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Relax, only half-dead
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- Old Guild Username: OlNoSoul
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Anybody know where Dipper went? Haven't heard from him in a while. To my knowledge, he hasn't even been on steam.
27th of Mid Year
Wayrest, Greater High Rock
The flatfooted messenger boy made his slapping footsteps carry him as fast as they could to the throne room. Many of the guardsmen on the walls couldn’t believe what they were seeing, not really on account of any real disbelief, just that they were sleeping off hangovers or still drunk. A lot of them were still deep into their skooma highs which contributed to the scare, as there were soon bandits on the walls screaming about encroaching iron golems. The sober messenger boy was sent by the more level-headed of the bandit chiefs on wall duty and he rushed to get to Pirate-Lord Mackin. Once the doors to his chambers were thrown open, the screams of a few wenches could be heard as they scrambled through the door, past the messenger boy and down the hallway clutching anything they could grab onto to cover themselves. Once the flood of whores had passed, the messenger boy stood in the doorway, beet red from cheek to cheek.
“Out with it, boy!” Mackin spat.
“We’re under siege, sir!”
“What!?” Mackin rose from his bed and slipped on his trousers, following the boy back outside to the walls.
“When did you first see them?” Mackin asked, adjusting his swordbelt.
“Sunrise, sir. Thousands of them! Some of the men said they saw iron golems but the chiefs said they were wearing armor like any living thing that bleeds.” The messenger boy responded, walking as fast as his short, skinny legs could carry him.
“Whose banners do they fly?” Mackin asked.
The boy only looked away and gulped. Mackin growled as he shoved a door open out onto the battlements, greeted by one of the bandit chiefs, “Sir, there are thousands-”
“The boy already told m-” Mackin stopped in his tracks as he saw exactly how many banners were being flown. Every noble house in High Rock it seemed, even the ones who could only offer thirty fighting men to muster were there, if only to say they were. Mackin’s unsure footsteps brought him to the battlements directly overlooking the massive army. Once there, one of the bandits fell backwards with an arrow in his throat. Mackin shielded himself reflexively but saw that there was a message attached to the arrow’s shaft. Carefully removing it, Mackin read the contents of the letter.
Mackin gulped audibly.
22nd of Mid Year
Everard III of Wayrest
Soulrest, Argonia
Everard didn’t know what to do as the orcs marched right up to them, even as their swords were drawn. The Breton thought they’d cast an intimidating figure, three fully-armed and armored men with swords drawn. Everard watched as the orc leader poked and prodded at his sword before telling him that the Orc Chief Yagurz would want to talk to him. Everard smiled, “What was that about being a gamble, Montyard? It seems we’ve been dealt quite the hand and I intend to take it if this Orc Chief will listen to me.” The Breton sheathed his sword and waved his brothers onward to follow the Orcs back to Yagurz’s chambers.
Wayrest, Greater High Rock
The flatfooted messenger boy made his slapping footsteps carry him as fast as they could to the throne room. Many of the guardsmen on the walls couldn’t believe what they were seeing, not really on account of any real disbelief, just that they were sleeping off hangovers or still drunk. A lot of them were still deep into their skooma highs which contributed to the scare, as there were soon bandits on the walls screaming about encroaching iron golems. The sober messenger boy was sent by the more level-headed of the bandit chiefs on wall duty and he rushed to get to Pirate-Lord Mackin. Once the doors to his chambers were thrown open, the screams of a few wenches could be heard as they scrambled through the door, past the messenger boy and down the hallway clutching anything they could grab onto to cover themselves. Once the flood of whores had passed, the messenger boy stood in the doorway, beet red from cheek to cheek.
“Out with it, boy!” Mackin spat.
“We’re under siege, sir!”
“What!?” Mackin rose from his bed and slipped on his trousers, following the boy back outside to the walls.
“When did you first see them?” Mackin asked, adjusting his swordbelt.
“Sunrise, sir. Thousands of them! Some of the men said they saw iron golems but the chiefs said they were wearing armor like any living thing that bleeds.” The messenger boy responded, walking as fast as his short, skinny legs could carry him.
“Whose banners do they fly?” Mackin asked.
The boy only looked away and gulped. Mackin growled as he shoved a door open out onto the battlements, greeted by one of the bandit chiefs, “Sir, there are thousands-”
“The boy already told m-” Mackin stopped in his tracks as he saw exactly how many banners were being flown. Every noble house in High Rock it seemed, even the ones who could only offer thirty fighting men to muster were there, if only to say they were. Mackin’s unsure footsteps brought him to the battlements directly overlooking the massive army. Once there, one of the bandits fell backwards with an arrow in his throat. Mackin shielded himself reflexively but saw that there was a message attached to the arrow’s shaft. Carefully removing it, Mackin read the contents of the letter.
Mackin gulped audibly.
22nd of Mid Year
Everard III of Wayrest
Soulrest, Argonia
Everard didn’t know what to do as the orcs marched right up to them, even as their swords were drawn. The Breton thought they’d cast an intimidating figure, three fully-armed and armored men with swords drawn. Everard watched as the orc leader poked and prodded at his sword before telling him that the Orc Chief Yagurz would want to talk to him. Everard smiled, “What was that about being a gamble, Montyard? It seems we’ve been dealt quite the hand and I intend to take it if this Orc Chief will listen to me.” The Breton sheathed his sword and waved his brothers onward to follow the Orcs back to Yagurz’s chambers.
WittyReference said
No worries bro, it happens. Since we'll be extending the collab' then I'll ask everyone's opinion on this, should I post what we have so far and add on from there? Admittedly, it's just character stuff between Cub and Hravlar but as, in the past, collab's have been notorious for slowing us down I figured I'd ask.
Poast, if not just to keep a steady pace.
I'll get a post up today. No damned way I'm letting Redguards assimilate Bretons. It'd be a shook up world if that happened...
GreivousKhan said
Someone likes wearing allot of armor... :P
Oh, you.
Cairomaru said
Aw, I missed these.
Posted.
-Pyrrhic victory won
-Crab asploded
-Guards routed, no chance of regrouping due to numbers lost
-Less rioters on the field, more chance of Thyra, Qara'Sion, Vendel and comatose Francis to have a merry get-together.
-Pyrrhic victory won
-Crab asploded
-Guards routed, no chance of regrouping due to numbers lost
-Less rioters on the field, more chance of Thyra, Qara'Sion, Vendel and comatose Francis to have a merry get-together.
With less and less cohesion, the Guard force fighting the rioters had been beaten back against all odds, their line cut in half with one half being beaten back and on the verge of routing and the other forming a defensive circle around the crab, trying to rein it in, but failing. The effects of the Khajiit’s spell would not last for much longer, as Dwemer machinery are naturally more resistant to spellcraft and only the most capable mages are able to exert control or manipulate automatons. The Guard force ceased trying to rally around the crab and instead formed something akin to a mob, no commander to lead them since the last one had taken an arrow to the throat. The guards put up a worthy fight, barely pushing back any probing attacks from spearmen and losing little to no comrades to arrows. Finally, after a few minutes, one of them took charge and they formed a defensive square, offering spears, swords, maces and axes hidden behind strong shields and arrayed in strong flanks to the rioters. Even in such a small number, the otherwise loosely organized rioters will not be able to break the formation without any leadership to coordinate an attack. As it stands, the formation can not make any movements to rejoin their brethren on the other side of the throngs of rioters.
The crab, meanwhile has since shrugged off the effects of the Khajiit mage, having already impaled two rioters on spear-like tips of the thick alloy legs. A group of five rioters made to prod at the thing to get it to back itself into a corner like they had been when the thing took to running rather than fighting, but now in its reverted state the rioters would have done well to make like the crab. The advice was not given and the crab took two in its mighty claws, crushing their skulls with little effort and throwing them aside before a claw snapped the head from a spear and then brained its owner. In its less normal state, the crab’s arm-guns had been dismantled by fierce warriors who challenged it, and now the only weapon it had were its legs, the claws on the ends of its two arms and the large cannon. The rioters were in too close a proximity for the crab to fire and it was designed to attack the clearest threat to itself when not being controlled by a Dwemer. The most immediate danger came from the rioters closest to it and it wasted no time in caving in skulls, crushing ribcages and impaling rioters on its legs, shaking them off after and discarding them like broken toys.
Not satisfied with staying outside of the fight, Vendel hefted his axe and strode into the fray. A raised fist and a warcry rallied a few stray Nords who found themselves farther from the snow than most expected them to be. A few Redguards added their weapons to Vendel’s mob and the mountainous Nord, beard and face caked with old blood cut through with a furious smile bellowed one command, “form a spearhead!”
The rioters that had put themselves under Vendel’s command did as he spoke and they arranged themselves into a shape resembling the head of the piercing weapon. Vendel knew the quicker the rioters dealt with the guards the quicker the danger to Francis and the Khajiit would be over. Vendel smashed his axe’s head into the nearest shield and a sharp tug halved the wooden barrier away. Another mighty swing split the man from shoulder to sternum. Vendel booted the Redguard off of his axe with a sickening wet noise and the flesh tore away from steel. A cacophonous battlecry escaped Vendel’s lips at the fray began. The flank he and his small force were attacking began to waver and retreat. Sensing the strategic disadvantage he and his men would be at should he press further on heedlessly, he ordered his men to withdraw and regroup.
Vendel, unknowingly, put his men into the path of the crab as it charged straight through his little formation. The men and women in his group were barreled over and returning to their shaky feet with head wounds of varying urgency or had been skewered by the spearing legs. Vendel saw that it was heading straight to Francis’s comatose body and the Khajiit healer who was busy focusing his magicka on his other patients. The woman that had helped to heal Francis had only enough time to scream before she was swatted aside by the metal arms of the crab. Vendel found anger boiling up from deep inside him as the soulless machine charged straight for Francis, hurt one who had helped his dear friend and would kill the Khajiit he’d come to hold the slightest amount of camaraderie towards. This would not do.
Along with the archers loosing arrows at the crab and the pikemen prodding it before it tired of the jabs from the steel-tipped sticks, Vendel let out a roar and led his men in a charge lending the aid of his men to theirs. He managed to intercept the crab on its way to the Healer Khajiit and Francis. Vendel’s axe pounded against the armored joint of one of the crab’s legs with all his might, slightly denting the metal while two others did the same to the other legs. He pressed on with his attack before the crab turned around and made to grasp his head in its crushing grasp. Vendel stepped back and instead of his skull, the iron haft of his Redguard-style axe was offered in place as Vendel took a few steps back. The crab, in a display of its mechanical strength, bent the iron haft before it fell in two pieces. It charged once again before the Nord with the wounded comrade from before charged, wrapping his arms around one of the machine’s legs.
Muscle heaped itself into granite balls on the Nord’s arms and his powerful legs and back worked at the foolish hope of toppling the machine. To the Nord’s credit, the endeavor gave the crab pause and to Vendel’s surprise, the crab’s legs skidded across the stone, losing traction. Muscles bunched and veins bulged in the Nord’s frame as his feet continuously skipped and then caught, skipped and caught in his struggle to keep the crab away from his comrade. Vendel saw the mace still laying by the dead guard near Francis and rushed towards it, scooping it up in a large hand. Long strides brought him back to the crab and the Nord and a powerful leaping strike brought the sounds of metallic clatter and hissing to Vendel’s ear. Another strike dented the alloy plate in a bit further.
The Nord that had been wrestling at the other leg was finally thrown clear as the crab turned its attention back towards Vendel. The big Nord stepped back, swatting away an arm with a powerful swing of the mace. Another swing to the base of the arm brought the same sounds and a small jet of steam poked itself out of the joint at the base of the arm. Vendel was too concentrated on his battle to know that the phalanx that had been prodding at the crab, as well as his own men, had diverted themselves to fighting the encroaching guards that had been cut off from the main force. Even so, Vendel and the other Nord fought on. Another powerful strike with all of Vendel’s strength bent the already wounded leg more crooked before shook and then snapped under the weight, causing the crab to topple onto its side. The other Nord stepped back, but not fast enough to avoid being speared through the side, lifted and thrown into the mass of guards behind the rioter’s line.
The bleeding projectile caused some confusion in the Guard’s small force, allowing the rioters to capitalize on the few moments of distraction and overwhelm the formation, killing and incapacitating some of the guards before the few that realized they were losing threw down their weapons in surrender. As they did so, there seemed to be a few moments of unspoken deliberation between the rioters on what to do. Show mercy after they had rightfully defeated their opponent or take their lives as payment for wrongs done at the hands of Dwemer invaders in the early days of the occupation. They chose the latter, adding more blood to the tiny lakes and rivers in the stone and earth of the street.
On the rioter’s main defensive line, they’d managed to hold back the guard force and pick off a few guards every so often long enough to actually make a large dent in their number. Noticing that they hadn’t been able to gain much ground and the long fight sapping away at their morale, the guard force’s line routs and escapes back into the streets. The day seems to be won until the rest of the rioters notice that the crab is still operational. The crab’s cannon swiveled to the mass of rioters converging on it, but before it can fire, Vendel hopped onto the crab and jammed his mace into the large tube in its hull before jumping clear and crawling away as fast as he could. A click unheard over the yells and screams of the rioters was all the warning the masses had before those standing closest to the crab were burned away or punctured and opened by shrapnel from the explosion.
When the smoke and dust settled, the crab lay motionless, its hull blown outwards and half-missing. The rioters stood in silence then, disbelief. Quiet, tired disbelief. Vendel himself stood back up, breathing heavy. He offered no words of his own, just gave the crab a few seconds of his gaze before moving over to Francis and letting his back slide down the wall to sit beside his friend. Some rioters stayed in the area to loot the dead guards of their armor and weapons to stow away for later while others just tiredly shambled off back to the streets, dragging their weapons behind them, unsure of what to do with themselves. The day had been won, it seemed, but there were no cries of victory for it could barely be called that as Vendel took count of the dead on the field. There were more rioters laying with lifeless eyes than guards but in a fight like this, Vendel knew that a pyrrhic victory was the best they could hope to achieve. Untrained, unarmored rioters fighting better armed guards. If one of them had told Vendel that they were going to win the Nord would have laughed in their face. But here he was, next to his friend that still breathed despite otherwise being lifeless thanks to the Khajiit next to them.
The only words from Vendel’s mouth were to the Khajiit, “If you know the Heroes of Tamriel, take me to them. It is a pressing matter. If you do not, I thank you for your services and will take my leave from your presence.”
The crab, meanwhile has since shrugged off the effects of the Khajiit mage, having already impaled two rioters on spear-like tips of the thick alloy legs. A group of five rioters made to prod at the thing to get it to back itself into a corner like they had been when the thing took to running rather than fighting, but now in its reverted state the rioters would have done well to make like the crab. The advice was not given and the crab took two in its mighty claws, crushing their skulls with little effort and throwing them aside before a claw snapped the head from a spear and then brained its owner. In its less normal state, the crab’s arm-guns had been dismantled by fierce warriors who challenged it, and now the only weapon it had were its legs, the claws on the ends of its two arms and the large cannon. The rioters were in too close a proximity for the crab to fire and it was designed to attack the clearest threat to itself when not being controlled by a Dwemer. The most immediate danger came from the rioters closest to it and it wasted no time in caving in skulls, crushing ribcages and impaling rioters on its legs, shaking them off after and discarding them like broken toys.
Not satisfied with staying outside of the fight, Vendel hefted his axe and strode into the fray. A raised fist and a warcry rallied a few stray Nords who found themselves farther from the snow than most expected them to be. A few Redguards added their weapons to Vendel’s mob and the mountainous Nord, beard and face caked with old blood cut through with a furious smile bellowed one command, “form a spearhead!”
The rioters that had put themselves under Vendel’s command did as he spoke and they arranged themselves into a shape resembling the head of the piercing weapon. Vendel knew the quicker the rioters dealt with the guards the quicker the danger to Francis and the Khajiit would be over. Vendel smashed his axe’s head into the nearest shield and a sharp tug halved the wooden barrier away. Another mighty swing split the man from shoulder to sternum. Vendel booted the Redguard off of his axe with a sickening wet noise and the flesh tore away from steel. A cacophonous battlecry escaped Vendel’s lips at the fray began. The flank he and his small force were attacking began to waver and retreat. Sensing the strategic disadvantage he and his men would be at should he press further on heedlessly, he ordered his men to withdraw and regroup.
Vendel, unknowingly, put his men into the path of the crab as it charged straight through his little formation. The men and women in his group were barreled over and returning to their shaky feet with head wounds of varying urgency or had been skewered by the spearing legs. Vendel saw that it was heading straight to Francis’s comatose body and the Khajiit healer who was busy focusing his magicka on his other patients. The woman that had helped to heal Francis had only enough time to scream before she was swatted aside by the metal arms of the crab. Vendel found anger boiling up from deep inside him as the soulless machine charged straight for Francis, hurt one who had helped his dear friend and would kill the Khajiit he’d come to hold the slightest amount of camaraderie towards. This would not do.
Along with the archers loosing arrows at the crab and the pikemen prodding it before it tired of the jabs from the steel-tipped sticks, Vendel let out a roar and led his men in a charge lending the aid of his men to theirs. He managed to intercept the crab on its way to the Healer Khajiit and Francis. Vendel’s axe pounded against the armored joint of one of the crab’s legs with all his might, slightly denting the metal while two others did the same to the other legs. He pressed on with his attack before the crab turned around and made to grasp his head in its crushing grasp. Vendel stepped back and instead of his skull, the iron haft of his Redguard-style axe was offered in place as Vendel took a few steps back. The crab, in a display of its mechanical strength, bent the iron haft before it fell in two pieces. It charged once again before the Nord with the wounded comrade from before charged, wrapping his arms around one of the machine’s legs.
Muscle heaped itself into granite balls on the Nord’s arms and his powerful legs and back worked at the foolish hope of toppling the machine. To the Nord’s credit, the endeavor gave the crab pause and to Vendel’s surprise, the crab’s legs skidded across the stone, losing traction. Muscles bunched and veins bulged in the Nord’s frame as his feet continuously skipped and then caught, skipped and caught in his struggle to keep the crab away from his comrade. Vendel saw the mace still laying by the dead guard near Francis and rushed towards it, scooping it up in a large hand. Long strides brought him back to the crab and the Nord and a powerful leaping strike brought the sounds of metallic clatter and hissing to Vendel’s ear. Another strike dented the alloy plate in a bit further.
The Nord that had been wrestling at the other leg was finally thrown clear as the crab turned its attention back towards Vendel. The big Nord stepped back, swatting away an arm with a powerful swing of the mace. Another swing to the base of the arm brought the same sounds and a small jet of steam poked itself out of the joint at the base of the arm. Vendel was too concentrated on his battle to know that the phalanx that had been prodding at the crab, as well as his own men, had diverted themselves to fighting the encroaching guards that had been cut off from the main force. Even so, Vendel and the other Nord fought on. Another powerful strike with all of Vendel’s strength bent the already wounded leg more crooked before shook and then snapped under the weight, causing the crab to topple onto its side. The other Nord stepped back, but not fast enough to avoid being speared through the side, lifted and thrown into the mass of guards behind the rioter’s line.
The bleeding projectile caused some confusion in the Guard’s small force, allowing the rioters to capitalize on the few moments of distraction and overwhelm the formation, killing and incapacitating some of the guards before the few that realized they were losing threw down their weapons in surrender. As they did so, there seemed to be a few moments of unspoken deliberation between the rioters on what to do. Show mercy after they had rightfully defeated their opponent or take their lives as payment for wrongs done at the hands of Dwemer invaders in the early days of the occupation. They chose the latter, adding more blood to the tiny lakes and rivers in the stone and earth of the street.
On the rioter’s main defensive line, they’d managed to hold back the guard force and pick off a few guards every so often long enough to actually make a large dent in their number. Noticing that they hadn’t been able to gain much ground and the long fight sapping away at their morale, the guard force’s line routs and escapes back into the streets. The day seems to be won until the rest of the rioters notice that the crab is still operational. The crab’s cannon swiveled to the mass of rioters converging on it, but before it can fire, Vendel hopped onto the crab and jammed his mace into the large tube in its hull before jumping clear and crawling away as fast as he could. A click unheard over the yells and screams of the rioters was all the warning the masses had before those standing closest to the crab were burned away or punctured and opened by shrapnel from the explosion.
When the smoke and dust settled, the crab lay motionless, its hull blown outwards and half-missing. The rioters stood in silence then, disbelief. Quiet, tired disbelief. Vendel himself stood back up, breathing heavy. He offered no words of his own, just gave the crab a few seconds of his gaze before moving over to Francis and letting his back slide down the wall to sit beside his friend. Some rioters stayed in the area to loot the dead guards of their armor and weapons to stow away for later while others just tiredly shambled off back to the streets, dragging their weapons behind them, unsure of what to do with themselves. The day had been won, it seemed, but there were no cries of victory for it could barely be called that as Vendel took count of the dead on the field. There were more rioters laying with lifeless eyes than guards but in a fight like this, Vendel knew that a pyrrhic victory was the best they could hope to achieve. Untrained, unarmored rioters fighting better armed guards. If one of them had told Vendel that they were going to win the Nord would have laughed in their face. But here he was, next to his friend that still breathed despite otherwise being lifeless thanks to the Khajiit next to them.
The only words from Vendel’s mouth were to the Khajiit, “If you know the Heroes of Tamriel, take me to them. It is a pressing matter. If you do not, I thank you for your services and will take my leave from your presence.”
Nyxella said
^We take Zaveed's catamaran to Vice City. Thyra fights in the shade to avoid Persian arrows and retain her Irish-girl glow.Skip to the last three paragraphs (ye brave ones who read it) for more substantial, less Nyx going on writing spree, stuff. I do not know for how long we're meant to keep it going, so it stopped short of Thyra bronco-busting the remaining staff-cannon-boomstick. In a previous post, it is implied that both have been torn off but that's a damn dirty lie. Sorry, am ficksing.
Go ahead, I wanted to pound it into every head present at the riot that this thing would either take an act of the Gods to take down or very many coordinated acts of mortals. I'll start writing its downfall in my next post, that way we have concrete evidence that anything is actually doing good for the rioters against their fight. I mentioned that the actual guard force was being pushed back and those guards who were separated have formed a defensive ring around the crab, so anyone at the riot, take that into account.
So, the Dwemer crab's arm-guns are dismantled, we have that much. Basically, now its just a cannon on legs...so...I mean its not good...but its...I don't know, less bad.
WittyReference said
Yeah yeah, if you had known him back in the day you'd understand. It's actually pretty upsetting, everyone I spent time setting up for the twist has disappeared and the ones here who understand the significance already know my secrets. feelsbadman.jpg
SUch is the life. The Oldguard is disappearing before our eyes, man. Sosad.
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