“Blessed be Talos, Soul of the Empire, who teacheth my hands to war and my fingers to fight.” Engel murmured as Renart lined up his next shot. He squeezed the trigger and felt the familiar jolt in his shoulder, a moment later watching the clannfear catch his bolt in the chest and skid to a stop on its belly. “Be never far from me, for trouble is always near.”

“Always.” Renart said with an air of annoyance. He spotted two scamps headed his way while he reloaded. The mechanical clicks and clanks of the reloading lever gave him some semblance of comfort before he lined up another shot. A breath in and he squeezed the trigger just as his lungs filled, exhaling as he watched the scamp stumble and then slump over. The other one was getting closer. Just before it reached the line Engel had drawn in his mind, he managed to let fly another bolt and the scamp collapsed, the thing of wood and iron sticking out of its cheek.

Renart saw Engel settle back onto his stomach, letting out a breath. “Don't worry, friend, I won't let them get you.” Renart chuckled. Engel simply looked at him and shook his head, keeping watch. Renart turned his head in time to see Engel spring up faster than he'd ever. He rolled onto his back and saw Engel throw himself under the swing of a hellish looking blade in the hands of a hellish looking man-thing. Its armor was ridden with spikes and black as void, while its red and black face was contorted in impersonal malice. He found himself frozen, never liking any enemy this close. Engel brought his axe down on the face of the one he'd tackled to the ground, rolling away from head of the monstrous flail wielded by the other. It embedded itself deep in the chest of the demon Engel was just on.

Engel danced around the demon, in hopes of tiring it out, no doubt. Before the fight could go on any longer, Renart lined up another shot, struggling to get a clear opportunity. “Damn, you!”

Finally, Engel hazarded getting close, striking the face of the demon with the blunt top of his axe's head. The demon was phased, stepping back in pain. Engel planted his knife's blade through its neck twice and kicked it over. He stood over it, letting go a shuddering breath. He always did that after killing someone or something. What went on inside that man's head, he would never know. Years of knowing Engel had granted him almost no insight into the man, but so long as he stayed his friend, he reckoned that question could come at a later time. For now, Renart was perfectly content to sit and wait for that gate to open. And maybe, just maybe, run as fast as he could through it while these idiots stepped into a portal to Oblivion.

The next heavy blow from the Clannfear sent Bardeck skidding. He'd barely gotten his shield up in time, and his arm throbbed from having to block so many hard hits. The Daedra was not unscathed though, having taken three minor hits from Bardeck's axe. The young man gritted his teeth, holding his shield before him and his axe out ready to strike whenever he deemed he needed to.

Similarly, the Clannfear regarded him with hate filled eyes, but stayed back intelligently as if studying the young human. Moments later, it suddenly began to pace to and fro, letting out a clicking growl as it stalked its potential prey, trying to goad Bardeck into a sense of worry and anxiety.
It had no idea what it was getting itself into.

Bardeck began to approach it cautiously, his Axe head now pointed at the beast as if in challenge, feet stepping carefully and steadily, always in stance. The Clannfear waited with its head swaying like a striking snake, using its striking claw as a feint before it attempted to whirl and trip Bardeck with its powerful tail. The warrior saw the trick for what it was, ducking and waving out his shield to block the club-like tail strike. The Clannfear saw his shield out wide, and snapped downwards at Bardeck's exposed face, only for it to forget its own face was also exposed.

An Axe head swung from the ground up, burying itself into the Clannfear's chin and neck. Hot blood seeped out of its wound as the life fled from the Daedra's eyes, and the beast fell over dead. The Daedra's body pushed forward, and with a great warcry, Bardeck heaved the dead weight of the Daedra, pitching it over him and onto the ground. The warrior stood up, yanking his Axe from the beast's head and casually spitting on its corpse for good measure.

He went off in search of more foes, keeping an eye out for Gideon.

---

“We’re not going to die, Da.”

That whispered sentence cut through the silence in the back of the chapel, and Niko’s eyes - closed in silent prayer - flew open to look upon his daughter. There was that look again; an obstinate steeliness set among the fear in the eight-year-old’s eyes. His face gave way to a tired smile, moving from his knelt position back onto the bench beside Mia. Niko was unsure what to say in response to that - Mia wasn’t so young to misunderstand the danger of their current situation, but could he really point out the unlikely matter of their survival to her?

Pursing her lips slightly at his lack of response, Mia kicked her father lightly in the shin.

“I’m not just saying that to make you feel better you know. There’s lots of people in here with weapons. That elf has a hammer bigger than me. We’ll be okay.” At that, Niko gave her a more genuine smile; she always had something amusing to say, no matter the situation.

“I’ll believe you if you don’t kick me again. That hurt.” He replied after a moment, a teasing tone in his voice; however, both smiles slid from their faces as the commotion from outside reached their ears. In one swift movement Niko was stood up; between Mia and the doors, sword in hand. Thankfully, it wasn’t death knocking at the door, but two more survivors. A melancholy smile tugged at Niko’s lips as the Nord found his family, not far from where he and Mia sat - even after all of the death and destruction in Kvatch, there was happiness to be found. As for Niko, there was not much sorrow for him as of yet; he hadn’t considered Kvatch to be his home for a few years now, but it was still hard to see it in ruins - the people slaughtered by monsters straight from hell itself. But he was alive, and Mia was unhurt - that was all that mattered to him as of now.

Well, that and the problem of being stuck inside, surrounded by Daedra. But even then, a solution seemed to have appeared - one of the newcomers was (reluctantly, so it seemed) rallying volunteers to close the gate. All to get Martin out, for some reason. Still standing there holding his sword too tightly, Niko hesitated as the group got ready to leave. Could he really, in good conscience, let them leave without helping? He was a fine fighter, and knew a handful of spells that would no doubt come in helpful. And on the other hand, there was Mia. If he died out there, she’d be an orphan, unprotected in this chapel while more of Dagon’s minions may well attack it.

Walking over to Martin as the others readied themselves by the door, he wondered just what this Imperial woman had said to the Priest to bother him so much. Mia followed closely behind him, already realising what her father was planning on doing.

“Martin… why is it you have to leave?” He asked quietly, brow furrowing slightly in confusion. It was unlikely someone would scale the walls of a burning and overrun city for a priest; not that priests weren’t important, but he’d never seen somebody risk their life so much for the sake of a funeral or impromptu wedding. Whatever the reason was, it made Martin uncomfortable.

“It is… complicated. I doubt you’d believe me.” He paused, shaking his head with a bitter laugh. “I barely believe it.”

“Is it important?” A pause from Martin - then a grim nod. Whether believable or not, it was worth it. If Martin had to leave, Niko would attempt to help him do so. He owed the man, and this chapel - they had saved his life, so he was more than happy to return the favour.

“Watch over Amelia for me - hopefully it won’t take too long.” He finally said with a sigh, ignoring Mia’s immediate pleas to come with him. Cutting off her sentence (”Just give me a sword, I can help!”), Niko knelt to her height and gave her a quick hug. She looked more upset that he was leaving her behind rather than the fact he could die - which surprisingly made Niko feel better about leaving to help.

“Behave yourself.” Murmured somewhat sternly at his daughter, he left her beside Martin as he joined the others. Falling into step with an elderly fellow and his dog, Niko unsheathed his other sword, ready to save the place he had once called home.

As the man and his daughter conversed, near the doors that left out to the burning city stood Valen with his faithful friend. He was debating in his own mind as what to do with Albert; the planes of Oblivion were no place for a creature so delicate as he, he may burn his paws walking on the ground; something that he wouldn’t allow Albert to suffer through.

Giving a look over his shoulder the man from earlier had stood behind him; his daughter left with Martin, the priest who looked as if the world had just been placed on his shoulders. Valentis bent down with a bit of difficulty and patted Albert lightly on the head.

“Come on Albert, I’m afraid you’ll have to stay here for a while - I have some business to attend to.”

After giving a mournful whine he fell in place; ears drooped, behind Valentis as he headed towards Martin.

“Martin, I too will be heading out with these young heroes to deal with the scourge that has befallen this city - but I must ask you take care of someone for me in the meantime, the gates of Oblivion are no place for the likes of my friend here…” giving a small gesture to the panting dog at his heels.

“Don’t worry though, he’s quite capable in defending himself and even the people in this chapel to a degree; he once took on an Orc and left without so much as a scratch, he’ll just sit at your heels waiting for my return - give him a pat every now and then and he should be fine.”

Martin looked at Valen with slight confusion but inevitably nodded.

“Don’t worry, I’ll look after him… I mean, I’ll keep an eye on him, as you said it seems he can protect himself.” He gave a wry smile as Albert sat at his heels, a small pat on the head from the priest was his welcome.

Valentis walked back to the group, and prepared himself mentally for what was to come, he had experience, far more than most here even the few Mer that littered this group's ranks. Looking towards the man whom had just left his daughter behind to do what was right, Valentis spoke.

“I’ll stand by you,sir, you have a daughter to back too. I would see that you do indeed go back to her, and not leave her stranded in this place.”

Glancing to the elderly man by his side, Niko managed a somewhat strained smile. Despite the situation, the old fellow’s words were encouraging.

“My thanks - but I know she’s in good hands. Regardless of what happens out there.” Any and all conversation was left in the chapel, for once Niko stepped outside, there was but one thing on his mind - survive, and make sure the others did too. This trip into the Oblivion gates would be hard, and the last thing the group needed was for some to fall before even stepping into the blasted realm. Joining the other’s in the fray, Niko descended upon one of the Dremora mages, ready to kill it before it even managed to hide behind a summoned scamp.

In the meantime, the Imperial woman was doing her bit; the gates were difficult for just the one person to open, but she had managed it - the heat radiating from the flickering portal on the other side was nearly overwhelming, and the courtyard was lit with a radiant crimson glow. Not wanting to be the first person inside, the woman doubled back, beheading a scamp from behind as she motioned towards the gate. The creatures in the clearing were nearly taken care of; anymore would have to come from inside the gate.

Naenya became nearly mesmerised by the sight of the gate; in the first attack, she’d been far too busy fighting and running to admire the constructs. But there it was, in all it’s glory. Not thinking twice, she finished off the scamp whimpering at her feet with a swift frost bolt to the skull, ignoring the awful crunching sound that came from the ice caving in the bone.

“Gods, I can’t wait to see the mechanism that’s keeping this thing open! It must be something unheard of to scholars…” Still twittering away quite happily to nobody in particular, Naenya made a beeline for the gate. Frowning in disbelief at the Bosmeri mage, the Imperial woman followed her in begrudgingly, looking at the rest of the group pointedly.

Bardeck's warhound recovered quicker than the Scamp, getting to his paws and ravaging the diminutive Daedra within his jowls by shaking savagely. Blood began to spurt, and the Scamp fell to pieces beneath the dog. With a quickness that only a predator could produced, he then pounced on the next Scamp and tore into it before the lady Brona's eyes.

Unfortunately, a third Scamp began to cast a spell with a delighted chitter, fire slowly forming before its hands. It looked between a possibly distracted Brona and Gideon, but it's choice before it was soon laid to rest. A powerful kick to its back sent the small creature flying comically, Bardeck skidding to a stop just to where the Scamp had been moments before.

The Scamp hit the Kvatch's road hard and rolled, but could not stand up before it found the end of its life on Bardeck's axe. He let out a held breath, a small bit of sweat beaded down the warrior's face. Bardeck wiped his brow, and gave Brona a nod. He wasn't entirely sure how to communicate to Imperials in these situations, but at best he would show them respect.

Next, and he was fairly sure that Brona would follow, he saw Naenya making her way toward the gate. "C'mon," he told Gideon. The Dog let out an audible yawn, and then tramped behind Bardeck. He had to admit, he wondered too what made such things enter their realm...

Soon after disposing of the first scamp, Brona had little time to butcher the next scamp that propelled itself towards with a terrible, guttural screech. She drew up the blades of the iron short swords to fend off the attack. To her surprise, a hound of impressive stature tackled the devilish beast to the ground, a set of yellowish fangs turned orange, then red as the blood from the creature mixed with its saliva. Panting, Brona took a step back. She had seen the hound inside the chapel, and the owner, a rugged Nord man with wavy black hair, finished off another scamp.

“Thank you!” She called to him with a weary smile. It was then that her eyes flickered to the gates, they had opened!
As the hound finished its bloody work, the Nord called to him. “Wait! Wait for me.” Brona called, running after him. She didn’t want to be alone after that last scamp. “Look,” she said catching up to him, “the gates have been opened. That woman made quick work of getting them open.” She commented, all the while keeping her eyes peeled for anymore creatures that she felt were lurking in the shadows.

"Hmmm?" Was all the escaped Bardeck's mouth. He turned to Brona who was hustling to catch him, his brow raised as his stride slowed. For a man so fearsome and strong looking, he looked very much the youth he was when surprised or confused. "Uh sure, I'll wait." he chuckled. He'd not been thanked for doing what came natural to him in a long time, and he slowed down just enough for her to walk astride Gideon and he. The dog trotted forward, giving Brona a glance, his tongue lolling out.

He felt awkward enough when in social situations, having grown up with both the Nords and Orcs. He mostly spoke with craftsmanship and combat. Bardeck was far more used to blunt statements and people who never asked for anything from him, nor did he hardly ever get thanked. It was a nice surprise. At least he did know how to be was nice and respectful. Somehow, it was easier to be himself in high staked situations. He never figured out why, and he gave the woman a smile.

As they approached the Oblivion Gates, he had to agree with Brona. He was unfamiliar with how magick worked, but whatever the hell these portals were, they seemed powerful and complicated. Things only to be tampered with by Gods and Demons. Even Gideon seemed a bit wary, ears tucked back and tail stiffened. Bardeck held his shield out protectively in front of him, and lengthened his strides to get a bit further ahead of the other two just in case. His eyes never escaped the gates, however. He swore he could see another world within. "Yeah..." His voice trailed off. He had no words to give at the sight.

The hulking Altmer approached the flaming archway, several different feelings coming to him. He felt curiosity, which was replaced my awe, and that replaced by anger. Then he came to...fear. This brought great shame to the mighty paladin, but he could not help feeling anxious about what was beyond the gate. Such horrors had rarely been recorded, and as such Orintur had little idea of what he was about to face. Towering monstrosities made of rotting flesh and bone? The tortured screams of those taken to that wretched place by sadistic Dremora? Or would there just be an endless, unholy landscape of flame and perdition? Whatever it was that filled the world beyond, Orintur knew it was his duty to face it and, ultimately, destroy it. Or at the very least get rid of the dimensional tear leading to it.

Orintur's slow, cautious steps turned into determined strides and he approached the Oblivion gate. Before entering, he turned to those that had not yet gone through and spoke what he thought were encouraging words. "Come, friends, though beyond this gate may lie unending horrors, we have the strength to end them all! Forward to combat and glory!" Charging through the gate with confidence, or in the eyes of some others, reckless abandon, hammer raised, the paladin steeled himself in preparation for whatever may lie in wait in the wretched, unholy realm of Oblivion.

Adamiir Thiich - Kvatch Courtyard - Competing in a Staring Contest

The scamp seemed to be staring up at Adamiir, it’s lifeless eyes angry black voids that seemed no different in life than in death. Thinking back to the possibility of a goblin afterlife, he then had to consider where it was that beasties such as this went after death. Before Adamiir could delve deeper into that line of thought, a sudden gust of movement to his left tore him away from his focus. With a wide jump backward and a twirl of his fingers, Adamiir cast a weak invisibility spell to avoid the slashing claws of a second beast, perhaps coming to avenge its fallen comrade. He snorted at the thought as he worked his way behind the scamp, which was twitching its head around in confusion, ineffectually searching for the vanished Breton. Adamiir suddenly lunged into the scamp from just behind its right flank, hands searching for and finding purchase on the demon’s neck and shoulder as they tumbled to the ground. With the element of surprise on his side, and electricity coursing from Adamiir’s fingers and into the scamp’s body, the skirmish ended quickly and with a clear victor. He clambered back to his feet, releasing a few shaky breaths and checking himself over. Aside from a few cuts and scrapes here and there, the mage appeared to be in relatively good shape.

“Now there’s just more of me to be chopped into pieces later!” He said cheerily to no one, a tangled laugh escaping his throat. Not too far away, Adamiir spotted the rest of the group converging towards the portal, through the now opened gates. He began to follow, and thought, not for the first time, that they were all very out of their depths. How exciting though, to be one of the first people to enter the Deadlands in who knows how long? Hell, maybe they were the first, period.

At the very least, it was shaping up to be a smashingly intriguing experience.

Veeza - Kvatch Courtyard - Dancing with a Demon

Veeza and his opponent circled each other, eyeing one another warily. For Veeza, such caution was necessary given his particular talents, anything that either possessed a weapon or happened to be bigger than him was something to be reckoned with; this dremora was both. For the dremora, anything attempting to fight it that was also smaller than it and lacking any noticeable weapon was either a spellcaster or insane. Regardless of which this lizard was, he was potentially dangerous either way.

Veeza was the first to act, a lunge towards the demon that was cut short by a brandish of its blade, forcing him back. A guttural sounding chortle erupted from the dremora’s throat. So it was insane, then. It began to produce a quick series of jabs and thrusts as it advanced towards Veeza, forcing him off balance and away. Upon rearing the blade back for another stroke, the lizard suddenly rushed forward, catching the dremora’s wrist within his hand before the edge of the blade could reach flesh. The two locked eyes for a split second before Veeza wrenched his arm sharply, twisting the dremora’s wrist until a sickening crack emanated from it, causing the blade to clatter to the ground. Its cry of pain quickly vanished into another laugh as it cuffed Veeza across the face with a gauntleted fist, separating the two once again.

Once again the two warriors circled each other, both bearing the badges of their previous exchange. A few beads of blood leaked through the scales on Veeza’s face, just below his right eye. Across from him, he could see the dremora’s right hand dangling uselessly from its socket. He paused momentarily as his foot brushed against something - a stone. Veeza paused and carefully knelt down, hands curling around the object as the dremora looked at him in moderate confusion. Understanding would only dawn on its face a moment too late as the stone was flying out of Veeza’s hand and into the dremora’s skull, knocking it to the ground. The last thing the dremora would ever see was the mad lizard’s armored heel hurtling towards its face, intent on finishing what the stone started.

The Grand Champion of Kvatch studied the corpse before him for only a moment, before turning away without ceremony. Veeza sent a silent prayer to Talos as he approached the Oblivion Gate, ignoring those that had not yet entered, stepping through without missing a beat.

As Aveca studied the fray, searching for a target to place the arrow she had knocked on her bow, she watched the gates swing open. She was impressed at the speed with which the imperial woman had achieved her task. Since she was farther from the gates than her companions, as she was ranged, the others made their way over a few dozen feet ahead of her. Most of the daedra had already been dispatched, but a scamp appeared in a burst of flame off to her side. Aveca drew back her arrow and released it into the meat of the demon's chest. She knocked another arrow as she moved, for safety, but did not encounter another demon before catching up to her companions.

She arrived next to the mostly quiet group in time to see the Argonian enter the gate without a word. For a moment, gazing into the fiery gate, she wondered if they'd even be able to pass through it the way the demons had. It was possible, she thought, that it may burn them. She half expected the man to fall to the ground, burnt, midway through, but he simply disappeared through the gate with no incident. Aveca's area of expertise really had nothing to do with otherworldly realms, and she felt nerves tense in her stomach as she stood slightly behind the others. She knew she had the courage to go through, but she still didn't want to be the next to rush in. She wasn't sure what to expect on the other side.

Valentis had barely a moment to gather his thoughts before he and the rest of the volunteers stepped outside into the ruins of the city, they were suicidal heroes in their attempt; whether or not they succeeded or failed, the gods would judge them all kindly for this act, that was for certain.
His old muscles were still spry enough to skillfully wield his Bo staff, which quickly became evident as he came across a scamp, he had seen these monstrosities before in his travels - low level conjurers would summon these from the plains of Oblivion to act as cannon fodder or a long range harassment, these Scamps however seemed different, almost feral, its almost as if the ones that get summoned are inherently different from the true thing.
It gave a guttural hiss that sounded like a wet rusted blade scraping against metal before it began to summon its magicka, just before it hurled a bolt of fire at Valentis he stood firm, in a defensive stance, staff crossed diagonally across his chest and imbued his staff with two magics, Protect, and weak fireball.
The wood changed, it looked as if the wood had become infused with iron, and at the same time cracks started sprouting around it looking like veins of fire tracing along its hard surface, it took mere seconds to occur
And not but a second later than he had prepared himself the scamp threw its fireball square at Valentis' chest, it would be a direct his on the old mans cloak had the staff not been there.

The scamp had barely time to think of attacking again when its initial attack exploded on the mans staff; seemingly doing nothing at all, but in a swift movement Valentis had covered an impressive distance between himself and the scamp in a very short time, shifting his stance to an offensive one, he thrust the base of his staff into the Scamps left ankle causing it to explode violently; flesh and bone scattered around the area.
Having imbued his staff with Weak fireball, it's affect on the beast was truly exceptional, in a scream it fell to the floor barely touching the floor before Valen quickly snapped his staff around his head in a arc and bringing it sharply upwards into its jaw, breaking its neck and finishing the disabled foe in a single stroke.

Scamps weren't much of a threat to this old man, he had faced far worse than these, but he knew that the gates of Oblivion heralded somethings far worse than these blights.

By the time he had recovered himself, the gates to the city had opened, the last few combatants had been finished off and he stood there with the rest of the group, all of them seemingly unharmed.
Now there lied the true task at hand, which was on the other side of this gate.

It stood tall, not quite the same height as the city walls, but not far off.
It was constructed out of a volcanic rock arced with ancient runes and veins of magma coursing through it like the blood in their veins, the gate almost seemed alive, the energy it exerted beat and pulsed like the beating of a heart, you could hear an ever increasing thrumming the closer you stood it it, it was truly enchanting in a odd sort of way.
They stared into the heart of a demon, knowing that they must kill it, yet it almost seemed as if they were being invited into its blazing core, it wanted them to enter its forbidden halls, to walk on its salted earth, to breath it sulphuric air...
It did not have them same allure as Akivir, but it was close.

After the first man enterted the gate, the anticipation could have Valentis waiting no longer, and like the man before him he uttered no words as he stepped once more into the unknown.

The transition of the atmosphere was stark, it was like entering a completely different world after gliding through a warm jelly, the gates energy offered no resistance when you pushed into it, it almost drew you in gleefully accepting you into its abode.
The first thing that hit Valentis was the air, its feel and smell.
It was oppressive, the air hung with a heavy feeling in it, weighing down all those who walked and breathed in it, and it smelled of thick smoke and charred flesh, acrid and bitter was the taste it left in your mouth if you breathed too deep from your nose.
The sight was a brilliant crimson glow that emanated on everything, which just made its obsidian black constructs and charred black earth all the more darker and its shadows more ominous.
This place overloaded your senses, the alien sights, the strange noises against an eerie silence, the eye watering smells and strangely cold feeling to this place.
It was alien, there was no doubt about it- so alien that it blew Akivir out of the water in terms of how foreign this place was.

But Valentis loved it, this sense of adventure, this breach into a new alien world, its everything his old bones needed, a small smile curled on his wrinkled and weathered face.
He would take great joy in exploring this god forsaken land, and he would take equal enjoyment in making its master suffer for bringing it to mundas.

Stepping through the membrane of the portal, there was a kind of brutal, yet majestic beauty in the land that lay before them. The ash swirled at each step on the cracked, steaming ground, catching in the noses and throats of any mortal being foolish to wander there. Eyes watered in the dry heat of the air, pupils wanting to dilate through sheer terror of the landscape, but the harsh lights from the flickering fires and bleeding sky forcing them to narrow pinpricks. It was truly an awesome, ungodly horror to behold - and that was not where it ended. Massive towers; constructs made of an unwelcoming stone and jagged red spikes stood ominously in the distance; the bridges that allowed safe passage across the rivers of lava still remained foreboding, flanked by charred corpses curled in on themselves, and bloodied pikes adorned with heads, faces pulled into grotesque expressions of agony. While no carrion birds could have possibly existed in this world before being consumed by heat or something worse, some heads were missing eyes, ears, noses - all weeping blood after something pecked away at them. Even Naenya - while enraptured at actually standing in a realm of Daedra, couldn't help but shudder at the concept of bird-like Daedra. Silently thanking herself for leaving Bobo back in the chapel, she followed on with the group, taking in everything with eager eyes, but trying to avoid looking at the heads for too long. She could only hope such torture occurred after death, but judging by the haunted expression on those dead, pale faces, it was very unlikely the poor souls had passed away peacefully.

In contrast, their Imperial Leader looked ten times as unhappy as she stared around her; her eyes were actually twitching in fear. She looked about five seconds from sprinting back towards the gate; in fact, those twitching eyes kept darting back to the curtain of fire that had brought them there, as if worried it would close behind them. However, her attention - and the attention of everyone else - was caught by inhuman screeches, and the clash of steel. In the near distance, there was a guard in familiar Kvatch armour, frantically battling against a few scamps. The group surged forward, glad to have something to do other than simply gawp at the wonder of this strange new realm; the scamps did not last long among them, and the panting guard gave them his heartfelt thanks.

"We were sent in to close the gate... we were ambushed... trapped... they killed my friends!" His eyes were wild with fear and grief - across the lava, the sight of slain guards could be seen on the bridge. Niko made his way to the front of the group, taking the guard by the shoulder and offering up what he hoped was a calming smile; he had known this man from when he had lived in Kvatch.

"Ilend - we're here to try and close the gate too. There's more of us here, and I'd say more than a few have experience with Daedra. We'll be able to do-" Niko's voice was cut off by the Imperial woman, who had grabbed Ilend far more roughly to get his attention.

"Never mind that - do you know how to close this thing? There must be a switch, or spell or something?!" Her voice seemed as desperate as Ilend's, but Niko's old comrade didn't have the answer she looked for. As she stormed away, muttering "Useless guards" under her breath, Niko stopped himself from scowling at her before turning back to Ilend.

"They... they took Menien to the tower. You must rescue him Nikolaus!" Ilend's eyes turned to the Gate, and Niko knew it was pointless to have him here. He was too distraught and already injured to aid in the fight.

"Go and find the Captain - there must be a barricade or something outside of the City. Tell him what we're trying to do, and that there are still survivors in the Chapel. If we fail... he may be able to do something." The thought of failing was a chilling one, but Niko knew it mustn't be ignored. The shaken guard left with more thanks, and Niko's eyes turned back towards their not-so-fearless leader. She was pacing the rocky ground, looking even more skittish than before. Sighing quietly, he turned to the remainder of the group with a shrug.

"To the tower, I suppose. If there's anything worth finding, it'll be in those things."

---

For a while, traversing the Deadlands was surprisingly... quiet. Yes, the lack of noise was disconcerting in that there was no rush of wind through leaves, no singing of birds or buzzing of crickets. Just the quiet yet endless bubbling of the lava below their feet, and the occasional hiss of hot air escaping the earth in the distance. The lack of foes was more concerning; all they ran into was a scamp here and there, dispatched too easily by just a small amount of the group. It was almost like the landscape was lulling them into a false sense of security; either that, or they just got lucky. Luck, however, swiftly shrivelled up as they approached the towers.

The sneak-thief Glenndus was leading the group; he was the best to scout the area, what with being quick, quiet, and able to hear and see a lot of things others wouldn't. Already he'd aided them in avoiding rockfalls, unknown and potentially deadly fauna, and even landmines. Niko could hardly believe all of the things that were able to kill or maim in this land; you didn't even have to stand on the mines, simply going near them would cause them to rise from the air and spin ominously before blowing into a cloud of fire. Glenn was doing well in keeping them alive; but even he didn't see the spikes coming.

They were about half-way to the towers, walking along a trail that could barely pass as a road; the group had just killed off another scamp that had snuck up behind them before their attention was drawn by a strange noise. Turning back towards the front of the group, they were met with a very dead Glenndus. Even his quick eyes didn't see the spike trap buried in the dusty ground; they had impaled him so forcefully he was dangling from the ground, spikes going through his stomach, chest, and right through his head. Any expression that could be gauged from around the bloodied piece of metal protruding from his face was a slack jaw and open mouth of surprise; his arms were still twitching from the spike embedded in his central nervous system, and an eye dangled down his torn-apart cheek. Most looked away in disgust or horror, but something seemed to snap inside the Imperial Woman. She drew her sword, pushing away from the group and spitting on the ground.

"Curse this damned place! I did not wish for this; all I had to do was rescue that stupid priest!" She snapped at nobody in particular, still backing away from the stunned group and back towards the gate. "You lot can stay here and die for all I care; And the Gods can get fucked. None of this is my fate, and I'm doing as I please from here on out. Going into Oblivion... who's bright idea was that?!" Her stream of complaints and profanities grew quieter as she went further from the group, but nobody went to stop her. She'd been disgruntled and unwanted from the start, and for Niko, all he could think was that he couldn't exactly blame her... but what was all that talk about the Gods and fate? Was there something that bound her to this mission, this quest.. and to Martin as well? Perhaps she was meant to lead this group, no matter what.

This train of thought came to a distinct end at what occurred next; not ten meters away from the group, her ranting came to a sudden stop as something hidden behind the rock slammed into her. The crunching of bones echoed all the way up to the rest of them, and they watched on as she was suddenly lifted from the ground. A Dremora stepped out; having hit the woman so hard in the abdomen with his huge mace, she remained stuck to it as it lifted the weapon above his head, blood trickling down onto it's grotesque, smiling face. Seeing the others watching on in shock, the Dremora's pointed tongue flicked out and caught a few crimson droplets, before hefting the mace towards the lava. The woman's body remained in the air a few moments before landing with a light splash atop the molten rock. She didn't sink as though it were water. Instead, her body ignited in flames atop it, limbs flailing in a silent agony before falling limp, everything swiftly reduced to flaky ash.

Looking back towards the Dremora, more foes spilled out around him. Several other daedra carrying wicked looking maces, flanked by scamps, clannfear and mages who then summoned more beasts to join them in battle. After walking through half of the Deadlands without coming across anything, it seemed Oblivion was finally fighting back against it's invaders; starting with their supposed leader.

"I suppose even in the land of the Daedra, blaspheming is taken seriously." Thought Naenya, shuddering lightly as she recalled the Imperial woman's last moments. Only then did she realise the dead woman hadn't introduced herself or told anyone of her name. If history books in the future were to write about what happened here, they would have no name for her... except perhaps "The Coward of Kvatch." However, deciding that this could wait until later, Naenya readied her staff, already thinking of which spells would be the most effective against the beasts before them.

The sights before him assaulted Orintur's eyes like spears, each sending a shock through him and making his stomach turn. Even as a man of the Divines specifically trained to defend against heretics such as the denizens within these Dead Lands, the Elf was as shocked and disgusted as any sane and rational person would be at the displays of chaos and wanton gore before them. The pikes, the mounds of charred bodies...if Orintur were a man of any weaker will and conviction, he would have taken one look at the blood and flame strewn across the realm and ran back, never to return. He was determined, though, to put a stop to this grossly heretical disregard for life and peace, one swing of his trusty hammer at a time. No wretched Daedra, be they prince or churl, would stop him from performing his duties and bringing glory to the Almighty Divines! So Orintur marched on, offering silent prayers to the poor souls in his path that were taken through the gate, and did not live to tell of their sorrows. Something felt...wrong, though. Even as he prayed, he felt as though his words did not reach, that his gods could not hear him. He felt...alone. It was clear then to Orintur that the hellish landscape he was in, the planes of Oblivion, did not respect his gods. Nay, worse than that: His gods were absent entirely.

He would have kept praying, more just to spite whatever daedra may have been listening, but Orintur's train of thought was broken by the sudden rantings of the woman that lead them all through the gate. He did not appreciate her words about the Divines, though the Paladin understood that she was under a great amount of stress, and forgave her blasphemy. Not that it would matter, as the woman died just soon after in a very gruesome manner. Orintur watched, his mind in shock and his heart filling with great fury, as the Dremora flung the woman's body into the flaming ground below, where she slowly faded away to ashes. The demon stared on with obvious glee as Orintur, heaving with rage, gripped his hammer with enough force to break a man's arm. All it took was one taunting beckon from the Churl to send the seething Paladin over the edge.

"I am Orintur Graywatch, AND YOU SHALL FEEL MY WRATH, DEMON!"

Orintur, charging past all other threats, met the Dremora with a heavy swing of his hammer, which the demon blocked with the shaft of his mace. The two whirled around each other, swinging with vigour, engaging in the dance of combat. The clang of steel and daedric metals carried through the hot, eye-stinging air, accented by war cries and pained grunts. Hammer and mace mixed into a blur of white and black, becoming clear only when one combatant stopped the other's weapon with their own, thought it was never for any longer than a split second. The battle seemed to stop for good when the Churl sent Orintur's hammer to the ground, and sent the Elf with it with a bash to the chest. Orintur's head rang fiercely; moments before, the Daedra had been able to get a clean strike at his head. He could feel himself bleeding somewhere on his forehead, but that could only be dealt with once the demon leering at him from above was dispatched.

The Churl, armor bent in several places and lower jaw being bereft of several fangs, cackled at the fallen Paladin. Instead of speaking in his own heretical tongue, they spoke in clear Tamriellic. "Your gods have no power here, worm! Your pathetic earthly metals are nothing compared to the strength my Lord Dagon bestows upon me! Now BEGONE, weakling, your soft flesh will insult my Lord's eyes no longer!"

Orintur, lying on the ground and letting the Dremora fling his taunts, was taking the time to catch his breath and regain his strength. As his foe sent their mace down one last time, Orintur suddenly sat up and gripped their wrist firmly, other hand charging with magical energy. "I will not be the one that falls today, DEMON!"

Shoving his hand into the Churl's chest, Orintur took the chance afforded to him by his Shock spell to grab his hammer as the Dremora shook and spasmed violently. It took a great deal of energy to lift it, but the mighty Paladin sent the head of his hammer into the abdomen of his enemy, crushing their armor and their insides along with it. Spewing blood like a projectile out of their mouth, the Dremora flew backwards, landing on the same molten rock they threw the Imperial woman onto just moments before. He did not fare any better.

Falling to one knee, Orintur breathed heavily, the fight taking almost all of his energy out of him. His head also panged painfully and the Elf was certain he was bruised in nearly a dozen places. He hoped his compatriots could handle themselves, because Orintur wasn't sure if he could fight many more foes in such a state.

---

---

Oblivion was just as terrible as it looked within as it did without. Moreso even, and Bardeck would be lying if he did not feel a sense of trepidation and dread at having entered such a place. Even the skies appeared to be wreathed in flame, and the dread towers that rose above the cracked rubble of the plane had a striking similarity to the Malacath maces his Orcish mentors would forge. He whispered a prayer to Talos, and made sure to keep Gideon close as they walked. Even stepping in for a moment, Bardeck now wished his truest friend had not followed him into the dark of this plane, but he knew that Gideon would refuse to be separated from him. Especially when it held such danger as this. His hound held the same loyalty to Bardeck as the warrior did to Gideon.

Crossing through the flaming portal with the group of volunteers led Brona to question her sanity. Naturally speaking of course, Brona would have turned right around after making it out of the chapel alive, and headed straight home to the Imperial City. Initially, her gut instinct when stepping through the portal, was that this realm... was not meant for any Man, Mer, or Beast. No, this was something otherworldly. She had heard of the planes of Oblivion, but never did she ever believe that she would step foot inside one. The most profound aspect of this realm, was the lack of sound. Raising her hand, an orb of light appeared, which she quickly released. The light surrounded her briefly before it faded away. Those who were trained in magick, or who had keen ears, would notice the lack of sound from her footfalls. She marvelled in silence at the vast world stretching before her, in particularly the river of fire flowing to their right. The heat from the river made her sweat as she pushed to the front of the group.

While the Imperial woman seemingly had her shit together, for the lack of a better word, Brona scanned the surrounding area. Already wary of traps, or other diabolical devices set to obliterate them, she kept her eyes peeled. No sense in having her head blown off, or being flung into slow moving fire around them. She much prefered to keep her head at that. On occasion, her eyes flickered to the jagged spires, their presence drawing closer with each footfall. Blinking became difficult, for the natural moisture in her eyes seemingly evaporated. Even her tongue felt sandy. By the time they reached the guard that had survived, Brona could only listen in disbelief at what had befallen them.

The group bumping into the guard was fortunate. He'd never thought he would see an Imperial's presence give off a familiar feeling, save that of his father. He looked frightened beyond belief, as did their Imperial guide. Bardeck was sort of confused at that. Yes, this was Oblivion, and it was more terrible than he had expected. But they had control of their own two feet didn't they? They could have turned and fled, but they were here. Why fret if their choices lead them here? The caveat about the situation was when the Guard exclaimed he had lost his friends, and to that Bardeck felt disheartened. Even though to die honorably was a worthy goal, he understood the anguish of someone close to you dying being such a fresh wound.

The decision came, by way of a towering Nord, that they would head for the towers after all. For Brona, this didn't sound safe at all. Although, in her mind, she rationalized that if they were going to close this portal, that would be the place to do it. So, Glenndus, as she came to know him, an Imperial with a similar skillset to her own, led the group. They dodged rockfalls, poisonous plants, and hidden bombs. With the lack of enemies present, she grew suspicious that something was wrong, and it turned out, she was right. She witnessed in horror as a set of spikes butchered him. Her stomach threatened to upheave the last meal she ate, but with luck, she managed to keep it down. The Imperial woman, the one that had come to the chapel, lost her cool. Cursing at the situation she found herself in, the woman backed away, heading for the portal through which they entered. Her slew of profanities and rants ended abruptly through the means of a mace. Bones crunched, air escaped from her lungs as a demon stepped out from behind the rock they had passed only seconds ago. Swinging her into the air as if she were a mere ragdoll, he, if they even had a gender, let the blood from her body drip onto his face. He tasted her blood, a forked tongue like that of a snake lapped at the crimson droplets. As if casting aside a carcass, he flung her into the river of molten fire. The smell of burning flesh filled the air around them, and to be fair, it smelt worse than roasting a boar over a spit. Sizzling in the flames from the fatty oils of her body, the Imperial woman came to a grizzly end.

Gideon bared his fangs, his haunches and back raised in warning as the Oblivion hordes appeared before them. Bardeck was both taken aback, but admittedly relieved in a sense. That thing would pay for this, but at least there was no a solid foe to fight. This plane was terrible enough, but for awhile he thought its greatest threat was that it taught one the meaning of tedium. Bardeck the warrior hefted his shield and pointed his Axe at the Dremora that had killed the Imperial woman in such a brutal fashion. He said no words, for the challenge in his eyes spoke volumes of what he intended toward the denizen of this hell. It was at that moment that Orintur charged! Bardeck felt like they could become fast friends if they lived through this. Fortunately (or unfortunately) there was more than one of the Demons to fight. Another Dremora churl cackled gutturally, and waded towards Bardeck with hate filled eyes.

Moving towards the rear of the group where the Dremora that had dispatched the Imperial woman, Brona found herself standing a few feet behind Bardeck, the same man that had come to her aid in the town square, while she watched in astonishment at the Altmer paladin's courage. She slipped the recurve bow from its tethers on her back, with her other free hand, she retrieved an iron arrow, and notched it. 'This is just like hunting deer.' she told herself. Her breathing slowed, aiming at the same demon Bardeck moved towards, she calculated his next move, both eyes open.

As the hordes of enemies appeared, Bardeck approached the Dremora warily, having to hack down a Scamp as he did so. The smaller beast was quick however, and cut a deep gash in the strong man's arm before it was dispatched with an Axe to the skull. It was at that distracting instant that the Dremora struck, striking lightning swift and slamming his mace into Bardeck's exposed side with the black iron weapon. The man cried out, his armor absorbing part of the blow. Blood dribbled down his side, however. The Dremora swiped again, but this was blocked by Bardeck's shield with a resounding 'crack' as the two objects met. Bardeck gritted his teeth, undeterred in spirit as he attempted to regain control of the fight.

As Bardeck's shield deflected the blow, she loosed the arrow, the shaft sailed through the air with a whistle. The barb missed its true mark of aiming for the demon's eye, and instead embedded itself in its shoulder. He hissed, eyes flickering to Brona for a brief moment before turning back to Bardeck. She lowered her bow, and with one free hand, conjured up another orb, this time Touch of Fear. Spinning in the palm of her hand, she aimed it straight at the demon, and released it. The orb blasted it, though it appeared unaffected, it merely cackled, saying, "Ignorant human, your spell cannot affect me." Its voice sounded thick, as if it had rocks in its throat that grated against one another. The sound of this demon's voice filled her with a sense of dread, raising the hair on the back of her neck and arms.
She swore under her breath, her luck was running out. Just when she reached for another arrow to notch, she cried out loud in dismay. The teeth of a stunted reptilian lizard dug straight into her calf, while another one bit into her left forearm, rendering her bow arm immobile. Cringing in pain, she dropped to one knee. The recurve bow clattered to the floor, and with her right hand, she tried to fish out the iron dagger at her hip.

The arrow was a welcome distraction, and Bardeck shoved the Dremora back with his shoulder, jerking his axe to the side in a slash that made a light wound on the Demon. It hissed in annoyance and pain, and raised its mace in a counter attack. Even as Bardeck moved to raise his shield, his hamstring was cut by one of the diminutive scamps. He cried out, and fell to a knee. Luckily, his shield was still raised in time to block the Dremora's powerful blow. He didn't know how much more punishment his iron shield could take. These Dremora were likely to have magic weapons. Salvation came in the form of the Warhound Gideon, who hit the Dremora in a leaping tackle. If the Demon had been wearing a helmet, he might have been able to weather the canine's onslaught. However, as damaged as he was already, with Gideon's jaws at his throat, he could do little but score a light hit on the hound's flank as he was summarily mauled.

Bardeck nodded to his companion that had taken the opportunity to finish their opponent, and he spun to hit the Scamp that had cut him with his forearm. It wouldn't do much damage to the Scamp, but it mattered little. The screeching creature slipped into the lava with a scream. When he had spun, Bardeck saw Brona surrounded! With a grunt, he staggered to his feet and made his way over to her as quickly as he could. He could see the Imperial woman scrambling for her dagger, but time was not on her side. He thanked Talos and Malcalth at once when he reached her, using his body weight more than his strength to slam his shield downward and nearly crush the Clannfear runt that had attacked her under it with jarring force. It squeaked and clawed at the ground, but it was dying. He shoved it away.

Again, the Nord man came to her aid, giving her enough time to finish off the other reptile that still clung to her arm. She could feel its teeth working back and forth, gnawing on her arm. Needles of pain raced up her arm and to her shoulder, leaving her to make one decision. With fingers curling around the hilt of the iron dagger, she drove the blade through its skull with the last reserves of her energy. Panting with exhaustion, she mustered enough strength to offer a weak smile and to say, "Thanks, friend."

Bardeck was often too earnest or too awkward in social conversations, but he found that combat brought speaking easy to him. Perhaps it was because he was distracted by other things so he spoke without overthinking, or perhaps he enjoyed the fighting enough that it brought out his true self. But it wasn't hard to talk to Brona here, especially when she called him a friend. He held up his shield to guard against any other incoming attacks before either of them, and gave her the grin of a comrade. "No problem. If we're to make it out of hell, friends should stick together." It was at that moment Gideon the hound bounded over to them, a few cuts on his hide and jowls but nothing more damaging. His tongue lolled out and he looked between Brona and Bardeck, sniffing the air.

This world was unlike any Niko had seen before. The heat alone was like stepping into a world-sized oven; but the sights that met the brave group was enough to still his heart. Heads on pikes; charred bodies; and a quiet sense of foreboding bringing with it a chill that should be impossible in a heat so intense. While he had kept his cool around his old comrade Ilend, walking through this quiet, hellish realm was beginning to tip him over the edge. He was reminded of that icy, spike of fear that only affected him in the worst times of his life... he kept waiting for a necromancer to jump out from behind a rock... to see one of the strung up corpses slowly turn and show a too-familiar face.

He was brought to his senses when something finally did happen; unfortunately for Glenndus, that was. It was clearly a quick death for the fellow, but gruesome for the group to look on. Swallowing bile that had suddenly rose up in the Nord's throat, Niko turned from the penetrated body of their scout to the raging Imperial woman. Things seemed to fast-forward from there, but the way she was killed seemed to be in slow motion. It was terrifying, disgusting, and it lit a rage in Niko's normally pleasant eyes that could not be extinguished. Unsheathing both of his swords, his face twisted into an uncharactertic snarl, ready for any foe that dared to cross his blades.

It didn't take long for him to pick a target; one of the Dremora Mages closing in one two of his comrades; a woman and man, both of which looked injured. Launching himself at it, it had barely any time to even glance his way before Niko landed a blow; completely severing an arm from the beast, it bellowed in rage and agony, flailing at him with it's mace blindly. Dodging the blow, he felt a scrape on his cheek and his hair flip through the motion of the weapon; he reacted in kind, yelling as he brought his sword clean across the Dremora's unprotected neck. His head fell from the stump which began gushing blood, body twitching as it fell to the floor. The summoned scamp had already been dispatched by the young warrior, and the expense of his hamstring, that was. Panting slightly from exertion, Niko turned to the two - no, three, if one counted the particularly happy looking dog - with a sigh, brushing a droplet of blood from his scraped cheek.

"Stay close - I'll make sure nothing else harms you until the battle is won." He nodded to the pair, voice husky with adrenaline and his eyes now dying down to a cold stoniness. He disliked torture, pain, needless harm. This very realm represented all of those things, and Niko hated everything about it. At the very least he could help bring an end to the pain it brought - and even heal some of his companion's wounds to end their pain too.

The two nodded their thanks. Bardeck gave a salute with his shield, and Gideon sat down, panting.

Rinori watched the city of Krvatch burn. She couldn't say she felt any strong emotions about it. On one hand, it was horrible and frightening to see what sort of power these daedra had, that they could lay siege and destroy a city in less then a day. But Rinori has never been to Krvatch, knew no one there, and was far from the fighting itself. She simply kept watch, waiting for the right moment to strike. Granted, that time could have been whena bunch of heroes went into the city and saved it from the daedra.... But they were doing such a good job Rinori didn't think they needed her help. BY the time they got to the oblivion gate itself, Rinori knew they didn't need her help.

That being said, she also wasn't sure what might happen once they're inside. Even if they close the oblivion gate, there was still more daedra in the city itself. What they were even doing here in the first place, Rinori didn't know. But if they tried to leave the city for whatever reason, she'll be here to shoot them down. She just hoped that these heroes could close the gate before it's too late. The last thing Rinori wanted on her conscious was seeing this city and it's people die because she chose not to act.

The uneventful walk through the hellish realm had Aveca on edge. She was shocked to be there, and despite her amazement, she strongly wished for nothing but to get in and get right back out. In the back of her mind, she wondered if it would even be possible to get out, or if closing the gate would close them inside. The thought of being stuck in this realm made her insides turn. She found herself glancing at the mutilated corpses in the area every now and then, and despite being accustomed to seeing gore as a healer, the expressions on those poor souls made her uncomfortable.
The silence was so disconcerting that Aveca probably would’ve loosed an arrow at a falling pebble. She kept one knocked but didn’t draw. When the group turned around to find one of their party members in a spike trap, Aveca’s first instinct at seeing someone immobile was to rush forwards and help. She didn’t even take a step before she saw that he was very, very dead. A few seconds later, an imperial woman surged towards the corpse and shouted a few profanities.
“Curse this damned place! I did not wish for this; all I had to do was rescue that stupid priest! You lot can stay here and die for all I care; And the Gods can get fucked. None of this is my fate, and I'm doing as I please from here on out. Going into Oblivion... who's bright idea was that?!" Aveca thought briefly that no one had even asked her. She had seemed a little reluctant, but the nord had thought that she was just a bit of a reluctant hero. Still, her brimming irritation fizzled out quickly as a Dremora stepped out from behind a rock and slammed into her. He lifted her with his mace and threw her into the molten lava. As her body neared the lava, her body ignited from the head and rested atop the molten rock until she was reduced to ashes. Left with little to think about, Aveca barely noticed the altmer man launch himself at the Daedra who had killed the imperial woman.
She quickly turned her attention to another enemy; the arrow she already had knocked on her arrow was quickly drawn back and loosed into the meat of a Dremora churl. It stuck home deep in his side, but the thing barely seemed to notice. It noticed her and charged directly at her. Fear struck her, as she wasn’t accustomed to one on one combat. Her first instinct was to drop her bow and raise her arms to cast a spell. She released a flash bolt directly into the Daedra’s bare face. The offshoot of flames stunned it, but fire probably hadn’t been the best choice for her, she realized. The thing lived in these realms, maybe it could even trudge through lava on its own. She thought that was an exaggeration, though.
Quickly, she attempted a new approach. While the Dremora shook the flames from its face, Aveca grabbed the front of the beast’s armor and released Cold Touch into its being. The spell shot into its center and she watched the creature seize up. It went rigid and, as a finishing blow, the Nord grabbed an arrow from her quiver and jabbed it into the churl’s exposed neck. Dark coloured blood gushed out of the wound and onto her pale hand. She wrenched the arrow out and an extra spurt of blood hit her clothing. She was small and was almost pulled to the ground with the body, but she shoved it off herself and stumbled back a step.
She examined the arrow in her hand, but found that it was unusable. The arrowhead had torn off inside of the neck. She tossed it aside and it tumbled down into the molten lava, combusting into flame before it even touched the liquid. The rush of adrenaline was still coursing through her as the looked over her blood-soaked right hand.

It's been about a month since Malakaus had left the Imperial City for his journey. His quest was simple enough: Go to the guilds and learn more about Levitation Lore. Malakaus wondered why the spell had been banned in the first place, it’s not as if Levitation has any ethical issues like necromancy. And even so Malakaus didn’t really care about it, seeing it no worse than the usual conjuration controversy regarding dealing with daedra. The roads have been clear of bandits so far, and aside from some wolves giving him the eye he hasn’t run into any trouble yet.

Malakaus was about half-way along when a band of travelers crossed his path. Yet despite the size of the group, they looked ill-prepared for a long journey: most didn’t even have backpacks and were carrying boxes or sacks. When Malakaus met them he asked what news they had. Apparently they were fleeing Kvatch after some sort of massive disturbance. No one knew what exactly had happened, only that it seemed like a gate to Oblivion opened up and daedra started pouring in. Hearing this didn’t frighten Malakaus however: Quite the opposite.

The realms of Oblivion were dangerous but also bountiful. Even for it’s hellish landscape there were many powerful and potent alchemical ingredients inside, and Daedra hearts were legendary in all crafting circles. They had potent magic for alchemy, the blood necessary to daedric smithing, and often used as a catalyst in enchanting. Not to mention that for the fortunate few, one may even go into Oblivion to meet Daedric Lords themselves. Malakaus had heard of Malakath’s own realm, the Ashpit, where land floats through the skies and the air is filled with poison. Levitation and the ability to breath one’s own fresh air was necessary, and Malakaus hoped to meet him one day. Ideally while Malakaus was still alive.

Thus this news about an oblivion gate opening up piqued Malakaus’s interest. What sort of power lay beyond that gate? And why was it here in the first place? Surely such a cataclysmic event couldn’t be done by a mere cult or even a powerful wizard. There had to be a daedric lord behind this. Only question was, who? So for a moment Malakaus decided to put his quest on hold. No, not quite: a new objective in his quest was discovered. In his pursuit of knowledge he shall investigate Kvatch and get to the bottom of this Oblivion Gate. Figuratively of course. He imagine that the pits in oblivion are bottomless or at least very, very long.

Sometime later Malakaus arrived to the base of Kvatch. He knew he was close because the skies were red and darken, despite arriving sometime during the day. Or was it night? Frankly, being this close to an Oblivion Gate was bound to skew time and space. Didn’t matter, time to investigate. The orc approached the makeshift fortifications made to protect the former citizens, looking for anyone who knew what happened. Ideally, there may be a guard or soldier of some sort who may be willing to accept Malakaus’s help. If needed he could even say that he’s an Imperial Soldier, albeit one who’s on leave.

Adamiir Thiich - The Deadlands - Reflecting on his Mortality

Two of their own dead, just like that. While Adamiir couldn’t claim to feel particular remorse for either Glenndus or the whiny bitch that soon followed him to the grave, it was a stark reminder of the survivors’ mortality. Specifically, of course, his mortality. He glanced nervously at those around him, then at the cluster of hellspawn ahead. “I suppose it wouldn’t do to run away now, then?” Apparantly not, as the words barely left his lips before the elven paladin, Orintur Graywatch, as he so loudly proclaimed, charged headfirst into the throng of demons, sparking the melee.

It wasn’t long before Adamiir found himself surrounded. Three hissing scamps, circling around him, barely kept at bay by the threat of magicka coursing within his veins. The smallest one charged first, a flurry of claws and teeth that Adamiir noticed, even as he prepared to evade the assault, were remarkably clean for a scamp. He dropped to the ground, thrusting his hands into the air as he did so, pouring as much electricity into the creature’s softer underbelly as he could manage. The scamp dropped to the ground just behind Adamiir with a thud, even as the last two scamps charged at his now prone form. The one from behind arrived first, sinking its teeth deep into Adamiir’s shoulder, eliciting a cry of pain from the breton, even as he released a lightning bolt into the chest of the final scamp; a last ditch effort to prolong his life. The monster behind him bit down harder, and he thought he could feel something about to tear. Pain and panic flooded Adamiir’s mind then, and there was no more room for spells or survival.

Veeza - The Deadlands - Saving a Life

Veeza saw the scamp’s jaws open wide as it lunged forward before the breton felt them, and already he was charging ahead. The scamp released its morsel as the clanking of Veeza’s armor drew nearer and nearer, turning to face this new threat as quickly as time would allow. Not fast enough, it seemed, as Veeza grabbed the scamp by a leg and an arm with a roar, lifting the creature high into the air, before forcing it down onto his fearsome scalp. The thing wailed and shrieked, twisting and struggling desperately, only succeeding in burrowing Veeza’s spikes deeper into its stomach. The scamp scratched at him furiously, a few blows scraping his face, leaving shallow cuts, while most scrabbled harmlessly off of his armor. With a heave, Veeza lifted the scamp once more, throwing it down to the ground. It twitched once, then twice, then it was dead.

Veeza approached Adamiir then, looking down at the mage clutching his shoulder, working some sort of healing magic. Veeza prodded him with a foot, extending his hand. Adamiir ended the spell, reaching for Veeza’s hand with his good arm. Even as the argonian lifted him to his feet, Adamiir still winced in pain. It would take more than a cursory healing spell before his right arm could be used without great effort “I thank you, large and fearsome lizard! If the need arises for me to repay the favor, it is probable that I will!” He turned then, to survey the state of the battlefield, gripping his pendant tightly. Behind him, Veeza nodded.

“We must remain united. I fear this gate, and what it implies.”

It seemed all of nature that could move away from the city of Kvatch had, an oddity since she could not sense the life of the animals around her. In fact, it seemed as if the animals that had inhabited the area had abandoned it, leaving the area uncomfortably silent all around her. The only sound was her feet stepping and her staff tapping the paved road to the city. It was simply disturbing, used to hearing the pleasant chirp of a bird or the scampering of an animal running in the background. Jid-Jahara began to wonder, her mind calculating the reasons why the wildlife would abandoned the area. No proper reasons had come to her mind, so she was left in silence with herself and only herself.

“Strange,” the argonian shaman told herself, her eyes darting to the area around her as she almost expected some evil entity to attack her at any moment. Paranoia was setting in as her grip tightened around her staff, her breath picking up, and her eyes moving around more and more. It was disturbing her to not be in the presence of any form of wild animal, even a basic chirp of some thrush would bring release to her, but nothing dared to show itself. Alas, there was nothing there to even show, no savage animals or their prey.

Then the sight came to those glowing yellow eyes of hers, the crimson light that seemed to flood the skies above her destination. Her eyes widened, the fear of the unknown that had started that fire seemed to flood her. Jid-Jahara had stopped in her tracks, taking a moment to stare at the flames that had enveloped the city for whatever reason. For a moment, she could hear the roaring flames could be heard, but her thoughts seemed to drown out those cackling sounds of the fire.

Once more, she began moving towards Kvatch, this time with a more cautious step and her staff gripped in both of her hands now. The argonian kept her wits about her as she gradually made her way to the city, her eyes darting around more and more as she approached the city. It was until it was over a hundred more paces ahead of her that she froze, unable to continue further into the foreign land. “Not a good idea,” she told herself, her eyes narrowing as she pushed the hood of her cloak down. Jid-Jahara could feel it, how cold it truly was in spite of the fire that crackled and roared within the city. Perhaps it was nervousness that stopped her there. Perhaps fear.

“Not good.”

Valentis was not certain he had made the correct decision by coming into this Godforsaken land, whilst his heart still beat fervently in excitement, an odd confliction of the mind and heart, he knew that this place could very well be the death of him, but equally he knew that this place was easily a place of adventure, excitement, foreign and alien.
The very things that had driven him for so many years.

The group cautiously made their way through the deadlands, the place was as deadly as it was inhospitable thankfully the way for them was expertly scouted by a tracker there little band had acquired.
Along the way the had met a guard member, the man was distraught and had somehow managed to survive against the denizines of this place; unfortunately the same could not be said of his comrades; most of them were dead and one was missing, most likely dead as well.

The guard left the the gate with haste after he met the group, and they continued onwards, the mood amongst them not exactly perked up by the fact that others had been in here and were basically all cut down.
Things only got worse from there, they lost their scout and lost their Imperial "leader" who had begrudgingly entered the gate on the first place.
Two losses to their group already... and their first major fight inside here began, it was a brawl, chaotic and bloody.
Before valen could even think of what to do a Dremora Churl stood in front of him, a sick bloody smile upon his face.
The brute was easily about 7 and half foot tall, covered in thick plate metal armour, it wielded a mace of which the end looked bugger than Valentis' head.

Valen had only just managed to infuse his staff with electricity, using spark upon it before the churl gave a guttural scream and pelted at him.
It spoke in some demonic speech that Valen could not understand but it felt as if he was mocking the old man armed with seemingly nothing but a stick.
True, this weapon of his would do nothing to heavily armoured opponent, the magic he infused into it however. Would. The churl swung first, placing a huge amount of force behind his swing, of which Valen dodged and it narrowly missed his head, in return Valen retaliated with his own attack, a thrust of his staff into the chest caused the Electricity to react with the metal, causing the churl to hiss and curse more at Valen, it had stunned and hurt him slightly, but wasn't enough.

The churl swung once more, this time the mace clipped Valens right arm, of which he felt something break - lightining flashed across his eyes and he stumbled as the pain spread like fire through his arm.
But, within that time Valen managed to recharge his staff, infusing it with a very powerful charge and thrusitng it into the armour once again, toughly over where the heart would be.
After a powerful jolt, the Churl gave spasms before falling to the ground dead; electricity seemed to be quite effective against these things.

He would heal his arm in time, but for the time being he knelt away from the battle a bit, hoping he didn't have to reengage with another enemy.

With the remainder of the beasts dispatched by the group, the exhausted - and injured, in some cases - volunteers were able to reflect in relative safety about what had just happened. They had lost their de facto leader, and their best Scout. The tower ahead most likely lead to both salvation and more horrors like what they had just witnessed, but there was no point in turning back now. They had come much farther than the Kvatch guards had, and pulling out would be nothing but cowardly... and likely bring certain doom to those still trapped in the Kvatch Chapel. Naenya cast her eyes about the group, breathing the smallest sigh of relief upon seeing nobody was dead. All limbs were still attached, nobody was on fire, and guts were still nestled in bellies.

"I think we should have only a small rest." The haggard, halting tone came from the blonde Nord, stood by two injured fellows and a surprisingly chipper looking dog. The Nord seemed unsure on what to do; it had been easier on just following the imperial woman without asking questions, under the assumption that she just happened to be the leader. Wiping his swords on his pants, he placed one back in it's scabbard, the other hanging loosely from his palm as he looked about the others. "We don't want to run into a group like that again while we have injured; the sooner we're done, the sooner we can leave this damned place in one piece." While Naenya understood his haste, part of her still wanted to linger in this realm just a bit longer. Yes, two of their number had just been quite brutally and gruesomely murdered, but there was still so much to learn! Even now in the distance, she could see strange, flesh coloured pods dangling from rocks; large rust coloured roots that twitched in a suspiciously alive manner - even the bloodgrass that scattered the dusty land had amazing alchemical qualities that she would have just loved to tamper with. However, with so many hurt, even with small injuries, she knew it would have to wait.

Being quite lucky in avoiding harm herself (One of the scamps didn't last long against her magic - she'd been tempted to summon her own Scamp and watch on for entertainment, but it was a blood-thirsty little fellow, and she didn't want to accidentally give it a friend), Naenya turned to those who were injured, offering a smile up as she offered to heal their ailments. For reasons that she couldn't even comprehend, there were people out there who not only didn't learn magic, but outright refused to! When a simple restoration spell could mean the difference between life or death, the Bosmer found herself baffled at such half-witted actions... not that such opinions needed to be aired now.

Niko too turned to his fallen comrades; the Imperial man and woman, still behind him. As with Naenya, Niko was glad to see that none of their number had met the same fate as Glenndus, and with such a small victory, managed a tired smile at the both of them.

"Forgive me - I didn't catch your names in the Chapel." He began, glancing to the young warrior's wounds first; a hamstring injury was not something to be taken lightly, especially when fully-functioning legs could carry you away from danger far better than fighting could. Readying a healing spell in the palm of his hand, Niko's eyes met Bardeck's. "May I?" He asked, motioning towards the fellow's wounds.