Krom Grimblade, The Farmhouse


Staring at the older Nord, Krom was actually caught off guard by his question on the origins of his axe. Not even aware why he found himself answering the hunters question " I am Krom Grimblade my was crafted by my grandfather Roran Grimblade in the village of Dragon Wood located in the region it is named after" feeling no threat from the older Nord Krom lowered his axe in his left hand while reach over his shoulder and sliding Dragon's Fang out of its sheath. " Even if you do not know who made my axe this blade Dragon's Fang has been in my family since the beginning of my Blood line. It has always been wielded by a Grimblade and only one of my kin may use it" he told the Hunter. "So who are you to recognize the make of my weapon?" the Berserker asked the Newcomer.

Almost forgetting that he had been asked why he was here he finally could organize his thoughts enough to reply with the simple answer " We were sent here to investigate why no word has reached the village form the farm. As you can see something has happened here".

The Farm House

Davian stares down at the note as the other Nord approaches the door. The sound of the conversation can be heard throughout the seemingly deserted farmhouse. The Breton squints, now seeing that the letters are written in blood. Leaning his head over the note, he reads what is inscribed in the liquefied red letters:

You're Dead

Crossbow bolts came from the bookshelves, 10 of them to be exact. Five were headed over the note, where Davian stood. The other 5 were aimed slightly behind Davian, at the others. Luckily, the Breton would likely be prepared because he knew this would be a trap. However, this would in likelihood not stop him from getting hit and possibly injured in at least one area. He had no clue of how aware the others were.

Three Nordic men approached from the back of the farmhouse. Two wore tattered and bloody fur armor, holding small blades in their hands. The other, obviously the leader, was clothed in steel, bearing a helmet that looked scaly, imitating that of a dragon's head. The three men rushed at the group, two on the flank and one in the center...straight at Davian. They would have to put up a fight if they wanted to survive.

Wulfgar nodded at the remark that something had happened there, and in recognition at the name. "I lived in a villiage further within the dragon wood, and i have seen that weapon when i was a boy in the hands of your father i am guessing." The slayer replied to the other man's question. However his other comments would have to wait as he heard the obvious sound of a projectile being used inside.

"Looks like we are to find out who is behind all this!" the nord added briefly as he moved inside to see what was going on inside the building. Just one look at one of the strange nord's heads made Wulfgar's eyes glare in hatred. But there was no time to ask questions and shout accusations, instead the slayer moved in as the three rushed the group using his shield to try and bash one of the Nords comming in on the flank of the rest of the group.

Tariq - Freaky Farmhouse

The faint smell of Nord that hung over this farm was quickly proven genuine and not some pollution produced by the Nords in the party. Tariq was at the far other end of the farm house opposite Davian and his note and had been previously rummaging through the drawers until a swishing sound made him spin around facing a crossbow bolt coming his way, instinctively the Khajiit raised his hands as if to cover his face, but the motion caused the bolt to stop in mid-air hovering a few paces in front of him. Watching the three nords rushing the Breton Tariq fired the bolt back to the assailants only then to draw own bow nocking an arrow into the string the pulled the projectile back with the string a faint crackling noise could be heard from the arrow blue-purple sparks shooting out of it; the whole arrow was surging with electricity aiming towards the nord to the far left of Davian, the Witchhunter let the arrow fly but quickly nocked another as soon as the first projectile had left the bow.

Davian Hawkstar - Kicking Ass at the Farmhouse

Glad he kept his head down when reading the note, Davian Hawkstar was nearly deafened as a crossbow bolt impacted with his helm and another flew overhead. He closed he eyes reflexively as the splintered wood harmlessly brushed against his face. Good steel plating certainly paid off, his pauldrons and shield shattering two or three of the bolts. "Haha! About time the fun begins," he shouted enthusiastically, spinning toward the brigands while the fifth grazed across his back, harmlessly deflected by the mithral links but still embedding itself in the far wall at an odd angle. Hopefully, Tariq had enough sense to stay clear of the entrance... he did remind the others to stand guard outside, right?

"C'mon, feed yourself to the Tiger of Daggerfall!" he smiled in anticipation as the Nords charged toward him. Raising his shield up, the three short spines along its spine pointed at the leader, rasing and hurling his elven-craft waraxe in a deft, unconventional haft-over-head underhand throw. The perfect balance and his reflexive aim were true, guiding the axe toward the right-most Nord's chest. It didn't spin in the air, nor roll over itself, keeping the deadly, absurdly-sharp axe-edge toward the furred chestplate. It certainly wouldn't kill the Nord, despite its ability to punch through most ill-cured hides, but it would certainly throw off his momentum. He almost missed seeing Tariq's arrow fly past.

His silver shortsword was practically already in his hand, drawn in the same recovering motion he hurled his axe and held level with his ear and pointed at the leader as he seemed to await impact, the weight of his body on his backward-extended left foot. He'd wait for the Nords' mass-momentum charge to be just five feet - Less than three steps - away from him, before he hurled his right leg around his left, away from the table and back three feet, momentum and lost distance granting him a reflexive double-step to hurl his left foot around and forward and almost invisibly recover the lost distance, placing himself a full foot to the left side of the leader, and his short sword's tip extended at most an inch or two in front of where he timed the left-guard's throat to be: far closer than the initial backstep of his spin would allow the Nord to expect. His quick slash, backed by the momentum of his spinning body, to get it in such position would correct the problem if he underestimated their speed, or overestimated his second step forward. Otherwise, momentum should finish the job just fine.

All about timing and precise footwork. And rushes don't work so well against a smaller force!

Unfortunately for Davian, as brutally lethal as his maneuvrer was, it left him in an un-optimal position. His shield was no longer toward the mass of Nords, and such a swift spin, despite its lethal surprise, required Hawkstar to hold the position just a moment after the expected time to impale the Nord's throat to clear his disorientation. With his right arm extended, yet left foot leading, he was also slightly off-balance, and presented his back to the leader, who had passed him. Again, Hawkstar hoped his trust in Tariq to cover him was well-placed. C'mon Tariq, help me flank this guy, he thought wishfully to himself.

Krom Grimblade, the Farmhouse

Fury burned up inside of him like a great fire. As Wulfgar rushed past and into the house Krom put the Dragon's Fang back in its sheath. Pulling out his wickedly sharp silver battle axe he he let out a roar of pure anger. Stepping into the the Farmhouse once more he only had a moment to take it all in noticing Davian's had exposed his flank to the leader, Krom allowed his Berserker fury to take over. Bellowing a challenge to the Leader Krom charged him without a second thought.

Rushing the steel clad leader Axe leading Krom fought purely on the offensive. Swing his axe one handed he swung over and over again chopping down at the bandit. Roaring in fury the whole time Krom kept pace with the Bandit leader. Never giving him a chance to attack. The bandit that Wulfgar had knocked aside with a powerfull bash from his shield stumbled infront of Krom. With a great show of strength Krom punched the bandit with his free hand sending him flying back toward Wulfgar in a daze.

In the few seconds it had taken to punch the bandit the leader had prepared himself for the Berserker next charge. They met each other swinging their weapons swinging. The leader slashed at Krom with a long dagger just barely missing his face but in the process he had opened himself to the full might of the swing from Krom's axe. The axe's blade cut deeply into the side of the leader screaming in pain he stumbled back trying to flee but already he was slowing down from loss of blood. Pale and shaking from blood loss the Bandit Leader spat at Krom.

Fury surged up within the Berserker even greater now with a roar of fury he threw himself forward at the leader axe leading the way all but forgeting the other bandits in the room.

Xerca Valeci - The pub!

"Shut it Jarn." Xerca stated angrily, he spat the nord an angry stare. Jarn was obviously hung over, a fact that Xerca didn't like. He didn't like it when the people under his command weren't fully focused. "In your current state Jarn, I doubt you'd do much better than him. I want you to be in fit fighting form from now on, you hear? Anymore of this hangover nonsense and I'm leaving you behind. Better to not have to worry about you then you getting us all killed." He continued to stare at Jarn, he was scared of the great ogre, but he figured if he came close, he could spark him with a paralyse spell.

He turned his attention back to the noble. "We will do what it is we're here to do. And that is to kill dragons." He shivered slightly, they were beginning to get on his nerves. Was he really in a group of children? Noticing that he was abnormally angry, Xerca calmed himself. He stretched his leg muscles and massaged his neck. The cold was starting to get the better of him. "Come on, let's go." He added, quickening his pace.

Wulfgar Feyn, Ambushed Farmhouse

As Krom knocked the other Nord back towards Wulfgar, the slayer's axe was already at the position he needed it to be. Swinging in an upward motion, the axe dug into the fur armour of its target, and the momentum of his target caused the Nord to lifted a little from the ground, and ending in him slamming head first into the wall. The saxe used to attack the man was still embeded into him as he landed, making the slayer instead reach for his sword.. After all he had seen other Nords in the past still fight even in the most severe of situations that would otherwise leave someone smaller unable to continue.

Wulfgar did not want to kill any of the men at the moment, even if the situation was life threatening., as he needed to find out a little more.. He had once heard of men doing the bidding of dragons, and also came into contact with some of the mentally unstable claiming that the Dragons were the new entities, more so than any of the divines of princes.

Glancing over his shoulder, the Slayer noticied who else was in the room with them, and saw a breton and a khajiit who obviosuly were on their side, as they were attacking the other Nords as well. Wulfgar just hoped these men would tell the difference between him and the enemy they were attacking.

Senes Varvun, Charred Clearing

Snes listened quietly to Draythan's plan with his arms crossed, frowning. He found the plan practical and likely the only way the group could all get out alive, but it seemed to only involve running away on the group's part, and banked on a couple of big question marks. For instance, assuming the dragon would follow them; assuming the wind in the valley today would be strong enough to force the dragon to land; asuming that the dragon would break the ice. Those were big assumptions to make.

Senes paced back and forth for a moment, then turned to Draythan and said, "How sure are you of this plan's odds of success?" He began absent mindedly swinging his flail in a small circle as he paced, eager to face this dragon in combat.

Drathyn, Charred Clearing

"How sure are you of this plan's odds of success?" said Senes as he paced around the small clearing.

Drathyn turned to face Senes, "I do not know, many things could go wrong." he said as he brushed a loose piece of hair from his eyes. "It is best if we make a back up plan also." Drathyn stood in silent contemplation for a moment. "A blind dragon is a weak dragon" he said grinning and tapping the quiver of arrows that hung from his belt. "I can hit a bears heart from 50 paces every single time. I could try and blind the dragon, making it vulnerable."

OOC: not feeling much inspiration, sorry if it svcks.