"Forgive me - I didn't catch your names in the Chapel."

Brona's attention shifted to the approach of a blond Nord, she had seen him apart of the group when they entered the portal. He dwarfed Brona in size, standing well over a foot taller than her. She almost forgot to speak as he asked for their names, her eyes were focused on the minute details of his face. Braids kept the dark blond hair out of his face which revealed a pair of storm-blue eyes. She noticed the appearance of laugh lines around his mouth and eyes, he had to be far older than her, but that didn't mean the Nord was unappealing to look at. "The name's Brona." She piped up, uncertain if he heard her or not as he directed his attention to Bardeck who suffered a far worse injury than she did. Nevertheless, the blood that dripped down her arm from the wound on her shoulder caused her a great deal of pain. She eyed the carcasses of their foes, most notably the reptile-like creature that had attacked her.

Bardeck nodded both his acceptance and his thanks to Niko, the muscled young man grunting as he pulled his leg up, knee raised high. "Thank you."

"What are these...things?" She asked to no one in particular, waving her hand at the corpses of the demons they slaughtered.

Through his dark matted hair, Bardeck glanced at the Dremora and lesser Daedra they'd slain. He should have guessed they would have been injured during this fight. The churl was a definite challenge for any warrior. He was proud to have lived, and thankful for Brona's continued help. "Demons." He replied. "Dremora. I'm not learned in books as some are, but the Orcs know these creatures. The lesser beasts as well, though their names escape me this moment." With that he glanced at Brona. "There are worse things here. Stay vigiliant."

What could be worse than Daedra? Daedric Princes, of course, but such an entity was unlikely to make an appearance to a random ragtag group such as them. Something not quite as bad as Daedra, but perhaps just as potentionally painful, found its way to Bardeck.

While Brona reveled in the thought that the creatures they battled moments ago were Daedra, she had little time to formulate a response before an Altmer in full steel armor barged into their conversation.

"FRIENDS! We have claimed victory over these foul creatures! But we must rest only for a short while, for a greater prize awaits us just yonder!" Shouted Orintur with jubilation. Clasping Bardeck roughly by the shoulder, the Paladin spoke directly to the man. "Well fought, well fought indeed, my friend! Those fiends had absolutely no idea what hit them, ahaha!" If something in Bardeck's shoulder popped, Orintur clearly did not hear it, as he continued on speaking, now to Brona.

"And to you as well, of course! I mean no offense when I say this, but I did not think someone of your stature would fare very well against Daedra."

Bardeck gave a nod. He wasn't particularly hurt from Orintur's overly enthusiastic greeting, but he knew that would be a diferent case for someone else, and something told Bardeck Orintur would have been just as...enthusiastic with someone less broad of shoulder. "You as well. You fought as feircely as you act."

Glad the young warrior was accepting his aid (Niko had seen far too many egotistical men who thought they could simply walk off injuries, rather than accept help and look "weak.) the Nord knelt so Bardeck was able to rest his injured leg upon his own; magic flashing against the deep wound, the crimson blood began to thicken, clotting taking place and staunching the flow as the magic knitted together the torn flesh.

"Scamps." Niko replied to Brona, eyes still focused on Bardeck's wound. "They only seemed small, however. I've seen bigger ones than that before." He said grimly, pausing a moment to look at her. "Conjured, thankfully. They're not quite as terrifying when they're on the leash of magic... and in a Mage's dining room." The fellows at the Guild - particularly in Chorrol - enjoyed summoning a great deal of Daedra. According to a story he had heard, an Apprentice had 'accidentally' summoned a Daedroth from the realms of Oblivion, causing quite a bit of chaos among his peers simply by the horrifying presence of the beast. An amusing story, but Niko didn't want to tempt fate by retelling it - a Daedroth could show up at any minute, and that was the last thing the group needed.

She bit her lip to suppress a string of biting words that struggled to fight their way free, so she ignored the Altmer for the time being. According to the rugged Nord who tended to Bardeck, the daedra she fought, were scamps. At least she had a name for them now, not that she would have read about them in a book... words weren't her forte.

Glancing up as the Altmer Paladin came over in a rather... victorious mood, Niko quashed an amused smile that began to form on his face. The High Elf's enthusiasm was somewhat infectious, to say the least. And despite two deaths, the remaining members of their troupe were alive and well, beyond a few minor injuries. As for Bardeck's wound, it was healing nicely thanks to Niko's restoration magic; it would be a messy job, what with the lack of time and resoures the group had to work with. However, once Niko had expended his magicka, the flesh was healed and the muscle and tendons within fixed enough for one to walk on.

"You'll be bruised for a few days, and it'll ache like a bugger - but you'll be able to walk on it." Finishing with a supportive - but gentle - clap to Bardeck's injured leg, Niko got to his feet, glancing at Orintur - and the blood trailing from his head.

"My thanks," Bardeck replied. He grunted, but stood up easily enough. The ache of the wound was dull, but the pain no longer reverberated in his skull. He'd seen far worse even without the healing, but he wasn't going to tempt fate. Not here. He might have lived among the Orcs for a time, but he had a bit more self preservation than that.

"If I wait a moment, I'll be able to help there, should you need it." Motioning towards the trickle of blood that could be seen - Niko had spoke swiftly, hoping that Brona hadn't picked up too much on the Altmer's words of... "stature".

"Hm? Help with what? Where?" Asked Orintur. What was Niko talking about? He was perfectly fine! Gah, but the sweat pouring down his neck was getting quite bothersome. Removing his helmet, Orintur wiped away the beads of sweat from the back of his neck with the palm of his gauntlets, only to find that even more was pouring down! He wiped and wiped, but it simply wouldn't stop! Catching a glance at his palm, Orintur discovered why: It wasn't sweat, at least not entirely, but blood.

"What in the world!? How did this-oh, wait a minute, I remember now! Yes, that Churl hit me quite hard in the head. I accept your offer, friend, my thanks to you."

Looking toward Brona and her rather sizeable wound, Orintur spoke again. "Excuse me, madam, but would you like assistance with your injury? I am well trained in the art of Restoration; all Paladins are, of course!"

Nodding in response to the young warrior's thanks, Niko then turned to the Altmer. A tall, striking fellow - and quite unlike any other High Elf he had seen before. There was something very brusque and easy-going about him. Definitely less uptight than others of his kin that Niko had seen before; he would be unsurprised to find some Nordic blood in the Altmer's family. However, regardless of amicability, Orintur was still injured - considering the force of the blow recieved, it was a wonder he wasn't concussed. A short blast of his healing magic stemmed the blood flow from the head wound, and now having expended all of his magicka once more, stepped back to let the Paladin work on Brona.

After his remark about her stature, Brona raised a brow at the Altmer's behaviour, where she questioned his sanity. Nevertheless, the wound on her shoulder would be only a burden on the group further down the road. "If you would be so kind." She offered a sheepish grin. She pulled off her leather gloves and unknotted the leather cords that held her gorget in place. Once she had set that aside, she set to removing her breastplate, a necessary task as the leather covered the piercing bite wounds. Now, without her breastplate, Brona's red tunic held no indication that she had suffered an injury, as the color masked the blood, save for darker splotches of red where it had seeped through. She wiped the rivulets of blood away on the hem of her tunic, before turning her attention to the Altmer again. "If you will." she said with a nod of her head.

Bardeck was a bit too preoccupied with other thoughts at the moment as he gazed at Gideon smelling the Scamp corpses and prodding them with his muzzle, but he honestly agreed with Orintur. Not that he'd have said it in such a fashion, but the well-built young fighter was impressed at Brona's skills. She used her talents well.

"By the way, we told you our names, what are yours?" She asked to both the Altmer and the Nord.

"My name? It would be Orintur Graywatch, at your service, madam!" The towering Elf said with a graceful bow. "I am a humble servant of Stendarr, charged with the protection of the innocent, and the smiting of those that would prey upon them! To that end I am trained in both the arts of war and magic; yes, I even employ the distasteful school of Destruction. If I could make do without it I most certainly would, but in this world, you must use the tools that have been granted to you."

Setting down his hammer and helmet, Orintur continued. "However, my knowledge of Restoration is much more formidable than any other of my proficiencies...well, except for my skill with hammers! Ahaha!" Stretching out his arms and fingers, Orintur prepared a cast of Greater Convalescence; Brona's wound, while not life-threatening, was still too severe for Orintur to treat it with the spell's less potent brother. He did not mind expending the extra magicka, after all, this was the Paladin's calling in life, to help those in need.

With a flash of light and perhaps a slight burning sensation for Brona, the wound was healed up with little trace of it having been there at all...well, except for the rather unsightly scarring, but that would heal on its on with time. Most of it, anyway.

"And...finished! There you are, good as new!"

"I certainly appreciate the kindness, Master Orintur. I never learned any other field of magick, save for Illusion. Just don't have it in me, or that's what my teacher told me." She said with a shrug of her shoulders. Brona ran a hand over the new scar where the wound once existed. She had to admit, she was impressed at his skill. She replaced her armor, pulling the leather cords tight to prevent it from coming loose.

As the three conversed, Bardeck crouched and held his hands out to his canine companion. Gideon trotted over to him and began lapping at his face. The warrior chuckled and ran his hand over Gideon's furred back. The wardog was not truly hurt, merely singed in a few places. Bardeck could tell it would be alright. "Keep careful, yeh?" He asked Gideon, who nuzzled into his hand. If Orintur remained as effective of a fighter as he had been, he and Bardeck would keep the front of the group relatively secured.

Raising his eyebrows at Orintur's rather dramatic introduction, Niko looked between he and Brona, feeling a slight sense of relief at having someone so zealous in their party. It was almost like having extra protection from the Gods.

"My name is Nikolaus." This follow-up sounded particularly lame compared to Orintur's, and realising this, Niko cleared his throat and stood up a bit straighter. "I was once a Battlemage for the Arcane University; as such, I have plenty of experience dealing with the horrors we see here. While not Daedra, there are people and beings in our realm that are capable of just as much terror." Pausing a moment as past memories flickered across his mind, Niko shook the thoughts off. Now wasn't the time.

"My friends call me Niko - feel free to do the same." He added in a lighter tone, smiling slightly at his now healed companions.

"Nice to meet you, Niko. What's a Nord like you doing this far south?" She asked.

Niko paused before answering her, sheathing his other sword. "Work. I take jobs here and there, travel with my daughter. It's not the easiest of lives, but she enjoys seeing new places." While certainly the truth, Niko constantly wondered whether or not it would be better for her if he'd just take a permament job in a city. But then again, after seeing Kvatch... they were unlucky to have been trapped there. If they had been residents, perhaps their fate would have been much worse. "I used to live in Kvatch, actually. A few years ago... a shame to see it like this now."

The realization that he had a daughter, and had traveled this far south for work as he put it, made her question where the mother was. She bit her lip at the thought while her eyes lingered upon his figure. "You're a good man, lookin' after your daughter like that." What else could she say? She just met the man, and even more so, the private affairs of his life. So she presumed the best course of action, in situations like these, was a simple change of topic. Brona switched her attention to the dog that belonged to Bardeck. A smile crossed her lips as she watched it sniff the corpses of the scamps, she liked animals. Never owned one, but liked them nonetheless.

"A fine creature, that one is. Where did you find such a dog?" She asked Bardeck with a nod of her head.

The rugged warrior smoothed his hand on Gideon, turning to look at Brona. "Thank you," he said earnestly. He didn't really care too much on compliments for himself, unless it was for glorious combat. But Gideon? He loved his Warhound. "Gideon was a gift from my mentor, Rogath." He smiled, his handsome face lighting up and looking much younger when he was speaking of his dog. "It was the last thing he gave me before I left Hammerfell."

"Hammerfell?" Her brows lifted at the mention of Hammerfell, what in the world was he doing all the way up there? Now that she thought about it, their entire company was composed of folks from all walks of life.

He halted scratching Gideon for a moment, and he nodded. "I grew up in Skyrim for a time, but most of my life has been spent in Hammerfell, learning to smith and fight with Orcs." He said, reminiscing of his time there in the back of his mind.

"Well I'll be damned." She said as a smile crossed her lips, staggering to her feet she glanced at the others. "Suppose we should get a move on lest those Daedra spring another trap on us, eh?" Her hand swept towards the remaining members of the company, most had seemingly received some type of healing as well.

The story behind Bardeck was an intruiging one to Niko; it was rare for the Orismer to take in non-Orcs to learn and live with them, and for them to give gifts freely meant they considered the young warrior a competent one. Making a mental note to ask Bardeck of his no-doubt interesting past in Hammerfell - if they made it out of here alive, that was - Niko nodded in agreement to Brona. The injuries sustained by the group had been fairly light to begin with, so it was lucky they didn't have to spend much of their time patching up. "Let's join the others; I fear we may have more foes to deal with in that blasted tower." Looking towards the alien constructs, they stuck out of the landscape quite blatantly. It was as if their architects had gone to great lengths to try and made the natural environment even more daunting - they certainly had succeeded, with the dull grey stone and red spikes protruding all throughout the spires.

Aveca was still examining her hand for injuries and barely heard the Nord man call for a rest. She zoned into the conversation just enough to understand what the group was doing, adrenaline fading from her mind. She felt she could use a small rest after her fight. She looked over the group for a second; everyone was standing, though a few had visible injuries. Aveca’s head felt muddied, so she decided to step away for a second and get herself together.

As she approached a rock to sit on not far away from the dremora’s body, she stooped to grab her bow and sling it back over her shoulder. Her items now all accounted for, she sat down on the rock and pulled out her waterskin. She didn’t want to use too much water, as she wasn’t sure now long they would be in this gate, but despite that she poured a small amount on her hands to wash off the blood. Dried blood was bearable, but it annoyed her to have the crusty substance on her hands of all places. She wiped her wet hand on her dress. They were nowhere near perfectly clean, but she could at least see some scratches on her right hand now that it was clean. She took a second to heal them, which was simple, but she did to ensure she avoided infection.

Aveca wasn’t usually shaken by a fight, and she wasn’t very shaken after the dremora, but she was unsettled to say the least. Just being in the gate made her skin crawl. She had to agree with the nord man on both counts – they needed to get moving, and their injured needed help.

After cleaning herself up and getting her bearings, feeling slightly more rested, she approached the main conglomerate of warriors. She noted some had already been healed; it didn’t come as a surprise to her, in such a group. Many who studied magic learned at least a basic healing spell. She decided to check anyway, directing it to the whole group. “Does anyone else need patching up before we keep moving?”

With wounds now healed and gruesome deaths of their comrades pushed to the backs of already shaken minds, the group was able to move on to their final destination; the towering spire before them, which would hopefully lead to some answers about the plane they stood in. And of course, how to get rid of it - the lands of the Daedra had no place in Nirn, and that mere fact would possibly lend hope to those stuck within the realm. The Gods couldn't allow this transgression against their will to continue, so surely these few warriors had the favour of the Aedra. Others, however, may look upon this as a fruitless effort. Mehrunes Dagon had broken the one law that kept some people asleep at night. If the Prince of Destruction could unleash his fiery lands and evil minions on the world of men and elves, then they had truly been abandoned by all that is good in the world.

As for Naenya, she was simply enjoying the new learning experience. The quarrels of beings such as the Daedric Princes and the Gods had nothing to do with her; all the Bosmer woman could do was to try and look on the bright side of things. The Dremora that she and the others had wiped out had a very fascinating physiology - that much she could tell by simply watching them die. Many people she had known were immensely interested in the biology of such unknown beasts, but unfortunately when one is summoned to Nirn, it disappears when it dies. Or, it just kills you instead. Either way, nothing useful is learnt. As for these bodies however, they remained where they were cut down, some of them twitching as they died. If it weren't for the steadily-approaching doom of the group within the Deadlands, and of course, the defenceless citizens in and around Kvatch, Naenya would have been quite happy to stay where she was and examine the corpses, not being perturbed in the slightest at the still impaled Glenndus nearby, or the smouldering crisp that was once their impromptu leader, still laying in the lava. But as the group made haste towards the tower, Naenya followed with a disheartened sigh. It would do no good to linger out there; especially if the others found some amazing way to close the gate without getting stuck inside... and possibly leaving her behind. She liked learning, but not quite that much. She doubted there was much in the way of water or edible food in this place.

It was surprising to discover that the great stone doors before them weren't locked, or guarded all that much beyond two scamps roaming about within. They were dispatched easily, being no real threat compared to the group they had encountered outside. Unfortunately, the interior of the tower was no less horrifying than the outside; the same blood-coloured spikes from outside lined the circular room, and a large pool of lava laid in the center. While the dry, cracking heat of the environment was shut out the moment the doors closed behind them, it was only replaced with an even more intense heat. Radiating from the pool of lava was a strange column of fire; betraying all the laws of physics as it shot up like a solid beam of light, wreathed in flames and smoke. It was too bright to look at directly, and Naenya's ears picked up on a very peculiar noise issuing from it; a high-pitched hissing, coupled with a creepy, ethereal chime. One that she could only apply to the noise magic makes - but this was no magic she had ever seen before. Nor did she know what the purpose of it was. It had to have some use beyond aesthetics... so she could only guess it had something to do with the gate staying open.

It would seem everyone else came to that conclusion as heads tilted upwards, squinting against the harsh light of the beam to see where it led. It only seemed to go up, and that was the only direction the group could also go; doors led to a hall, which led to a ramp, and another hall. More petty enemies lined the way, the group dispatching another scamp and a Dremora. It was astonishing, the lack of guards within the tower; Naenya wondered if it was because the tower was very unimportant, and the group had been led astray and were probably going to die soon. Then again, it was a bit more comforting that whoever arranged the guard patrols in this place was arrogant enough to think that nobody could have gotten past the kill brigade outside, so minimal guards were needed within.

"Huh. I wonder who actually does the guard patrols for Dremora. Do you think there's a roster? Night shifts? Lunch breaks? Do Daedra even have lunch?" Naenya pondered aloud to herself as she often did - usually when speaking to Bobo, but as she'd forgotten for the fifth time, she'd left her beloved Magpie back in a land where he wasn't going to burn to death at any possible moment.

After more doors, more ramps, and more petty dremora, the group finally reached a larger hall on what Naenya could only guess was the third level of the tower; after dispatching the two foes within, the group paused as they finally came across a decent obstacle; one of the doors was locked. While the various rogues offered up services of lock-picking, Naenya took the time to examine the room. On one of the four pillars within was a body; impaled to the stone, set alight, and smelling strongly of burnt pork. Further along was a very crude - and very obvious - trap, in which spears shot out from the wall to penetrate the unlucky person who stepped on the pressure plate, which was spattered in blood. However, the thing that had caught Naenya's attention were the two benches in the middle of the room; they looked oddly like pews (Only much spikier and far more uncomfortable), and her mind began drifting to Daedra worship - not mortals worshipping them of course, but the various types of Daedra worshipping. Did they pray to Mehrunes Dagon? Or would they pray to all of the Daedric Princes, as people prayed to different Aedra? Were there different sects or cults with the realms of Oblivion? Would one be shunned or just killed for worshipping the wrong master? Interesting thoughts indeed.

As everyone else tried to sort out their current situation, or have an internal crisis about faith and potential impending death, Naenya perched on one of the benches thoughtfully, smiling at the possibility of a Dremora in priest clothing and giving blessings.

Valentis watched upon the others as they fought, healing his wounds as he did- they seemed more than capable to handle their own engagements despite their losses so early into the journey.
After his wounds were magically fixed, leaving yet another scar upon his body he stood and was about to go once more into the fray, although by the time he made it closer to the remainder of the group the final foe had been dispatched, for their fight against the denizens of hell itself the group had come out of the fight relatively unharmed, nothing lasting or major that couldn't be fixed with a bit of restoration magic at the very least.
It seemed that the group they had dispatched was a fairly elite force, composing of at least some ranking Dremora, albeit very weak Daedra, in comparison to what the group faced after that fight, nothing was as threatening.

Valentis scholarly mind started to work a bit as he travelled with the group, as well as the somewhat mundane points raised by the young Bosmer, did the Dremora have an actual rank and file system, if so how did they go up in ranks? Was it to do with skill and mastery of the fighting and magical arts they employed?
Or was it perhaps a bit more grounded with reality in favours and standing amongst certain high ranking officers got you the promotions - alternatively ranks could be simply a translation of race of Dremora, and a churl is simply a weaker Dremora in all forms that say a Kryneve...
Thoughts for another day, Valentis stated to himself, he would have to survive this place first, and ensure that his comrades too did survive.

The group finally made their way into one of the buildings, without a doubt the biggest one of the nearest surrounding ones, it's obsidian stone piercing into the dark skies, somewhere within the tower was unleashing a powerful beam of energy into the heavens, if this place could even host a heaven.
The place was lightly guarded, most likely due to the fact that they probably never knew thought that anyone would ever enter here with hostile intentions, which if so would only work to their favour as they proceeded.

After moving through the tower a bit the group stopped within a room that displayed exactly what would await their bodies if they failed, there was a nasty smell in the air, the remains of that person was burnt to a fine crisp now, nothing more than charcoal that would steadily disintegrate as the flames continued to assault its surface.
The position they were in offered a dillemma.
A door was locked, and if there was one thing that Valen learned during his time in places alien to their culture, is that if a door was locked it probably couldn't be picked, their ideas of locks and designs of them would not yield to a lock pick, a key would be needed.

Valentis spoke up towards the group "I would think that the doors in this realm could not picked by conventional means, I know in Akivir that was very true, it's likely we will need a key of some sort to proceed, or maybe a hidden lever or something of a similar sort - we know little to nothing of this place and the despicable beings that inhabit it, barring their obvious love for inflicting pain its very likely they think nothing like us, we should not think conventionally when fighting or advancing through these lands.
Perhaps we should attempt one of the doors that aren't locked, and try and make some progress."

Taking a brief look around the room Valen made his way towards another door before opening it a crack, a burst of stale air hit him in the face, it appeared to a bridge that lead to the outside, towards another tower - hopefully no one was afraid of heights.
Turning back to the group Valen gave a weak smile before stating. "Well, here's one way although I don't think it wise to go as an entire group across this way, would anyone like to volunteer to come with me, preferably someone with a stomach for high places."

Pulling the doors fully open he gripped his staff tightly and awaited for someone, to join him.

The statuesque warrior stood, gripping his axe and shield tighter to feel the give and take of his muscles. He rolled and stretched his neck a bit, and breathed in the hellish air of this strange plane of existence. He realized he'd rather be nowhere else. Bardeck imagined it would sound very crazy to his companions, but he had little talents in this life beyond battle. He knew Gideon felt the same, for the dog loped beside him as if they were simply walking upon a well traveled road in Nirn. So close was the bond between them that Bardeck barely glanced Gideon's way, almost feeling his companion's presence as if he too were a war dog.

Within the tower, the room was illuminated in a more focused fashion than the fiery sky outside. The soot and intense heat gave Bardeck an increasingly rugged and severe look. Positively barbaric and animalistic, if not for the willful intelligence in his eyes. He gazed upwards with the rest, seeing the swirling upper levels. Without asking, Bardeck took point, telling Gideon to guard their flank. With his shield out, he moved forward in a steady advance. The few guards they came across were dispatched with the group's combined efforts wasily enough.

"Huh. I wonder who actually does the guard patrols for Dremora. Do you think there's a roster? Night shifts? Lunch breaks? Do Daedra even have lunch?" Naenya pondered aloud behind Bardeck as he pulled his Axe out of the last Dremora at the epicenter of the tower. The question caught him off guard, and he turned to regard her. It was odd to see, but whenever Bardeck was confused or pondering, the savage warrior would look positively young and naive for a split second. Like a War Dog tilting his head and lifting his ears.

"Never thought about it," he said, and then cleaned his Axe blade with a small ripped cloth. He began thinking aloud. "I imagine demons don't need to rest. From what I've heard, they're not fully individuals like we are. They are to an extent, but they're still all apart of the same evil that fills this plane of existence I would guess." Despite himself, he still wondered it a bit as the companions tried to solve the issue of the locked door. He would have volunteered to go with the Elder, but somehow he thought he'd be more useful here when this bigger door was opened. If it was opened.

Naenya cocked her head to the side slightly in interest at the young warrior's suggestion. She'd of course heard that theory before - that the Daedra were linked in a somewhat more permanent way to their creators than mortals were to the Divines. If a Daedric Prince died, there was a theory that all of his "children" would die alongside them, and their plane would tear itself apart into nothingness. This theory was utterly refuted by scholars who stated that Daedric Princes couldn't die in the first place, so people were wasting their time thinking about it. This usually ended up in large arguments that Naenya herself tended to stay out of, choosing to focus on far simpler theories; like the potential hierarchy or structure of the Universe. Were the Planes of Oblivion surrounding Nirn? Maybe they were all in the same circular pattern, so jumping from one to another would eventually have you end up where you started. Naenya frowned slightly, as she recalled a particular conversation about the topic being interrupted by a mad shepherd; in his opinion, all of the lands, Daedric or otherwise, were fated to be destroyed every 50,000 years, before beginning anew. As such, she didn't end up answering Bardeck, and instead frowned at her feet, wondering where such a mad concept could have come from.

As for Niko, such concepts weren't really important to him as of now. Having aided Bardeck and the others in dispatching some of their enemies, the Nord was quite happy to just kill the beasts and leave as soon as he possibly could. After Valentis had pointed out another tower, Niko joined him at the door, peering down with surprise. He hadn't realised they were so far up already - the ground below looked just as unwelcoming as it had been when they had stood upon it - but a fall from this height would easily cause more damage than a tumble at ground level would. Glancing across the narrow bridge, another door could be seen leading into a smaller, albeit still terrifying - spire. Hopefully this one wasn't locked too.

"They should put railings up here." He muttered under his breath almost absent-mindedly, mind jumping to what a child hazard this bridge was. Then he came to his senses and remembered that the entire damned realm was a hazard, to a child or otherwise.

"If more daedra reach this room, make sure they don't storm the bridge while we're over there." He instructed as he turned back to look at the group. "A battle on such a narrow passage won't be good for anyone. Especially if we find a key." Niko could only hope that more people volunteered to help beyond himself and Valentis - the old man looked capable enough, but more numbers could never hurt.

---

---

"RETREAT! RETREAT! THE ENEMY HAS BROKEN THE LINE!"

The call came from the barricade outside the city gates; the panicked yelling of the guard captain paired with the shrill screeching of Clannfear. The group of the demonic, over-sized lizards was only small at half a dozen, but after hours of constant onslaught from the gate, the guards had fallen to either exhaustion, wounds or death. The captain and his last man could not hold the beasts back, and so they turned tail and ran down the hill, towards the encampment. "Gods be willing that there is someone there to help us fend these beasts off!" The lone guardsman panted to his captain as they ran, terror clear in the young Redguard's eyes. The Captain could not answer, but sent a silent prayer to the Divines. His only job was to protect these citizens, and he would die trying. Hopefully this head start would give them an advantage... or more swords.

Jid-Jahara was not doing much of anything in the time she spent outside of the city, simply watching and waiting in a very patient fashion. She was about to start meditating when suddenly her peace had been disturbed by shouting and demonic screeching coming from the barricade, earning her curiosity. The argonian ran forwards to the barricade, keeping her staff at the ready in case there would be a fight. The sight came to her within an instant, half a dozen clannfear seemed be overwhelming the city guard. It was strange seeing such demonic creatures on this plane of existence, but she hadn’t the time or the motivation to question the situation. Her eyes flicked between the pack of beasts as they focused their attention on the cloaked shaman, both sides analyzing each other for weaknesses. It would certainly be an interesting skirmish as both sides simply stared at each other for a few moments.

In an instant, a ball of fire erupted from being the clannfear and from the flames came a newly conjured Flame Atronach, hurling small bolts of fire at the nearest clannfear that it could find. All the while Jid-Jahara, hand still raised, sent out arcs of lightning, connecting with another clannfear and inflicting heavy damage on it. After she finished her attack, she readied her staff in case they attempted to rush at her, yet instead they seemed more eager to go after the Atronach. It was fine with the shaman as it meant more time to ready herself for the upcoming battle.

Her eyes flicked around, until she noticed the corpse of a fallen guard in her peripheral, slowly moving herself in that direction. She watched as her atronach got swarmed, but it did its job of being a distraction. Jid-Jahara stood in front of the corpse, continuing to watch as the flame atronach began to hurl fireballs every which way as the poor thing simply got swarmed from all sides. Good thing was, the clannfear that did attack it were essentially biting at fire and hence harming themselves, but it did not take long for the atronach to die. Exploding in the face of the demonic beings, the atronach finally went down as expected.

It was overall a good thing, the clannfear all sustaining damage, while light it was enough to kill that one that had been shocked by Jid-Jahara. She watched as they begun to recover themselves and turn in confusion as the explosion disoriented them, giving the argonian time to reach down and touch the corpse, magic transferring temporary life into the body. The guard stood, silent and ready to attack as Jid-Jahara moved behind him in order to shield herself.

Collab - Basil and Cassius

Somewhere in the grasslands just north of Kvatch a platoon of 80 Imperial soldiers had set up an encampment, utterly oblivious to the chaos happening just south of their position. It was a scattering of red tents and heavily-armoured guards. From within, the hustle and bustle of everyday life could be seen and heard; various men and women wandered from tent to tent. The resident blacksmith had set up his rudimentary smithy on the outskirts, which released a plume of greyish smoke into the air. Stablehands tended to the horses which pulled their supply cart.

The alchemy tent was a cacophony of clinking glasses and roughly slammed books. The platoon’s resident alchemist, a middle-aged Redguard woman by the name of Basil, was in a sour mood and she took it out on her belongings. Just outside of her tent a large cast-iron cauldron was set over a small fire with a thin reddish liquid simmering within. There were old logs arranged outside of most tents to work as impromptu stools and one of the armoured foot soldiers was hunkered down near Basil’s tent, cleaning his boots.

“You want to talk about it?” Cassius spoke in Redguard woman’s direction, his eyes and most of his attention still fixed on wiping at his boots.

Basil paused and pretended to read her potion book as her face contorted into a thoughtful scowl instead of a grumpy one. She did not answer the question, but spoke instead; “I thought it was our job to protect people.”

“It is, but it’s also our job to follow orders. Orders that are most of the time more important when carried out undelayed.” Cassius paused. He rested the damp cloth on the boot in his lap to look up at the woman, his hands planted on his thighs. Basil responded to his actions by slowing down a bit, if only to glower at him over the cauldron.

“They needed help, Cass. We could’ve at least tracked down their camp for them! Why’s the platoon always in such a big hurry? I highly doubt Kvatch has changed since the last time we saw it, and it’s not as if Anvil’s about to suddenly disappear on us.” She tossed a bulbous root into the cauldron ferociously and made a ‘tch!’ noise when it splashed onto her heavy leather gloves. “80 soldiers, a handful of medics, an alchemist and a blacksmith walk into a village of raided villagers and decide to fuck right off before the sun sets…” she muttered venomously under her breath.

“We’ve sent a notice to other nearby legions that aren’t on direct orders, as far as -we’re- concerned they’ve already been robbed. Whether we helped them now, or another legion helps them in a few days.” Cassius spoke, attention still directed at Basil. In silence he lifted the polished boot off his lap and placed it beside the other one.

Basil opened her mouth, narrowed her eyes, shut her mouth, clenched her jaw and hissed out a sigh through her nostrils. “I hate it when you’re right,” she snapped and used the last vestiges of her anger to stir a rapidly thickening concoction in the cauldron.

Cassius couldn’t help but crack a smirk at Basil’s admit of defeat. Without another word he stood up and patted his hands off on his trousers just as a bedraggled and bloodstained man came staggering through the plains calling for help.

The survivor collapsed to his knees near the southern entrance to the campsite. He was covered in soot; his armour was singed but the wolf’s head on the tunic could still be recognisable as a member of Kvatch’s city watch. He cradled his left forearm into the bloodsoaked fabric. Upon closer inspection, it was apparent that the blood on his garments was his own and a massive gash wound tore through the muscle and blood vessels just above his wrist. “P-please,” he sobbed with pain and fear, “the city...it’s overwhelmed-...monsters!”

As the group traveled through the tall, sinister tower, Aveca clutched her bow tight, an arrow ready to be drawn back. The realm had her on her toes, and she assumed most of the group felt similarly. It was impossible to be at ease with the scent of burning flesh and blood surrounding you, and with charred corpses and fountains of blood marking the halls they traveled.

"Huh. I wonder who actually does the guard patrols for Dremora. Do you think there's a roster? Night shifts? Lunch breaks? Do Daedra even have lunch?" Aveca heard the other mage ahead of her speaking as if to herself. She found the idea nearly comical, and tried to imagine the situation. A group of Daedra guards sitting around a lunch table, mugs of ale, playing dice on their break. She tried to imagine it like a group of guards back home might talk. One of them talks about his new daughter. Her eyebrows drew together as she dispelled the image. It was impossible; they weren't like people back home. They weren't people. The idea proposed that they were some type of hivemind seemed most plausible to her, though she was no scholar in this department.

When they were finally halted in their upwards journey by a locked door, the only option was to cross a narrow, very high up "bridge," which she hesitated to call such because she didn't want to insult good bridges. She edged to the front of the group to peer over the edge and felt her stomach churn.

Two warriors easily volunteered to cross. Aveca pondered for a moment if they would need a healer, but she recalled Valentis using some Restoration magic, so she allowed herself to step back from the door with relief. She would be better served here is a wave of Daera came upon them, and perhaps others would be better suited to crossing such a bridge.

"I'll stay here in case someone is injured in the fighting," Aveca said aloud, despite thinking I'm not the best with heights. She felt a bit embarrassed, but she turned to one of the benches and examined it. It was dark in colour and not something she found herself wanting to sit on, but her legs were tiring from the journey and fighting. She touche it with one hand and it almost felt greasy, but she sighed and sat down on it anyway.

So they had reached the first tower without much trouble. Brona’s gazed swept around the interior of the first tower. Jagged obsidian walls, a befitting design for Daedra she mused. Niko, and Valentis were the first to set out across fiery chasm. Her eyes remained locked on the fading image of their backsides until they had reached the other tower.
Turning back around she eyed those who remained. Engel, Renart, Aveca, Orintur, Adamiir, Naenya, and Bardeck with his hound chose not to go. To be fair, they could remain behind… but strength was in numbers, especially in a place like this.

“Bah. I’m not going to stay here and twiddle my thumbs. Death comes to those who wait. And waiting around like a pigeon with my beak up my ass isn't my kinda business.”

So, with a spring in her step, Brona followed after Niko and Valentis. If Death was coming for her, she'd rather meet it head on then tremble and quiver like the last leaf to fall in the first of winter.

The narrow bridge leading across the chasm was… daunting, to say the least. Heights didn't bother her, but falling into a gurgling pit of fire did. She swallowed hard, lifting her arms out to the side for added balance.
When she made it halfway across the bridge, the heat from the lake of fire caused her brow to bead with sweat. She could feel her asscheeks sticking together as sweat poured down her back, the tunic clung to her like a second skin.

‘Nothing but rocks and fire. And demons. And nasty little imps.’ Brona thought.

It seemed the Divines were on her side today. She reached the end of the bridge, and rushed after the two men.

“Can't leave me behind, you hear?” She said with a smile as she approached them. “Sometimes a woman's touch is all you need.” Brona winked at the two of them.

Oblivion, inside the Kvatch gate Tower

---

The trip through the tower was disappointingly uneventful, at least to Orintur. A few petty Dremora and their pets, nothing like what the imposing tower of spikes and scorched stone would suggest from the outside. He had hoped for a chance to strike down more of the demons, but on the other hand he understood that the others would rather not fight every Daedra in Oblivion. A more than fair attitude, given the brutality of even the lowliest forms of Daedra. It may have been Orintur's duty to strike down the demons wherever he found them, but most people chose other paths, such as the mercenary life or priesthood, as was their right.

After striking down the last foe, everyone had found themselves in a small room, with two doors and what looked like religious pews. Orintur quietly growled in response to Naenya's inane questions; such inquiries into the activities of demons were for heretics. The only things anyone needed to know about Daedra were the different methods of killing them, all else was irrelevant and even dangerous.

Peering through the only door that was unlocked, Orintur saw a thin bridge suspended several hundred feet above the molten ground surrounding the tower. He wasn't stupid, if he attempted to cross the bridge he'd topple straight off and splatter against the rocks. Instead, the elf elected to act as a rear guard, to defend against any Dremora that may find their way up the tower and attempt to flank behind the party. Glancing over at Naenya, the paladin was completely taken aback by her willingness to sit on the benches, and not only that, she had been smiling! Such a thing was not something to be smiling about! Did she not understand the dangers of her actions!?

"Madam, I would advise against physical contact with such constructs! There's no telling what foul energies the demons here have summoned through their heretical rituals...we must be absolutely certain we do not bring anything back with us into the mortal plane!"

---

---

Kvatch, refugee camp

---

An expert shot! Down the boar went, and nearby was the sound of a young girl's excited "Yes!" Approaching her prey's limp body, Uzka lifted it over her shoulder and made her way back to the camp. The boar would provide a good bit of meat for the people residing in the tents nearby; food was getting a little scarce, and so Uzka thought it would be a good idea to brush up a bit on her hunting. As the young orc was handing her kill over to a grateful civilian, frantic yelling echoed down the hill from the gates of Kvatch. Uzka didn't need to hear the exact words, she knew there was trouble, and immediately began sprinting up the path toward the barricades.

When she reached the top of the hill, Uzka was greeted by the sight of horrific lizard-like creatures swarming the barricades. Someone else was already there helping the defense, an Argonian. She didn't have much time to contemplate her next action, as her hand was forced by a Clannfear trying to make her their next meal. It had been weakened by the Argonian's atronach, but that didn't stop its ferocity. Leaping at the orc with jaws wide, the Clannfear caught an axe to its face for its trouble, the blow sending it tumbling to the ground limply. One amongst many, but it was one less trying to bite Uzka's face off. Assuming a defensive stance with her shield, Uzka waited for her next foe to reveal itself.

Bardeck wasn't content with sitting here while they waited to open the door, though he also did not know if he should follow. The barbaric warrior peered down the stairway, and though the heat was intense and the lava flow was audible, there still seemed to be no more pursuit. He breathed through his nose, and closed his eyes. He needed to make a decision and stick with it. But what would it be? "Divines balls, fine," he muttered.

Bardeck turned and whistled. Gideon the hound loped over to him, and panted happily. If Naenya was watching, she'd see Bardeck whispering to his dog while the hound made small 'reor' noises in reply, pawing at him. Bardeck pointed to Naenya, then winked to Gideon and pointed at her again. Gideon barked in agreement, and then bounded toward Naenya to stand watch over her.

"I'm going over the bridge," Bardeck announced, shield and axe ready in his hands. By the look in his eyes, there was no talking him out of it. He spoke with the surety of if he was announcing water is wet. "But Gideon stays here to provide a guard. I told him to follow the pack leader," he said, winking at Naenya. "No Daedric Prince in Oblivion could keep me from coming back for my dog. We'll stay alive," Bardeck said, and then stepped out onto the blasted bridge.

Heat suddenly enveloped him, ashes flying into his face as he stuck his shield and axe out to balance himself. He wasn't particularly agile or balanced, at least compared to someone like Brona. But he walked with a confidence that kept himself from being too unnerved as he walked, which in turn, helped his balance. He nearly tumbled onto Brona though when he made it off the bridge. He caught himself, his broad chest almost brushing her back.

"Sorry," he said to her. No warrior would ever be embarrassed. The flush on his cheeks was simply the heat. He nodded to the three of them, saluting with his axe. "Let's kick ass."

Giving Bardeck a bright, grateful smile as he and the others left, Naenya turned to Gideon who sat beside her. What with her own frame being so tiny (Being a Bosmeri will do that you) the dog was nearly as big as herself while sat down.

"You're very tall." She said in a conversational tone to him, almost as though she were speaking to a person. Patting the top of his head lightly with a grin, Naenya's gaze now turned to the Altmer paladin, chuckling lightly at his outburst. "Oh, it's alright! In all my years of studying, I've never once come across a Bench-Daedra. Nor one who could transform into a bench - but I'm sure if one could, and was clever enough to keep us the disguise, then they'd transform themselves into a more useful inanimate object. Like a gargoyle, with lots of sharp teeth and claws! Or... a fake chest, that bites your hand off when you reach inside it." Throughout these speculations, her tone didn't particularly change in terms of pleasantness. In her opinion, Naenya couldn't see a Daedra successfully pulling a stunt like what she had just described unless they were rather powerful in illusion magic. Unless it was Sheogorath's realm; in which case, the likelihood of such a mad and fruitless effort as transforming into a bench to attack people would make more sense.

She was just about to explain to Orintur why bringing back things from this plane to their own wasn't necessarily a bad thing (She intended on doing so regardless of opinions anyway; this was too good of a situation to avoid some kind of study!), a low rumble from below stopped her before she could even start. Standing up slowly, her pointed ears twitched slightly as she strained her hearing. What was it? A small earthquake? Natural disasters were Dagon's thing, and with everything else exploding in this realm, it wouldn't be too surprising. Going towards the door that had led into the chamber they now stood in, Naenya peeked outside, Bardeck trotting behind her. Nothing... and yet, her ears picked up something. Something none too desirable in their current situation.

"I suggest you ready that hammer of yours, sir knight." Backing away from the door and twirling her staff in hand, Naenya still had that now familiar look of eagerness upon her face - but with a notion of fire now settled in her eyes. While she never looked for a fight, it didn't mean she wasn't to enjoy them - one has to practice their spellcasting in some way, after all. "We have company!"

As the others in the room readied their weapons and backed away from the door, the guttural voices of the Daedra steadily approached. They didn't sound too happy about the death of their comrades below and outside - Naenya was stunned that it took them this long to send reinforcements. As the swarm of enraged Daedra entered the room, she immediately turned her staff to one of the Mages. Keeping some of the ranged attackers occupied could probably make things easier for her comrades... particularly those who liked to get up close and personal with their foes. Unfortunately, her plan worked a little too well. As Naenya directed a frost bolt towards her target, she received a lightning bolt back in kind. "How shocking." She thought as she fell to the floor.

As the daedra poured into the room, snarling and scraping as they went, Adamiir had what he believed to be a stroke of genius. It really wasn’t every day that such good fortune was made so readily available. Indeed, to be quite accurate, this kind of fortune was likely centuries old, if ever it existed at all. Looking at nobody in particular, a wide smile began to slowly creep its way onto Adamiir’s face. Quite an unsightly thing indeed. Fixing his gaze on the largest churl in the room, a hulking, cruel looking behemoth, Adamiir took a single step forward. The churl took a step back. The manic smile only widened as the breton took another step forward, before strolling towards the dremora at a leisurely pace. The churl found itself momentarily glued to place, as combat erupted around it. When the skinny monster showed no signs of stopping its advance, the churl dropped its weapon in fright and fled out of the room, into the hallway it arrived from.

“My companions,” Adamiir called out as he began to sprint after the churl. “I will return-” And then no longer could the group hear him, his voice growing fainter as he sped away from the melee. Veeza spared no glance for the eccentric breton, though part of him was starting to regret having saved the spellcaster. Mad or cowardly, his absence in the current fight was all the same. Veeza shook his head, snorting, choosing instead to turn his attention to the problems he could still do something about. Namely, the scamp that had gotten between him and the demonic mage he’d been initially targeting. Already he was feeling the costs of this exchange, the scamps claws unfortunately proficient at finding the little gaps between the pieces of his armor. Snorting again, forked tongue slipping from his mouth to lick the blood from a split on his lip, Veeza and the scamp clashed together once more.

Seizing the scamp’s neck with both hands, Veeza lifted the creature off the ground, and began to squeeze. A hellish shriek ripped from the scamp’s throat as it began to thrash about, to no significant effect. Then, there was a loud crack, and Veeza dropped the corpse to the ground, breathing heavily.

Adamiir looked down at the naked dremora before him thoughtfully. Getting the big red corpse out of its armor had been a frustratingly arduous process, but at last it was done. Sparing a glance for the steel knife that had found itself embedded in the back of the churl’s neck at the start of this process, the shiny thing still coated in a thick, blackish red bile, Adamiir knelt down close to the corpse. Positioning the knife over the dremora’s heart, he began to work, humming softly.

A rebuttal against Naenya would have to wait, for the unmistakable sounds of advancing heretics echoed up through the winding halls and into the ears of Orintur, and it appeared to be a much larger force than the group had faced before. Gods above, and large it was indeed. Nearly a dozen of the demons and their hellspawn Scamp beastlings poured through the archway and into the party's poor excuse of a sanctuary. Adamiir and Veeza had already found their prey, and it was time for the Paladin to choose his own...and the mage that had just struck Naenya looked quite enticing to the furious Elf. Unfortunately, the Churl had already taken note of Orintur's gaze and struck him with a bolt of lightning midway through his charge. Orintur suddenly found himself unable to lift up his hammer to strike the mage, his right arm failing to barely bring the head off of the floor. It was a good thing then that Paladins were trained to be as versatile as they are zealous.

Getting close enough to get a decent grip on the Churl, Orintur grabbed its wrist and wrenched it away from himself with his good arm, sending the next bolt flying harmlessly into the stone floor, before landing an armored backhand to the mage's head. This left the mage open enough for the Paladin to grab his dagger and bury it into the demon's neck before it could retaliate. His foe had fallen, but the effect of their assault remained, and so Orintur was forced to leave his beloved hammer on the ground for the time being and rely on his dagger...and raw strength.

Standing over Naenya, Orintur remained on guard as he spoke to the she-Elf. "Can you stand, mage? Our fellows strike fast and true against these heretics, but I would not advise remaining on the ground as you are. I don't think Dremora will discriminate between the wounded and the battle-ready..."

Reclining on the suspicious bench, despite Orintur’s warning, Aveca was lost in her thoughts. She was thinking of the warm bed she’d had at the inn in Kvatch, and how much she wished she was there now. Despite that, she considered what she was doing important and wouldn’t truly have gone if the opportunity magically presented itself. Still, tiredness was seeping into the healer’s bones as the adrenaline rush faded, and her eyes slid shut slowly.

That was why the Daedra bursting through the door brought her such a fright. It caught her completely off guard, and she jumped to her feet in a rush, knocking her pack over and spilling a few of it’s contents on the grimy floor. Paying it little heed, Aveca turned her attention to her companions and their fight, drawing her bow off her back and preparing to pull an arrow from her quiver.

Unfortunately for her, a Dremora Churl had already advanced close enough to her to knock the bow out of her hand. Aveca, thoughts jumped, was the next to be knocked around, crashing to the ground with a thud after being punched by the fiend. Reflexively, she rolled to the side, and it probably saved her life, as the churl’s mace crashed against the floor where her chest had been not moments ago.

Bow lost, the nord turned to her last resort. The knife was usually used more for utility and cutting than fighting, in truth, she didn’t think she’d ever fought with this dagger in particular, but either way, she drew it with surety. A healer she was, perhaps, but she knew when she shouldn’t hesitate, especially against the inhuman demons of Oblivion. Aveca leaped to her feet with purpose while the Dremora picked up his mace and prepared to swing again. Quickly and without hesitation, she stepped into the demon’s personal space, shoving her iron dagger quickly into its neck. Black blood surged once again onto her hand, this time down her arm, staining her clothing. Taking a step back and pulling her dagger out of its body, the Churl fell to the ground with a thud.

Glancing behind him, Niko couldn't help but smile at Brona's words - it was encouraging that some in the group could continue to make light of things in a realm as dark as this one.

"I have no intention of leaving you - I feel your "womanly touch" may just save our hides at some point." He responded with a grin, motioning towards her bow. None of the others had a ranged weapon on them, from what Niko could tell; and while it could be problematic shooting in such close quarters as a tower, he had no doubt that Brona could handle herself just fine with the blades at her hip as well. Exchanging more grateful smiles with Bardeck as the young warrior walked across the bridge (In Niko's opinion, far too fast, but that was likely just the worried father in him speaking. Nevertheless, he was relieved to see Bardeck cross safely.), he felt much better about their chances with the four of them.

Before she had time to respond to the Nord, Bardeck collided into her, nearly knocking her completely off her feet, "Well hello there." She said, catching herself after a few steps, and turned to face him. "I hope that I won't meet my fate by being shoved into a pool of fire, eh?" She cracked a grin at the warrior and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. No harm, no foul. Bardeck didn't exactly know what to look and act like, so he nodded and did his best to hide his face in his thick hair.

The interior of the second tower was not too dissimilar to the first; much smaller, and without the beam of magical fire going through the center, but with the same harsh, stone decor. A winding pathway led both up and down, and watching above, a large stone platform could be seen. Before Niko could even ask for the smaller group's opinions on where to go, a voice could be heard from above. A human's voice, and one that sounded very familiar to Niko. The guttural tones of a Dremora came soon after, and a cry of pain could be heard. Looking to the others, Niko placed his finger to his lips - clearly, those above (and possibly below) weren't aware of their new visitors. It would seem they had a choice; storm to the top where the voices were heard, or go about it more sneakily. While both plans had advantages and disadvantages, Niko wondered about what lay below. The entrance to the tower via the bridge was covered by their fellows on the other side, but what about the ground level? Would it be worth taking a look, simply for their own safety?

Brona froze at the voice of the Dremora, if one could even call it a voice. She turned to Niko, and slipped her hand around his elbow, pulling him in close to her so that she could whisper in his ear. "Let me have a look. I think this is where my 'touch' comes in handy."

The broad shouldered Bardeck was somehow both on guard, yet emitting a casual air about him as he gazed around the blasted room they were in, trying to search for any means of attack from any place unexpected. The Dremora they'd heard, he had a huge desire to fight himself, but he let Brona handle it her way first. He'd seen her slip around enough to know she'd be effective at scouting ahead. Perhaps if she baited the Dremora and a few scamps back, Bardeck and Niko could take them out together in a quick, albeit brutal fashion.

"Careful," he said to Brona. "Don't face anything on your own if you can help it." He didn't doubt how dangerous she could be. They'd fought together for the most part. But this was a group effort after all. He felt a tad 'naked' for lack of a better word without Gideon. He hoped his dog was doing ok.

Niko paused as he considered their situation. Although a Dremora - and helpless victim - could clearly be heard above, there could easily be more than just one. Not to mention the possible foes leading down, so the thought of sending Brona off alone was not a good one. Glancing between Valentis and Bardeck, Niko recalled that the former had used a manner of ranged spells; while Bardeck and himself were fine with weapons, it would be attacks over distance that would provide the most aid for whatever lay above.

"Okay... Brona - check out the top, but Valentis, you should go with her. I don't want anyone being left alone here, even for the sake of stealth." Nodding at the pair of Imperials, Niko locked eyes with Bardeck. "You and I will head down; we won't have to worry about anything coming across the bridge, so we need to make sure the entire tower is secure. If we do see something, at the very least we have the high ground." Hopefully, all four of them could get out alive and unhurt in this potentially monster-ridden tower. Niko only hoped the others were happy with his impromptu plan.

Valentis thought the situation seemed dire. Once the unusually long journey across the bridge had been completed, what awaited the team once they reached the second, smaller but nonetheless equally as foreboding tower, was a fellow human trapped up in the highest reaches of the tower. He was not alone either, but accompanied by a Dremora, it seemed as if there was only one, this could be a interesting chance to capture one alive and learn about them, knowledge was power after all.

"I will aid in whatever way I can, but should we not make an attempt to capture, or subdue this Dremora? We could learn something from it, if, of course, it even speaks our tongue, this is a Daedric realm, but we do not know of which Daedra prince owns it, nor of any intent that they have for breaching into the plane of Mundas; something long thought impossible." Valentis gave a brief pause and shifted his weight slightly. "If we can learn something, regardless of how little, I feel we should make the attempt." Valen would not be one to give out doses of mercy, especially to abhorrent beings such as the dremora, but death need not be swift for them, it will likely make the fight on the top floor far more dangerous and difficult, but he felt that both he and Brona could handle it.

So she was stuck with the old man, perfect. And he was a talker. Brona suppressed an audible groan, and lowered her voice to a whisper, "If you want to help, keep quiet. The last thing I want is to end up dead, grandpa." With one hand, she conjured a spinning orb of light. Aiming it at the space between their feet, the orb evaporated into a burst of light. The spell would muffle their steps but they would need to move quick. She raised a finger to her lips, then retrieved the wooden recurve bow off its tethers and notched an arrow before beginning the ascent into the higher reaches of the tower.

Bardeck saluted to them, indicating with an inclination of his head to Niko that he was ready to move forward. A warrior knew combat was far more instinct and reflex action than any conscious movement. But if they found themselves merely wounding a Dremora, he would be sure to knock it out simply and incapacitate it. "Careful," he told Brona and Valentis, before edging his way over to the archway that led to the lower levels. Bardeck had his shield before him and his axe at the ready.

Valentis gave a small smile to Brona's response. Ah, that youthful arrogance, he almost missed it. He hoped at the very least that she would give his skills the benefit of the doubt, he may be old but he was far from any semblance of harmless. The young woman proceeded to use an interesting spell that Valentis had never seen before, it muffled their footsteps to the point where you could even jump and no sound would be emitted upon landing. Certainly a useful commodity, especially if you were up to anything sinister. Valentis nodded to Brona's gesture of silence and the pair made their way up the tower, steadily.

As Brona and Valentis ascended the ramp, Niko nodded at Bardeck as the pair began to move down. As they steadily approached the bottom, the light noise of something moving reached Niko's ears. There would be no way of telling what it was until they reached the last bit of the ramp, but at that point, they would become obvious to their foe as well. Niko could only hope they could at least surprise whatever it was that was down there.

"Bardeck - you take point. I'll hang back to give you some ranged support." He whispered, sheathing one of his swords and summoning a spell ready in his free hand; lightning crackled quietly in his palm, charged and ready to be flung at a hopefully unsuspecting dremora. However, as the pair moved ever closer to the bottom, there was no enemy in sight. Niko paused as Bardeck moved on, confused at their lack of foe.

Bardeck nodded, his shield held before him at the ready. Eyes set forward, Bardeck carefully made his way down the steps, lower body moving almost separately with the rigid stance of his muscled, upper body. He felt the heat around him increase, and the noise of the lapping lava filling his ears. It was too late when he heard the guttural, juttering chuckle of the Dremora that had blended into the surrounding, spiked pillars. It leaped out of cover, and landed a solid blow on Bardeck's meaty shoulder with its flanged mace.

Bardeck let out a gasp of pain, and his knees buckled from the surprise and weight. He hit the stairway and rolled down it, tumbling and bruising much of his form. The Dremora merely had Niko to contend with, at least at the moment.

The attack occurred so fast, Niko barely had enough time to react by the time Bardeck hit the floor. Thankfully, the dremora wasn't baring down on the younger warrior to finish him off, instead turning to Niko with a wicked, fanged grin. His spell still charging in the palm of his hand, Niko let loose the lightning with a yell, readying his sword as he rushed the dremora.

The electricity stunned it momentarily, but it still had an advantage over Niko. It was bigger, stronger, and it's mace had far more reach than Niko's swords. Ducking in low as it shook off his magic attack, he slashed diagonally across the creature's midriff... only for the metal to bounce off the daedric armour it wore, sending sparks into the air. Pulling his other sword from his sheath, Niko and the dremora gave their second attack at the same time; the Dremora's mace crunching down onto Niko's right sword arm, while Niko's left swung upwards towards the monster's unprotected head. He both felt and heard his arm bones snap at the weight of mace, but thankfully, his less dominant hand had swung true. The dremora toppled to the floor, half of it's head dangling from a thread of sinew.

"Are you alright?" Niko panted as he staggered over to Bardeck, clutching his broken arm. His bracers hadn't done much to lessen the blow, and blood was already seeping through and dripping down his hand. It felt like an open fracture, but fixing it would have to wait - they had no idea how Brona and Valentis had faired up above.

Bardeck grimaced and let out a growl at the pain. He sucked in quick, deep breaths as he sat up after the blow and the tumble. But he seemed to gather himself well enough. "I've had worse." He replied, presenting a determined visage to Niko. While what he said was true, that didn't mean he wasn't hurt like hell.

---

---

Meanwhile...

With muffled footfalls, Valentis and Brona emerged in the doorway, the interior of the room was dimly lit yet she could see a raised wooden platform. Suspended from the ceiling hung a cage where a tortured body of a man lay helpless. At the sound of shuffling clothes, her eyes shifted to the corner of the room where a Dremora, as she now knew them, moved away from a blazing brazier. In its hand, he, or as she assumed the daedra to be, carried a cruel looking device. The device was straight as a rod, save for the end as it split in two, one end curled backwards while the other end resembled that of a pair of shears. As he made his way over to the cage, the man, groaned in agony.

"Please... no..." He whispered, his voice hoarse. A well of anger boiled inside of her as she watched the Dremora slip the torture device through the bars of the cage and reach towards its captive. Her bow raised, and in one smooth motion, she loosed the arrow she had notched on the bowstring. It sailed through the air, before the arrowhead buried itself in the skull of the Dremora. The daedra crumpled to the ground without another word.

"Sorry about that." She said to Valentis before stepping into the torture room. Brona made her way straight for the cage, where the man struggled to push himself up. "We're going to get you out of here." Brona said to him, she assumed the key to the cage had to be on the Dremora, so she dropped to the ground, and proceeded to search its robes for the key.

"Quickly, quickly! There's no time!" Were the first words out of the captive man's mouth, rather than a thankful speech of gratefulness that Brona likely deserved. "I heard the Dremoras talking while I was stuck in here - you must get to the top of the large tower! It's the only way to end this madness!" Wearing nought but a pair of thin cloth pants, the man was shivering; perhaps in fear, or pain, if the various injuries on his body were anything to go by - but certainly not from cold. Even in a tower separated from the lava outside, the air was stiflingly hot. "They call it the Sigil Keep - there's a stone, a Sigil Stone that will be at the top. That's what is keeping the Oblivion Gate open!" Glancing at the dead Dremora, and then towards Brona and Valentis, the man slumped to the bottom of his cage.

"The Keeper has the key to the upper levels." He said, motioning towards the fallen Dremora. "Remove the stone, and the gate should close. I don't know if my cell key is in there, but there is no time. I can barely walk, and you'll have more than enough trouble to deal with in the other tower." The urgency drained out of the man's voice somewhat as he locked eyes with Brona, his face taking on a mingled expression of grief and acceptance. "Just... let the guards know that Menien Goneld did not bend to his captors will."

As he mentioned, Brona's fingers curled around a cold metallic item, where she procured a long black key. This had to be the key to the upper levels. She lifted her gaze to meet his, and her heart ached at the sight. Here was a man, tortured for unknown reasons, a man who would likely die if he were left behind. Glancing at Valentis, she gritted her teeth before turning her attention back to Menien.

"We'll come back for you. I swear it." She sprang to her feet, and called out to Valentis, "To the Sigil Keep then!"

By the time the two pairs had greeted one another at the center of the second tower, and slowly made their way back across the treacherous bridge, the larger group had dispatched their foes. Most had avoided injury; Veeza had been left bleeding from several cuts thanks to close-quarter combat with a scamp, but the wounds didn't seem too deep. Naenya was still smoking slightly from her run in with the mage, and Orintur's hair was standing comically upright thanks to the Daedra's lightning bolt. However, beyond minor burns and a strange jitter to the limbs that wouldn't go away, the pair had fared far better than Renart. The last the group saw of him was running screaming from the room, having been set alight by two scamps ganging up on him. After the beasts were cut down to prevent them finishing him off, his fate was clear by the silence that came from the corridor he had fled down. While his companion Engel wished to track down the body, it was quickly decided that group had to move on, as swiftly as possible. Brona had retrieved a key to the upper levels, and they could soon end this nightmare once and for all. But with three of their number now dead, and several others wounded, hope was beginning to dwindle amongst some in the group.

Niko and Bardeck had both sustained the worst wounds of the lot; the former losing the use of his main sword arm, and the latter struggling due to a serious injury to the shoulder - even his earlier leg wound was throbbing more painfully now, but one could guess it was to do with the environment the intrepid group were in. All the cuts, pains and bruises seemed to sting more in the ash-filled air. Wounds didn't stem their bleeding quite as quickly as normal, and even the untouched, healthiest members were beginning to feel fatigued. Everything about the realm was oppressive, the very air they were breathing making each inhale and exhale a laboured task; the atmosphere almost physically weighing down on each already exhausted shoulder. Although the group took down the straggling enemies with apparent ease, it was clear on drawn-out faces that even the simplest of frays was becoming arduous. Even Naenya, excited at the prospect of learning and rarely gave in to tiredness was looking drained. Glimmers of curiosity remained in her eyes as they marched further up the tower; examining everything she came across as swiftly as she could - but her endless stem of chatter had ceased filling the dominating halls of the spire.

The injured nord looked particularly drained too; Niko hadn't dared to remove his bracer and examine his arm as of yet - there wasn't enough time for someone to pull and set his bones back into place, and then to heal the wound after; it would have to wait until they fixed this damned problem. Each time he felt a wave of exhaustion and pain, Niko pushed it away - there were still people in Kvatch. Innocents, who needed to be saved. Martin, who for some unknown reason was extremely important and had to leave the city alive. Mia, his daughter - the one good thing in his life that was stuck here thanks to him. If they failed here, everyone left would die. And he couldn't allow that.

After several more minutes of traipsing down blood-red corridors, the group came to a stop outside a large, grim looking door. At how far they had walked, Niko could only hope beyond anything that this was the top of the spire, and the answer to closing the gate for good. Vigilant for enemies waiting on the other side, the adventurers crept through the door, finding themselves in a strange, volcanic looking passageway. Almost as if there had been a mountain there once, and someone had carved a path through it. Confusion and interest in the design gave way to sheer horror as they stepped into the final chamber.

A vast, circular room lay before them; the flaming spire of malevolent energy they had seen at the base coming to a stop just before exiting the tower, holding in place a black, circular item that could have only been the elusive Sigil Stone. Where a roof should have been was a gap, allowing the blood red sky to fill the gaze of anyone looking up, crimson lightning flashing as thunder boomed. But it was not the sudden exposure to the elements that had brought shock to those trespassing; it was everything else within the room. The first set of steps leading up the platform where the Sigil Stone hovered was grotesque; black and red spikes, like the ribs from some huge and hideous animal. But the second ramp and platform... was flesh. Red, bloodied flesh, with fat and sinew still attached; veins and capillaries illuminating in it at every flash of lightning from above. It had been stretched and hooked together to metal struts to form a walkway, and as Niko looked on, could only wonder in horror at how many had died to create something as pointless as a damned floor.

His eyes trailed from the flesh-made platform to what stood upon it; more Daedra, and if it were possible, they seemed even more pissed off than the last group they had encountered. Readying one of his swords in his left hand and keeping his injured right close to his chest, Niko nodded determinedly at those who happened to look at him.

"Let's finish this."

Kvatch, directly outside the Oblivion gate

---

Uzka had felled two more Clannfear with her mighty axe, but there were still more! These beasts simply wouldn't give in. Most animals would try to retreat after being wounded, but the strange reptiles she was fighting seemed almost single-minded, repeatedly trying to charge either at or through the line of defenders no matter how many arrows or lacerations they had sustained. What drove these creatures? Was something commanding them directly, and if so, what was their ultimate goal? So many questions, and Uzka had the answer to none of them. All she knew was that she needed to keep the beasts from reaching the refugees.

"One broke through! Kill it before it reaches the camp!"

A panicked guard's outstretched arm led Uzka to her target. One of the reptilian creatures had barreled through another defender and was charging down the hill. Dropping her axe and shield, the Orc hastily drew her bow from across her back and notched an arrow, letting it go when she was confident it would strike the target. A red-tailed blur shot through the air and found its mark in the flank of the charging Clannfear. Its gallop ended, but not its momentum, and the beast hit the ground like a sack of ebony. It skidded to a halt as another guard rushed over to deliver a killing blow. Disaster averted, though Uzka knew it was very much temporary as there were still more, but the rest were at least in front of the barricades and not behind them.

Being rid of close range attackers, Uzka kept her bow drawn to assist any distant allies with their quarry.

---

Inside the Kvatch Oblivion gate Tower

---

If nothing else, Daedra certainly knew how to outdo themselves. Orintur didn't think the demons' sense of decor could be any more morbid, yet what was before him shattered any notions of Daedra having limits on how grotesque they could possibly be. Stairs made of bone, floors made of a sickening amalgamation of flesh from possibly hundreds of victims, and fountains of what could only be blood. For what seemed like the first time, the Paladin experienced horror. True horror, and his anger was merely an extension of that horror.

"Yes...let's." He said solemnly. Finding that his strength had returned, Orintur grasped his hammer solidly and strode into the room, were he was immediately beset by a blade-wielding, helmeted Dremora.

"I will bathe in your BLOOD, WEAKLING!"

"You will bathe in the searing light of Stendarr, demon!"

This Dremora attacked more viciously than those Orintur fought previously, spurred on by the party's successful invasion of their Tower. Its swings were inaccurate but incredibly quick; Orintur's armor took multiple blows through sheer attrition. Eventually though, the foolish demon wore itself out, giving the Elf a perfect opportunity to counter. Striking it in the gut with his hammer, the Dremora keeled over, letting Orintur plant his hand on their back. A harmless gesture at first glance, but what one wouldn't be able to notice at a distance was the back of the Dremora's armor beginning to crack and fade.

Standing back up straight, the demon called out mockingly. "Are you giving me a pat on the back for besting you, mortal? It is good that you see your efforts are FUTILE!" Charging with blade raised, the Dremora bellowed a war cry at Orintur, unaware of the Elf's schemes.

Thrusting his shoulder forward unexpectedly, Orintur landed a solid blow into the demon's chest. Though not harmed, they had been dazed. Throwing his hammer down, he unleashed a flurry of punches that forced the Dremora to retreat backwards, away from the Altmer's strikes. Right as they were in position, Orintur let loose another shoulder charge into the demon's chest, sending them backwards with considerable force...into the spiked end of bone they were using as a stair step. Their weakened armor collapsed under the duress, letting the spike through into the Dremora's spine. Leaving them to gurgle blood-spattered curses at Orintur, the Paladin quickly retrieved his hammer and returned to the side of his companions.