Varth, Imperial City Market District

Varth reacted just in time to fend off the zombie. He leapt back, the man- no zombie, it had to be a zombie or undead of some kind, for its eyes were vacant of all life- found no purchase, stumbling forward, loosing what balance it had. Varth lashed out and struck the bonewalker in the temple with the base of his palm, sending it sprawling to the ground. The Dunmer turned to run, and saw a simple Breton of average build almost run directly into a trio of undead.

The world seemed to slow down as Varth focused his magicka, nearly on instinct, and lash out at the zombies with his mind. The Alteration spell was one of brute force, and knocked the zombies back, throwing them onto the cobbled street, carving a path for the Breton man to run.

Varth broke out into a sprint after the man, as he seemed as though he could take care of himself quite well, despite his previous predicament. The Dunmer was upon him in a few seconds, dodging and weaving through the chaos that had consumed the streets, and grabbed the Breton by the arm, hauling him into a gaping doorway completely on instinct, hoping that the house would be safe.

The building was indeed safe, and seemingly uninhabited. “Are you okay? I don’t know what the [censored] is going on, but we need to get moving, out of the city” gasped Varth, out of breath. The Dunmer didn’t really understand what was happening out there, but they needed to escape the walls, and head somewhere sparsely populated to avoid the bonewalkers. Or something similar that made sense.

Hroggar, Temple District

A middle-aged man began running towards him, yelling, "I'm not Undead! I need your help! They are trailing me! We have to get out of here!"
Hroggar pointed his staff at the man menacingly. What if he was lying? How could he know that the man wasn't simply one of the zombies pretending to be human? It's not like he had any way of making sure.
Then again, the paralysis spell he'd cast on the zombie had begun to wear off, and he didn't want to be standing there alone when the zombie came rushing at him.
"Ar'ight, then. Come with me." He said, running off towards the Temple District. The city seemed to be in chaos, so his best choice was probably to try and get out. Perhaps to that quaint little village, what was it called? Wee? Way? Weye? Something like that. But of course, the zombies would probably run out of food in the Imperial City soon enough, and Weye would be next on the agenda. If the monsters continued to spread around, then he'd have to keep moving.

Marque Hearthton, Temple District.

The man in the graveyard raised a staff at Marque. Quickly, he raised his hands up, putting his mace down. He did not want to blasted, like the zombie nearby. This Nord stared him down, before putting the staff down, and speaking.

"Ar'ight, then. Come with me." He said, running off towards the Temple District.

Marque followed suit, picking his mace up, then catching up with the man as he entered the Temple District. Feeling winded as he finally made it to the Nord, he spoke.

"My name is Marque Hearthton. I'm a Teacher and Scholar at the Arcane University. At least, I was before....what ever is happening. We need to get out of the Imperial City as soon as we can. A plan of sorts. I've seen what these....things do to people. They are turning everyone into Undead creatures! But these creatures are nothing like Zombies made by Necromancers. It's some sort of plague. If we make it out of here alive, we could take a look into it. It is best to know thy foe, is it not?"

Hroggar, Temple Distirct

As the two of them entered the city proper, the Breton began to speak.
"My name is Marque Hearthton. I'm a Teacher and Scholar at the Arcane University. At least, I was before....what ever is happening. We need to get out of the Imperial City as soon as we can. A plan of sorts. I've seen what these....things do to people. They are turning everyone into Undead creatures! But these creatures are nothing like Zombies made by Necromancers. It's some sort of plague. If we make it out of here alive, we could take a look into it. It is best to know thy foe, is it not?"
So the Breton, this Marque fellow, was from the Arcane University? Hroggar remembered being there once, hazily recalling days spent studying and doing whatever it was they did there. Perhaps he'd crossed paths with Marque decades ago, before he'd left.

"I'm, uhh, Hroggar. Hroggar the Mad." He mumbled, unsure if he was getting his own name right. It wouldn't have been the first time that he'd gotten it wrong. "We'll have to go to that little village, right? The one across the bridge? Maybe there'll be less of these little monsters there." Time was of the essence, but he was unsure of what else to say. It had been weeks since his last real conversation with someone. Or maybe it had been hours. It was all the same to him.

Arturo Leonde, Market District



Sitting at his favorite table at the Feed Bag, Arturo drank and laughed with his friends, insisting of course to pay for each of their meals out of the days winnings. He ran a hand through his short, dark hair, and leaned back in his seat, shooting a wink at one of the barmaids and throwing on his signature smile. A smile that could (and often did) melt the hearts of the maidens he came into contact with.

"That last swing Arturo!" one of his Khajiit friends laughed. "I swear by the Nine, it was-" he was cut off by a sudden intrusion of a seemingly insane person enter the establishment.

"The end! The end I tell you! The end is near!" he yelled, as he leaped into the room and slammed the door shut behind him, resting upon it so as not to let anyone else in. It seemed to Aturo that the mad man was being chased.

Several stood up and asked him what was wrong, while the bald, plump proprietor had a look outside. When he re-entered, his usually red face had lost all color and wore a grave expression.

"What the man says is true," he began, trying to sound calm, but ultimately failing, "For our safety, I will bar this door, no one enters, and no one leaves." he said solemnly. "For the time being, of course." he added with a gulp.

This caused an outburst of hushed whispers among the crowd who had up until now been silent with shock.

Barred for the time being? That's no good. I had a date at the Bloated Float later. Arturo snickered to himself silently. His friend caught him doing this.

"Woe! Oh woe! For Arturo has taken leave of his senses, and now laughs mindlessely like a skooma-addicted beggar!" he said.

"Quite the contrary, old friend. My mind is it's proper place. My blades however, are not." he smirked, reaching for the hilts of the steel short swords that hung from his waist. Just as he was about to lay a hand on them, there was a sudden and loud thud on the door. It came to their attention that the barkeep had not yet been able to fully bar the door, despite several patrons helping him. The thud caused a gasp in the crowd.

"Whatever is going on, I suggest you all head to your families. I'll clear the way, depending upon what lays ahead." Arturo said, as he climbed his way up onto a table to announce this. As he looked to and fro, he found that he was the only capable fighter in the building.

Yet another thud followed on the door, and another, and another. Soon, the door broke down completely and entered a wave of what Arturo found to be...

Could it be? Masses of undead? he wondered to himself. Hmm, this is going to be a killer. he smiled to himself once more, as was his habit. Arturo jumped off the table he was standing on and both his swords landed in the foreheads of the two zombies that stood at the front of the parade.

Slicing and dicing away, the quick Imperial managed to clear a path out of the building, turning to the crowd as the last zombie fell to a burst of applause. Doing a little bow, he smiled and instructed everyone to leave if they valued their lives.

Outside however, Arturo found dozens more of the undead creatures, along with several corpses. Some of which he even recognized. The crowd behind him split into several directions, everyone obviously panicked by the sight of so much death. Arturo however, with his cool disposition, did not let it effect him. At least not yet.

This is... alarming. However, I must keep my head on if I wish to live this... crisis. he sighed as two more zombies approached him.

After dispatching the corpse who was attacking the young Breton girl to her feet. She was still wildly flailing around however, no doubt still in terror at the happenings around her. The poor girl voided the contents of her stomach (puked lol) and fell unconscious so Trannigan quickly cradled his handes under her body and lifted her up. It was then that he noticed deep, slightly odd colored scratches. He searched around for a safe place to at least put her down and inspect if she was going to pull through when a small group of guards came near, fighting the beasts off what ever innocents they could and screaming to get out of the city for the walls have been too badly breached. They opened the huge city gates and on the outside stood some armored guards who were busy trying to destroy what ever stragglers had managed to wonder over from the Waterfront. Trannigan moved through the gates with the rest of the scared citizens and he tried to keep a tight hold on the injured girl, for he did not want to drop her in the chaos and leave her to get ripped apart by the living corpses.

Trannigan and the others walked slowly across the long bridge, now that they were out of the city and seemingly out of danger. Many people were talking of how such a threat could happen so quickly. No doubt it was necromancers as usual yet no one recalled seeing any, only the already dead had been attacking. Many of the more intelligent people also pondered that it would take exceptionally powerful necromancers to raise so many corpses this quickly but it was in the realm of possibility. Hearing these theories worried Trannigan and made him eager to help find out the cause of this chaos. After several minutes of walking, they were at the village of Weye and Trannigan didn't recall any signs of trouble although now that he thought about it the place did seem less devoid of life than normal.

9 Divines protect us. It seems we will need all of the blessings we can get for this one.

"They are here as well! Men, on my ready attack!" screamed the captain of the guard as a small number of corpses shambled towards them. "Do not let anymore of our people fall!" The soldiers bravely marched towards the corpses and carefully dispatched them with their silver swords. Had they not been well armored with their tough cuirasses and sturdy shields a few might have been slain for the enemies were able to take numerous blows before staying down for good. Trannigan searched for an abandoned house to place the little girl safely into, then once he found one he stood outside the door with his blade in his left hand and a shock spell in his right, ready to not only protect his own life but hers as well.

Julius Scipion, Imperial city, Imperial Prison

Julius ordered the remaining men to bar the gate, he sighed his Blades armour spattered with zombie blood they had not been ready for the ensuing horror with only 10 legion soldiers and 25 prison guards now reduced to only 7 legion soldiers and 21 prison guards the commander had rushed across with many men leaving Julius the most senior man and a surveyor at that, “sir civilians but it looks like some of the-enemy- are after them” a sentry shouted down Julius quickly decided "let in the civilians then bar the gates have any enemy slaughtered and quickly this will be the only civilians we will allow for now.” the other soldier nodded, Julius readied himself and stood in line with the rest of the soldiers ready for the next horrors.



The gate opened around 15 fleeing civilians made it before the gate was shut screams were heard on the other side one zombie had made it through but was quickly disposed of Julius called out “get them out of the city use the passage the emperor used before he was assassinated any men able to fight will stay here” the soldiers and civilians nodded before 3 men said goodbye to their loved ones and ran with a guard to the armoury. Julius let out another sigh before carefully setting about the execution of prisoners sentenced to death and others were left in their cells.His High Elven Decorum Shattered by the horrors he had seen.


OOC: feel free to try and make it to the prison if you want to.

Spoiler

Name: Gearalt the Valiant
Gender: Male
Race: Nord
Age: 35

Physical: Standing at an impressive seven feet and three inches, Gearalt towers over other races and stands out in a group. His long blonde hair draqes to his waist and is held together by a leather strap. Gearalt's face is of a blocky and chiseled nature, only blemished with small beard stubble. He would be a looker if not for a large scar seamlessly running down his nose.

Mental: Gearalt does not always think things through under pressure, resorting to brute force if taken by surprise. During his time with the Fighters Guild, this sudden behavior shift made many an easy task more difficult to complete. He cares little for other races, but will not leave a comrade behind if there is no other alternative. More friendly swords means more chances to swing your sword in the future.

Equipment: A Silver claymore enchanted with the devastating cold of the north. A full set of steel armor sans helmet. Slung across his body is a leather hide sack filled with rations.

Combat: Gearalt only knows how to use that big sword of his and is surprisingly agile with it. However, given any other weapon and he will be reduced to a novice.

Magic: When there's not enough room to swing your sword, you need to at least do something. While he's not the best mage, Gearalt can at least use a frost spell to keep close enemies at bay and a healing spell when a chapel is too far.

Stealth: Stealth is not Gearalt's strong suit. But if there is a rock big enough, he could perhaps execute a well timed chop on an unsuspecting enemy.

History: Born in Snowhawk and raised by a tavern wench, Gearalt did not have much going for him and tried his best to find something that interested him. It was not until he found a big stick outside and swinging it at the bushes and trees did he discover his calling. To travel Tamriel with a big sword. At the ripe age of 16, Gearalt left Snowhawk to adventure, hoping to help his mother and make himself a living. He found himself doing odd ball jobs given to him by the Fighters Guild who saw no future for the kid. That was until he was given an assignment by his friend and mentor, Gallaron the Valiant, who believed the young Gearalt could accomplish the task rather than he. Gearalt was to stop a small group of smugglers in the northern reaches of High Rock. He escaped death countless of times just to even catch a glimpse of these criminals, and when he did catch up to the smugglers, Gearalt sheathed his claymore into their bodies. When word reached Gallaron, he was overcome with joy, and bestowed on Gearalt his moniker. Thus dubbing him, Gearalt the Valiant. Since then, Gearalt has helped countless people with his heroics.

Current location: Imperial City Bridge

The loud clack of cold metal boots walking on cobble stone pierced through the still air. A figure was slowly trudging it's way to the city under the veil of exhaustion, praying to Shor for sanctuary from the chaos that wrought the outside world. This figure was none other than Gearalt the Valient, who had disposed of three bonewalkers just hours before. A sharp blood curdling scream shot from inside the city walls and reached the Nord's ears, causing him to look up at the city; once his ideal resting spot, now another battlefield.

Gearalt (tired): "By the Nine, is no place safe?!"

He continued onward for he needed answers and longed to see a friendly face. Up ahead was a troupe of soldiers guarding the city. They quickly drew their attention onto the approaching Nord and drew their weapons.

Guard (cautious): "HALT! You are to advance no more! Who are you? If you fail to speak, we'll assume your one of...them."

The other guardsman knocked a silver arrow and drew their bows. Gearalt stopped in his tracks just feet in front of the group.

Gearalt (tired): "There is no need. I am not of the undead. I hail from Skyrim, seeking protection from this perversion of Orkay. I am Gearalt the Valiant. Shield Brother of the Fighters Guild. I see that these beasts have taken this place as well."

Guard (ambitious): "Aye! They are flooding the city with their kind. But we won't let them take the city! Not while we're still here!"

Gearalt: (uplifted): "I can lend you my sword. Let me gain access and I will aid your brethren in purifying this place. I am of able body and I am capable."

The guards looked at each other and sheathed their weapons. One of the guardsman signaled another to open the city gate a crack just so Gearalt could slip through.

Guard (thankful): "Go now Nord. However, do not expect to return. We must bar these gates as to prevent these undead from spilling out onto the rest of Tamriel. If you find yourself overwhelmed, flee to the prisons and look for a secret passage in one of the cells. That is the evacuation point. Do not let those...things in."

Gearalt saluted the guardsmen and entered the fray. The scene was terrifyingly grotesque. Bodies and organs strewn across the streets and people who were not yet dead, cried in agony. A bonewalker caught sight of the Nord and limped quickly to the prey. But Gearalt saw this bonewalker charge. He unsheathed his silver claymore and sheathed it again, into the undead. The frost enchantment froze the corpse's wound and caused it to writhe in pain. With a swift steel plate boot to the chest, the zombie broke into pieces. Gearalt the Valiant ventured further into the city.

“Are you okay? I don’t know what the [censored] is going on, but we need to get moving, out of the city” gasped the young Dunmer

In his state of shock and terror, Daedalus just stared at the dark elf, and manged to reply hoarsely, "Yes, I agree"

The Dunmer began pacing around the empty house with a look of concentration and concern. He was tall, easily six foot, and wiry, but obviously in shape. His red eyes seemed strangely amiable in a way Daedalus couldn't comprehend, and a twang of guilt struck the Breton that he was to leave this elf to his fate earlier.

Daedalus took in a deep breath and said," Look Im sorry about that bit of mess back there, I wasn't thinking straight." He paused as the Dunmer turned to look at him. "The names Daedalus, by the way," He added, "And you are?"

It seemed that the undead kept coming, getting more numerous as the minutes went on. Slowly but surely the living began to get fatigued and a few of them were killed by the shambling corpses. Trannigan watched as a guard tried to pry a zombie off of his dead comrade, only to have the zombie get a good hold of the other soldier and tear his cheek off with its teeth. Trannigan thought about going to aid the soldiers but didn't want one of the zombies getting to the girl and killing someone so young. He kept vigilant and watched on as the people that had any means to depend themselves kept on the fight for their lives. Luckily for the humans the battle seemed to be changing hands as the stragglers eventually stopped appearing from the wilderness. When there were only 3 or so left that he could see he let out a sigh of relief, but then immediately felt his stomach lurch in terror as he noticed the small figure come through the window and grab at him.

The suprise was enough to knock him off his feet as the now zombified little girl tried to get on top of him. She desperately tried to bite at his face and the unprotected parts of his gauntlets and he used his size to throw off her fragile figure and pulled himself back on his feet.

Arturo Leonde, Imperial City Market District

As if the match wasn't tiring enough. Arturo thought to himself, as he continued to maneuver his way past several walking corpses with the help of his dual blades.

Cries of horror and pain could be heard throughout the city, and not only the Market District. It was at this point that Arturo truly began wondering. What in the name of Akatosh is happening?

Being no stranger to violence, and having fought zombies before in several arena matches, he was relatively calm, to the amazement of any living that passed by him. He yelled words of advice to anyone who passed by if they were injured.

"Go to the chapel and pray! Your affliction shall heal! Stay there!" he would shout. In his youth, he had learned that zombies carried a disease known as Astral Vapors. Whether these undead carried them or not was unknown to him, but he had experienced the disease and the effects were not all too desirable. Luckily for him, a potion would fix it, but seeing as current events would not allow the luxury of browsing through shops for an appropriate potion, he simply suggested to use the method of old.

Just as Arturo struck down the last in a long wave of them, yet another several living dead appeared before him, headed his way. His swords bloody and his muscles sore, the gladiator decided to simply make a run for it.

There are too many in the city. Only way to survive is to get out.

Sheathing his swords, he spared one final glance at the zombies and decided to make a break for it. Running at full speed for the gates, some of which were already torn down. He passed by several people and several more zombies as he did this. He managed to catch a fleeting glance of two of them, a man and a woman, in an alleyway.

"Leave the city!" his voice faded in the distance as he ran straight past them, finally losing steam when approaching the bridge. Once there, he slowed his pace and took his swords out once more. Nearing the gate to the city itself, he gave it a kick that would make the skull of an Orc cave in. The gate swung open and several guards stood before him as well as a heavily armored and well equipped tall Nord man.

"Ah, a blessed son of Skyrim! Had we known we were to be expecting visitors, we would have..." Arturo paused to impale one of his swords up the chin and out the head of a zombie behind him, "made the place more presentable." he finished with a smirk. "As you may see, the Imperial City is not exactly in it's most hospitable state at the moment, and I do advise you to turn and run along back up North with your snow and mead." he almost chuckled, momentarily oblivious of the crisis that was unfolding behind him.

Varthlokkur, Imperial City, Abandoned House

Varth began to quickly search the house for anything useful while catching his breath. “Look, I’m sorry about that bit of mess back there, I wasn't thinking straight” said the Breton apologeticly. “The names Daedalus, by the way, and you are?”

“My name is Varth” replied the Dunmer. “It’s not something you need to apologize for, I almost met my end as well. Now, let’s get the hell out of here. I noticed on the way inside the city there was a small settlement, just at the mouth of the bridge. We can make it, if we run, and I know some useful magic to help us get there quicker.”

“My name is Varth” replied the Dunmer. “It’s not something you need to apologize for, I almost met my end as well. Now, let’s get the hell out of here. I noticed on the way inside the city there was a small settlement, just at the mouth of the bridge. We can make it, if we run, and I know some useful magic to help us get there quicker.”

Before Daedalus could input his opinion on the matter, the duo was rudely interrupted by loud banging on the door of the small two story house. Varth jumped forward and locked the door, while Daedalus turned around to possibly find a back exit. He uncovered a window only to be face to face with a very dead looking Nord. Daedalus jumped back while bringing his dagger down and severed the hand of the bonewalker while simultaneously pushing him away from the window.

"There's no back exit Varth, it looks like we're trapped"

Varthlokkur, Imperial City, Abandoned House

The Breton opened his mouth to reply, but the sight of an undead Nordic man shambling towards the doorframe shook both of the men out of the conversation. Varth leapt forward and slammed the door shut on reflex and locked it. The bonewalker stumbled over to the window, smashing the pane of glass with his meaty arm and attempted to pull himself through.

The Breton named Daedalus produced a dagger from his person faster than Varth’s eyes could perceive, and cut the beast’s hand off. An angry pounding noise began to sound from the otherside of the door- more zombies. “There's no back exit, Varth, it looks like we're trapped!” said Daedalus.

“Like hell we are!” cursed Varth. “I’m going to manipulate our bodies, allow us to run and move faster. Once I blow down that door, we are heading out of this gods forsaken city. Got it?” the Breton nodded reluctantly.

The Dunmer focused his magicka and worked his spells, which worked perfectly. The muscles in the mer’s legs tensed and pulsed with power, and adrenaline began to pump through his veins. With another focusing of magicka, Varth called forth his anger and rage, performing a quick mental calculation, hoping to gather enough force to rip the door to shreds and clear the path of zombies without bringing the whole house down.

There was a flash of red as fire lanced from Varth’s hand, impacting against the door, which forcibly broke and shattered under the force of the spellflame, sending flaming shards of wood in all directions. Horrible shreaks of inhuman pain echoed from the portal to the outside, and everything appeared safe (or at least as safe as it could be in these conditions). “Let’s go! Move!” roared Varth as he bolted into the street, his magically enhanced legs carrying him through the crowd of death and undeath.

It felt amazing to run, to run and move faster than the rest. A god-like mentality set upon the Dunmer as he soared majestically through the mass of flesh. Some of the corpses that the Zombies had already killed were beginning to rise from their temporary graves on the streets, and were gaining their bearings. Time is short.

A group of five guards had formed a defensive circle up ahead, the bodies of dismembered zombies piling up around them. Varth watched as one was drug to the ground by a pair of Bonewalkers, the gap in their defense quickly leading to the demise of the rest. By the time the Dunmer Pilgrim was half way to them, they were all screaming in agony as their flesh was being devoured. The undead saw Varth and his quickly moving Breton companion, and began to move in. While they were incredibly slow, they were able to form a net around the two runners, sealing them in, with the gate to Emperor Green Way just ahead.

Varth saw the impending doom just in time and focused his magicka, sending forth a wall of invisible energy. A deep boom echoed through the streets as the wall raced forward, carrying corpses and zombies alike back, and flinging them from the two runner’s path. “Quickly! Through the doors!” shouted Varth, indicating the gate towards Emperor Green Way.

Before Daedalus even had time to question his new found companion, Varth blasted down the door with an unnatural red blast incinerating several zombies barring the door. The Dunmer broke out into a sprint at a ridiculous speed and Daedalus followed likewise, awestruck of how fast they were moving.

The amount of speed gave the Breton a feeling of invincibility and he almost uttered a chuckle. The light mood quickly vanished at the sight of 5 poor guards being devoured. The zombies refocused their efforts on catching the new prey which had presented itself, and began forming a semi circle to ensare the duo

Varth read the undeads intentions like a book and blasted them with a force that echoed through the now empty market district.

“Quickly! Through the doors!” shouted Varth, indicating the gate towards Emperor Green Way. Daedalus detected exhaustion from the Dunmer's voice and not with out surprise. The amount of magicka required to pull that off must have been immense. He also noticed a large piece of wood protruding from Varth's shoulder, no doubt from the door he had destroyed moments ago.

"Wait let me take care of that" Daedalus said pulling two vials from his backpack. "These will take care of your wound and magicka reserves, I made them myself."

Ray, Imperial City
Ray laughed and out of the alley way. She whistled. "Oi!" she yelled. Four of the bone walkers saw the two humans and began to charge over. Ray drew her sword and was in combat with one of the bonewalkers with a sword. The bonewalker was not as skilled as a fighter, but still had a chance. It swung the sword at Ray's head, she ducked to meet the sword again with her own. She spun around and whacked off the arm of the bonewalker. The bonewalker just picked up the sword in the other hand and kept on fighting with her. Ray ran her sword through the walker and back out. The bonewalker stumbled back, and getting off guard for one second, Ray was able to slice its head off, then hacked the head in two. She spun around to meet the next one in combat. This one had a mace. She pushed it back with her fighting. The bonewalker's mace grazed her arm, not hurting her to much, but it lit a new angry fire, and she began to hack at the creature. All shreaded up the bonewalker fell over, not dead, but not a threat.

Ray turned to see where her new friend had made it in the fight.

(OOC: I hope this isn't like overpowering her ablilites. Like how are the zombies and bonewalkers, what does it take to kill them?)

Aenar quickly bashed the side of his swords sheath into the bonewalkers head knocking it to the floor. He yelled and stomped on it's head a few times but the creature got up and kept coming. The Nord warrior quickly lopped off both of it's arm but barely managed to dodge out of the way. He growled and grew angry at himself for being out of practice and quickly delivered two savage thrusts to the zombies chest.

He turned to Ray and saw that she had already dispatched the bonewalkers around her. "I'm going to go find some supplies meet me at the arena in 5 minutes if you want to stick together."

He quickly ran off to the Feed Bag hoping to find unspoiled food.

Ray
Ray nodded and took off at a fast sprint. She ran through the streets, and made it to the entrance of the arena district. She got through the big doors, and shut them quickly behind her. Only greeted with a few more regular zombies, she fought them out. One she quickly decapitated and smashed the head with her sword, then she plunged her sword through another, and pulled it back out, lopping its arms off, then its head. The last zombie nearly bit her, but she met its face with the back of her sword, making it stumble backwards. It charged at her again before she made a large gash in its stomach. It began to bleed out, organs and all guts spilling out like a waterfall, but the zombie wasn't phazed. It swung its arm at her, then she chopped off the hand and then the head. She drove the sword through the skull, making a large cracking sound. She shivered as she backed away from the bloody mess, then waited for Aenar.

Gearalt looked down upon the Imperial gladiator and gave a toothy grin back.

Gearalt: "Maybe I should go back, this city looks safer than ever with you here. But I digress. A nice mead from home would do nicely. However, mead comes after victory. To say to a Nord to turn back and drink Shor's nectar is humorous and impossible."

The Nord gave a hardy laugh and met the Imperial at eye level.

Gearalt: I may not be the smartest Nord in the land; and who is? But I give my sword to the innocent man and mer. And right now, this city needs all the help it can get."

Gearalt batted an eye behind him as he heard the pitter patter of a bonewalker sidle from behind him. Turning his bulky frame around to meet the zombie, he picked the bonewalker up by the throat and used an ice spell to freeze it's head.

Gearalt: "Orkay take you!"

He crushed the undead's skull.

Gearalt: "Perhaps we can make use of each other? What say you?"

Arturo Leonde, Imperial Bridge

"Maybe I should go back, this city looks safer than ever with you here. But I digress. A nice mead from home would do nicely. However, mead comes after victory. To say to a Nord to turn back and drink Shor's nectar is humorous and impossible." said the Nord, with a grin. "I may not be the smartest Nord in the land; and who is? But I give my sword to the innocent man and mer. And right now, this city needs all the help it can get."

All the help we can get? I cannot agree more! Arturo mused as he managed a glance behind himself. Upon turning back he found the neck of a zombie in the clutches of the Nord, and shortly thereafter it's head frozen in place, just before it being crushed into smithereens.

"Perhaps we can make use of each other? What say you?" he finished.

"Well I must say, Nord. I am impressed." the Imperial chuckled. "I am Arturo Leonde, Champion of the Arena." Arturo paused to weigh his options once more in his head. He decided that helping people really is the right way to go about it. "And I shall help you cause." he completed, running a hand through his hair. "Now then, I saw several survivors on my way here. Perhaps we could help them, no?" he suggested, smiling as usual.

Julius Scipion, Imperial city

Julius and the remaining guards walked through the passage past where the blessed emperor had fell and finally to the sewer exit he looked at them before ordering “return to your homes and families I am going to weye in the hope that there is some sort of rearguard action which I can help” the guards nodded before they all went their separate ways,They had abandoned the prison after a horde had started battering the gates and so they had decided to get a head start and burn the prison.

Julius started running towards the stables outside the city in the hope that the rear action might be being fought there instead when he arrived he came across six zombies fighting each other over the corpses of some guards Julius drew his sword and charged them he swung at the first one cracking its skull it fell dead for the final time he did this for the next four then he came to face the final one this one had a club in its hands Julius then threw a shard of ice at its head killing it then just to make sure he decapitated each one the waited, hidden in the hope that some survivors had made it.

Parvo, The Temple District, Mara's Garden.

Mara's Garden was tended to by the daughters of Mara a haven of fruit and the bounties of life. It had so far remained untouched by the marauding hordes, apples hung of low boughs, cultivated for easy access, along with pears and plums. Parvo grabbed as many handfuls as he dared, stuffing any remaining room in his pack with the fruit. Someone might as well benefit from these, I doubt those monsters even need to eat.

His pack full and heavy he began the slow creep to the garden wall. He moved cautiously keeping himself as low as possible trying to avoid being seen by the zombies in the square. Once he reached the wall the pushed himself up off the ground so as to be able to see over the rough stones of the wall. The wall was made from drystones, as Parvo placed his hand on top of it a stone fell from the wall and clattered noisily on the cobbled street. Every zombie in The Temple District turned their attention to the noise. [censored]. He sank behind the wall as the horde turned their attention on him.

Parvo's mind was racing, he guessed he had a few seconds before they came over the wall. I need a distraction and quickly. His hand settled on a fist-sized rock that he'd been sat near. Almost of its own volition he stood up and cast the rock over the heads of the zombies, it struck a wall on the other side of the square with a powerful crack. In the moment that the undead turned Parvo did the same, turning away from the crowd and sprinting towards the large gate that marked the entrance to the Imperial Palace. He had no choice, whilst he wanted to get out of the city the only clear path led to He knew the twists and turns that led past the various shrines and offering points to the gods worshiped in the City. The smells of incense and other burnt offerings hung in the air as he raced past them.

As he reached the gates he was confronted by a single zombie that had broken away from the main group, it was taller than him perhaps an Altmer or Nord but it had clearly been undead for longer than some of its brethren and its face had become bloated and decayed. Rather than attempt to destroy the being he simply dropped his shoulder and continued his charge. The zombie had clearly seen him too and began a lolloping counter-charge. Just as the two were about to collide Parvo dropped even closer to the ground sending his shoulders into the knees of the zombie. The action of their combined momentum was enough to pick the tall zombie off the ground and crashing to the ground behind the now floored Parvo. The Imperial reacted quicker and scrabbled back to his feet without a glance at the monster behind him.

He sprinted through the gates and into the graveyard that surrounded White-Gold tower. Using the gravestones as cover he crossed the short distance to another gate, this one would take him into the Talos Plaza and from there all that lay between him and potential freedom was the bridge to Weye. It was open, just a crack but it was enough for him to squeeze himself through.

The state in the Talos Plaza was as bad as it had been in the Temple District and Parvo stood, dumbstruck at the sight.

Varthlokkur, Imperial City, Market District

“There’s no time!” shouted Varth over the din of chaos, rebuking the Breton’s offer to heal him. “We need to move, now!” he said, indicating the zombies who were rising from the streets, seemingly unharmed from the Dunmer’s magical blast. Off to the side, more bonewalkers began to filter into the street from alley-ways, drawn by the loud blast of the spell.

The two men began to sprint again, through the doors and into the lavish courtyards of the Imperial Palace. The screams and roars of rage and anguish met Varth’s ears before the stench of decay, spilled blood, and charred flesh did. The Imperial Palace, a massive white marble spire that soared high into the air was surrounded by a large stone platform, bellow were the graves and tombs of many high class citizens and ancient nobility. Or at least, what used to be graves sat there, for now it was nothing but freshly aroused holes in the ground. Zombies of all races were assaulting the stairs to the platform, forming a wailing wall of rotting flesh that was blocked by an opposing wall of heavily armored Imperil Legionnaires.

Arrows soared through the air, and Imperial Battlemages sent plumes of fire into the crowds of advancing undead, tearing through their offensive lines. There was no visible was through the zombies, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that there is no way through. “Don’t stop running! We’re gonna hafta jump!” bellowed Varth and he ran onwards, his heart starting to pound from fatigue.

The Dunmer pushed his spell to its limits as the two men approached the chaos, weaving in and out of zombies and falling corpses, and Jumped. Varth had jumped before, as he was sure Dealdus had as well. This leap of faith, however, was nothing like he had ever experienced. It was more like a god had picked the two men up and forcibly threw them over the horrendous battle. It got them over the battle, but landing safely was another matter.

Varth’s heart leapt into his throat as he realized that if a landing wasn’t stuck correctly, he and Deadlus would end up like a pulverized bug. With a quick focusing of what magicka had left, Varth attempted to increase the density of the air and push it upwards in an attempt to cushion the fall. The Dunmer had no time to check if the spell had succeeded, and if it would even be effective, for he impacted against the cobbled stone platform, tumbling to the ground.

He felt a gauntleted hand pull him up- a guard. Varth found that he could move, and nothing was broken, just some very painful bruises, as well as his earlier shoulder wound, which was beginning to sting like hell. The guard was shouting something and pointing towards a group of panicked citizens, and the Dunmer thought he heard the word “Weye” somewhere in there.

Varth grumbled and turned to look for his Breton companion.

OOC: You can post us being escorted out of the city, by the guards, Disturbed. As in, the guards are going to evac the palace and take all survivors to Weye. Just get us to the stables, and i'll post everyone but us players dying. This would also be a good opportunity for others to hop on board and get to Weye

Aenar quickly entered the feed bag an filled a bag with lots of food then runs to the weapons store picking up a stone to sharpen weapons and a flint to start a fire then took off towards the arena slashing through undead as he went.

He quickly lept over two bonewalkers chewing on a legionarre and ran through the arena gates.

"Ray?! Ray?!" He shouted looking for her.

Daedalus lay on his back in a dream-like daze. His mind wandered to his childhood in High Rock, but as he slowly regained consciousness, Daedalus was thrown back into the harsh reality around him. He opened his eyes and saw the first morning light mixing with the smoke creating a cloud of bloody carnage that accurately described the last hours of the Imperial city.

A metal clad hand pulled him upward into the face of an ugly veteran legionnaire. His breath didn't smell as rancid as the undead, but it was certainly close.

"Get up you lazy bastard!" the legionnaire spat into his face. "we're leaving."

Daedalus scanned the rag tag group of survivors until his eyes fell upon Varth. As they were being hustled out of the city Daedalus shambled over to the young mer, they exchanged glances but moved in silence. Daedalus began pondering the last couple of hours with disbelief. Their grand tale of escape seemed like the old books of heroes in far off lands and lost times. truth be told, If someone had informed the Breton of what had taken place, Daedalus would have scoffed.

But he wasnt scoffing now, and he didn't feel like a hero. in fact he felt like he needed to expel the contents of his stomach. His liquidy vomit reminded Daedalus that he hadn't eaten for a good 12 hours, despite this eating was the last thing on his mind.

when the group reached the main gate Daedalus made one last glance at the city. It could very well be Molag Bal's realm from the looks of it. smoke rose and coagulated in the sky as the once great bastion of a powerful and long ruling empire crumbled. A thought passes through the Breton's mind. The Empire has fallen.

Daedalus gasped at the sight that awaited him on the other side of the gate.