[h3]Way to Fall[/h3] A collab by [@Peik] and [@Hank] [hr] [center][b]Night, Sun's Height 29 Bleakrock Isle[/b][/center] [hr] "…And we’ll roll the o-old chariot along, we’ll roll the o-old chariot along, and we’ll all hang on behind." Sadri bobbed his head back and forth to the rhythm of the shanty he muttered to himself, as he and Narzul walked on, a good twenty meters forward from the rest of the group, just in the perfect distance for the others to notice and take cover safely if anything bad were to happen to the duo. He couldn’t help but admire Dumhuvud for his brilliance in consigning him and Narzul to the front. Not only did it make sense, since Sadri was practically half-undead and Narzul was covered head to toe in plate, but it also was a perfect way of getting rid of two folks he didn’t like, should things go south. Plus, despite his conversation with Niernen, Sadri wasn’t sure if he was able to trust Narzul. Maybe he just found that ebony blade far too intimidating. In short, it wasn’t a fun situation. Thus, he went on with the shanties, trying to find some solace in their rhythm. "Oh, a night in the jail wouldn’t do us any harm…" [hr] The group’s march through the aptly named island (it truly was a bleak place, with naught but tree lines, rugged rocks and tall grass all around) was quite steady and silent. At the front, Narzul and Sadri had not fallen victim to any unwanted attention or unexpected arrow fire, and the main group, led by the charming Cat-Kicker, followed their guidance cautiously, as their position did not exempt them from Dumhuvud’s suspicion. They had just passed by the Crossroads leading through to Hozzin’s Folly to the right, and the Wayshrine to the left, sneaking through on the edge of the road as to avoid possible detection. They had already stumbled upon one patrol of ten armigers with matte armor on the path. Thankfully, the Armigers had been walking in a different direction entirely, and busy with hauling carpentry pieces - a relief for Sadri, who certainly did not want to come to blows in hostile territory of all places, a sentiment that he hoped was shared by the rest of the party. The best outcome in this case would be a quick retreat, which would still be a failure of the mission. He looked back and saw Dumhuvud and the group laying prone amidst the rocks and the tall grass, hard to make out despite knowing that they were there. He breathed out in relief, and patted Narzul as to move further. "You think there are any stragglers behind them?" Sadri muttered silently as he gathered himself from the ground and prepared to move. There was a bridge just up ahead, and beyond it, the Wayshrine. The group could gather up again there. "Possible," Narzul replied in a flat grumble, barely more than a whisper. It was the first thing he'd said in more than a day. "They're not real soldiers. I wouldn't be surprised if they lack cohesive unit discipline." That went for the mercenaries too, of course, and the Redoran sighed silently into his helmet. To him, it would be nothing short of a miracle if Dumhuvud managed to keep the rest of the party behind them in line. He followed Sadri up onto his feet and cast a glance behind him, spotting Niernen amongst those who emerged from the tall grass. The two siblings looked each other in the eye for a second. The look on Niernen's face was enough for Narzul to avert his gaze quickly. [i]Just focus on the objective,[/i] he thought to himself admonishingly. She'd never forgive him if he got himself killed out here. Despite his heavy and unwieldy suit of armor, Narzul moved with speed and grace that bespoke of his skill and experience. His ironclad feet barely made a sound on the soft soil and the upper half of his body was stiff as a board so as to prevent his armor from rattling and clanging against itself. His head pivoted left and right as if attached to a swivel, scanning the horizon, the grass, the shadows of the large rocks, and back again. His hand was on the pommel of his sheathed war-blade. Suddenly, he came to an abrupt halt. "Did you hear that?" he hissed. Upon the cautionary remark, Sadri gave Narzul a flat look, half judging his words, half actually trying to hear something. After looking blank at his face for a moment, and noticing nothing, Sadri turned the earless side of his face in Narzul’s general direction, put his hand behind the ragged scar where his ear had once been and raised one of his brows, as if attempting to hear his words better over a distance. There was some actual attempt in the effort, but mostly, it was his way of showing to Narzul that he didn’t hear anything, and poking at the fact that maybe he wasn’t the best man to ask the question. Nonetheless, the situation wasn’t one for snide remarks, and nor was the person, so he just nodded his head back as to show his disagreement. His able ear weighing every single sound he heard, as to not be proven wrong by the Redoran as he moved on behind the thankfully tall and unkempt bushes, Sadri found to his and likely everyone else’s relief (not to mention his ego’s) that there was no other Armiger on the last fifty meters to the bridge. Beyond the old wooden bridge, which was marked by an empty signpost that seemed to be recently erected, he could make out the silhouette of the Wayshrine, and another signpost facing the other way around on the opposite end of the bridge. He wasn’t sure what to make of it except to tread even more carefully. Were the Armigers renaming landmarks as to cement their presence? After some moments spent in a bush next to the bridge to confirm nobody was around, Sadri cautiously moved out along with Narzul. Walking to the edge of the bridge, he looked back into the tree line, waiting for Dumhuvud, but all he got was a dismissing gesture as to move on forward. It seemed that their leader did not want to cross the bridge without a force on the other side. Sadri nodded for Narzul. "Let’s go, then." Narzul narrowed his eyes in annoyance when Sadri sarcastically cupped his hand to his absent ear, though he had to admit he should have seen that one coming. The Redoran shrugged imperceptibly inside his armor as no further noises came his way -- and he was glad of it too. He followed Sadri after Duhumvud clearly shooed them ahead, well aware they [i]could[/i] be walking into a trap, and once again cursed his current situation. Less than a month ago he was sitting in on meetings of the highest national importance and here he was now, conspiring against his own country in a foolhardy attempt to save his sister. The pair of Dunmer began crossing the bridge. Narzul did so somewhat hastily, eager to get to the other side as fast as possible. Bridges were notorious hotspots for ambushes after all. He got about halfway when the same sound he heard earlier reoccurred, now -- rather alarmingly -- from beneath his boots. Creaking wood. "Aha," Narzul said sardonically and picked up speed. Sadri had not expected Narzul to pick up the pace and even actually go beyond him, thinking that the Redoran would not want to make himself the primary target to anything laying in ambush in front of them when the half-dead low blooded expat was already occupying that position, but it seemed that he had perhaps judged him a tad too unfairly. There the lad was, boldly moving forward, no doubt given confidence by the armor covering all his body as much as his well-drilled training. Then the Redoran started running, and Sadri realized why all too late. A moaning, well audible croak led to Sadri deducing that perhaps this bridge wasn’t the safest for crossing, and when the planks started to visibly show that they could not support their weight, Sadri actually looked back to see if he could return back to terra firma, but then one of the abutments lodged into the rocks split open with a loud crack, and the bridge suddenly toppled to the left, the floor sliding from underneath Sadri’s feet. Latching onto a railing on his right with unexpectedly fast speed, Sadri thought of looking up at Narzul to see whether or not he’d made it to the other side, but his eyes were too well-fixed on trying to locate the crumbling support to act his care. He thought of using the railings like a monkey bar to support his feet in an attempt to get off the death trap, but before he could put the idea to test, the middle support crumbled further. "Oh fuck." Before he could gather his thoughts and actually do something, the bridge decided to hold its demise further no more. He felt his stomach hop as the bridge floor swiveled even further towards the ground in an imbalance, and following this, the rest of the supports cracked, causing a couple of large rocks to dislocate themselves to set them free, which led to the bridge sliding off into uncertainty with the two Dunmer still on it. Sadri felt his stomach hop as if he were on a swing, and realizing the impending impact, closed his eyes in denial. Even though the freefall was about twenty five feet at most, to his closed eyes it felt like an epic, mythical representation of an unending abyss, with the wild cacophony of smashing rocks and crying carpentry providing a musical tension to the scene, until the moment when it all reached a climax, and Sadri himself hit the ground with a rather disappointingly mundane [i]plop[/i] amidst the majestic chorus of [i]boom[/i] and [i]krak[/i] and [i]thwuk[/i]s. [hr] Sadri opened his eyes about fifteen seconds after his landing, after realizing that it wasn’t death that kept his eyes close but just his reflexes. Looking around, he found his clothes not bloody but dusty and muddy, and the pain that jolted his body was not unbearable but in fact rather mild. He’d fallen on his right thigh, and thankfully, the padding of his robe and the soft density of the soil had kept any bones from breaking, although the chainmail had smashed into his clothes on impact, and hurt like Oblivion. Surprised at the fact that he was relatively unhurt, he let out a silent praise to whichever deity that had a part to play in it, and slowly, he led his battered body back up on its feet. While the pain and the force of impact kept him from acting with agility, he nonetheless managed to walk around in an attempt to try and find the Redoran. As for Narzul, his sprint to reach the other side of the small chasm, while admirable, yielded no fruits. The wooden planks gave way beneath him as the support posts on that side also collapsed and the whole bridge came tumbling down just before the Redoran had reached his goal. A final leap of faith ended up with him smacking into the cliff side, the gauntleted fingers of his free hand scrambling for support mere inches below the edge, carving gouges into the soft rock as he inevitably slid down. Weakened by the wooden support posts being torn out of their places, the edge of the cliff disintegrated into a tumble of loose rocks before Narzul's muscles gave out and he entered the same freefall his ash-kin experienced a ways behind him. Thinking fast, Narzul angled his shield towards the ground. The loud and painful [i]crunk[/i] that Narzul made when he hit rock bottom was certainly more intense than Sadri's comparatively soft landing. Narzul's decision to land on his shield was a wise one, as otherwise he might have landed on one of the rocks that came down with him which could have dented his cuirass in ways that would have been wildly unhealthy for the constitution of his torso. Even so, the fall wasn't kind to the ramshackle suit of armor and Narzul, rattled like a fish inside a tin can, groaned in fierce pain. Dust obscured his vision from within the helmet and he rolled on his back, gasping to regain the breath that had been knocked out of him. He was alive, that much was clear, but what was the damage? After nothing continued to happen for some time, Narzul sat up straight, yanked his helmet off his head and quickly patted himself down. There were some dents in his armor now, mostly in his greaves, but nothing severe. More annoying was a dent in his helmet, which had scraped his brow and blood slowly trickled down and into his face. He ignored it for now. One of his boots had somehow come loose in the descent and Narzul spotted it a few yards away from him, lying in the middle of the chasm -- and there was Sadri, wandering around like a lost soul in the Cairn. "Beleth!" Narzul hissed and waved his hand above his hand. After grabbing his fellow Dunmer's attention, he pointed at his iron boot. "Hand me that," he added. To his surprise, the Redoran had been quite deep in the wreckage, and not far away like Sadri had been looking. He turned and blinked in surprise to see the blueblood out of his helmet and sitting on the ground like a duck. For a moment, Sadri could have been quite happy to see him alive, but the Redoran’s attitude quickly reminded him of whom he actually was. Sadri looked straight at Narzul for a moment, to show him that he wasn’t taking it all too fast, then actually went and picked up the boot to deny the Dunmer a reason to be properly irritated, and thus, irritate him even further. "You forgot the magic word," Sadri told Narzul as he walked closer to the sitting Redoran, with a faint, battered, yet still smug smile on his face. He handed over the iron boot, and then moved further up to see the Dunmer’s wound. "I’d have checked to see if the shoe fits, but you aren’t exactly Cendrillon," Sadri quipped as he pulled his sleeve back and dusted his hands off. "Lay your head back, would you?" Sadri said, in a more serious tone. Narzul scoffed at Sadri's little quip, but accepted the offered boot without further comment. Before he had a chance to pull it on the other Dunmer leaned in to inspect the injury on Narzul's brow, which he promptly raised slightly in surprise. He hadn't expected Sadri to care, or to know anything about battlefield first aid. Narzul obliged, staring down his nose at Sadri. "How does it look?" he asked languidly. Sadri’s grin widened upon seeing Narzul’s derisive expression, but he didn’t carry the banter any further. "Well, I mean, it shouldn’t be nothing some magic fingers can’t fix, but it looks like –" Sadri stopped with an abrupt, silent but nonetheless concerning gasp, his movements paused. "Shit." Immediately on alert, Narzul tried to turn his head to see what Sadri was looking at but the tight fit of his cuirass and his position on the ground prevented him. He swiftly pulled the iron boot onto his foot, rolled over so he was facing the direction of Sadri's cause for concern, stood up and unsheathed his sword. His helmet -- an integral part of his disguise -- was still on the ground. Narzul's blood ran cold. Sadri internally cursed at Narzul for making a sudden movement, but there wasn’t much he could do to stop him. He put on the most non-confrontational expression he could as he raised his head further at the edge of the collapsed bridge and gazed at their surprised and newly arrived onlookers. Ten Armigers, clad in loosely fitted armor and wielding pickaxes, hammers, shovels and long strands of rope, looked down at the two unfortunate Dunmer as they scratched their chins on what to do. Sadri’s eyes gauged them and the rocks and pieces of wood next to him, hoping that he could outmaneuver them and get to cover before any possible projectiles could reach their position. The tense situation lasted for a few moments before one of the more presentable of the bunch stepped forward. The spokesperson, a rather young and sharp looking Dunmer with his hair worn in braids, rested his open palm next to his mouth and began shouting aggressively in what Sadri assumed to be Dunmeris before another wearing glasses whispered something in his ear. The braided one stopped and glared at him for a moment before nodding in agreement and turning back to the duo below. "We’ll set up a rope, get up here!" He shouted, before turning to the more tribal looking one next to him and saying some things that Sadri couldn’t make out. Sadri smiled sheepishly. [hr] "Shor’s bones, those idiots!" Dumhuvud was furious. Not only had Sadri and Narzul collapsed their only way forward, but they had also gone and attracted the worst kind of attraction possible, and the Armiger patrol that had passed by them earlier had now arrived again to the commotion. Thankfully, they seemed more prepared for maintenance rather than actual battle, and more concerned with fixing the wreckage instead of looking for intruders. His angry frown turned into a bloodthirsty grin as an idea turned up in his head, while he watched the unsuspecting Armigers try and do something about the bridge – slowly he turned back to the group and began speaking in a hushed, confident tone. "On my mark, we rush them. Try to keep some alive for information," he informed as he turned his head back and waited for a proper moment to charge. For some reason, they were busy trying to prepare a rope for to pull something, or more likely, someone from down below. Were the two still alive? Had the Armigers mistaken them for allies? Or worse, [i]were[/i] they really allies? "Go!" With his own command, the Cat-Kicker jumped out of his crouch into a sprint, his weapon held at the ready, and smashed into the rear of the group. True to his name, he transferred the momentum of his short distance sprint into a kick, which landed itself true on the back of an Armiger. The Armiger who took the impact screamed in fear as he flew into the one with the rope, and together the two fell down along with the two they had been trying to pull up moments ago. Before the element of surprise could properly subside, Dumhuvud sprung his arm back far and swung his axe overhead, inevitably crashing into the head of the closest Armiger and lopping half the Dunmer’s head off in a bloody and hard swing. The remaining Armigers pulled back and readied themselves, with one swinging his pickaxe against the Nord's head and smashing its tip into the side of his opponent's helmet, as the rest of the party followed suit into the bout, right behind a disoriented Dumhuvud.