Fort Snowhawk
Hjaalmarch Hold
For what seemed like an eternity, our group slashed and smashed our way through the hordes of undead minions the remaining necromancers threw at us. While each of these creatures were weak individually, they made up for their lack of quality with sheer quantity. Simply put, for every one we put down five more would take their place. And even then, unless they had been completely destroyed from their initial defeat, they'd eventually end up being reassembled and sent right back at us again.
Try as we had, we were eventually becoming surrounded by the undead horde, and the fighting was beginning to take its toll on me as I bore the brunt of the assault. Things eventually got to the point that I eventually had to decide which oncoming blows I had to try and block and which ones I felt my armor could withstand. For some of the blows my armor managed to hold up, but in others the burning sensation of fresh wounds made it clear that my armor was simply not enough to withstand this much damage all at once.
And then, seemingly out of nowhere, a massive flash of light blasted through the crowd of the undead around me, leaving behind only piles of ash where both the creatures and their summoners had stood. For a brief moment, I stood there frozen, unsure of what had just happened. I looked back to the others, wondering if this had been their doing, but they seemed equally as confused.
"Well, hello there!"
In the split second after that voice reached my voice, I believe I spat out nearly every single swear word possible in the Tamrielic language. Turning around to face the source of the noise, I saw what I believed to be an elf, although his lighter skin tone suggested that he possibly had the blood of a Nord in him as well. A feature that immediately drew my attention was the color of his eyes, ones that possessed a dull reddish glow to them. I couldn't quite figure out why, but this seemed to ring off several warning bells in my mind, practically screaming that this man was a threat.
"Who are you and where did you come from?"
Ravonl was the first to speak up, his question being one that was likely on the minds of everyone else in our group based on their expressions. At a glance, I also noted another stranger had appeared, a Dunmer by the looks of it. I briefly recalled seeing balls of fire being fired off in the earlier melee, and I could only guess that they belonged to him as well.
Although my muscles ached greatly, I managed to raise my sword, pointing at both of the strangers.
"Aye, I'd like to know that as well. Both of you."
Before I could get an answer, however, the door that led to the main building suddenly opened. Immediately, my attention went to the source of this noise, sword raised in preparation for whatever was coming next. My reaction proved to be appropriate, as out from the stone building stepped what I could tell to be a elderly Breton man dressed in the same style of cloaks that the necromancers from before had worn. In his hands he held a small book of which his eyes remained glued on to. He stood there, silent for a few seconds, before letting out an annoyed sigh and closing his book.
"I suppose you just couldn't leave well enough alone. No matter, I suppose. I was needing new test subjects anyways."
Before I could even raise an eyebrow in confusion, the Breton's hands suddenly glowed bright blue before he seemed to cast the spell towards the ground in front of him. For a brief second, nothing happened, and I thought that perhaps the necromancer had simply cast a "dud" spell. However, this thought was soon thrown out the window, as suddenly the air above where the spell had landed suddenly seemed to tear open. Through this tear could be seen something so fear inducing that not even the bravest of Nords would dare stare at. It was a sight of what could only be Oblivion itself, an aura of complete and utter terror emanating from it as I could feel my very soul being dragged towards. Had this portal remained opened, I had no doubts that I would have likely fallen to madness.
Whether it was fortunate or not was questionable at best, but this tear in space and time soon disappeared. However, in its place stood a beast that I'd thought was a mere legend until seeing it now in front of me. It was a Dremora Lord, no doubt the servant of one of the many malevolent Daedric Princes that mothers often used to scare their children into behaving well.
My expression must have amused the ancient necromancer, as he let out a wicked laugh for several seconds before suddenly growing quiet, pointing a finger towards our group.
"Bring them back to me alive. However, if they're missing a limb or two it won't make any difference to me."
The chaotic entity nearly nodded before slowly drawing out a massive sword, its design evoking sheer terror that matched its user. It began to approach our group, every footstep heavy and ominous, comparable to how a prisoner must perceive the sounds of his executioner approaching him at the gallows.
For a brief moment, the thought of fleeing in terror crossed my mind. Indeed, such an act was probably the best option in terms of survivability. But I found myself unable to move my legs, instead only able to tighten the grip on my sword. My only explanation was that my ancestors had temporarily seized control of my body, making sure I would face the oncoming threat like a true Nord would. Indeed, I soon realized that none of the others had fled, so doing such an act now would not only make myself a coward but a traitor to my word.
Realizing what had to be done, I let out a deep breath, my body relaxing as it did. I prayed to the Nine Divines that they would see me through this day, if not for myself but for Emily's sake. I knew that even if I lived through this by running, I'd never be able to forgive myself for abandoning the others who took it upon themselves to not only aid in my journey but were willing to die in the process.
With that thought, I suddenly seemed to be able to once again control my body once more. Gritting my teeth as I did, I crouched down into a fighting stance, the tip of my blade pointing straight at the creature as the length of the blade rested on my shoulders and arms. The creature held no expression that betrayed any emotion, instead it possessed one that demonstrated pure focus on its task.
Talos guide me.
With a roar, I charged at the beast, beginning what was to be the end of this battle against these dark art users.
