Peik

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 2 (Completed)

inb4 she gets zombified

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 2 (Completed)

^{Featuring @Gcold}

Dawn, 7th of Last Seed, 4E205
Smuggler's Cove
Underwater

It was cold, mostly, and dark and heavy; that’s the best Marcel could describe it. He could feel a pulling force against his entire body, and everything around him; his clothes, his scabbards, his gorget. Amidst the bubbles he shook his head to see other things in the dark – corpses, of Dreugh and men; bits and pieces that made absolutely no sense, like gold nails and platter ware; and distant jellyfish, floating like creatures from an alien realm far away from the troubles of this world.

Marcel felt almost welcomed by the jellyfish to join them in this new realm where they just floated in the cold without a worry, but then again, he’d heard that jellyfish weren’t the smartest of creatures. He would admit that neither was he, but he still saw some difference between their puffed, calm and static existence in this place, whereas he seemed to be in pain, with every muscle of his being in intense effort, trying to move themselves.

That’s when Marcel realized that he was drowning.

Pushing his legs downward and raising his arms up almost in an attempt to reach the surface of the water, then using them to pull his body up, Marcel found that his body was strong enough to reward his efforts; he was on the surface, however barely. He felt an immense, cutting pain inside his throat and nasal cavity, almost rivaling the constant stinging of his recent burn wounds. He felt as if his breath wasn’t enough, possibly thanks to the wound he’d received back in Dawnstar; he kept gasping, and it took him a few seconds before he felt comfortable enough to do other things, such as taking a look at his surroundings and understanding what he needed to do.

He could see the ship not too far away, and a figure struggling to stay above the water even closer by. Marcel began swimming towards the figure while huffing, his irregular strokes showing signs of fatigue.

Keegan hated water. Maybe not as much as the Khajiits, but he still hated water. It was cold, rough, coarse, and like the daedra-cursed sand, it gets everywhere. Currently, it got into his clothing, his hair and his lungs. Keegan really hated stuff, other than air, getting into his lungs. It was a lot more rough, coarse, and all the fun, than just getting on his skin. But then, was it really the water getting into him? He was the one that got into water, albeit involuntarily.

Just when he thought the worst had come to pass, and the storm clearing away for the faint sun rising to the horizon, the ship decided to take a giant dump. Like the piece of shit he was, Keegan got shitted on (or out?). He was flung over the slippery deck through the air, over various obstructions, and landed ungracefully in a belly flop. If not for the fact that he was drowning, Keegan would be commenting about the pain. Well, now he’s just flapping his arms around like a chicken about to be slaughtered. Actually, there was a chicken in the water, where Alim used to be a second ago. Then Daixanos dived in and took it back to the ship; stupid lizard man valuing his lunch more than his companion.

However, one individual cared enough to help. The said individual was wearing armor, yet somehow keeping afloat. Keegan’s instinct was to grab onto the man, but then again, he might just weight the other down enough to sink both of them. They needed something to grab onto, and near by Marcel was a piece of flotsam.

“Get that-” Keegan pointed to the happily floating gold bar. Before he could finish, a tall wave nearly put him under. He gurgled water in the process, filling his airway full of fluid. Marcel better get that floaty thing soon, and the floaty thing better support the two of them.

“Oh dear Mara,” the Breton muttered to himself as a wave suddenly raised him above the surface, although the same wave seemed to splash his fellow struggler in the face and stop his breathing. Marcel recognized the mer right after, although recognition was not exactly his top priority at that moment – that would have been getting the both of them out of the water alive. As the wave crashed and settled against the Kyne’s Tear, Marcel found himself next to a piece of floating gold – assumingly, the thing that the Altmer had been pointing at. He was not sure as to how exactly this large, cylindrical piece of gold floated, since as far as he’d been taught, it was far too dense to not sink, although grasping onto it and wrapping both his arms around it, he found the gold chip away to reveal wood underneath. Even Sloads cut costs, it seemed.

“Thank you all, o patron spirits,” Marcel thought to himself in a moment of gratitude, although the moment did not last long as he realized that, in his panic, he’d forgotten about the Altmer.

Extending his body as much as he could while holding onto the faux gold pillar, Marcel raised his leg towards the drowning mer as he shouted for him to grasp onto it. With the constant crashing of the waves, and the flaming remnants of the airship steadily descending upon the sea, Marcel knew that letting go of their impromptu float would most likely mean losing it forever. “Grab my foot, pull yourself!” Marcel hoarsely yelled out to the best of his ability, his throat burning with the exertion.

When Marcel first extended his leg to him, Keegan thought he was going to be kicked away. Then he realized, through the muffled and barely hearable words, that this was his lifeline. Keegan reached over the jagged waves to grab onto Marcel’s foot. Immediate as his grip held, he felt the two of them falling further into the water. However, the flotsam bounced them back up, barely enough for breathing.

“Wait, I’m going to-” Keegan alerted, only to be slammed mid-sentence with a faceful of seawater. When he could speak again, he punched Marcel’s knee to get his attention.

“Going to grab the float!” Keegan said. He dragged himself forward on Marcel’s trouser, then his belt, his chest piece, and finally grabbing the golden log. They were now side by side, so they could kick together and no longer have to drag the other person.

“Alright, just swim-” Keegan looked around, finding rescue lines, buoys and ropes extended from the Kyne’s Tear not far away. There was even a lifeboat being used to fetch Do’Karth and Niernen. Keegan ran his hands over his face, clearing water away from his eyes and nose; he felt a little relieved now. However, when a wave jerked his head in the opposite direction, Keegan found another figure struggling in the water.

It was Adaeze, the Bosmer/Redguard that suffered heavy burns through the incendiary bolt. Her wounds must be painful, as she could not fight the waves at all. She was barely able to bob her head above surface infrequently, and she was being washed away from the Kyne’s Tear, into the path of a jellyfish.

“Do you see her?” Keegan directed Marcel’s attention behind them. “Can we get her?”

“We must try,” Marcel replied without any thought, without even looking at where the Altmer directed. Leaning back right after his response, he saw the Bosmer woman, the one he’d tried to help earlier with Wylendriel, and suddenly felt a new energy stemming from a new emotion, aside from his sense of responsibility, to try his best to help; guilt. “Come on,” he said, pushing himself under the water to pop out of the opposite side of the float, extending his legs backwards to ready himself for the push.

Entirely soaked and freezing beyond the coldest winter imaginable, Keegan really didn’t want to stay down here any longer. But then again, he (like most normal people) also didn’t like to watch others drown. Since Keegan’s already feeling like shit, what more harm could come from feeling shit for another minute? If he’s somehow still alive, he should be alive to rescue Adaeze, right?

While Marcel swam to the opposite and began to push away, Keegan decided to hail the lifeboat instead. Shout, scream, wave and splash as loud as he could, those on the lifeboat just couldn’t be bothered to look behind them. Why should they? They’ve got everyone around them, and they couldn’t risk the injured onboard.

With a sigh and several watery coughs, Keegan joined Marcel on the other side of the float. They started kicking, moving themselves toward Adaeze. In the process, Keegan couldn’t help but to look over his shoulder, to make sure the Kyne’s Tear wasn’t leaving. It wasn’t, yet; good news. The other good new was the waves lowering after the storm and the airship crash. However, Adaeze was surfacing less and less often.

Adaeze had gone under when Keegan and Marcel started moving her way. The next spot she went up at seemed to be even further from the two of them, despite them clearly making progress. She went down for a long minute after that, which made Keegan’s heart sink. Thankfully, Adaeze broke the surface a third time. She was much closer this time, close enough to be reached with a few more strokes. A wave raised her battered (but still alive) form, right behind her, a blob of pink and purple.

It was at this moment, that Keegan knew, they fucked up.

“Shit, turn ar-”

Boom!

Marcel’s task of reaching the Bosmer woman was suddenly interrupted by an ear-bursting sound and a shockwave that nearly snapped the gold-coated float in twain. While most of his body had been hidden behind the float in his duty as impromptu propeller, he did feel a sharp pain in one of his fingers, most likely caused by a piece of organic shrapnel, as the sudden wave created by the explosion pushed the battered float in the opposite direction of its intended target. While at first he had been far too dizzied to understand what had just happened, the occurrence slowly dawned upon him as all shades of red and pink muddled the dark water they’d been swimming in, and bits looking awfully humanoid began surfacing, or falling from the sky into the water like raindrops.

It was so cold. Since his rude awakening in the icy water, Marcel truly felt how tired he’d been for the first time; all his extremities were getting bitten at, to an extent that he could barely feel his toes. He felt the gorget around his neck pull his entire body into the water; in that single moment, Marcel felt so disappointed that, had it not been far too inconvenient to try and remove it, he’d likely have parted ways with it, just as easily as he’d have parted ways with his life. He gave out a dejected sigh, his teeth clattering against each other in its duration, as he pulled himself onto the float and wrapped his entire body around it like a sloth would do to a tree. His wet clothes were nagging him down to the depths below like the need for sleep tugged him towards unconsciousness.

“Let’s just… Oh, pity’s sake…” Marcel mumbled to himself as he barely raised his head from its slump on the float to look into Keegan’s eyes, although he couldn’t muster the strength to say anything. Really, the two didn’t have much to rely on except the possibility that someone on the Kyne’s Tear heard the explosion and decided to look their way.

Keegan stared back at Marcel, mirroring his sense of dejection with his own. At least they tried, right? Why did they even bother? Keegan shook his drenched head, partially trying to shake away the image of Adaeze being pulverized, and partially to tell Marcel that there was nothing they could have done. The Breton looked like his energy drained out of him, which was what exactly what Keegan experienced. He went to pick out the splinter in Marcel’s finger, but stopped midway, fearing that moving Marcel’s hand might cause him to lose grip on the float. Instead, Keegan focused on Marcel’s gorget. The chunky metal thing wrapped around Marcel’s neck like noose, and whatever good it did in battle, it was only doing him harm right now. With rapidly shivering hands, Keegan ripped at the gorget, and to his dismay, it refused to budge.

“Over here, look up!” A sailor called from the ship. The explosion got someone’s attention after all. Keegan saw a long bundle of rope in the sailor’s hand, the end of which tied a buoy. “I’ll throw this in; get ready.”

Keegan placed a hand on Marcel’s shoulder, keeping him aware and pushing him to where the rope would be. He remembered how Jorwen used to perform the same gesture, and how the Red-Bear could rejuvenate exhausted men with a meaty clap on the shoulder. Keegan wished he could do that, he wished he could inspire his comrades the way Jorwen did. But he couldn’t, so the next best thing was to kick as hard as he could, to get them moving again.

Slowly, the two of them swam through the blood-tinted water. Pushing through unrecognized bits that was Adaeze a minute ago, Keegan wandered to Nightgate Inn, where the very man beside him saved his life. Marcel blasting the Kamal collaborator was as bloody as their current predicament, if not more so. Well, if they made it through the slaughter at Nightgate, they’d have to get through this one. Keegan won’t let Marcel die; he heard Breton ghosts tend to haunt with a vengeance. It worked like that, or maybe it’s his hypothermia playing tricks on him.

“There!” Keegan breathed a sigh of relief. The cold left no sound of jubilience in his voice, even the shivers had stopped. But there was no denying the reassurance of the rope in front of him. Keegan asked Marcel to grab on first, then he followed. They pressed their bodies close on the ascent, conserving whatever little heat’s left in the two of them.

“Uh, uh...” Keegan’s teeth clattered again upon leaving the sea; all he could think about was a warm bowl of soup. For some reason, the imagery of the soup resembled gore. It didn’t make Keegan feel sick, though; it only made him hungry. “I heard the new cook, Turpen or something, is going to make us crab stew. Maybe we’re doing dreugh now.”

“I’ve had enough seafood,” Marcel replied, absentmindedly looking at the punctured deck, littered with bits and pieces of Dreugh, peppered with wiggling fish thrown onboard by the crashing waves. “I think we all have for a while.”

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 2 (Completed)

I don't see "eat her and gain her powers" anywhere.

@Father Hank

What powers, extra crispiness?

Anyways, I'd vote for a decent burial in Jehanna. Sadri likes those sentimental, final resting places. Marcel'd vote family crypt, but well, since that's impossible, he'd say regular burial I reckon.

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 2 (Completed)

these fookin redguards i swear

Projection

o shit

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 2 (Completed)

RIP Rozalia Éathliel
4E 182-4E 205

F

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 2 (Completed)

^{Featuring @POOHEAD189}

Night, 7th of Last Seed, 4E205
Smuggler's Cove
Aboard the Sload Airship

“Fuckin’ Sload, with their fuckin’ airships an’ their fuckin’ chains an’ fuckin’ gold, I swear to the fuckin’ Gods...”

Sadri himself had nearly fallen off the airship along with the sailor knocked overboard by Tmeip’r’s zombie thrall, the impact knocking the already unsteady Dunmer off his feet and sending him tumbling down the edge of the airship. It was only thanks to the abundance of the gold chains laying around was Sadri able to find something to grasp onto and halt his descent. However, in his drunkenness, this dizzying turn of events had caused him to belch most of the contents of his stomach down below to the Kyne’s Tear before letting him focus on climbing back up, and thus, by the time he began attempting that, an explosion rumbled the airship so hard that Sadri found himself holding onto the chain for dear life instead of actually spending any effort on climbing. Shit was fucking intense, as a friend of his once used to say.

He found nothing but chaos back on deck. The scene looked straight out of the works of the famous Moth Priest artist, Jac-Son Pollochius, with blood, guts, dreugh, gold and rotten meat strewn everywhere like random paint on canvas. The gigantic zombie was around still, although there seemed to be a much bigger problem – the Sload, however wounded, seemed to shake its head like it was coming out of a slumber, and propped itself forwards, albeit stunned.

“Kill it, now!” Sadri heard someone say, and with that, he pulled out his bottle of grog, broke it against his iron arm, and then threw it into the Sload’s face as he began rushing towards the thing right after the toss. The bottle thankfully landed broken end first, and embedded itself into what seemed to be the Sload’s right eye. “Eat shit!” He roared as he jumped and landed his iron fist right into the bottle poking out of the Sload’s face, breaking it and smashing the shards further.

Right then, the Sload whacked Sadri in the chest with such a left hook that he found himself flying through the air for what seemed to be the billionth time since he’d found himself in combat, although thankfully, this time he hit the gold bulkhead of the Sload’s quarters, caving it in, but keeping him from falling aboard. He suddenly found himself quite a distance away from the monstrous mage, although its attention was still fixed on Sadri, who had found the wind knocked out of him so badly that he could barely move. It began gathering magic in its palm, seemingly preparing to finish what its punch had started.

Meanwhile, the explosion had rocked the structures around them and torn Alim off his feet for a moment. If he wasn’t as nimble as he’d been trained to be, he might have hit his head. But he landed heavily on his hands and turned back to see the Sload alive but stunned. He grabbed his sword and went rigid, watching the Sload’s movements until it noticed Sadri. He didn’t exactly want to use Sadri as bait but there was very little choice at the moment.

Ducking and dodging over fallen timber, he kept low with his sword at the ready. “Kill it now!”

“Eat shit!”

He couldn’t keep more than one eye on the fight as he moved, but right when he turned the corner and flanked the sload, he saw Sadri get knocked off his feet. “Beautiful,” he deadpanned, and then steadying himself, he leaped atop one of the planks that leaned against the walls and used it as a springboard to leap, sailing through the air. The Sload turned when he saw sparks filling the side of its toad-like vision, but he could never guess that a storm enchanted sword would slice into the side of its head at breakneck speed.

...Unfortunately, due to its physiology, it did not break the Sload’s neck, or kill it. But it screeched with a pitiful, rage fueled ire and struck at Alim who had not even hit the ground yet, tossing him across the way and into a pile of kindling.

“Hate it or love it, baby, the underfrog’s on top, and I’m gonna shine, homie, til my two hearts all stop!” The Sload rapped out with obnoxious brag as it held a rhythm to an unknown beat with its good hand, its corpulent fingers snapping as it slowly hobbled over towards Alim. It was either unbelievably confident in itself, or just too damn fat to move any faster, which would’ve fit the stories Sadri had heard; but then, how the fuck was it able to slap them around like it was a rabid troll? “Fuckin’ books never get it all right,” the Dunmer huffed to himself, each of his breaths stabbing into his lungs, as he propped himself up from the ground.

Looking around, he could not find any discarded weapon to use; although the rookie was in danger, Sadri knew he had to find something to make his strike have more ‘oomph’ first, lest he get slapped around into Anu-knows-what once again, like an oversized ragdoll. “Fuck it,” Sadri thought as he snapped off one of the broken planks that kept the floor underneath them with his iron arm and pulled his arm back the way a javelineer would. He roared, and heaved the plank forward with all his might as an impromptu harpoon intent on murder.

Sadri had horrendous aim, and he likely would’ve missed, had he not been aiming at the fattest fuck seen this side of Mundus in the last two eras.

The wooden plank’s pointy end plucked itself deep into the Sload’s chest from the side just as it’d raised its arm to smash down onto Alim with a lightning-infused slam, and the giant beast hobbled to the side with the impact, swaying further and leaning itself against a cracked bulkhead, its neck huffing and oozing blood as it struggled to catch some breath. Sadri celebrated his own shot, raising his fist up in the air.

“Let’s kill this fat bastard, boy toy!” Sadri screamed out to Alim as he gathered the last of his strength and began rushing at the Sload, intent on taking it down, consequences be damned.

Alim heard Sadri cry out, collecting himself in an instant. The adrenaline in his body too prevalent at the moment. He’d feel the aches tomorrow, though. Wait, was boy toy at Alim!? He’d talk about that later, but all of his anger was currently fueled toward killing this toad-like abomination. Right when Sadri hit it, the monster swayed, threatening to topple over.

Alim curled his legs, and sprang, sword leading. The point of his blade cutting into the sload’s side, where a normal man’s kidney would be. He heard the thing croak in what he assumed pain, and called out a word in magicka. Flames began to lick along the blade as Alim drove his sword ever deeper into the things body until it was but a few inches from the hilt.

“Die, you son of a bitch!” Alim cried, twisting the blade to make as much internal damage as he could.

As the Sload attempted to painfully blather out something in response to the half-blood’s righteous stab, a rebel yell interrupted its attempt, and right afterwards, a dark-colored mass whizzed by Alim’s vision and slammed into the Sload with great velocity. The sudden impact caused the spellsword’s imbued sword to tear and snap through organ and bone and spill them out from the side, and almost disarmed him with the sudden buck; then there was a tremendous cracking sound, as the cracked side plates of the airship gave way under immense weight and seemingly swallowed the Sload whole. There was naught but a gaping hole where the creature had once been, leading to nothing but an uncanny view of the storm outside.

Sadri, it seemed, having run out of ammunition, had decided to use himself as his next harpoon, and thrown himself heel-first into the Sload’s wounded belly, causing the wooden ‘javelin’ he’d thrown to pierce the creature further and kick it down on his rear. Only, its rear had landed flat against the bulkhead that it’d smashed into two times already. Gold plated or not, the ship hadn’t been able to handle the pressure of fat Sload ass ramming into it for the third time.

It was hard to explain how the old Dunmer had gathered the strength to dropkick the Sload hard enough to budge it off its feet. They say that the Dunmer have strong connections with their ancestors, who lend their strength to their descendants in their times of need or glory – although considering how utterly suicidal and foolish Sadri’s action was, it is safe to say that either his ancestors hate his guts and want him out of the worldly equation, or are merely similarly foolish. Of course, it is entirely possible that the fuel for this had just been the sugar and the booze, not ancestral aid. Mundus may never know.

Considering the Sload’s immense weight, it had taken mere moments for it to reach terminal velocity, although Sadri was following right afterwards, his left foot caught in the wound Alim had thrust into the corpulent necromancer’s body. It had only taken a few seconds for them to smash into the Kyne’s Tear like some sort of insane meteor, punching down through top deck and nearly smashing through the second as well. The impact was so strong with the Sload’s weight that the Kyne’s Tear almost capsized, and sent at least two unlucky sailors overboard. One particular member of the company was crushed and killed instantly underneath the Sload. Sadri himself would have likely died, had Tmeip'r's bones not been crushed under its own weight with the fall, finally killing it and turning it into practically a macabre cushion for the Dunmer to land onto. Nonetheless, the impact was still strong enough to fracture Sadri’s heel, batter his hip badly, and knock him unconscious.

With the source of the seaborne scourge laying dead onboard the Kyne’s Tear, it was time for the survivors to get away from the dying airship as quickly as possible, tend to their wounded, and pay their dues to their dead.

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 2 (Completed)

_{Featuring @Spoopy Scary}

Night, 7th of Last Seed, 4E205
Smuggler's Cove
Aboard the Kyne's Tear

Gustav’s orders were difficult to relay over the chaos of battle that swept over the ship, but one way or another, the crew of mercenaries combatting the undead werewolf had managed to receive them. With the creature outnumbered and its attention split, it could be easily manipulated into different positions. Piper, Ashna, Adaeze, and Daxainos were able to bully the monster towards the center of the ship while Wylendriel covered the gaps in their defense. The group was so focused on keeping it contained, they were nigh oblivious to the fights around them; the ship overhead, slowly falling apart -- the dreughs on the ship, mostly preoccupied by the Venim siblings.

Everyone was barking one another to keep their formation around the werewolf tight. Perhaps so focused were they that they did not realize what Gustav was planning. Nor did they expect the sudden turbulence as the ship crested a stormy ocean wave, causing the flaming bolt of the Tear’s ballistae to go wide. Wylendriel only noticed this too late as she watched the crew preoccupied with their respective enemies, and watched the dervish Adaeze dance straight into the ballista’s line of fire. As the incendiary shot shrieked through the air, the priestess shrieked out toward her comrades and, without thinking, summoned all of her strength to pull the other Bosmer out of the way and threw her to the ground behind her.

Not a second after, an explosion sparked at the bolt’s point of impact and nearly swallowed the entire deck within its fiery embrace.

It was entirely possible that someone else wouldn’t have survived the situation, had they been where Marcel had been when the bolt struck; though Marcel himself was far too preoccupied with being on fire to remember exactly where. Then again, practically everything was on fire. While the ship’s rigging was saved by a wave crashing into the side of the ship and extinguishing the shrouds, the same could not be said for others. He could see a figure taller than himself flailing around on the ground with its flesh charred black, and another sailor who quickly threw himself overboard as a solution to the fiery problem. Only after smelling burnt hair did Marcel realize that his situation was worse than he’d thought.

At first, he reflexively began trying to pat out the flames with his palms, but then he realized that the solution was simpler than that – he clenched his fists and concentrated to absorb the heat, feeling his energy renewed despite the physical pain. After a moment, the flames eating at him simply disappeared into his body with sizzling sounds, leaving behind nothing but fresh, yet cold scorch marks.

Now, less preoccupied with dying, and clearer of mind, Marcel quickly rushed over to the closest figure that seemed aflame yet alive, the sound her pained screaming drawing him closer, and then put one palm on the figure’s lower back and the other right below the nape of her neck to create a proper conduit before clenching his teeth and soaking the flames off her flesh into himself as magicka. “I’m afraid I’ll need you off here, young lady,” he huffed to himself as Marcel grasped onto her shoulders and began gently pulling her away as to reach the other figure that was underneath her body.

Wylendriel barely noticed she was being pulled away as her lungs still desperately gasping for air to fuel her agonized grunting and yelling, and from beneath her was revealed a slightly burned Adaeze underneath but was no worse for wear since the priestess had taken the brunt of the explosion. The volume of the priestess’ voice was dimming, but she still felt her back sting with every raindrop that fell on it. Scarred flesh and blisters from steam burns and fire marred the tattooed wings with her back now bare, the fire having scorched away part of her clothes, even wet as they were. She weakly reached around with her hand, trying to pull away the hair she felt touching her body -- only to find that her hand was filled with thin strands of crushed charcoal as all the hair below her shoulders crumbled to dust at her touch.

Then the ringing in her ears began to subside. The bells that once deafened her hearing gave way to the sounds of panic and screams. Surely she heard Marcel and Adaeze -- but they were fine -- how many were hurt? How many were dead? Her eyes passed over them and scanned the ship: fire. The crew was running. People throwing themselves overboard. Bodies. People trying to hold onto life, but unable to escape. She couldn’t see the wolf anywhere. But she saw a body rolling across the deck -- was it Ashna? She was cloaked in fire and it was hard to tell, but the woman’s desperate, agonized screams was her death knell. Her skin was bubbling and falling apart and the smell of charred flesh filled the priestess’ nose as she reached out helplessly, her tears hidden by the rain.

“No…” She rasped hoarsely.

The Witch Hunter was not exactly preoccupied with Wylendriel’s emotional state considering the matters of emergency all around him, and thus did not clutter his mind with her seeming despair. While Marcel had been in similarly dangerous situations, ones where he had to help people were in fact more of a rarity than anything else; he leaned down on the Bosmer that had been shielded by the other to check her breathing, while amateurishly patting her cheek to see if she’d give any response. He could sense her life energy, but that did not show him whether she was conscious, or still breathing. After hearing a relieving cough, he raised his head and subconsciously reached for the satchel of healing poultices he kept on his belt for some first aid. Although, as he did so, he could not help but notice the look on Wylendriel’s face, which made him feel some pity. “Don’t you worry now,” he told her, doing his best at an attempt of reassurance; “Look now, she’s fine, you’re fine, and we’ll all be right as rain. That’s all that matters right now, no?”

“No, no, no…” She choked, still struggling to speak and to pick herself up from her hands and knees. “The ship… the company! They’re… she’s...”

Marcel turned to see what Wy was staring at, and noticed that the body he’d passed by earlier was still far too alive for comfort. While he could sense faint life energies in whoever that had been, sharing that fact with anyone else would not be helping the situation, he assessed. “Oh, my,” Marcel muttered to himself as he raised a hand to place on Wylendriel’s shoulder before changing his mind and clasping on Adaeze’s arms. “Let’s carry her somewhere better, shall we?” Marcel asked the seemingly traumatized Bosmer, the burns on his cheek making it somewhat hard for him to put on a positive expression.

“I can’t leave them!” Wy argued, drawing as much strength as she could. The winds of Kynareth carried Ashna’s screams toward her, fueling her anger and desperation. People all around the ship, also on fire or bleeding out. Others trapped beneath, rendered unconscious, or impaled by debris. She wasn’t sure if she could save the Redguard woman, or if trying would only prolong her suffering -- but if she didn’t do anything, even more people might end up dying. She lifted one of her feet, getting off one of her knees. Then the other. Her legs were shaking beneath her weight and she stumbled to catch herself and struggled to regain her balance on the swaying ship, but she eventually found her footing. She continued to pant, “I can’t stop… Kynareth…”

She took a deep breath for a moment, then a scowl appeared on her face before spitting out under her breath, “To Oblivion with Kynareth… I have to do this…”

Wylendriel clapped her hands together and squeezed her eyes shut to steel her focus through the pain. It was a stance she had taken on a few times before and it looked as though she was praying, but now that wasn’t the case. Normally she would pray for Kynareth’s grace and Y’ffre’s mercy to grant her the strength she needed, but for now her thoughts were silent, focusing only on drawing upon her own strength and what was left of it. She put as much faith as she could in herself -- and her hands began to glow.

Though it began with an outline, the shine quickly began to spread from her hands and created a shimmer across her body and strands of light emanated from her person. She let out a few audible grunts as she tried her damnedest to hold herself together, but she gritted her teeth and opened her eyes to look at her comrades and several waves of light pulsed outward from her. Those who were injured would see a warm light fill their wounds and slowly sew them closed, and the wounds on her own back were beginning to numb; and Ashna, her screams became even more intense as her body was caught in a limbo of being constantly regenerated and burned away. Wy almost slipped, but she closed her eyes again. Though her screams chilled her heart, each second of it making her want to stop... thoughts of the rest of the crew pushed through, telling her to continue. So she pressed on, trying -- and failing -- to ignore the screams.

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 2 (Completed)

<Snipped quote by Peik>

These things don't look particular appetizing tho'.

@Gcold

Once you pop, you can't stop.

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 2 (Completed)

<Snipped quote by Peik>



Do these pass for ants?

Man, I suddenly want a Metro RP lol

@Dervish

Sheeeeeeyit, now I've got the craving too