[sup]Featuring [@POOHEAD189][/sup]

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

“Fuckin’ Sload, with their fuckin’ airships an’ their fuckin’ chains an’ fuckin’ gold, I swear to the fuckin’ Gods...”
 
Sadri himself had nearly fallen off the airship along with the sailor knocked overboard by Tmeip’r’s zombie thrall, the impact knocking the already unsteady Dunmer off his feet and sending him tumbling down the edge of the airship. It was only thanks to the abundance of the gold chains laying around was Sadri able to find something to grasp onto and halt his descent. However, in his drunkenness, this dizzying turn of events had caused him to belch most of the contents of his stomach down below to the Kyne’s Tear before letting him focus on climbing back up, and thus, by the time he began attempting that, an explosion rumbled the airship so hard that Sadri found himself holding onto the chain for dear life instead of actually spending any effort on climbing. Shit was fucking intense, as a friend of his once used to say.
 
He found nothing but chaos back on deck. The scene looked straight out of the works of the famous Moth Priest artist, Jac-Son Pollochius, with blood, guts, dreugh, gold and rotten meat strewn everywhere like random paint on canvas. The gigantic zombie was around still, although there seemed to be a much bigger problem – the Sload, however wounded, seemed to shake its head like it was coming out of a slumber, and propped itself forwards, albeit stunned.
 
“Kill it, now!” Sadri heard someone say, and with that, he pulled out his bottle of grog, broke it against his iron arm, and then threw it into the Sload’s face as he began rushing towards the thing right after the toss. The bottle thankfully landed broken end first, and embedded itself into what seemed to be the Sload’s right eye. “Eat shit!” He roared as he jumped and landed his iron fist right into the bottle poking out of the Sload’s face, breaking it and smashing the shards further.
 
Right then, the Sload whacked Sadri in the chest with such a left hook that he found himself flying through the air for what seemed to be the billionth time since he’d found himself in combat, although thankfully, this time he hit the gold bulkhead of the Sload’s quarters, caving it in, but keeping him from falling aboard. He suddenly found himself quite a distance away from the monstrous mage, although its attention was still fixed on Sadri, who had found the wind knocked out of him so badly that he could barely move. It began gathering magic in its palm, seemingly preparing to finish what its punch had started.

Meanwhile, the explosion had rocked the structures around them and torn Alim off his feet for a moment. If he wasn’t as nimble as he’d been trained to be, he might have hit his head. But he landed heavily on his hands and turned back to see the Sload alive but stunned. He grabbed his sword and went rigid, watching the Sload’s movements until it noticed Sadri. He didn’t exactly want to use Sadri as bait but there was very little choice at the moment. 

Ducking and dodging over fallen timber, he kept low with his sword at the ready. “Kill it now!” 

“Eat shit!” 

He couldn’t keep more than one eye on the fight as he moved, but right when he turned the corner and flanked the sload, he saw Sadri get knocked off his feet. “Beautiful,” he deadpanned, and then steadying himself, he leaped atop one of the planks that leaned against the walls and used it as a springboard to leap, sailing through the air. The Sload turned when he saw sparks filling the side of its toad-like vision, but he could never guess that a storm enchanted sword would slice into the side of its head at breakneck speed. 

...Unfortunately, due to its physiology, it did not break the Sload’s neck, or kill it. But it screeched with a pitiful, rage fueled ire and struck at Alim who had not even hit the ground yet, tossing him across the way and into a pile of kindling.

“Hate it or love it, baby, the underfrog’s on top, and I’m gonna shine, homie, til my two hearts all stop!” The Sload rapped out with obnoxious brag as it held a rhythm to an unknown beat with its good hand, its corpulent fingers snapping as it slowly hobbled over towards Alim. It was either unbelievably confident in itself, or just too damn fat to move any faster, which would’ve fit the stories Sadri had heard; but then, how the fuck was it able to slap them around like it was a rabid troll? “Fuckin’ books never get it all right,” the Dunmer huffed to himself, each of his breaths stabbing into his lungs, as he propped himself up from the ground.
 
Looking around, he could not find any discarded weapon to use; although the rookie was in danger, Sadri knew he had to find something to make his strike have more ‘oomph’ first, lest he get slapped around into Anu-knows-what once again, like an oversized ragdoll. [i]“Fuck it,”[/i] Sadri thought as he snapped off one of the broken planks that kept the floor underneath them with his iron arm and pulled his arm back the way a javelineer would. He roared, and heaved the plank forward with all his might as an impromptu harpoon intent on murder. 
 
Sadri had horrendous aim, and he likely would’ve missed, had he not been aiming at the fattest fuck seen this side of Mundus in the last two eras.  
 
The wooden plank’s pointy end plucked itself deep into the Sload’s chest from the side just as it’d raised its arm to smash down onto Alim with a lightning-infused slam, and the giant beast hobbled to the side with the impact, swaying further and leaning itself against a cracked bulkhead, its neck huffing and oozing blood as it struggled to catch some breath. Sadri celebrated his own shot, raising his fist up in the air.
 
“Let’s kill this fat bastard, boy toy!” Sadri screamed out to Alim as he gathered the last of his strength and began rushing at the Sload, intent on taking it down, consequences be damned.

Alim heard Sadri cry out, collecting himself in an instant. The adrenaline in his body too prevalent at the moment. He’d feel the aches tomorrow, though. Wait, was boy toy at Alim!? He’d talk about that later, but all of his anger was currently fueled toward killing this toad-like abomination. Right when Sadri hit it, the monster swayed, threatening to topple over.

Alim curled his legs, and sprang, sword leading. The point of his blade cutting into the sload’s side, where a normal man’s kidney would be. He heard the thing croak in what he assumed pain, and called out a word in magicka. Flames began to lick along the blade as Alim drove his sword ever deeper into the things body until it was but a few inches from the hilt. 

“Die, you son of a bitch!” Alim cried, twisting the blade to make as much internal damage as he could. 

As the Sload attempted to painfully blather out something in response to the half-blood’s righteous stab, a rebel yell interrupted its attempt, and right afterwards, a dark-colored mass whizzed by Alim’s vision and slammed into the Sload with great velocity. The sudden impact caused the spellsword’s imbued sword to tear and snap through organ and bone and spill them out from the side, and almost disarmed him with the sudden buck; then there was a tremendous cracking sound, as the cracked side plates of the airship gave way under immense weight and seemingly swallowed the Sload whole. There was naught but a gaping hole where the creature had once been, leading to nothing but an uncanny view of the storm outside.

Sadri, it seemed, having run out of ammunition, had decided to use himself as his next harpoon, and thrown himself heel-first into the Sload’s wounded belly, causing the wooden ‘javelin’ he’d thrown to pierce the creature further and kick it down on his rear. Only, its rear had landed flat against the bulkhead that it’d smashed into two times already. Gold plated or not, the ship hadn’t been able to handle the pressure of fat Sload ass ramming into it for the third time.

It was hard to explain how the old Dunmer had gathered the strength to dropkick the Sload hard enough to budge it off its feet. They say that the Dunmer have strong connections with their ancestors, who lend their strength to their descendants in their times of need or glory – although considering how utterly suicidal and foolish Sadri’s action was, it is safe to say that either his ancestors hate his guts and want him out of the worldly equation, or are merely similarly foolish. Of course, it is entirely possible that the fuel for this had just been the sugar and the booze, not ancestral aid. Mundus may never know.

Considering the Sload’s immense weight, it had taken mere moments for it to reach terminal velocity, although Sadri was following right afterwards, his left foot caught in the wound Alim had thrust into the corpulent necromancer’s body. It had only taken a few seconds for them to smash into the Kyne’s Tear like some sort of insane meteor, punching down through top deck and nearly smashing through the second as well. The impact was so strong with the Sload’s weight that the Kyne’s Tear almost capsized, and sent at least two unlucky sailors overboard. One particular member of the company was crushed and killed instantly underneath the Sload. Sadri himself would have likely died, had Tmeip'r's bones not been crushed under its own weight with the fall, finally killing it and turning it into practically a macabre cushion for the Dunmer to land onto. Nonetheless, the impact was still strong enough to fracture Sadri’s heel, batter his hip badly, and knock him unconscious.

With the source of the seaborne scourge laying dead onboard the Kyne’s Tear, it was time for the survivors to get away from the dying airship as quickly as possible, tend to their wounded, and pay their dues to their dead.