The Elder Scrolls

Vandir panicked as he felt the mans hands finally find a grip of his cape. He swore under his breath. It was hard to tell if the fog was doing most of the obscuring or if his vision was blurring from the impact, but the shock was starting to fade in favor of adrenaline.

He swung around and went to grab at one of the wrists dragging on him and would attempt to sink his teeth into the mans hand HARD so that he would let go and so that the noble could get to his feet again.

Olek felt a hand grasp his arm, and tugged harder along before wrenching away as the teeth grazed him. He grunted loudly, planting his weight, hauling with the hand that remained on the cape to slide Vandir further with the rest of his might and throw him along the ground towards the cabin wall. "Biting!" he yells. "Disgraceful, honorless man of wealth, you have earned nothing. Stand, come unto me with your weight! Learn to fight, learn to bleed!" Olekval cries as if in the full of battle, pounds his chest and throws his arms open, and he assumes a full, opened combat stance, ready for a charge.

The noble struck the cabin wall with his back as he was thrown at it, grunting loudly with the impact.

He felt some color finally come to his cheeks in his shame when it was announced that he had been biting, but then he growled and forced himself up to his feet. When had he ever cared about playing fair?

He feigned that he would charge, squaring his shoulders and spreading his footing, but then Vandir smirked and aimed his palm abruptly at the ground in front of Olek. A sound, like a whip being struck against the deck could be heard before an ethereal wolf, a conjured familiar, would appear.

The conjured beast leaped up heavily with the full force of a fully grown wolf and growled as its teeth went to bite Olek's face, or if that moved away, his shoulder, trying to bring him to the ground with its weight and force.

Oleksondair lowered his brawling stance further as the feint began, and then he keeled back with some surprise as a wolf appeared and leaped upon him. He shoved his left forearm forwards to catch the beast's teeth in the flesh of his arm and not his throat. He was prepared for a charge, but not this charge- his right leg behind him lost it's grip on the wet deck and slid, and he fell backwards onto his knee as he began to wrestle with the beast. Grabbing at the ethereal scruff of it's neck with his right arm as he kept his other across its mouth to keep it from biting further, he wrested with it, back and forth, attempting to win dominance. At the worst he might be overcome, at the least he would want to shove it down to its back, and at best he would haul to his feet and throw the beast over the side of the ship. He lets go a stout battle cry of pain and fervor and he tests his muscle to its extent in the now very real battle.

The beast was no match for the enraged nord and was easily hauled up in the air and thrown over the side of the ship with an ethereal yelp followed by a splash when it hit the waves.

Vandir wasted no time in letting out a rather flimsy battle cry and charging the back of Olek while he was busy, using elbow and shoulder to try and ram the man directly into the railings so that he'd perhaps crack some ribs and be winded.

Blood ran steadily from Oleksondair's arm and trickled down his face. After giving the beast to the waters he squared out his shoulders and clenched his fists tightly for respite, expecting Vandir to be cowering behind him. The sound of a battle cry was a pleasant surprise to his ears. Vandir's weight behind his elbow smashed into the back of his shoulderblade like a falling tree and knocked him down to his knees, ribs indeed scored upon the rails which his hands momentarily grasped. One breath he took for his second wind before he threw himself to his feet and spun to knock Vandir away with his arms. His bloody face was full with a grin.
"Call out to your ancestors, High-Born, let them hear your fight!" He stomped forwards with his left foot and threw out a hook with that arm at full reach, but the goal was to back him up further for breathing room. "Shor! Kyne! Ysmir! Call to Talos!" He bellows the forbidden name with pride and then he would stomp forth with a heavy right hook. "Honor your ancestors, High-Born!"

The noble was bizarrely surprised to find that he was...enjoying himself! He grinned devilishly and laughed, only faltering when Talos' name was so readily yelled. A chorus of angry voices could be heard from the imperials followed by hushed whispers, but Vandir couldn't afford to let it get to him.

He let out a loud laugh as he was shoved back, but as the right hook came he jerked out of the way quickly so that it only grazed his left shoulder and proud of his fluke dodge he followed through with a fairly rough punch towards the mans gut, letting out an almighty roar that was rougher (and manlier) than before.

Oleksondair's fist went much too far after grazing off of Vandir's shoulder and, overextended, he caught the surgical punch in the stomach. It made him keel forwards and he fell again down to his right knee, sputtering blood that had flown into his mouth from his face and then laughing choppily in pain.
"What is the meaning of this?!" called the boatswain in confused rage, seeing the bloody Nords in melee. It was as if Olekval did not hear her at all as he forced himself back to his feet - if Vandir had not taken hold of his pause as he was prone - and came with a rising left hook aimed at Vandir's stomach, and then a right straight at his head.

Woskir was in the front of the thick crowd that had gathered now as the undercrew had steadily flown from the cabins, thrusting his axe in the air and hollaring to the Gods with his comrade. "Honor to our ancestors! Honor to the warriors!" shouted Woskir, taking role of voice for his brother now thick in fight. "All hail!" he shouted, and "All hail!" echoed some of the other mercenaries around them.

Vandir's perfectly groomed hair was frazzled, his circlet askew, his brow glistening with sweat and a fairly dark bruise had appeared on his forehead.

He was so lost in his own pride after landing such a good blow that he wasn't ready for a comeback. He narrowly avoided the punch to his stomach but instead it struck him in the hip-bone in such a way that it stung horribly "Ah!" he yelled and was quickly silenced by a punch to the face that caused his gums to bleed and his lip to get a little cut on it before swelling up and bruising gradually.

He snarled and retaliated by swinging a hard kick at Olek's hip, roaring to the gods in his fury.

"What are you doing?!" yelled the bosun more, "cease this at once! Captain! Captain!" she cried.

"Yes!" calls Olekval in applause to Vandir's snarling roar, hips bending and ligaments cracking in great pain as he catches the kick and it causes him to stumble. When he fully gathers his stance again he beats his chest for a second time. "All Hail!" Olek bellows, and "All Hail!" is echoed by Woskir and the others again. And then he charges like a beast, whether or not Vandir is already coming upon him to strike him again, wanting to crash with him to the ground.

Vandir roared "ALL HAIL!" as he charged back at Olekval, fully intending on colliding with him at full force and attempting to trip the man onto his back with his foot so that he could have the upper hand.

The two heavy men slammed together and grasped onto each other, spinning with footwork to gain advantage. Olekval ended up catching Vandir off-balance as the nobleman tried to trip with his foot, and he threw him down to the ground with so much of his weight that he naturally fell down with him. He was askew with a leg under Vandir's, and he had to wrestle for a moment in attempt to gain ground, attempting to place a hand on Vandir's chest and push to lift up his shoulders so that he could drop a heavy strike across the head.

The spirit of the fight steeled the mercenaries and they refused the bosun's request to break the brawl apart, so she stormed below the deck, calling for the captain's aid.

Vandir couldn't stop himself laughing boyishly as he hit the deck, a little winded. He tried to roar but was barely able to start one from another spat of laughter, as if he were fighting with a brother.

When he felt the pressure on his chest he let Olek lift himself and put some distance between them before forcibly throwing the man off with a forcible punch to his jaw.

When Olek would fall from him he'd quickly scrabble to his feet and stagger backwards, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and panting as he waited for Olek to stand, unsure as to why he waited other than perhaps he didn't want to put his legs near the mans hands, in case he pulled him over again.

The dark of night and heavy fog hid the Black Skeever nicely, the slim long ship cutting through the waters smoothly. It carried aboard your standard medley of pirates and buckaneers. The menacing sort that didn't do well in society, particularly that of Skyrim's. The crew consisted largely of argonians, orcs, and redguards; with the occasional sea-faring khajiit or drunkard nord, strong men and women slaking their thirst for gold on innocent merchant ships as well as the more criminal smugglers.

"Steady, boys," her captain growled, letting first mate take the reigns while he strode along the deck the last few moments before the ships met. The ship's bow was a thoroughly scarred, ugly looking iron skeever, and it was aimed for the Grace of Kynareth's side, in as much as a ship could be aimed. The crew had enough time to brace, seizing what they could for the impact. A good strike would send their unprepared enemies tumbling over the side and the rest of the lot could be wiped clean.

A tall orc, Rothwar stomped his good foot ferociously on the desk, bellowing loudly to the tense crew, "ALL ABOARD, GENTLEMEN! Prisoner's of those who can't fight, find a quick end for any 'heroes'!" The cry for battle was loud and ferocious, the crew charging ahead of her captain to mount boards between the decks and begin the battle. He limped not far behind, decked in modest light armor that might not have been intimidating, but the ebony warhammer he swung into his strong hands would prove that much more deadly to anyone who crossed him. The attack would already be under way when he crossed to the merchant ship, "Show us your gold and surrender, you might live!"

From the flat of his back, Oleksondair shifted slowly, and his low chuckle began a hearty laugh as he found his way to his feet. He pounded his fist to his heart this time, and then he thrust his fist in the air with more fervor than before. "Hail, my brother. Let me know your name."
But there was no time for that.

Woskir squinted at the two warriors as the snow mingled with the mist around them, with the fire-light showing off their blood and their bruises. His expression was contemplative, and he turned away from them to look starboard again. His eyes lit up wide.

The sound of two monolithic beasts of wood and metal crashing together was a heavy and deafening boom followed by discordant scraping; the water itself roared, seething up in a spray of mist; most of the torch sconces failed and fell to the floor, rolling as the ship tilted away into the mists and darkening the deck. And then the sound was people's screaming - those who were not just silent - the mix of terror and bloody battle cry. Not many were lost to the waters in the initial ramming, but almost everyone, unsuspecting, hit the ground.

Woskir was almost ready - his knees bent as if he were practiced, and his drop was almost quickly rectified, hands clambering to gather his axe from the ground, and then to right it in his shaking grip.

Oleksondair was prompt to his feet after hitting the deck hard. His eyes, finding connection with Vandir's and then with Woskir's were a glare. Of the half-dozen mercenaries, and the dozen more armed passengers and petty crew, though they weren't warriors- of the officers of the ship, rushing to the battle and hopelessly shouting drowned out orders under the rest of the sound, Olekval Ember-Headed met the enemies first. He wiped blood out of his eyes, his hand found his dueling sword with absolute ease, and he drew it in a cut just as he engaged.

Vandir grinned and met Olek's eyes in the mist. "Hail brother, my na-Aiee!" he lost his footing quickly at the sudden jolt from the other ship ramming into them.

The noble's body hit the deck and slid abruptly into the railings nearby. His heart quickly became overcome with panic and fear, two things a Nord should not express so openly, and he scrabbled quickly to his feet.

"By the eight!" he gasped in horror and watched as chaos exploded onto the deck. He spotted an opening, hoping that the pirates had not yet seen him through the madness, he bolted for the captains cabin but was unable to help himself looking back in the direction Olek had gone.

Olek and Woskir would be the first to meet the tide of privateers, teeming off the desk of the Black Skeever en masse, the herd shifted, a portion hunting down the crew's protectors while others sought out the wealth below deck. A scrawny argonian sneered at Olek's already bloody-faced, bouncing a short sword in his hand, hissing "You wanna throw down your axe and give up, Nord? I won't kill you if you don't make me." A bulky redguard would turn his focus on Woskir, cracking his neck intimidatingly, silently unsheathing a pair of daggers from his belt and charging the younger man.

Her ship's captain hit the deck with a thud, studying his people for a moment before his eyes landed on the fleeing noble. There was no way he could miss that gleaming gold and shining gems - that was his target. "HEY," he bellowed, his voice thundering above the rabble taking place around them, "Come here, boy. I won't bash your head in if you surrender quietly."