Flint Ironwood.

With a great crack, the tree tipped over and fell down, flattening a good dozen snakemen. The others charged out of the black cloud now it had become evident that their ambush had failed. They fell upon the phalanx, each a whirling frenzy of swords.
,,Hold steady! Archers, fire!" Flint shouted.

He felt the ground rumble and closed his eyes for a moment as the balance of Magicka was torn apart.
,,Oh, crap. The big boss himself has joined." He thought. He looked about and decided that the army could deal effectively with the snakemen as long as they kept their formation.
,,Oh, I'm so going to regret this." He muttered as he passed on command and ran straigth towards the Silhouette.
,,Moment that guy does something, I'm going to jump and rain hell from above."

Dan, near the phalanx on the other bank of the lake

Dan woke up after a short nap and looked around, confused as can be. After resting and regaining his strength in the raft he saw that they had already reached the other bank of the lake. The soldiers accompanying the refugees however were already under attack by the snakemen. Whirling their blades about in a frenzy of steel, it seemed to Dan as if they were hurling themselves towards the shield wall made by the soldiers protecting the rafts. The archers, both Akaviri and Tamrielic, were exchanging arrows fiercely, hails of wood and steel falling on both sides. The Akaviri archers however were safe under the cover of the trees while the Imperial archers were wide open on all sides.

Grabbing his longsword in a rushed motion, Dan ran off to join the shield wall and help with whatever he could. He saw the Breton mage nearby, the one who had helped him in the fight with the enemy champion. Dan however had no time for reuniting with old acquaintances. Raising Balmung, he merely passed the wizard, not even giving him a subtle nod of acknowledge. Right now, Dan was bent on slaying as many snakes as he could.

With a powerful strike of his sword he disemboweled one Serpent swordsman then dodged the lightning-fast strike of another. Dumbfounded to see that his blade had failed, the Snakeman's amazement was soon cut short by Dan, literally. His head sent rolling on the grass, Dan made his way further, slaying Akaviri as he went, trying to mend any breaches in the shield-wall.

Savirien, on City Isle with the Silhouette and the Plys' Iea

As Savirien looked on towards the battle, he saw his master firing three curses towards his enemies. Just when the curse seemed to shatter his enemies, magical shields magically appeared and stopped the curses. Surprised by the sudden casting of another spell, Savirien looked around only to see that new opponents had arrived. Clothed with nothing more than mere robes and some token pieces of armour, Savirien allowed himself a sharp Serpent smirk. Quickly flicking his forked tongue afterwards, he charged the new foes along with his troops, leaving the Silhouette and the Plys' Iea to continue their personal battle with the two Tamrielics.

Leaning down and coiling his tail, Savirien dodged a spell fired off by one of the robe-wearing enemies. Surprised to see that his spell had missed the Serpent, the mage cast another spell towards Savirien. With his tail coiled however, Savirien pushed himself forward, pouncing on the mage with great speed. The mage fell with Savirien on top of him. Before he could draw his own blade, Savirien hastily slit the mage's throat with the wakizashi he held at his side as a secondary weapon. Quickly rising to his full size afterwards, Savirien hung the freshly severed head of his opponent to one of the many hooks on the belt which ran across his breastplate.

OCC: Isn't Flint on the other side of the Lake from the Sil, helping the civilians?
By the way, did Green-Root tell Kalsh about the hidden tomes in Lake Rumare?

Plys'Iea

The sudden appearance of enemy mages only brought him to move one eye to scrutinize them. They're no threat, so long as they do not strike with lightning...... He brought his attention back to Rann, the hunter towered above the youth.

He was larger than any creature Tamriel had ever known, wielding an equally large, but crude, weapon. He brought the hammer up as if to slam it down on Rann, but suddenly pivoted and lashed out with a lightning-fast kick to the elf's chest.

Kirana

Kirana was never an avid user of swords, weapons in general, but there had been occassions in the past that merited use of a dagger or shortsword rather than spell and hand-to-hand combat. Ian's body was stronger and more graceful since vampirism had taken it, even with her limited knowledge in sword-wielding was absolutely lethal with vampire reflexes to supplement it.

She stood apart from the phalanx, lacking a shield or spear, and Kirana loathed to hunker down like the spearmen and archers. A Tsaesci charged at the vampire, wielding a dai-katana. Kirana crouched low and deflected the katana's diagnal swing with one wrist blade.
But rather than follow through with the other hand, she sprang up and kicked the snakeman on the side of his skull. While the snake was stunned, Kirana hopped over his tail and drove one blade through her opponent's spine.

Mannimarco

Across his forearms, Mannimarco drew the ancient runes from the days of the Ayleids, the runes imbued with the deep seated magic. Mannimarco suffered severely, as each rune was completed, the flesh which was the medium blackened and died. The scrawling script wound up each arm to the elbow, and Mannimarco had to pause, for the pain was immense. After a short break, Mannimarco began again, tracing with just his finger the outline of the runes and muttering their activation spell. Crimson spray erupted from the dead lines of flesh on his arms, and they became limp. A strange phenomenon occurred however, as two magical forms of his arms appeared. They had the same movement and restrictions as normal arms, but Mannimarco knew how to use these special arms to adjust the magical flow into one's body, manually affected one's will.

Mannimarco gasped as he began to fatigue, pools of sweat forming around the cotton shirt collar. Mannimarco was collected natural magic in each palm and trying to focus it into a giant pool in front of him. Each element of magic was present, as well as a small bit of life energy, most likely from animals dying in the forest and releasing the last bit of energy they have to send the soul from Mundus. Mannimarco was not as adept with this body, and he had just performed a full soul absorption moments earlier. With visible effort, Mannimarco started to mold a human form out of the magic he was collecting.

To bolster one's will in this manner, Mannimarco would need to strengthen his own soul, and then infuse the magic with his soul, thus allowing for more energy to be controlled. The stronger the soul, the stronger the will, and the stronger the will, the more mastery of magic is available. Mannimarco knew that this next step would take the rest of the afternoon, and he planned his failing strength accordingly.


Patholos

Slowly bleeding to death wasn't as painful as Patholos had imagined. Maybe it was the adrenaline that kept him alive, maybe he was already dead. Patholos attempted to turn from his side to his back to slow the bleeding, but found he had lost the feeling in his lower extremities. Patholos coughed another mouthful of blood out and watched it as it raced through the cracks in the cobblestone. As Patholos watched, he looked as far as his head would allow, and he saw that his Narza'Tai were done fighting, there were no more enemies with which to dance the dance of death. A smile crept over the ruined Assassin's face, and he relaxed, feeling at ease with himself.

OOC: Going to save him, sorry about the break in the flow.

Patholos was at home, sitting by the fire, drinking warm tea and talking with his family. Logothos and Etholos were still young, playing bones across the floor. His father walked in fresh from the hunt, and Patholos remembered the smell of deer blood about him. With simultaneous cries of surprise, the boys on the floor ran to their father, hugging him deeply. Patholos remembered his father's deep voice and Patholos responded to his father with a smile. Patholos's mother came down the stairs, muttering about magic, but Patholos knew she was about to make a very important discovery, one to rival the Dwemer. Suddenly...

Patholos felt himself swallow a ghastly liquid, and someone shout, "He's too far gone, leave him." An enchanting female voice shouted a retort, but his consciousness was leaving.

Patholos came to being dragged down a dusty path by a burly Nord and Redguard. They were garbed in the apparel of the Morrowind Army, but it was so bedraggled that it looked like a blacksmith's smock on the two. One other was there, in full Imperial Guard armor, but it did not fit her, her sleek Dark Elf frame seemed out of place in the armor. Patholos made the assumption that she had found the armor on a dead soldier and had not let it go to waste. Patholos looked down at his stomach as he was being dragged by the shoulders, and all that remained was a mass of pink scar tissue and the bloodstains on his robe. He was alive.

Rann

Rann dodged to the side, easily avoiding the falling hammer. There was a short moment of confusion as something equally as heavy-hitting slammed into his chest knocking the wind from him and sending him sprawling on the ground a few feet away.

He cursed himself for underestimating his foe, and therefore giving him an advantage at the very beginning of the fight. He quickly regained his footing and found that he had managed to hang on to his sword. His chest hurt, and his breaths were hard to come by, but Rann knew that it was just from the impact; he'd had a rib broken by this lizard before and this felt completely different.

Rann crouched low, facing the Plys'Iea, with his left hand planted on the ground and his right clutching his sword. In an instant he pounced, propelling himself in the air towards his enemy. His sword led the way with a horizontal slash that, if accurate, would strike across both of those piercing reptilian eyes.

Indor

Indor looked up at the knock on his room door. “Yes?” he said.

The innkeeper opened the door. “I know you said not to disturb you but… well things look bad,” the young imperial was white, “Since yesterday lunchtime the clouds of smoke above the Imperial City have got much thicker, a few Argonians came fleeing from it earlier. Said things looked grim there when they left. We’re abandoning Bleaker’s Way, it’s not safe. I suggest you join us.”

Indor cursed inwardly, he had studied though night but was still observing new things about the stone. He wanted to survive to finish his research though so said, “Thank you. I shall pack immediately.” The innkeeper left hurriedly.

Indor stashed the welkynd stone into his bag. It took no time to pack his few other belongings and pull on his thin leathers. He was at the door when he turned and put down his staff. He raked quickly though his bag and pulled out a pair of bracers. They were a little heavy but the dark metal was immensely hard. He fastened them on, if the Imperial City fell who knew what might happen? When he emerged the meagre population of Bleaker’s Way were milling about the main square. A dark shadow hung above the Imperial city, the occasional flicker of magic glowed under it.

“Snakemen,” an old Redguard said beside him shaking his head, “These are cursed times.”

“Perhaps…” mused Indor. There was so little written about the Tsaesci, so little known. “What are they?” he wondered.

“Devils,” said the Redguard, “Again the gods forsake us.”

Indor didn’t answer. So much to learn, surely he could at least take a peak then catch up with the villagers. They wouldn’t travel fast and he wouldn’t be seen. It was foolish but Akavir fascinated him, as did many things. He pondered a moment longer but knew he was already decided. He turned back to the Redguard, “I’m going to take a look,” he said.

He was already striding down the road when the Redguard called after him, “You’re mad dunmer.”

Curiosity had won.

Flint Ironwood.

Flint skidded to a halt at the edge of the water. The Silhouette had just killed several more mages. What was even worse, was the fact that he'd killed the mages through their own spells.
,,Aw, man. I'm not even a half-decent caster. He'll kill me in a heartbeat." The Breton thought. His eyes shifted towards the huge Argonian that had been showing everywhere recently.

,,Ok, buddy. This won't kill you, but......Silence!" Flint shouted and a soundless orb fled from his staff, towards the Plys'Iea.
,,Heh, you obviously don't rely on your eyes to see. So that leaves sound."

He turned and ran back to the phalanx. He still had an ambush to deal with.
,,And after that, some rest. Thank you very much."




OOC: I've been wondering about that for a while now. Can the Plys'Iea's spines be disabled with silence?

OCC: I don't see why, but I won't let it hit him anyway. In some ways it's like an exagerated sense of touch........

Plys'Iea

At the same moment the Dunmer rebounded, a bolt of magic flew from the distance. On reflex, the hunter ducked and threw himself to the side, evading both strikes. Now that he occupied the hunter's former position, Rann was in danger of experiencing whatever effects the spell had.

OOC: since his spines don't talk, I don't see why they would need to be silenced. I think maybe you wanted some sort of deafening spell?

Rann

Rann hit empty air, and his efforts were rewarded with a magical impact. The effect of the spell did not seem to be harming him, so he chose to ignore it for the time being as he assumed a defensive stance, expecting the Plys'Iea to attack.

Patholos

Rousing from the murky state of unconsciousness he had recently been occupying, Patholos gathered in his surroundings. It looked as if the small group was in a burned out shell of a blacksmith's forge, however, the walls were falling in and the tools usually associated with a blacksmith were nowhere to be found. Patholos searched the dark and must forge for anything of use, his dagger having been left in the middle of the street. While searching, he accidentally broke a support beam for the wobbly roof, which caused it to come crashing down on top of the four. The Nord cursed in his native tongue and the Redguard went immediately to the dunmer buried beneath the worst of the rubble.

Patholos hurriedly ran over to the Redguard, who was frantically digging for the dunmer female. Patholos started to help and the Nord came over as well. Soon they could hear faint breathing, and the Redguard and the Nord started to dig faster. Patholos stood up to wipe his brow and noticed their surroundings without the roof to hamper their vision. Patholos watched unit after unit of snakemen move straight past the blacksmith's outer rubble. Patholos whispered to the Redguard, but he would not stop digging. Without the roof, the group was totally exposed, and Patholos knew he was not in the shape to fight.

After a few more nerve-wracking seconds, the dunmer emerged from the rubble, shaken, but relatively unharmed. Patholos heard a quick movement and soon felt cold metal against the nape of his neck. The pressure was strong, but not enough to cause bleeding. Patholos recited his recall spell enchanted on his dagger, and the Assassin's blade materialized in his left hand. A female voice said, "Drop it, and you may see the light of tomorrow." Patholos obliged and turned to face the dunmer female. She was beautiful, but the soot from the blacksmith's masked her beauty. Patholos said, "I meant no harm earlier, sorry about the roof."

(Plys'Iea)

The hunter despised warhammers, just as he dispised this world he'd been marooned on. He discarded the weapon, tossing it over the edge with one hand.

For several tense moments he simply glared down at Rann, standing inert. It almost seemed as if he was searching for something to say, but then the hunter grabbed a claymore, longsword to him, and hefted it.

*I prefer blades over hammers, anyway* "Dunmer, if you value your life now would be a good time to withdrawl like the others." The alien bellowed, inspecting his temporary weapon replacement.

Rahvin

Rahvin carried Brianna towards the rafts, and he could only hope that they hadn't all been taken already. There was some congestion as hundreds waited to board, and Rahvin feared that this huge group of people would make a good target. He didn't have much time to think about his fear, as Aerona shouted at him.

"Rahvin! Here!" she yelled, standing on one of the rafts waving her arms furiously. Rahvin boarded, laid Brianna down, and sat down for a short rest while the raft was launched

The raft floated along, doing its best to avoid the enemy's projectiles while Aerona worked to keep a shield spell active. Rahvin took a look towards the prison, and while he couldn't be sure, he thought he saw his son standing up there, facing another large figure.

Don't get left behind, Rann.

Rann

"Withdraw?" he asked, or rather, he tried to. His mouth moved, but no words came forth. Realizing suddenly that he had been hit with a silence spell, he smiled. Nothing important to him had been affected, except for his ability to participate in useless battle banter.

Since his words couldn't answer, his actions did. In one swift motion, he made as if to attack the left side of his opponent's neck with a slash angled downwards. He stopped short, though, and instead of hitting the exposed flesh of the Plys'Iea's neck, he spun around to its side for a potentially debilitating hit to the hamstring.

The move was a risk and Rann knew it; his entire left side was now left open, and the Plys'Iea could easily create a nasty hole in his side, knock him from the bridge, or both. On the other hand, if Rann succeeded, the Plys'Iea would be seriously handicapped and easily defeated.

Veric

Veric and Voltar poured over the pages of the tome, cross-referencing it with other tomes, books, and journals. So far, every modification they had tried failed. They had tried combining the spell with a dispel effect, preventing the subject from using its own magicka, but that did not prevent the subject from acquiring help. Veric knew from experience that such help was not hard to find in Oblivion, especially not for one so powerful as the Silhouette. There were many daedra, both greater and lesser, that would be willing to assist the Silhouette in scourging the mortal realm. He needed a way to trap the Silhouette there.

"Instead of merely transporting the Silhouette's entire form, maybe we could find a way to separate the soul from the body, and cause it to act like a daedra's soul. A Dremora, for example, when killed, does not experience death as we mortals do. The soul, or Animus, merely returns to Oblivion where it stays until it can recreate its physical form. That process can take hundreds of years."

He flipped the pages of a worn book on deadra that sat on the desk. "Here," he said, "Just as Sheogorath often utilizes shapeshifting magic to alter the phyisical form, Molag Bal went one step further. Here, let me read you this passage:

"The King of Rape, destruction, and chaos not only wants to bring misery to men and mer in the mortal realm, but also in his own plane of Oblivion. By harvesting mortal souls and changing their very properties as such, Molag Bal found a way to bring his most pleasing pastime of torturing Nirn's inhabitants home. It is unclear how the change is made, but it has been rumored that Molag Bal actually shaped the mortal souls to be more like the daedra's in nature; that they roam Oblivion until finally being able to re-coalesce into a physical form. It is also rumored that Molag Bal sends these re-formed mortals back to Nirn to wreak havoc. The mage Morian Zenas is said to have discovered the secret and divulged it in his work, Daedra Blood, but the existence of this tome is often disputed and has not been seen for at least an age, if at all."

Veric smiled, "I have the only copy of that book."

OCC: For the next RP, I'll have the Plys'Iea in different armor, he'll be a little less invincible, but he'll finally have a helmet.

Plys'Iea

The blade smacked into the material between the armored plating. The hunter registered the blow but the anti-ballistics mesh rendered the strike harmless. He stared impassively into the Dunmer's eyes, You should have fled with your life and a chance to fight again.

Before Rann could pull his sword back the warrior planted one foot on it, forcing him to let go lest his fingers get crushed. The alien grabbed Rann by the shoulder and threw him back across the bridge to the gates of the Market District, and the flood of Akaviri soldiers.

Rann

Though it was half-expected, Rann was surprised when he found himself flung like a ragdoll into an oncoming horde of Akaviri. He had lost his grip on his sword just before, and if the Plys'Iea hadn't knocked over three snakemen by throwing him, he probably would have been dead in seconds.

Rann had landed atop one of the tsaesci and before it could think to get up and fight, Rann had planted his dagger in its throat. At that same instant, another snakeman thought to sneak a quick jab at Rann. Knowing that the dagger would be insufficient to block the attack, he ignored it a opted for a katana instead. The scaly creature he was sitting atop of had dropped its weapon in its death throes, and the dunmer used that to its fullest advantage, meeting the attack with his new blade.

His arm pumping furiously, he defended attack after attack from the tsaesci, and barely managed to regain his footing. There was one problem, though. He was now fighting snakemen who were pushing him back towards the Plys'Iea. Remembering that Amrita had suggested rejoining the others, Rann decided to work towards that end now that his current fight was even more hopeless than before.

"Amrita!" he shouted, relieved to hear that the silence spell's effect had worn off, "Jump!"

He dove off the bridge, hitting the grassy hill and rolling down towards the water. It was a long distance to the rafts from there, but Rann figured that it was his only chance. When he was able to stand again, he looked back up, waiting for Amrita to follow.

This post has been edited by Dantrag: Jan 31 2008, 04:46 AM

Amrita

Amrita quickly followed Rann's actions and blasted the snakemen in her way with a fireball as she ran to the bridge and leaped over it. Within moments she stood up beside Rann.

"Let's move!"

Flint Ironwood.

It appeared that the battle was under control here. The Phalanx was too powerful to be breached and whenever a snake tried to flank the formation. Either an archer or Flint would be there to send it scurrying, with either an arrow or a telekinetic shockwave respectively. The mute warrior he met earlier was there as well.

Seeing how they'd lost this fight, the Akavirir commenced their retreat. Flint didn't doubt they would return later, but that was none of his concern.
,,Alright! Now is our chance! All civilians, disembark and take up the center of the formation! We're in for a long and hard march, so take only the absolute necessities! Don't get weighed down!" He ordered as he moved back and forth along the beach.

Back at the city, the battle against the monster Argonian was still in good swing. But as he watched, Rann and Amrita chose to escape.
,,Come on, folks. Hurry up." He muttered. He redirected his gaze at the tower that dominated the sky.
,,Say, did anyone see Altair and his aide? Two Altmer, one with a staff. Politicians. Can't miss them. So, anyone see them?" He asked over his shoulder. He knew that he hadn't, which worried him immensely.
,,If they die, I bet you'd be happy, Green-Root."

Savirien, on City Isle with the Plys' Iea

The Tamrielic spell-casters proved to be bothersome at first, surprising his troops as they watched the duel between the best warriors of the Akaviri army and the best warriors of the Tamrielic one, yet, one by one, they slowly fell to the blades of his brave warriors. Some of the more powerful mages were literally buried under a mound of Serpents, both living and dead, thus being smothered to death in the end.

These odd seeds of men and their disdainful magicks. We've met them before however and they've felt the sting of our Katanas and of our Wakizashis. As their War-Leader fell to our Akaviri steel, so shall these foul spell-casters.

Savirien looked around the battlefield, surveying his troops. They were doing finely. The fact that they outnumbered the mages also helped immensely, as one mage had to deal effectively with more than six Akaviri warriors in order to survive. He had, thus far, gathered the severed heads of three mages, all hung by the hooks of the leather belt which ran across his chest. Savirien considered them to be fine foes, more powerful than the majority, thus he took their heads as trophies of his exploits. As he watched the battle however, he noticed that the dark-skinned Tamrielic along with the witch that accompanied him had somewhat escaped their champion, the Plys' Iea.

An impressive feat indeed. The Tamrielic warrior ransomed his life by fighting in such an impressive manner. Despite his rather odd appearance and way of doing battle, our beastly comrade does know what Akaviri honour is, unlike these foul creatures living on this island they call Tamriel. It is nothing like Akavir. Why did several generations of my ancestors try to conquer this land, when all I can see is a ruined city, long bereft of its glory, and several woodlands, not even fit for cutting down? Truly mysterious are the ways of our leader.

Rann

Rann took one last second to give the Plys'Iea one last glare; a silent promise that they would fight again. He spat on the ground just as tsaesci archers started to rain arrows upon them.

Suddenly deciding to heed Amrita's words, he ran alongside her, trying to make it to the rafts. There couldn't be many left...

Brianna

She woke up as Rahvin put her down on the raft. Still a bit dizzy she looked around and saw Aerona struggle with the shield spell. Rahvin was staring at a certain direction... She rose to her feet, touched Rahvin's arm;

"Is it...Rann?" she whispered, more to herself than to him

Keep him safe, please

She realised she could do something here, she could help Aerona to maintain the shield, some magic powers should be left in her, if she just could focus enough.

She stood beside the vampire girl and did her best to strengthen the spell...then she spotted a girl who lept to the side of the young man who had to be her son....

"Rahvin....oh my god, is that....her???"

Is it possible there is some good in her? Amrita who I've feared for so long...but...but where's Satyana then, all my children are here, it just can't be true!

"Rahvin! There's hope for us, we could be a family again!"

Brianna felt strength ooze through her, more strength than she had felt for a long time

"I want to fight!!!" she shouted "I want to fight for my family"

She felt that this was what Serene would have done....her so strong mother....

Plys'Iea

He met the Dunmer's glare, then flipped the claymore around and sunk it deep into the soil of the mesa. The hunter grunted at the Akaviri nearby, some looking to him as if waiting for orders. "Do as you've been previously ordered."

They all thinned out, slithering away to their appointed tasks. The alien took the relative peace of the moment to reflect on the situation. I would rather be led than lead again. I know little of the Akaviri apart from their language and general mannerisms, not enough to be an officer.
He slid down the slope to the base of the mesa. The hunter came to rest not far from Savirien, one of the Akaviri generals. The decapitated heads on the general's chestplate barely earned a glance. "It seems the ambush failed after all." He hissed matter-of-factly, gazing at the torch-light of the surviving Tamrielics.

"I would not ask this from the War Leader, but where does this campaign go now? We have the Imperial City, but our force has been cut in half. With no disrespect to your forces, I don't think we can fully conquer this place with our standing force." The hunter glanced at the Akaviri.