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18+ When Gods Fall

Discussion in 'Active Stories' started by Harkatti, Jun 11, 2018.

  1. Signus

    Signus Well-Known Member

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    Andros had no need of sleep, but the meeting was winding to a close, and he doubted he was needed further. Besides, the knight and the inquisitor were still there, and he doubted they would be...understanding about his condition. He one eyed redguard followed the big nord outside, and the vampire began to do the same. Before he left, he noticed the hooded woman he'd come across outside. She didn't seem inclined to join in the conversation, but that was no surprise. He stopped by her, "you should get some rest," he advised, "won't be much use if you're half asleep on the journey to this blasted fort."

    He left dragonsreach, and stood for a moment at the top of the stairs, remembering his words to the blacksmith and wondering how he'd gotten caught up in some damn fool job to take over a fort. He'd put up a confident front in the hall, but the redguard wasn't wrong. They couldn't escape the dead on an open plain. And it was no small distance from Whiterun to the fort. He'd passed it a few times when coming from that direction, though he'd never been close enough to investigate. Well, he was going to have plenty of time to get acquainted with it come morning. The vampire snorted as he started walking down the stairs. 'Just passing through my arse' he thought, walking along the nearly abandoned streets. The inn had recovered somewhat, but most people were headed home now. Andros avoided the place, and the crowd. Instead, he took the stairs up to the wall, until he was looking out over the plains of the hold. It was quiet for now. Peaceful. He didn't think it would stay that way.
     
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  2. Alty

    Alty Caw Caw

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    She was impeded in her counting of the second floor's balcony pillars by a voice she was still getting familiar with. Of course, it was like the scolding voice within her head, bickering about her well-being.

    "...won't be much use if you're half asleep on the journey to this blasted fort."

    Her smirk was as hushed as the "tch" emitted. The expression was counted genuine enough on her features, though it was gone as soon as the man turned his back. She tilted her nose once more towards the second floor, though a faint grimace pulled at her cheeks. She'd lost count, yet her gaze lingered on the middle pillars in persistence; persistence that did not last more than a minute. The word "rest" echoed in her head, and she took it wordlessly as mockery towards her mortality. Bastard.

    Her sigh was insignificant and soundless when the will of her physical need tugged her from the timber colonnade. A fleeting look swiped across the faces remaining at the table, still having yet to fully register into Morthaine's mental book of merited individuals. Within the glance burrowed a calm cold, of which followed the assassin out the pair of doors, ending her (little to no) participation in the plan. Warmth, if there was any to start with, did not welcome Morthaine as much. Of course it would not be so welcoming as earlier, the sun was making the last of its daily goodbye, and when was Morthaine's subtly haunting demeanor, or anyone alike, ever to be welcomed? Yet, she welcomed being unwelcome. She knew the reasons, and she cared about it as much as she cared for enjoying watching the sunset- cared not at all. She kept a mental image of the scene, undecided if it were for self-enjoyment or to describe it for the sake of the sanity of the people surviving this time.


    She faked energy on her way to the heart of Whiterun: neck straight, and her mind weaving through the fragments of the strategy. It would be a risky situation, but risk was written on her sword after she nosed through the language of dragons. She took the term and made it into physical form to convince the world of her capability. That said, risk had a sharp edge, but it became smoother towards the center, a more level ground. Courageous, mindful, or lucky, everyone still dies. Thoughts were interrupted by a homey glow, though Morthaine had not planned on going up the steps and through the doors. She turned off towards the blacksmith, her soles relieved when she parked on a bench. She sat with her legs crossed and her satchel placed more at the front of her waist. Her eyes trained far longer than normal on the contents within. She lowered her head, as if to find an agreement within herself, agreement being to pluck a novel from the depths of the bag, but not before her fingers fondly grazed the ruggedness of a smaller script. The pages of the novel were without a crinkle when she delicately opened the cover.



    The Woodcutter's Wife
    Volume 1

    As Told By
    Mogen Son of Molag

    ...



    A few guards would pass, but keep their distance, and still wonder if the stiff-sitting humanly figure was asleep or peering through a cloth that hid scrutiny. Faces that noticed the peculiar sight would not pass without a wrinkle of the brow. Faces that showed recognition did not pass without a wrinkle of the nose.
     
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    #62 Alty, Aug 27, 2018
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  3. Harkatti

    Harkatti Sorceress Supreme!

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    Cadrian awoke before his mistress, and quickly belted on his sword belt. The altmer woman still slept, her chest raising and falling lightly under the blankets. Careful not to make too much noise, and well aware of the sensitive hearing of elves, he eased open the door and stepped outside, taking the steps to the ground floor and moving to the door. Weariness still pressed down on him, but he'd gotten by on less rest in the past. The cold air swirled along the streets, making him shiver, but he continued up to the walls, wanting to get a look at the landscape before they departed in the morning. The fields were quiet, bereft of life, and marked by the still smoking remains of undead creatures that had been heaped up and burnt after their last assault. The sound someone approaching drew his attention to the stairs, where a masked man with a large axe was approaching. Rather than acknowledge Cadrian, the man turned and looked out to the plains of the hold, same as he had been. "Peaceful, is it not?" The imperial asked. "It is odd not to see this place swarmed by the dead at all hours."
     
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  4. Simus

    Simus An Excellent Site Member

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    "I have nothing to add ser knight." Elspeth said. "Our plan is vague, but sound enough based on the available information. The finer details can be established when we get there. The best scouting method is, after all, your own senses." She stayed quiet during the rest of the meeting, listening to everything that was said and who said it. Everyone would do their part tomorrow but she had particular confidence in those with wargear similar to her. The Breton knight whom she had been talking to, Karon if she recalled, the imperial warrior Beran and Andros, the nord axman. Beran had the look of a man who had been doing this for a long time and she remembered him going out of his way to help patrol the walls when she entered the city. Beran's commitment to others was obvious from what she had heard of him and then there was Andros. Being a professional monster hunter Elspeth was able to discern what he was and she would normally make him a target. But in this case the strength, speed and savagery of his kind would make him an asset against the dead, as well as his lack of heartbeat or or breath. As for the others they would cooperate or die. Perhaps both. Such was the way of battle.

    Once the meeting was done Elspeth took her leave to rejoin her refugees. Her hunger had intensified after being interrupted and she would be no good to anyone while it still distracted her. She ate and drank as much as she could, going through a loaf of bread, an entire cut of venison and a whole bottle of alto wine. Normally she wouldn’t glut herself like this but a week of hunger could break down any discipline and this may well be her last meal. Most likely not but she deserved the indulgence. Afterwards she took a cot amidst the refugees by the wall and simply relaxed. She took off her hat and weapons, stripped down to her long underwear, got under her covers and simply let her mind wander. Everyone gave her space. She thought of the adventure she had just completed, the adventure she was about to begin, the lives that had already been and would be lost and her part in all of it. She came to the same conclusion she always came to when she had these thoughts. That she had done and will do as much as she could to save as many as she could and do all the good she could. These thoughts relaxed her as she drifted off to sleep. Her conscience was clear as fresh water and her conviction hard as steel. Tomorrow they would act and lives would be saved.
     
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  5. Morbidbread

    Morbidbread Fight for the lost

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    Karon inclined his head to the inquisitor, and stepped away from the planning table, "very well, madame." The knight ran his piercing gaze over the rest of the assembled adventurers. "I suggest we all get our sleep. Tomorrow will be trying for all of us." With those words, he followed his own advice, striding from the hall and taking the stairs down to the city. A lantern still flickered in the window of the bannered mare, but it was otherwise dark inside, the owner doubtless having turned in for the night. He was loathe to wake her, and so stepped past, heading for the barracks. Comfort was of no issue to him. He'd slept in far worse places during the numerous campaigns he'd fought in. With a nod to the guard, he stepped inside and looked around.

    The big nord with the greatsword slept already, and to Karons' mild surprise, so too did the redguard with the eyepatch. Careful not to disturb them or the sleeping soldiers, he crept to an unoccupied cot and began stripping out of his heavy armor. Within a quarter hour, his gear was stacked neatly beside the cot, and his sword rested within easy reach. For a time he lay on his back, running the plan again and again through his mind. Like the lady inquisitor had said, it was vague, but it would serve. What concerned him was their opponents. These were not some mindless undead who thought of nothing but killing. They were living, capable of devising their own plans, and wielding weapons and magic. Those dead he'd fought that carried weapons clutched in rotten flesh had never used them with any skill. Generally flailing about in an attempt to beat their victims into submission. Given their numbers, the tactic generally worked. But he'd never seen any use magic, and doubted that would change. Men could learn. The dead, even the walking dead, did not. With those thoughts in mind, Karon closed his eyes, sleep coming to him easily enough.
     
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  6. Signus

    Signus Well-Known Member

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    Andros grunted with mild surprise at the sudden presence of the man on the wall. No, that wasn't right- the human hadn't managed to sneak up on him, but he'd been so silent that the Andros simply hadn't paid much heed to him. Strange, that, especially considering the thirst still nagged at the back of his mind. He realized the human was speaking, something about how peaceful the night was. Hard to argue with that, he had to admit. Not having some undead bastard with half a face running towards him was a relief. "It is odd not to see this place swarmed by the dead at all hours." Andros nodded. The dead hadn't been attacking when he'd arrived, but the piles of bodies told the story of a city under near constant siege. "Aye." The bounty hunter agreed, "but it begs the question...where are the bastards now?"
     
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  7. Harkatti

    Harkatti Sorceress Supreme!

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    "A good question, and a troubling one." Cadrian admitted, "I expect we'll find them once we head out tomorrow. Or more likely, they'll find us." The next hour or so passed in relative silence, neither the masked man nor the imperial swordsman willing to participate in much small talk. When the sun heralded its' arrival by painting the eastern horizon orange, Cadrian took his leave of the masked man.

    The walk back to the inn was quick, with few people out and about. A rooster crowed from somewhere well within the city walls, and he could hear the chatter of birds perched in the branches of the Gildergreen, and the noise of farm animals, cows and goats, from near to the gates. The refugee train had brought much needed supplies, and the city sounded different now than it had when he and Arenaya had arrived the afternoon prior.

    The inn was already receiving hungry refugees that had stayed at the jarls hall, while fresh produce was loaded from one of the freshly arrived wagons. Cadrian easily slipped through the crowd, passing between a laughing family here, sidestepping a pair of men carrying a cask of ale between them there. He took the stairs two at a time, walked down a short hallway, and stopped before the shared room. There, he hesitated. Arenaya absolutely loathed being woken early. The last time he'd made the mistake of doing so, she'd threatened to turn him into a worm and set him out as a meal for the birds. He wasn't sure it'd been an idle threat.

    Taking a deep breath, he raised his fist, and rapped his knuckles against the wooden door. He heard something; drowsy movement then, "Who is it?" A sleepy voice demanded from the other side.

    "Cadrian, mistress. It is time to rise."

    "What is the hour?"

    "Just past dawn, milady."

    "Are you mad, Cadrian? Come back in a couple of hours, or I'll find something worse than a worm to turn you into. And what is that ungodly raucous downstairs?"

    That put the imperial in an awkward position. He had no desire to be turned into a worm, or anything else, for that matter, but Arenaya had given her word to the jarl..."But mistress, we're set to depart soon. The jarls' mission, remember?"

    He heard something that was probably a muttered curse, or several, and the door opened, revealing the altmer woman in a silken robe, her dark hair mussed from sleep, a comb in one hand. "Very well," she snapped, "go and meet the others at the gate. I shall be there momentarily."

    Cadrian bowed to the closing door and made his way to the main gate. It was a quarter of an hour before Arenaya joined him, now dressed in her elegant dark robe, and hair once more in order. "Well, where is everyone? Are we getting on with this fools' errand or not?"

    Cadrian glanced about, hoping to see their companions rushing to the gate. His mistress was already in a foul mood, and running late would do nothing to improve it. "I'm sure they'll be here, mistress."
     
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  8. Rell

    Rell Champion of Malacath!

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    Hallen was awoken by murmured conversations and the clinking of armor. His eye shot open and he glanced around, confused about why he was surrounded by guards, until he remembered his sleeping arrangements had been switched. With a groan, he rolled off the cot and to his feet. He reached up and adjusted his eyepatch, before collecting his gear.

    He belted on his weapons, and made sure his armor was on properly before leaving the barracks. He forced his reservations down, and glanced around. Two people were already at the gates, an elven woman and an imperial man. The altmer seemed fairly irritable. With a friendly smile he didn't feel, he walked towards them, offering a nod. "Good morning. I suppose we'll be setting out soon?"

    He brushed a stray piece of straw from his shoulder, scowling. If he was going to die, he was going to look good, damn it! He stepped up beside the pair, and rested his hand on the pommel of his weapon.
     
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  9. TheShadedOne

    TheShadedOne The Angry One

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    Miraska was aware of someone prodding her in the ribs.Hard. One of her pale blue eyes cracked open, and she saw her sisters face barely and inch from hers. "What are you doing?" She asked, flailing at the nuisance with one arm while trying to scooch further along the bed, out of range of her Nirjha's fingers. "We're going to be late! It's past dawn, Mir!" Nirjha said, giving up on poking and starting to shake the other khajiit with urgency. The pesky mage was stubborn, of course. They shared that trait, but Miraska was still much stronger than her sister, and grabbed both of the smaller womans wrists. "Stop. I'm up, I'm up" she insisted, throwing the furs back from her lean, scarred body, and swinging her legs out of bed. She stretched, ears twitching at the noise from the lower floor of the inn.

    Her armour was stacked neatly in the corner of the room, her larger axe leaned against the wall near her weapon belt. She got her gear on, with Nirjha flitting around her, helping with the straps that were harder to reach. When finished, Nirjha all but shot out of the room and down the stairs, robes fluttering behind her. Miraska was slower, rolling her eyes before approaching the innkeeper for food. She paid and caught up to her sister who was looking around the city with wide eyes, watching the hopeful people starting to go about their morning. "Come on!" She urged, running down the stairs, or started to. She got two steps in before letting out a pained yelp. Nirjha shot a resentful look back towards her sister, who held the tip of her tail in an armoured glove. "Not so fast" Miraska reprimanded her, "I don't think people are going to be rushing to get out of the safety of these walls." She passed some bread, cheese, and meat to her sister, and released her tail.

    Together, the sisters walked through the city, noting the fresh life in the city. Asking around the night before, she'd learned that an inquisitor of Stendarr had led a group of refugees into the city, burdened with supplies. Whiterun had been granted a few more months, at least of safety, so long as the walls did not fall. Nirjha nibbled her breakfast, not really hungry, stuffing the bread into a pouch on her belt, and spotted the three waiting by the gate. "See? No one has left yet. We have plenty of time." Miraska pointed out, nodding to the others and resting her axe against her shoulder. "Morning. I suppose we're waiting for a few others?" Nirjha, meanwhile all but bounced over to the one eyed man, plucking curiously at the redguards tunic. "This is nice material! How do you keep it so clean? What happened to your eye? Did you have walk here too, or did-" "Nirjha!" Hissed Miraska. "Quit yammering. There'll be time to ask questions on the way." The other khajiit fell silent, not quite pouting, but the mage did shoot her sister a few resentful looks when she thought she wasn't looking.
     
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  10. Signus

    Signus Well-Known Member

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    The imperials response didn't fill Andros with confidence, even though he hadn't expected the man to put his mind at ease. But considering the problem of the shambling hordes took his mind off the need to feed. He wouldn't be able to delay it forever, though. That much was clear. Even now, he could smell the others assembling below him; the redguard, the imperial, the altmer, and the khajiit sisters. It was like a feast laid out before a starving man.

    With a scowl, Andros bit down on his lip, the temporary pain distracting him from the thoughts of bloodshed and feeding. For now, at least. He set his axe against his shoulder, and took the stairs down to ground level. By the time he'd reached the others, the city was starting to look a little more populated. "What are we waiting for? We're wasting daylight, standing around like a pack of gargoyles."
     
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  11. Screeching Spasmodically

    Screeching Spasmodically Spasmodic Screecher

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    Khajira was up at the crack of dawn, but rather than go down and join the others immediately, she stepped out to the balcony of the bannered mare, made sure her glaive was secure in its sheathe, and clambered up to the roof to watch the sunrise. It was peaceful enough up there, watching the people of Whiterun scurry about beneath her.

    Movement by the gates drew her attention. A group of people were standing there, almost certainly in conversation, and almost certainly her companions. She hopped and slid down to the balcony, and from there, through the inn and to the street. The pair of khajiit that had been at the meeting with the jarl were already there, as was the elven woman, her human shadow, the one eyed man, and the masked axeman. "A good morning to you all. This one is ready to leave, when the others are."
     
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  12. Alty

    Alty Caw Caw

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    Upon the sun piercing through her sunken cowl, Morthaine remembered her dream: forgotten already. Void of imagery and story. It's as if she did not sleep, only circulated through a scheduled stasis, her mind lacking thoughts, but her organs still functioning routinely. She moved her head, her spine's discomfort heeded little, howbeit irritating. She restructured her posture, her blood instantly accelerating in flow as if suddenly aware that all inactivity was to cease after the past 5 hours. She inclined her head in angles that could be considered awkward, resulting in a satisfying release in her nape.

    Without a thought of how The Woodcutter's Wife ended on an uninked verso of the back cover, Morthaine snapped the pages together, where they combined once more into a single block. She was disinterested in wondering if her next visit to the woodlands would involve encountering a madwoman scorching in the light of day. Transparent bodies were nothing new, nor were vampires; Morthaine might as well be a ghost herself, perhaps possessed. In that thought, she plugged the book into the rightful slot in the satchel, watchful over the outer pockets as the muted clinking did not go dismissed, though the blur of her sight was on the piling crowd at the gate and her thoughts circling her fellow masked nord like a vulture. She read frequently. Vampiric lore so happened to be within one of her many texts, texts that had been lost, found, and ditched after their use. Andros, how was his craving fairing?

    She reassembled the cover about her maw, fingers maintaining polished movement. Her bag was knocked back to the profile of her thigh with the buckles and contents doing their expected unorderly jingle. She did not waste time burning Whiterun's visual stability into her mind; her strut may have been without noise, but it still asserted superiority as she made a beeline for the band.

    She did not puncture her own hole in the group, instead lingering amongst but not within- stalking silvery eyes and a pose at rest but ready. Predictable.
     
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    #72 Alty, Oct 8, 2018
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  13. Rafen

    Rafen Well-Known Member

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    Beran woke at dawn, and took some time to eat a simple breakfast of bread and cheese. Afterwords he gathered and began placing his armor on, tightening straps and fastening belts. The clouds outside had cleared over night, and a bright, cold day had taken its' place. Resting his sword on his shoulder, the large nord strolled towards the gate. Already a group had assembled, including, to his surprise, the masked woman that he and the masked axeman had stumbled across before. He joined the group, recognizing the others from the meeting in the jarls hall last night. Turning to the masked man who seemed impatient to leave, he planted the tip of his sword on the cobblestoned street, and nodded a greeting. "We didn't have time to talk last night. I am Beran Masros."
     
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  14. Rell

    Rell Champion of Malacath!

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    "This is nice material! How do you keep it so clean? What happened to your eye? Did you have walk here too, or did-" Hallens' thoughts on what might be waiting for them in the plains of Whiterun, or inside the fort for that matter were interrupted by a firm tug on the sleeve of his tunic. And a bunch of questions that poured out of a green eyed khajiit womans' mouth faster than he could answer. He remembered seeing her the night before, arriving with the other khajiit, the one in heavy armor and a seemingly permanently displeased scowl on her face. She didn't seem any more amused with the dawn, but given what they were about to do, Hallen didn't hold it against her. She scolded her sister, saying there'd be time for questions on the road.

    "I don't mind." He assured the blue eyed woman, probably the khajiit called Nirjha's sister. " The tunic is silk. I was raised by breton nobles, and while the court manners might not have stuck, their fashion sense surely did. And no, I didn't walk. Or at least, not the whole way. I took a ship from High Rock to Solitude, and went by carriage and foot to here. As for my eye...well, that's a story for another time." He said with a smile. A smile that quickly faded once he spotted the masked woman standing well outside the group, attentive eyes taking in everything. The same woman he'd had the misfortune of meeting after the brawl in the tavern. He quickly looked away, unable to decide why she unnerved him so. He suddenly found himself very eager to be out on the road again.
     
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  15. Madrar

    Madrar The Shadow in the Dark.

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    Nurian had been more than ready to sleep at the local inn, the bannered mare,but Farengar had insisted that he take the spare room. The masked had stayed at Dragonsreach for the night, and awoke shortly before dawns' first rays touched the city. After a small breakfast, the altmer wizard left the jarls home and descended to the main city. The wind stirred his robes, but the sky was clear, and promised good weather for traveling. As he drew nearer to the gates, he saw that he was in fact not the first to arrive. The other altmer woman, clearly a powerful mage in her own right, waited with an alert looking imperial at her shoulder. Several others from the meeting the night before were also present, and others were beginning to arrive as well.

    He stepped forwards, "it seems we are all here. The day is wasting, and I doubt the dead will stay away forever. And the jarl will almost certainly want us back before dusk." The guards opened the gates, revealing the burnt corpse piles and the plains of Whiterun hold. The group were barely outside before the great doors slammed shut behind them once more. Those outside, tasked to investigate the fort, started to move, eyes open and weapons at the ready. Nurian himself quietly wove enchantments, made to warn him if something large enough to be human or...once human approached.

    However, despite nearly an hours' worth of marching, nothing dared to accost the well armed and armoured party, and shortly after noon, when the sun was at its height, they saw Fellglow keep. The group moved quickly out of sight, for upon the walls, several figures could be seen, armed with spears and bows. Turning to the others, he said "remember the plan. I will join the group making the main gate, and cause as much damage as I can with my magic. Those of you scaling the walls, do so quickly. It won't take them long to discover you if we cannot hold their attention."
     
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  16. TheArgonianDrell

    TheArgonianDrell Well-Known Member

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    As with the others, Argos was quick to rise and make his way down to the gates. The masked woman was there, though she kept well away from the others, eyes flitting from one member of the group to the other. Her caution was warranted, he supposed, and would be of great use on the road, but if she could not trust her fellows, she was a danger. The argonian assassin was of course, careful not to voice any doubts, instead falling in behind the masked altmer as he lead them from the city. That he was the one to lead them rather than the disgruntled looking elven woman was a surprise, but Argos had no issues with it, so long as the group could work together to accomplish the jarls' task.

    It was almost peaceful on the march to the fort they'd been asked to investigate. No dead, no roving guard patrols, but perhaps more concerning than the first two, was the absence of wildlife. Whether they'd been killed by the walking dead, or merely had the common sense to flee before they could become meals for the creatures. Shortly after the noon hour, the group arrived at their target. Figures, possibly soldiers, but much more likely bandits or some other individuals with bad intentions patrolled the walls. Gripping his bladed staff, he knelt among the others and began planning his ascent to the top of the wall. It would be difficult, but not impossible. The walls were poorly maintained, and even from this distance the assassins' keen eyes picked out several potential hand and foot holds. "When this starts," he murmured to the others that would be scaling the wall, "step where I step." He looked to the pair of altmer, "we'll await your signal."
     
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  17. Alty

    Alty Caw Caw

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    Morthaine disregarded how the gate huffed at her heels as she entered the barrens. She kept herself assigned to the aft. Last, though "least" was a mere impression to her. Since she subconsciously decided to not come within a yard of the backmost lurkers, she kept her pace dynamic. Her leer was on the heels of her companions, adapting to keep herself separate.

    She was willing to drift to her thoughts outside of focus, but she dare not before scoping her surroundings briefly. Keeping her eyes on the ground in the wake of the flock's feet, she felt a disturbance burrow into her being. This ambience was much too silent, evident by the volume of her own feet. With a regarding look to the assemblage, a look more silent than her sigh, she slowed to regain her muffle, exaggerating the roll from heel to toe by the blade of her foot. She was in denial it was stark insecurity.

    Not many seconds passed before she reemerged into her initial position, keeping herself to a subtle stalk. She deafened herself to the occasional crackle of dry grass beneath one's foot, recalling the redguard's tension. She had answered with a rather dead expression, the values of her eyes were deep but bleak. Regards to her never went unnoticed, and rarely were they left unanswered. She looked up yonder at the edges of the fort when footsteps ceased, interrupting her river of thought. Lining the walls were nothing she couldn't counter, or so she confided.

    The recognizable chapped voice of an argonian broke her attention, only momentarily. Disinterest obvious, she remained oblivious to the orders. She could fend and fly at once; either she would go way ahead, behind, or in the midst of the distraction. Her focus was wherever the outlines of a bow rocked on backs as the prey patrolled. Either she could let them try to hit one sharp-turning bird, or send a rain of thorns onto the mob as a whole. She crossed her arms, hiding how her skin ached to be filed by rough stone. She breathed, transferring restlessness from the journey into her wits and muscle memory.
     
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  18. Harkatti

    Harkatti Sorceress Supreme!

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    The adventuring company made good time to the keep, arriving just after noon, and stopping just out of bow range. Or so Arenaya hoped, anyways. She didn't know many archers, and she herself had never fired one. The figures on the wall definitely were- some of them, at least. The sentries weren't blind, of course. Several of them turned to the group before their gates, and gathered in a small group. Just like they'd planned. One of them lifted a weapon, not a bow, but a-"crossbow." Cadrian helpfully identified, placing one hand on the hilt of his sword, as if he planned to deflect any incoming projectiles.

    " We are out of range, yes?"

    "Almost certainly, mistress." The man twitched and an instant later, a short, fat bolt punched into the muddy ground barely a meter away. "See? No harm done." Cadrian said, ignoring the altmer womans' annoyed glance. He drew his sword and started towards the gateway, Arenaya following closely. The crossbowman began reloading, fitting another bolt against the string of his weapon, and sighting down at the group. Arenaya levelled an accusing finger, and a bolt of lightning struck the archer, blowing him clear off the walls. Now that they were closer, she could see the faces of some of the keeps' inhabitants. Most wore masks of some type, fashioned like human skulls. An odd choice, considering the dead that roamed the lands in these times, and the bone white clashed with the deep red of their robes.

    It mattered little though. It was clear these people had no intention of helping the people of Whiterun, and the jarls orders had been clear. She loosed another lightning bolt at the group on the wall, but one of the men extended his hand, and a ward shimmered into existence, stopping it. Ahead of her, Cadrian had reached the gateway, sword in hand. He didn't hear his boot depress the pressure plate, but Arenaya did. As the slits set in the top of the archway began to glow with light, she stretched out a hand, and hit her companion with a telekinetic blast. The imperial cried out in surprise as he was blasted forwards. The flame trap activated fulling, bathing Arenaya in blistering heat. The wards she'd erected around herself held, but the effort of keeping them up was draining, and she found herself unable to properly move forwards.

    Cadrian, unable to help in any meaningful way, instead turned to the first of the robed men in the courtyard, parrying the stab of a spear. The imperial stepped inside the weapons reach and delivered a powerful horizontal slash, nearly decapitating the man. However, nearly a dozen more filled the courtyard, and he had no idea how many prepared bows to fire on him from above. If he didn't get help soon, he'd be in as much trouble as his mistress.
     
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  19. Madrar

    Madrar The Shadow in the Dark.

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    Nurian prepared his spells as his fellow altmer mage started forward with her imperial protector. The man was first through the gateway of the keep, when suddenly his companion sent him stumbling forwards, and twin gouts of flame descended on the elf. Nurian winced, expecting the woman to be burnt to a crisp, but she'd been wise enough to ready wards, and the flames merely washed over her, rather than burning away her flesh. But something was wrong- she should have been able to move forwards, but instead stood there, weathering the heat, even as her magical protection grew thinner by the moment.

    The masked strode forwards, his own wards deflecting or stopping the spells and bolts from the wall. However, he knew his magical reserved wouldn't hold out forever, and neither would the altmer sorceress's. Wincing at the intense heat, he reached out and placed his hand on the her shoulder. He began transferring energy to her, while channeling his remaining magic against the flame trap. The flames began to die out, and frost appeared around the murder holes that they'd emerged from. "Move forwards" Nurian instructed, "the flames are dealt with but dealing with the trap and replenishing your magic is...draining." With his free hand, he gestured the group that would be storming the gates forwards.
     
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  20. Rafen

    Rafen Well-Known Member

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    Beran needed no urging to storm through the gates of the keep. With greatsword in hand, he sprinted past the two elves, stopping by the imperial, the one who'd been first through the gate, and had nearly paid for it with his life. His first strike nearly cut a man in half, leaving a bloody trench in his chest. As that one fell, Beran felt something hammer into his shoulder. It wasn't enough to stumble him, but it served well enough as a distraction. The archers on the wall were beginning to make their presence known, and two more arrows struck him squarely in the back. His armor held against the attacks, but he was well aware that he made a tempting target. A second robed fool charged at him, a tiny dagger clenched in his fist.

    The nord couldn't see his oppenents face because of the skull mask he wore, but the frenzied battlecry left no doubt that he'd completely thrown aside his sense of self preservation. Berans' sword removed the fools head long before the dagger he held posed any danger. There were still plenty of foes left, and unarmored and fanatical as they were, there was a good chance Beran and the imperial he fought alongside would be swarmed by the enemy. With that in mind, set his back to the imperials and readied his sword. "Come on then, you gutless wretches!" He was not given to taunting normally, after all, the dead couldn't get angry, and most of living he found himself fighting alongside. But the more of the enemy he drew to himself, the better the odds the other group, the one waiting to scale the walls, would have. His words had the desired effect. The dozen or so remaining enemies surged towards him, weapons up and ready.
     
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