Peik

The Elder Scrolls: Swords & Septims

<Snipped quote by Dervish>
I have no problem with that.

@Inkarnate

I will cry many tears

Wait I do that anyways

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

@Greenie

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

---

Jokes aside we'll see how everything goes. It could be smooth sailing, too. It all depends.

@Hank @Peik do we have a due date for charater sheets?

@DearTrickster

There isn't one planned yet but it should be apparent today or tomorrow.

The Elder Scrolls: Swords & Septims

<Snipped quote by Dervish>
Explain yourself.

@Inkarnate

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

<Snipped quote by Inkarnate>

And ruin the surprise? ;D

I'll just say that these guys are not kind to their characters.

Or others.

@Dervish

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

@Peik Just for clarification on Sevine's part...
She hits her opponent (wounds him), and he wounds her.

You didn't specify what happens to Armiger 9? Can I kill him off, or maybe knock him out? Or just end the post with them locked in battle?

@MacabreFox

Oops, my fault. Added him to the list.

Yes, precisely, your attacks wound each other. Your post at this point would probably end with them locked in combat or just getting some hits on each other and mutually retreating after an inconclusive fight, since I plan to make the second round of rolls after everyone writes their combat posts and decides what to do afterwards.

Armiger 9 is wounded, so as long as you don't roll a failure (1-3) in the upcoming bout, your lethal attack will kill him. A non-lethal attack needs a full success (7-10) to knock them out, but a regular success (3-6) stuns them enough to be unable to attack. But two non-lethal regular successes in a row do not knock out, so choose wisely.

You can always try to kick, by the way. Or as said, ask them to drop their arms.

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

I've gone and sorted out the list first-come first serve, i.e. 1st response - 1st spot in dice roll. Which means:

Narzul's attack fails. He'll get a 1d2.
Niernen kills her opponent.
Do'Karth's attack fails, but Niernen has managed to kill the Armiger facing him. I'll roll Armiger 6's 1d2 for *tension*, depending on the result we can say Niernen missed or hit Do'Karth as well (obviously it'll just be a minor wound if it hits).
Roze kills her opponent. Oops!
Sevine wounds her opponent. She'll get a 1d2.
Sadri wounds his opponent. He'll get a 1d2.
Dax kills his opponent.
Dumhuvud manages to distract his opponent.
Elmera wounds her opponent. She'll get a 1d2.

ENEMY ROLLS!

I've since remembered that the guild has its own dice system. All dice rolls by me from this point on shall be done using that system.

Armiger 1 is fine and will roll 1d2 on Narzul. Result is 1. Miss.
Armiger 2 is wounded and will roll 1d2 on Sadri. Result is 1. Miss.
Armiger 3 is disoriented by Dumhuvud but on his feet.
Armiger 4 is wounded by Elmera and will roll 1d2 on her. Result is 2. Hit.
Armiger 5 is dead, killed by Roze.
Armiger 6 is dead, killed by Niernen. Friendly fire roll. Result is 1. Miss. Lucky Cat.
Armiger 7 is unoccupied and has a free action. Will roll 1d2 on the closest opponent, Niernen. Result is 2. Hit.
Armiger 8 is dead, killed by Dax.
Armiger 9 is wounded by Sevine and will roll 1d2 on her. Result is 2. Hit.

Sevine, Niernen and Elmera are wounded. Armigers 5, 6 and 8 are dead. Armigers 2, 4 and 9 are wounded. Armigers 1, 3 and 7 are fine. Bout over.

Now's a good time for combat posts, and to make further choices. You're free to flavor the combat however you want - the enemies need not 'miss' in vein of swinging into thin air. Your character successfully parrying or voiding the attack, teleporting behind foes, or them actually missing; anything goes as long as the results are not contradictory (i.e. a wounded character is not wounded). _{You can't actually teleport behind foes.}

The surviving Armigers are outnumbered and a character with the Speech Skill can ask them to surrender. There will be a roll, in the character's favor thanks to the Armiger's position and sudden cull, and if this roll succeeds the fight will end.

Or you guys can just keep rolling to kill/incapacitate them all. Your call.

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

Dax is going to be firing at number 8, and if he goes down and there's a way to cross, 7'll get the axe >:)

@POOHEAD189

Players are only getting one target so far. Makes things easier.

I'll put up the rolls shortly.

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

@Peik, Wylendriel is at Dawnstar.

@Gcold

Oh, my fault. I've been following an old roster, it seems.

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

Right, so far we got Hank, Fox, Roze and Dervs declaring their orientation.

When @Spoopy Scary and @POOHEAD189 also declare, I can make the rolls and then you guys can write the results as you wish.

Attacking is not necessary (looking at you, Wylendriel) and in fact saves you from getting attacked, but that also means that the Armiger who would have been fighting you will get a free swing at whoever's closest instead.

Roze will be shooting from a medium-ish distance at Armiger #5. As her main goal is to incapacitate, she's not going to be taking much care to focus on non-lethal shots, so I guess I'll let you (and the dice, haha) decide whether her arrows kill or not.

@MiddleEarthRoze

I'll just say that a 8 and a 10 will be an instant kill and a 7 and a 9 will be a combat-ending injury that leaves them alive.

And for the record Sadri will be making a lethal attack against Armiger 2.

The Elder Scrolls: Swords & Septims

Balen Oril

Name: Balen Oril

Age: 50

Gender: Male

Race: Dunmer

Appearance: Balen is a Dunmer of tall stature, almost as tall as an Altmer, and similarly wiry and long-limbed, though still, instead of having a graceful, lean and well-proportioned body akin to them, he possesses the sinewy, starved-looking physique and rugged complexion of his kin. He is, like most other Dunmer, ashen skinned, and red eyed, both his sclera and pupil blood red. Another defining trait of Balen is that his eyes are incredibly large, a trait further accentuated by his rather high hairline and large brow. Thanks to this, his weak chin and gaunt face, his upper head looks much larger than normal. He sports a rather large, so-called 'Akaviri style' mustache that people have likened to a pair of scimitars hanging down from the edges of his upper lip.

Balen prefers simple and practical clothing. His common attire consists of a grayish-blue waterproof broadcloth robe probably one size too large (or two) over a pale burgundy tunic tucked well into his baggy grey pants, which are also tucked into his knee-high leather boots. In hotter climates, he ditches most of the clothing entirely and wears only the robe, breeches that end at the knee joint and leather moccasins. He covers his head with a wide brimmed hat, and often tucks his ears within it when in the cold.

Personality: Balen is a rather still person. He’s not dull or dense – he simply believes that he does not have much to share with most of the people around him, so he keeps quiet and does not try to be a sore thumb. Still, he’s not the sort of person who’s oozing with calmness like a monk, but rather, he’s just contemplative. This passive demeanor does not mean that he tries to get along with everyone, however. As opposed to trying to be on good terms with everyone and thus being an ass-kisser, Balen simply prefers keeping quiet and picking his words, and the people he speaks to. He is a man of simple pleasures and rarely complains, making him a useful companion, though he can be hard to get used to. He wonders the secrets of creation and reality, and enjoys speaking about such matters, preferring the company of mages despite not having much skill or interest on the practical applications of magic. It’s easy to confuse him for a man of peace. This is wrong – he’s simply a considerate and practical person. He’s not afraid to get his hands dirty, though he’d much rather prefer that they’d stay clean.

History: Born in Blacklight on a foggy Middas of the First Seed, to an upper middle class family affiliated with House Hlaalu, Balen grew up through a rather uneventful childhood as the youngest child. For most of his childhood, he was educated by his grandparents and his father’s grandfather, who was an immensely elderly scholar who claimed to have been saved by the Nerevarine from Kagoutis in Vvardenfell hundreds of years ago. Perhaps thanks to this man’s countless stories, or perhaps thanks to natural disposition, Balen earned a penchant for reading, reading up on the past, of the times before the Red Year. It was during these times, while he was reading the Sermons of Vivec, when he first questioned his faith in Ancestor Worship and Daedra Worship.

Following his father’s death, Balen, the youngest child, was given the duty of taking care of his father’s remains, while his elder brothers tried to get the family profession running again. Seeing this as an opportunity, Balen decided to uphold his father’s last wish and take his remains to Necrom, and joined a trading caravan to go there. During this journey, Balen befriended a Bosmer bookseller, Godron, who told Balen that he’d be happy to work with him in Valenwood. After interring his father’s remains in Necrom and buying a bunch of trinkets claimed to be of Akaviri make, he and Godron began traveling to Southpoint by sea, changing ships and occasionally trading at port. In Southpoint, Balen’s fine writing skills, Godron’s original profession, and the money they made selling the so-called Akaviri artifacts, opened an interesting business venture – Godron would buy rare books, Balen would write down the content of books they’d find, Godron would sell the original copy to the highest bidder and then stock his shop with copies of the real book, written by Balen.

This time of his life was important to Balen, since it was when he really developed his skill of calligraphy. More importantly, during this time, he managed to get his hands on books he wouldn’t be able to hear of, let alone find, otherwise. Making spare copies of books that he found interesting, Balen eventually built up his own collection. Eventually, after some years spent as such, he parted ways with Godron amicably, and got on a ship to Alinor, to learn the secrets of the Aldmer. However, he could not get along with the Thalmor officials, and did not stay on the isles for long.

Balen got on a ship to Stros M’Kai to learn more about the Sload and perhaps Yokuda, but the ship was attacked by pirates before it could make it to port. It was during this time when Balen first took his first two lives, cutting down a pair of pirates trying to carry his chest out of his room. Following the attack, the ship’s captain decided to dock at Rihad instead, finding its original course too dangerous for the damaged ship to handle. Not wishing to risk another voyage to Stros M’Kai, Balen spent a good amount of time in Rihad, contemplating and meditating on the rather large amount of knowledge he had gathered in form of books so far, going over them in his mind and trying to carve his own world view out of his knowledge. During this time, Balen began pearl hunting as a hobby, but soon turned it into profit. He earned his fondness for Skooma in Rihad as well, finding its relaxing properties almost a necessity in sleepless nights spent theorizing and contemplating.

Balen left Rihad in a hurry after participating in a ritual to summon Hermaeus Mora that went awry. He had joined the ritual, as a guest, in hopes of learning more about the Dreamsleeve from the Daedric Prince itself. However, the ritual sigils seemed rather hastily prepared, and Balen, not wishing to risk the wrath of a Daedric Prince, made up an excuse to leave before the ritual could be completed, spending the night in a Chapel of Stendarr. He’d later learn that the participants had been literally merged with the walls of the Shrine. Heading south, Balen moved to Chorrol and settled there. He set up a small shop in an inn room with his finances, while spending his spare time with the members of the College of Whispers. Finding the members of the College rather more open-minded compared to his impressions of the Synod scholars, Balen took to spending his time in their lodge, although his almost entirely theoretical scholarship did not attract the same kind of attention that full-blooded displays of magic did. Nonetheless, the lodge offered him a position as a teacher of Metaphysics, and he accepted, finding the challenge much more welcome compared to the banality of trading in books. This went on for a while, and Balen even began feeling attached to the city, until one day when Godron showed up on his doorstep.

After a long talk about what he’d been doing with his life since Balen left, Godron made Balen an offer. Godron told Balen that he was no longer a book seller, but a trader of artifacts, and that he wished to work with his old friend and make use of his expertise. Of course, the risks were much higher, as Godron had to fund his own expeditions and often partake in them himself, but it was also much more profitable. Plus, Balen would be able to see first-hand sources, and stop having to rely on inaccurate accounts. Balen was convinced, and joined Godron on a trip to a Dwemer Ruin in the Velothi Mountains. Spending most of his time translating and drawing schematics of what they faced, Balen drew the ire of Godron’s henchmen, but soon proved his worth by toppling over a Steam Centurion by just disabling its gyroscope.

Unfortunately, the rest of the expedition was not as auspicious. About half of the crew, including Godron, was lost to a malfunctioning (or possibly trapped) elevator. Heavily demoralized and grieving over the loss of his old friend and business associate, Balen returned from the expedition alongside the survivors, bringing back what they could carry, alongside the captured Centurion, selling them all to Synod collectors in Cheydinhal.

The endeavor had cost him a friend, but it had also opened a new world of possibilities to Balen. He did not like to admit it, but he was quite thrilled to be able to enter and sense the world of adventure which he had only read about in the past. He was able breath the same air alongside those who had written the books that had inspired him, for all he knew he could write his own and leave his mark in history. Begrudgingly, he wanted more of it. Spending the cash he had earned from his first experience for more suitable equipment, Balen started looking for independent work, hoping to immerse himself in the unknown once more, and hopefully have a better experience.

Skills:
Major:

-Athletics: Balen's constitution would awe even the most well-trained Legionnaire, rivaling horses in speed, mules in carrying weight, and marathon runners in constistency and distance. Despite Balen's scholarly personality, his physique is quite predisposed towards physicality in contrast, and he has capitalized on this, keeping himself well conditioned through early morning jogs. He is also an excellent diver and swimmer, being able to hold his breath underwater for incredible amounts of time.
-Alchemy: Even though Balen rarely dabbles in it and claims it to be Thaumaturgy rather than Alchemy, he has read enough treatises on Alchemy to learn some fancy tricks such as making flesh-glue to mend wounds, or making salt-air to breathe where there's no air, and boiling seemingly random plants to make glowing water and burning oil, or liquids which carry tamed lightning. He has an extensive knowledge of flora and fauna, and effects they have on the body.

Minor:

-Acrobatics: With arms not unlike those of an Imga, long legs and large hands, Balen has a natural advantage when it comes to scaling obstacles, and his naturally keen muscle coordination also helps immensely. However, he lacks any sort of training or knowledge on the matter except common sense, and mostly acts on instinct, lacking any extensive free running skills.
-Blade: Balen has read plenty of illustrated dueling guides from Hammerfell to help him utilize swordfighting techniques, but thanks to having nearly no practice in actual usage, he finds it hard to put what he knows to action. He also finds it awkward to use two-handed swords, preferring shortswords and broadswords instead, thanks to their ease of use.
-Hand to Hand: Had Balen done muscle training and weapon practice instead of running and swimming, he likely would have become an unstoppably strong brute. As he is, he still can swing a mean hook and his hardened, leathery flesh dishes out a lot of punch and kick when necessary, but aside from his conditioning and natural strength, he has no training on the matter.

Equipment: Balen prefers mobility over all, and thus, carries all his belongings, necessities and books in a rucksack, and prefers to keep them in the bag unless necessary. Alongside a small pot, a pestle and a piece of flint, he carries two leather canteens containing water and three wooden vials. He never travels without a map, hardtack, herbs and smoked fish, which he considers a delicacy.

For battle, he owns a steel 'dagger' of Ashlander make, which is a sword in all but name, having a blade too wide and too long to be a dagger. On the grip of the blade, the Daedric letters Meht, Ayem, Roht, Neht and Ekem are inscribed, though Balen has not been able to deduce what the letters mean and assumes that it’s some sort of tribal superstition. As for armor, Balen wears a sleeveless shirt of mail, a skullcap under his hat, and a steel gorget.

Birthsign: The Lord

Miscellaneous: Balen handles Skooma and other drugs like they are nothing and is impossibly hard to get drunk. His constitution is also somewhat resistant to poison and illness. These traits are often attributed to his birthsign.

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

Rolls for Bleakrock

For everyone in the Bleakrock mission, I'm going to go with a 10-sided dice system like the rest of the GMs when there's dice rolling involved. I'm stealing Dervish's system mostly, quoted below, but with a few modifications:

1-2 is a failure, your character will be injured and brought down, where a second roll of the dice will determine if the enemy will continue to focus on this character to finish the job or take on another target (less than 5, continue the attack, 5 and up, move on unless there’s no other characters to fight). Depending on the circumstances, GMs will decide if the situation will be fatal. Close characters may elect to intervene, where if a player says they wish to intercept, will have to do another combat roll to see if they both make it to the character in time and receive injury in the process

3-6 is a success, but with minor injury. Your character receives a minor wound that will have to be treated and will hinder their ability to fight somewhat, but it won’t take them out of the fight. Each subsequent roll with an injury will have a -1 penalty on the roll, and each injury added increases the penalty.

7-10 is a success where the best possible outcome for that engagement occurs.

@Dervish

However, as I said, I'm modifying the system a bit, so you have three options to proceed with and the rolls will be made accordingly.

1 - Lethal Attack: Your attack's meant to kill, pure and simple. A full success (7-10) is an instant kill. A regular success (3-6) means that your foe's wounded, and will need either another full success or another regular success similarly to die, but it also means they can hit you back. The effectiveness of the foe's strike will be also decided by a dice roll 1d2, 2 being a success, to see whether they miss or not (they don't get the instant-kill privilege you do, just a valid strike which will wound if successful). A failure (1-2) means your hit misses and they roll 1d2.

2 - Nonlethal Attack: Your attack's meant to stun, which will obviously help you from making a mess, and a captured foe means a hostage and information, and also means Dumhuvud will hate you slightly less for doing a good job. A full success (7-10) is an instant KO. A regular success (3-6) means your attack hurts enough to stun them from hitting you, but they're still going to be up unless you land a full success or decide to go lethal. A failure (1-2) means they get to strike at you, for which they'll roll 1d2, 2 being a successful hit.

3 - Kick: This Spartan maneuver's meant to kick your opponent off the bridge, which means the fight's much shorter. It also gives you one bonus success in your roll for momentum. A full success (7-10) kicks them off the hill completely and they fall, upon which a 1d3 roll will be made to see if they are killed by the impact (1), get stunned (2) or survive and help their two friends below against Sadri and Narzul (3). A regular success (3-6) means that you both fall down the hill, upon which they still make the 1d3 roll, and you get a minor injury. A failure (1-2) means an epic fail that you miss and lose your balance, and fall down the hill yourself, while your foe is undamaged.

Those who are below (Narzul, Sadri, whoever falls alongside their opponent/falls on their own in a failure) do not have the kick option.

Three failures in a row will cause major injury, and any wound received after a major injury can be fatal. Fleeing, falling down or asking for help is always an option, but given Dumhuvud, there will probably be consequences.

Name your opponent. One is dead, so there are nine Armigers. Armigers 1 and 2 are below and facing Sadri and Narzul respectively. Those above can pick Armigers 3 to 9.

Make your choice and post them here, and then the rollening shall commerce.

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

Way to Fall

A collab by @Peik and @Hank

---

Night, Sun's Height 29
Bleakrock Isle

---

"…And we’ll roll the o-old chariot along, we’ll roll the o-old chariot along, and we’ll all hang on behind."

Sadri bobbed his head back and forth to the rhythm of the shanty he muttered to himself, as he and Narzul walked on, a good twenty meters forward from the rest of the group, just in the perfect distance for the others to notice and take cover safely if anything bad were to happen to the duo. He couldn’t help but admire Dumhuvud for his brilliance in consigning him and Narzul to the front. Not only did it make sense, since Sadri was practically half-undead and Narzul was covered head to toe in plate, but it also was a perfect way of getting rid of two folks he didn’t like, should things go south. Plus, despite his conversation with Niernen, Sadri wasn’t sure if he was able to trust Narzul. Maybe he just found that ebony blade far too intimidating.

In short, it wasn’t a fun situation. Thus, he went on with the shanties, trying to find some solace in their rhythm.

"Oh, a night in the jail wouldn’t do us any harm…"

---

The group’s march through the aptly named island (it truly was a bleak place, with naught but tree lines, rugged rocks and tall grass all around) was quite steady and silent. At the front, Narzul and Sadri had not fallen victim to any unwanted attention or unexpected arrow fire, and the main group, led by the charming Cat-Kicker, followed their guidance cautiously, as their position did not exempt them from Dumhuvud’s suspicion.

They had just passed by the Crossroads leading through to Hozzin’s Folly to the right, and the Wayshrine to the left, sneaking through on the edge of the road as to avoid possible detection. They had already stumbled upon one patrol of ten armigers with matte armor on the path. Thankfully, the Armigers had been walking in a different direction entirely, and busy with hauling carpentry pieces - a relief for Sadri, who certainly did not want to come to blows in hostile territory of all places, a sentiment that he hoped was shared by the rest of the party. The best outcome in this case would be a quick retreat, which would still be a failure of the mission.

He looked back and saw Dumhuvud and the group laying prone amidst the rocks and the tall grass, hard to make out despite knowing that they were there. He breathed out in relief, and patted Narzul as to move further. "You think there are any stragglers behind them?" Sadri muttered silently as he gathered himself from the ground and prepared to move. There was a bridge just up ahead, and beyond it, the Wayshrine. The group could gather up again there.

"Possible," Narzul replied in a flat grumble, barely more than a whisper. It was the first thing he'd said in more than a day. "They're not real soldiers. I wouldn't be surprised if they lack cohesive unit discipline." That went for the mercenaries too, of course, and the Redoran sighed silently into his helmet. To him, it would be nothing short of a miracle if Dumhuvud managed to keep the rest of the party behind them in line. He followed Sadri up onto his feet and cast a glance behind him, spotting Niernen amongst those who emerged from the tall grass. The two siblings looked each other in the eye for a second. The look on Niernen's face was enough for Narzul to avert his gaze quickly. Just focus on the objective, he thought to himself admonishingly. She'd never forgive him if he got himself killed out here.

Despite his heavy and unwieldy suit of armor, Narzul moved with speed and grace that bespoke of his skill and experience. His ironclad feet barely made a sound on the soft soil and the upper half of his body was stiff as a board so as to prevent his armor from rattling and clanging against itself. His head pivoted left and right as if attached to a swivel, scanning the horizon, the grass, the shadows of the large rocks, and back again. His hand was on the pommel of his sheathed war-blade.

Suddenly, he came to an abrupt halt. "Did you hear that?" he hissed.

Upon the cautionary remark, Sadri gave Narzul a flat look, half judging his words, half actually trying to hear something. After looking blank at his face for a moment, and noticing nothing, Sadri turned the earless side of his face in Narzul’s general direction, put his hand behind the ragged scar where his ear had once been and raised one of his brows, as if attempting to hear his words better over a distance. There was some actual attempt in the effort, but mostly, it was his way of showing to Narzul that he didn’t hear anything, and poking at the fact that maybe he wasn’t the best man to ask the question. Nonetheless, the situation wasn’t one for snide remarks, and nor was the person, so he just nodded his head back as to show his disagreement.

His able ear weighing every single sound he heard, as to not be proven wrong by the Redoran as he moved on behind the thankfully tall and unkempt bushes, Sadri found to his and likely everyone else’s relief (not to mention his ego’s) that there was no other Armiger on the last fifty meters to the bridge. Beyond the old wooden bridge, which was marked by an empty signpost that seemed to be recently erected, he could make out the silhouette of the Wayshrine, and another signpost facing the other way around on the opposite end of the bridge. He wasn’t sure what to make of it except to tread even more carefully. Were the Armigers renaming landmarks as to cement their presence?

After some moments spent in a bush next to the bridge to confirm nobody was around, Sadri cautiously moved out along with Narzul. Walking to the edge of the bridge, he looked back into the tree line, waiting for Dumhuvud, but all he got was a dismissing gesture as to move on forward. It seemed that their leader did not want to cross the bridge without a force on the other side. Sadri nodded for Narzul.

"Let’s go, then."

Narzul narrowed his eyes in annoyance when Sadri sarcastically cupped his hand to his absent ear, though he had to admit he should have seen that one coming. The Redoran shrugged imperceptibly inside his armor as no further noises came his way -- and he was glad of it too. He followed Sadri after Duhumvud clearly shooed them ahead, well aware they could be walking into a trap, and once again cursed his current situation. Less than a month ago he was sitting in on meetings of the highest national importance and here he was now, conspiring against his own country in a foolhardy attempt to save his sister.

The pair of Dunmer began crossing the bridge. Narzul did so somewhat hastily, eager to get to the other side as fast as possible. Bridges were notorious hotspots for ambushes after all. He got about halfway when the same sound he heard earlier reoccurred, now -- rather alarmingly -- from beneath his boots.

Creaking wood.

"Aha," Narzul said sardonically and picked up speed.

Sadri had not expected Narzul to pick up the pace and even actually go beyond him, thinking that the Redoran would not want to make himself the primary target to anything laying in ambush in front of them when the half-dead low blooded expat was already occupying that position, but it seemed that he had perhaps judged him a tad too unfairly. There the lad was, boldly moving forward, no doubt given confidence by the armor covering all his body as much as his well-drilled training.

Then the Redoran started running, and Sadri realized why all too late.

A moaning, well audible croak led to Sadri deducing that perhaps this bridge wasn’t the safest for crossing, and when the planks started to visibly show that they could not support their weight, Sadri actually looked back to see if he could return back to terra firma, but then one of the abutments lodged into the rocks split open with a loud crack, and the bridge suddenly toppled to the left, the floor sliding from underneath Sadri’s feet.

Latching onto a railing on his right with unexpectedly fast speed, Sadri thought of looking up at Narzul to see whether or not he’d made it to the other side, but his eyes were too well-fixed on trying to locate the crumbling support to act his care. He thought of using the railings like a monkey bar to support his feet in an attempt to get off the death trap, but before he could put the idea to test, the middle support crumbled further.

"Oh fuck."

Before he could gather his thoughts and actually do something, the bridge decided to hold its demise further no more. He felt his stomach hop as the bridge floor swiveled even further towards the ground in an imbalance, and following this, the rest of the supports cracked, causing a couple of large rocks to dislocate themselves to set them free, which led to the bridge sliding off into uncertainty with the two Dunmer still on it.

Sadri felt his stomach hop as if he were on a swing, and realizing the impending impact, closed his eyes in denial.

Even though the freefall was about twenty five feet at most, to his closed eyes it felt like an epic, mythical representation of an unending abyss, with the wild cacophony of smashing rocks and crying carpentry providing a musical tension to the scene, until the moment when it all reached a climax, and Sadri himself hit the ground with a rather disappointingly mundane plop amidst the majestic chorus of boom and krak and thwuks.

---

Sadri opened his eyes about fifteen seconds after his landing, after realizing that it wasn’t death that kept his eyes close but just his reflexes. Looking around, he found his clothes not bloody but dusty and muddy, and the pain that jolted his body was not unbearable but in fact rather mild. He’d fallen on his right thigh, and thankfully, the padding of his robe and the soft density of the soil had kept any bones from breaking, although the chainmail had smashed into his clothes on impact, and hurt like Oblivion.

Surprised at the fact that he was relatively unhurt, he let out a silent praise to whichever deity that had a part to play in it, and slowly, he led his battered body back up on its feet. While the pain and the force of impact kept him from acting with agility, he nonetheless managed to walk around in an attempt to try and find the Redoran.

As for Narzul, his sprint to reach the other side of the small chasm, while admirable, yielded no fruits. The wooden planks gave way beneath him as the support posts on that side also collapsed and the whole bridge came tumbling down just before the Redoran had reached his goal. A final leap of faith ended up with him smacking into the cliff side, the gauntleted fingers of his free hand scrambling for support mere inches below the edge, carving gouges into the soft rock as he inevitably slid down. Weakened by the wooden support posts being torn out of their places, the edge of the cliff disintegrated into a tumble of loose rocks before Narzul's muscles gave out and he entered the same freefall his ash-kin experienced a ways behind him. Thinking fast, Narzul angled his shield towards the ground.

The loud and painful crunk that Narzul made when he hit rock bottom was certainly more intense than Sadri's comparatively soft landing. Narzul's decision to land on his shield was a wise one, as otherwise he might have landed on one of the rocks that came down with him which could have dented his cuirass in ways that would have been wildly unhealthy for the constitution of his torso. Even so, the fall wasn't kind to the ramshackle suit of armor and Narzul, rattled like a fish inside a tin can, groaned in fierce pain. Dust obscured his vision from within the helmet and he rolled on his back, gasping to regain the breath that had been knocked out of him. He was alive, that much was clear, but what was the damage?

After nothing continued to happen for some time, Narzul sat up straight, yanked his helmet off his head and quickly patted himself down. There were some dents in his armor now, mostly in his greaves, but nothing severe. More annoying was a dent in his helmet, which had scraped his brow and blood slowly trickled down and into his face. He ignored it for now. One of his boots had somehow come loose in the descent and Narzul spotted it a few yards away from him, lying in the middle of the chasm -- and there was Sadri, wandering around like a lost soul in the Cairn.

"Beleth!" Narzul hissed and waved his hand above his hand. After grabbing his fellow Dunmer's attention, he pointed at his iron boot. "Hand me that," he added.

To his surprise, the Redoran had been quite deep in the wreckage, and not far away like Sadri had been looking. He turned and blinked in surprise to see the blueblood out of his helmet and sitting on the ground like a duck. For a moment, Sadri could have been quite happy to see him alive, but the Redoran’s attitude quickly reminded him of whom he actually was. Sadri looked straight at Narzul for a moment, to show him that he wasn’t taking it all too fast, then actually went and picked up the boot to deny the Dunmer a reason to be properly irritated, and thus, irritate him even further.

"You forgot the magic word," Sadri told Narzul as he walked closer to the sitting Redoran, with a faint, battered, yet still smug smile on his face. He handed over the iron boot, and then moved further up to see the Dunmer’s wound. "I’d have checked to see if the shoe fits, but you aren’t exactly Cendrillon," Sadri quipped as he pulled his sleeve back and dusted his hands off.

"Lay your head back, would you?" Sadri said, in a more serious tone.

Narzul scoffed at Sadri's little quip, but accepted the offered boot without further comment. Before he had a chance to pull it on the other Dunmer leaned in to inspect the injury on Narzul's brow, which he promptly raised slightly in surprise. He hadn't expected Sadri to care, or to know anything about battlefield first aid. Narzul obliged, staring down his nose at Sadri.

"How does it look?" he asked languidly.

Sadri’s grin widened upon seeing Narzul’s derisive expression, but he didn’t carry the banter any further. "Well, I mean, it shouldn’t be nothing some magic fingers can’t fix, but it looks like –" Sadri stopped with an abrupt, silent but nonetheless concerning gasp, his movements paused. "Shit."

Immediately on alert, Narzul tried to turn his head to see what Sadri was looking at but the tight fit of his cuirass and his position on the ground prevented him. He swiftly pulled the iron boot onto his foot, rolled over so he was facing the direction of Sadri's cause for concern, stood up and unsheathed his sword. His helmet -- an integral part of his disguise -- was still on the ground. Narzul's blood ran cold.

Sadri internally cursed at Narzul for making a sudden movement, but there wasn’t much he could do to stop him. He put on the most non-confrontational expression he could as he raised his head further at the edge of the collapsed bridge and gazed at their surprised and newly arrived onlookers.

Ten Armigers, clad in loosely fitted armor and wielding pickaxes, hammers, shovels and long strands of rope, looked down at the two unfortunate Dunmer as they scratched their chins on what to do. Sadri’s eyes gauged them and the rocks and pieces of wood next to him, hoping that he could outmaneuver them and get to cover before any possible projectiles could reach their position.

The tense situation lasted for a few moments before one of the more presentable of the bunch stepped forward. The spokesperson, a rather young and sharp looking Dunmer with his hair worn in braids, rested his open palm next to his mouth and began shouting aggressively in what Sadri assumed to be Dunmeris before another wearing glasses whispered something in his ear. The braided one stopped and glared at him for a moment before nodding in agreement and turning back to the duo below.

"We’ll set up a rope, get up here!" He shouted, before turning to the more tribal looking one next to him and saying some things that Sadri couldn’t make out. Sadri smiled sheepishly.

---

"Shor’s bones, those idiots!"

Dumhuvud was furious. Not only had Sadri and Narzul collapsed their only way forward, but they had also gone and attracted the worst kind of attraction possible, and the Armiger patrol that had passed by them earlier had now arrived again to the commotion. Thankfully, they seemed more prepared for maintenance rather than actual battle, and more concerned with fixing the wreckage instead of looking for intruders. His angry frown turned into a bloodthirsty grin as an idea turned up in his head, while he watched the unsuspecting Armigers try and do something about the bridge – slowly he turned back to the group and began speaking in a hushed, confident tone.

"On my mark, we rush them. Try to keep some alive for information," he informed as he turned his head back and waited for a proper moment to charge. For some reason, they were busy trying to prepare a rope for to pull something, or more likely, someone from down below. Were the two still alive? Had the Armigers mistaken them for allies? Or worse, were they really allies?

"Go!"

With his own command, the Cat-Kicker jumped out of his crouch into a sprint, his weapon held at the ready, and smashed into the rear of the group. True to his name, he transferred the momentum of his short distance sprint into a kick, which landed itself true on the back of an Armiger. The Armiger who took the impact screamed in fear as he flew into the one with the rope, and together the two fell down along with the two they had been trying to pull up moments ago.

Before the element of surprise could properly subside, Dumhuvud sprung his arm back far and swung his axe overhead, inevitably crashing into the head of the closest Armiger and lopping half the Dunmer’s head off in a bloody and hard swing. The remaining Armigers pulled back and readied themselves, with one swinging his pickaxe against the Nord's head and smashing its tip into the side of his opponent's helmet, as the rest of the party followed suit into the bout, right behind a disoriented Dumhuvud.