The shot had been a great success, opening the opposition for further punishment. Yet the enemy was not the only side who would get hurt, for while his focus had been elsewhere one of the draugr had sneaked behind their ranks and taken a swing at an ally. Hector's orders had been simple: Look after the back and already had he fumbled his duty. He forfeit taking hold of his bowstring again and instead drew his axe, the runes glowing in torchlight. Undead were all around, and the axe had been created to strike them down.
Yet it would turn out that the manoeuvre had been redundant, for it was none other than Hector who rushed back to run down the offending draugr, their longsword doing short work of the unliving creature. Lord Vensor felt a pang of shame at his failure, but decided it was for the best to get back into action as soon as possible. He dropped the axe and was about to reach into his quiver as the unfamiliar oppressive feeling the air had cast upon him washed away. Magicka flowed once more and he would take full use of it. Instead of an arrow, he played with a stream of painfully white light between his fingers. He was unsure if any of the fellow adventurers had ever seen a spell quite like the one he was about to release, but as long as they would not panic at its visual effects, all would be good.
The streams coalesced against his palm, forming a ball that appeared even physical. It was not, he could tell, but he still needed a considerable amount of power to crush it under his fingers, the spell seeping into his body and then out of his feet. Faint beams of light dashed across the floor, entering the still standing draugr through their feet and climbing up their bodies. All the wounds on their bodies would soon begin emitting a light not too dissimilar to the blue that shined from their eyes. They looked stronger now, their magical life force so abundantly visible. But looks could be deceiving.
His spell was a simple aura with no effect on anything but the undead, but those that were affected would find their wounds sapping their energy as the powers that keep them moving would slowly seep out. His ability was not nearly high enough to actually harm them in any reasonable amount of time, but they would be unable to recover from wounds that had been and would be inflicted. The constant flow of magicka through him would not be something he could simply shrug off either. It had been active for but seconds and already he could feel his heart beating faster than it had a moment ago. And given he had already exerted himself in combat, that wasn't exactly a good thing. But he had done this for ages. He knew he could take it.
Now his hand reached into the quiver once more, drawing the arrow he had been aiming to do for a fair while now. He set his right foot on his axe as to not let it get lost all the while nocking his arrow on the war bow. He grunted as he drew back the heavy string, keeping his aim somewhat steady in the direction of the three remaining threats. The drunk had joined the fight with the others, though they had not yet had the opportunity to swing their axe. A shame. Perhaps he would need to make the offensive move for him?
Were he not standing on the axe, his form would have been steadier, but then again his target was so very close. It would be an unlikely miss either way... Sjara's fervent chanting of "Victory or Sovngarde!" inspired him to take even further risks and instead of going for a safer shot at the leading creature's torso, he had his sights on the cranium of the being. He was not sure if it was exactly the same with draugr as it was with vampires, but few beings could go on without a head. And now would be time to see if it stood true for these bags of bones and rotten flesh just as well.
Not to his surprise, it very much did. The arrow crashed through the skull of the foe, carving its path all the way through, ripping the decaying tissue apart. What foul magical energy would once have protected the draugr from suffering quite this much damage was muted by the disgraced Lord's aura and the now suddenly frail bone would clatter onto the floor, followed by a relatively silent squish as what the bone had been shielding followed. Last but not least down went the figure itself, accompanied by a relatively loud clang from their sword impacting the floor and echoing through the room. That one was done with, now to deal with the rest...
