me," she shouted back. She knew full well she would face his wrath for it, but since that seemed inevitable, she refused to let it be an easy process.

 

[Artemis Shadows]

The Dragonborn's booming voice made Seryn pause as she crouched in the corridor, oh so close to her target. Seeing as his words meant nothing to her, she leaned around the corner and peered into the room. Her target sat on the old throne and spoke to two other members of the Forsworn. Seryn assumed they were personal guards, but the fact there was only two made her smirk victoriously.
Her eyes glanced around, there was nowhere to give a clear shot so her only option was to kill her target face to face. Seryn stood and approached the throne, as she walked she locked eyes with the Forsworn man who had taken command of Markarth. She stopped in mid-step and stared, "F-father....?" she asked with disbelief. The man looked at her and motioned for his guards to stand down, "Seryn?" Seryn removed her hood and mask, her face was contorted with sadness, "Seryn! By the Old Gods...I never expected to see you again" her Father stood immediately, he smiled and approached her, "Your arrival is odd but welcome nonetheless" he put both of his hands on Seryn's shoulders, "I have missed you."
"Father" She cleared her throat and began speaking, "...I am glad you, along with our brothers and sisters, have come so far" she smiled and her vision began to blur, she found herself saying what she had been holding back for so long, "I know there have been times when I disgraced the Old Gods, times when I disappointed you. I pulled a cowards move when I left and for that I am sorry" tears began streaming down her face as she continued speaking, "But I never once forgot about you...or the others...or where I came f-from..." Seryn fell to her knees, unable to continue, and wept while her Father hugged her in those familiar arms that had made her feel so safe, all those times ago. "My dearest child, I never once was truly disappointed in you. I was devastated when you left, but knew you would go out into the world and make your own life. I am proud of you and will always love you no matter what you choose in life" he wiped away his daughter's tears, "I am sorry...Father. For what I have done" the Briarheart's face filled with confusion, "What have you done, my child?" she shoved the blade of her dagger through her father's chest, aimed with precision, it impaled his heart. A assassination with mercy. An instant death.

Seryn closed her eyes and laid her father on the stone floor. The guards realized what had been done and screamed in rage as they ran forward, blades and axes drawn. The Bosmer jumped up and ran as fast as her feet would carry her, she slammed herself through the doors and continued running, losing the guards in the fighting. She dodged attacks and spells as she struggled to reach a safe haven. A Forsworn grabbed her and shoved her to the ground and raised his sword, she rolled out of the way and leaped to her feet. Snatching a sword from a dead blade, she swung the sword and it clashed as the Forsworn blocked her attack. Their blades continued to meet until Seryn used his block as a opening for her to slide dagger quickly across his throat. As he fell, Seryn became engaged in another fight. It seemed there was no other option, she would have to fight.

 

[IAmRoggvar98]

The stormclouds above Roggvar reflected his mood as the fighting continued. Fatigue and pain clumsied his fighting, and he ended up with a shallow cut across his back before he made it to where Anya and Virk were still. Virk was obviously injured but looked prepared to keep fighting until he died. An archer loosed an arrow at him, and Roggvar swung his gloved hand at the arrow, sending it flying upwards. The gloves were the only reason he was still standing. Roggvar grabbed Anya's shoulder. "Anya! We need to leave! Now!" Roggvar's voice sounded hoarse, and he had a feeling he looked as bad as he felt.

 

[Writes-Many-Posts]

Roggvar was the most apt to fight of them at that moment and nobody appeared to be willing to kneel to the dragonborn. Virk didn't want it as well, but he was already kneeling. As if defying the dragon child, he stood up and cried a laugh which was muffled by a thunderbolt that smit one of Destrik's undead. "Hahahahahahaha! I'd prefer bowing to a crow, than to a... thing like you!" Virk spit some blood to the ground afterwards and clenched his fists. He would fight if that was what he had to do, but Roggvar began saying something about leaving. What? How? For all they knew, there would still be an army outside and a terrible storm after them. The imperial faced the enemies again. He had no clue where to flee to if he decided to leave Markarth to the Blades. Quoting Anya, he yelled with some of his last strengths. "MAKE... ME... BOW!"