After the cavern in the ground broke open like a great mouth to swallow the world, the rumbling and the shaking echoing across Rorikstead’s ravaged soil, there was silence. A cold, oppressive silence as the world seemed to stop a moment and hold its breath, waiting. And then, with sudden fervor, the world exhaled, spewing forth a great wind that raced across the countryside from all directions, dark clouds swirling above as every door, window, curtain, and loose object began to whip around as if possessed. The droning roar of the wind, at first unintelligible, seemed to carry with it the faintest of whispers that grew into a steady chant. A purple light emanated from the pit now, as a cloud of ashes drifted like tendrils of shadow on the wind, licking the feet of those it passed before falling into the pit. The purple light grew in intensity as the ashes poured in, until eventually the clouds froze, and the voice of the wind died. Nirn itself was afraid to disturb the slumber of what lay below. The clouds parted above the pit, sending down a spiraling burst of purple energy into that which now stained nirn like an ugly scar. A scar which spewed forth yet more of the energy as if it were blood from a wound. And then ethereal chains, tipped with spikes, dipped into the gaping wound in the earth. They grew taut with tension as they hit something and began to retract, slowly dragging their mark back to the surface. The metallic clink of the ethereal chains eventually gave way to a rasping, grating moan, as if two slates of solid metal were dragging across each other, digging in and scratching as their jagged edges bit into one another. More chains began to appear and dive into the violet abyss as the initial chains came to a groaning stop, unable to finish the job without assistance. As they neared the surface, the jagged scrap of metal on metal intensified, and a violet energy became visible in the air as a fine mist, reeking of death now that it had a more solid form. It poured from all the dead and dying of Rorikstead as their very souls were torn asunder and fueled the horrible birth of whatever monster was dragged from the depths. The living could feel the tug of the pit’s insistence, and the weak of will among them crumpled and died, forced inanimate as their souls fled as if drawn to a gem.
And then it broke the surface. A humanoid form composed of ash that radiated the same violet energy, seeming to drink in the plentiful supply that was now whipping through the air as if it were sucking it in. Dozens of the ethereal spiked chains skewered the form from head to toe, funneling yet more energy into the slumbering pigmy. As its feet cleared the earth, the portal below slammed shut, the great scar closed as the earth healed itself with a rattling groan, and the violet light in the sky died. The ethereal chains suddenly solidified into a shining, platinum amalgamation of metal and purple energy, their end cut off as the light in the sky died and they fell, coiling back to the ground. The humanoid form also fell, but crumpled immediately into a pile of ash, a violet ethereal ghost of a featureless man revealed beneath it as he lay unconscious. The chains persisted in skewering his ethereal body, now sending violent bursts of wicked lightning into the limp form. He convulsed violently from the pain and attempted to disperse, to perhaps find peace, but the ashes rose up and consumed him. The ends of the chain, cut off from the sky, now sought purchase wherever they could find it. They reached out and felt around like great metal tentacles as they grasped at the walls, the ceiling, the floors, and beyond, breeding the harsh sound of metal grating against stone. They dragged the shambling form to its feet like a puppet on strings, causing groans of pain and anger to escape from its head, muffled beneath the ashes as if it were trapped within a coffin. It roared in outrage, sending a blast of pure malice in all directions as fingers of the dark magic escaped from cracks within the ashen sarcophagus, blasting open doors and windows as it forced the weary to brace or be blown away.
Its form then went completely dormant, inanimate, as if it were waiting for something.
The hallowed halls finally fell still as the occupants of the room all began to acclimate to this new addition. Their shepherds stood speechless, each taking in the new information and gathering their own conclusions. As they attempted to formulate some sort of plan, the scene took upon a new transformation, as the champion who had summoned this chained man fell to her knees in exhaustion, the tip of her sword supporting her weight as the quick, shallow breaths returned. Fin’s awakening had taken much from her, the adrenaline that had allowed her to get this far long since spent. There was not much left she could do, however, if she knew Fin…
She wouldn’t need to lift a finger.
As her weary form slumped into the floor further, the Imperial took note of her weakness. Whatever the hell she had summoned still lied dormant, unmoving. Limp as he hung from his chains lifelessly, showing no signs of hostility. Yet. However, Daxos would not give him the chance. The woman was vulnerable, weak. Were he to charge, it would likely take the elf off guard, leaving him unable to mount a countermeasure to protect her. But he would have to act quickly, and would not have the time to warn the others of his plan. Anything could tip the balance out of his favor, and he needed every advantage he could get. He leapt into action on instinct, far faster than his mind could comprehend, as he began to sprint charging upon the woman, sword raised. But as he rushed the woman’s position, he saw her head raise up slightly, enough to where her expression came into view. As he glanced over it in the split seconds of his arrival, he could detect the briefest glint of an...arrogant smile? But why would she be-
The ashen creature’s head cocked slightly to the side as Daxos began to charge. Then there was the sound of metallic clinking as it began to stir, struggling against the chains as it attempted to lash out and move forward, desperate to intercept Daxos. It clumsily tripped and its ashen form crumpled into a pile on the floor, it’s upper torso straining outward to claw itself forward. It then crumpled completely, and moved along the floor as if propelled by the wind, squirming its way forward similar to the writhing of a great grey serpent. It got the hang of this new form of movement quickly, and rose up by its chains before Daxos, not quite able to retain its form as a rough arm caught the sword strike, stopping it and Daxos’ momentum cold. The rest of its body slowly began to form from the ash, raising itself upright as it towered over Daxos. It writed for a few moments, tendrils of ash falling to the ground only for it to rise up again to from another piece as it slowly took on a more “human” appearance, mimicking the basic shape and proportions of Daxos’ body. Daxos responded by wrenching the sword from the monster’s grip, which was much easier than he thought it would be. He pulled too hard, and the hand crumpled back to formless ash as he stumbled backwards. He caught himself and moved on the attack again, cutting off its arm as it attempted to catch the sword a second time. He followed up with a low cut to its legs, causing it to crumble completely. He then lunged after Maere, only for it to rise up directly under him, picking him up and tossing him away like a pebble. Its form was still volatile, falling apart almost as fast as it could put itself back together, but it was rapidly becoming stable as it attempted to test itself, performing basic movements and pulling against the chains.
Rumare gazed over his success proudly, eyes widened, voice above the sounds of the scuffle that was taking place mere feet before him. “Yes! So it begins! Meridia’s chosen few finally walk this plane again! Alive and unshackled. Well. Mostly.” He stifled a small chuckle before continuing, hand outstretched as the being of ash continued to gather itself, growing accustomed to its new form. “But please! We have much to do, and many places to go. Finish these cretins and be done with it already. They have wasted your lady’s precious time long enough.” The creature did not respond to the elf’s decree, the call to action seeming to fall upon deaf ears. Rumare grumbled indignantly, looking to the champion who still sat upon the floor, watching her brother’s new body gather before her very eyes. “Please, Fin. They have defiled this place and the people within it long enough. Avenge them-”
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Alice stepped forward, having been silent up until now. She had watched the spectral light show in front of them with a mixture of horror and fascination. She couldn’t begin to explain the brand and power of necromancy magic required to do half of what she’d just seen, and yet here it was. A rotten corpse-turned shackled spirit turned ash monster. Cilla looked plagued by indecision, as if she didn’t know whether to shoot the creature or sweep it up and Titus was here but not here. He was too shaken and too guilt-ridden to be of any use right now. It was all his sisters could do to drag him to his feet and help him along.
“Please, listen to me!” She said to white-haired woman clad in shining silver plate. It was how Alice imagined an Angel to look like. “You’ve been deceived! We’re not here to destroy Rorikstead, we’re here to save it! This elf egging you on is somehow connected! Have you noticed that everyone in here is dead? And that was before we got here? Ever think about how that might have happened?!” She knew her argument was weak, that this woman wasn’t going to listen to reason, but it was all she had.
Maere’s sight moved slowly to the woman who had addressed her, vision growing blurrier with each passing moment. Whether from fatigue or more tears rushing to the surface, she could not discern. But she did take notice of the woman’s words. She listened intently, eyes narrowing at the woman as she tried to make out her shape in the great blur. However, as the words escaped the girl’s lips, that everyone in this temple was dead, she became unhinged, her fists smashing at the ground with renewed fervor, her voice indignant, calling out to the source. “YES. I am quite aware that they lie dead around my feet. I do not need a reminder, nor need to wonder how this had happened. I know why they are this way, as do you. Yet despite this you attempt to worm your way out of the blame with deflection. No!” Another burst of holy energy erupted from her, this time not expanding much further past her immediate area, but enough to pronounce her growing anger. Once again she found herself gathering the strength to stand, but did so slowly, this new sense of urgency tempered by the pain in her joints, the stiffness of her limbs as she rose to her feet. She brought her forearm to her eyes, wiping away the offending obstructions to her vision while her other arm rose outstretched, the sword within her grasp pointed toward the woman who had spoken. “You are responsible for this travesty, for the lives lost, just as guilty as the ones who herald you. Dig deep, scrape up any lingering honor you have left, and face your fate with dignity. You will suffer as they did.”
Now it was Alice’s turn to make a spectacle. Reaching deep into herself, she released her strongest combination of illusion and alteration magic. With a flash of light, two decorative angelic wings appeared on her back. A showy but undeniably impressive show of her jump spell. She shot into the air and drew her sword, its blade crackling with energy. She landed in front of the woman, just out of arm’s reach. The soft golden light and wings remained, bolstering her conviction and hopefully some of the others.
“No!” She shouted to the woman. “You don’t know me and you don’t know us! WE didn’t cause this, YOU did! If you can’t accept that then I am truly sorry but I and my companions will stop you. If you force me further I will kill you. Be smart: we can end this now.”
Her sword was in her right hand in a guard position, ready for a counterblow when the woman struck. Her left hand held her dagger like an icepick, ready to deflect the sword enough for her to dodge the blow, or at least ride it.
Maere looked to the girl in confusion, her eyes tracing over the wings as she tried to comprehend what she was seeing. Then, against her composure, she began to laugh. She could not take the woman seriously. The wings, the difference in height, the attempt to sound commanding, it was almost too much for her to handle. She shook her head after a moment, regaining her senses, before she replied to the woman’s threat. “Were I a fool, I would almost find your conviction convincing. It almost leads me to believe that you truly have no idea what you have wrought upon yourself. Okay. I'll play along. Allow me to clear things up for you. I caused none of this. I was sent to end it, and I will. You say I do not know you or your friends? I know enough. Enough to know that despite your carefully crafted sincerity you are lying through your teeth. If you speak for them all, then you have proven that neither you or the others have a shred of integrity left. No matter. You and your companions will fall to my blade just as many others have who had defied my lady. Be smart? Strong words from an egotist who has picked a fight she cannot hope to win! Defend yourself!”
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The sense of bitterness at the incompetence that had hindered them transformed into a watchful brooding and deep embarrassment. While some had chosen action, a necessary role which she held no contempt for, others had taken to words and foolishness which she could not reasonably swallow. The spectacle that unfolded before her, orchestrated by the smallest and apparently least reasonable of the twins, shamed her by association. What she hoped to achieve by wasting precious magika stores on such a frivolous and frankly egotistical act was beyond Brynn, who was forced to refocus or else be consumed by the thought.
Turning from the sight and with great effort removing the looks of disgust from her face the white sheeps shepherd came into focus. Having spent enough time observing, weighing the options, it was plain to see that removing him would ease the odds which weighed heavily against them. He also seemed to be the sole villain who was not backed by some divinity or great power, though he was thus far untested by the group. Though this was soon to change as the nord swung her gleaming short swords, slick with the rot of the fallen, in preparation and stalked forwards.
Stepping carefully through the corpses, leaving them untouched, she prowled with a hunger for some kind of progress to redeem the misery of the mission. She was not so conceited as to think she alone could deliver them, however she would attempt at least to do her part correctly and with some dignity should she have any say. The man who had yet to afford her, the one who had placed the instrument of his creatures destruction, a moment of his attention would soon meet her in battle and be forced to turn or simply perish by her blades. It was an impossible outcome, she knew, but his indifference as she charged was off putting and deceptive.
The altmer could feel her coming. The air had given him a slight chill as he had watched their guests fight futily against their powerful hosts, dragging his attentions away to focus solely on this alien feeling. The hairs on the back of his neck rose dramatically as he felt her rush forward, her actions obviously not intended for his benefit. However, it mattered little. For when her blades came swinging down upon him he let out a shout, his staff raised upward swifty, bringing their downward stroke to an abrupt halt. As he held her strike above his head he looked to the woman, a small smirk on his lips as she spoke up. “Kind of you to finally afford me your attention.” She mused, leaving him to chuckle calmly to himself as he slowly forced her back off of him, making his way toward her as she regained her balance, rolling his neck.
“It’s an honor, I’m sure. Enjoy it while you are still able.” He raised his staff again in a defensive manner, ready to continue their bout. “For you will not have such a chance again. I assure you.” The woman swung upon him again, but this time he was more prepared. With a shout he blocked another swing, forcing the blades away as he pulled it back again, this time going on the offensive. However, as he swung upon her with the staff, he was quick to discover that despite her lack of wits, she clearly had him bested in stamina. This fight would not last long, and would most certainly end with his death. But he could not fail his master now. There was far too much riding upon this plan to let it shatter prematurely. Something would need to be done...but what? With this moment of contemplation as they began to circle each other, preparing for their next move he let loose a mocking chuckle, once more beginning to monologue. “What, surprised that you cannot just bludgeon your way through another problem, Nord? That I won’t just lie down and die? Does my resistance disappoint you?” His eyes grew wide as he continued, though something had changed. As the next words left his lips, were the Nord perceptive enough, she would notice that his voice no longer held the soothing tones it once carried, instead now wearing the guise of someone she had tried so desperately to forget, the inflections of which were perfect, and did the ghost of Brynn’s past a haunting justice. “Am I not good enough for you dearest?”
A cold feeling overtook her, creeping into her heart and stiffening her joints. As if her breath was trapped and her lungs constricted, she found herself unable to breath and fought to simply gasp for a single breath. She had heard the words play in her mind time and time again, reliving the haunting experience in countless episodes but to hear it now in the present, in ears she thought would never be assaulted with her voice again…
He took a step closer, forcing her to push against the hazy images that had already begun to bombard her and fight for control. She struggled, but managed by some miracle or perhaps just a practiced defense to remain aloft. With a pained expression she watched as the same wretched smile contorted his face. Her eyes followed his lips as the next words, her words, formed there.
“Don’t you dare look at me that way, what did you expect?” she said, for it was no longer Rumare who stood alone in front of her, his image was momentarily overlain with a character dredged from her most painful of memories.
Despite her attempts, despite all the effort that had been poured into escaping another episode she was there once more. She could feel the chill of the night air which seeped through the cracks in the windowpane, the hot tears which had fallen steadily from her eyes. She had been there before,
more times than she could count, more times than her body seemed to be willing to handle as she dropped to her knees and began to shake. It took her over completely, every sense overwhelmed leaving her unaware and listless to the gaze of the outsider with the same words.
“It’s all your fault.” and it all came into focus.
The candles blurred her vision as she attempted to stumble forth through the haze of tears, her mother's outline before her. Chest heaving as she sobbed, her hands reached out. Not knowing her wrong doings and too young to understand she sought only comfort in the form of physical affirmation. She wanted to be held, to be assured however as she was to descend into the embrace…
Rumare looked to the troubled woman with a dark smirk, watching as the words gave him the desired effect. The woman was, as he had expected, unable to control herself when the darkest recesses of her mind were tapped and brushed clean. The bones of her past lay bare before her mind's eye, giving him the desired outcome. The warrior that would have broken him in his weakened state was no longer a threat, meaning he could capitalize on her pathetic whimpering, bringing him above her in battle as he already was in wit. As her eyes were transfixed upon a scene that was beyond this plane, Rumare decided to act. He gripped his staff with both hands, wringing it tight as he wound back, letting out a thunderous cry as he swung it back forward, the crown connecting to her head with a heavy crack. The woman was woken from her grand delusion as she collapsed to the floor, hands reaching instinctively for the source of her suffering. Rumare stepped closer to her, kneeling down as he began to speak. “Tsk Tsk. After all that nonsense about stifling your inner beast you cannot handle hearing about dear old mum? How pathetic.” He paused to hear the woman grunt, seeing her eyes flutter as her world was likely fading. He decided to continue to sow seeds of doubt within her, not content to let the soon to be sleeping dog lie. “Do you feel shame? When you see your reflection in the streams or ponds you occasionally visit do you ever feel disgusted by what you see? Because I am.” As he watched the woman fall unconscious from the cheap swing, he stood to his feet, dusting himself off, morso in a pompous gesture than one of necessity, before continuing. “If you ever wake from your nap I suggest you stay down, pup. You wouldn’t accomplish more than wearing out my arm should you continue, and I am not one whose time is free to waste.” Having said his piece to the inanimate Brynn, his attention swayed to the others, staff held outward, letting out a proud call. “Now, who is next to fall at my hands?”
A small fireball shot across the room, inches from Rumare’s head. “I am asshole!” Cilla shouted, “I don’t know what you did to my Brynnie but I’ll burn you ALIVE for it!” She sprinted towards him, fists aglow and hair alight. All of her momentum was put into a forward charge that would end with a flurry of fire and fists. More importantly she had taken her gloves off, now determined to beat this elf to death with her bare hands.
Rumare shook his head, grimacing at the sight before he pulled his staff to him again, bracing himself before he launched himself to the ground, the woman’s flaming swing grazing the top of his head as he went down. The smell of burnt hair was strong as he scrambled to his feet, hand smoothing the singed locks as he stood at attention. He grit his teeth as his frustration grew ever greater, annoyed that someone actually answered his beckoning. Yet again the elf had bit off more than he could chew. However, there was hope. Once again, an opponent who swung first and questioned later had thrust themselves upon him. Another dolt who would be easy to manipulate, to sway into digging their own grave with their pride. His grimace turned once again into an arrogant grin, his belief in his chances returning. However, this revelation was not the only cause for such elation. Nothing so simple. It was also the realization that this trivial skirmish was starting to sway, the fights favor beginning to shift toward them. It showed that despite the numbers, there was nothing this small team could do against these ancient champions, whose numbers he now cockily counted himself in. He looked to the walking fireball with this sickening confidence and sneered. “Ah, yes. So nice of you to sacrifice yourself for the greater good. I know you wouldn’t bear to have any more of your friends fall prey to myself.” He cackled softly to himself again before he continued, cocking his head to the side in a mocking gesture. “Or, is it more likely that you wish to thrust yourself toward death to avoid witnessing the grisly fates that her faithful have planned for your friends? For shame. How could someone who seems so brave fall so low?” He held out his staff again, pointing in her direction, waiting for her to make the first move. He made his intentions apparent, speaking aloud to Cilla as she glared at him, goading her into overreaching. “Ladies first?”
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While Rumare prepared to defend himself, the Champion began to circle around the defiant winged creature she had challenged prior, the time for mockery of her opponent having long since passed. Her hands tightening upon the grips of her sword and shield as she waited for her moment. The fight would surely be simple. The woman was good for little less than fanfare. The confident mask she donned did not match the stance she carried, the champion detecting that the wielding of dagger and sword was not the form of warfare that she felt most comfortable. If this woman was truly as much of a fool as Maere was beginning to speculate, this encounter would be brief. As they continued to circle each other Maere seized the moment, charging the woman with her shield raised, ready to knock Alice to the ground with a solid bash toward her center.
As Maere charged Alice realized she was in trouble. Her attempt at diplomacy had failed and her attempt at regal intimidation only made the woman laugh. Now she was charging at her in an obvious but very dangerous bull rush. There was nowhere for Alice to run and no space to draw her bow. She was going to have to fight and she knew she couldn’t win. She was tired, her head still ached and she was facing a dedicated warrior without the element of surprise. She had no choice but to stand her ground and either parry or dodge the blow and right now she didn’t have the strength for that. She needed to change the rules.
She had just enough magicka for one good spell and needed to make it count. Something to disable her attacker long enough for her to counter-charge and go for the legs. That would cripple her and give Alice some breathing room to do something else. More diplomacy if permitted, a kill shot if necessary.
Option one was a two handed sparks spell. It would cause the woman great physical pain, drain her magika and, after several seconds, cause her muscles to lock up and her to stumble. But a few seconds may be all she needed to knock Alice to the ground and stab her through the stomach. Option two was a psychic scream. It was her favorite illusion spell and got her the nickname “banshee” during the wars. It dizzied and confused anyone she screamed at and can bring a grown man to his knees in pain, clutching his bleeding ears to make the wailing stop. Many men ran in terror from the spell. But it could backfire. Anyone caught in Alice’s cone of noise would be hit and she had to hold the scream for a full five seconds for it to work. Most people were on their knees or slowed to a shuffle after the first second , but this woman radiated holy power and would not succumb to terror easily. Alice favored this option because it had a better chance of success and immediate, cumulative effects but her chances were fair at best and she had no backup plan if it failed.
She was out of time, she had to choose. Option two then.
The wings faded, her eyes glowed a deep purple and her scream filled the chapel. Everyone heard it and those in front of her, including Cilla, felt it. Candles blew out, windows and lamps cracked and broke and a cone of purple ripples appeared in front of Alice. She could see Cilla clutching her ears in pain and several others looking at her in shock but she didn’t care. She had eyes only for this “holy woman”, this “savior”, this butcher of innocents. Alice would destroy her mind and burn her body. Cilla could have the ashes.
Finniri shambled forward, rushing to get between Maere and the source of her pain. It cocked its head to the side as wisps of ash flicked off of its form, attempting to stop the waves of noise by blocking them with his physical form. But Maere’s pain continued. It released a faint hiss of fury as it was buffeted by the bursts of sounds, digging in its feet and raising its arms as it muscled its way forward. Its progress was slow and unsteady for the first few steps, pieces of its form blowing off into the distance, only to travel outside of the cone of effect and drift back to its core in an attempt to reform. With a shriek of pain and fury from Maere it flinched as if physically struck and fell to a knee, its arms and feet anchored to the cool, hard stone, head bowed. Then, with a start, its ashen form condensed into a rocklike carapace, rising to its knees completely undaunted by the buffeting wave of magic and sound. It charged forward with reckless abandon, extending a clumsy hand that seized Alice by the head, covering her face and bringing the shriek to an abrupt silence. It lifted her up off the ground as she struck at it with her arms and legs, her kicks useless and her protests muffled. Then it began to tighten its grip, attempting to crush her skull in its entirety. It was difficult for it though, as its arm shook and it struggled to flex its fingers properly, losing its grip with one finger as it gained it with another. But steadily, it was crushing the girl’s skull.
However, this was not to be. As Finniri palmed her head in his hand, the clenching of his fingers digging into the legate’s cranium, Dolmas chose to act. There was much he needed to do, to turn the fight back in their favor. The immediate action he needed to take was to save Alice. She was in the most danger, her life at stake with one simple crushing motion. However, as he decided that this was the best course of action, he froze, his eyes darting back to Maere, who was still recovering from the high pitched wailing. As his eyes studied his former friend, he felt a tug within himself. A desire to capitalize. But how could he? Surely he could not truly turn on her, despite her protests that he had done so already. He had hoped to handle it all diplomatically, talking her down and bringing her back to the light. As the fight went on, however, it was apparent this was not an easy feat to accomplish. As the doubts grew in his mind, another voice joined with them, stating his opinion plainly. There is no more room for reason, Dolm. They made this a fight. You said your piece, and they threw it back in your face. You have all of these lives on the line. You need to end this. You need to end her.
Dolmas went wide eyed at the thought, immediately dismissing it. “I will not! Maere is not in her own mind, there has to be something we can-” The madman hushed him with a jerk of his head back toward Fin, his grip growing ever tighter upon the woman’s head. Look at the woman Dolmas. LOOK AT HER. The bitch’s lapdog is going to crush her hollow crown, and then ours when we start running out of people to take the hits for us. We need to take advantage of this. Take out the one who is calling the shots. End this before it begins. His vision swung back to the fallen champion, finally gathering herself again for another push. She started all of this, she has to be then end. KILL HER. Dolmas growled low, gritting his teeth as his mind fought him. “Never…” The voice went silent, leaving the man to his thoughts for a moment. He was still for another moment, wanting to be sure it was not just his- There was a gleeful shout as he winced, his consciousness shoved out of control as Valen burst his way to the fore of his mind. Now in charge, Valen smirked as he brandished his swords again, preparing to act out the plan he had proposed himself. “Damn it then, I will! You always were too soft Dolm. Even now when lives are at stake, you hesitate. You are a failure. So here! I will be the one to save the day. Look out world! VALEN GETS TO BE THE HERO!”
With a demented cackle he lifted his blades in the air, moving forward brusquely toward the stumbling fool of a champion. As his steel begged to meet her flesh the elf began to gloat, reveling in the moment. “So many years, eras had I regretted not doing this before. All those times you sat whimpering, whining about saving those pathetic fools while I had to listen. Bah. Now I get to do everyone this kindness, and save the world to boot. This is gonna be-” However, the madman soon discovered that his fleeting chance was now gone. While he had reveled in his premature victory someone else had taken notice. However this did not seem to phase the elf until said creature decided that his new plaything had a more appropriate use; A projectile. With a powerful swing Alice was sent flying toward him, her body collapsing into his chest as they both were sent tumbling backward, the elf being flattened against the wall he began to slide down slowly before taking a seat upon the cold stone floor. The elf called out in pain from the impact, clutching himself in pain.
As Dolmas attempted to recover from his encounter with Fin, Daxos had already risen to his feet, his fervor renewed as he and Rohael rushed the ashen creature, flanking it from two sides. “Don’t let it grab you!” Dolmas shouted between breaths and coughs as he recovered from having the wind knocked out of him. Whether Rohael had heard this warning or not was irrelevant to Daxos, who had tuned everything else out as he thrust himself once more into Fin, desperate to find a weakness in the awkward foe, who seemed to be capable of dissipating and reforming himself at will.
Alice wanted to get up and help but she simply couldn’t. Her whole head hurt, her nose and throat were burning with spectral dust and the back of her head was bleeding from her throw. She rested it against the wall, wet and tender from the wound, and her pain was magnified tenfold. She gritted her teeth in pain but still couldn’t move it. There were stars dancing across her vision and if she slumped any further she’d fall asleep. If she did that she could go into a coma and then she could die. She needed to stay awake. She wanted to call out for help but the blood in her mouth stopped her. She spit it out and tried to speak again but her throat was bone dry. She had used too much magicka and drained herself dry. She couldn’t get up, she couldn’t cry out and she couldn’t fight back. So she just sat there. Trying to stay awake and clinging to her consciousness.
All was not lost however. Titus had remained morose and passive for the fight, shocked and ashamed at what he had tried to do to his own sister. Now he had failed to act. He had let Brynn succumb to Rumare’s blows and magic. He had let Dolmas and Daxos down as they had bloodied themselves against the ash monster and he did nothing as Cilla fought on with all her might against hopeless odds. Now Alice, his twin sister and other half, was broken and bloodied. Another victim of this elf and his puppet-monsters. He couldn’t take it anymore.
He gave the warcry he was known for and charged toward the elf, battleaxe in hand. He wanted to shift again, to rip this sorcerer limb from limb, but he was too weak and it was too dangerous. He could never trust himself around Alice again so his own strength would have to suffice. Maere, the elf’s puppet, was in the way. Titus didn’t care. If she resisted him she would die too. And then their ash monster would be destroyed. He charged Maere with all the speed and shock he could muster, holding his axe in an overhead stroke. At worst he would miss, crash into her and cut her in half as she tried to recover. At best his blow would land and split her head in two. It didn’t matter.
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Maere clutched at her head with gripping fingers, the agony wrought by that infernal scream leaving her mind in a tattered disarray. Despite the source of said shriek being down and out, the pained discomfort left behind did not relent. With grit teeth she fought the pain, coming to terms with her surroundings just as another distraction gathered her scattered attention. In a familiar flash of her previous attack, another had taken to rushing her position, battleaxe ready to be brought down upon her when the bellowing fighter who carried it closed the distance. She was no fool, the man had the upperhand. It would take quick thinking for her to manage to keep her head on her shoulders as they continued this fight. She would need to act quickly.
Her focus shifted to the man’s knees, and an action that she could take came to mind. In a desperate ditch effort, she gripped her shield tighter and met the man’s charge with one of her own, before leaping forward, shield raised and braced for impact, as she collided with the man’s knees with the broad side of her shield, bringing them both down to the ground as his legs were swept out from under him. It took some time for Maere to get to her feet, still battling the drain on her will from the woman’s scream, as well as from her own fatigue. However, rise she did, gripping both her weapons as the man rose to his own feet, once again managing to stand between him and Rumare. She pulled her shield in toward her as he positioned it before her, ready to continue her fight.
“So kind of you to join us.” She said quietly, her voice betraying her exhaustion as it rode on her exhalations. “Was wondering if you were going to do something other than gawk. Almost was wondering if you were plotting to flee.” She planted her feet more firmly as she prepared to go on the defensive. Her eyes began to squint as she ground her teeth, ready to face the relatively fresh warrior. “No matter. There would have been no place for you to hide, anyway. We would have found you, one way or another, and made you suffer like they did. Just as you...deserve.” Her mind became slightly clouded again, and she let loose another harsh exhale, sword poised above her shield, resting across for a poised strike.
She silently hoped Fin was watching, ready to appear on her behalf. Depending on how the man responded to her words, she might need him now more than ever.
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While Maere braced herself for another bout, the battle between Rumare and Cilla continued, the altmer starting to feel emboldened by their impending victory. The woman he stood opposed to was fading, her resolve weakening with each attempt to silence the prattling necromancer. He could sense this, watching her desire to make him pay outstretch her ability to make this impulse a reality. “And so it finally comes to an end!” The Altmer declared, backstepping quickly to avoid yet another swing from the infernal pugilist, watching as she reeled back with a frustrated scowl, rearing back to once again attempt to put the lippy elf down. However, Rumare would not give the young fighter the satisfaction. As she let another punch fly, he sidestepped, answering her tired swings with a stiff jab in the ribs with his staff. As she responded with a sharp breath, her hand instinctively reaching for her ribcage he continued the tirade he had prepared to spill before she so rudely attempted to interrupt “Look around, little one. You’ve already lost! Everyone-” He let out a grunt as the word exited his lips, another swing of his staff connecting to her exposed side. As she winced, he progressed through his monologue, slowly stepping forward as she tactfully receded. “...is falling to their knees in utter failure. Those that led you here. Those you called friends. Each of them beaten and broken at your feet. You stand alone against the tide of your inevitable demise, and yet you fight? Pitiful.” He spat the last word through his teeth as the staff came down again, this time to displace another arrogant swing in her direction, batting her fist away with a practiced flourish before sending it to strike flush against her cheek bone. She stumbled backward, falling to a knee as she fought the overwhelming dread that loomed over her, knowing that this could indeed be the end.
Not seeing any reason to end this oration he instead decided to toy with her further, now drawing attention to a matter he knew she would be unable to resist. He knelt down before her, watching her rapid breath as he whispered the next iteration of his verbal onslaught. “And just think. The pain your siblings must be feeling right now. Alice, Titus...Imagine that same fate with those you hold dear back home, eh? All of those fools in Jorrvaskr, or even closer. Those who share your blood. Surely there are more of you, waiting for you to return? First they will suffer the heartbreak of losing their wretched children, fall to their knees in anguish as your bodies are incinerated by the town guard when they finally put this city to the torch, and then have that pain doubled when the force that did so knocks on their door. I almost pity you. The helplessness you must be feeling. Knowing that no matter what you do…” He rose to his feet, bracing his staff once more. “You’ll never be able to save them from the torment we will unleash upon them, all because you could not leave well enough alone. I'll make sure that when they burn in despair, that the name they curse in their torment will be your own.” With his final words he thrust the crown of the staff upward, striking her jaw with a solid thwack, sending her head driving upward with a pained grunt as she fell to the floor, finally unconscious. The elf once more prepared to posture, looking down upon Cilla with great disdain. “And another falls by my hand. Another fighter mistaken me for the weakest link. The fool. Only to be trounced by the mastermind behind it all with little effort. How pathetic.” He picked up the staff with a great harrumph, shaking off his cape as he swung to turn to the lingering chaos that surrounded him, a sinister grin easing onto his features. It was only a matter of time now.
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What Daxos and Rohael had hoped would be a sort of heroic comeback, pushing this creature to its back-foot, deteriorated quickly as their initial strikes sparked off of its hardened carapace with barely a scratch. The creature remained unmoved, then lashed out with its arms, trying to grab one of them, only for them to twist and weave away from its awkward attacks. The carapace screeched and groaned as it tried to keep up with the two much swifter and more flexible opponents, unable to to keep pace with their movements. The pair probed it for weak spots as they struggled to keep the creature occupied. They had little doubt in their minds that they would not be able to kill this thing with mere fist and steel, but they could at least slow it down as it lashed out with a flurry of clumsy hooks and haphazard grabs. Then it changed tactics. Whereas its feet had been firmly planted on the ground for most of the conflict, it raised one of its legs for a wild, experimental kick at Daxos. It promptly lost balance and crumpled in on itself, breaking into several pieces from the joints. The pair swiftly began to kick its body parts away from each other in an attempt to delay its inevitable reforming, only for it to dissipate back to ash and once again resurface as a being more of sand than rock. It rushed at Daxos without warning, prompting Daxos to instinctively drive his sword into its chest as he moved to backpedal.
As he attempted to step back, pulling on his sword without the expectation of resistance from the ashen form’s body, he was instead nearly jerked off his feet, the creature’s chest once again as hard and unyielding as stone. Unable to pull his sword free, Daxos was pulled into a proper kick that dented his armor, knocked the wind out of him, and most likely broke several ribs as he was sent flying for the second time this fight. Rohael cursed as he squared of with the creature, all of its focus now on him. Finniri made the first move, once again lashing out with a flurry of strikes. This time, however, they were significantly less clumsy. The creature shifted more naturally between its hardened carapace and its ashen state, only forming into a solid mass when it was required to make solid contact with its opponent. Rohael, however, was no slouch. He was easily able to keep pace with the creature’s movements and dodge, deflect, or absorb most of them with his armor. He danced around it with impunity as the creature’s attacks began to take on an angrier and angrier energy, every blow thrown with more force, more reckless abandon than the last as it furiously whirled and weaved in on itself to pursue its slippery target.
This lasted for several more moments of ever increasing intensity before Finniri came to a sudden stop, becoming a literal statue for a moment as it took stock of its surroundings. Rohael tried to capitalize by striking it, but his weapons once again sparked off of its carapace with little sign of harm. As it slowly turned to face Titus, who bore down on Maere, Rohael realized he needed to do whatever it took to keep this thing from getting in Titus’ way, or they might all die here. He deftly twirled his sword into a reverse grip, holding it by the blade as he brandished it with a snort. He let out a roar as he swung the weapon with everything he had, wielding it as a tool for bludgeoning as he smacked the creature in the back of the head, sending its head flying clean off of its shoulders. He followed up by taking out its legs, causing it to crumple, and then continued his assault with reckless abandon, yelling in tune with every strike as he desperately tried to stop it from reforming.
And it *was* keeping it from reforming before him, however pieces of the creature steadily drifted behind him, coalescing and reforming as it slowly rose from the ground and loomed over its distracted victim. Rohael’s life was saved by raw fighting instinct as his body reacted long before his mind, driving him to dance to the side as a barely perceptible surprise attack barreled through the space he’d been occupying only a moment before. But the creature had learned, and with a sickening crunch, its foot stomped down onto Rohael’s, breaking every bone in it before slowly reforming around it and clamping like a vice, keeping him immobilized. There was a split second of realization and shock as Rohael stared at the creature, an eerie feeling creeping up his spine as he beheld a face devoid of feature or expression. Then it gave way to defiant rage as he struck back against his death, attempting to club the creature’s leg off to free himself, but it caught his weapon and ripped it from his grasp, cutting Rohael’s hands in the process. It tossed the weapon aside like a discarded toy before throwing the entire weight of its body into a massive left hook, breaking Rohael’s jaw and sending his mind spinning. This was followed almost immediately by an equally devastating right to his temple, turning Rohael’s whole world as black as the void as he was, mercifully, robbed of all sense of pain, or any senses at all. The blow drove Rohael’s lifeless form backwards towards the solid ground, but the fall was too slow for Finniri’s taste. He planted his free foot on Rohael’s chest and stomped all of his weight onto the limp body, driving it into the ground and denting the armor as he crushed the dead man’s rib cage. He finished the grisly spectacle by catapulting forward into a sprint from a foot planted on the dead man’s skull, caving it in too as Finniri charged Titus down with the speed and ferocity of a mindless beast. Titus turned to face the new threat, his focus shifting on the unarguably more dangerous foe while Maere continued to circle behind him. As she did so she noticed the warrior was unprepared to deal with both of them were they both to rush him, crushing him between their combined might and putting down what they believed to be the final offender. With a staunch battlecry of her own she charged the man, shield raised, ready to end this fight once and for all.
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As Rumare wordlessly lauded his successes, he glanced over the victory he had set into motion. Everything was coming together. The pathetic wretches the treacherous Dolmas had thrust their way were falling ever so swiftly, then crushed beneath their boots like the worthless vermin they had proven themselves to be. Their unforeseen diversion meant nothing. His plan would continue, and there was nothing left to stand in their way. Had he not been plagued by the slight exhaustion of wrangling those worthless louts he had tossed aside moments prior, he would have been more vocal in this victory. Heaping justly earned praise upon himself for setting this absolute destruction into motion.
However, as his gaze weaved over the battlefield this sacred ground had become, his focus halted upon a solitary figure, defying his most recent observations of the state of their plight. As he scrutinized the woman his brow furrowed, her identity recalled and then swiftly dismissed. He arrogantly strode forward slowly, each step mocking as his voice rose amongst the lingering chaos.“So! You managed to escape the splintered grave I had prepared for you. Though I am most sure it was rather saved. Had that miserable fool not thrust himself to your aid you would not have the pleasure of being graced by my presence, and I, the misery of having to waste my effort to attempt to send you to Aetherius a second time. I’ll remember that when I bring you both the suffering you wish to be rewarded.”
“I tire so quickly of hearing you pontificate yet it seems that you never grow weary of hearing your own prattle. Why else would you continue to drag such misery, which I can assure you is mutual, on while claiming it as an inconvenience? Truly though it matters not for you are by far the least important, and impressive individual within this gathering.” she retorted with a calm and slight disinterest which contrasted his burning need to preen. “ I would far more have favoured the address of those whose words would be of some interest and note, any other but yourself.”
She did not speak to be heard by others, but rather to serve her own purpose lending her in some way similarities to the altmer. The distinction was however that while his words were heavy with self importance the desired effect of each word she spoke was to prolong the conversation, though no more than was necessary to bring him closer and to give her the chance to strike. It was not something she enjoyed, feeling her own observations, her own analysis of the bland villain (no offense, this is cosset speaking) was underserved and wasted for none could with any realistic expectations hope to penetrate the overwhelming ego which encompassed his character.
“Ah! So, we have one who seems to be cut from a different cloth than those you have rode in with to save the day. I had mostly expected the telltale furrowing of the brow, and a terse word before lunging in my direction recklessly, like so many had before. Nice to see that you seem to have...some... sense.” He continued, seemingly ignorant to the fact that words could be thought, and not spoken. “Though I would refrain from speaking as if any of those who accompany either of us would do better with regaling you of my looming triumph. I am simply the greatest among them all. Would do well for you to accept that, and lend forth the proper respect. A respect I will earn by grinding each and every one of you into dust.”
He had continued to fall in line with her expectations and although this meant she need expend less effort it also made him incredibly boring, utterly disinterested as an opponent. Closing the gap he brought himself closer to her vengeance, to the future impudence that would befall him. His position within the game she had entered upon may have been unclear but his character was not, nor was his place in the world, one she thought decidedly he needed to be reminded of. So, fixing him with her unwavering and domineering scrutiny she did just that.
“Please, you flatterer yourself. Not one person in that room was deluded enough, even these poor wretches,” She began, indicating one of the small family of equally disappointing individuals, her intense and assertive gaze never leaving his face. “as to think you were the most powerful. You are the weakest link, the farthest from being feared. You were a nuisance, and couldn't even do this simple task on your own.”
As her words died her expression indicated that she found his incredulousness held some comedy, disbelief also appearing as an undertone that he could be so blind.Though she felt no disbelief, nor inclination to laugh she could see the desired effect taking place, and was glad for having spoken. The slack jaw of her adversary caused a twinge of satisfaction to bloom in her chest as he fought for composure, and for some way to combat her though he kept falling short. This truth, it seemed, was one that even he could not deny, infuriating him into silence. This was the moment she had been waiting for, his weakness called to her as blood on the wind. Her body responding with motion, confident steps bringing her closer to her goal as the fool fumbled.
“Damnable witch.” He spat through clenched teeth, any remainder of tranquility long lost as she had dug into him, and now began her advance. His chance to provide any rebuttal to her earlier claims long since lost. However his desire to continue to spout in his indignation went unabated, commenting upon the foolishness of her closing the distance between them as he felt the urge to silence her well within him. “Do you not recall what had happened to the last two dolts who had tried this? They were warriors, capable of destroying me with a flick of their wrist yet I outdid them both! What hope does a simple, pathetic mage have in succeeding where they had fail-”
Once again the mage had silenced him, though this time she did not need to utter a word. The divergent response to his floundering was unexpected, his raving shut down not with her voice, but with a swift, brutal swing connecting to the exasperated elf’s clenched jaw. Rumare’s head felt as if it had been knocked from the stable support of his shoulders, flung aside as she followed through, hardened knuckles propelling his head and knocking the disgruntled mer off balance. As he reeled from the punch, hand grasping desperately at his chin as his eyes met the mage, wild with wrath as he cried out in his outrage, tossing his staff aside carelessly before rushing the mage’s position with reckless abandon, having lost all sense as his desire to have her pay for the transgression left him devoid of any desire to do anything but kill. The mage had disgraced him with her mockery, then made a fool of him as he sputtered like a child trying to save his battered pride. The offense was great, and needed to be repaid in kind. When he had the woman’s head rolling about on the floor, only then could this desire be satisfied. As he closed the distance between them once more he felt himself leave the ground beneath him, his frustration sending him flying in her direction, arms outstretched to wreak his vengeance upon the woman who so rudely defied him.
With the majority of the would be heroes strewn about worthlessly across the stone floor, dashed amongst the corpses that had preceded them, it would have seemed that hope had indeed been cast aside along with them. There were only two left standing, and even if they were to manage to escape the foes that rushed their positions, it would only have been a matter of time before they were soundly defeated. The battle was over. The odds they had weathered. The battles they had fought, within themselves and without, were fruitless. Rorikstead was destroyed, and it’s last line of defense was broken. There was nothing left to do except hold of the bitter end for as long as they could.
Aetherius, however, seemed to have conflicting designs for the fallen heroes, as soon the tide of battle shifted once more, though this time, it was a unmistakable sign of it’s end. As the champions were upon their foes, mere inches from closing the gaps and attempting to end it all for good, a voice resounded within the temple, a chilling, bone shaking demand that echoed the voice most of them had been guided by. As the voice rocked the foundation once more, a blinding light surrounded those who had been guided by the pair, enveloping their forms before it’s accompanied command reached them and those that prepared to destroy them.
ENOUGH.
Unable to halt their advance in time, the champions who rushed their targets were met with the next phase of the light’s purpose. With a small wind up the beams of light that lingered upon each of them let off a discharge of energy, meeting their charge with a push of it’s own, thrusting them away from their intended targets and instead found them flung upon the stone floor. As Rumare fell unceremoniously upon his face he rose up indignantly, his embarrassment in having been thwarted only doubling. He twist his head to face the ground his opponent had once stood, seeing the light that had surrounded her begin to dissipate. However as he and those he had beckoned looked amongst themselves, it was discovered that not only she, but every single one of those that had dared defy them, had vanished. As Rumare and the Champion looked to the other for answers they both were left wanting, as neither seemed to understand what had transpired. They were gone. All of them. Disappeared into thin air at the beckon of…
Maere’s brow furrowed, growing more aggressive as the implications of her opponent’s salvation washed over her. The voice that had defied them, that had saved their enemies. It was the voice of her Lady. But why? Why had she crossed them? She was doing her work! Standing against those wretches in her name as she had been commanded! Why would her God turn her face from her now? First her dearest friend, and now her patron? What else would she be called to lose after being woken from her slumber for what felt like mere hours? What else would she have stripped from her as she attempted to regain her balance and poise? As if Rumare could sense her growing doubts and the loss of her conviction he spoke up, attempting to rally her. “Do not be deceived by this cowardly parlor trick. You’re still in the good graces of your master. No doubt this was a ploy to weaken you, to break your resolve since they could not break your will with their own hands. They fled, and have used your loyalty to cloud your judgement. Fear not, Lady Maere.” The champion did not look so sure as she returned his gaze, but he looked deep within her as he continued to attempt to reignite her spark, to keep everything going as planned despite the unexpected set back. “You were tasked to fulfill your duty. To destroy those who oppose the wishes of Lady Meridia, and use whatever means you must use to do so.”
The words were true. She was called upon to end this blight upon the people, but the last part...something sounded off. Whatever means? Would she truly go against her own principles? Her focus dwelled upon it before Rumare continued to sway her. “We should not tarry any longer. We must go and find the others. We have found Fin, but it is not enough. We must be back to our full strength to weather the forces that have been built against us while we slumbered. They must be awakened and brought to aid us in our fight to save Tamriel from whatever has poisoned Dolmas’ mind further. Stand strong against the tides of doubt that beat upon your mind and weather the storm that threatens to ravage us. We need you at your best, Maere.”
The words seeped into Maere, rebuilding her will as she slowly began to feel her resolve return. Yes. The voice was only a ploy, a jab at her that nearly broke her. She would not let the traitor and the followers he had deceived rob her of her sacred duty, nor to destroy the land that her lady had saved. No. It was time to act. Time to awaken her friends and turn the tide of evil back against itself. Fin was only the beginning. There was much to do if they were to have any chance of stopping the encroaching evil that lingered upon them. With a firm nod the woman looked to her brother in arms, gesturing with her head toward the door. “Come. Both of you. We need to locate the resting places of those we stood with before. We’ll need everyone for this. With what he knows, Dolmas will be incredibly dangerous, one man or no. He must be stopped before what ever is taking him down this dark path does irreversible damage.” She moved for the door, her charges at her back as they left the desecrated temple in shambles.
“We’ll stop you, old friend. Even if I must kill you with my own hands, I will save you from yourself. I swear it.”