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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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The undead moved in from nearly every direction. With their path back to the beach quickly cut off by shambling corpses descending the mountainsides, Rul and Brinlaith had only one option; straight forward, into the sand-choked canyon. The nearest of the undead were closing fast, hemming Rul and Brinlaith from behind and both flanks. It would mean a long sprint across open ground with no cover, but there was no other way. The rocky walls rose steeply on either side, broken by narrow ledges and sharp outcroppings. There were no caves or trails anywhere along the face of the stone, nowhere to hide. The canyon’s great maw yawned ahead, a jagged wound in the earth that seemed to be ominously beckoning toward the Redguard and his Nord companion.

Without a doubt, the only reason they were still alive was the merciful fact that the shambling undead did not move very quickly, even surrounding them as they so did. Rul-Aman would like to boast he had survived worse things than this, and it was an arguable fact, but this was certainly the most frightening in a long while. 

Then again, an exploding ship in the middle of the sea was a strong contender, so maybe they would get lucky here as well. 

He swiped at any corpse that lurched into range, but thankfully, most of the closest ones were dozens of meters away. Still, if one of them tripped, it might be all over. As the canyon's sides loomed over them, and though it gave him a bit of claustrophobia, he was glad to have some barriers that kept the monstrosities from coming in from the sides and front. "Just a bit further and we'll have lost them!"

Brinlaith wished she shared Rul's optimism. Just a bit further was going to be about as much as she could manage at this pace. She was no long-distance runner at the best of times, let alone operating off a few hours' sleep in the sweltering heat of some isle in the Abecean. [i]If the whole island is overrun with this rot, then we are well and truly fucked...[/i]

She couldn't resist any longer. She used the breath she might've spent on a reply to snarl instead, as she unleashed a bolt of magical flame from her hand. It was aimed for center mass of the nearest undead, bursting through the creature's rotting ribcage and sending bits of decayed bone and festering innards scattering among the underbrush. It collapsed in a heap, and Brinlaith found herself fighting the urge to smile.

[i]Whoosh.[/i]

An arrow suddenly whistled through the air, its sharp tip gleaming in the sunlight before it plunged downward. It sailed just over Brinlaith and Rul, striking the sandy earth with a soft thud a few paces ahead. Its ragged, brine-stained feathers fluttered in the breeze. The arrow had not come from behind but rather from high above.

In their frantic flight from the undead, Rul and Brinlaith had passed beneath the two colossal stone bridges that spanned the canyon. Along the easternmost structure, barely visible in the distance, stood at least a dozen figures spaced evenly across the length of the bridge. Despite looking up into the blinding midday sun, Rul and Brinlaith could just see the distant figures raising drawn bows. Two more arrows whisked through the air; one skimming the ground while the other buried itself deep into the sand, having narrowly missed Rul. Over the droning of the undead the distant twang of bows could be heard as the attackers on the bridge took their shots.

"Mother fucker!" 

Normally he would never be so vulgar around a lady, but this was a rare time when he felt completely justified. He stumbled from the exhaustion, before using his momentum to fall into a roll to dodge the arrows, temporarily forgetting of Brinlaith. He's done his best but he's not a bloody hero! 

Despite that acknowledgement, however, he did glance back at Brinlaith, and seeing the arrows still streaking forward, decided to rip off his cloak and surge to his feet, weaving the cloak before him to catch any arrows that sailed too close to their position. "I don't suppose you have any magic to help in this situation?" He deadpanned.

"Just don't get shot in the head!" Brinlaith shouted back, visibly irritated, though more at their predicament than at Rul specifically. "So long as we're not corpses I can fix us up."

It was starting to look more likely they'd be joining the ranks of the dead soon, however. Having archers shooting down at them from on high was the [i]last[/i] thing they needed right now, and Brinlaith found an indignant fury bubbling up within her chest that they were shooting at [i]her[/i] rather than the undead in pursuit. Despite all the tumultuous events of her life, she wasn't all that experienced with being shot at. She found that the novelty wore off very quickly.

"We're [i]friendly![/i]" She cried up at her attackers, hoping they could hear her, understand her, and actually listen. "We mean no harm!"

Hoping for the best, Brinlaith still cowered behind Rul-Aman as much as she could, the speed of their flight slowed now that they were both trying to keep their heads down.

Brinlaith and Rul had already put a wide distance between themselves and the undead, yet arrows continued to surge down from the bridge above. The attackers showed no sign of stopping, forcing the pair to twist and dodge with every shot. Behind them, the moans of the zombified people began to fade, replaced by the steady thump of arrows striking the sand. The end of the canyon was now visible in the distance - but it was still a [i]long[/i] run.

It was a miracle by HoonDing they had yet to be skewered. He wished for once he was more armored. It was one of the few times he felt his weaving and dodging wasn't effective enough to keep himself alive. He started to think their best bet would to simply run forward and hope for the best, and when that thought solidified in his mind, he glanced back at Brinlaith still cowering behind him. He felt like everything he did was the wrong move in her eyes, but maybe he was simply being a fool. 

"Stick close to my back, or I'll have to take your hand again, we need to move." He told her, more of a warning than anything. At any confirmation from her end, he would start moving forward, running fast enough to shield Brinlaith, while simultaneously trying to shroud himself with his cloak. Sep guide him, because this was fucked.

"Just [i]go![/i]" was Brinlaith's confirmation. She was tired, but more than capable of digging deep and not being left behind, at least for the next short stretch. All the while the rage continued to build in her, and she began to imagine suitable fates for these [i]assholes[/i] emptying their quivers at them.

There must have been a class or two at the University that would've taught her something more useful for this situation. Maybe if she hadn't been so preoccupied with her own pursuits she wouldn't be forced to rely on a stranger and the grace of the gods.

Dust and heat shimmered at the canyon’s mouth as Brinlaith and Rul neared the brink, the walls of stone ending at the expanse of the blazing desert ahead. - Which offered no salvation. For a heartbeat the world around Rul and Brinlaith seemed to slow as what was surely their doom drew near. But instead, the desert gave it’s answer. Or perhaps it was the gods, seeing fit to offer some reprieve to the wayward man and woman. Or maybe just a change of fortune. A rolling thunder rose from just ahead, deep and growing louder by the moment. Out of the shimmering horizon, eight horsemen erupted like a sandstorm given form, their silhouettes cutting through the haze with frightening speed. Sunlight blazed across their half plate armor and spiked helms. Their raised scimitars caught the light resembling shining crescents, a sight both beautiful and deadly. They did not slow as they charged, their single line formation flawless as they beared down on the canyon as if summoned by the chaos. At the last possible instant, two of the riders sheathed their blades and leaned dangerously low in their saddles, arms outstretched toward Rul and Brinlaith.

Rul-Aman held his hand out, but not to take. He held it out to halt Brinlaith in her mad flight, protectively. He found he was prepared to cut down the horsemen, or do his best to. Yet, when he noticed their hands were outstretched to aid them, Rul made the knee jerk reaction to accept. He knew if these turned out to be enemies, they had no chance surviving, and if they turned out to be allies, they were saved. He was a gambler, and they needed to gamble to live. 

"Alright," he said, more to himself than Brinlaith. He took the man's hand in his own, and gave Brinlaith a look that was as devil-may-care as any he had previously given.

Brinlaith had much the same thought process. Armed with just a knife and insufficient fire magic, she was no match for a charging line of cavalry. If they were hostile, then honestly, Brinlaith felt honored. Shambling undead, archers from on high, and mounted swordsmen, all to kill a ragged little Nord healer and the Redguard still willing to defend her in the face of their imminent destruction. Perhaps the world was simply tired of letting her get away with it. [i]Fair enough.[/i]

But they extended hands rather than blades, and Brinlaith took the one that was offered without a second thought, pulling herself up into the saddle behind the unfamiliar rider and holding on for dear life.

It seemed, at least for one more day, she [i]could[/i] keep getting away with it.