Private The Last Dragonborn

[Humbungala]

Irelius was pushed backwards by the force of Malitiasicarious' lighting tendrils. The pain seared through his whole body. He saw a paralysis spell heading towards him and Irelius summoned a ward to block it. Irelius blocked it, but his ward broke. He looked up at the dragon born, his eyes filled with anger and determination. I will not give up. I will keep fighting. For the others. For skyrim.

Irelius waved his hands around him, preparing his frostfire spikes. He shot his first one at Mal, then his second. Irelius kept firing his frostfire spikes in Mal's direction. After a few he took a few seconds to conjure a large fireball and launched at the dragonborn. A group of blades were running towards Irelius on his right. "IIZ SLEN NUS!" Upon saying the words of power, the group of blades froze solid and fell to the ground. Irelius ran towards Anya and Roggvar. "Leave? We have Mal right here. There's four of us (remy?) and one of him. I can get immobilize the blades while the rest go for the kill. We can do this. I know we can. If we die at least we died trying to achieve our goal instead of died trying to run away." More blades were closing in. Irelius turned around and froze the few blades' feet to the ground with a frost spell. He then conjured an ice spike and pierced through the first, then the second, then the third Blade's chest. Irelius ran out of patience, and anger began to fill his head. "Are you going to fight, or run like cowards?!"

 

[IAmRoggvar98]

"You're a fool, Irelius!" Roggvar could see the fire in his eyes. "We must live to f defeat him again. Everything, all we worked for will be gone!" He grabbed Virk and pushed him up so his weight was supported by Roggvar. "I'm running like a coward."

 

[Artemis Shadows]

Through the clatter and clanging of iron and steel, Seryn could faintly make out familiar voices. So they did come, how interesting. She quickly beheaded a Forsworn warrior and caught a glimpse of her old...'friends'. "Hmph. Fools" she quickly diverted her attention to a new enemy and blocked his axe before it connected with her head. Seryn shoved him away and darted from him.
She ran, ducking and sliding under blades and jumping over corpses. A sharp pain ran through her and she gasped in pain but continued to run. Seryn took a jump and latched on to stone and began pulling herself up, climbing slowly, carefully. Soon she reached the roof and snatched up her bow, "So that's where I left you? Huh.." she sighed and notched a few arrows and let them rain down into the fury below.
Now the tides would turn!

 

[heliumradio]

Anya grabbed the mage's shoulder. "It's not cowardice! Let them run!" She turned to Roggvar. "We'll get his attention! Go! Get out!" They wouldn't all be able to get away, she knew that full well, and at this point, she was too tired and angry to try to run. Regardless of what happened, she wasn't getting out, she realized that. Her minor affection for Virk and the boy wouldn't allow her to let them die too.

She pushed both of them away and ran closer to the Dragonborn, drawing her bow and loosing an arrow. She knew it probably wouldn't harm him, but if she kept doing it, he would certainly get annoyed. Just before shooting the next one, she used some of her remaining magic to set the arrow on fire. She ignored the Blades completely even as they crowded her, and she only began to shove them back when they made it hard to shoot. She could no longer see any of the others, but she hoped they escaped.

 

[IAmRoggvar98]

Roggvar lunged to grab her waist, unsuccessfully pulling her away from the fray. His strength was failing, and
Virk needed him far more than Anya. "Anya! Go now!" Roggvar dragged Virk across the battlefield towards a nearby building. He lazily swung his arms at enemies, taking multiple injuries as he trudged into the building. As he entered the upstairs bedroom of the house, he slumped on the door as he locked it and unwillingly passed out, letting Virk fall as well.

 

[The Phantom]

The Last Dragonborn was starting to admire Anya's bravery, but dismissed her as foolish as he caught her arrows and threw them aside. One of the arrows was flaming and Malitiasicarius instead allowed it to be deflected off his thick armour. The force of the arrow made him take a step back however he recovered quickly and yelled at her "If you'd only known that I was holding back. This is a shame that you actually believe you are capable of defeating me. The soul of a Dragon is as resilient as it is immortal. I can only be permanently killed by another Dragonborn! Now, watch as I show you the futility of your fight. By killing your foolish Mage!" Upon the last word he turned to face Irelius. Raising his arms outstretched in front of him as he decided which spell to use. Something which would kill him quickly, then he had an idea. Malitiasicarius let loose a torrent of flames in Irelius' direction, disorienting him as the Dragonborn rat at him and drew Animus. He then plunged Animus into Irelius' chest and kicked him away. Leaving the Mage's dying body on the cold floor of Markarth. One of the "heroes" had used the time to flee with his unconscious friend and hidden somewhere. Now Anya was alone with the Last Dragonborn. He chuckled as he turned to face her and said "I could use someone like you in the Blades. Taking down Destrik was no small feat and should be rewarded. I've planned this for far too long for any of you to even hope to stop it. So, I shall give you all one chance. Join the Blades or face the consequences. What say you?" Malitiasicarius didn't really expect her to join him but gave her the chance anyway. He did always enjoy dramatic moments.

 

[heliumradio]

Irelius crashed to the ground, bleeding heavily, and Anya knew he was too far gone for her to help him, especially in her weakened state. The Dragonborn's attention was focused on her. The boy and Virk had escaped, at least for the moment. "I could use someone like you in the Blades. Taking down Destrik was no small feat and should be rewarded. I've planned this for far too long for any of you to even hope to stop it. So, I shall give you all one chance. Join the Blades or face the consequences. What say you?" the Dragonborn said.

A low chuckle escape her throat, and in moments, it became a hard laugh, nearly throwing her to the floor. Blood loss, she figured. When she managed to calm down, she pushed her hair back from her face and smirked at him.

"Rewarded? I would ask what was in it for me, but I'm aware that anything you offer ends the same way. You will use me until I'm broken, and then you will let my own weakness end me. I know damn well I can't beat you, but time will eventually do what we cannot." She leaned against the wall for support and stared him down. "You are not immortal. If you've forgotten that, you've already taken a step toward death."

She walked toward him, biting her lip to ignore the pain. She had no intention of attacking him. She just didn't want to die on the wall like a prisoner. "Kill me, then. Or don't. I don't care."

 

[The Phantom]

Malitiasicarius' face twisted into a snarl beneath the mask as she walked toward him. In his anger he quickly grabbed her by the collar and yelled like a psychopath "Oh but I am immortal! If not from my unending soul then by other means I'm sure even you are smart enough to figure out!" Suddenly, he regained his cool "I know things the Greybeards can never teach you. Funny that I would use one of the last words of my greatest adversary... Against one of my worst!" He pushed her away and turned around, stretching his arms wide and yelled "I shan't kill you today heroes. After all, you're all way too much fun. Perhaps you may even be capable of being my apprentice in a few centuries." He then turned to the frozen Blades and freed them with his fire breath and ordered the Blades to regroup and finish off the surviving Forsworn. He then told them to escort the heroes to the stables and leave them to recuperate. The Dragonborn was disappointed with the heroes, sad even. He had hoped that he may finally meet his match but alas, the day had not yet come. Before he started to walk to the Keep, momentarily forgetting Anya's existence, he gave one final order to the Blades "Tell these "heroes" that they still have much to learn. And that only through bargaining for knowledge could they ever hope to rival me. That clue should be sufficient to get their hopes up. Now, seize full control. I want a governmental system set up within the next day. Dispose of the bodies and for the love if Sithis someone check if Destrik is alive! And where is Seryn?"

(I hope you don't mind that I pushed Anya, if not then I can change it)

 

[heliumradio]

Anya watched the Dragonborn yelling at his men, but she wasn't particularly interested in his needs. "Foolish boy," she said. "I know more of death than you." She slipped out of the room and stumbled down the stairs, disregarding the noise around her. She was looking for the others, for anyone who wasn't trying to kill her. She hoped not to run into Seryn, at the very least.

She threw herself in and out of various buildings, still bleeding, until she found Virk and Roggvar crumpled on a floor. With her last bit of strength, she pushed a table behind the door to block it, hoping it was enough to keep their enemies out, and then she collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

[Nope! It's all good.]

 

[Writes-Many-Posts]

Virk danced at the inn, petals and septims raining as he juggled his rusty shivs. Everyone cheered, everyone laughed, everyone drank. No inn was ever that full, nor did he recognize what inn he was at. He didn't care about it either. It was good, and so he would stay. But that very thought didn't take long to change. Everyone except him gained a red strange skin and grew horns. Their flesh became armored and the laughing ceased to a twisted grin from all the creatures. He had never seen anything like that, but they were obviously Daedra. One of them laughed quietly while unsheathing a daedric longsword and charged at Virk. His position at the top of the table only allowed him to kick a tankard against the thing's head and trigger everyone else to attack him. Despite many stunts and wall jumps, he was eventually wounded in the stomach. Severely wounded. They all vanished and the objects, including his shivs, began levitating, hovering above his head. Virk at first tried to move to get out of under them, but they chased him no matter what. A voice echoed, making the ground tremble with a sinister power. "I am Molag Bal... You thought you escaped me, coward?!" Just as he or she or it finished that sentence, the objects rained down on him, crushing him off.
...
Virk woke up breathing heavily in a strange location, barricated by a table and found Anya and Roggvar unconscious. "Oh no! What did happen?!" He searched the small building for anything that could help them tend their wounds and, when he thought about it, he finally noticed his. Virk found his lips covered with dry blood, and his torso was fairly aching after those merry jumps back in Markarth. The only objects of use to heal found were a jug of milk and a belted tunic. Well... for most it wouldn't help anyone, but Virk never was among most. He teared appart the clothes in three straps and soaked all of them in the drink. First he pressed the strap against his lips and his back to relief the pain. "Aaaaah..." Then, unsure of where his friends wounds were, he left the silk rags resting on their foreheads, hoping it would awake them sooner than what fate planned. He grabbed a stool made of stone and tried to pull it, unsuccessfully, and resigned sitting on the closest one he could find to his companions.