[center][b]The Airship[/b][/center]
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An incredible rumble followed the flash of light, and the entire ship trembled with the ear-deafening explosion caused by the catastrophic effect of magic on magic. The golden plating of the ship caved inside from its weaker spots, and the floor cracked wherever it could, destabilizing further towards the epicenter of the explosion, almost caving in. Nearly everyone aboard had gotten blasted into the ground or otherwise dizzied by the reaction; even the Sload, which had looked nearly immovable with its massive size and incredible armor, had found itself smashed into the rear end of the ship with the explosion, its toes, palms and the frontal belly plate of its armor seemingly seared to a crisp by the blast.

Unfortunately, it did not seem as if it were out of commission with such wounds alone. It was not surprising, since Sload were things of myth, and practically nobody had any idea as to how durable they were; it promptly plopped itself out of the crater its body mass had created, and began walking towards the group, letting out a growl which sounded like a tiger’s roar and a whale’s deep moan at the same time. As its growls slowly increased in pitch and began sounding more like a monster’s impersonation of speech, the Golden Slug opened its palms, hands facing the party. Sparks began popping with loud sounds mere inches beyond its palms, indicators of some very potent Destruction magic; no doubt more than enough to turn the group into no more than ash.

As the sparks and loud pops converged into lightning proper, a chitinous mass threw itself out towards the source of the magic and smashed into its torso with a loud slam; Tsleeixth’s Dreugh had reached out at just the right time and saved the party from a rather unceremonious death. Chirping out an alien and disconcerting roar, the Dreugh stabbed one of its claws into the Sload’s palm, and swung the other into its pudgy face, tearing its mouth open, right before the Sload grasped it with its other arm, and poured magic into it until it burnt to a crisp. The air was pungent with the smell of fried crab.

The second one to test his luck was Hargjorn. Seeing the Sload injured and preoccupied with the dreugh, Hargjorn emerged next from the smokes and rushed forward with his falchion raised high. His own battle cry was not dissimilar with that of the dreugh's roar, and his fate was not dissimilar from the dreugh's demise. With amazing reflex and power, the Sload whipped out a giant ball of fire into Hargjorn's way. The resulting explosion completely pulverized Hargjorn, leaving nothing more than chunks of flesh, cloth and metal. The airship itself was also further damaged, causing raptures to appear on deck and on the balloon. 

"[i]Do vahknu donu al mi brakumon, sahk vi ahkstos frotita[/i]." The Sload growled through its torn jaw, ripping off ruined armor pieces to reveal a multitude of golden necklaces dangling over its drooping stomach. Stubby hands raised and moved like a bard delivering a verse to the beat, which accompanied taunts in heavily accented, barely comprehensible Cyrodilic.

"This is Tmeip'r, the Fiftieth-Sent." The Sload began rapping. "Many men, many, many, many, many men, wish death upon me." 

Zombie Tennant had risen again, after being knocked down by the explosive shockwave. Its left arm was squished flat by its own weight, leaving only its club-attached right arm to swing at everyone in sight. The zombie appeared to be no longer coordinated, as the Sload's focus shifted to taunting what remained of the boarding party. Instead of a defensive stance, zombie Tennant swung wildly and clumsily, making outgoing attacks easy to avoid and incoming attacks easy to connect. Pained wails emanated from the zombie's throat, in sounds that almost resembled "end it".

However, the Sload seemed undeterred. Conjuring energy of pure death, something that was unseen by Tamrielic mages, it opened its assault with a flurry of verbal attacks. "I don't know what you heard about me, but a mortal can't get a gold out of me."

Magicka coalesced into spheres in the Sload's hands. "I'll take you to the candy shop; I'll let you lick the lollipop!"

The spell flew out in streaks of black, but as soon as the magicka materialized, it imploded in the very air ahead of the Sload. In its hubris (which included ignoring the damage done by the dreugh), the slugfolk had failed its deadly magic. As a result, the Sload was knocked back once again, and stunned briefly from defending itself.

"Kill it, now!" The sole surviving sailor urged. He didn't do anything himself, in fear of suffering the same fate as Hargjorn.