RolePlayerGuilt

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

@Chicken, report in.

R

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Projection

Projection

What Are You Listening To?

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

F3

Star Wars - The Old Republic: Legacy

I do want to drag Zekha out of the woodwork

@Dervish

You mean you've dug Zekha out of the woodwork?

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

Kyne's Tear

---

Rozalia Eathliel wasn't exactly a heavy sleeper.

In fact, she was a bit of an insomniac. It was frequently difficult for her to sleep through an entire night, but she had grown accustomed to it. A thief rarely had the luxury of a full night's sleep, so Roze compensated by grabbing naps whenever she could. But on that night, on the stormy northern seas, Roze slept more soundly than everyone else on the ship. Maybe it was the copious amount of alcohol consumed prior night, or maybe it was the waves rocking her to sleep. She dreamed long and deep. The dreams could have been that of her missing father, or that of Sebastian Vorell, her friend with benefits. Whatever it was, Roze did not awake from the nightmares that constantly haunted her since she joined the mercenary company.

Actually, Dumhuvud woke her, by kicking her in the head.

She muttered a string of curses and fumbled through her gears. She didn't want to fight right now, if she ever wanted to fight at all. Sure, she enjoyed scoring a clean kill from the shadows, or springing a deadly trap upon unaware foes, once in a while. But these were guilty pleasures from constantly restraining herself in a precise line of work. She was a thief, a burglar and a con artist, not a warrior. She came to this company to escape the law, to make money and steal a few valuables when opportunity presents itself. She did not sign up to suicide bomb, and she certainly did not sign up to suicide bomb twice.

Yet, there she was before, running dangerous missions with chances of survival slimmer than the starved orphans of Honorhall. There she was now, on the rain-soaked, wind-swept deck, staring down the rotten werewolf (that looked just like Relmyna) and the horde of dreughs that somehow emerged from a golden airship. Some of her comrades were already fighting, and some had even made the perilous climb up the golden chains. She couldn't comprehend what in Oblivion was happening at that moment. All she knew was that the sight of Relmyna, the undead werewolf, made her shiver; she wanted to vomit.

Roze's confoundment was broken by a chattering of mouth parts. She readied her dwarven bow and quickly shot an arrow at the incoming dreugh. It missed, but with practiced hands, Roze was already on her second shot. The next arrow hit a non-vital spot and did little to repel the dreugh. Then the creature was upon her.

On the crowded ship deck, with masses of clutter but little solid cover, Roze found it impossible to run and hide. The dreugh closed in with a back claw slapping into the side of her face, carving out flesh from skin, teeth from gum and knocking her totally off balance. She fell hard on her face; the metallic taste of blood and the salty taste of seawater filled her mouth. Roze's first instinct was to crawl away, but the dreugh did not let her.

"Gaaahhh!" Roze cried in pain as the dreugh snapped its pincer into her right leg, just below her knee. The claws were sharp and the force behind it was strong. Her leg was in so much pain that she almost passed out. The dreugh flipped her around, raised its other claw to drive down into her chest.

Roze did not give up. She suffered great pain before, like having her shoulder ripped out of its socket in Windhelm, so she knew she must fight through it. The second claw was going to skewer her in ways that would surely be extremely unhealthy, which meant she needed to stop it. She grabbed onto the crab-like appendage with her left hand. The dreugh, however, was stronger. Therefore Roze had to twist her left arm past what was natural to keep the claw away. As the creature inched closer, more tendons and muscles snapped. At the same time, her right hand worked to find the dagger that she hastily stuffed somewhere inside her armor.

They came face to face; Breton and dreugh.

Stab!

Roze managed to stick the short steel blade between golden chitin on the dreugh's neck, just when its claw was touching her leather jerkin. The dreugh immediately went limp, and dying with gurgling of its gills. Roze shoved the lifeless thing away with difficulties, as her left arm was torn to the point of breaking. As she eventually pried the creature from her upper body, her found her leg to be tightly wrenched between the dreugh's claws. As a matter of fact, that claw cut through most of her flesh and bone, to the point where the claw itself was what held her right calf together.

"Bloody hell..." Roze whimpered. She sucked in cold, wet air hungrily, feeling the fight seeping out of her. In the distance, the mercenaries were herding their enemies into a tight group. Two women and an ice atronach were helping the Dunmers fight their way to safety. Not far from her, Gustav was turning the ballista to the bad guys. They were going to blast the bastards to Oblivion!

"Urgh..." Roze mewled helplessly as the adrenaline winded down, making the pain much more acute. Rain had soaked her to the bone, along with dreugh blood, and her own blood. Her leather armor may as well be sheets of ice. She shivered uncontrollably as the misadventures of her younger days flashed before her eyes, of her father picking her up when she fell. He couldn't protect her forever, but her own survival was in no small part due to his teachings. She thought of her mother, her friends and mentors in the Thieves Guild. How they taught her to watch her back, watch her friends' backs, and stab the backs of those that betrayed her. She thought of her new friends, of Do'Karth, Sevine and Sagax. Damned Sagax, she thought, that wanker had to play hero. Who else would climb up an airship where crazed monsters originated?

The thought of Sagax led her to look up at the airship itself. Suddenly, an explosion occurred above. Roze smiled, no, she laughed hysterically. Crazy runner boy did it again! For the first time in days, she felt a sense of comfort. They've overcame another impossible hurdle. For some reason, Roze thought of her father once more, she had the feeling that she would see him soon.

Ashes, sparks, charcoal and dust of gold and black poured down alongside the rain. Roze laid down on the chilling deck, reveling in victory as Gustav launched the incendiary bolt, setting the werewolf ablaze in the distance. It was brilliant, like the New Life Festival fireworks in Riften. Roze was about to breath a sigh of relief when she noticed something else on the airship had come loose, some much bigger than the particle aftermath of the explosion.

"Bullocks!" Roze went back to full alarm again. She had to get out of the open, lest she be squished flat like what had just happened to Dough-Boy. She tried standing up, but the claw on her leg was dragging her back down. She tried to crawl away, but the weight of the dreugh kept her in place. Finally, with several large pieces of debris dangling dangerously above, Roze took a deep breath and brought down the dagger on her own leg.

Severing her right calf hurt, but it didn't hurt as bad as Roze expected. There was a lot of blood, but rain had washed it away before she noticed. Maybe she's already numb to the pain, and the blood had clot around her wound. Somehow, she swore she heard the voice of her father telling her that everything would be alright, and their family would find each other no matter what; the last words before he disappeared. Instead of dwelling on the why and how, Roze focused all that she had left into rolling away from a falling debris. Not even a second later, a heavy block of wood impaled itself into where Roze was. Then there was a troll-sized chunk of gold descending, and try as Roze might, she was not getting away from this one.

Rozalia Eathliel closed her eyes in anticipation; she would never open them again.

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

The Airship

---

An incredible rumble followed the flash of light, and the entire ship trembled with the ear-deafening explosion caused by the catastrophic effect of magic on magic. The golden plating of the ship caved inside from its weaker spots, and the floor cracked wherever it could, destabilizing further towards the epicenter of the explosion, almost caving in. Nearly everyone aboard had gotten blasted into the ground or otherwise dizzied by the reaction; even the Sload, which had looked nearly immovable with its massive size and incredible armor, had found itself smashed into the rear end of the ship with the explosion, its toes, palms and the frontal belly plate of its armor seemingly seared to a crisp by the blast.

Unfortunately, it did not seem as if it were out of commission with such wounds alone. It was not surprising, since Sload were things of myth, and practically nobody had any idea as to how durable they were; it promptly plopped itself out of the crater its body mass had created, and began walking towards the group, letting out a growl which sounded like a tiger’s roar and a whale’s deep moan at the same time. As its growls slowly increased in pitch and began sounding more like a monster’s impersonation of speech, the Golden Slug opened its palms, hands facing the party. Sparks began popping with loud sounds mere inches beyond its palms, indicators of some very potent Destruction magic; no doubt more than enough to turn the group into no more than ash.

As the sparks and loud pops converged into lightning proper, a chitinous mass threw itself out towards the source of the magic and smashed into its torso with a loud slam; Tsleeixth’s Dreugh had reached out at just the right time and saved the party from a rather unceremonious death. Chirping out an alien and disconcerting roar, the Dreugh stabbed one of its claws into the Sload’s palm, and swung the other into its pudgy face, tearing its mouth open, right before the Sload grasped it with its other arm, and poured magic into it until it burnt to a crisp. The air was pungent with the smell of fried crab.

The second one to test his luck was Hargjorn. Seeing the Sload injured and preoccupied with the dreugh, Hargjorn emerged next from the smokes and rushed forward with his falchion raised high. His own battle cry was not dissimilar with that of the dreugh's roar, and his fate was not dissimilar from the dreugh's demise. With amazing reflex and power, the Sload whipped out a giant ball of fire into Hargjorn's way. The resulting explosion completely pulverized Hargjorn, leaving nothing more than chunks of flesh, cloth and metal. The airship itself was also further damaged, causing raptures to appear on deck and on the balloon.

"Do vahknu donu al mi brakumon, sahk vi ahkstos frotita." The Sload growled through its torn jaw, ripping off ruined armor pieces to reveal a multitude of golden necklaces dangling over its drooping stomach. Stubby hands raised and moved like a bard delivering a verse to the beat, which accompanied taunts in heavily accented, barely comprehensible Cyrodilic.

"This is Tmeip'r, the Fiftieth-Sent." The Sload began rapping. "Many men, many, many, many, many men, wish death upon me."

Zombie Tennant had risen again, after being knocked down by the explosive shockwave. Its left arm was squished flat by its own weight, leaving only its club-attached right arm to swing at everyone in sight. The zombie appeared to be no longer coordinated, as the Sload's focus shifted to taunting what remained of the boarding party. Instead of a defensive stance, zombie Tennant swung wildly and clumsily, making outgoing attacks easy to avoid and incoming attacks easy to connect. Pained wails emanated from the zombie's throat, in sounds that almost resembled "end it".

However, the Sload seemed undeterred. Conjuring energy of pure death, something that was unseen by Tamrielic mages, it opened its assault with a flurry of verbal attacks. "I don't know what you heard about me, but a mortal can't get a gold out of me."

Magicka coalesced into spheres in the Sload's hands. "I'll take you to the candy shop; I'll let you lick the lollipop!"

The spell flew out in streaks of black, but as soon as the magicka materialized, it imploded in the very air ahead of the Sload. In its hubris (which included ignoring the damage done by the dreugh), the slugfolk had failed its deadly magic. As a result, the Sload was knocked back once again, and stunned briefly from defending itself.

"Kill it, now!" The sole surviving sailor urged. He didn't do anything himself, in fear of suffering the same fate as Hargjorn.

What Are You Listening To?