Private The invasion of the Damned

[lbrasz44]

''Well we've got a contract going on today. And we could use a dagger to protect are back. Tell you you what, you can come along, but for eating my food and interrupting my sleep their will be no pay today. Then return home, and I will send a parchment when we need to next for are contract, and you will earn a mighty pay, and perhaps a spot in are ranks.''

"You have got to be kidding me..." mutters Thorral with a look of disbelief,"He can't be serious by letting that crazy son of a bitch in." Thorral knew that there had to be some sort of catch to this. The guildmaster could not be this willing to let a jester into their brotherhood.

Shaking his head, Thorral looks outside and sees that the sun has risen and another day has gone without a good night of sleep. At least something interesting happened instead to keep me off from agonizing on the lost sleep.

Noticing Cyrus coming towards him and his fellow witchers, Thorral guessed that they will move out soon to begin their first assignment, and so began to put his attention towards the lesser master to hear what he has to say.

 

[cazzer14]

Cyrus and his band of three arrived at the dining hall, weapons brandished, to find that Geran left alone with the Jester didn't end up in the mutilation of the fool in one way or another. Instead, Cyrus found them as he had left them, both seated, with the Jester still consuming the tepid food. Cyrus couldn't help but have a surprised, gormless look on his face, one of disbelief and confusion. He wondered whether his eyes were deceiving him from the lack of sleep, or if he had gone as insane as the Jester.

Cyrus continues to think what could've been said, what could've happened in the time he had been gone, what words were exchanged between Geran and the Jester. A dank feeling in his stomach emerged as he pondered a possibility. What if... what if Geran had recruited the Jester? Surely this wise, experienced leader could've have been so ridiculous as to let a crazed madman who had threatened and troubled the Brotherhood into their ranks. It seemed Cyrus would find out as his superior approached him and whispered in his ear;

''Hopefully this Jester dies while were doing are contract, if not I will hope he dies on the next. he is a madman, and I suppose he will be helpful in a fight, probably causing a distraction. Prepare the Witchers, we are moving very soon.'

Yup. It seems all sense had escaped Geran on this tiresome night. As Geran walked off in the direction of the main doors with Jaygue, Cyrus looked at the Jester and sighed quietly. He knew that all of Geran's decisions were made for the right reasons, but this one was blurry as to the righteousness of recruiting a murderous, mentally broken psychopath.

Cyrus turned to the three that he had fetched from their rooms. Ambrosia had a frustrated, silently enraged expression on her face, a grimace and disgusted scowl apparent on her entire aura. The Argonian seemed indifferent, whilst the Imperial was nervous and confused, as a rookie always is. He glanced at each one, before saying;

"Well, now that I've got you up I may as well have you actually do something. We have a contract to go out on soon, an important one. Go and get the rest of your armour and weapons. Food and water too. And whilst you're in the barracks, wake everyone else in that room up and tell them to do the same. Be ready in one hour, no later. Save your questions until after then, I'll explain later. Go on."

With those two last words he gestured them to leave. He could get used to this leadership thing.

 

[Star Gazer]

The Jester finished a few turkey legs and stood from the table. He found himself considerably full. He let out a long stretch, glad he wasn't still in that dungeon. "Well, now that I've got you up I may as well have you actually do something. We have a contract to go out on soon, an important one, one that could be recorded in history. Go and get the rest of you're armour and weapons. Food and water too. And whilst your in the barracks, wake everyone else in that room up and tell them to do the same. Be ready in one hour, no later. Save your questions until after then, I'll explain later. Go on." Said Cyrus, with an annoyed tone in his voice. The Jester saw the disgusted, angry, and horrified looks on the group's faces when the guild-master let him join. He looked to his food, then back to the group. "Thank you for allowing me to gorge, the food was great butdo you have a forge?" He asked, looking directly at Jaygue. He thought making some projectile weapons would help him fight off whatever came close.

 

[meben15]

Jaygue looked towards the Jester, annoyed at having his pre-battle trance interupted. Most of the other members of the guild knew not to bother him before they set out on a contract, but this Jester obviosly needed to be filled in. He narrowed his eyes at the man and said coldy, "We have no time for such things Jester, Geran commands we set out imidiately. Gather you belongings and wait outside in the courtyard." Jayge did not approve of Geran letting this fool come along with them, but he had faith his guild master was doing it for some logical reason.

 

[Star Gazer]

The Jester nodded and stood from his seat. He unsheathed his dagger and sharpened the edges on the end of a silver plate. After a few seconds of sharpening, he pulled up a finger and slid the blade across. Blood trickled down, and with satisfaction, he sheathed it. He walked out towards the front doors, waiting for everyone else to come along.

 

[MissingOne123]

Ambrosia glanced at the jester over Cyrus' shoulder, watching as he sliced his finger open. She shook her head and looked away, muttering under her breath about crazy psychopaths getting blood on their dinning table. She made a jabbing motion with her sword arm, as if imagining stabbing the man, but made no effort to actually hurt him. Geran must have had his reasons for keeping him around... Maybe he would prove helpful on their next mission.

Snorting at the thought, she quickly banished it from her mind. Of course he wouldn't be any help. His bells could be heard from a mile away, and he'd most likely end up stabbing one of the brotherhood in the back before slaughtering the undead. Groaning, she turned and walked off, down the hall and returning to their rooms.

She crossed the floors and crouched down at her chest, unlocked it, and shuffled through the various belongings. She pulled out a thick, rusty red robe. She gathered the mage robe in her arms before leaving to change.

Soon, she returned clothed in red, a hood drawn over her head and boots covering her feet. She picked up her burning sword and sheathed it at her hip. Glancing around the room, she shrugged and left, leaving the rest to put themselves together.

 

[lbrasz44]

After hearing the orders, Thorral started to return to his room. This jester better be worth our while and won't jeopordize our mission. Walking through the long dark hallway, Thorral took the time to once again look at his surroundings. After all, who knows whether he would be coming back.

It has been less than a week in the brotherhood and already things were starting to get thick. I definately don't trust that jester. Geran better have some sort of plan for him. But who knows? The master seems to be a wise and capable man, and that clown could be harmless after all, despite being a madman. His thoughts somewhat trailed after that until he finally made it to his room. Opening the door and ducking underneath the top of the doorframe, he advanced towards his bed and the chest that lies in front of it.

Placing his greatsword on the bed, he went to open up his chest to aquire the rest of his gear and change out of his sleeping attire. Picking up his steel armour, he started to put on his boots and work his up. He remembered the day when he recieved the armour he currently possessed. A year ago, in whiterun he proved to be a capable bodygaurd to Eurland Gray-Mane, the best blacksmith in all of Skyrim. It was in the heat of the civil war and the Stormcloaks would try to 'convince' him to make their gear. Thorral was then hired to protect him. After doing a capable job, Eurland had to thank him with crafting his armour in the Skyforge.

After Thorral was finished putting on his armour he took the greatsword and placed it on his back. The very same greatsword that his own father made him. Thorral winced at the thought of his father, the man he didn't see for 10 years after being disowned for refusing to believe in the Stormcloaks views. Why he even kept the greatswird, Thorral did not know. Maybe as a last piece of whatever good memory he has that came from home. The sword looked dull in terms of its shine, but remains the sharpness of a good blade yet having the blunt force of a hammer. The blade was chipped everywhere, but they weren't problematic and the sword was still in good shape and ready for action.

Doing a last minute fastening on his gloves, Thorral began to set out, ready to begin.

 

[cazzer14]

Cyrus watched the three head off in the direction of the dormitories, and after they had left his sight he set off in the direction of his own room. He arrived at the door and pushed it open, his hand clasped around the latch on the handle. He gathered the pieces of his armour from his bed and the floor, and stripped off to his underwear. Before he put on his combat gear though, he went off in the direction of the en-suite bathroom.

A large mirror bearing his reflection greeted him as he walked in. He stood in front of it and stared at himself. He was in shape, his abs were toned so a clear six-pack was visible, and his pecs were muscular and shaped, and his arms were strong and impressively herculean. He wasn't the most muscular build, but he was as physically fit as his body could be, years of training and weightlifting had made sure of that.

He walked over to the sink, and turned the tap so cold water poured out of the silver, hook-shaped nozzle. He cupped his hand and splashed some on his face, freshening him up and re-vitalising his alertness. Content, he walked back to his room and put on his armour; a lightweight mixture of leather and a compound of ebony and steel, an invention that was flexible as rubber, but strong as usual Ebony, coloured dark grey, almost black. His torso and leg parts of his armour on, he sat on the edge of his bed and pulled his boots on.

Cyrus grabbed his backup steel sword off of the desk and headed for the main door, putting on his fingerless gloves as he briskly walked. He caught sight of Thorral exiting as he approached the dining hall, and Cyrus called out to him;

"Thorral! Wait up."

Cyrus broke into a slow jog to catch up to the burly Nord. He didn't know too much about him, except for the advice to make sure to duck if you were in the way of his greatsword, for his swing could chop off heads. Cyrus hadn't spoken to the man much, except the occasional words and praise he gave when overseeing training from time to time, but he seemed a good enough guy.

"You ready for this? Has Geran briefed you yet?"

 

[Mini Mongo]

After about a hour or so the Guild Members awaited, all Witchers seemed eager to beging the contract, and such behavior always pleased Geran.
He checked them over, looking at their gear and if they had plenty of food, as you never know how long you'll be gone.
He summed up that their share of food rationed could feed them for 1 week and 3 days, plenty considering Whiterun was only round the corner, and about a 10 minute walk from the Mansion in the country side.

Geran then walked into his room, opening up his chest. He picked up some ebony armor marked with the sign of Meridia.
He only really used it on dire occasions, but Geran had a bad feeling about this contract.
After fitting his armor, tightening it and making sure it would not loosen he picked up his silver greatsword, great for killing undead placing it on his back.
Then he picked up his steel greatsword, it was as sharp as daedric and shined in the light like elven.
Bandit attacks were very common with the Guild, and he need something for killing as such.
Pleased with his fitting his placed an ebony shield on his back, covering the weapons but Geran would still be able to un-sheath them, as their handles peeked out.
He carried his Ebony helmet under his arm and walked into the Main entrance, and began to do speak to the guild members.

''Men and woman, my great Witchers. Yet again we start another contract, un-sure of what we may be walking into. But I have faith, for you are great warriors, capable of handling an army of the undead!
This is a normal contract, but I see the caution in your faces, you all have a bad feeling about this much like me, but do not let fear take you for fear is an evil being.
If Meridia wishes you alive you shall stay alive, if she wishes you dead then you will die, whether it be today or tomorrow.
Now we go, I have information the mansion is called Mystic manor, a 10 minute walk from whiterun if we travel by horse.
Now let us ride, go to the stables and get on your horses, and be prepared for anything!''

Geran raised his arm up in the air, screaming with the Witchers then walking to the stables.
He needed to always keep their morale up, for if they had bad morale they would die.
He walked towards his horse, a white steed. Strong legs and fast on it's feet, like all the guild he did not equip it with armor for it would slow the horses down.
He placed his shield and greatswords on the side of the horse and mounted, then put on his ebony helmet.
He prefered Leather but he needed to be prepared, for in his dreams of the prior night Meridia spoke to him of great evil in the Mansion.
He heeded her call, then pressed this matter onto the guild to do the same.

They then marched in a unit, 10 of them all riding, Geran felt wayed down by the armor, more used to light armor.
But he was strong enough to hold, second to Jaygue and Thorall, Cyrus right behind.
Geran rid next to Cyrus and Edwyn, in between them both, Jaygue was right by Geran's side. He always acted as if Geran's bodyguard, and for such service Geran always gave him abit of gold.
The cold air began to freeze the horses, a blizzard then started.
They were perhaps 45 minutes from Whiterun but Geran couldn't risk the horses and so called the men to set camp and shelter.
Once it was made he lit a fire and put the horses under the shelter, putting blankets over them to warm them and the fire next to them.
As they waited Geran stood outside, arms crossed as he gazed at the landscape stood next to Cyrus, tilting his head at him.
''We'll move once the storm dazes down, until then talk to the men, this blizzard could get the better of them.''

 

[Star Gazer]

After the speech from Geran, which seemed to be inspirational to all of the guild, he walked out and mounted his horse, as did all of them. The Jester did not have a horse, so he was forced to run. He was glad his lute was burned. It would have slowed him down. He was surprised as to how his sprinting was keeping up with the guild's horses. Maybe it was the men's armor that slowed them down. The Jester's legs grew tired quickly, but they set up camp after some time. The Jester lay back on a nearby tree and rested his muscles, aching from the run. The sharp winter air burned his lungs, and was thrown into a coughing fit.

 

[lbrasz44]

"Thorral! Wait up."
Turning around to see who it was, Thorral saw that it was Cyrus who was jogging to him. "Yes master Cyrus?"

"You ready for this? Has Geran briefed you yet?" Laughing to himself a little bit at Cyrus' haste and the realization Thorral had from the question asked. "No he didn't. I was guessing that he would do so outside at front because I don't think he briefed anyone yet. Only you, Lesser Master Edwyn and Jaygue are the only ones who know of the assignment I believe. Anyways since you asked, could give me a rundown then?"

The two continued to walk together until they reached the main gate when Thorral stopped and gave a last reply, "Oh and I forgot to answer your question fully... I'm always ready for the undead." Said Thorral with a knowing smirk as he then proceeded to open the door and stepped outside.

 

[cazzer14]

Thorral answered his latter question with, essentially, a no. It seemed the Geran saved the details for a heart-warming speech on the courtyard before they had set off, as was his custom.
"Oh and I forgot to answer your question fully... I'm always ready for the undead."

Cyrus smiled, and a huff of amusement came out of his nose. "Of course you are.", he said as he patted Thorral's shoulder blade as they headed towards the direction of the large door, into the cold of Skyrim's air. He released his friendly hold of Thorall's shoulder as he leant against the wall of the fortress with his arms crossed as Geran gave his speech.

It was noble, inspirational, the kind found in books of fiction before the hero enters battle. All of the men joined him in a cheer at the finale of his address, lecture and briefing all complied into one dramatic speech. All of the Witchers, about a total of 10 or 12, went to the direction of the stables to claim their horses. Special ones were saved for high ranking, experienced members. Geran, Edwyn, Jaygue and Cyrus himself had their own personal steed, Cyrus' being a beautiful grey stallion with a slightly darker grey mane, born and bred in Eastern Cyrodiil, in the stables of Cheydinhal, famous for their quality of horses.

Cyrus approached the steed, stroking the animal with his knuckles, lightly touching the hair covering it's muscular neck, admiring the elegance of the horse, before hoisting himself up on his padded saddle and trotting the steed out of the stables, and took his position next to Geran, on his left, while Edwyn was on the adjacent side. When all of the members of the party were saddled up, the group set off.

They rode down the trials of the mountain, traversing the harsh ground of Skyrim, and bearing the chilling cold that she held in her breath. Cyrus glanced around the group, checking front and behind, and his flanks, making sure everything and everyone was okay. He saw the Jester struggling to keep up with the horses' pace, panting and huffing at his evidently poor physical fitness, and he had to laugh at the fool.

Soon, a blizzard made it unbearable for the horses to cope with, and so Geran made the decision to hold up in a nearby shelter, and told some of the lesser men to get a fire going. Soon, the horses were blanketed up, and the majority of the men were huddled around the fire. Typical. A simple 10 minute journey had to be interrupted by bad, horrid weather. Cyrus wondered whether Meridia really did care about them, to allow the Witchers to be hindered by such a menial foe as the cold.

Cyrus isn't a big believer of the whole religious aspect of the Brotherhood. While he acknowledged the existence of both Daedric and Aedric deities, he didn't rely on, or worship them as Geran and some of the others did. He kept his heathen-ness to himself though, he didn't want a row with Geran for not sharing their belief in the guild's patron deity.

Cyrus stood outside, overlooking the glorious view of the horizon of Skyrim's mountains alongside Geran, when his master spoke to him; ''We'll move once the storm dazes down, until then talk to the men, this blizzard could get the better of them.'' Cyrus nodded in acknowledgement and returned to join the men and women, all gathered around the crackling blaze. He made a audible noise with his mouth as he stood over them, before joking, "So, we got some marshmallows we can cook over the fire, or something?", a slight chuckle accompanying his remark. A few quiet chuckles came out in return, a sign of life from the otherwise still, anxious squad.

He took a seat next to Ambrosia, and gave her a playful nudge, with a smirk on his face. He was usually good at getting morale up, with his light-hearted mood and his cheerful, mischievous nature.

 

[lbrasz44]

Waiting outside, Thorral stood alongside the rest of the Witchers and waited for Geran to come and give his speech. When the guildmaster finally came, Thorral couldn't help but narrow his eyes slightly with a hint of jealousy. Two greatswords? Damn well I gotta step up my game then. Thorral chuckled to himself at the thought but quickly stopped himself to hear Geran's speech.

...This is a normal contract, but I see the caution in your faces, you all have a bad feeling about this much like me, but do not let fear take you for fear is an evil being...

Geran has a bad feeling about this? I certainly don't. So what if its just a few draugr or necromencer's? ...Meh, whatever.

Geran then started to cheer along with the rest when the speech ended and made his way to the horses. Thorral never bothered with horses seeing as he and the animal will be nothing but a burden to each other; Thorral being the large heavy man as he is without the steel armour and sword, and the horse who cannot get into less accessible places in the wild as well as the overall difficulty to control it. But there was no other option since he was issued one and everyone else was riding theirs.

A blizzard came by which was unbearable for the horses and so the group had to stop. Kneeling down next to the horse he muttered jokingly, "See ol' boy? We're nothing but trouble to each other." Thorral then went to sit with the others at the fire, not amused that a ten minute trip is delayed.

 

[MissingOne123]

Ambrosia stood impatiently with her arms crossed, waiting for them to set out. Geran's speech rang through the castle, though she was much too anxious to get moving to listen closely. When the group finally set off towards the stables, she let out a long breath and followed them. She weaved through the crowed until she found an unclaimed horse, already saddled and ready to go.

She hooked her foot in the stirrups and swung her leg over, maneuvering herself carefully on top of the horse's back. She shifted her skirts to sit as comfortable as you could in a thick robe and in a saddle. Muttering, she gathered the reins in her hands and pulled, steering the steed out of the stables and trotting along, idle as she waited for the others to ride off.

She stayed near the back of the group as they traveled on their horses. The bite in the air sent chills down her spine, making it difficult to stay firmly in place.

The sky above grew darker, the gray thickening with the threat of snow looming in the distance. When the first few flakes fell, it wasn't exactly surprising, though when it grew heavier and Geran commanded they dismount and set up camp, she let out a groan of objection, despite her white knuckles and rosy cheeks.

Quietly complaining under her breath, Ambrosia slid off the saddle and landed on the ground with a thud, her horse stomping it's hooves and snorted, tossing its head as the snow coated it's snout. Rolling her eyes, she pulled on the reins again and lead the animal to the shelter Geran had created. She shifted through items in the horse's bag for a few moments before pulling out a small, pale apple. She rolled the fruit in her numb hand for a moment before holding it out towards the horse, who took it thankfully and left her with saliva coated fingers.

Shuddering, she wiped her hand off on her robes. She turned and approached the group, all huddled around a fire. The cold was irritating, and the dull ache of her numb fingers was something she could do without, though her discomfort wasn't something she would voice.

Taking a seat, she held her hands out and watched as the colored returned to her skin, her shoulders rising in a sigh. When Cyrus came and sat down beside her, she merely rolled her eye and attempted to ignore him. It was much too cold for socializing.

 

[meben15]

As the guild made way to leave they all gathered in the courtyard for a rousing speach by Geran. It was a good speach, Jaygue admitted, and he could tell it boosted the moral of some of the others. When they all cheered Jaygue did not, he was to focused on the task at hand.

They went to go get the horses, and Jaygue went to his own, a jet black Stallion he had aquired some time ago while wandering through Cyrodil. Cyrodilic steeds were the finest in all Tamriel, much better than the slow, dumb beasts they breed here in Skyrim.

They mounted up and Jaygue rode next to Geran, with Cyrus and Edwyn alongside them as well. The others rode along behind them, some talking quietly to eachother. When they were about halfway there a sudden blizzard came up, dropping the tempature drastically and reducing visibility greatly.

As Geran called for a halt Jaygue frowned. It just had to snow right when they were about to get there didn't it. He would have liked to press on, even to whiterun, but he knew it wouldn't be wise. The horses would get cold and some might even die and that was a was't of money, time, and resources.

The others made a fire, huddling about it Jaygue stood slightly apart, embracing the freezing cold air chilling his face and numbing his fingers. He unsheathed Blightfire, spining it in several diferent patterns in order to keep the blood flowing to his hands. While he did, he continued to look out over the tundra of Whiterun hold, watching as the snow slowly acumilated. He was constanly on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary near them.

 

[Skyrimosity]

As Geran prepped the Witchers for departure, Edwyn was thinking solemnly to himself of anything that came to mind which would result in something horrible happening. He couldn't think of anything and was sure that if something went wrong it would be unpredictable and thus all the more devestating. As Edwyn mounted his personal steed, a jet black beauty bred in Skyrim which made it strong, durable, and used to the cold, he saw the others mount lesser horses. Even a few didn't mount horses at all but horses are an expensive resource, not everyone can use one. Edwyn rode next to Geran, looked ever noble on his beautiful horse but looking like a warrior in his fur armor. It wasn't much of an armor but it allowed great agility and maneuverability.

As a blizzard brewed all around them, Geran called to set up camp. He was likely worried for the well being of the many horses but Edwyn's was Skyrim bred and thus completely fine. Cyrus's horse was whinnieing and shivering which made Edwyn chuckle a bit. Edwyn dismounted his steed and began walking around from person to person, ensuring that everything was in-check and nothing had gone wrong. Everything seemed fine for now. For now...

 

[Mini Mongo]

Geran walked over to the camp fire, he was fine with the cold but wanted to check up on the group.
As he approached them a couple of the Witchers stared at the Ebony armor, his weapons and shield.
Though they looked good and was great protection it greatly reduced his speed, being able to only jog and run for short distances, it was like a burden to him.
Geran then sat down on the floor legs stretched out and crossed with his arms behind him giving him support, he then took of his helmet and relaxed abit, luckily he was not burdened by his shield and weapons as they remained on his horse.

It was a weird mixture of breeds, hailing from Skyrim it was tough and sturdy, but mixed with Cyrodiils breeds it had great speed.
Unfortunately this led to the horse having mixed abilities, able to survive in winter for longer but not being able to reach great speeds like the full bred Cyrodiilic horses.
Geran then tilted his head to Cyrus ''The storm is only getting worse, set up camp we sleep tonight.''
Geran then set up his large tent, it was for Cyrus, Edwyn and Geran to share, holding plenty of room for them, usually only for Geran but they were of limited resources due to the load of food and weapons they carried.

After a good hour or so they lit torches around the camp, the horses were asleep and the tents set up Geran merely sat down in the tent, his weapons and shield kept next to him.
He offered the Jester his own tent which he accepted instantly.
As the Witchers all dreamed, Edwyn, Cyrus and Geran remained awake and vigilant to any danger.
Then finally when the storm was calming suddenly Geran heard a scream, he stood to his feet picking up his shield and greatswords placing them on his back and ran outside.
Then he heard another screamed, looking in the tents it appeared a man was stabbing a witcher.......Geran thought it to be the Jester.

He ran into the room to see a bandit stand their stabbing his Witcher, instantly Geran got out his ebony greatsword and swung it with great might decapitating the mans head from his soulless body.
Geran then ran outside, calling for the entire guild to awake, then suddenly all he heard was roars, he looked in the distance to see about 20 bandits charging at them. A hole Clan approached their camp!
''Wake up you fools! A Clan of Bandits approach!''
Geran stood in a defensive position, Jaygue ran to his side with Cyrus and Edwyn at the front with them.
They all stood ready, the bandits ran and were about to attack when the rest of the guild stepped out, standing behind Geran.
They stopped in their tracks and then charged.

Geran then charged at them ''Kill the dogs!'' he shouted at the height of his voice, the guild charged and a battle started.
Geran knocked the blade out of a Bandits hand as they met head on and then went for a stab, the blade sinking through to the other side of the bandit's body.
Geran then kicked the body back making it fly into another bandit knocking him over, Geran walked over and stabbed the bandit laying on the floor through his forehead, blood splat from the mans head.
18 more Bandits stood.

 

[meben15]

Jaygue tried to contain his impatience at the fact they were forced to stay the night in this place. What would have been a ten minute journey now turned into a day. He set up his tent and sat inside, deciding to use this time to meditate, as he had not gotten the chance back at the guild what with all the business with the Jester.

Then Jaygue heard a scream and his eyes shot open. He leapt to his feat, Drawing Blightfire with a single smooth movement. As he charged outside Geran yelled for them to get up, he quickly took his place beside the Guildmaster. Looking over in the direction of the scream Jaygue saw two bodies, one of a bandit, and one of a fallen witcher. He knew the moment he layed eyes on the man that there was nothing he could do to help.

As the 20 strong bandit clan attacked Geran flew forward, killing two bandits in a matter of seconds. Jaygue charged forward after him, his katana suddenly shimmering with silver flames. He met one bandit head on, deflecting his Great ax easily. Quickly he sidestepped and slashed open the mans stomach, continuing his rotation to stab him through the back.

As a second bandit swung at him Jaygue hopped backwards, avoiding the sword by inches and blocking the next swing the bandit threw at him. Out of the corner of his eye Jaygue saw a bandit with a dagger that had slipped behind him, about to stab at Gerans open right flank. Instantly Jaygue whirled around, kicking at the bandit he was fighting to forstal him and throwing a ball of silver fire at the backstabing bandit. Startled the man ducked, the firebolt just singing the top of his head. Unfortunatly for him Jaygue also had a sword. He quickly drove it through the mans chest before he had a chance to even raise his dagger.
What had been 20 was now reduced to 16.

 

[lbrasz44]

The storm was only worsening. There is no other choice but to make camp for the night and wait until morning for the storm to pass. Everyone pitched tents and went to sleep, well Thorral tried to sleep because of his insomnia so it was the leaders of the guild staying up to watch and Thorral lying on the bed roll, eyes heavy. The blizzard wasn't helping either. Trying to shield himself from the snow, Thorral tossed and turned until he heard a scream. Immediately sitting up, he looked around only to see one of the witchers stabbed by a bandit and heaaring Geran yelling at the guild to wake up.

Standing and retrieving his greatsword Thorral ran over to where Geran is and looked over at the hills. "Crap, about 20 bandits are coming straight for us!" and without thinking twice he immediately charged ahead with Geran at the group of bandits. Screaming like the usual Nords do for their war cry, Thorral brought his sword up and plunged it down on a bandit. Landing on the man's trapezius, it brought him to his knees, leaving a chance for Thorral to deliver a knee to the bandits jaw to finish him off and proceeded to punch another bandit.

Thorral is a simple man. He believes that to win a fight is to not think twice and charge straight ahead. This would catch the person off guard thus leaving him unable to protect himself. Thorral believes that if the fight has gone to point where he has defend a strike, the fight has gone on for two long.

 

[MissingOne123]

Ambrosia sat in one of the tents, her knees pulled up to her chest and her sword laying at her side. She yawned, watching the flames flicker outside as the snow drifted down. The cold was relentless, harsh against her lungs with each intake of breath. It was fine, though. She'd live. Nothing to complain about.

She thought she just might fall asleep when an ear-piercing scream rang through their camp. Jumping to her feet, she hunched over and grabbed her sword, pulled it out of its sheath and held it out in front of her, the light reflecting off the metal and bouncing off the coat of white snow outside. Geran stood, yelling at the others to get up. She pushed past him, peering outside at the bloody scene.

Bandits. She cursed, straightening up as she looked around at the other fighting guild members. Gritting her teeth, she shoved her sword back into it's casing and put her hands together, summoning a shard of pure ice an firing at a nearby enemy.

It ripped through the air and pierced the burly man's shoulder, his scarlet blood dark against his hide armor. Her lips curved up in a smug smirk as he groaned in agony, charging towards her with his battleaxe raised, though his speed was not enough, and she was out of the way long before he swung, another shard of ice hurdling his way.

She watched as he dodged, swinging his arms and scoring a gash at her shoulder. Wincing, she drew her sword once more and returned the blow, plunging the blade straight through his chest. The bandit howled, clutching frantically as the blood spewed out of him, his very life dripping through his fingers. With a grunt, she pulled the sword free, staring at the burnt and bloodied tissue of the man's chest as he crumpled to the ground.

Glancing at her arm, she bit hr lip and looked away. It could be taken care of later, she told herself as she summoned a ball of flames and fired it at her next target.