The Elder Scrolls

Woskir swayed with the ships that now rocked more abruptly and violently against each other in their rafting. The maelstrom of combat around him was a blur with pirates cutting people down, and he wanted to watch for his best friend, but he forced his focus onto the Redguard that met his eye. His adversary could see him beat the fear out of his mind - it was there, but he steeled himself, beginning to move in slow circle, threatening the reach of his axe in his innate posture and acting defensive.

When Olekval locked glare on the Argonian - a challenge amidst the chaos - he barely waited for the beast-man to finish his utterance before he plowed forwards through the flood of bodies, attacking violently with his proud sword in his hand. He was as a berserker in the press, ignoring the other man's smaller, quicker weapon as it cut along his arms and his flank. He slashed with two hands from above his right shoulder and then from his left. The lizard would be quick to learn that even if he could score a blow during the Nord's wind-up, he was still going to be swinging.
"SHOR!" he cried long.

Woskir was at a disadvantage as a seaman against the Redguard pirate - though he had considerable reach, he had to catch and steady himself with the bucking waves, and the deft opponent easily circled him and opened a cut along his back before the young Nord learned against his defensive strategy. He began aggressively swinging his longaxe in horizontal, felling back-and-forths, pressing forwards.

Vandir halted abruptly in his tracks as he was bellowed at but the rocking of the ship caused him to fall onto his hands and knees. He looked back with a frantic gasp, directly spotting the captain through the battle with paling skin.

He struggled to his feet, staggering back and fourth clumsily in his sickness (luckily he had purged his stomach already). Despite his fear he felt compelled to do what he was asked in order to preserve his own safety.

The trembling noble made his way uneasily towards the captain, body swaying and trying to balance as the ships jostled each other. Finally when he arrived a few feet away from the intimidating orc he looked up at the mans face and swallowed hard, no doubt his many riches were filling the captain's heart with greed. "A-alright i'm here....no need to...harm me, i-i'm sure?"

The argonian was unprepared for the ferocity of a Nord, unused to the cold reaches of Skyrim, he had little hope on land. It seemed he hadn't accounted for their natural berserker rage, pausing in his attacks which had seemed to vicious until now. Tail flicking, he had barely a moment to avoid the furious attack, wincing as he was clipped with what otherwise would surely have been a gorey blow. The redguard, overconfident in his assault of young Woskir, was taken aback by the sudden swinging, the axe catching him under the chin enough to draw blood and stagger him. Elsewhere aboard the ship, metal was quickly gleaming with red flashes of blood, taking out the protective forces aboard the good Grace of Kynareth.

Rothwar grinned tuskily at Vandir, pleased with this easy success over a timid, trembling noble. The man was already injured, he presumed from the hard impact of the ships. "No need to hurt even a hair on your body," he assured the nord, grabbing a fistful of cloth and hauling the man closer to the line of his own ship where an eager crewman awaited to grab up prisoners. For a pirate, he was fairly respectful, shoving the man in the direction of his new holding while he turned to meet a sharp-eyed mercenary. It was all his pleasure to heft the enormous warhammer in arc for the man's head, hopefully taking him out in one passionate swing.

The brother Nords were in rhythm as they grazed and staggered their enemies. The young axeman considered that moment's back-and-forth successful, and though he maintained a confident, dangerous bearing he took a breath to correct his footing on the rocking ship before starting anew with the stomp of a lunge to renew engagement. He circled his axe over his head and came down at an angle at the Redguard's left shoulder, hand sliding down his axe to full his reach.

Oleksondair was a man of experience. When he felt the drawing of blood at the tip of his sword he did not even let his weapon return to neutral grip before he surged forwards and plunged his blade into the Argonian's stomach, through leather and scale and through scale and leather again.
Olek shoves the man off his sword and lets himself a full inhale to scan the battlefield. He sees a clutter of mercenaries at their last stand. He sees the last of the crew in desperation. He sees Moragela Lusick the boatswain's arm being thrown from her body by a pirate's axe. He sees Woskir, his good brother, and he looks on to Vandir being hauled away by a man of great bearing. He parries an oncoming blade, makes an absent-focused cut to shove that man away, and then he fights through the press of bodies towards the pirate's ship.
"Orsimer, release the High-Born!" booms Olekval, "Show me to Sovngarde!"

Vandir grimaced as the captains hands came for him, but relaxed only mildly as he simply found himself abruptly ushered in the right direction. He looked back at the Orc and with trembling hands climbed over the railings of the ship and allowed himself to be hauled onto the other boat where his gold and jewels were eyed greedily by the crewman who had greeted him.

The man had quickly brandished shackles and clapped the high-born in irons. Poor Vandir looked like he might have soiled himself if he were not so prideful.

A hand on his shoulder gripped tightly in order to lead him away, no doubt to holding quarters. That was until of course he heard Olek and roughly he shouldered the hand away and turned to run to the railings (not without being grabbed) to look over at the other ship, eyes fixed on Olek with concern.

While he wanted to tell the man not to be a fool, and to get out of there. Something in his sheltered, deluded mind felt that this might be his valiant rescue, that it would get him to safety.

The Argonian was given little chance for a final thought before the blade ran through him, choking a moment and rolling over the lip of the ship before he swallowed up in the depths of the sea. Few would be able to pay him much mind, his kin thoroughly involved in their own battles and robberies, it was only the near-by Redguard who watched him go down. More importantly, the man was dealing with the ferocious Woskir, taking that axe to his shoulder with a bellowing cry. It was deeply gored, his hand loosing on one dagger to let it fall with a clatter at his feet. "You little shit," he roared, flipping his other around and charging forward to stab the Nord while he worked the axe back up again.

Rothwar slammed his fist into the face of a young-looking bosmer struggling to line an arrow up as she came bursting from below deck. The elf hit the ground with a groan and he smashed his foot down on one hand with enough force to permanently disable any chanced of winging off arrows for the rest of her life, a fate better than the death so much of the boarders were rewarded with. The captain's head swung up at the booming voice of Olekval, his tusked mouth twisting into a grin. Skyrim's waters had been his home long enough to truly appreciate the Nordic enthusiasm. "That's my noble now," he chuckled heartily, limping forward with his hammer at the ready, "But I will be happy to send you to your ancestors, Nord, if you think that welp is worth it!"

Woskir Blood-Tongue's axehead bit the deck, casting blood in its wake. He stumbled with the weight of it as it twisted him. He pulled the excited blade from the wood where it stopped, his naive eyes on his weapon, and then on Olekval's dueling cry. The Redguard's dagger cut to the bone from below the temple downwards where it punctured his cheek fully and tore to the corner of his mouth. Woskir's body surrendered to the sleet-covered floor of the ship with a spin, his call of pain mixing with the rest of his fellows, his hands pressing hard to his head to dull the pain. His fight was ended.

Oleksondair planted a boot on a rafting board connecting the two ships and stood himself fully up onto it. He stood with squared shoulders and hips with his right foot forwards, and once he pointed the tip of his blade at Ruthwar's neck, that is where it kept track. A gash on his face, and ripping teeth marks torn the leather from the arm supporting his sword. Open lacerations on both upper arms, and his leading shoulder and side. For an exhale the Nord's body sagged heavily with its true fatigue. His expression was something wrought with memories. And then his chest rose with breath and a full second wind, fists clenched hard on hilt, steel oath-band cutting into his finger.

Vandir felt a foreboding sense of uncertainty. He wanted to call out that he would go quietly, and that Olek should let it be, but he simply couldn't. He wanted to be rescued, he feared for his life. He wanted to go home and never set foot on a damned merchant vessel, or any other kind of vessel, again.

It seemed that the man who had been intent on dragging the nobleman away wanted to watch as well, so Vandir was let to stand by The Black Skeever's railings and watch with baited breath whilst muttered bets could be heard behind him. All bets were on their captain, Rothwar.

"Please" Vandir said under his breath. "Talos preserve him."

Boarding the Grace of Kynareth had filled Kildra War-Mane with an irrepressible sense of dread. Although she was relieved to learn she didn't suffer from sea-sickness, she found herself unaccustomed to the variety of company & their outlandish ways. The sway of the ship made her especially anxious; she missed the feel of a steadfast steed beneath her. The Nord had heard of the job in a tavern not long ago, & despite her uncertainty of setting out to sea, the coin was what lured her in. She'd boarded in full plate armor, her identity concealed beneath a steel helm. The majority of the day was spent below deck reading on her cot.
Kildra had managed to drift off to an unsettled sleep only to be woken by the call of the boatswain looking for her captain. From the sound of it, a fight had broken out between two Nords on the upper deck. The woman shook her head before returning it to the sack of grain she'd been using as a pillow. Let them be, she thought. Such is our way, & to disrupt them is to impede on their honor. She couldn't help but smile some, however, listening to the jeers & cries of sportsmanship. They led her mind away from the ship, taking her back through her [few] memories of cave-clearings, the couple of times she & other Nords had been paid to clear out bandit camps....
Her blissful daydreaming was rudely interrupted as the pirate vessel crashed into theirs. Kildra was thrown from her cot, rolling across the floor with a great clatter & a small cry of dismay. As quickly as she'd fallen she was back on her feet & scrambling towards her trunk. She fumbled with the pair of cords around her neck- one being the key to her equipment chest & the other an amulet of Talos, both she kept tucked beneath her shirt out of sight. The Nord hurriedly opened the chest, strapping on the steel plate armor with great haste. It had been her father's long ago, but had since been adjusted to fit her accordingly, & she wore it with pride. She grabbed her shield, checked her hip to find her axe missing, & her gaze darted frantically around the cabin {which by this point had burst into activity}. She steadied her breathing, hoping to do the same with her rapidly beating heart. Kildra was by no means an expert mercenary, but she knew enough to keep the adrenaline from clouding her head. The war axe was spotted & retrieved. It brought with it a sense of comfort, & she found her confidence restored some as she made her way up onto the deck.
Her emerald eyes were quick to take in the situation & she grimaced beneath her helm. There were more merchants than mercenaries here, & she knew the odds were not in their favor. Such things were still not enough to dissuade a Nord from battle, however, & with a mighty sound she pounded her war axe against her shield & snarled before charging the nearest enemy.

The redguard sneered at Woskir, satisfied with his vengeance. He paused in satisfaction, prepared to take the Nord's life when a sword ran through him; one of the few mercenaries taking him out easily. The pirates came on like a hydra's head, two easily replacing him in bloody revenge. Kildra's arrival on the scene was welcomed by a brawny orc, turning to regard her charge with his halberd thrust out in a jab at her armored chest. Those who weren't taking care of business did pause to turn and watch their captain take on the bloodies Nord.

Rothwar didn't take kindly to the weapon at his neck, stopping his limping gait to heft the hammer high, growling "It'd be a shame for you to die because you can't quit. Still... I won't lose sleep over your death." Muscles bunching, the orc swung his warhammer hard and heavy at the man straddling the space between the ships.

Kildra was quick to raise her shield against the Orc's halberd, but his sea-worthy stance was planted solidly against the deck where as her feet seemed to dance precariously across it. He struck with enough force to shove her shield back against her, & with dexterity impaired by the armor & ship's swaying, she'd stumble back & strike against the door frame she'd just barreled out of. This left her dizzy but otherwise mobile.

With an indignant growl, she'd attempt to thrust the tip of the halberd upwards with her shield [thus breaking an opening in the Orc's defenses] & would aim a horizontal swing towards his belly.

Olekval's feet shifted under him and guided his weight to the side. A twisting of hips and shoulders, and a shove with the lower length of his blade against the very end of Rothwar's polehammer ensured that the heavy metal broke no bones as it crashed in for the first time. His back leg pushed and slid him forwards, shoulders angling in, head lowered in hopes to put him into close reach where his bladed tool could still excel and the warhammer would begin losing effectiveness. He slashed from his left to right at the pirate captain's throat as promised, letting go a deadly scream.

Kildra's enemy wasn't inexperienced in battle, grinning as the woman bounced off the door, thought it was short lived when she surged back for an attack of her own. Jerking back on his weapon as she threw the shield up, he barely had time to dance away from the strike to his stomach, cloth tearing and neatly cutting a superficial cut across his gut. Snarling unhappily, he swung back, planting a hand on the scratch, "Bitch!" Temper flaring, he moved in for another thrust of his weapon, somewhat more stiffly.

Rothwar wasn't prepared for a valiant fight, almost losing his grip on the hammer as Olekval danced around. His sudden presence within the orc's face left little time to react, only just avoiding a sure decapitation, flinging himself backwards and taking a gorey slice from collarbone to his shoulder. It bit through the light leather he wore beneath a heavy over coat, quickly staining with red. Those watching began howling in rage, a few began flinging heavy tankards at the Nord while their captain stumbled, grip tightening on his hammer while he tried to regroup. With the pirates outnumbering everyone so well, most fights were dieing down above deck and a fierce Argonian was quick to replace Rothwar while another still tried to usher him away from the violence and have a look at the bloody wound. Swiftly digging in his heels, the lizard went low and fast, bringing his own short sword from the bottom up.

[Vandir asked me to skip him this turn, but order shall resume this next one!]

[What the crap, I always roll bad unless its useless.]

Kildra was undeterred by the minimal damage her attack left. She was motivated by the Orc's frustration, but despite her confidence, the opening had passed. Instead of drawing back from her relatively unsuccessful attack as she should have, the Nord attempted to sustain the offensive posture. It cost her dearly. His retaliation came too quick for her to raise her shield this time. There was a sharp clang as the metals of weapon & armor met, followed by a sickening wet sound as the tip of the halberd punctured through steel & flesh. It had pierced just above her left collarbone, causing her to shriek with pain, her shield clattering noisily to the deck as the agony loosened her hold. The berserk blood in her boiled & blurred her vision with red. A rush of adrenaline dulled her injury, the cry of pain warped into a roar as she aimed another swing, this time for his head.

Olekval nearly blew forwards in momentum to chase the captain after scoring blood, intent on overwhelming and seeking a death blow. He followed down off of the bridging onto the deck of the Black Skeever, barely moving his head to avoid one of the thrown objects and ignoring the others that hit and flew past him. The quick-rising sword surprised him, causing him to keel backwards and withdraw a step to avoid being impaled. He weighted himself on his back leg and fixed his grip on his sword with both hands, and then he took a step and a straight, shoving kick to the abdomen for breathing room with the rogueish knife-fighter. If he managed his shove, he quickly followed with a vertical blade coming down.

Vandir let out a horrified cry as the sword cut into Rothwar, he couldnt see the damage from the angle he was at, but he'd never really seen true battle like this so up close, here he was in the middle of it for the first time in his life. He did his best to help, he let out a battle cry, a blood curdling roar better than one would expect of the little wuss "ALL HAIL!" he called down to Olek and threw his fist in the air before getting grabbed and silenced by a hand from a pirate behind him.

A pirate who had been dragging captured prisoners over to the other boat saw the captain fall back and quickly leaped across the gap to The Black Skeever. Syndrelas Rip-Jaw was a short and rather terrifying man with messy, ruddy dredlocks tied high into a ponytail.



Rip-jaw was quick to his captains 'aid', darting along the deck like a hungry skeever until he came to a stop by the captain "To your rescue, captain" he said with a deadly, fanged grin that could only be bad news. Rothwar would no doubt know that what was to come was necessary. Rip-jaw dug his claws into the captains shoulder violently and a glowing white-gold light extended from his fingertips into the wound. That was when the pain would set in. The wound would start to heal too quickly, stitching together agonizingly and even while the bosmer was healing he found time to indulge. He leaned forwards and licked away drabs of blood and ate any dying flesh that fell away while the wound stitched back together.