Sigmund turned his head weakly toward the Altmer.

"th. r..g ..kes .e im.... t. ..gic," he half-muttered, half-choked through a mouthful of the blood that was pooling around him.

He managed to wiggle the ringed third finger of his right hand slightly before his eyes rolled back into his head and he lost consciousness again.





OOC: sorry for the short post. this one contains some important info you will need to figure out if and before you try to heal Sigmund. also, Sigmund's right arm still has about a dozen massive shards of wood stuck in it and he is face-down in a pool of blood. just saying...

As soon as the Altmer gave his approval, Julia was moving towards the semi-conscious Nord, mentally preparing to cast the strongest healing spell she knew. It would probably do little more than stop the bleeding and dull the edge on the pain, but Julia figured every little bit helps. Besides, the Altmer had made it clear that he was not going to let anyone be left behind, so the Nord had to be dealt with one way or another, and Julia thought they might as well try healing him first.

Before she reached the man's prone figure, he began muttering, almost too quiet to hear, and she stopped, the spell dying on her lips.

"What did he say?" she asked, and then after a moment's reflection ? "Did he say he is immune to magic?"

ooc: Oo I cant even understand that.


ic: Getting up from the small spot he had been guarding walked back down to the group, sure that nothing or noone was around them, that and they couldnt get through the door anyway unless they literally smashed it apart. Walking back to the group and sitting down near by within distance of speech and listening he speaks up "Nothing coming our way. Doors jammed on the spot for now. So we have time." Tobias said streaching out. "Though I recommend we move as soon as we can. Rats and other little nasties are smelling the blood. I wouldnt doubt if there were some Imps flitting as we speak."

Sigmund stood perfectly still.

The buck raised it's head, but it didn't seem to have noticed him yet, or his father. When it returned to it's grazing he slowly reached into the quiver at his hip and brought out a broad-tipped hunting arrow. He passed it to his father with infinite care. If the arrow were to even tap against his father's jade ring at this point, only a few metres from the majestic animal, the buck would bolt and be gone forever.

Heinrich moved almost as slow as his teenage son. He was a giant of a man, almost seven feet tall with a long greying beard and hair. Years of practice allowed him to move smoothly and silently as he nocked the arrow onto his bowstring. He inhaled deeply as he drew back the short hunting bow. The dusty smell of the beast's hide filled his nose. The birds sang sweetly in the trees. This moment was perfect.

To his right, Heinrich heard the faint rustle of skin on fur. So did the deer. The buck was gone before Heinrich could release the arrow. Sigmund had gotten restless and the simple act of scratching an itch had lost them the deer they had stalked for the past 2 hours.

Heinrich spun swiftly and released the arrow into a spruce tree behind Sigmund, narrowly missing his throat.

"Idiot!" he roared, no longer caring about the silence they had been so careful to maintain, "This afternoon has been wasted time thanks to you!"

He swung at the boy with his great club of a fist, but the teenager easily dodged it.

"Go home, boy. i do not wish to look upon you for the shame you have brought me."

The forest was eerily silent as he walked the few miles back to what had been his home only hours before








OOC: also, you guys just flamed somebody for wanting to make a barricade, then you blocked the door with debris. sounds a lot like a barricade to me, my friends.

As the other insisted on helaing the man, Elarian shrugged "Your decision. I can even spare some magic to help you. We should cast our spells at the exact same time. That should be able to get stronger effects, maybe make up for some of the blood loss quicker than proper food and rest. If you're going for this, I'd rather make sure there's as much chance as possible he might walk on his own."

As the bulky nord reacted to their decision with some barely intelligble words, Elarian strained to understand. Only two words made sense. "He said someting about a ring, and magic. From what you picked up about immunity, I suppose he's got one ring enchanted to resist magic - even for one born under the Atronach, getting a complete immunity is exceedingly difficult to get in one single enchantment."

He looked at the altmer "Can you detect magic ? If so you'd better check him, remove any object that's enchanted, cast our spells and give them back to him once it's done."

Yanmir sat in front of the camp fire as he listened to the others arguing about what they should do. Apparently there was one who was severely wounded. Someone even suggested leaving him behind, that he would only slow them down. While this might be true, Yanmir did not like the idea of leaving a wounded to his fate. No, this could not be tolerated. The nord rose to his feet and turned to face the others.

"I forbid that we leave him behind." he spoke. "The man is fatally wounded, but he is not yet beyond help. If anyone of you is a qualified healer or medic, I demand that they heal him. Should he die from lack of medical attention, they will be held responsible for his death and shall be treated as such."

The dying man tried to say something, but the words were unclear as he was choking on the blood in his mouth. He could however make out a few words. Something about an item, and something about magic, but couldn't really comprehend the man's senseless speech.

OOC: A ring that grants magic immunity is god-moding. There was none on his character sheet, and even if there were it's hard to believe that someone like him could even retrieve such a ring. There's barely any items that give full immunity to magic. If he was a Breton and the ring gave 50% magic immunity it might have been more plausible.

ooc: I love puzzles..

ic: Sammensia groaned at being told she would have to wait for water, and began devising ways to magickally desalinize the ocean water. She did this for a few minutes, smiling as Garum threatened to burn to tush of anyone who dared suggest leaving another comrade behind. Another reiterated that he was fatally wounded, but that he could still be helped. Sammensia knew from experience that magicka could save all but the most fatal wounds.

Moving towards the Nord on the ground and thinking of other things to keep her mind off her misery, the Bosmer tilted her head to the side as he spoke something garbled by blood. She'd had to decipher the words of the dying before, and sadly she had gotten rather good at it in her run as the healer for her clan, and although others seemed to decipher it, they sat and puzzled over the ring. Sam sighed and rolled her eyes.

"I oughta slap you all.." She jested hoarsely, then reached down to pry the ring carefully from the Nord's finger. "How about, instead of wasting time wondering if it'll hinder the healing and giving him more time to die, we just remove the thing?" She coughed after this, a horrible, painful cough and tried not to whine with the misery it brought her. Leaning against the wall, she sighed as the fit subsided. "If anyone else can heal, I suggest they do it; I'm afraid I'll screw up and set him on fire in the state I'm in."

Garum nodded, "I actually can cast a spell to detect magicka, though I highly doubt a fellow like this could attain a ring of such power." The Altmer said, looking down at the Nord doubtfully. Most likely he's trying to impress us, even whilst injured. Stupid fellow should worry more about his own injury than how we think about him.
Garum crouched down beside the Nord as Sammensia pried the ring off his finger. Garum closed his eyes and whispered a brief incantation, summoning up the spell he needed. Within moments, he felt the surge of awareness tug at his consciousness.

The Altmer opened his eyes, and he could see swirls of magick surrounding them all. They were only visible to him with his 'Detect Magick' spell, but he did see some kind of enchantment on the ring. It was the only enchanted item on his person. "I think we're safe." Garum said as the spell faded away, "He doesn't have any other enchanted items on his person, just his regular gear." The Altmer frowned slightly, wondering why the man had claimed the ring would make him immune to magick. It just doesn't seem possible. I've never even heard of a ring that could carry that much power, save for the one the Helseth royal signet they wear in Morrowind.

As Garum announced they could now cast spells on the almost unconscious nord without risking a failure, Elarian started to ready his magic, before pausing. "Hold on a little bit. "There's something more to improve our odds". Looking at the crate of medical supplies brought by Yanmir he picked up a large potion vial. A quick look told him it was what he expected, a well known brand of restoratives, churned out in impressive numbers by some imperial alchemists's guild. "The Nine's Restorative. Great name for pure crap. Cheap, watered down anti fatigue potion with a tinge of healing in the mix."

He handed the flask to Sam "Not much of an effect but considering how thirsty your are, it's still close to a pint of water you can make use of. Once you're through it, we should time our spells to cast them together. We'l use your casting to give us the start."

Then he once again readied his spell, ready to cast it as soon as the bosmer healer started hers.

It was sunset when Heinrich returned to the ruins of his ancestral home. The acrid smell of smoke still hung in the still, cold air.
Sigmund was sitting in a patch of ash and still semi-hot coals that occupied the spot where their lodge had been standing that morning. The teenager was holding a blackened and crumbling skull.

"I need to leave this place, father," the boy softly spoke.

Heinrich only stood there in silence, contemplating what had happened here. He knew death well, like an old friend that had come to visit and never left.

"I know," he said, approaching his son and offering him the jade ring he had won in a contest of skill back in his glory days. "Take this."
Sigmund turned and looked at him in silence. They sad intensity in the boy's eyes was enough to break even Heinrich's cold heart.
"It will protect you from witches and sorcerors. No magic can touch you while you wear this ring." It hurt Heinrich even more to lie to the boy. The ring was far from as powerful as he proclaimed. Only about 35% magic resistance and the same in magic reflection. "If for no other reason, take it to remember where you came from."

Sigmund wordlessly got up, accepted the ring, and put it on his finger. He walked toward the chieftain's lodge and removed the head of Thrangol The Blind from the spear it was piked on. Taking up the spear he walked out of the clearing and into the darkening wood.

Later that night, Heinrich hanged himself from a spruce tree.

OOC: y hallo thar

IC:

A rough, dry sensation--like a slightly damp but still relatively warm piece of sandpaper--caressed his cheek, dragging him from the stupor of darkness. Eyes still closed and skull pounding like a blind smith trying to craft a sword, he groaned, rolling over among the rubble. Immediately, a small bundle of fur pounced onto his chest, stretching its claws through the fine weave of his soaking shirt. Shivering and soaked to the core, he was ill-prepared for the small animal's assault. Coughing, he spat out a lungful of seawater, wrapping his arms around the small, wet bundle of fur.

"I'm awake," he said, returning to his back and opening his eyes.

Purring contentedly, the animal fidgeted its way out of his arms, leaping onto the cold rock and stretching. A short five-count later, it resumed its attack, this time focusing on his hand, biting at the pads of the fingers. Instinctively, he sat up, pulling his hand away from the purring furrball.

"Okay, fine. [censored] crazy cat." Swaying, he rose to his feet, checking his side instinctively. The weaved silver bars met his hand, conforting him. His father would surely come back to haunt him if he ever lost that sword. "Right, Gawain." He bent over, scratching the small tabby between the ears. "Looks like there are some other people already here. You should have gotten them."

Gawain purred loudly in response, turned a circle in place and then walked off towards the fire. Following the diminutive Khajiit closely, Jonathan stumbled over to the fire, eyeing their wet clothes closely. They certainly had the look of a waterlogged bunch of survivors. A few of them seemed moderately injured, while around half were up and moving, motivated mostly by a pair of Nords and an Altmer. The Elf's attention seemed focused on a half-dead Nord, and sharing his attention was a Dunmer and an Imperial woman.

"A plank must have got me when I dove off... Anyone want to brief Gawain and I on the situation?" he said, moving forward into the light and towards the warmth of the fire. A quick motion later and he had removed his sticking, soaking shirt and folded it neatly by the fire.

Garum crossed his arms as he watched the two healers prepare. He smirked at the offhand insult to Cyrodiilian alchemists, though he was of the same mind about Imperial alchemy as well. Garum never enjoyed drinking potions in the first place; he did not like to pump himself full of chemicals and concoctions. He did recognize their potency, and knew enough about alchemy to know where to buy a good health potion in a pinch, and where to tell the shop vendor a good place to shove his products up.

As he stood back, giving the two room, he turned his head slightly as his ears picked up another man approaching the fire. Garum had sensitive hearing, although he did not always notice what he heard. He turned to regard the man who approached them, nodding once as he approached.

"A plank must have got me when I dove off... Anyone want to brief Gawain and I on the situation?" Jonathan asked as he sat down by the fire. He removed his shirt and set it by the dwindling flames to dry. Garum momentarily wondered who Gawain was. He hadn't remembered anybody introduced with that name since the wreck.

"Well," Garum said, "As soon as we get this Nord on his feet, we will be getting a move on. We're in a cave that branches off from an old keep titled 'Privateer's Hold'. Once the healers get their work done on him, we'll be heading to the surface as soon as we can." The Altmer explained. He frowned momentarily at the fire, then clicked his fingers, summoning a fireball to hover in the air over his hand. A flick of his wrist, and it joined the flames in the campfire, momentarily boosting the heat and light back to where it had been before.

Julia frowned as the Dunmer cracked a joke about the potion. She was familiar with "The Nine's Restorative" brand, as well she should be ? the alchemist who had created it lived in Kvatch, her home town, and she was heavily invested in his company. She resisted the urge to snap at the Dunmer, and instead ran over the mental preparations for her spell again.

After a moment she opened her eyes and glanced in the direction of the Dunmer and the Bosmer healer.

"I'm ready when ever you are," she called.

OOC: Sorry for the mediocre post. Also, I'm going to be out of town tomorrow to Sunday, and may not have Internet access. If that bogs things down, someone can do a little bunnying.

"Wonderful. Either a band with more balls than brains, in which case we'll have ourselves an wonderful old fight, or there's a few too many old women out there scaring children," he said, smiling at the Altmer and taking a seat next to the now-brilliant fire. "You may have overdone it, though. Gawain doesn't much enjoy fire." He let his head tilt towards the small orange tabby standing a short distance into the shadows. Gawain hissed in agreement.

He let his smile fade, remembering the severity of his situation. Crossing his arms agains his chest, he began rubbing his pectorals, trying his best to produce some warmth beneath his skin. He still had a family to look after, and that was worth more than anything in the world.

OOC: It's been a few days, and our healers have not posted. In the interest of moving the RP along, I hope you don't mind me having them finish up.

Garum watched silently as the healers did their work. It didn't seem like it would take them too long with two healers, and indeed it didn't. A gentle white glow appeared around their hands as they worked their magick on the injured Nord. Garum would have helped had he had the skill in Restoration to heal a head injury. As it was, his best restorative spells would only work on minor cuts and bruises.

After a few moments, the Bosmer announced that they had done all they could. "Good," Garum said, "We should get a move on. Is he good to stand? If not, we'll need some volunteers to help carry him."

Finally the man had been healed. Now they could move out of this rat hole. Yanmir turned around to face the others. While the most fatal wounds were fixed, he could see that the man wasn't really in any condition to walk. Especially since he was unconscious. They'd have to carry him, if he was to go with them. For a moment he hesitated, but decided to help out with this one.

"I could carry him, but if we're going to carry him on that door, we're going to need at least one more." he spoke to the altmer and the rest of the group.

OOC: Sorry for the late, and rather short post, but I've been rather busy lately.

Having done his part in the healing Elarian picked his clothes and armor from where he had left them to dry. Even i they were still somewhat damp, it wasn't enough to slow him dowm. Though his best set of clothes were still quite wet and all would need a thorough rincing and washing to remove the salt. At least neither mithril, dwemer alloy nor glass will rust.. finally he strapped his claymore in place on his back, making ure it moved freely in the sheath.

"I'm ready to go. But I think I'd be more usefull free to move than hauling a makeshift stretcher. I'm trained in moving around discretly and fighting on the move, not as a stevedore."

I am alive, Sigmund thought, but where am i?

He opened his eyes and took in the swirling figures around him, all bathed in a faint orange light.

what happened?

He struggled uneasily to his feet, finding that his spear was tied firmly into his left hand with leather thongs. As his head cleared he did a quick survey of his own damaged body.

He had a deep scar across his forehead as well as numerous minor scars across his face (all recently healed), he was covered in blood, though he didn't appear to be bleeding, and all over his right shoulder and arm were dozens of splinters, ranging in size from toothpicks to massive stakes over an inch in diameter. All of these were healed into his flesh. Either he had lain here for a long time and had healed around them naturally, or someone had forgotten to remove them before trying any kind of healing magic on him...

Magic! he thought, and looked at his hand to find that his father's ring had been stolen. He roared out his rage to the world.

...and that was when he realized that he was surrounded.








OOC: i'm surprised nobody suggested casting a feather spell on him in order to carry him around easier.

Garum's eyebrow arched as the wounded Nord awoke with a scream. It sounded almost like a pain-filled plea for help, but by the look on the man's face, he was angry about something. The Nord's eyes seemed to blaze as Garum took a step closer, crouching beside him. "Take it easy, friend. You've had a nasty hit on the head."
The Altmer smirked as any number of thick-skulled Nord jokes came to mind. He held his tongue, however. In the forefront of the jokes was another memory, that of an angry Nord breaking a metal door down. They're often dumb, but they're often monsterously strong too.

"Are you feeling well enough to walk, friend?" Garum asked with a smile, "We need to get moving quickly. We aren't in the best situation here, after the wreck. Disaster may befall us again if we don't move out quickly."

Sigmund whirled to face the bandit that was addressing him. He dropped into a lower stance and tightened his grip on his spear, the leather bindings creaking audibly.

"Ye Pirate!" he roared, "Why have ye brought me here?"

The confused giant charged the Altmer and lifted him by his collar.

"Ye scum should not have left me my spear, with it i shall correct your final mistake!"

Yanmir raised an eyebrow at the man's confused rage as he lifted the altmer by the collar. The guy must have gotten his head smashed once too much, he seemed to believe the battlemage was a pirate. He walked up to him and whacked him in the face.

"Come to your senses, fool. That's a Battlemage of the Imperial Legion, not a pirate." he exclaimed, hoping his somewhat confused kinsman would snap out of it.

No wonder people think we nords are thick. With guys like this, it's hard not to prejudge...

Garum was a second's thought away from casting a spell to set the Nordic man aflame as the Nord assaulted him. Had he done that in the city, I would have been within my rights to defend myself. Garum knew as the man lifted him up in an impressive display of strength. However, Garum held his spell and did not cast. Yanmir intervened before Garum wound up hurting the Nord, speaking calming words. Whether or not they would work, however, remained to be seen.

"He speaks partial truth." Garum said. By his voice, he might have been discussing the weather on a dreary day in the Imperial City. "If I were a bandit, I'd have slit your throat while you were unconscious and sold your spear for beer money. I am not, however, an Imperial Battlemage. Not entirely. I retired several years ago, and will retire again when this task for the Emperor is complete." The edges of Garum's mouth twitched in a smile. Men like this would not respond well to the threat of immolation. Speak to his mind rather than his fear.
"I am sure you can see that for yourself, though." Garum said, appealing to the man's pride, "Once we get closer to the fire, that is. It's rather dark in here, and easy to mistake Imperial Battlemage armor." Of course it really was not, but Garum did not want to embarrass the man even further.

Sigmund easily avoided the weak old man's attempt to strike him and focused on what the bandit was saying.
The Altmer's story makes sense, he thought, It is a dangerous hook, but i suppose i'll bite. In any case, these men do look vaguely familiar.

Sigmund dropped the Altmer onto his feet and motioned with his free hand for the golden-skinned Mer to lead the way.


OOC: sorry for the short post, i haven't been on top of my game lately.

also, its never wise to try to smack an armed man, especially when he is confused, paranoid, and furious.

And another thing: Garum is wearing Akaviri armour, not Imperial Battlemage armour

As the now healed nord manghandled Garum, bellowing incoherently and mistaking the altmer for a pirate, Elarian's eyes narrowed. Moving as silently as his long experience would allow, he moved behind the towering nord, pulling out his dagger Drawing the sword isn't silent enough. But a dagger through the kydneys will weaken him enough for an esay kill.. He didn't make the attack immediately though, as the altmer tried to calm the man down.

when the attempt proved sucessful he quietly sheated back his dagger, moving back to the fire and into the nrute's sight. Staying up in case the man once again exploded in a blind fit of rage. That would be fairly typical of his race. I'm probably biased by my experience as a mrecenary, but most those I've met were on that line - reckless, prone to violence, and persuaded their prejudices and impulses were 'wisdom'..

Moving within the brute' sight, he commented, with a gesture encompassing the cave "Do you remember the shipwreck ? The ship you wre on breaking appart on the coast ? We're all survivors from that ship."

Garum shook his shoulders slightly, resettling the armor on his torso as he walked towards the door. "Now that we're all up and about, we should get moving." The Altmer said, pushing the wooden door open fully. Garum's armor clinked softly as he stepped through, looking around the cavern.

It seemed to him that the cave system they had found themselves in was half cave, half basemant or dungeon of some sort. The walls were a variation of stone with wooden supports, and the 'floor' was tiled stone bricks that echoed when Garum's feet landed on them. The wind blew through the cavernous passages with a somber howl, bringing with it indiscriminate echoes of sound that could have been created by any number of terrors.

"Everybody stick close." Garum said, snapping his fingers. A fireball appeared over his hand, hovering in mid-air as the Altmer battlemage used it as a torch to light the way. His other hand strayed near the hilt of his sword, but he resisted the urge to draw it. This place was dangerous, though. Garum could tell that right away.