[I]Sload Airship[/I]
[@Dervish] [@Mortarion] [@Frizan] [@POOHEAD189]

The creature that emerged was a thing of legends, the hulking slug-like Sload of Thras. Even if one had never seen one in person, and to be blunt, they were so elusive many in Tamriel weren’t even sure if they were actually [I]real[/I] or just some bogeymen meant to scare children away from the shores while unattended. This one, however, was just as real and repulsive as its reputation would have predicted. Its companion, equally unsettling, was a patchwork of different body parts in a grotesque two meter tower of mix-and-matched components that altogether made it an unsettling adversary, to say the least. Do’Karth didn’t recall the lifeless face, but he recognized the heraldry the ghoul wore as belonging to Windhelm. Had this Sload taken bodies from the battle with the Kamal for this insidious purpose? The Khajiit did not fancy what he was seeing, but it was going to happen.

And happen it did.

One of the sailors had tried to flee down the chains, fear overtaking his senses, and with alarming speed, the ghoul was upon him, quickly running him down and sending him off of the ship with a sickening crunch as the club flung the man’s body overboard. Do’Karth did not expect to see the sailor again. He adjusted his stance, grounding himself for the fight to come.

[I]It is simply another creature, repulsive as it is. Do’Karth has faced mindless Dwemer contraptions and sly Dunmer alike. This is simply another fight; end this threat. Protect the others.[/I] he thought, spinning his staff behind him so it rested alongside the back length of his left arm. 

The others had a plan, he would have to buy them time to see it through.

“If Do’Karth may, he will deal with the tall and ugly one if the rest of you wish to rid the fat and ugly one from our presence.” the Khajiit said, grinning mischievously. “He will keep you safe.” he promised, and then set to work.

Squaring off against the hulking zombie, Do’Karth felt like he was staring down the Centurion again; he was lucky that his staff could even reach the deformed face above him. And the [I]smell[/I] was absolutely revolting. Not for the first time this week, Do’Karth cursed himself for having a remarkable sense of smell. It was as if the other Khajiit who had joined the company had vomited in his face.

“You poor, wretched creature. Allow Do’Karth to rid you of your agony and return you to whichever Divine lays claim to you.” He called up to the face, which didn’t react and instead the golden club smashed down into the deck where Do’Karth had been standing moments before, and he had to keep his movement swift as it seemed relentless in trying to break him.

He was faster, but undead abominations had one thing going for them; they never tired. 

First Do’Karth tried to sweep the legs, but the staff simply cracked into skin and bone, causing tears in the flesh and a somehow even more repugnant scent to fill the air, but otherwise the ghoul was unharmed. He grit his teeth, going for the arms, and it was more of the same. Disabling attacks weren’t taking to this stupid, [I]stupid[/I] thing. Anger filled Do’Karth’s mind as the scent grew more offensive. 

With a ferocious yell, the Khajiit rammed his staff up at the monster’s face, and its jaw came completely off. Reveling in a temporary victory, it was short lived as Do’Karth felt the end of his staff wasn’t moving anywhere; the ghoul had grabbed it. With horror, Do’Karth tried to pry the weapon free, but failed to account for the club-arm, which blindsided him with such force that he was lifted through the air and across the deck. His side exploded in pain and the Khajiit roared in agony as his vision narrowed and bright stars filled his eyes; his rib felt broken. 

Forcing himself to his feet, relying on battle meditation to fight through the pain, he realized his arm wasn’t lifting all of the way, either. He stared defiantly at the creature, which bore down on him. A long hiss escaped from between Do’Karth’s fangs, and when the zombie threw his staff at him again, likely less of trying to make the fight more honourable and more likely just mindlessly trying to hurt him, he caught the weapon in his good arm and adapted a stance to try and adapt to his injured body. 

“That will not happen again,” he promised, although he wasn’t so sure if it was trying to reassure himself or challenge the creature. The conviction in his voice simply wasn’t there.

As the gap closed, Do’Karth ducked low under the club again and with one arm, he threw his weight to the side and guided the staff into the side of the creature’s head, trying to break the neck or at least tear out some of the throat, and for his efforts, he was rewarded with a satisfying crunch, but he was at a disadvantageous position; his body was low to the deck and when he tried to put weight on the injured arm, it simply gave out on him and he fell face first into the damp deck. 

He drove his knuckles into the wooden planks, willing himself to stand when a brutal force came down into his back, forcing him hard into the wood below. The agony spread through his entire body, and the sensation of a thousand spears piercing him filled his thoughts as his vision began to fade to black.

Seeing Do’Karth falter against the deformed creature once known as Tennant, Sagax forwent his initial plan of destroying the strange magic shield surrounding the Slug. He had to help Karth, so the job fell to another. The first person the Imperial saw was Alim, and he at least looked the capable sort. “Alim!” he shouted to the Redguard, “Take this….thing, and toss it into the barrier! Who knows, it might just leave the Slug vulnerable!” Handing over the explosive creature, Sagax drew his blade and ran to assist his feline friend.

The creature in front of him may have once been a man, but the spark of humanity in it had long since been washed away. A pacifist he may have been, even Sagax knew there was no redemption for an undead. They were an aberration, something to be destroyed and burned. Putting as much weight behind it as possible, the Imperial thrust his sword as deep into the back of the undead as he could. He managed to send it in fairly deep. Too deep, in fact, as he was unable to draw it back out before the creature responded with its club.

Sagax threw himself backwards as far as he could, narrowly missing being tenderized by the massive hunk of metal being thrown at him. “Come on! Try again! Bet you couldn’t hit a paralyzed Troll!” He knew that an undead couldn’t take offense, but it was his hope that maintaining an aggressive posture help him remain the target instead of Do’Karth. The creature’s glassy eyes stared blankly as it readied another swing. It brought down the club fast, but the Imperial’s superior reflexes allowed him to see where it was coming from and evade. Without his sword, it was all he could do, and it seemed to be working well at least. Tennant...no, the zombie, moved further and further away from Do’Karth as it gave chase to Sagax, who was leading it on a goosechase around the cabin, and the Imperial was nowhere near out of breath.

The sight of the zombified corpse of Tennant Ibnazh would have normally given Tsleeixth some pause, but he had already beheld such a sight earlier when the zombified Relmyna had been let loose on the [i]Kyne’s Tear[/i] by the Sload in command of the airship. Not to mention that his friends were in danger, Do’Karth was already knocked unconscious and while Sagax was effectively distracting the monstrosity that their one-time comrade had become for the time being. Tsleeixth doubted that could last for very long before something bad happened. No, the Saxhleel couldn’t afford any hesitation at present. 

And yet, his mind was torn at the moment. Which was the target that presented the greatest risk: the Sload necromancer or it’s undead abomination. The seconds seemed to stretch as Tsleeixth’s mind worked, until an idea suddenly dawned upon him; he doubted it’d be very well received by his allies, and he himself in truth wished that he needn’t resort to it, but the situation in which they were was grave enough, any edge that they could obtain would be needed. 

“Alim! Go and blow the Sload’s barrier like Sagax said, I’ll make sure that you aren’t targeted.” Tsleeixth said to Alim before turning towards the rest of those who had climbed the chains and had boarded the airship, “The rest of you lot, wait for Alim to blow up the barrier and then focus on the Sload. I’m sure that if we kill the Slug, it’s undead monstrosity will follow shortly afterwards.” The spellsword spoke with confidence, hoping that his words would help steel the resolve of the rest of the boarders.

 Knowledge of the Sloads of Thras was already plenty scarce, aside from a few mentions here and there in historical texts, and for all that Tsleeixth knew, they employed a different branch of necromancy than the one present throughout Tamriel. In truth, killing the Golden Slug was more of a gamble in Tsleeixth’s part, the logical side of his mind told him that there was no way that the necromancy employed by the Sload diverged massively from its Tamrielic counterpart and yet there was a part of him that was worried that the death of the Sload might cause something even worse. 

After he was done speaking, and the rest of the boarders has engaged in combat, Tsleeixth turned his attention towards his surroundings. As he had expected, more than a few corpses were scattered around the area; Tsleeixth saw corpses belonging to Nords, Argonians, and Dunmer mainly, aside from a few corpses belonging to other races, and the Spellsword had the sick sensation that these corpses were of those who had died during the Siege of Windhelm. How the Sload had come by their possession, Tsleeixth didn’t know but their mere presence only served to infuriate him. Casting away his glance from Windhelm’s fallen defenders, he continued to search his surroundings until he came across a most peculiar sight: the corpse of one of the Dreughs. 

“Yes, this will do.” The Argonian said, letting out a sigh, grateful that he hadn’t needed to use the corpse of one of those who had fallen at Windhelm for his plan. A black orb of magic coalesced in one of his hands and, shortly afterwards, a blue mist began to gather around the corpse of the Dreugh. His mind soon made contact with the soul of the departed creature, and a flood of emotions suddenly rushed towards him: confusion, panic, anger. The last of these emotions was the strongest one and, for a brief few seconds, Tsleeixth struggled against the soul of the departed beast before he was able to assert control. The corpse rose shortly afterwards, twitching slightly as dead nerves came back to life thanks to the necromantic energies coursing through its body. 

Pushing away the sickly sensation that seemed to spread throughout his body after resurrecting the corpse, Tsleeixth ordered the revived Dreugh to attack the Sload that had been its master on the creature’s now gone life. His thrall obeyed his orders and Tsleeixth allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction, in truth he never had mastered the art of raising corpses all too well and so Tsleeixth was glad that this plan of his had worked out. He could worry about what the others would think later on, for now he had to focus on the zombified Tennant. 

Brandishing his sword, Tsleeixth charged towards the undead abomination that the former mercenary-turned-pitfighter had become. Distracted as it was with Sagax, the zombie didn’t notice Tsleeixth until the laters’ blade had sunk in it’s thigh. 

“Don’t worry Sagax, I’m here to help!” The Argonian shouted to the Imperial as the hulking undead turned to face him. “I’ll try and distract him, see if you can retrieve your sword.” He said, having taken notice of the sword deeply embedded in the back of the abomination that they were now facing. Tsleeixth didn’t had time to say anything else as he was forced to dodge an attack from the undead Tennant, lightning emerging from his fingertips and making contact with the putrid flesh that made up his opponent in a quick counterattack. The creature stopped for a few seconds, its body spasming slightly, and Tsleeixth took advantage of the momentary reprieve to switch to a more defensive stance and to make sure that his control over the risen Dreugh still held firmly. 

As the others were fighting for their lives, Alim had taken the harpoon with the grotesque jellyfish on it. He could have sworn he saw it wiggle a bit, though he knew for a fact that the thing was dead. “Professional tomb robber and jewel thief...carrying an exploding jellyfish.” He muttered to himself, ducking and weaving through the combat, still unsure of his own footing so high in the air above the [i]true[/i] ground. 

He clambered his way up to whatever higher ground he could find, leaping at a rafter and grabbing a hold of it with one hand, unable to pass the most furious fighting. As he had the harpoon in his offhand, tossing the harpoon up in the air to catch with a better grip. He wasn’t muscled like a few of the other companions, but many years scaling walls gave him a fine upper body strength. 

“By the nine...don’t fuck up,” he told himself, weighing the moments until he felt just the right time to throw, and he threw the harpoon like a spear. It flew through the air, and the last thing Alim saw before his vision left him was a field of light.