[sub]Featuring [@Spoopy Scary][/sub]

[i]Night, 7th of Last Seed, 4E205
Smuggler's Cove
Aboard the Kyne's Tear[/i]


Gustav’s orders were difficult to relay over the chaos of battle that swept over the ship, but one way or another, the crew of mercenaries combatting the undead werewolf had managed to receive them. With the creature outnumbered and its attention split, it could be easily manipulated into different positions. Piper, Ashna, Adaeze, and Daxainos were able to bully the monster towards the center of the ship while Wylendriel covered the gaps in their defense. The group was so focused on keeping it contained, they were nigh oblivious to the fights around them; the ship overhead, slowly falling apart -- the dreughs on the ship, mostly preoccupied by the Venim siblings.

Everyone was barking one another to keep their formation around the werewolf tight. Perhaps so focused were they that they did not realize what Gustav was planning. Nor did they expect the sudden turbulence as the ship crested a stormy ocean wave, causing the flaming bolt of the [i]Tear’s[/i] ballistae to go wide. Wylendriel only noticed this too late as she watched the crew preoccupied with their respective enemies, and watched the dervish Adaeze dance straight into the ballista’s line of fire. As the incendiary shot shrieked through the air, the priestess shrieked out toward her comrades and, without thinking, summoned all of her strength to pull the other Bosmer out of the way and threw her to the ground behind her. 

Not a second after, an explosion sparked at the bolt’s point of impact and nearly swallowed the entire deck within its fiery embrace.

It was entirely possible that someone else wouldn’t have survived the situation, had they been where Marcel had been when the bolt struck; though Marcel himself was far too preoccupied with being on fire to remember exactly where. Then again, practically everything was on fire. While the ship’s rigging was saved by a wave crashing into the side of the ship and extinguishing the shrouds, the same could not be said for others. He could see a figure taller than himself flailing around on the ground with its flesh charred black, and another sailor who quickly threw himself overboard as a solution to the fiery problem. Only after smelling burnt hair did Marcel realize that his situation was worse than he’d thought. 

At first, he reflexively began trying to pat out the flames with his palms, but then he realized that the solution was simpler than that – he clenched his fists and concentrated to absorb the heat, feeling his energy renewed despite the physical pain. After a moment, the flames eating at him simply disappeared into his body with sizzling sounds, leaving behind nothing but fresh, yet cold scorch marks.

Now, less preoccupied with dying, and clearer of mind, Marcel quickly rushed over to the closest figure that seemed aflame yet alive, the sound her pained screaming drawing him closer, and then put one palm on the figure’s lower back and the other right below the nape of her neck to create a proper conduit before clenching his teeth and soaking the flames off her flesh into himself as magicka. “I’m afraid I’ll need you off here, young lady,” he huffed to himself as Marcel grasped onto her shoulders and began gently pulling her away as to reach the other figure that was underneath her body.

Wylendriel barely noticed she was being pulled away as her lungs still desperately gasping for air to fuel her agonized grunting and yelling, and from beneath her was revealed a slightly burned Adaeze underneath but was no worse for wear since the priestess had taken the brunt of the explosion. The volume of the priestess’ voice was dimming, but she still felt her back sting with every raindrop that fell on it. Scarred flesh and blisters from steam burns and fire marred the tattooed wings with her back now bare, the fire having scorched away part of her clothes, even wet as they were. She weakly reached around with her hand, trying to pull away the hair she felt touching her body -- only to find that her hand was filled with thin strands of crushed charcoal as all the hair below her shoulders crumbled to dust at her touch. 

Then the ringing in her ears began to subside. The bells that once deafened her hearing gave way to the sounds of panic and screams. Surely she heard Marcel and Adaeze -- but they were fine -- how many were hurt? How many were [i]dead?[/i] Her eyes passed over them and scanned the ship: fire. The crew was running. People throwing themselves overboard. Bodies. People trying to hold onto life, but unable to escape. She couldn’t see the wolf anywhere. But she saw a body rolling across the deck -- was it Ashna? She was cloaked in fire and it was hard to tell, but the woman’s desperate, agonized screams was her death knell. Her skin was bubbling and falling apart and the smell of charred flesh filled the priestess’ nose as she reached out helplessly, her tears hidden by the rain.

“No…” She rasped hoarsely. 

The Witch Hunter was not exactly preoccupied with Wylendriel’s emotional state considering the matters of emergency all around him, and thus did not clutter his mind with her seeming despair. While Marcel had been in similarly dangerous situations, ones where he had to help people were in fact more of a rarity than anything else; he leaned down on the Bosmer that had been shielded by the other to check her breathing, while amateurishly patting her cheek to see if she’d give any response. He could sense her life energy, but that did not show him whether she was conscious, or still breathing. After hearing a relieving cough, he raised his head and subconsciously reached for the satchel of healing poultices he kept on his belt for some first aid. Although, as he did so, he could not help but notice the look on Wylendriel’s face, which made him feel some pity. “Don’t you worry now,” he told her, doing his best at an attempt of reassurance; “Look now, she’s fine, you’re fine, and we’ll all be right as rain. That’s all that matters right now, no?”

“No, no, no…” She choked, still struggling to speak and to pick herself up from her hands and knees. “The ship… the company! They’re… she’s...”

Marcel turned to see what Wy was staring at, and noticed that the body he’d passed by earlier was still far too alive for comfort. While he could sense faint life energies in whoever that had been, sharing that fact with anyone else would not be helping the situation, he assessed. “Oh, my,” Marcel muttered to himself as he raised a hand to place on Wylendriel’s shoulder before changing his mind and clasping on Adaeze’s arms. “Let’s carry her somewhere better, shall we?” Marcel asked the seemingly traumatized Bosmer, the burns on his cheek making it somewhat hard for him to put on a positive expression.

“I can’t leave them!” Wy argued, drawing as much strength as she could. The winds of Kynareth carried Ashna’s screams toward her, fueling her anger and desperation. People all around the ship, also on fire or bleeding out. Others trapped beneath, rendered unconscious, or impaled by debris. She wasn’t sure if she could save the Redguard woman, or if trying would only prolong her suffering -- but if she didn’t do anything, even more people might end up dying. She lifted one of her feet, getting off one of her knees. Then the other. Her legs were shaking beneath her weight and she stumbled to catch herself and struggled to regain her balance on the swaying ship, but she eventually found her footing. She continued to pant, “I can’t stop… Kynareth…”

She took a deep breath for a moment, then a scowl appeared on her face before spitting out under her breath, “To Oblivion with Kynareth… [i]I[/i] have to do this…”

Wylendriel clapped her hands together and squeezed her eyes shut to steel her focus through the pain. It was a stance she had taken on a few times before and it looked as though she was praying, but now that wasn’t the case. Normally she would pray for Kynareth’s grace and Y’ffre’s mercy to grant her the strength she needed, but for now her thoughts were silent, focusing only on drawing upon her own strength and what was left of it. She put as much faith as she could in herself -- and her hands began to glow.

Though it began with an outline, the shine quickly began to spread from her hands and created a shimmer across her body and strands of light emanated from her person. She let out a few audible grunts as she tried her damnedest to hold herself together, but she gritted her teeth and opened her eyes to look at her comrades and several waves of light pulsed outward from her. Those who were injured would see a warm light fill their wounds and slowly sew them closed, and the wounds on her own back were beginning to numb; and Ashna, her screams became even more intense as her body was caught in a limbo of being constantly regenerated and burned away. Wy almost slipped, but she closed her eyes again. Though her screams chilled her heart, each second of it making her want to stop... thoughts of the rest of the crew pushed through, telling her to continue. So she pressed on, trying -- and failing -- to ignore the screams.