The diminutive Breton woman’s words did not fall on deaf ears, for Sevine weighed the consequences of diving into the freezing ocean waters versus boarding the dinghy. However, Asper had other means of evacuating the impaired ship. For all she knew, Asper’s survival instincts kicked in, and he assumed that plunging into the icy waters below yielded a higher chance at survival than staying aboard the [i]Courtesan[/i]. Dancing on his hooves, the dark bay stallion reared up onto his hind legs, ripping the halter lead free from Sevine’s hands. Had she not caught herself in the fall, she would have rolled down the deck. She cried out in dismay as she staggered to her feet, realizing that from the sound of a loud [i]SPLASH![/i], Asper had leapt overboard. Reluctantly, with a heavy hearted sigh, Sevine climbed into the dinghy, just as an unconscious Solveig was loaded safely into the boat, Orakh cut the rope, plummeting them into the waters below. Trius and R’ihanna provided the man-power behind the wooden oars, the gentle dip of the oars into the wave were the only thing she could hear. Sevine remained silent during the voyage to the shoreline, her eyes glued upon Asper, that horse swam faster than the dinghy rowed at that rate, and he would reach the shores before they landed. Strangely enough, as the tiny boat packed full of those that had not perished like the mages, neared the shore, a discerning outline of cave became clearer, as did the flickering of orange lights from torches. Her eyes swept down the course of the beach, and discovered a chitlin ship moored several yards away. Already, the adrenaline began to course through her veins at the thought of a dangerous encounter approached in her mind. Who did the ship belong to? Why were they moored here? Were they seeking refuge from the stormy weather? These questions would soon be answered.
	
	As the dinghy slid into the beach, the frothy water swirling around their knees as they clambered out of the boat to hoist it ashore, bone-chilling water filling her boots, Sevine’s concentration and concern for Asper were broken by a shout in a language unbeknownst to her. While she had left her rucksack behind on the ship, she had not forgotten her axe, as she had slept with it each night, fastened to her belt with a leather tie. The Dunmer elf, the one that had rowed one-handedly while the other hand grasped an ebony sword, revealed who the armed Dunmers were, Armigers. Whatever that meant. She possessed little knowledge of the Dunmeri culture, and even smaller knowledge in the concerns of any Mer culture. Trius, as she had discovered his name during the course of the voyage, attempted in vain to coerce the others back into the boat and row away. A group of bonemold warriors spilled out of the cave like an army of ants, weapons brandished. Moving out of the water’s grasp, her thumb untethered the tie within seconds just as an Armiger descended upon her, weapon drawn. Worried for the safety of those that had yet to disembark from the boat, Sevine back-pedaled, drawing her attacker away from them, and further inland to the beach. She had little time to catch herself this time, as the heel of her boot hit a rather large rock, unbalancing the huntress as she fell backwards onto the wet sand. The Dunmer wielded the sword high above his head, aiming to drive the blade straight through her chest. Were it not for her quick reflexes, developed through the course of the civil war, Sevine’s life would have come to an untimely end. However, she rolled away in the nick of time, and stumbled onto her feet. Without the protection of her shield to ward off potential blows, Sevine understood that each swing would require precision, precision that she had not used in a lengthy amount of time, not since the attack at the redoubt that is.

	The Armiger again, descended upon Sevine, his crimson eyes burning with the intent to end her life as his sword swung at her head, aiming to decapitate her. She ducked, though she could have sworn that a few strands of crimson hair were littered on the sandy beach. Holding fast to the hilt of her axe, Sevine thrust the lip of the axe-blade up, where then edge met edge. Gritting her teeth in quiet desperation, the hold between the two weapons did not last. The two warriors stood so close to one another, she could see the sweat beading upon the Armiger’s brow. Again, quick reflexes came to her aid, as she hooked her foot around the knee of her foe. Toppling to the ground, Sevine rolled away from the reaches of the Armiger, before he had time to regain his weapon. Hoisting the axe up, high above her head, Sevine brought the blade down, aiming to return the favour of decapitation to the Dunmer. Yet, just as she had avoided the blow of death, the Dunmer too, avoided his death by lurching to the side. Scrambling to regain his lost weapon, Sevine rushed the fallen Armiger again, swinging her axe low for an upper-cut, letting loose a blood-curdling war-cry, Sevine brought the axe down in one swift motion. Blood sprayed out from the stump of his hand, as it lay limp beneath him. With the loss of his hand, the Dunmer reeled backwards, clutching the remnant of his hand, which was cut clean off, save for the bone that poked out from his wrist.