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[center][sup][h1][color=black] B R I N L A I T H  &  R U L - A M A N[/color]
[color=gold]B R I N L A I T H[/color]  &  [color=maroon]R U L - A M A N[/color][/h1][/sup][/center]

[center][b][color=lightgray]10th of Midyear, 4E 200[/color][/b][/center]
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He had endured a dizzying sleep, but when Brinlaith had woken him up, it had been the worst sort of torture to rise. It was as if the Elder Scrolls themselves had foretold he should sleep forever, and that removing him was akin to breaking reality. Kings would have killed for less. 

Of course, he was being dramatic, but fuck was he still exhausted. Still, he rose regardless. He knew she needed some sleep as well, and so he sat there and allowed her time to rest. He might have dozed off here or there, but he always jolted awake after a few short minutes and slapped himself multiple times. However, he seemed to get over it, and after struggling, he did actually manage to remain vigilant for a few hours, until he heard her dreaming. She moaned softly, and he even heard a whimper. He wondered if it would be wise to wake her, but he realized it was best to do so. She had slept for a fair time, and he would grant her this mercy and pull her from whatever dream was tormenting her. 

Rul-Aman knelt inside the small makeshift tent and gently shook her awake. 

"Brinlaith... Brin..." He said, softly but loud enough to be heard. "It's me! Wake up." 

Her eyes shot open the second time Rul-Aman shook her, and Brinlaith sat half upright, a fire spell igniting in her palm and held at the ready. She locked her gaze on his for a moment, vicious and lethal and not scared in the slightest, despite the nightmare she'd seemingly been trapped in. A second later, she registered her surroundings, blinking and returning to the present, snuffing out the fire in her palm. Her expression softened significantly.

"Sorry," she managed, clearing her throat. "I should've warned you not to do that."

She remembered what she did aboard the [i]Arslan's Fortune[/i], the ruin her fire spell had made of that pirate, and thought about how only a split-second of restraint had saved Rul-Aman from having his own eyes burned out. [i]Probably best not to do that. He's more useful with his eyes intact.[/i]

"If it happens again, it's probably best to wake me from a distance," she warned, getting to her feet and pulling on her boots. Her clothes all felt uncomfortably stiff from her adventure in the sea. "We should get moving. If there's civilization on this island, I'd like to find it while we still have light."

Rul-Aman, to his credit, did not cower back when he saw the flame. He likely seemed brave, though in truth he merely thought [i]ah, so this is how it ends. Figures a pretty woman would kill me[/i]. However, when the flame disappeared, he was relieved. He gave her a smile and a small breathy chuckle, the kind you can hardly hear, and nodded. However, after a moment he opened his mouth to question on how he would awake her from afar. Throw something? 

"We should get moving," he agreed, and stepped out of the tent, placing a hand on his collarbone as he stretched his neck. "I say find a river and follow it. We'll have drinking water and it will lead to people." 

Rul-Aman crossed his arms, satisfied at his cleverness. 

Brinlaith conceded that it was a good strategy. Her experience surviving in the wilderness was limited to the temperate forests and rolling hills of Cyrodiil, and while the heart of the Empire had dangers of its own, she knew this jungle island would prove far more treacherous. At least she had a more capable companion this time, and a more amusing one at that.

Her thoughts wandered to the dream she'd been forced from, sounds and sights and smells buried deep in her mind that climbed back to the surface in her sleep. It was always a risk, letting others see her with her walls down like that, but there was nothing to be done about it now.

As they cleared the treeline, it became apparent that they'd washed ashore on a very small island just off the larger landmass, separated by shallows they could likely wade through if they wanted to risk the slaughterfish. They did not, instead keeping to the small dirt path that bent around a stone obelisk at the island's center. It likely had some religious significance, but Brinlaith knew not what kind, nor did she care. It was another sign of civilization.

Across the strip of water to the east they could see the ruins of some kind of manor near the opposite shore, long uninhabited by the looks of things. Abandoned camps, abandoned manors, and dense jungle beyond. Brinlaith kept her eyes on the treeline, focused and alert, giving no effort to make conversation.

A thin barrier of dirt connected their little island to rest, and they crossed it quickly, following the path until it split in two directions, north and south. To the north, it looked to bend around the coast of the island, while the south would bring them by that manor, and eventually she expected into the jungle itself, between the two large hills in the distance. She might've called them mountains, but she was a Nord. They were barely bumps in the road compared to her homeland.

"South seems more likely to find a stream, no?" she asked, the first thing she'd said since they started walking. "Bound to be something flowing into the valley between these hills."

Well, this place reminded him of home for another unflattering reason. All of the abandoned ruins were old friends to his tired eyes. Generally he would be happy to see them. They provided rich ground for long forgotten treasures and shelter from the elements, but Rul-Aman was more interested in shelters that were inhabited at this time, which was ironic. At least there would be plenty of places to sleep again, if it came to that. He turned from north to south, gauging the potential roads. The tomb diver rubbed his fine chin, feeling the slightest bit of itch from the black hairs now growing after going a few days without bothering to groom himself. 

"South, I think. You're quite right, and judging by the geography, even if we're wrong it won't take long to double back." He reasoned. 

The trek was not too hard on their feet, despite the exhaustion. Rul relayed a few larger than life tales of nearly dying during a few of his escapades at home, keeping his voice down so only Brinlaith could hear (he hoped). He did it to help pass the time, crossing the narrow strip of water by the worryingly small dirt path. Rul-Aman slid his hand behind his neck and brushed the tangled mane of his long, black hair out of his clothes to whip in the wind. He was slightly concerned about Brinlaith's dreams, if his hypothesis was correct. Whatever was bothering her, he could not help unless she asked, and she would not, so he did his best to entertain her at least. 

"And then the safe..." He slammed his left fist into his right palm. "slid shut, trapping Souk-Mafir and his henchmen in the darkness forever, and I escaped the dungeon with... well, admittedly lost my trousers, but I had the bloody gold!" He did not want to elaborate on it being stolen out of his hands the next day. It made for a poor ending. They began to turn south just as he started another quick tale, this time of bandits on the road and convincing them he was a princeling from Skaven.

[i]Quite the adventurer, isn't he?[/i] Brinlaith thought to herself, only half-listening. They followed the path south along the coast, bypassing the ruined manor, as it was in complete disarray and far too exposed to be of use. Anything valuable inside, for survival or otherwise, would've long been picked clean. The sun overhead beat down on the two of them, and Brin was well aware she needed to get to the cover of the jungle soon if she wanted to prevent her pale skin turning redder than her hair. The climate of this place was going to take some getting used to.

"See that?" she asked, interrupting Rul-Aman near the end of his next story. She pointed up and ahead, where two long bridges of stone connected one hill in front of them to the other, pillars descending into the valley below at regular intervals. "Maybe we should be going up the hill rather than around it."

She thought for a moment about the extra effort that would require. "Forget I said anything. Water first, search for people later."

They started forward into the valley, towards the jungle. It would slow their progress, no doubt, but Brinlaith would take needing to cut through vegetation for some cover from the sun right now. Especially if Rul-Aman was the one doing the cutting.

As it turned out, fate wished for them to find people first, as it wasn't long before Brinlaith heard and then saw humanoid shapes descending the hill. The overhead sun made it nearly impossible to get a clear look at them, but they were heading directly towards the two of them.

"Shit," she cursed. "We've been spotted. We should hide. Get a better look at them before we decide to fight, talk, or flee." They didn't have long to debate if they wanted a decent chance to conceal themselves, so Brinlaith already started moving towards the trees.

Brinlaith was mere steps away from a leaning palm when the fronds suddenly rustled, a low rattling groan immediately coming from behind them. There was a rustling of foliage as a figure suddenly lurched into view, nearly toppling forward. Its human-like silhouette warped and unsteady in the dappled light that encased it. This stranger that had practically materialized looked to be a male due to the broad shoulders, wide chest, and long arms. He walked in an awkward, heavy gait that was like that of a drunkard or an addict. There was a second low, miserable moan, without a doubt coming from this shadowy figure. His head hung low as he took tottery steps away from the tree and toward Brinlaith and Rul. 

As he stepped closer to them, Brinlaith and Rul could see that the man was a Redguard. His skin a dusky brown tone and his coarse, curly hair tied into a tight bun atop his head. His tattered white clothes and worn, salt crusted boots were those of a fisherman. He slowly raised his head, showing the young Nord woman and her companion a ghoulish face that came right from a nightmare. His eyes were sunk deep into his head, his lips cracked and “peeled back” revealing sickly colored gums and rotting teeth, and every bone in his face pressed against wrinkled, leathery flesh. His slowly raised his arms which were covered in dark, veiny blots. His hands were shriveled with much of the skin having fallen away revealing bone and tendons crusted with blood. 

The ghastly man’s mouth stretched wide, a tooth falling free, and gave a third, wailing moan as he rushed forward - reaching for Brinlaith.

Rul-Aman tensed, his story already growing less noisesome from the more sombre surroundings. He was a slight blowhard, and a thief, and more cowardly than most warriors, but at the end of the day, he was an experienced adventurer. This was his element, as loathe as he was to acknowledge that fact. He settled into an easy few steps, his hands resting on the hilt of his twin sword as Brinlaith warned him of the shapes. He saw them too, and he felt the hackles on the back of his neck rise. He steadied his breathing as best he could. It was time to be the man in the situation. 

"I agree, let's-" He turned, before the low groan struck him like a bolt of lightning, and he was frozen until the abberation surged out of the brush. 

"Abah!" He cursed in his native tongue, seeing the wretched thing displaying its sickening visage with an almost malevolent glee. He saw it reaching for Brinlaith, who tried to step out of its range. Whether he was a Redguard or not would mean very little to Rul-Aman even if the thing were alive. There was enough in-fighting between the crowns and forebears for killing his people to be a non-issue for him. However, he still felt his foreheard burn and his breath come in quick gasps, but regardless he moved swiftly. Rul-Aman's swords materialized in his hands as if they had always been, and before Brinlaith could blink, the leading leg was amputated by Rul's right, a mere heartbeat before its head was separated from its shoulders by his left in a practiced pirouette. The monstrous thing fell in a heap, but Rul looked no less concerned about the state of their safety. 

"Are you alright?" He asked, but halfway through any confirmation, he would already be taking her hand and guiding her into the brush, out of the eyesight of the approaching ghouls. "Come on!" 

He was lucky he took Brinlaith's right hand, as the fire had already returned to her left, ready to blast the undead man up until Rul-Aman hacked it to pieces in a flash. She looked at the dismembered corpse at the Redguard's feet with distaste, soon realizing that the figures moving down the hill towards them were more of the same.

"I'm—[i]ugh![/i]" Every part of her being screamed out at her to wrench her hand away when he grabbed it and started guiding her into the jungle, but she managed just enough restraint to resist. She could keep up easily, and there were more important things to be concerned with. If Rul wanted to play the dashing hero, Brinlaith saw no reason not to let him.

Their thoughts seemed to be aligned on the situation: break line of sight to these creatures, and put some distance between them. It would be a waste of effort and an unnecessary risk to fight them all, and if either of them became diseased as a result... well, it would probably call Brinlaith's claim of being a healer by trade into question.

Best to avoid that, along with the zombies.

[u][url=https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=z8jePVQtz0s]The moans of the undead came from all around.[/url][/u] Rotting, grotesque corpses - raised by dark magic - that moved with a shared, dreadful purpose: to catch and devour the two castaways who had wandered into their domain. More of the walking dead emerged from the surrounding foliage, their clouded eyes staring blankly, their shriveled skin traced with faint, swirling patterns of arcane energy. They groaned and wailed as they shuffled forward, closing in from nearly every direction. The brush rustled and parted as more figures forced their way through, drawn by the same unseen call. Each of the reanimated ghouls was a horror of their own. Some had mauled faces with eyes that hung from the sockets, some dragged mangled legs behind them. One was little more than the stump of a torso with a blood-red skull atop it, walking on it’s two hands. The air thickened with the stench of decay, heavy and suffocating.

After they passed the treeline and had the cover of a line of brush, Rul-Aman let go of Brinlaith's hand, but he kept running with her with him as more and more of the undead came into view. A number burst from the ferns just ahead of them, and the redguard skidded to a halt, cursing in his tongue. If he was not so pumped with adrenaline, he might have vomited, or at least thought about it. However, with danger so close, he was still moving on instinct. He lurched back as a monster reached for him, nearly bumping into Brin, before pivoting on his foot and cutting the legs out from under the thing with two swift chops. 

He groaned, an almost feral sound. "South! We need to cut around them!" He yelled over the din of incessant, low moaning and the shambling of dead weight against the foliage. 

Brinlaith didn't respond, her focus locked on keeping pace with Rul-Aman, and avoiding the grasp of the seemingly multiplying undead shambling or crawling towards them. It was possible they were just running into more of them, but there was no time to make careful considerations now.

The burning in her palm itched to be set free, to set rotting flesh aflame and let the horrid stench cover the entire island, but Brin smothered the instinct. Survival was all that mattered now.