OOC: Damned double posts!

Karzon dropped to the ground and rran to the other prisoners. Keys in hand he unshackled them in turn "Now lets go!" He ordered them before unlocking the late comers own shackles. "Either run with us or run on your own. But we all are heading to the Imperial city." He seemed to be able to tell this..hybrid elf thing was a rebel of somekind but that was perhaps a simple asumption. Flipping his hood up Karzon headed into the Fort itself, aiming to rob the Thalmor and set fire to thier stored supplies.

Illana the Huntress and Lycus Desselius. 10th of Second Seed, 4E 174.
Fort Homestead-Cyrodiil.

Everything transpired in a blur of motion. Prisoners began their attack, already managing to dispatch more than a single Thalmor soldier. Things were starting to look up, but it was only a matter of time before the captives begin to drop dead. The old man shouted to everyone:

"Alright boys, you know what to do. Stay close, stay hidden, and don't let those bastards catch you!"

Lycus watched intently as the bosmer ran toward his opponents, striking one with the elbow before landing a second blow on his stomach. More guards came into the scene, and the wood elf held his chains high, giving yet another command, but this time it was toward the orc.

"Orc, go! My squad goes on, take yours down!" A couple of high elves stepped in, their swords held up for an attack.

That's our cue, she thought to herself. She dashed off with the power of a sprinter, her nimble feet carrying her toward the entrance of the fort's interior. While the guards had their eyes set on the bosmer and the rest, she caught glimspe of the Dunmer prisoner sitting on the ground, a blue haze filling the air close to where he was. It did not take a genius to figure out he was summoning a creautre from one of the Realms of Oblivion. The creature itself could of been one of the strangest Daedra she or Lycus had ever witnessed. A sinewy bipedal monstrosity with a knack for bloodshed.

The beast looks formidable, Lycus realized as he got to his feet.

Illana caught a brief moment where the Dunmer unleashed his spell toward a group of Thalmor agents, before she ran for the fort itself. Then she heard a voice cry out to her.

"Eh there, if you set me free, I can help. I'm a warrior, mah sword an' armor were locked up in tha' keep. Undo my binds, and ah'll reek ungodly vengeance on these bastards."

Illana hissed in frustration. She had no time to help anybody. Survival of the fittest meant just that, the fit would survive.

"May the Father of the Hunt watch over us this night." he then said softly, rising to his feet soon after. "My binds, if you'll have me."

But then again, he could be useful to her. And she heard him honor the name of Hircine...perhaps...she could help him indirectly. She considered her options quickly, her eyes scanning the camp which now was made into a battlefield. Magic, summoned Daedra and swords, it was necessary as a distraction. She looked at the dead Thalmors and then to her brother.

"Lycus! Retrieve the keys from the bodies and free the man." It was a subtle shout, enough for her brother to hear, but low enough so that she would not raise the attention of the others. Absent more words, she retrieated into the fort's dark interior.

Lycus nodded toward his sister before she vanished. He quickly dived into the fray, colliding with the dead Thalmor. He began to search for the body with his fumbling fingers, desperatly looking for the key to the lock. And as by blessing, he finally discovered it hanging in the left side of him. He yanked the key away and approached the hybrid man, quickly setting the keys on the locks and finally releasing the man after cranking it a few times. The lock opened and the man was free.

"There," Lycus said to him "Now go!"

Using the keys, Lycus began to unlock his own bracers, his eyes darting around for any potential dangers or intruding enemies. He looked toward the fort's dark doors and saw that Illana had already went inside. Please, don't get killed.

****

Illana left the door open behind her, she was confident the orc would follower her within. She knew she had told him that she would followed, but the moment had taken hold and she was eager to get in and get out. The huntress entered the fort, her golden eyes adjusting to the darkness. The light flickering off of the torches on the sides of the corridor, giving it a feral glow. She kept her steps silent, she wanted to catch her enemies by surprise.

But as much as she wanted that, she heard boots rushing from within the dark corners towards her position. Did they hear her? No, impossible. They heard the commotion outside, perhaps. She quickly hid herself in a corner on the wall, her back to the cold stone bricks. Her ears perked up at the sound of rushing feet. Two steps, three steps, four steps. The sound of the traverse between corners told her enough that she faced a couple. Four feet in total, two Thalmor soldiers.

Illana felt completely nvde without her weapons, but she wasn't necessarily vulnerable without them. There were various manners to take away a life without the use of spells or weapons. Her father and mother taught her that. All that was required was the efficiency and strength of the attack, it would be enough to ensure a brief victory.

Closer...Closer. Now! She emerged from the hiding place, immediately falling down on the Thalmor like an enraged beast, moving so fast that she was nothing but a lithe blur. The first Thalmor had on a full body armor, but was without helmet, giving her the advantage. She leapt in front of him before he could make a move of his own, her elbows tucked back to her, behind her sides for a momentary charge. And then both clenched hands flew toward the Thalmor's esophagus and jugular, her punch frequency, technique and location more than enough to land a killing blow. Left fist striking the neck, then the right fist, then the left fist once more. Each time, her punches where maximized and delivered with malice. The force of the repeated blows caused his trachea to collapse. As he fell to his knees, choking and suffocating in its death throes, the second Thalmor, a high elf woman, reached for her weapon.

Illana clenched her fist and struck with her elbow, the bony tip striking her against the right side of the face. Before another movement, Illana brought back the same elbow and jabbed the soldier once more, causing her to stumbled back onto the ground, her brain leaving her dazed and trying to recover. To her disadvantage, her back was pointed toward the Imperial prisoner, who unleashed her anger at the downed adversary. Illana tangled her forearm around the soldier's neck in a choke hold, held her other bloody palm against the enemies’ chin, and distorting the head to the side, breaking her neck. The audible crack filled the dark corridors, joining in with the subtle choking of the other victim.

The lethal huntress raised her leg backwards toward the gurgling Thalmor and delivered a final kick to his face. Even if it was not fatal, it caused her adrenaline to excel beyond imagining. She pulled the elven sword from the fallen Thalmor's sheath and held it with a tight grib, her other hand grabbing the man's hair and yanking it so that his injured neck was exposed. She aimed the blade at his neck, to slay the pitiful creature, but to her disdain, he already perished from the lack of oxygen. She left out a frustrated hiss and spat at the dead corspe below her feet. She looked behind her to see if the Orc was keeping up, they needed to get a move on and she was eager to get her things back.

Isabelle Paige Courtessèu.
10th of Second Seed, 4E 174.
Fort Homestead-Cyrodiil.

Paige watched on eagerly as the Cathay-Raht proceeded to unlock some of the other prisoners binds. Paige wasn’t too fussed about whether or not hers were unlocked by the feline. Although she probably would have liked them removed for comforts sake, she wasn’t bothered enough to risk the groups safety, especially as she was so useless in the current situation anyway. Paige could understand why, unlike herself, these prisoners had been captured. Most of them possessed desirable and dangerous skills, something Paige lacked entirely. It just seemed as though they had captured her for the sake of it and that she’d ended up in the middle of a battle that was far from dependent on her involvement.

Still she watched as the company followed their roughly drafted plan, the Khajiit moving around the more useful prisoners and un-cuffing them before being interrupted by screams and shouts from inside the fort.

"You bastards! Get yer hands off me ya filthy kin-slayer! Talos gave you a place in this Empire, and it shall be his again, the Day of Reckoning will come and Ysmir's blood will course through Tamriel's Kings once more!"

Exiting the keep was, well Paige didn’t know what he was. ’A man? No… A mer? No… Maybe some sort of mixture between the two?’ Paige was confused and somewhat astounded as the obvious prisoner was dragged from within the keep and through the gates, to the courtyard where the rest sat. Paige could only begin to wonder what had made him so special, that the Altmer had kept him inside the fort but for the most part she wasn’t too keen to know.

"Evenin', names' Fithvael. Fithvael Hlaalu-Rikkhavanskyrr, Galloglaiche of Skyrim."

Paige had to stifle a small giggle as the man introduced himself, almost tempted to ask him, to repeat himself for comedic value. What a strange fellow he was turning out to be, but at least it lightened the mood and Paige found herself smiling despite the current state of affairs.

Paige was still smiling to herself over the introduction of this new character to the group, when the plan began to unfold. Paige could no longer see the Khajiit anywhere and assumed he had now removed all of the binds that needed doing and she watched on as the Orc began to cast his spells, causing Paige to feel somewhat invigorated and relieved of her previous condition almost immediately.

"I'm going for the inside of the fort, whoever has belongings speak now or come with me!"

The Orc offered those who needed to, to go with him and collect their belongings. Paige had no belongings to collect of her own but didn’t want to be left behind, exposed to the Thalmor and began to get up from off the ground.

"Hey! Prisoner, stop that!"

Paige, unable to notice who had spoken so sharply, immediately assumed that they were addressing her, and promptly sat back down on the grass, afraid that she had been noticed trying to move. Panicking, she turned to see who had commanded her to stop moving. To her relief it was the Bosmer that was being told to stop by three approaching guards. Paige winced, as before she could understand what was happening, the Bosmer was upon them, unleashing his pent up fury onto the first Thalmor face he could find, taking no time at all to dispatch the first of the trio.

"Orc, go! My squad goes on, take yours down!"
The Bosmer fiercely addressed the Orc with barked commands. Paige assumed he had led before, for the Bosmer certainly seemed to know what he was doing. Unsure of which ‘squad’ she belonged to, she wasted no time in getting up from the prison camp floor and rushing to the side of the Orc who promised to lead the group further into the fort and away from the current bloodshed that Paige desperately tried to avoid. The Imperial man that she had earlier spoken to, Lycus was unlocking the shackles of the hybrid man as Paige reached his side. In desperation and somewhat obvious panic Paige grasped his right arm, and clung to it as if her life depended on it. Hoping, praying, that he would help her to escape with the rest of the prisoners and see another day.

“Help…” She whispered, barely loud enough for him or the nearby ally to hear.

Ermac - Inside the Fort

Before the orc could even make it inside, he watched as the fair-skinned, golden haired woman raced past him, a fierce look in her eyes. She was hungry for bloodshed, for payback. And who was Ermac to deny her? Even though they beat him and demoralized his body, they didn't shatter his spirit, nor did they kindle any fires of rebellion, as Ermac was an old man now, far too old for petty squabbling, or "revenge". His Orsimer begged for bloodshed, to be unleashed in full force, but those were his old days, before he was enlightened with wisdom and intelligence and inner peace. But he stopped his rambling, because there were, of course, dangers still about, and things to retrieve.

He entered the bowels of the fort, making his way though a corridor until he encountered a bend in which he heard noise. Footsteps. He stayed back, preparing to conjure some kind of spell once they rounded their corne, but the woman in front of him jumped to the offensive, in a more literal sense then figurative. She made short, sloppy, and spiteful work of the two Thalmor that were there. Rendering the orc yet still to encounter an enemy face-to-face. Ermac didn't mind though, the more he killed, the more he would want to . . .

He reminded himself yet again what his goal was, to retrieve his sacred staff. So he went down and grabbed the elven sword at one of the dead guard's waist as well as the scabbard and tied it to his own rags. He looked back for signs of any followers, and thought he could hear more footsteps coming from the outside. Now would be a good time to start his detect life spell. Within seconds, he felt his eyes surge with the magic, as a purple aura identified those who were living. There were at least three ahead of them that would have to be dispatched, and when he scanned behind him again, thought he cold pick up the faintest of aura's, but he wasn't sure.

Hopefully its someone who has our back...

"We have to keep moving," he uttered quietly, before heading further into the catacombs. "My spell tells me that there are three more guards within the next thirty meters, so be on guard, and try not to be too bloody, I don't want blood in my eye this time."

Karzon had been sneaking into the Fort by now, leaving the other people to their own devices as he now worked to get out. With all this commotion escaping through the 'front door' was highly unlikely. It could be done in theory but with his mental calculations it would be highly improbable without being detected so he went into the fort figuring that as with most others he had encountered would have a tertiery entrance. He could see the orc up ahead and Illana killing a few Elves, he was starting to like what he saw, reading her movements, her unspoken words there seemed to be a level of brutality within them. Uncaring with how the life was taken she just did it, quick, brutal and efficient. He shook his head and continued down the narrow hall when he heard the orc speak up about his spell informing him of some guards thirty odd meters infront of them. He frowned slightly knowing detect life allowed one to 'see' where they were almost exactly. Maybe not in terms of measurements but be able mto percieve other living beings through solid objects to a certain range.

He cloaked himself in invisibility and rushed ahead of the two, Illana may have felt him weave around them as his tail brushed against her. Moving ahead he spied three said guards coming down the hall in the open part of the fort near the door that lead to the Homestead Passageways. He ducked into the corner where it was darkest when his invisibility dropped, one Altmer guard suddenly looking in his direction as he made a small noise. Their eyes locked for what seemed like an eternity, truthfully it seemed more like a few seconds. Karzon's eyes flashed briefly as he uttered an illusion spell of domination, whispering a word into the wind Kill them... An odd sight seemed to unfold as the now mentally dominated guard turned and drew his sword and promptly rammed it through his comrades throat from behind. The other altmer turned "What the hell are you-" he was cut off as a blade impaled itself in his chest, dropping his own weapon with a clang onto the floor. Karzon stepped out of the shadow, eyes constantly locked on the elf now as he stood there "Good little elf.." he said mockingly, patting the dominated elf on the head as if it was some pet. "Now.. how about telling me how to get out of here... I'm sure there is a back entrance to all this hm?" he asked, the elf nodding "Yes sir.." he responded in a monotonous manner. "Down in the lowest level that they call Heros hall is a small cave built into the back that leads to an opening just on the Rumare.. we use it for covert scouts.." a grin formed on Karzons face, turning for a moment as he looked down the hall. Checking to see if any guards had come which thankfully none had seem to yet. Though the magic was wearing off now as the elf began to shake his head "The.." he was cut off with a solid punch right to the face, knocking him cold out and into a puddle of the blood on the ground. Karzon picked up an elven sword, checking its weight before tossing it away Terrible craftsmanship.." he muttered.

Illana the Huntress. 10th of Second Seed, 4E 174. Fort Homestead-Cyrodiil.

Illana stood by and watched as the Orc entered the fort, she did not watch his expression as he approached the bodies. She leaned on the wall and crossed her arms casually as he took away the elven blade and took posession of the scabbard, trying it to himself. The old orc seemed to have a calm aura to him, a lack of desire for bloodshed. He was perhaps one of those old men who grew tired of wielding a sword or an axe for the sake of it. In a way, she understood it. But she was too young to be worrying about the misuse of the blade. If it promoted her well-being, then so be it. She took herself off of the conforable position on the wall, looking at the Orc as then spoke to her, stating the obvious that they had to keep moving. His eyes glowed a bit with magic, telling her he was probably using a spell to see in the dark, but her speculation was wrong by his next words. He added what she already figured, that they were enemies, three to be precise, within the next thirty meters. Yeah, I know, she told herself, I can smell their sweat a mile away. His words of caution caused her to scoff and roll her eyes to the side. Try not to be bloody? I don't want blood on my eye? She sighed, her nose crinkling with scorn.

"Well, you're in luck. You are obviously older than I am. Lead the way and you may be able to avoid the bloody sprays."

And maybe you can step into a trap for me and save my skin, she added to the thoughts. She walked on, but something strange caught her attention, something odd. Her ears perked up and she slightly moved her arm as if something moved past her. She felt a furry tail sweep past her leg. Damn, the cat! She continued forth, but was slower than the Orc. He had detection abilities which could save her own skin in the process. So she allowed him to go first. As she went, she heard a cry of surprise, cut down by silence. "What the hell are you-" What is happening now? Did that feline kill another one? The smell of blood was fresh upon her nostrils, which told her that another Thalmor was killed. I don't get enough for this...hell, I'm not even being paid at all.

Lycus Desselius, 10th of Second Seed, 4E 174. Fort Homestead-Cyrodiil.

Lycus was able to free himself using the key of a fallen Thalmor. He retrieved the elven blade from him, holding the weapon in his hands. One hand was open for a melee attack, the other was ready to impale any enemies. I need to escape, Lycus remebered the plan the old man had told them. Rushing to Lycus' side, was a very familiar face; Paige, the young Breton girl he spoke to earlier.

“Help..." whispered hoarsely, her voice colored with dread and fear. He felt a warm touch grab hold of his right arm, a clinging that told him many things. Out of all things he imagined happening, this was the least of them. He looked to his side, seeing the frightened young Breton girl watch the bloodshed around her. He wasn't too happy of the position he was placed in, he was hardly a protector or a guardian. I would do more harm to her than I would do good, Lycus reflected. But in truth, he saw enough death to understand the value of life. As did his father and all before him.

Lycus backed away from the man he released, getting closer to a wall. He gripped Paige's shoulder with his hands, gently adding a strong shake, squeezing it slightly. His hazel eyes having a understanding feel to them. But his voice betrayed his expression, it was a tone of urgency. I can do nothing to put an end to this massacre, he thought. It will be a miracle if Paige alone survives…

"Paige, you must listen to me," he began, eyes searching hers, reciting words spoken to him at a young age. "Commit yourself to the prospect of life. Do not let up. Do not stop and think, not now. Do whatever you must to ensure survival." he said to her, before releasing his grip on her shoulders. "If you can keep up, then follow my lead. Make use of whatever skills you possess along the way." he said without looking back as he ran toward the fort entrance.

He knew the Orc and his sister went inside. There was no doubt the Orc had skills of his own. If he was old, he lived enough to fight his own battles and lived to tell of it. He was good in combat, it seemed. Illana was young, yes, but she acquired a method of skill throughout the years. She never backed down from a battle and did not see life as Lycus did....she was relentless when it came to everyone. No doubt, she must of killed a person already. It would be a safe bet to enter the fort by now. Now for his own safety, but for Paige.

He stopped and looked at the other man, the hybrid individual of sorts; Filth-Abel? Flea-babel? Fithvael! No matter. He was tall, athletic and he was undoubtedly part nord due to his tattoos. And had the warrior feel to him, telling Lycus he can hold himself in a fight. At this moment, Lycus knew he had skill with the shield, sword and spear, but he was not seasoned as the Thalmor soldiers were. They were older and sometimes even centuries older than he was. He would need more practice and training before he jumped into the fray of battle. All that mattered to him was escaping to fight another day, to laugh and smile another day...to live for another day. I cannot allow my ego to destroy me, I will need help in this predicament.

"You! Come with us!" Lycus called out to Fithvael. He wasn't sure if the man would comply or not, but he wasn't going to wait and find out.

Lycus sprinted with amazing speed, hurrying toward the fort. The plan was to fight outside and escape, but unfortunate events led to his particular choice. I shouldn't even be helping this girl...she's too weak. Lycus thought, but in my book, she deserves to live. He hasn't seen her fight before and he doesn't know what her skills are, she wasn't showing any knack for battle. I hope she proves me wrong.

Fithvael, Fort Homestead, Cyrodiil



Before he knew it, the shackles that bound Fithvael's clenched fists fell to the ground with metallic clang on the stone. The man then undid his own shackles and took off to the keep, Fithvael not following at first, he had to find a weapon, quickly. The sound of the fighting, the sight of the old Bosmer giving the Thalmor absolute hell, Galloglaiche blood began to boil. Fithvael's bright orange eyes turned a misty red, he spotted a Thalmor guard come through a tower door and into the courtyard, his sword still sheathed. Fithvael then noticed the dead Thalmor that lay just behind him, barely concealed by the shadows the moon cast over the fort.

The mutt of a Mer grabbed the Elven sword and took off full sprint towards the Altmer, now noticing Fithvael's charge, his heavily tattooed body, warhawk ((mowhawk)) and bright red eyes making him appear like a Xivilai of Oblivion. Only a few feet from his Altmer foe, Fithvael dove into a roll as the Thalmor swung his sword high. Rolling under the swing, Fithvael used the momentum of it to his advantage, standing and kicking off the wall with his left foot. The Thalmor guard saw the bloody sword protruding from his midsection, a savage twist and his vision went black.

His blood-lust sated for only a bit, Fithvael looked to the keep where the Imperial man, Lycus, was speaking to a very frightened Breton girl. The same who had giggled when he spoke his full name.

"You! Come with us!" The man shouted, Fithvael obliged, racing to the gates of the keep. Bounding up the stone steps, he retrieved the mace of another fallen Thalmor, holding it in his left hand. Just in time, as another guard set himself on Fithvael. "Ah've no time fer yah, damnit!" The hybrid Mer bellowed, parrying a thrust, side-stepping to the right, and crashing the mace into the elf's head. Blood spattered on the torch-lit steps, Fithvael paying no heed as he raced through the heavy oaken doors.

He caught up to Lycus and the Breton girl, "Scuse' me, girl?" Fithvael said in a soft voice, he could practically smell the fear this girl was feeling. "Mah name is Fithvael ((Fith-vul)), you remember?"

The mer looked at Lycus, "Go on ahead, catch up with yer sis'. Tell 'er that I'll be there, and if ya'll find a pompous Justiciar... He's mine." Fithvael told him, it was an almost commanding tone, but it was the tone of 'it has to be done'.

Turning back towards the Breton, he continued, "Ah'm a Galloglaiche, we defend and protect. Ah will protect yeh, no matter what. My word is bond." The sound of fighting outside grew and Fithvael then said with a hasty tone, "Okay, time tah start fulfillin' me oath! Follow me." The old mer grabbed the Breton by the hand and began leading her down the narrow and darkened corridors.

"By the way, lass. Ah never got yer name?" He asked, trying his best to keep her calm. Who knows if they would live through this... No! I will, we will. We'll all be free o' these bastards. The words in Fithvael's head rang out, they would make it to the Imperial City. But that wouldn't be enough, not against the Dominion. Escape is just the beginning, Fithvael mused.

Tyranus Florentius

Ty had watched as the others had initiated their escape plan. The Khajiit drew first blood, and then the rest started dropping their cuffs and springing into action. The young Imperial sat and watched as the fighters of the group went about their part of the escape. He wanted to jump in, to aid the others fighting against their captors, but he had no weapon, and his hands were bound. And so he sat there, feeling like a coward, trying to avoid looking like a participant in this escape until he could make his move. Ty had a sick feeling in his stomach, probably from seeing all the death in front of him, atlhough he didn't want to admit it to himself. He was staying still, and although he was indeed scared, he was not looking to simply preserve himself. Tyranus was hoping to help his fellow prisoners out, and prove himself useful. 'I may not be able to fight, but I have to do something.'

Ty waited until a girl around his age started moving, albeit clinging to another man. 'Alright, ladies first applied, but now here I go.' With that, Tyranus stood and made a break for a Thalmor guard's body, the one that the Imperial man had taken the keys from. The mer's eyes were still open, glassy and still in death, but Ty recognized him as the guard, Aurelius, that had given him his black eye and bruised collar. He found it hard to hate the man in death; he could no longer do him any harm. The young Imperial swallowed deeply, trying to ease himself. He couldn't afford to be distracted. He fought the feeling in his chest and squatted next to the body, keeping his eyes away from the guard's face. Ty used his cuffed hands to wrest a small elven dagger from his belt, feeling better having some sort of defense. The Colovian had seen dead animals before, and he had even seen dead bandits from a distance. However being up close to a recently dead person for the first time was a rattling experience, especially since the young man himself had been wishing for this.

He fought a studder and stood, again surveying his surroundings. The Dunmer from his group was mowing down guards with his summoned monster, along with a staff he conjured out of mid-air when he turned. “We need to get out, now! There’s too many!” he shouted as his eyes seemed to search for an exit.

"Over here!" Ty yelled, beckoning with his arms toward the dungeon door, still hanging ajar. "Come on, both of you! We need to get out of here!" Both elves were part of his group, and he planned on sticking with them as ordered. That was what had kept him from joining the others in their run into the fort, he wasn't going to abandon his comrades in arms. Holding the dagger pointing downwards, Ty started towards the pair of elves, hoping to stick close and at least aid them in finding the escape route.

He drew closer, ignoring the sick feeling in his stomach, and eventually came within speaking distance of the Dunmer. "Hey, we have to head that way, through the dungeon," said Tyranus, turning and pointing "More Thalmor are going to be on the way, and we need to put as much distance between us as possible." The young man turned back around to face the mer, hoping he didn't look as shaken as he felt. His gaze fell on the Bosmer nearby and shouted "That goes for you too!! This way!" With that Ty started towards the door, hoping the others were on his tail. 'I'm gonna need to stick with you guys if I'm not gonna end up run through...' Ty thought as he made his way towards the dungeon.

Varthlokkur, Fort Homestead, Cyrodiil


Pain blossomed in Varthlokkur’s midsection ever so slightly as the Moonstone blade slide across his chest, leaving a light scratch in its wake. If he had been any closer, the attack would have killed him, but instead it left a shallow cut and a torn shirt. Varth stepped closer, whipping his staff of visible darkness upwards, impacting into the Altmer’s hands, knocking the weapon from his hand, and using the momentum of the attack to deliver a blow to the mer’s helmet.

The Thalmor lost balance and fell to the ground as Varth’s ears picked up the young man’s voice. “Over here! Come on, both of you! We need to get out of here!”

Varth looked over his shoulder and spotted the young man, still bonded and standing near the door to the old fort’s interior, the place where the Dunmer was slowly backing towards. Come on, Varth! You need to get out, there will be time for blood later!

“Hey, we have to head that way, through the dungeon” said the teenage looking Colovian as Varth approached, breathing deeply. The Imperial looked very uncomfortable, which wasn’t surprising considering what was happening. “More Thalmor are going to be on the way, and we need to put as much distance between us as possible.”

“No kidding” said Varth as they scuttled into the fort, taking one fledging glance back at his summoned Deadra. It was on its last legs, slowly being torn apart by the Dominion soldiers. Once the beast fell, those Thalmor would be on their heels, along with the others out front. Too many to fight, hopefully there would be an escape route deeper in the facility.

“I'm gonna need to stick with you guys if I'm not gonna end up run through...” said the Imperial, sounding as though he might collapse any second.

“Stick with me, kid” said Varth, quickening his pace to a near run down the dark and dusty corridor, trying his best to ignore the pain that coated his body like paint. The Dunmer had a soft spot for the young and inexperienced sometimes, and the kid’s banter had entertained him well enough so far. “Just make sure you can keep up.”

Varth turned to the though looking Wood Elf who was just behind him. “Bosmer! Shut and lock the door if you can, then lets haul ass out of here!”

Fort Homestead, Cyrodiil - 10^th of Second Seed, 4E 174

Faendal's fists struck the Altmer on the side of his unarmored head, his manacles biting into the elf's temple. The guard dropped to the ground, dazed, while Faendal jumped back, narrowly avoiding another Thalmor's sword. The elf rushed in, bringing his blade up for another swing, but Faendal dipped past him, slamming his shoulder into the Altmer as he went. The guard faltered, overbalanced, and before he could stand Faendal was on him. He wrapped his chain around the Altmer's neck, iron digging deep into golden skin. After a few moments struggle, the elf went limp.

Faendal dropped his last victim, looking around for more soldiers. The Bosmer's thin face blazed with defiance, his eyes alive, pointed teeth gnashing. Faendal was no longer an elf. He was an animal, one of the creatures of Y'ffre. A creature made for only one thing: to kill. And the Thalmor had plenty of bodies to feed his bloodlust. The soldiers crowded around the door, swarming into the small fort with weapons raised. The camp had woken. The time for stealth was gone.

The Bosmer lowered his bloodstained hands, glancing at his fellow prisoners. His squadron. Most had gotten inside the fort- going through the door was no longer an option- while a few remained behind, helping him fight off the Thalmor. One of them, the Dunmer, had summoned some beast from Oblivion, and was making short work of the Altmer. Another, the hybrid creature that had just joined them, defended the last two prisoners by the door.

"Over here! Come on, both of you! We need to get out of here!" The skinny Breton shouted out to Faendal, huddling by the door with the woman. The old soldier still did not know any of their names.

The Bosmer only grunted, turning away from the man as another guard rushed towards him. Faendal pushed off the wall, rolling past his elven attacker, then springing to his feet. He brought his hands up just as the guard was turning around, scarred hands forming fists as he met the elf's eyes. Fury, fueled by hatred, shot back at him. The Altmer pounced, his sword cresting up towards Faendal's side. The Bosmer stepped back, still holding his fists up, chain vertical. The Altmer's sword swiped through the links of iron, breaking the chain, but sent Faendal lurching sideways. He fell to the dirt, hard. He felt something pop in his shoulder, but he ignored the flare of pain. The furious guard was already on top of him.

Faendal threw himself to the side, dodging the elf's sword as it bit into the earth. He rolled on his good shoulder, landing on his feet. One arm hung at his side as he turned to face the Altmer, but his other hand was up. As the elf charged forward again, Faendal angled past him, grabbing the guard's wrist with one hand. The soldier tried to bring his sword back around, but Faendal threw himself into the elf, one foot crashing into the guard's leg. Both elves went down in a heap. Faendal struggled to get on top of the elf, throwing wild punches with his good hand at the guard's face. Spittle flew from his lips as he beat the Altmer. He felt bones crunch beneath his blows. Blood flew from the elf's face, his cries turning to screams of pain as Faendal brought his fist down again and again. Then, finally, the Altmer went limp. Faendal fell beside him, breathing in gasps.

"This way!" Faendal barely heard the boy's shout. But some part of his mind- what wasn't screaming in pain or blood rage- knew he had to move. If he stayed there, he was dead. And he had worked too hard to die now. With a grunt of pain, the elf stood, grabbing a dagger from his dead foe's belt as he started for the door. As he moved, he noticed the old man, huddled against the fort's crumbling wall, eyes still twinkling as he watched the bloodshed. Somehow, he was smiling.

"Come on, bloody fool!" Faendal roared, shoving the dagger into his belt and grabbing the half starved lunatic as he ran for the door. His arm jolted each time he stepped, but he didn't have time to fix it now. He was the last one still fighting, and more Thalmor were pouring into the circular ruins. He put on a final burst of speed, half dragging the hermit behind him, and finally reached the door. The only one left was the Dunmer.

“Bosmer! Shut and lock the door if you can, then lets haul ass out of here!” The summoner disappeared into the darkness of the ruins, his Daedra the only thing that stood between the Altmer and Faendal's escape. The Bosmer flew through the doorway, the old man right behind him, and slammed the door shut. His breath came in ragged gasps, and blood streamed freely from his face and chest, but he had made it. He felt like he would collapse again, but that same grisly determination kept him on his feet. 'Run or die.'

"That's it," Faendal gasped to the Dunmer, "We've got to move." The Bosmer struggled forwards, straining to see in the dim light. His eyesight was nearly perfect, but the fight had left him weak. Black spots crept at the edge of his vision, and he could hear his heartbeat thumping in his ears. Yet still, he managed to move, half limping towards a crumbling block of stone that had fallen near the door. He glanced towards the others: three humans, the half bred elf, and the Dunmer summoner. "Help me move this. Then we run."



OOC: That should be everyone in the fort, including the crazy old man, so phase one of our escape is complete. Those of you already down there, go ahead and work on that exit, and we'll meet up with you in a moment. Everyone with me, let's go ahead and push that barricade in the way, then take off down the halls. The bloody work has already been done for us, so we should catch up to the others, if we just follow the trail of bodies.

Waylas


Waylas had barely even noticed that his bracers had come off. It only after he realized he could move his arms again that he had been freed from his shackles. The Redguard stared at his bare wrists and thought to himself 'Well I guess today might be my lucky day'. It was then that he noticed the widespread commotion as the prisoners began to attack their Thalmor captors. To him it almost appeared to be a repeat of what he had witnessed himself back at the Imperial prison not to long ago.

Of course Waylas knew that now wasn't the time to be taking any chances. He was going to make his escape and for good this time. Waylas quickly sprung up to his feet and began to run towards the entrance, but then suddenly stopped himself. He gazed up at the archers standing on the levels above with their arrows pointed down to the ground. 'No way can I just run out the front door and make it out alive at the same time'. Waylas looked around at the heavily armed guards around him. 'I'm only one man' he thought. 'There's no way I can take on all these guards by myself.

Waylas then turned around to the sound of an Imperial as he shouted "Over here!" beckoning to two separate elves as he led them towards a dungeon entrance. "Hey, we have to head that way, through the dungeon," the Imperial said. "More Thalmor are going to be on the way, and we need to put as much distance between us as possible."

Then facing a Bosmer elf he said "That goes for you too!! This way!". The group then began to make through towards the dungeon entrance. Now Waylas wasn't to excited by the idea of running through a dungeon full of who knows what, but really what choice did he have? He was all by himself here, he couldn't take on a bunch of Thalmor soldiers bare handed. It was time to hightail it out of there before it was to late.

A Dunmer then walked over to the rag-tag group of escapees and shouted to the Wood-Elf “Bosmer! Shut and lock the door if you can, then lets haul ass out of here!”

Waylas then ran over and approached them casually. "Mind if I tag along with you guys?" He said in his usual casual tone as the Bosmer slammed shut the door behind them.

Ermac - Inside Homestead

Although his detect life spell was weak, he was still able to just barely detect some form of the living behind the group. It was so faint that the slightest aversion from his focused gaze made him lose track of it as it sifted ahead. The fair-skinned girl he was with rebutted to his remark, saying that if he didn't like the bloodspray, then maybe he should take point. Ermac nodded ever so slightly and began to creep forward, gingerly because of his bad leg. He was an old man, and old men with bad knees shouldn't crouch. Soon though, before he'd even got within eyesight of the Thalmor, swords were drawn and bodies began to fall. It seemed someone was already doing their work for them. That cloud of purple from earlier must've been the Khajiit under the shroud of an invisibility spell.

"Clever cat," he whispered to himself aloud.

He knows more than how just to pick locks...

He pressed onward, around the corner the cat was interrogating a dazed elven swordsman, his eyes clouded red and obviously under the influence.

". . . level that they call Hero's Hall is a small cave built into the back that leads to an opening just on the Rumare. We use it for covert scouts."

The Cathay-Raht smiled at this, as it was obviously the details to the way out, and hopefully to their arms and armor. The elf was beginning to come back to reality, and was just starting a dazed sentence when he was thoroughly struck by the cat's right hand. It was time to move again, no use in wasting time. "Khajiit, what is your name? you never told it to us."

As he said this he began to walk ahead once more, heading down a small flight of stairs and down a corridor until he made it to double doors with more stairs. His spell was still in effect, and he could see that below them there were three more enemies running up the steps and five waiting at the door below them. Ermac took a deep breath, looking down at the group until the timing was perfect. He dropped down onto the top of the first guard and stabbed the second guard just behind his collarbone, the momentum and force of his wight and the fall sent the blade all the way down into the chest cavities, making it impractical to retrieve. The fall hurt his knee indefinitely, but he grunted through it, only slightly wincing. The confused elf under him likely couldn't breathe under his weight, and while standing on him, he reach for the second elf, grabbed his sword and stabbed upwards for his throat. The guard protected his neck by thrusting his hands down into the sword and pushing himself down the steps. Ermac made quick work with the one he had felled before traveling to the bottom of the flight and picking u the third guard. He turned him forcefully around and held him by his helm, also holding the sword at his neck. By now he saw every signature in the room ahead, and there were well more than five, so he would need the whole group for this.

"Come on, theres as many as ten of them in here! Ready yourselves, this will get ugly."

OOC: wheres Scow and Crimson? Maybe they can meet us around the back end, or try to actually go in the dungeon to meet up with this big group we are about to eliminate. And also, nows a time where everyone else can catch up.

Varthlokkur, Fort Homestead Interior, Cyrodiil


“That's it, we’ve got to move” gasped the Bosmer, who seemed to be on his last legs. “We've got to move. Help me move this. Then we run.”

The Dunmer nodded and they all pushed the large piece of stone in front of the door. “Lets get out of here” said Varth to no one in particular. “You said there was a way out through the bowels of this place, right?” he asked the young Imperial. “If so, let us not waste any time.”

“Mind if I join you guys?” asked an unfamiliar Redguard, one of the men who helped move the rubble.

Varth didn’t answer, but looked at the young Colovian expectantly, waiting for an answer.

Isabelle Paige Courtessèu.
10th of Second Seed, 4E 174.
Fort Homestead-Cyrodiil.

Lycus gripped Paige’s shoulders in a tight embrace, bringing her body closer to his, and trying to calm her fears. His brown eyes stared into hers as he began to speak.

"Paige, you must listen to me, commit yourself to the prospect of life. Do not let up. Do not stop and think, not now. Do whatever you must to ensure survival. If you can keep up, then follow my lead. Make use of whatever skills you possess along the way."

The Imperials voice trailed off as he let go of her arms and turned into the darkness of the shadowed halls, hopefully towards some sort of exit to end this nightmare. Paige was unsure what his words meant. Perhaps they were meant to be encouraging, to rear some unseen part of Paige that would reveal her to be at all competent, but Paige feared that his attempts to rally Paige to the fight were in vein. The idea of her keeping up with him as he ran off seemed silly and Paige had just about lost hope when the strange half-breed approached her.

"Scuse' me, girl?" Mah name is Fithvael, you remember?"

Now too scared to laugh at his unusual name, Paige just nodded. He spoke funny, Paige couldn’t understand why, but his pronunciation was appalling, though it probably wasn’t the time to address such matters. Paige could hear the noise outside, it was getting louder, and Fithvael knew it too.

"Ah'm a Galloglaiche, we defend and protect. Ah will protect yeh, no matter what. My word is bond."

Paige still had no idea what the man was talking about, barely even able to understand his accent, but she smiled anyway, his tone and the few words she could understand were comforting. Paige felt she could trust him as much as Lycus, if not more, since the Imperial had left her behind to play catch up with his sister so easily. The old man set off at the sound of battle drawing nearer before sparking up conversation with Paige.

"By the way, lass. Ah never got yer name?" Paige thought it was a funny time to be asking such casual questions, but it was best to answer, if not to keep her mind focussed on something other than the chasing pack of Altmer wanting to kill her, but instead out of politeness to her new ally.

“I’m Isabelle, but I prefer to be called by my middle name, Paige, if you don’t mind, sir.” She tried to be polite despite her fear, and her trademark grin appeared as she spoke, capturing the picture of innocence that was her face.

OOC: Not sure if Darkom has included Paige and Fithvael in the shifting of the rock? Let me know if you have, and I'll edit this post or write a new one - whatever seems adequate.

Karzon was quite happy with himself, the Orc had spoken to him and had used what they were called! Rather than just bluntly calling him 'cat' which to be fair was somewhat insulting on the level of people who disliked being called 'human' or 'pink monkey' or even on occasion 'furless Imga' as he had once called a rather hairy Nord. Didn't end well for the Nord but it was quite hilarious. He could hear the others back there, talking still which made him sigh, a follow p of rubble collapsing also followed suit which sounded as if they damaged the door arch way. Karzon looked to Ermac as the Orc headed down "Karzon." he said, peering down the stairs as the orc made quick work of the three elves that came up it. Not bad for an old fella, though Karzon crept down the stairs and pressed himself to the wall, the darkest point allowing him to blend more into the walls. The guards had readied themselves with what appeared to be one of their Leutenents in the back with a rather large elven Warhammer. Such elegant weapons that could take your head off with one good swing.

He counted them, indeed there was ten but he didn't see the need for the entire group to go in. The doorway was like a choke point, they come in and get insantly set on fire or electrocuted by the Altmer. Looking up he could see several wooden beams, though nothing he could jump and get ahold of and climb his way across, but.. discord from behind would be viable. All he had to do was get behind them, pillars marked each side of the room as supports for the upper level, smart design but also good for people not wanting to be seen. Backing up against the stairs he looked to Ermac "Ugly wouldn't be the term I'd use.. confusion more like it Orc." he said before shrouding himself in illusion magic, going into chameleon again and sneaking back down the stairs. Heading to the first pillar as quietly as he could he'd press to it, then duck to the next one making his way around until he was near the back of the room. As soon as they attacked from the front he'd attack from the behind.

Lycus Desselius and Illana the Huntress.
10th of Second Seed, 4E 174.
Fort Homestead-Cyrodiil.

Lycus Desselius and Illana the Huntress.
10th of Second Seed, 4E 174.
Fort Homestead-Cyrodiil.


As they ran, Lycus was intercepted by Fithvael. He showed a particular interest in Paige, and seemed he was sworn to protect those in need.


"Go on ahead, catch up with yer sis'. Tell 'er that I'll be there, and if ya'll find a pompous Justiciar... He's mine." Fithvael explained and commanded Lycus. The long-haired Imperial regarded him with a neutral stare, neither friendly nor foe. He simply nodded to the mer, briefly glancing at Paige to study her expression. Without saying any other words, he took himself further into the further, the Mer's words echoing behind him. "Ah'm a Galloglaiche, we defend and protect. Ah will protect yeh, no matter what. My word is bond."


Gallo...what? No matter. Her fate was in her and Fithvael's hands. Lycus seemed to enjoy Paige's company and took an interesting to the Breton. But the time was far from necessary to be dabbling in mundane affairs and relationships. He wasn't sure if his choice of leaving the girl was the wisest. But family was family.


The more he descended, the more he heard noises behind him. The gates seemed to close and he heard distant voiced behind him. It would appear they have made it in, then. This plan just might work, Lycus thought. He heard cries of battle ringing in his ears, causing him to truly pick up his pace and run forward with accelerated speed. His hair trailing behind him as he passed the dark tunnels.


As he got closer, he descended into a flight of stairs, which in turn, led to another flight below that. As he jumped and breathed heavily to carry oxygen through his body, he glimpsed a familiar female figure standing over a small ledge. Below her, was an orc battling a small group of Thalmor. He sprinted toward her, calling out her name to avoid startling her with a touch.

****

Illana did not join the havoc that the Orc was causing. She watched intently as he fought against three armed Thalmor soldiers with some measure of skill. Not as useless as I imagined him to be, she told herself. She heard her name being called out by Lycus and turned around to see her brother, sweating profoundly. He placed his warm hand on her shoulder, seeing if she was alright. Illana responded by discarding his simple touch and returning her gaze to the fight below. She watched just in time as the Orc held the last Thalmor from that group in his grasp.


"Quite the fighter, isn't this one? Age has little hold over him, I'm afraid."


Lycus sighed, frowning at his sister with a cautious expression on his face as he lowered his head, his eyes narrowing at her. "It is good to see you safe, but we need to leave."


"We share a singular mind." replied Illana.


Both went through the doorway, along with khajiit who introduced himself as Karzon and Ermac, the Orc. She peered through and saw a Thalmor holding a large warhammer. Of elven design, it was obviously heavy and used to crush opponents. How strange for a Thalmor to wield such things, she imagined.


Lycus anolysed the problem. The Thalmor wielding a warhammer would rely on strength and force, giving away speed and agility, the very attributes that would be used to bring him down. He exchanged glances with his sister, both trying to discern which would take him. Of course, the others would have to play a part in it as well.


"Come on, theres as many as ten of them in here! Ready yourselves, this will get ugly." Ermac said to them.


Illana scoffed, preparing the elven sword she had. "It's about get uglier the moment we lock horns with them."

Tyranus Florentius

Ty had helped the others seal the door, although he was sure the others had given alot more effort to move it. Everyone was in now, and they were officially blocked inside. It was good to avoid the pursuing Thalmor, but bad if this fortress was a dead end, or if they had some particularly tough elves up ahead. Ty rubbed at the areas around his wrists, which were starting to chafe against the cuffs. His eye was still sore, and he could feel the pain in his chest whenever he started breathing too heavily. However, the escape had been going much better than the captivity.

“Lets get out of here” the Dunmer said, turning towards Ty. “You said there was a way out through the bowels of this place, right?” he asked the young Imperial. “If so, let us not waste any time.”

"Well," Ty started, attempting to rub his neck with shackled wrists and failing at the attempt. "Everybody else headed through here, and I figured this would be our best bet with the Thalmor pouring in. The others headed deeper inside, probably under the assumption that there's an exit." The young Imperial didn't remember saying there was an exit down here, but he may well have, and he didn't want to be responsible for stranding his group in the dungeon. "I say our best bet is to follow them."

The Colovian turned towards the Redguard who had seemed to almost casually jump into the situation with them. "Well, technically your with our group anyway, so you might as well tag along. If you piss our elven friends off they'll just kill you, so don't worry about being a burden; I sure don't."

Ty turned to the grizzled Bosmer, eyebrows raised. "So, fearless leader, any questions, comments, or concerns?"

Fithvael, Fort Homestead Interior, Cyrodiil ((Gallowglaiche- Gal-oh-glie-sh)) ((Fithvael- FIth-vull)) ((If you really want to understand his accent, think of Barbossa from Pirates, only not as gruff and raspy))


Fithvael's question had its desired effect, but it also showed something else, it sounded as if the girl actually trusted the old half-mer. "“I’m Isabelle, but I prefer to be called by my middle name, Paige, if you don’t mind, sir.”
Ah, 'sir', certainly polite in such a hazardous and dangerous situation. "Paige, already told yeh mah name, no use sayin' it again." As Fithvael and his charge were getting ready to descend the stairs, several others came bursting through the Keep's doors.

Fithvael felt a violent shift, and it was then a large piece of the stone Fort came crumbling down upon the entrance to the stairwell, Fithvael covered Paige, hugging her close as bits of debris peppered his bare, tattooed back. "Ya'll right?" He asked the girl, then turning to look back at the other prisoners. Most of all, the old mer.

By now, Fithvael suspected him of being the ring-leader in this little breakout. He and the few he'd come in with, in the shadows and dust he only saw the old mer, another Bosmer, and a Dunmer man. He practically felt home among so many different people. The old mer and his men barricaded the door, then shouted to Fithvael, requesting he help move a piece of fallen masonry.

"Paige, wait here." He told her, taking a few steps then looking back. The Mer took the elven dagger he had retrieved from a dead Thalmor and tossed it, safely in its sheathe, over to the Breton. " Yeh see a High Elf, stab the bastard in the chest." Fithvael's tone was comically calm and almost enthusiastic, he'd lived to see too much bloodshed perhaps. Either way, as he ascended the stairs reaching his fellow escapees, Fithvael grabbed hold of the large stone slab.

He looked the old Bosmer in the eyes, "Good eve' kinsman, need a hand?" Fithvael gave a mighty heave, every fiber and sinew of his muscles tensing. The job was made easier with the help of the others, though as he pushed and heaved, Fithvael didn't really care who it was, he was only glad for the assistance. In a tumble, an ear-splitting screech, and the most sharp and solid crash of stone you've most likely ever heard, the masonry gave way and the stairs were clear.

"Right than, get down the stairs, quick now!" Fithvael ordered, turning his attention back to Paige. "Take mah hand, Paige." Soon enough, the whole group was descending to the depths of the ancient Fort Homestead. Past dead Thalmor bodies and soon enough, meeting the other prisoners. Fithvael heard footsteps behind him the whole way down, a voice or two. He could only hope it was his companions, but now he turned his attention to something that, at that very moment, took precedence over everything.

The Thalmor Justiciar, he wielded a great elven warhammer, and stood with his personal guard. Lycus and Illana, the Imperial siblings stood at the ready, their Father of Hunters with them as Fithvael saw the two itching to fight these blood-traitors. He saw two more, a large Khajiit, no doubt Cathay. The other was a man, not sure who it was, but Fithvael knew he was good. The elf-hostage he had was a good indicator of this.

The Fithvael saw his cause for precedence, his sword, so foolishly place on a wall plaque, hanging in the far left side of the room. "Alright," Fithvael began, drawing his scavenged elven sword, "Form up, and lets send their gods-damned souls to Dagon."

Fithvael took a fighting stance, he glanced to Paige, "Stay calm, an' be quick. You'll do just fine, Paige." His eyes then wandered to his hanging sword. "Gallowglass... " The plaque shook, only slightly. It knew its master was near.

OOC: Alright, hope that's okay with everyone. i think it just about wrapped it up?

Time to play... He thought, the khajiits mind working like a steam centurion in overdrive as he scanned the room from his position, the pillars he were against kept him hidden from the elves but those on the stairs had a fairly good shot at seeing him. There were three archers, four swordsman and what appeared to be two Magi of some kind. He couldn't tell much as the Thalmor looked mostly alike when it came to flinging magic around. Then there was the commander of them all in the back near him, massive warhammer in all its elegance in hand. Gentle mutters could be heard as they contemplated on storming the stairs and going up. Karzon didn't doubt that they would eventually which would mean the majority of those there would be dead, prisoners that is. So, with a simple plan in mind he looked back to the group that were hidden on the stairs and simply figured they'd work to an obvious advantage of the Thalmor turning their backs on the staircase and flood the room with a precious few seconds to gain the upper hand.

Drawing his ebon dagger from its sheath he kissed the blade uttering a silent prayer to Boethiah before darting around the corner still crouched and going up behind the Commander. With a quick boot to the knee and both arms coming around to get the elf into a position comparable to that of a human shield the loud clamor of the Warhammer hitting the ground followed by said Thalmor's pained cries as the dagger was shoved right against his throat caught the attention of those near. "Drop the swords!" the hooded khajiit commanded, holding the thalmor prisoner in his vice like grip. He whispered into the Thalmor's ear "One wrong twitch, one wrong move... and you'll be smiling from ear to ear." he then looked to the rest. "That's it you inbred, Knife eared beasts. Drop them or your pet gets a permanent smile!" he ordered, making his voice louder. Now would be a really good time for those idiots hiding on the staircase to make this a blood bath. He thought, backing up slowly as to keep every elf in view and keep the arrows and spells from scoring a potential hit.

Fort Homestead, Cyrodiil - 10^th of Second Seed, 4E 174

"So, fearless leader, any questions, comments, or concerns?" One of the others, the thin human, looked to Faendal expectently. He would have snapped an insult at the bony Colovian, but his breath still came in rattling gasps. All he could do was shake his head, then point off towards the stairs. They had barred the door, so their flanks were temporaril secure. All that was left was to press onwards, and pray that the fort had another exit. If not, then they would make one hell of a stand. 'At least some of those golden skinned pricks will have gone down with me,' Faendal thought, resting against the stone barricade. He glanced down towards his injured shoulder, pressing at it tenderly with one bloodied hand. 'Dislocated. No breaks, but it'll have to go back in.'

The Bosmer pushed himself off the stone, swaying on his feet. His vision had cleared, adjusting to the dim corridor. The others seemed ready to move on; they were all waiting on him. And he heard the sounds of fighting in the distance. 'Time to go.' Faendal clenched his teeth, grabbing his injured arm with one scarred hand. Then, with a grunt of pain, he forced the bone up, back into the socket. Pain shot through him like wildfire, forcing his dark eyes wide, but he did not cry out. He was better than that.

After a few more moments the pain subsided to a dull throb. Hesitantly, he tested his arm. The bone felt like it was being grinded beneath a millstone, but his shoulder worked again. And they had no more time to waste. "All right," he croaked, stepping forward, towards the dark stairwell, "The others are already down there, clearing our way out. We're joining up with them, then getting the hell out of here."

Another of their party, the strange half breed elf, was already ahead of him. "Right than, get down the stairs, quick now!" the elf ordered, leading the rest of the group down, into the depths of the fort. The corridors they passed were empty, save for a few dead Thalmor. 'Looks like the others have done their work.' After a short, tense trek through the damp hallways, they finally saw the rest of their companions. Both of the humans and the orc were standing outside of an open doorway, the room beyond lit with steady torchlight.

Just as Faendal was preparing to ask the others the situation, he looked into the room beyond. Several Thalmor stood, weapons drawn, all of their gazes locked on the prisoners. Neither group moved, but the tension was mounting. The standoff would end soon, and Faendal didn't like their chances against so many readied soldiers. He drew his own weapon, the elven dagger he had stowed in his belt, and stood with the others, waiting for the inevitable Thalmor charge. 'Bottleneck them in the doorway, keep them tight, no room for spells.'

Then, out of the darkness, a familiar shape drew up behind the lead Thalmor. The Khajiit, green eyes gleaming beneath his hood, pressed a dagger to the elf's throat. "Drop the swords!" the cat ordered, his long teeth flashing. "That's it you inbred, knife eared beasts. Drop them or your pet gets a permanent smile!" The Altmer turned towards the cat, their golden eyes hard. None made a move to drop their weapons.

'Fool, those bastards don't care about him!' Faendal rushed forwards, holding his dagger out before him. The Khajiit, skillful as he was, couldn't take on all those elves by himself. It would take all of them to even be a match for trained Thalmor guards. "Glory of Y'ffre!" Faendal roared, darting into the chamber, past his fellow prisoners. If they had any sense left between them, they would all follow him into battle.


OOC: I'll cut off there, for length reasons. The last grand fight of Fort Homestead is now underway, so get your blows in while you can! Feel free to control the Thalmor for the fight, and go ahead and kill as many as is reasonable. If we each take down one or two we should be done in no time. Until then, enjoy the action.

Lycus Desselius and Illana the Huntress.
10th of Second Seed, 4E 174.
Fort Homestead-Cyrodiil.


The two groups were seperated by a large center, each staring for a moment, the tension growing as was the anticipation. The first to break the silence was the khajiit, refering them to knife eared, inbred beasts. The second to comment but first to attack was the Bosmer, who screamed the name of Y'free before charging ahead of everyone else.

As as braced himself for the attack, Lycus felt a familiar feeling growing in the center of his stomach. Most combatants felt the same emotion prior to going into combat, whether they liked to admit it or not: fear. The fear of failing, fear of death, fear of watching their companions and allies die, fear of being injured and living the rest of their lives wounded or maimed. The fear was always existing, always there. And one allowed it, it would devour them whole.

Lycus understood a way in how he could transform that acursed attribute to his own advantage. Grab hold of what makes one weak and morph it into something that would make him strong. Shape that fear into base emotions such as anger and hate: Anger of the fear, hatred of the opponent; hatred of the Thalmor and the Dominion. That hate overpowered his fear, and gave him strength, and that strength would make him survive. And only the strongest would survive, even as unfortunate as the truth was.

He followed the Bosmer into battle, his sword raised for the sole purpose to maim, injure and kill his opponent, also serving to block. But he set his eyes on the shield one of the Thalmor dropped when killed. He picked it up as he saw Illana rush into the fray, only to quickly follow next to her. Each step felt as if time stopped, over the roar of the Thalmor and the cries of vigor of the prisoners, was the sound of his own beating heart.

Illlana felt a darkness within her. One she grew accustomed to, one that gave her strength over weakness, one that empowered her to take even the most innocent of lives when her own life was threatened. And she called upon it, feeding it with the thoughts of dead Thalmor, their flesh rotting in the dungeon caverns. An increasingly morbid thought whispered in her mind, guiding her forward. The whispers came from within; I'm coming for blood. No reservation. No hesitation. No law. No control. No remorse. To survive...you must embrace your other side.

She bared her teeth, her face crinkling into a savage grin, eyes dark and wide with insanity and madness. Her hands spread wide as if talons ready to tear a man apart, This was not a mercenary job, this was a massacre. At least she wanted it to be. An extermination of the Thalmor, not just an escape.

Gripping the elven sword, she charged with the urges of an animal. The first Thalmor was one of average height. His helmet obscured most of his features, giving her nothing on a potential weakness. She did not bother to fight him at all, instead she dodged his overhand strike by maneuvering to the side, giving Lycus a chance to bring him down.

Lycus impaled the unexpecting Thalmor as his strike against his sister was futile, throwing him off guard. The Imperial male shoved his blade further in, his face a mask of neutrality. He slid out the blade with a heavy pull, immedietly taking notice of the new enemies the group faced. Archers, spell-casters and whatever else. It will be a miracle if we all survive this, he thought.

While not as crazed about spilling blood in the act of lunacy as was Illana, he took great measures to shout and scream roaring battle-cries to help him fight. He took his shield, raising it high above his head to impede a striking Thalmor. "Ahhh!" yelled Lycus.

Varthlokkur, inside Fort Homestead, Cyrodiil


Varth followed the Dunmer-Nord-Bosmer hybrid man through the subterranean passages of the fort. It wasn’t long before they met with the rest of the prisoners, who were huddled around a doorway. In the chamber beyond stood several Thalmor soldiers, and a commander. The Dunmer was about to approach Faendal when a blurr of motion caught his eye.

A Khajit prisoner rushed from behind the Thalmor commander, grabbing him by the neck and threatening to slit his throat. The wounded Bosmer must have realized, like Varth, that the Thalmor would be willing to dispose on their commander’s life. He leapt into the chamber, yelling something about the Y’ffe before leaving the Dark Elf’s view. Two Imperial prisoners, likely brother and sister, lifted their elven weapons, presumably plucked from the corpse of a Dominion soldier, and quickly followed, a bestial look filling their eyes.

Varth was low on magicka, and couldn’t spare much more energy. In addition, he had no physical weapon to fight with, and lacked the necessary concentration to conjure and effectively use another. He decided to conjure an ally, and jumped into the realm of Oblivion. The mer quickly found a soul he was pleased with- a flame atronach. Not the strongest creature, but deadly non-the-less, and easy to control.

A portal between Nirn and Oblivion ripped the air apart as the being was born. The slender, almost feminine figure was made completely of flickering flames, with chunks of obsidian forming what looked like revealing armor. The Deadra hovered a few feet above the ground and moved into the room, leaving a small trail of charred stone and dwindling fire in its wake.

By now, the Imperial siblings had killed one or two of the Mer as the antronach entered the chamber. The Imperial man raised his shield high above his head, preparing to bash a Thalmor with it. Varth, who was controlling the summoned Deadra from the other room, never gave him the chance to complete the maneuver. A ball of flame erupted from the atronach’s outreached palm, and impacted with the guard’s skull, tearing and melting the metal of his helm, and sending him soaring across the room.

OOC: sorry for the crappy post. W&V, I can edit the post if i messed something up, just let me know.

Fithvael
10th of Second Seed, 4E 174
Fort Homestead



Fithvael couldn't believe it, the Khajiit of the group blew their cover as he so graciously took the Thalmor Justiciar hostage, an ebony dagger to his throat. He egged on the guards and told them that if they didn't let the others pass, he'd slit their captain's throat. 'Valiant, stupid cat, the Thalmor will rip him to pieces, regardless of their precious Justiciar.' Fithvael thought, shaking his head and preparing for action. Soon, the whole room sprang to life as the other prisoners joined in the charge for their freedom. The first was the old bosmer, diving forward after practically shouting Fithvael's own thoughts.

The next were the twin Imperials, the girl jumped into the fray, knocking aside a charging guard as her brother impaled the traitorous Altmer soldier. The girl looked mad, insane, her eyes had the sheen of blood-lust, and the spirit of Hircine was with her and her brother. Now it was time for Fithvael to take action, and what an action he would take.

The half-bred elf maneuvered around the Imperial man, dropping into a roll as he came upon a Thalmor ready to cleave the Imperial with a great-axe. Fithvael lunged the elven sword forward as he came to a kneeling position, the blade-point stabbing into the Thalmor's midsection, Fithvael gave a savage twist as he quickly spun sideways and into a standing position. The guard's body clattered to the ground, and Fithvael raised the blood-soaked sword to his hand, and drew it across.

He turned his head to where his sword hung, "Astherion, rikka Vaan-elha!" Fithvael shouted as he raised his hand towards the blade, it ripped loose from the wall plaque and flew through the air, blade over pommel. The grip hit solidly in Fithvael's right hand. He gripped his beloved Elven sword tight, the patterning on the great leaf-blade shimmered in the torchlight. New life surged through Fithvael, taking up his sword in both hands.

"Come on you sons of [censored]es!" Suddenly, Fithvael's voice grew deeper, his accented clearer but thickened. Three Thalmor guards cautiously circled Fithvael, "Just how we like, eh Astherion." The half-elf spoke to its blade, the Thalmor wondering if it spoke back.

The first to charge was dispatched with a quick pirouette and an upwards diagonal slice of Fithvael's, Astherion. The second was more nimble, and the third took the chance to charge as well, wielding a greatsword. Fithvael side-stepped and bent his knees, gaining momentum with his blade, which finally met the second guard's throat. His head sliced clean off, and rolled to the floor. Still using this momentum, Fithvael spun in a half-turn, bringing Astherion up to meet the third guard.

The blades clashed, and this was when Fithvael realized it was the same guard who'd been interrogating him just a while before the breakout. Fithvael grinned, he pushed forward, delivered a sharp kick to the bastard Thalmor's stomach, and brought his blade down onto his exposed back. The moonstone edge smashed into the elfs' armor, and shattered it. The Thalmor gasped as he rolled over, the last thing his terrified eyes saw was Astherions tip being driven into his chest.

"Come on, more waitin' for ya!" Fithvael shouted to the others, the Dunmer was already at work, a flame atronach doing his bidding. A smile crept onto his face as he began taking on another guard.

Ermac - Fort Homestead

Ermac watched as the battle very quickly unfolded before him, watching in shock as every one so quickly and unceremoniously jumped into battle. Already at least five guards had been killed in mere seconds ad he still had yet to move. He swallowed quickly, dismissing his revelations for his own part. The elf was just beginning to put up a fight. Weather because he felt he had a better chance to live with his comrades, or because he wanted to die faster, the Orc couldn't tell while he smoothly slid his sword across his throat. He turned just in time to block a strike from another female guard. He was planning on spin-swiping under her when a feeling stopped him completely in his tracks.

He immediately know what it was calling him. It sounded like a voice, or voices. Nothing more than whispers but nonetheless impossible to miss. His staff. It was here. In the midst of his lapse he hadn't taken the time to realize his enemy was a dual-wielding one, nor did he have time to react to the rebound thrust from her dagger, stabbing him in his torso and throwing him back into the battle. He grunted quietly at the all too familiar searing pain, looking down at the hand and blade that was now twisting its way from his torso. He looked up at the girl and grabbed her by her throat before she could get her hand free and stabbed her as well, but with a much longer weapon. His sword went through her stomach with relative ease. He stuck it through an with an extra push before dropping her and recollecting himself.

He walked to the back room, following the sound of the voices. He turned the corner to be greeted by a chest and a buch of miscellaneous weapons, equipment and other items. He grabbed for his staff and prepared for the rest of the fight.