<sub>[The following are extracts of a journal from Guardsman Gregor Tements, 3E 433]

29th Last Seed, Sundas
It was a strange day today. Nothing extremely odd happened, but there were enough instances that, put together, makes you start to think something is going on.

First, we had animals going insane in the city walls. I’m usually greeted in the morning by the crow of the rooster, but there was nothing but silence. All the birds had fled the city – or, were just being so quiet and still that nobody could see them. Of course, I didn’t notice their absence until much later when other strange things began to occur. Pets of the townsfolk were acting crazy, dogs straining on leashes and cats clawing at doors to get outside. I even saw a swarm of rats, swimming through the muck and leaving the city through the cistern.

Things only got stranger when we heard complaints from the local hunters – wildlife is rarely sparse here in Kvatch, even during the cold months of winter… but the hunters said there were no animals for at least 10 miles around the city; no rabbits and empty warrens, no birds and abandoned nests, no deer. One exasperated fellow even noted the lack of butterflies that usually frequented the forests. Wolves and bears were seemingly missing too – we didn’t have one report of an attack all day.

Most of the others are calling me crazy too; just for noticing these strange things happening. ‘Why try to understand beasts?’ They laughed. A mage told me to not worry about them; we can’t understand animals, so why try now because they’re acting out of the ordinary? Another mage said something about the location of the moons affecting them, and then another person joined in talking about the late winter we’d had was doing it all. I left the tavern at this point, not wanting to break up what was turning into an argument between the three while off-duty. As I left, I noticed a strange feeling in the air. Not quite cold, but it still caused me to shudder. There must be a storm on it’s way.



30th Last Seed, Morndas

I’m a fool, a bloody fool… I should have listened to my gut instincts, should have fled the city with all of those damned animals. My family… my family still stuck inside with these monsters! They came in the night, there was nothing anybody could do. And the sky… by the Gods, the sky was the colour of blood. Thunder crashed in the crimson sky, but there was no lightning – no sign of anything worldly amongst that sea of red. Will I ever see the stars again? The sun? I do not know… I don’t know why any of this is happening. How could the gods let the very gates of hell be opened on this earth? How could they let those demons slay our children and raze our homes to the ground?

I do not know… but I know I will not give up easily. I may not see the sunrise on the morn, but I will fight to make damn sure my wife and children will. As I write this, I ready for battle… if there is anything left of Kvatch… of my home… after all of this, and some lucky soul finds this diary, please bring it to my family. I know not when I will see their faces again.</sub>

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With all the fires raging in the city, and the sky the colour of crimson, one would have considered the temperature to be warm - hot, even. But no - there was a distinct chill in the air, and Naenya couldn't help but wonder if it was the actual weather causing the drop in temperature, or the layer of fear that covered everyone in the Chapel like a thick, smothering blanket. Shivering lightly, Naenya tucked her arms more tightly around her body, surveying the room. There was a hush among the people; as if hoping if they remained quiet the monsters outside would forget about them and go away. A mother shushed her whimpering child; a man in the corner was muttering prayers in an almost feverish manner; the local priest was staring at the stained glass window of Akatosh with a stony expression set in his eyes, as if questioning why this was all happening.

"Well, of course he is. I suppose everyone is..." She mused silently on the situation. While many were no doubt pleading with the Gods for an answer of 'Why', she was thinking more of 'How'. All of her studies into the Daedric realms had told her quite plainly that those gates outside were completely impossible. Well, ones that stable were, anyway. Already she was formulating different theories in her mind as to how it had happened, but even with her chattermouth ways, Naenya knew better than to discuss them with anyone in the Chapel. Too much had been lost... even when she'd run out in the middle of the night she'd felt nought but fear. People being slaughtered all around her, fires raging, that awesomely terrible gate glittering like a giant red eye...

Naenya shivered again, but it had nothing to do with the temperature this time.

Perhaps sensing her discomfort, Bobo pecked lightly at her ear from where he sat upon her shoulder. Or, maybe he was just hungry. Who knew?

“Oh, we’re in quite the mess this time, aren’t we?” She sighed quietly to the magpie, digging through her pocket until she found the little bag of birdseed. He twittered in her ear, hopping about slightly. She had been tempted to let him fly away, perhaps with a message to her father back in Cheydinhal; but she couldn’t risk his life. There has been too many spells and arrows being shot up into the air. Tipping some of the seed into the palm of her hand, Bobo hopped onto her arm and began pecking away quite happily. He seemed to be unaware of their current impending doom – or simply didn’t care about it. Naenya sometimes wished she had the single-mindedness of animals before she remembered she would be unable to read books. What an awful existence that would be.

"Almighty Akatosh, Dragon of Time, One-Above-All, safeguard this great empire through these troubling times, and may it stand tall against this looming threat...Mother Mara, Life Giver, One-Of-Love-Eternal, let not the people of Tamriel forget to afford their hearts to one another, and guide them through this dark night to peace...Mighty Stendarr, Ever Merciful, One-Most-Just, give your humble servant the strength to strike down the beasts that seek to bring harm to your people, and render unto them your blessings, so that they all may see the next sun..."

Hands clasped and hammer laid flat in front of him, Orintur prayed to the Divines near the front doors of the chapel, ever ready to stand tall and bring heavy steel to the heads of any daedra foolish enough to enter. None would so much as brush against the people hiding further within, not as long as he lived, and the stout elf did not intend on dying any time soon. Finishing his prayers, Orintur rose and grasped he long oak handle of his hammer confidently, his face obscured by the large front plate of his helmet.

All Orintur had wanted to do that day was pray in the chapel, in mourning of the late Emperor. It was supposed to be a simple event, invoking the basic rites of Akatosh and praying in hopes of guidance and prosperity for the Empire, just as Orintur was taught. But then that gate opened, flooding Kvatch with daedra that slaughtered and set aflame everything in their path. The only thing keeping them out of the chapel was a large piece of rubble obstructing the main doors, forcing them through the one side-door. The chokepoint made them easy pickings, and so the cowardly demons simply sat outside after five of their brethren were destroyed.

In the dreadful silence that permeated the chapel, Orintur wondered to himself just how this all happened. How did these demons find their way into Tamriel, on their own no less? That flaming hellgate was certainly not the work of any conjurer, and no mage, no matter how strong, could bring forth so many daedra of their own volition. Then there was the fact that they seemed to be strangely...organized. Was this planned? Was the Empire being invaded by the Princes themselves!? Nothing about the situated boded well, and Orintur could only hope Kvatch received reinforcements, and that they could close the hellgate and gain access to the city. Until then, Orintur had only his hammer, and his faith in the divines.

Adamiir Thiich - Kvatch Chapel - Pondering

As a rule, Adamiir liked to avoid any location that seemed particularly shifty. He and Morinus once passed through a town called Hackdirt, and since then Adamiir had given the place a wide berth on all future travels. This was a rule, one that he followed religiously. The problem then, with Kvatch, was that on no occasion did Adamiir even entertain the idea that the city might be anything more than just that; a city. What the Breton did not then understand, was why Mehrunes Dagon himself decided that parking the front door to his personal realm of hell in front of the city gates was a good idea. Not that the event didn’t intrigue Adamiir, quite the opposite in fact. The opening of a stable gate to any realm of Oblivion of that size was thought to be an impossibility. Being on the receiving end of an invasion of merciless daedra was proving to be a most exciting venture.

The experience was not without its drawbacks, however.

The end result of this misadventure was very clear to him. He, and everyone else in this godsforsaken chapel were going to wind up with their heads on pikes, or as scraps for the scampy’s perhaps. One thing was certain, however. They were all… “...going to die.” Adamiir’s voice rang out across the room, piercing the uncomfortable silence that until this point consisted mostly of murmured prayers and muted sobs. He paused for a moment, smiling warmly at anyone attempting to make eye contact with him, before taking long strides over to the other side of the chapel. The people over here were further away, and he would have appeared quieter to them, ergo, anyone here would be less likely to dislike him should he make an attempt at conversation. The most likely looking individual was a Bosmer talking to a small bird perched on her shoulder, a magpie if Adamiir was not mistaken. How delightful! He once had a vivid dream that he himself was a vulture, and had since then held a great respect for most if not all avian creatures.

The Bosmer girl began to feed her little friend, and Adamiir shuddered once with excitement, gripping at his pendant momentarily. He approached her carefully, being certain that he didn’t accidentally mimic any motions typically associated with any of the magpie’s known predators. “Greetings, Bosmer, friend of birds-” He paused, and his eyes found purchase looking into her’s, molten yellow globes in stark comparison to his muted grey. “I…” Adamiir’s voice trailed off again as he studied the multitude of scars marring her otherwise pretty face. Finding his voice once more, Adamiir began to speak. “You have seen battle. That is a good thing. It seems unlikely that the… uninitiated will see tomorrow without the help of those with experience. Or… you have not seen battle. And you were the victim of a horrendous attack in years past. In that case, you have my condolences, as your chances of survival just dropped significantly.”

Adamiir peered at her, waiting to see if she felt as optimistic about this encounter as he did. “However,” He began, taking in a breath. “If the latter is the case, I will do my utmost to see to it that both you and your feathered ally escape this city unharmed.” He smiled at her, as though she were an old friend coming to visit for the first time in months, showing off near immaculate teeth. “You will be pleased to know that this raises your chances of survival by a small margin!”

Bardeck the Warrior leaned against the chapel wall, taking a swig of his water jug and wetting his parched throat. His weapons were leaning against the wall in a similar fashion to he. Gideon the War Dog paced back and forth, his wolfish and muscled form was covered in dense fur, making him seem both approachable, but very powerful. Not unlike Bardeck himself, the young man handsome with warm eyes, contrasting his muscled and rugged form.

He took the lull in the fight to calm himself, taking a drink and enjoying the moment. He'd been through some rough shit before, but by the Nine Divines he had never seen something like this. At the mere thought of what they faced, he quickly put his water jug back to his belt, and hefted his Axe. With his free hand, he ran his fingers over the marks upon his iron armor. The breastplate was still strong, but that Daedra might have even broken through the Iron if Bardeck had not seen the blow from that hellish mace coming.

It didn't matter. What happened, happened. He shook his head to gather back his sense, his shaggy, unkempt hair swaying back and forth. He would face whatever came through that door, once they broke in. And break in they would...

With that, he stepped forward toward the front of the chapel. A silent prayer left his lips in a whisper as he passed the altar, Gideon padding beside him and gazing to and fro warily. He shook his head at the male Breton deciding that now was the time to flirt. At least the hammer wielding Altmer was ready for the fight.

Somehow, despite the mounting fear and unease, he felt right at home here. He'd always figured he would die in battle. The very gates of Oblivion had opened before them, and he had been there to fight the first wave of demon spawn. As it should be. Even as he hacked them down, he felt the corruption and decay of their warped souls twist before his eyes. His one regret was that Gideon had to be here too, though he knew the War Dog would not be anywhere else. He smiled to his animal companion, and the Dog gave a panting smile in return.

Valentis was one of the few that were scattered within the Chapel, and he was quite easily the oldest here - to them, what they saw was an old man clutching to his walking stick, stroking the fur of his fluffy friend.
It was probably a sad sight, the desperate hopelessness of age clinging to his heels, and despite that he had managed to survive his way to the chapel with those far younger, with much more of their lives ahead of them, Valnetis' life was essentially over, he was enjoying the most his final years had to offer, his healthy lifestyle probably heralded another decade of life in him, if he was lucky.

And despite that, despite the chaos that was ensuing outside, the death and destruction that has laid waste to so many lives, he himself had never felt quite so alive, this tense situation reminded him of his days in Akivir, where he was once full of life and wonder, poking the lands that no man has ever dared to go to off their own back.
And here he was, old and wizened with age, feeling as if he could take hell itself on.

A small whine and light nudge on his legs brought him back to reality for a moment, peering down to his friend, Valen gave Albert's head a little ruffle.
"Don't worry Albert; not even the spawn of Oblivion itself will do you any harm, I may be old, but my hands twitch with an excitement and energy I've not felt for a long time, we'll get out of this, and when we do I'll catch us some venison, a small treat I think for the chaos today."

Albert gave a satisfying and happy bark, and resumed trying to get comfortable of the cold hard floor. Sometimes, Valen envied Albert, it'd be nice to live through a dogs eyes, not having to care about the world and happily going about whatever business they had.
After giving his companion another little ruffle he looked around the room.
Poor souls, the lot of them.

Not entirely unlikely given the scenario there was a man fervently praying; it was evident by his attire that his was a paladin; men of the cloth that took up the righteous hammer of divine justice; typically associated with witch hunters, any manner of activity that broke the tenets usually resulted being on the opposite end of that hammer.
Seeing a sea of the very thing he sought to destroy, must really have took a toll on him.
Other than that there was a very capable warrior standing against one of the walls, with him too was a dog that bordered wolf, comparing Albert - who rolled over to receive a belly scratch, and the wolfish hound across the room was quite the contrast.
But he was evidently a warrior, anyone could see that, nobody however would know anything of the capabilities of Valen; the thoguht that he was actually one of the most skilled fighters here was almost as unlikely as the gates of oblivion themselves opening up outside the city.
Today, would be a day of many surprises.

Then there was a Bosmer girl, and a male Imperial by the looks of it, or maybe a Nord... no he was not brutish enough in appearance for that - well whatever his race he appeared to be trying to console the girl with words of comfort.
Everyone here seemed to be capable warriors, or at least seen some sort of combat.
There may be a chance that escape seemed possible; with as few casualties as possible, if only the divines looked upon them with favour; and in his heart Valen hoped that they did.

Glenndus had been outside when the skies turned red. He, like many of the people, had fled to the chapel when the daedra started pouring into the city. What had started as a day of festivities and merriment was currently one of death and smoke; both of which he could smell from his position near one of the supporting pillars.

Thank The Nine that something had fallen in front of the doors; he’d been able to set up with a few others and shoot the beasts as they tried to make their way in through the only available entrance. He didn’t know how much help he was, but there were enough bodies out there to convince him he was doing some good. If they’d had to defend numerous entrances, that would have been the end of them, most certainly.

Now, Glenndus sat in his position, resting his weary body. From here, he had a good line of sight on the only entrance, and a pretty good view of the rest of the chapel. If Dagon himself were to smash through the building, he’d at least be able to see it coming. His hand tensed around his bow, where it rested next to him.

He wasn’t sure how comforting that was.

At one end of the chapel, a man prayed to his gods. A noble cause, and if the gods were willing to offer any assistance in stopping the legion of devils that were surrounding them, he certainly wasn't going to turn it down.

“...going to die.” came a voice from inside the chapel. Glenndus shot the Breton man a dirty look, but said nothing. He noted that a few others were currently milling about; others who seemed like they might actually be worth a damn when hell itself spilled into the chapel. They all seemed to be making their introductions, or talking to themselves, and he listened carefully, continuing to maintain his watch on the door.

He wouldn’t be joining in the conversation, there would be time enough to make introductions and give thanks if they all made it out of here alive.

The chapel held an uncomfortable silence. Not many people were speaking, and those who did spoke in hushed whispers. Aveca had arrived to help when the spawn started pouring out of that gate. She went straight to business as the world around her turned to chaos and she tried to help people congregate at the chapel. She put aside her absolute terror at the unknown. It didn’t help much. Not many people were inside.

The idea behind the gate was beyond her. Her education in the field of the other worlds was lesser, as she hadn’t focused on those areas of magic during her schooling. She could see the faces around the room wondering; many were praying. She had no answers for them. She doubted anyone did.

It didn’t matter to her anymore. Whatever was happening was happening, and she tried not to focus on it as she healed the rather serious burns on the child in front of her. He was a young Imperial of maybe ten years, and his father was beside him with a weapon at his hip. He was in common clothing, but he appeared ready to defend his home because push had indeed come to shove.

As the spell faded, the boy rubbed his hands over where the burns had been in awe. He seemed stunned for words, but his father thanked her quietly, so as not to break the lull, and they moved to the back of the chapel. At least here, she was needed and her skills could be of use. Aveca moved to sit on a bench and surveyed the room.

Farthest from the doors, common people huddled. Pieces of families and untrained fighters, they were terrified. As she looked closer to the barricaded parts of the doors, the fighters appeared more and more competent. Two or three guardsmen had managed to make their way to the chapel, though she wasn’t sure how much good it would do. The fighters she could see still didn’t seem to be enough. Disorganized travellers, skilled people, adventurers, really. They didn’t have the numbers.

She looked up at the window and could see the red sky outside. How will we ever get out?

Naenya looked on at the stranger curiously as he talked in a rather upfront matter – not that she was at all concerned about his lack of tact, what with embracing such blunt conversations quite often herself. She did, however, find his wording most curious.

“Well… why not both?” She queried after he had finished. “Perhaps I’ve seen battle, but was also victim to a horrendous attack. Maybe they happened at different times – or simultaneously. Would I still be classified as a victim then? When does a horrendous attack turn into a battle? If one fights back? Would one then be seen as a victim, for taking up arms? Interesting to think about, yes?” She paused then, content smile set on her face – talking about such random matters easily took her mind off the situation at hand. “Of course, I have seen battle. Not quite horrendous or victimising though – although I suppose the goblins would think differently to that.” She paused once more, now frowning lightly in thought. “At least, they would think that if they were alive. Killed them, of course. Maybe they are still thinking in some strange, goblin after-life. Do you think the monsters have their own versions of life after death? That’s another interesting thing to think about.”

Trailing off, Naenya gazed at one of the stained-glass windows ahead of her musingly. It was really quite pretty, with all the colours dancing from the flickering flames outside. Eyes darting back to the man in front of her, now smiling in a familiar sort of manner, she took stock at the lack of blade at his side. There weren’t any hilts or bows peeking out from his back, nor tucked away in his boot. A magic user then? There was no way an unarmed fellow wouldn’t get very far without magic – unless they were very good at sneaking. In which case, they were likely a thief, and wouldn’t be very much help in the current situation.

Before Naenya was able to comment on the man’s rather abnormally towering height, a commotion from outside drew her attention. Indeed, everyone’s head seemed to whip towards the only working doors; the guards stood by the stairs readied their weapons, nervously awaiting what was on the other side to break through. Naenya sprang to her feet as well, Bobo fluttering away from her hand as it reached for her staff – her smile had disappeared for now. For all her interest in Daedra, she couldn’t deny their monstrous natures… and she had no interest in dying today, regardless of potential research.

Especially not in a broken chapel surrounded by strangers.

Much to everyone’s surprise, the door didn’t burst open in an explosion of flames; rather, some hurried knocking and panicked words. Sharing an incredulous glance among each other, the guard in charge somewhat reluctantly stepped forward, one hand outstretched for the handle. The knocking became more insistent; knuckles turned white around the Chapel as people clutched onto various things – mothers onto children, mages to their staves and warriors to their blades. In a sudden flurry of movement, the female guard swung open the door and brandished her sword, only for two people to stumble inside. A fireball followed them, luckily missing everyone and just brushing past the smaller of the pair’s hair, singeing it slightly. Slamming the door shut, the guard looked on at the two, clearly surprised at the sight of two very normal, and very alive people.

“Well… that was a close one!” Said the small one in a strangely bright voice, slapping at her blond hair to put out the embers there. The larger one – a man – didn’t say anything, and was peering around the room almost feverishly, as if looking for someone. He was a ridiculous contrast to the woman – where everything about her was small and slim, he was huge. Bulging with muscles, and easily scraping the 6’10’’ mark; your stereotypical Nord. The woman – an Imperial, by the looks of her - gave him a light dig in the ribs with a grin. “Thanks for getting me through that crowd, big guy. I didn’t think you’d get over that wall at one point though.”

“Did… did you both come from outside the walls?” The guard interjected, the beginnings of hope springing in her eyes. “The gate’s closed?!”

“The gate?” The Nord frowned, pausing in his search of the room to look back at the guard. “No – we found an unguarded bit of wall, scaled over it.”

“The guard Captain outside did recommend it –” The Imperial began, then chuckled incredulously. The noise seemed out of place in the sombre chapel. “But that’d be suicide, going into that thing! I – well, both of us – just needed to get into the city to look for some people.” She said, her own eyes now scanning the meagre amount of bodies stood in the shadows. The Nord appeared to find what he was looking for – striding to the back of the dark chapel and gathering a woman and child into his arms, clearly sobbing in relief.

“There isn’t a fellow called Martin around here, is there?” The Imperial asked cheerfully, clearly unperturbed by the number of dark eyes locked onto her bright smile. It did seem to be somewhat strained, and her eyes kept darting towards the door. Clearly, she didn’t want to stay for very long.

As the only priest stepped forward – clearly Martin – and the Imperial motioned him towards a dark corner of the Chapel, the lull seemed to return to the room. Naenya looked at the pair curiously, before turning back towards the rather tall Breton.

“Well… that was unexpected. I was wondering how a massive Nord and his female sidekick managed to close that portal outside; Nords aren’t known for their brains, and it’d take more than muscle to close one of those things, that’s for sure. No wonder they avoided the gate.” Her gaze went upwards, wondering where Bobo had flown off to. “Although, that does leave us all in the same predicament. We’re not all going to be able to climb over those walls.”

The conversation between Martin and the Imperial didn’t last very long; nor did it remain very quiet. He walked away looking fairly shaken, but a firm look to his eye.

“I’m not going to run away like some coward and leave these people to their fate; if the gate is still open, I’m staying right here.” He snapped at the clearly irritated woman as she pulled on his arm, hoping the action would somehow change his mind.

“How on Mundas am I supposed to close that thing by myself? If I had a bit more help than Wimpy the Barbarian over there, then I’d be happy to give it a go. However, I don’t see anyone volunteering!” The words had come out in a slightly loud whisper, more hissed than hushed. “These people aren’t more important than you.” Martin’s gaze hardened even more, and he pulled his arm from her grasp.

“You’re wrong. If… I am who you say I am, then I will not start this new chapter in my life by abandoning innocents to the slaughter.” His eyes cast across the room as he said this, no doubt noticing the many stares directed towards them both. Naenya watched on, tapping her fingers very lightly on her wooden staff. The Imperial seemed to give up now, stepping away with a somewhat lost expression on her face. Martin looked equally as lost – and Naenya’s curiosity was extremely piqued now. What had they discussed? Something to do with the gate, probably? Deciding there was only one way to find out, she stepped over to the Imperial woman, tapping her lightly on the arm.

“Good afternoon! Or… evening? I’ve lost track of the time, I’m afraid. Anyway, I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation – if you’re looking for help in closing the gate, I’d be happy to offer my services.” She offered with what she hoped looked like a helpful smile. The Imperial looked as though this was the last thing she wanted – no doubt leaving stealthily would be far easier than closing the gate and freeing everybody. Martin, however, looked far more approving of the offer, although not saying anything. “I’ve done some research into Daedra, and might be able to traverse the realm with a bit more ease than others. Or perhaps not – there’s only so much books and interviews with some dubious looking characters will tell you, after all. Still, it’s better than nothing.” At that, Bobo fluttered down onto her shoulder, nipping her pointed ear lightly. “There you are! Don’t worry, I won’t take you in there with me.” She said fondly to the bird, stroking his blue-black feathers lightly.

"Hello," the warrior began, his strong albeit youthful voice coupled with his light tone made him seem much less of a rugged warrior that he appeared to be. He gave a polite but awkward smile to the two women as he greeted them, speaking to them first, and then the Imperial priest. "If you need someone to fight and distract the Daedra at the gate-" turning to Martin and giving a gruff nod. "then we're your fighters."

Earlier he'd nearly roared a few choice curses in front of the women and children on the way over to the door, having nearly been singed by the flying fireball. He'd been expecting to enter into a melee and not finding two average (except in size) looking folk sprinting in. He wasn't too concerned with politics, even his father's native Imperial. But whatever was having been discussed, he agreed with this man Martin's approach. He'd be damned if he'd run away from these beasts.

He was quite glad they had a priest, this Martin and the woman in the back healing some of the wounded. All in all, it wasn't a bad group, though in times like this he knew Morale was most important, so he spoke loud enough for all to hear that he and his companion were volunteering. They needed to hear that someone was willing to risk this.

Gideon the Hound barked in agreement at Bardeck's proclamation that they would help, and his master looked down and smiled. "Atta boy," he breathed, scratching the Wolf-like beast's furry head in endearment. Gideon seemed in higher spirits ever since they had moved from the wall. He'd even given a sniff or two of the elder's smaller canine in his own 'hello'. Bardeck didn't mind getting to know these people more later on, if they survived. He'd go to make sure they did.

His dark eyes fell upon Naenya. "Close that gate like you said, we'll keep the Daedra off you. On my honor." He pressed his fist to his chest, his eyes steeled for all to see.

Though Orintur continued to stare daggers at the door with his hammer raised in a readied position, the High Elf's attention found itself divided between his duties and the myriad of hushed whispering around him. A man and a woman not too far behind him were speaking lightly, quite unfitting for the situation they were in. Some others spoke of loved ones that had not made it to the chapel, hoping that perhaps they had made it out of Kvatch. Orintur could not help but pity them, as he knew that Daedra were ferocious beings, and they were very thorough in their deeds, but he still silently prayed with them for the unfortunate souls that could not find their way to the sanctuary of Akatosh.

Suddenly hearing a commotion from outside, Orintur gripped his hammer tightly and advanced a single step, ready to throw himself at the foolhardy beasts that dared violate such a holy place. What he did not expect, however, was for a very large Nord and a tiny Imperial to run through the door. The fireball missed them all by mere inches, charring a bit of wall in the back of the chapel; Orintur was grateful for his luck, as he was certainly not keen on having another burn scar...

To Orintur's relief but ever-so-slight disappointment, nothing followed the new visitors through the door. The Nord went to the back to find his wife and child, and the Imperial woman asked for the priest. It was rather curious; what did she want with Brother Martin? Whatever her aim was, she was rebutted harshly, as Brother Martin staunchly refused to abandon the chapel and those within until the blasted hell gate was closed. Orintur could hear her irritated grumblings from the front door, and caught word of her indirect request for aid in closing the Oblivion gate. The first to volunteer was the small girl with a bird hovering over her shoulder, and a warrior, whose heels were guarded by a fierce-looking hound. Was Orintur about to let them all dive head-first into Oblivion alone? ...that was a rhetorical question, of course he wouldn't! The sooner the gate got closed, the sooner Kvatch could be purged of Daedra and other heretics.

"Excuse me, madam!" Verbally announcing his presence was probably unnecessary, what with the loud clanking and thunking of his heavy armor, but Orintur deemed it more polite than simply immediately interjecting. "If you are thinking of going through that hellish portal, I would gladly offer my assistance! This humble servant of Stendarr asks for nothing in return; I wish simply to rid the people of Kvatch of these foul creatures. All Daedra in your path shall fall to my hammer, and taste of the wrathful fury of the Divines!" Orintur wasn't certain that the guards within the chapel could hold out for long on their own, but if the gate did not shut soon, those uncertainties would be washed away by an endless stream of Dremora. He had to at least try...

Valentis looked in wonder at the number of people picking up their arms to stop the hordes of oblivion, moments ago this small Imperial woman stated that she would attempt to close the gate, albeit in a rather demeaning manner, and upon hearing this claim from someone as young and small as herself, others took up the call.
The other man in the room who had a dog, the paladin, even the girl that looked unfit for any form of combat...
And yet, here he sat.

Valentis has lived a long life; he has no legacy barring perhaps being one of the most prominent Akaiviri scholars in the era, to die quietly, seemed unfitting.
Why, would he let these young people lay down their lives for the greater good without at least trying to do so himself, he may be old but with his age came considerable experience, knowledge and skill.
He was no stranger to combat and could fight better than most, Valentis would offer what little life he could to this cause, it may be a fools errand by the lot of them to walk into the depths of hell itself, but they could at least try.

With a bit of difficulty in his joints from being stationary for so long Valentis stood up, leaning slightly on his staff.
After straightening himself he walked over to the group by the doors; with Albert at his heel, - which inevitably lead to the chaos outside
Valen spoke out to them, his voice was soft and calm, but it held a stern undertone, one filled with conviction and confidence.

"Excuse me, I am Valentis Fenotorai; I have been listening and watching to what you have all done and said - I must say, even in my old age, I cannot sit by and allow you all to march into the gates of hell alone - with what will my old bones have in them, consider them dedicated to the task at hand."
After noticing a few incredulous glances and looks towards him he continued.
"Don't let the looks of an old man fool you; I have braved the ancient and hostile lands of Akaivir and returned, what I have learned from those people has proven invaluable, I am a skilled warrior mage who can still give his all in a fight to the death.
Regardless of what you say, I am coming, on principle alone of nothing else."

Giving a slight nod to his companion followed by giving his head a ruffle he stated "Even my friend here can offer some assistance, he's quite the scout, his nose and ears are something that have warned me of a danger long before it comes into sight - in the unknown that is on the other side of that gate out there, surely all the help we can get will be needed."

Albert gave a happy bark to back Valen up on his points, it's been a long time since he had explored the unknown, and in his mind it was something that he originally started leaving that fortress for in the first place - turns out he got what he wanted.
If not the most extreme level of the unexpected.

He kept the bead on his crossbow trained on the doors, the thing resting on the back of an overturned pew while he sat on a chair. He thought maybe that he should take a break soon, but the thought of those things outside always persuaded him otherwise. The pillars of smoke he'd seen outside put him in mind of that little village the Lord's men caught them at. For the first time in months, his heart beat a steady tempo, his whole world was the crossbow and the door in front of it. His breaths were slow and- something plopped down on his shoulder and he stifled a yelp, looking up at Engel, who was unperturbed by his reaction. “You.”

“You should sleep, your eyes are red with it. I will take up watch.” Engel said, his voice holding no signs of being shaken by the things happening outside. How a man could be so calm about today, he didn't know. Though, from the moment he saw him kill those two men and the dozen more after that, he'd surmised that Engel was anything but normal.

He shook his head, “It's only from the smoke, I'll be fine.”

“We haven't been around the smoke in two hours, Renart.” Engel sat beside him. “What will we do?”

“Why ask me? I did my part,” his pointed finger went to the door, “I killed two of them perched here while they ran at the door. I suppose you want us to go into the gate itself and close it?”

“The Paladin would do it.” Engel said. He'd shown great interest in watching the man, he hadn't seen Engel express any sort of interest in anything until now.

“If the Paladin charged into the portal, would you follow him?” Renart asked, rolling his eyes.

The slamming open of the door was thankfully soon and jarring enough to keep Engel from saying yes to his question. Instead, Engel had his knife and axe in his hands as fast as lightning, lips screwed shut. He almost loosed his bolt into the big man's chest before he realized it was a Nord and an Imperial woman, polar opposites in size. He let go a breath but kept his crossbow trained at the doorway, yawning open like a grave. The conversation seemed to be getting heated between the Imperial woman and the man, Martin, apparently. Talk of closing the gate. He frowned, tuning it out. “How in all the hells do they think they're going to close that thing?” He muttered. “We're staying ri- oh, you bastard!”

Engel was already walking towards the forming group around the Imperial woman and the Priest. Renart rolled his eyes, wiping his soot-stained, sweaty face.



Engel was tired of waiting. He couldn't stand sitting and waiting, not because people were most definitely in need, but because it frayed his own nerves and he remembered what happened the last time he sat and waited for trouble to come at its leisure. Renart may have been more than happy to sit and wait here, but their only hope of getting out and living to see a tomorrow that wasn't like today was taking their chances outside. Renart wasn't too privy on going outside, or risking his life in general. Neither was he, but he knew that sometimes, you had to. He'd learned that when he saw his brother up against that fence, and when he forgot, the Gods punished him by taking his loves away. He wouldn't let his hand grow soft and weak with decadence and inaction, wouldn't risk losing Renart. That, and the prospect of going out there and killing was drawing him forward, he walked almost not of his own volition.

His soft footfall brought him to the group, and though his hands trembled the same way a young man's would hovering over the soft thigh of a girl, he made fists of them to hide it. He swallowed, speaking softly, “I will go too.”

Though he did not look like much, he was ready.

The most peculiar of things happened the day she set foot inside of Kvatch, at first, Brona thought the eerie silence in the air came from the fact that the Imperial guard had finally caught up to her through the countless reports of angered nobles, and wealthy merchants having been robbed blindly by some Imperial woman performing sleights of hand, or the reports of their gold being taken from them in the dead of night. However, as she strolled through the familiar streets of the town, she noted the lack of birdsong that she listened for, or any presence of the local livestock. Come to think of it, she had a rather peaceful night’s sleep under the boughs of an oak tree the night before, which was a bit on the odd side, considering that many of the wild life kept her awake until the early morning hours, when she could afford to fall asleep for a few hours before dawn broke.

However, that was the 28th of Last Seed. When she made it inside Kvatch, Brona went through her normal routine of gifting the poor folk with coin, and selling the rest of her pilfered wares to the vendors. Normally, when people questioned where she found such items, she mumbled something along the lines that she enjoyed cave-diving, and exploring old ruins. Of course, for the finer things, she always had a backstory of some sort, any little lie that helped them take their mind off where she found it, and focus on paying her the share she was owed. After disposing of her lifted items, Brona pitched her tent outside the town, and settled down for the evening. To keep herself busy, and out of trouble, she took to mending her armor, sewing over the worn patches where holes had begun to form, fitting pieces of canvas underneath the holes, and sewing in smaller pieces of leather over top. While she wasn’t the best at leatherworking, at least it kept her from wasting the people’s money, as she thought of it in her mind’s eye, on new armor.

The 29th of Last Seed continued much the same, the lack of birdsong prevailed through the air, as it normally served as a wake up call for Brona, now, she had overslept by a two full hours. A bit grouchy, she stuck to her camp, and decided that in the morning, she would start her way back to the Imperial City to see her family, as it had been seven months since she spoke to her mother and father last, let alone learn how Garius, Marcellus and Oriela were holding up. Last she heard, Garius had acquired a position as a guard on the docks, she was happy that he had found a stable job. Marcellus, now 31 like his twin, had married four years ago, and was expecting his first child. There were complications with his wife conceiving, so this was considered a blessing. He had a job working in the same fields as their father. Arcantina had slowed down in the working life, and Oriela had left her apprenticeship as a seamstress to look after their mother.

However, by the time nightfall came, Brona’s world was turned upside down. She had packed her belongings up, even her tent and bedroll, and was about to head out in the night to get a head start towards the city, when a great thunderous noise turned her gaze towards the sky above. There, the sky turned crimson, a deep shade of red, the color of blood, and while she expected to see brilliant white bolts of lightning to illuminate the sky, none ever came, only the booms of thunder. Immediately, she went to investigate, the guards didn’t say a word, for their attention too, was turned to the skies. What happened next, Brona can only recall in terrifying glimpses. Once inside Kvatch, throngs of frightened villagers made their way into the streets where utter chaos ensued. For some it was too late, homes and shoppes were ablaze, and as screams began to fill the air, Brona soon understood the source of it. Daedra. By the Gods, daedra were pouring out of swirling portals, funneling through the streets like droves of ants. Those that could, made their way to the Chapel of Akatosh, and so did Brona. She herself felt afraid at the sight of the daedra, to her, they had only been legend, but now they were here.

So that was how Brona, and those inside the chapel came to be. Sleep never came that night for her. Her nerves were stretched thin with worry. Would the daedra outside overwhelm the chapel, and slaughter those within? Would she ever see the light of day again? What of her family? In a quiet corner, Brona had sat huddled in a ball, her knees pulled tight to her chest.

It wasn’t until the sound of rapid knocking upon the chapel doors did she realize that she had dozed off. Struggling to her feet, her hands flew to the dual short swords at her hips. A female guard that seemed to be in charge of the others inside, opened the door, the air inside the chapel had become thick with fear. Would this be it? The moment of truth? As the door swung open, in spilled a towering Nord man, and a rather short Imperial woman. While the woman expressed her enthusiasm for making it inside safe, the man with her began scanning the room. Immediately, Brona sank back down, trying to make herself smaller in case they were looking for her, but she listened to the woman guard, gleaning what information she could from the situation. So the gates that the daedra were coming from hadn’t been closed, but they were looking for someone as she had suspected. The blonde Imperial inquired if there was a person by the name of Martin present in the chapel. To which there was.

The situation in the chapel turned completely when it became apparent that volunteers were needed in help shutting the gates of Oblivion, and one by one, those brave enough began to voice that they would help. To Brona, it was suicide, but it also seemed suicidal to remain behind in the chapel when there was a chance at putting an end to the chaos outside. She was hesitant, and thought of her family, what would become of them if she did this? Or more importantly, what would happen to them if she didn’t? From her crouched position in the corner, Brona slung her rucksack onto her shoulder and moved out of her hiding place.

“I will help too.” She didn’t need to explain herself, or what her skills were, so she thought. The fact that she was volunteering should be enough.

Aveca looked up in surprise as two people burst into the chapel. She was as surprised as the rest of those around her that they had managed to find their way into the city, and past all of those monsters, just the two of them. She stood back and watched as the Imperial woman, who seemed rather cheerful despite the situation she happened to be in, inquired about a man named Martin. The conversation that the two of them had wasn't hard to overhear from where she was. She hadn't heard the first part, but as they got a bit louder, she learned that this woman was going to attempt to close the portal.

She saw a few people start to volunteer their help. It was mostly the assorted adventurer types, or so they appeared. The Imperial woman herself didn't appear as set on the idea as those who were approaching her, but it didn't look to Aveca that she had much choice in the matter at this point. She heard a few people who had approached mentions their qualifications, that was, until just then when an Imperial woman approached with only four simple words: "I will help too."

Moving on from her eavesdropping, Aveca looked around at those in the chapel who were defenseless, and those she had helped to heal. There weren't any serious injuries left on the people she saw, and she looked up at the group, considering for a moment. Ultimately, she wasn't sure why she even hesitated at all. If helping people was what she set out to do on her travels, there had been few perfect opportunities such as this one. Luckily. She didn't wish for devastation and preferred not to be needed; however, in this situation, she was glad to be there. She moved from where she was sitting to approach the group.

"Hello," she introduced herself to the small group, "I'm Aveca. I will come along, if you go. My healing may be of use."

Adamiir Thiich - Kvatch Chapel - Listening

Adamiir watched the Bosmer before him carefully as she spoke, his lips pressed together tightly; the urge to interject and respond to the barrage of questions she was throwing at him was nearly overwhelming. Did he understand that it was all rhetorical just to emphasize a point? Well, of course. Adamiir, however, still very much so had to quell his desire to interrupt. That was a fascinating inquiry, however. Where did goblins go when they died? He suspected the naughty ones were sent to a very large box hidden somewhere in the Deadlands. He shuddered slightly at the blithe thought, for if that truly was reality, it was a grim one indeed. Countless goblins were slain everywhere, perhaps even daily. Overcrowding would be a serious problem by this point.

Before, however, Adamiir could complete that line of thinking, and properly respond to his new friend, his peace of mind was interrupted by the arrival of two surprise visitors and a fireball. The latter, thankfully, missing him by a wide margin. Adamiir turned his attention away from the new arrivals and back to the Bosmer before him as she began to speak. “Well… that was unexpected. I was wondering how a massive Nord and his female sidekick managed to close that portal outside; Nords aren’t known for their brains, and it’d take more than muscle to close one of those things, that’s for sure. No wonder they avoided the gate. Although, that does leave us all in the same predicament. We’re not all going to be able to climb over those walls.” The elf did make a fair point, however, Adamiir was quite certain in his own personable ability…

“...to scale the walls.” He quickly closed his mouth, his lips quirking into a guilty smile that his companion had no reason to understand. “It would be a risk. Scaling the walls, I mean. It would be too risky.” Not that his words seemed to have any effect on his as of yet unnamed companion, as she was already marching away in the direction of the short Imperial woman who had arrived only moments ago, who had quickly enveloped themselves in an argument with the local priest. Adamiir watched with growing excitement as the brave Bosmer pledged themselves to closing the gate. Her words seemed to inspire others among the chapel to do the same. A rush of anticipation surged through him as his hand shot to the silver pendant around his neck. This was going to be terribly interesting. Before he knew it, Adamiir was stalking over to the congregation of bleeding hearts gathered around the priest. He cleared his throat, rather loudly. “Hello, I am Adamiir. Well, my name is Adamiir, my chosen vocation is that of a mage. That is to say, I cast spells. I would very much like to join this expedition. With each seemingly senseless individual that lends their chosen medium of combat to this cause, the chances of success rise to levels higher than astronomic failure. Ergo, I am being helpful.” He beamed at the group, his generosity plain on the table for all to see. The logical part of his mind could only assume it was about to be marched off to certain death.

Veeza - Kvatch Chapel - Observing

Veeza saw them every time he closed his eyes. The unnatural, hellish demons that swarmed Kvatch, laying waste to all he knew and held dear. At this stage, there would be no point in trying to rescue the city; there was nothing left to save. Merely a handful of frightened civilians were all that remained of Kvatch’s populace. As he surveyed the assortment of individuals taking refuge within the chapel from his perch atop a piece of rubble where he sat, they seemed equal parts native and foreigner. Gods, had anyone made it out? Would anyone in this chapel make it out?

Veeza could not forgive the daedra for what happened there that day. His home lay in ruins, and his friends and mentors lay dead, their bodies littering the bloodworks. Ironic that the last fight he and Langurius would ever experience together was one spent battling side by side. Veeza was now Kvatch’s grand champion. How hollow the title now seemed. It was only the sudden arrival of two survivors seeking entry into the chapel that shook Veeza out of his brooding. He watched the two carefully, noting the errant fireball that entered in behind them with distaste. As the Nord ran to what Veeza could only assume was his family, the Imperial quickly entered a heated discussion with Martin, whom Veeza had exchanged a few words with on occasion. It was custom that the Argonian would pray to Talos before and after combat in the arena. Even though Veeza would not consider himself pious in the smallest sense of the word, the Nine Divines had proven themselves to be as real as the flesh and blood denizens of the world they watched over time and time again.

It seemed that for whatever reason, the newcomer wanted to escort Martin out of the city, at the soonest possible opportunity. The priest however, to his credit, refused to leave the chapel and all of the people inside, insisting that the gate be closed before he do so.

And just like that, a band of seemingly noble souls began to form itself, numerous travellers from across Cyrodiil pledging their aid to Kvatch in its time of crisis. Veeza had always intended to fight til his last breath in order to keep the survivors safe, but now it seemed that maybe he wouldn’t have to. Leaping down from his vantage point, he strode over to the ensemble. “Kvatch was my home, and justice must be delivered. I will be going too.”

The woman gave a half-hearted glance around the room, as if hoping someone would jump up and condemn the plan for sheer silliness. When no such cry came, and she was met with either lost or determined looks, her face sagged in acceptance.

"Well then... looks like we're house-crashing some Daedra." She muttered in a somewhat sulky tone, shaking her head slightly. Naenya paid no heed to the woman's clear reluctance, instead looking around at the group of volunteers, very pleased that so many had offered their aid. It was no small thing they were pledging to do, after all. And now that a plan had been formulated - although the plan wasn't much more intricate than "go inside and turn the darned thing off" - she was beginning to feel less dreadful about the whole situation. With a group as large as this, she could maybe even scribble some notes down in her book as they traversed the realm of Mehrunes Dagon. She doubted very much they'd run into the Prince of Destruction himself, but at the same time, prayed it wouldn't happen anyway. However, she couldn't help but let out a somewhat nervous titter at what the first young man said to her about closing the gate for good.

"Oh, I can't promise anything. But an attempt is better than staying in here and burning to death!" She said pleasantly, only just remembering the over-hearing townspeople hidden in the corners. "Not that that will happen! There's not a safer place in the town than here." She added hastily, noticing some children in the arms of their parents relax at her tacked-on sentence; the parents however, didn't look much more relieved. Still, she wasn't exactly wrong - barring perhaps the castle, the chapel was the closest thing to a fortress in the city filled with small homes and delicate buildings.

Naenya's silent pondering of just how well the chapel could withstand a prolonged attack - half the roof was missing, after all, but even that had worked in their favour by blocking off several doors - were brought to a halt as the woman pulled an iron shortsword from her scabbard; giving Martin a somewhat dirty look before heading towards the doors. The guards stationed there looked reluctant to open the doors again, but made no move to attempt to stop the group; they looked just as ashen-faced and frightened as the rest of the survivors. As the group began to ready their weapons and approach the exit, they were joined silently by a few more volunteers from the shadows; one girl clung to her father, asking for him to let her come along and help - he shook his head gently and left her beside the Priest Martin, who looked on at the group with a melancholy gaze, almost as if wishing he could go with them and help. Naenya didn't particularly understand why he couldn't - she'd seen him cut down a few of the demons while making way for the chapel. He could certainly handle himself... but then, this was no small thing to volunteer for.

"Go on, Bobo. The Deadlands is no place for a magpie." Shooing away her avian friend from her shoulder, Naenya fell into step beside the second volunteer of the group, the young man with the fine four-legged canine at his side. "I wouldn't say it's a place for pups either, but I'd say this fine fellow can handle himself. And the other one dog too. Really, now I'm wishing I had a pet hound instead of a magpie. All he does is bring back shiny things - probably steals them from people in the street. Excellent, if I was a thief - but I'm not. Too clumsy, you see. Only thing I can do properly is magic." She chattered away quite happily to Bardeck, but in a more hushed tone than she usually would. It was a very tense situation - people would be jumping at the sound of any loud conversations. Probably. Laughter likely wouldn't help either. Or news of clumsiness - especially in what would definitely be a very dangerous mission. "Well... I suppose I can do other things as well. Research, being one of them. Hence why I hope I'm somewhat useful on this trip." She finished with a half-smile at Bardeck, tapping her mage staff in her hands in an impatient manner; the waiting around was not at all pleasant.

Not that she and the others were waiting for much longer; the Imperial woman had given them only five or so minutes to ready their various weapons and say goodbyes, and the door was pushed open very slowly and carefully; after peeking out and noticing no fireballs, their reluctant leader led the group outside. Whatever had distracted the Daedra, Naenya could not tell; all that was left was a blackened mass of charred flesh, on which one of the stunted scamps was gnawing at. Dotted around the courtyard between the chapel and the main gates were 3 more scamps; 3 clannfears; and 2 dremora mages. The top of the Oblivion Gate could be seen flickering and pulsing behind the walls, but as the sudden appearance of their group drew the sight of their enemy, the churls let forth a guttural roar before summoning 2 more scamps.

"You lot deal with these! I'll get the damned city gates open." The woman barked the orders at them, and Naenya couldn't help but wonder if she was simply ducking out of all the hard work because she was too afraid to face the daedra. Before the bemused Bosmer could even question this, she had already slipped into the shadows as their foes drew near.

"Oh well. Try not to let the clannfears bite you - apparently they have a dreadful grip that's near impossible to throw off." Managing to rattle off this one last bit of advice before launching herself into battle, Naenya tried to steady her nerves by remembering all of the academic knowledge she could gain from this experience. Only after casting a frost bolt at one of the mages did she recall the other reason for doing this.

"Saving the city. Right. Got it."

Once the coast was clear, Brona weaseled her way out of the chapel, rucksack slung over her shoulders, while her hands instinctively gripped the hilts of the swords in their sheaths. She didn’t have much time to overanalyze the situation in front of her, she moved immediately to engage a rather short creature hunched over what she believed to be human remains. Her footfalls fell without sound as she moved across the clearing, while she simultaneously hefted her swords free of their leather bindings. As luck would have it, she failed to notice a twig underfoot, as her boot crushed it, a crisp snap caused the creature to whip its head around in her direction. A chunk of flesh caught between its fangs left her with a wave of disgust.

“Despicable creature.” She thought bitterly, pausing mid-stride to anticipate its next move.

In truth, the creature before her reminded her of a pig, with its twitching nose as it sniffed the air, uttering tiny grunts all the while. Standing her ground, Brona and the small daedric creature examined one another. She debated her next move, but this proved futile, as the it sprang towards her, growling in apparent delight.

“Ah! No you don’t, foul creature!” Brona cried, stepping backwards to escape the elongated claws on its human-like hands. Hitting the ground with a thud, the diminutive creature rolled in the dirt.

This was her chance! Brona seized the opportunity, and with one thrust, ran the creature through its midsection. There she hefted it up off the ground, its yellowish body sliding down the blade. With a satisfied smirk, she made quick work of her foe by decapitating it with her other sword. In all of her time spent with Runil, not once had he ever mentioned the creatures from the realm of Oblivion, after all, she specialized in illusion, not the lore of magick.

“What a strange being…” She murmured to herself before shaking its body off the blade, flinging it to the ground. Lifting her eyes, her gaze swept across the courtyard searching for another enemy.

"Oh, I can't promise anything. But an attempt is better than staying in here and burning to death!" the Imperial said, bubbly as could be. Was she not afraid at all? "Uh, true." he replied amused, albeit a little perplexed. He was still a bit confused when it came to women who had no tusks, They always seemed to surprise him, though not in a bad way usually. He supposed opposites attracted, though he usually didn't go after any of the pretty ones he had seen. He was a bit too introverted and battle-hardened for that. He preferred to fight than flirt.

Bardeck only had to stretch to prepare. Other than his shield on the ground, he had very little unclad or unstrapped onto his fit frame. He simply closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, remembering his training and convictions. He was more than ready to face these Daedra. Death in battle was not considered bravery to the likes of him, though he admired the trait in others. It was those who wished to live and face all of the troubles of the world that would be brave in his eyes, though it would perhaps be cowardice if an elder did not go and seek a worthy death. To die without showing his strength of arms lived a life less than fulfilled.

In truth, Bardeck wasn't entirely converted to the Orismer way of life, but he did agree with many of their ways, and that was one of them. Battle was where one was truly alive. Gideon beside him wagged his bushy tail and sat up like a soldier awaiting inspection, furry chest puffed out and big head held high and alert. Bardeck was too preoccupied with noticing Gideon that he didn't see the Bosmer stroll up beside him until she was already speaking.

He raised his brow as she spoke and nodded, smiling. He opened his mouth to speak a few times, but she seemed to go from one topic to the next like a fluttering bird. Speaking of which, he admitted he found it endearing she had a little bird friend that she wanted to keep safe. Still, all this attention made his flush a bit. "You going out there with us shows you're useful. If you could hold of whatever mages we have out there, I'll keep the big guys off you." he said, winking.

As soon as the breach was opened, he and Gideon strode forward into the thickest of the fighting. He pointed his weapon at the Scamps, telling his hound to take care of a few of them before his own eyes fell on a Clannfear. The ravenous and Sauren Daedra roared at him, and lunged. Bardeck hefted his shield and held the strike at bay, though it skidded his boots across the pavement of the street. He shoved his Axe head at the thing's snout to stun it, and then struck it in the skull while it was dazed. Another Clannfear sought to take a chance and snap at him from behind, but he spun and knocked it away with his shield. The first Clannfear with a cloven skull whipped out in its death throes and knocked Bardeck to the ground. The Warrior hit the street, skidding his skin across the cobblestones to draw a small bit of blood from his arm. He gritted his teeth and got to his knees to block the next Clannfear claw.

Meanwhile, Gideon held onto a scamp's neck stubbornly while another attempted to scorch the War dog with a fireball spell. The fire erupted between them as Gideon hit the caster like a cannon ball. It caused a reactionary yelp from Gideon, but he seemed to be under control with only a bit of damage. The very alive (but dazed) Scamp along with the singed Gideon fell beside the woman Brona.

Such virtue, such bravery! Orintur was not the last to offer aid, and he nodded respectfully to each new volunteer. With such a force, the hellspawn on the streets outside stood no chance, and their garrisoned brethren within the Oblivion gate would not see any greater success. As soon as the door opened, Orintur stepped out of the chapel and on to the scorched roads of Kvatch. Though his helmet's face plate obscured his vision somewhat, the Elf could make out several immediate foes. When the mages summoned more of the lower hell-beasts known as Scamps, Orintur knew exactly who he would dispatch first.

"For Empire and Emperor, and for the glory of the Divines, you will die here, you accursed devils!" Bellowing with zealous rage, Orintur charged the nearest mage with the force of a stampede, stomping on the toes of a Scamp in the process. When the Churl slung a fireball in his direction, Orintur braced his left shoulder, letting it take the brunt of the attack. While it still burned, it was not of the intensity that he experienced years ago when facing the warlock that haunted the roads of Chorrol, and for that he was grateful. With his hammer in prime position to strike, Orintur let forth another bellow as he sent the heavy head of steel crashing down on the shoulder of his foe. The paladin was not satisfied with merely disabling the mage, however. Standing over the Churl, Orintur held his warhammer aloft and sent it down once more with great force, straight into its chest. Blood spewed forth from the Daedra's mouth and the bones within its bosom cracked and shattered, ending its miserable and heretical existence. Its death was quick and not entirely without mercy, and so Orintur viewed his actions as justified. Pacifism was a fruitless, even if noble, endeavor, and there would always need to be someone willing to take up arms and drive away the villains and heretics that sought to harm and destroy the innocent. At that moment, he was that someone.

Turning around to find another enemy, Orintur caught the Scamp he ran over trying to sneakily hop away. The Elf and beast made eye contact for a few moments, and after shifting its eyes about trying to find an escape route, the Scamp began hopping away again...just at a slightly faster pace than before. Striding across the stone street, Orintur was easily able to reach the Scamp, even with its...speedy getaway. Once in range, Orintur sent the hell-beast sprawling across the ground with a sideways blow to its head. He took the heavy bleeding and motionlessness as confirmation that the Scamp was, indeed, dead. Speaking of blood, it was all over his armor...the paladin made a mental note to polish his gear later, especially his chest plate. Sweeping his eyes back towards where his new compatriots were, he was pleased to see that they were all handling themselves quite nicely. The young man and his faithful hound made short and impressive work of a few Scamps and a Clannfear; Orintur would be sure to commend them on their fighting prowess after their party had closed the gate. Which they would, obviously! It was just, well...they had to get in, first.

As the chapel doors were opened and the immediate area was deemed clear for the moment, Aveca pulled her bow off her back and strung and arrow to it. She hung back slightly, as that was the place of the archer, as some of the stronger members of their group headed out of the doors, swords raised high. The fighting thickened outside of the doors as she approached.

Almost as soon as they were out in the city, Aveca heard the Imperial woman should, "You lot deal with these! I'll get the damned city gates open." Aveca only gave it a passing thought as she set about fighting the demons. Someone, she supposed, would have to get the gate open. She couldn't imagine some of these heavily armoured warriors scaling the walls the way the small woman had done to get in. She turned her attention to the swarms of spawn.

From her distance from the battle, she lined up a few very careful shots. She drew her arrow back to her chin and let it fly, catching a scamp in the side of its neck. She felt the muscles in her arms as she lined up a shot at a clannfear and hit it in the side of the head. It slumped to the ground where it was, just as it was about to join the fight. She aimed deeper in the fighting for another scamp, but her arrow flew just past it. Luckily, it didn't hit anything else.

As she was so focused on her shooting, Aveca barely noticed that a scamp was approaching her until a fireball flew by her head. She spun to face it in a hurry, just in time to dodge out of the way of a more accurately placed fireball. She saw it's proximity to her and dropped her bow to the ground in order to shoot a frost bolt into its chest. The scamp slumped over and she noticed the frost bolt start to melt. After picking her bow up from the ground, she turned her attention back to the main fight. She glanced up at the city gates, wondering if and when they would open.