"Don't worry about the guards, we will deal with them. Just wait and get your strength back to keep that thing from attacking!" Shenzi told her younger brother. Reaching into her pockets, she swiftly pulled out five throwing knives. Without anymore words, she and Belle moved forward to the guards. Qara'Sion felt his eyes widen in worry, and as soon as they did, the large argonian brushed against his shoulder. "Do as she says. I'll keep them safe." He spoke before dashing. As simple minded as his sister made him out to be, the argonian easily read the emotion on his face.
Scared, concerned, speechless. That was all he could do as he stood still as a statue.
Holding one knife, and a flick of her wrist, Shenzi telegraphed her attack in a fancy manner and flung it at one of the guards. The man only tilted his head to dodge the blade as he kept moving. But he heard a gurgling sound as he kept moving forward, not looking back. Next, was a spear of ice flying in his direction. With a simple roll to the side, he dodged once more. However he rolled right into the direction of a massive fireball from the slightly-overweight argonian. Instead of rolling, the man lunged out of the way and heard another sound of someone in pain. But orders were orders to this soldier: stop the khajiit. Nothing else mattered.
Shenzi flicked her wrist once more in an attempt to throw another knife, yet she threw it far off to the side of the guard. With panic on her face as the guard neared her, she raised up her hands to protect herself. The guard swung his sword to cleave the damned khajiit in half. And he missed.
She rolled passed the tip of the blade and flung another knife towards his face, albeit missing. Filled with irritation and rage, he blindly thrusted his sword just to get rid of this annoyance of a being when the argonian appeared out of nowhere and tossed her to the side: taking the stab himself and grabbed the man by his throat. Yet filled with resolve and vigor, he didn't fall down or even flinch from his wound. Raising him up, he pulled the sword out from his body as Belle and Shenzi approached the two. Belle began to heal the argonian who luckily managed to not become stabbed too deep and Shenzi smirked at the guard.
"I figured for being a part of the dwemer forces, you all would have been a bit smarter." The khajiit taunted. The man tried to open his mouth to speak, to curse at that bitch of a khajiit but the second he even moved, the argonian holding him squeezed tighter on his neck. "Just look behind you, had you not been the one leading the charge blindly, maybe they would have been alive."
The argonian turned the man around to force him to see what she meant. Each of his allies had a well placed knife in their heads or throats, each one of them. He felt panic overcome his body, and began to squirm. Sadly, the argonian was much stronger than he was. "Do you realize it now? That each time we made a move it was to bait you into helping us out? You're tall, so the first man behind you couldn't see clearly enough. The second one: the fire and ice spells was to force the one to the side into its direction. To be honest I thought it was going to miss... oh, and the third one, he just appearently decided not to move out of the way. Meaning, the last knife I threw wasn't for you. But, this one is."
And once more, she killed another guard. A plain hop to reach the man and a stab. "...Gods Shenzi, sometimes, you actually scare me." The argonian stated as he dropped the corpse of the man.
Just standing there, he watched. His sister and her friends managed to hold their own against the guards. Even though he was told to stay back, he couldn't help but feel a certain way, aside from his usual fear. Too many emotions welling up in him from watching how his sister skillfully took out the guards, as well as being protected by ones not like her. A khajiit, an argonian, and an imperial. No noticable traits in the slightest between the three, and they worked in sync. And his sister alone was enough to remember, or at least recall a blocked off memory that Qara'Sion was able to put into words. That he lived under the shadows of all of his siblings. Mufasa, Lissandra, Rihana, Shenzi, Timoni, and maybe even Karrma. Not brave and capable of thought in a dangerous situation in the slightest. Too many bloody thoughts.
And he didn't want to think about them during this one moment. The dwemer, his unresolved family issues. and the infernal machine standing tall before him. Were the Gods joking with him at this moment? Bringing him fear and regret too?
"Just ignore it... that's all I can do... I want to..." He paused as he stared at the fight going on in front of him. Lowering his head as if something made him feel shame. What did he actually want? Obviously not this war, or to be fighting in it, So, what did he desire for himself?
Too many bloody, damn, questions. Too much confliction in his thoughts. Maybe staring death again in the face brought them back, but he knew if that that massive machine didn't kill him now, and they did not win this battle, someone else here would.
And now was not the time to think about all of what was in front of him.
When Vendel found Francis, he was near mortified to see the state his friend was in. The bleeding from the hole in his stomach, the cut on his arm and leg, the spear still jutting from his side. Vendel let the mace drop to the ground with a metallic clang and rushed to keep Francis from falling onto his back, supporting his neck as his head fell back and blood gurgled up in a cough that spattered Vendel's face.
"You couldn't follow me home," Vendel simmered, "You couldn't just follow me home to a life away from this and to reunite with your sister?"
Vendel debated with himself, trying to decide whether to move his friend to safety would save him or help him along in dying. He slammed a meaty hand into the wall beside him in frustration. I need a healer, he thought. Every ounce of his being oriented themselves to the preservation of Francis's life, ebbing away as it was, it was still there and Vendel wanted to keep it that way. Men were fragile things but they healed, and he once saw a man fight on without an arm before being rescued and taken back. They couldn't save the arm but they saved him. If they could do that for him, a healer could do good things for Francis who still had all his limbs.
Vendel's hand reached out for the mace before a feminine hand placed itself atop his. Vendel stopped, his eyes traveling up from fingertip to wrist, to elbow to face. It wasn't pretty, she had hard eyes, hard features, and she looked like one who was at home in rough places like this. She said something but Vendel didn't hear it until she gave his shoulder a shove and repeated herself in that desert accent of one who spoke Yoku more than Cyrodiilic, "I will help your friend as much as I can, you need only defend me and find a healer. Magic can do more things than I. Go!"
Vendel stood, grabbing the axe the dead Redguard had before having his skull pushed in. Vendel watched as the woman went to work, ripping Francis's clothing to reveal the hole in his gut and the spear that had been stabbed into him. He went back into the fray, his axe swinging this way and that, cutting bloody arcs through the air, men left dead in his wake before he saw someone. A Khajiit, the same Khajiit from before casting spells at the crab with his companions, putting up a good enough fight. Vendel hefted the axe and made his way over.
"Just rest for a moment. Despite the desire to depend on Shenzi's word, I need to regain my strength. Don't run, they will protect me... just... wait until you can stop the machine from fighting back..." The khajiit thought to himself as he clenched his hand. All he needed to do was wait... Yes, just wait.
Waiting was not the right choice for him. Some hulking nord was going in his direction. Definitely, not an enemy, but what the expression on his face was, it wasn't going to be something in Qara'Sion favor.
"You!" The Nord pointed a finger at the Khajiit, "You know how to use magic, I saw it. I need your skills, now."
Qara'Sion could only glare at the stranger before him. The khajiit actually had people he cared about to worry for, as well as his own bloody sanity to worry, and this man wanted HIS help? He was already worrying about his sister, as well as the two she traveled with for who knows how long, and some random person decided to come up to him? If they weren't willing to accept the battle, why bother fighting in the first place?
No matter how imposing the Nord was to the Khajiit, there was a certain air about him, probably felt by those looking at him. Vendel, as much as he was a fighter, a killer, the look on his face hinted at pleading. His dearest friend was hurt and may very well die if he didn't get him a healer and this Khajiit was his only hope at the moment. The Khajiit would have to trust Vendel, for the first time since the Mausoleum, Vendel was fearful, though he would never admit it to anyone else. The Nord searched his head for something to say, something to tell this Khajiit that would get him to save Francis but all he could say was, "Please."
He stared straight into the Nord's eyes as he thought his own unheard words. Even this man standing before him who could just drag him by his mane and demand for him to heal his friend....
"Fine. Take me to him and I'll heal him." The khajiit stoically said, staring with his only visible eye. In his head, nothing was making sense anymore, he couldn't think correctly, he couldn't act correctly, he couldn't even move correctly. Then again, doll's wouldn't do the correct thing without being controlled... just like him.
Vendel nodded his appreciation and led the Khajiit back to Francis, occasionally planting his axe into any enemy standing in his way. He glanced back to make sure the Khajiit was still alive as he followed him through the thick of the battle. Vendel had time to note that the rioters had created a good line of defense and managed to separate most of the guards from the Dwemer crab. Those guards unlucky enough to be caught behind enemy lines were huddled around the crab in a defensive ring, trying to fend off attacks from rioters.
Qara'Sion followed the man, with a feeling he did not recognize. Even if the man was capable of clearing a path for them safely which in fact, did give a bit of security... it felt as if... instead of running from the death around them, he was running to death. Straight to death. Moving to death...
The battlefield was not meant for this one.
As Vendel and the Khajiit made it back to Francis, Vendel saw that most of the haft of the spear once jutting from Francis was in the process of being sawn off. Vendel breathed a sigh of relief when Francis had weakly groaned and threw a limp hand at the woman treating his wounds. Vendel bit his lip at what Francis must have been experiencing.
"Have you gotten a healer? I may be able to take the spear out but without a healer he will bleed to death." She placed her hand gently next to the small hole on Francis's stomach.
Was this the man the nord wanted healed...? Obviously it was. How could it not have been when he led him over to this spot. Such a stupid question to ask himself. Sighing, the khajiit spoke aloud, "Yes, I can heal him. Tell me when to start."
"I have seen this before. Many of us have, and those who survived always had small metal pieces removed from the wound. How they got there, none of us know. I will have to extract the projectile before this healer does what he must."
She went to work, procuring a pair of thin metal tongs, slowly sinking the instrument deeper into the hole until she nodded. It was a few moments before she started to slowly bring the instrument back out from the wound, bringing a metal ball from the hole and tossing it aside, placing her hands over the wound that had begun to bleed again, nodding to the Khajiit to work his magic on the wound before she went to work pulling the spear from Francis's back.
Immediately, Qara'Sion knelt down and lifted his hands over the stranger. As soon as his hands raised over the wound, the soothing pink aura moved from his hands on to the spot where the bullet entered his body. The wound slowly began to regenerate itself, very slowly.
Another scream rang in the khajiit's ears, instantly making his head turn into the direction of the sound to his left. Once more, another man fell, yet he couldn't exactly see where thanks to the eye-patch he word. Groaning, he stopped casting the healing spell with one hand and quickly took off the eye-patch to see correctly. The dwemer crab fired it's weapon and killed another man from the looks of it. He couldn't accurately tell, but screaming and yelling were almost the only things he heard at this exact moment. He felt better knowing they weren't his sister of her friend's screams, but not too much better.
"Damnit, I wish I wasn't here right not... Dealing with the dwemer, whatever in the world that automaton is, these guards.... I probably should have gone with Zaveed, Elayna, and Reigenleif... Gods, I'd even have gone with Blade at this point than to go against that...." He subconciously spoke aloud in his moment of overwhelming stress.
Or rather, not be here at all.
"Thank you, healer." The woman said, watching as the aura slowly closed the small hole left by the projectile from the crab.
Once the hole had closed completely, she moved to turn Francis over, causing a groan to escape the Breton's lips. She wrapped her fingers tightly around the shaft of the spear she hadn't sawn off and slowly pulled it out, causing Francis to groan more and wince in his stupor of blood loss. Once the spear was pulled free she frantically motioned the Khajiit to work as blood poured forth from the wound. If they didn't stop the bleeding soon, he'd be dead. Somewhat waking from his near comatose state, Francis showed a weak smile to Qara'Sion, only one word from him before falling back to unconsciousness, "Zaveed."
A dying man. That's what he was as the khajiit believed. Regardless, Qara'Sion kept the soothing spell active, if only to ease the breton's upcoming death. Hearing the man's word: the name of one of the heroes, he shook his head once. "I guess practically everyone does expect the heroes to save them..." He lowly spoke, reminded of his conversation with the khajiit man the breton mentioned back in the desert. This one probably did too wanted the heroes to save him if he spoke Zaveed's name. It had to have been such a burden on the heroes to have so many people depend on them.
Or, did he mistake him for Zaveed? Thinking for the moment... it didn't sound as if the man was speaking for him, but calling him directly as him. He was passing out after all... so it was possible-
"Khajiit! Please, my friend, he needs help!" Qara'Sion whipped his head in the direction of the voice. Another nord covered in blood, holding up his brother by his shoulders. "He's going to bleed out, heal him!" The nord stated. And as he did, some random elven man came to him. "What are you doing wasting your time on this one dying man!? Stop that machine!"
Back and forth the two argued. All deaf to the khajiit's ears. He stopped healing the breton and held his head to block out the sounds of the yelling, the screaming, the shouting, his thoughts of his actual companions, the remeberance of his family, the panic and lastly death.
Too much, too damn much, too bloody damn much...
With a roar unheard from him ever, Qara'Sion stood straight up. "Fine! I'll damn well stop the machine by my own hand!" And the khajiit lifted his hands at an alarming rate and shot a rout spell at the dwemer crab instead of the pacify spell.
Right after he held one hand over the breton and held a hand in the direction of the dying nord. The smooth aura that once gently swayed was now shaking. It was in fact healing the two, yet casting more spells in such a success rate was taking it's toll on the khajiit.
Immediately he turned his head to the elven man, with cold eyes. "Now, go fight the crab like you wanted. It won't attack you. And if you don't right now. I'll make you fight."
The Bosmer and the Nord made to step closer at the Khajiit's threat but Vendel stepped between them. Vendel stood a head taller than even the Nord and the figure he cut was one of intimidation, looking down on the two as he hefted his axe, "You go no further."
The Bosmer scowled and backed away before rejoining the battle and Vendel gestured to the woman that had been working mundane healing techniques on Francis. Her services were not needed anymore as the worst of the wounds had been healed by her and the Khajiit's handiwork. The Redguard woman nodded back to Vendel and led the Nord and his bleeding brother to a space a few feet away, going to work and sewing up the wound after washing it off with a waterskin.
He heard not a word and only kept his eyes on the bosmer. Only his own command to fight. If he was going to be pushed to do what was "requested" of him, he would do the same. The bosmer backed off, and Qara'Sion dropped his hands as the healing was no longer needed.
"I must thank you, Khajiit. I am a man of honor, and should you need me, seek me out after this battle if you yet live." Vendel gave a warrior's nod.
"Make sure he lives then. This one does not want his efforts and time to go to waste." Qara'Sion spoke to the large nord as he ran back to his sister who was still managing to hold her own safely.