Delphine waited in a crouch while Amal advanced. The nauseous vapors of the place were now mixing with adrenaline and her stomach roiled. The pressure grew in her belly and bladder and there was a cold coppery taste in her mouth. She had her sword in her hand, the space was too close to use her bow easily and there would be no time to draw it if anything went wrong. Amal’s throne chair was her queue. Despite the fear that she would freeze her body sprang into action, carrying her halfway across the room before the shaman could turn. The creature spun around, throwing up a magical shield in panic. A disgusting smell seemed to vent from it and its lips pulled back across its rotted teeth in a snarl. Delphine smashed her sword against the shield and it shattered in a spray of sparks, the impact jarring her wrist. The goblin skipped back, the shield slowing the blade just long enough to avoid having its head cleaved in two. It lifted both its hands, lightning wreathing them from elbow to wrist. Delphine screamed her own spell, feeling confidence fill her as the magicka flowed, then drove her fist into the shaman’s paunchy belly. The spell crackled out of the touch and the goblin’s chant cut off as its lungs and chest were frozen in paralysis, its lips worked soundlessly and its eyes widened in shock as Delpine thrust the tip of her sword through its sternum with a satisfying crunch. Remembering to twist her blade she withdrew it, the feeling of triumph momentarily tainted by the gurgling gush of foul smelling blood. The greenskin stood still in shock, looking down at the gore spreading across its rounded paunch. Delphine hacked into the goblin’s neck, partially severing it and sending the body sprawling, there was no point taking chances when it came to mages, before whirling and lifting her blade in a guard.

Amal was holding his own against the surviving two goblins. She lifted her left hand and thrust her palm forward chanting rapidly. A pale pink orb leaped from her palm and stuck the back of the nearest goblin, there was an acrid scent and the goblin screamed, dropped its bone, and leaped onto its companion, tearing and biting in blind magicka fueled frenzy. Delphine kept her distance, unwilling to risk another spell with Amal so closely engaged and unwilling to crowd the Redguard’s blade in narrow quarters. She fought to keep her breathing under control, exhilaration burning through her in place of her earlier fear. Most of her fighting had been done on the practice field or sparring with her friends, and the few times she had drawn her blade in earnest had been settled peacefully. This was the real thing though, and she thought she had acquitted herself well so far.