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#13272724 May 30, 2017 at 03:04 AM
343 Posts
"Si Si old girl," Dacian chided, hefting his slim Breton frame up onto his old friend's saddle and stroked her neck, "it's time for s'more don't mind, don't you?"

The horse whinnied, and snorted out hot air.

"That's what I like to hear." A grin spread across his face as he tugged his hood over his head. His eyes shut, the veins around his eyes and in his throat growing in prominence, before they opened again to a vampiric orange. Taking the reins of his horse in his left hand and snatching up his ancestral blade in the right, he kicked her sides and leaned forward.

Si Si shook her head with a snort and charged forward - straight toward a clump of Daedra.

Neither gave their Khajiit "companion" much thought as she went by on her one-woman war against the Xivilai. Instead, Dacian directed his attention towards his sword hand, which glowed a heavy purple - the color snaking it's way along the artistic grooves and indents etched into his family blade. He thrust it down, and the energy shot it's way in a spider-web fashion across the various dead that lay the streets. They warily stood, as stock still and attentive as manikins, but a swift point forward sent them surging with whatever they could find - debris, broken weapons.

A few even went so far as to resort to brute force, seven daedra succumbing to the undead swarms.

Dacian merely laughed, Si Si finally breaking through into the rest of the line. Her owner double slashed, taking two more down with cut open heads. They crumbled to the ground, spilling the already-bloodsoaked ground with their ichor.

Si Si reared herself up and trampled three more beneath her hooves - her owner deftly sliding off with ease. He hit the ground with a roll as his dear horse whirled and launched her back legs out, catching one of the heavier ones in the chest and embedding him into a wall.

Dacian winced. 'Ouchie.'

His situational awareness slowed to catch up, and he yelped as two Daedric swords slashed where his neck had been.

"How rude!" The Vampire said with indigence, his palm lighting up into a miniature candle - before the area around his was alight with a fire ball.

Si Si looked back over her shoulder and shook her head; Daedra collapsed and howled from her owner's little outburst. Ten at least. Even so, she whinnied again and looked towards the Palace of Kings, and clip-clopped her way over to the exhausted Khajiit that ran towards it.

She looked like she needed a rest.

Back aways, Dacian blew into his hand and shook it.

"That's all your faults, by the way," he spoke with a nose wrinkle, stepping past the charred bodies that were his foes, "now, where was I?"

He took a moment to stroke his chin as his Necromantic servants eagerly tore apart the remaining nine that were Dacian's claim in the whole battle.

He snapped his fingers.

"That's right!"

And then all the dead collapsed into a mass pile around him, the purple energy that brought them back fading away.

"Good job, boys and girls. You earned your deaths! Ta ta for now!"

He cackled, boots click-clacking against the blood-strewn cobblestone.




The black-scaled Argonian just couldn't catch a break, could he? First the damn redguard that desired to hound him from Dawnstar all the way to Windhelm, and now his damned second-in-command insisted on showing up at the absolutely worst time.

"You're supposed to be with your family, dammit!" He hissed, the red feathers on the back of his head swaying as he whirled toward her. The Breton smirked impishly and twirled her knives between her fingers.

"Oh, I mean...technically I am." She flicked his snout and stepped past him. "Well. You going to fight this Nord battle with me?"

The Argonian rubbed his nose and snarled, flipping Firebrand and Frostbite between his fingers.

"You and I are going to talk about this later."

He sprinted forward, choosing to block out the laughter that tried to follow. With a guttural roar, the Pirate thrust his blades forward and pushed two Daedra with him. They traveled with for a few feet before Storms leapt, driving his momentum (and them) toward the floor, kicking himself up into a roll and a crouch.

Brunonia's boots ran up his back, and she spring-boarded off her boss with deftness. A ring of five knives sprouted between her fingers as she flew, and she tossed them out. A mere seven made their marks, and the Stormcloaks engaged in battle could only begrudgingly thank the woman for the sudden dropping of their foes. She hit the ground and rolled (much like Storms moments before). She rose, and glanced back with a smirk.

"You're on," Storms mouthed back with a scowl. Without a blink, he lashed out with a swing - a Daedra crumpling to the ground, headless. He stomped forward, interjecting into a Stormcloak v Daedra fight (ignoring the curses all the while) before he kicked a foe into another speared them with a single stab.

"Die, Lizard!" A deep, ragged voice rang from behind him.

'Shit.' Even if he pulled his sword free now, his attacker would be on him. He let go, aiming to swing a fist before his second sword.

Only for his attacker to gurgle as a blade slashed through his back.

"...Not you." Storms groaned, reaching behind and snatching up Firebrand.

Hanir the Redguard smirked as he gripped his own weapon between his hands.

"I told you we would meet again, Storms. This battle isn't something I could bring myself to turn away from. And from the looks of things, you need me - even if you refuse to accept it."

"I can handle myself, thanks!" The Argonian hissed, shoving the Redguard aside, clashing his blades together, then slamming them into the ground. The mix of ice and fire surged forth and engulfed several more Daedra.

Hanir whistled.

"And who is this?" Brunonia spoke as she jogged past the carnage. "You're not replacing me, are you Sek?"


"No," Storms interjected with a point at the Breton, "I'm not. He'd be our cabin boy. And no," he quickly pointed in the direction of Hanir, "Storms. That's it."

The frustrated lizard man grunted and brushed between the two humans, whom merely shared a look and quickly followed.
#13317359 Jun 25, 2017 at 02:33 AM
144 Posts
Xilliad and his small group of Companions blinked in surprise at the display shown by Stelio. Fili and Kili gave each other a wary look, taking time despite the battle raging on. "Ah... well then..."

The False Harbinger shakes his head clear, then turns to his fellows, Melkorth the orc, and several other Stormcloaks. The rest of the army had already charged into the battle. Xilliad gives them all an exasperated look. "Well, then! I don't think we can allow assassins, vampires, and cats take all of the glory, can we?" His dark blue eyes seemed to have a fire in them as he looked at all of his companions. "What do you say we get in on this, as well?" He raises his axe once again. "For the Windhelm, for the King, and for SKYRIM!" The others all shout as well, and, with a clang of his axe to his shield, the group charges into the battle.

Fili and Kili both take on a group of 10 dremora, cutting them down left and right, joyful smiles on there face despite the dangers of the battle. Melkorth the orc brandishes his stave, using restorative spells to keep the group rejuvenated.

Meanwhile, Xilliad and Evelea worked in tandem; the Half-Nord would take on large groups of enemies, distracting foes and blocking attacks with the shield of Ebony, all the while his partner would take them out. With in no time, they had already taken out some odd 12 dremora and evil mages. Then, a large dremora Kynval stepped toward Xilliad, a large longsword in his hands raised in challenge toward the Nord. "You and I, Churl!"

The Nord turned to his companions and nodded. "This one's mine!"

He turned back to the Kynval - who was already charging at him. His eyes wide, he barely raised his shield in time to block the blow. Stumbling back a bit from the strike, he quickly counter-attacks with a slash from his ax. The dremora parries the blow away, with such skill and force that the ax goes free from Xilliad's grip. With just his shield, Xilliad charges the dremora, slamming into him and carrying him a few feet before the two land on the ground, the dremora dropping his weapon and letting out a deep *oof* from the impact. The dremora shoves Xilliad off of him then sucker-punches him in the face with a gauntlet covered hand. The metal of the gauntlet cuts a gash into Xilliad's cheek, the man now laid out from the blow.

The Kynval got to his feet, picking up his blade, about to execute Xilliad, but suddenly, an arrow sticks out from the dremora's left eye. He lets out a scream, dropping his sword and clawing at his own face. The scream is cut short as the brothers both strike the dremora down at the same time, one splitting it's head in half, the other knocking it on its back.

Xilliad breathes deeply, swatting away an offered hand from Evelea to help him up. "I was fine... I didn't need your help..."


"Don't worry about me. Just keep helping the others with covering fire..." Xilliad picks up his shield and ax, a somewhat disappointed look on his face, but still determined to face whatever might come.
Rex: Hero

Valeiro: Psycho

Kojasta: Mystery

Solljus: Villain

Abaddon: Shadow

Xirad: Warrior
#13398276 Aug 16, 2017 at 10:18 AM
56 Posts
Zanik had never been one to make a point to stand apart from the crowd, too much attention for his tastes. But when that crowd is composed of terrible creatures seeking the demise of important things, like his life, or of the world, then exceptions would have to be made.

His fought in a thunderous rhythm. Thump, as he blocked with his shield, Cra-boom, as he batted away the beasts, the fiery enchantment upon his weapon exploding with each impact.

Thump, cra-boom, thump-thump, cra-boom.

If one had the heart of a bard, and an open-minded idea of the nature of music, one might begin to feel what Zanik always experienced during a fight.

Thump, cra-boom.

Every blow spelled out another note, every step counting time, every kill another song.

Thump, cra-boom, cra-boom

Zanik had feigned a block with his shield, side-stepping the blow to scrape across his shield, before bashing the monster in the back as it stumbled past.

Cra-boom, thump-thump, shrumph, cra-boom

Zanik spun around to cover his own back, and smacked aside one daedra who had sought to flank the dunmer. But two more sought to replace it, and Zanik brought his shield up once more, blocking the blows from each in rapid succession before bashing one away with his shield and crashing his mace down on the other.

Thump, cra-boom, thump, cra-boom, cra-boom

A block, replied with a blow. A second block, another blow, followed by a preemptive strike on another.

23 new songs had been played, but the horde before Zanik told him that there would be many many more before the day was through.
Homo Homini Lupus
For More Often Than Not, We Forget to Act Human to Others
But Still, Despite Our Forgetful Nature, There is Always the Next Day
#13422725 Sep 03, 2017 at 02:23 AM
120 Posts
The leathers of the brotherhood, darkness, vampires, daedra, all things Wynn despised. She hated them more than anything - For what they took from her, for what they threatened, for the realm at large. Still, those fighting against this horde she couldn't very well scorn. Not when they were outnumbered ten to one, even if their champion was killed. Not when there was an army to kill. Not when her rage had frozen her blood, forcing her to take in the situation with the eyes of a hawk.

Shelving the question as to how Marius knew her name, she pulled several more barbed arrows from her quiver, loosing them in a furious blur of movement as she protected Illia from the brunt of the charge. She didn't keep count of how many she felled or merely wounded, only that those that took an arrow and still stood got a heaping dose of potent neurotoxin, a brew native to High Rock.

Breathing heavily, Wynn was recovering quickly. After healing Rambaldi, Illia had needed a bit of time to recover, and the Breton made sure she had it. In thanks, the supportive healer gave her a magically-fueled second wind. Just enough that neither were fighting past their limits. As the ranks closed on the pair, though, Wynn found herself ducking behind the Nord to grasp her blade, redirecting an errant sword with a whack of her bow just in time to slice an unprotected neck. A half second later, Shortsword in one hand and the other crackling with magick, she vaulted over Illia, parrying the blow of a rushing enemy with a burst of a ward, knocking him off-balance enough to plunge her blade through a gap in his armor, just as quickly pulling it out.

Wynn wasn't a warrior. She fought, a lot, but her skills were as a mage and assassin. In one-on-one fights, the one who dictated a rhythm of combat was dead before they could properly strike. Her stance, positioning, speed, and method of attack varied as she defended the nearly spent Nord. Sometimes she was low, swiping at a man's foot as she feinted a blow at his head before heading for the chest. Sometimes she was using another as a springboard to fry someone in their armor with a firebolt or a lightning blast. Sometimes she swept her blade to make them retreat while palming an arrow from her quiver and striking from two angles at the same time.

She was by no means a soldier. But for now, she'd settle with the mantle of destruction. Until they were safe enough to recover, and she had enough time to force a draft down both her and Illia's throats. And then? Then, she'd find answers.