A trio of bandits wielding spears tripped and fell as their hammer wielding comrade I had kicked crashed into them. They and the others who were threatening to surround me all flinched away from my voice as much as my sword, but their eyes were pulled from me as my cry was answered in kind.
Scrabbling and sliding with far more grace than I had managed Detane and Alexi joined the fray and almost leapt into the bandits streaming from the canvass tents and interiors of the fort. Alexi returned my shout with one of his own but it and whatever cry that parted Detane’s lips was drowned by the dual roars from atop of the rubble behind us.
Roaring Talos’ name into the sky, Falid clenched his fists with one brandishing the enormous length of his greatsword to his side. The sheer force of his voice despite the strange muffling from wearing his great helm sent a ripple of shock through the press around us. From their position at the base of the slight rise of ancient ruins and stonework, the collection of bandits would have been left with the sight of a black-clad titan stomping through the ruins of the sentry fire with flames and smoke billowing out of his armour. The angle, his sheer size and the fact that many of those facing us had been jerked awake and filled with adrenaline left them cringing and even backing away as he stomped his way down the slope with world-ending swings of his sword.
Mazoga had also appeared but unlike the rest of us she hung back momentarily, looking across the crowding enemies with narrowed eyes. The famous battle-lust of her kind was driving her on but she was hunting rather than charging and her battle cry joined the rest of us in its emotional fury. When she reached the rough battleline she did so with all the force of a stone hurled by a trebuchet. Before she seemed to vanish into the press I saw a broken body sent hurtling through the air from a swing of her mace, and it was soon joined by whipping arcs of blood from her terrible blows. Only the continued and repeated cries of “Mogens!” revealed that she was still alive after the first initial seconds and it continued unabated, even if it did become somewhat breathless as the battle wore on.
A trained force of adversaries would have been able to take advantage of their numbers and hem us in and surround us until we tired but the Black Bows were incapable of doing as such. They fought as a pack of individuals that tripped, befouled and otherwise hindered each other unintentionally. Their attacks were spoiled by their wounded and dead and even by those jostling and fighting by their sides. They shied away from our attacks and blows and there was almost a constant shifting and rotation in their ranks as some were forced forward to face us and others fell back to save themselves only to be forced forward again.
They did however have the advantage of being able to concentrate on us as individuals and even as the battle fully joined we found ourselves the target of arrows. Some of them had the clarity of mind to gather their namesakes and find positions to loose arrows at us through the darkness and chaos of the fight. The odd one or two arrows found their mark and I was left battered by at least two that I was saved from only by my armour but was left slowed nonetheless. I briefly caught a glance of a hail of arrows and crossbow bolts being directed at the towering, smouldering figure of Falid who’s sheer size and terrifying presence was drawing most of the marksmen’s attentions away from the rest of us. Thankfully enough the quality and thickness of his armour was proving to be a match for arrows being directed at him from stretched bowstrings and rotting bows.
Outnumbered, fending off anywhere between half a dozen to a dozen foes each it should have been a quick and decisive fight upon the part of the Black Bows but instead they were wavering. Within the first minutes of the battle we had killed or otherwise crippled and wounded a score of them and with every death the thread of the collective courage began to unravel. For those facing me it was my laughter that seemed to clutch at their souls, Mazoga was terrifying in the fact that she seemed entirely unstoppable and no one in the right mind wanted to get in the way of an orc in the middle of a fight. Viconia was an elemental fury of magicka and sword blows, Alexi seemed almost untouchable with his agility and Detane was matching him blow for blow in skill. As for Falid, none of the bandits wanted to be in the same province as the towering black knight killing all within reach of his gigantic sword that made mockery of armour and flesh alike. One particular blow left a large portion of the bandits facing us shuffling and scrabbling away after he cut three of them in half without any undue effort.
Left partially out of the fight, Weebam-Na and Bejeen didn’t have the skill, training or equipment to get into the middle of what was almost a brawl and so they were left lurking around the edges. They would dart in with a spear or retrieved javelin, kill, wound or otherwise harass our foes before darting away into the shadows once more. The few times that they were chased or the bandits attempted to engage them directly they quickly ran back to the swamps, diving under the surface and reappearing dozens of metres from where they disappeared.
Over the screams, clashing metal and shouts I heard Alexi’s name shouted from a baritone voice a few seconds before a sour faced man dressed in tarnished plate rushed him from the press. Appearing well into his fifties, the bandit chief and Alexi suddenly found themselves in the centre of an opened space as the rest of the assorted scum moved away from the sword champion and their leader. Even before their swords crossed, the Black Bows around their fight began shouting and chanting the name Greagious while cheering in time with every blow.
Greagious was not the only champion and leader of the Black Bows, and from the ruins a handful of others appeared. The four of them were as impressive as their kind usually were; all tall, heavily muscled and well experienced in the art of using their physicality to order lesser beings about. Unsurprisingly one was a massive orc who matched Mazoga muscle for muscle, while his companions were a pair of similarly sized Nords and an Argonian who had the physique of a river caiman. Each and every one of them were heavily armoured in makeshift clothing and plated armour that looked like they had been pieced together from a large collection of victims and their weapons were not simple farm implements and repurposed tools. The Argonian’s sword was wreathed in swirling frost from an enchantment that left my mind aching from its proximity, and one of the nords was carrying an enormous spiked flail with chains as black as the night itself.
Making a conscious decision, the group looked between the members of our party and chose to face me rather than my companions. In a way I didn’t blame them, as I certainly didn’t want to try to contend with the giant black armoured warrior cutting men and women into twitching pieces, or the dark elf killing anyone who came near as viciously and painfully as possible. On top of this, the other options were a tiny Breton that filled the space around him with gleaming arcs of silver or the orc swinging a mace already heavily clotted with blood and flesh. Faced with such foes I couldn’t blame them for choosing me, as I appeared more of a scout or assassin than a dedicated fighter.
At least, they tried to. The bandits around me fell back as their armoured commanders moved in my direction but before they even made it a handful of paces a bellow ripped through the night.
“Mogens!”
Catching sight of one of the Nords approaching me, Mazoga redoubled her efforts at killing everything and everyone in between them. There was a hesitation from them as a crushed corpse was thrown into the air from a powerful underarmed swing and the bandit commanders paused in mid step.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
The powerfully built Nord with his beard matted into greasy dreadlocks shrugged and gripped his axe tightly as Mazoga began shouldering her way towards him. “Kill this fucker quickly, I’ll deal with this bitch.”
Heedless of the weapons that chopped down onto her heavily battered and dented armour and the arrows and spears punching through the gaps, Mazoga gave another spittle ejecting roar and smashed her way through the last of the bandits with as much force as a destrier. With shield and axe in hand the Nordic commander of the Black Bows turned and faced the enraged orc head on, but only after directing a significant number of their subordinates to become meatshields to Mazoga.
“You’ve come a long way to die.” Proclaimed the brutish orc dressed in his cobbled together armour. He outweighed me and his armour appeared to be even stronger than mine if I ignored the fact that mine was forged from ebony and mithril. Like many living such a lifestyle, his weapon of choice was brutal, cheap but dangerously effective. A heavy, lead filled mace head had been attached to a quarterstaff as long as Falid’s greatsword which looked like it weighed even more than the Black Knight’s weapon. In the hands of an orc, the weight would amount to nothing and could possibly kill a minotaur with a single blow.
His fellows were also impressive specimens. The other Nord was large and heavily tattooed, his forearms bare and showing a wrestler’s physique while the Argonian was equal in weight with claws, fangs and horns looking sharp enough to carve through leather. Three against one wasn’t entirely sporting odds but for the moment I had a reprieve from the fighting that was continuing around us. There was not going to be any help from any of the others, as Alexi was busy fighting Greagious, Mazoga battling Mogens and Viconia, Detane, Falid, Weebam-Na and Bejeen fighting the three or four dozen bandits that were still in fighting condition. For the moment at least I seemed to have the least number of foes to deal with which suited me perfectly in the conditions.
Glancing over the enormous flail, the clubbed polearm and the enchanted blade that the Nord, Orc and Argonian were carrying respectively I pulled my mask down and grinned fiercely. I was covered in mud and gore, dripping with moisture and feeling the numerous insect bites from the countless marsh species across my body but I was overwhelmingly confident. The three of them were making shows to the handful of their minions not directly involved in the rest of the battle, puffing their chests and shuffling about to surround me. My own expression of amusement was obvious to them as I watched their every moment and flinging Sunchild point first into the ground.
“Oh? Surrendering already?” mocked the Nord with the flail, swinging it back and forth in preparation for the enormous, bone shattering swings as he moved to flank me. “Have your balls shrunk so high that they are caught in your throat?”
Grunting, the orc stepped closer brandishing his enormous club while rolling his impressive shoulders. It would have been intimidating if not for the fact that I had just spent a week travelling with a man who made everything smaller than a minotaur seem weak in comparison. “When you get to Oblivion.” He growled, twirling the club in one hand that it turned into a circular blur. “Tell them that Black Brugo sent you.”
Laughing in his face, I reached up behind my head and drew the Light of Dawn in a quick, but steady motion. “It’s funny that you think you can take the hero of Kvatch.”
My title sent a shiver of recognition through the group and while most were entirely incredulous or disbelieving it was this tiny hesitation that I had been counting on. The shimmering length of the Light of Dawn cut through the night and the darkness, twirling it as I gripped in it both hands and swiped at the flail carrying Nord.
He saw my attack coming and reacted, ripping the heavy weighted ball from where it was dangling in a movement that against a regular weapon would have tangled it in the chain. It was a movement that would’ve resulted in the effective disarming of an opponent but the Light of Dawn cut through the links like they were made of mist and cutting him in half across his barrelled chest.
The shock of his death didn’t register for him or any of the others watching and before he had begun to fall apart I was already moving, turning on my heel and launching myself at the Argonian wielding the enchanted blade. I could feel the cold emanating from the blade as the lizard’s eyes widened in surprise at my movements, bringing his weapon up and successfully blocking my first strike. Although I could sense or taste its fear like I could with other beings I still revelled it’s expression as the Light of Dawn crossed with the enchanted sword with an impact that rang up my arm.
Incomparable and flawless in design and its edge to any other mortally forged weapon, the enchantments bound into the skymetal of the Light of Dawn couldn’t contend with other magically bound items. Since I had nearly been disarmed against the Xivilai the night I assisted the rangers, I had tested the Light of Dawn and discovered that almost any enchantment could stop the weapon. Whether it was a ring or weapon, armour or clothing the Light of Dawn treated it as though it was a normal sword. Against a mundane suit of armour, even one made from orichalcum it cut without hindrance but even something as simple as leather infused with a muffle spell could cancel the unique magicka in the ancient Ayleid blade. In those situations, the Light of Dawn simply turned into the equivalent of a sharpened dai-katana which, for the most part still allowed it to contend with anything else I used it against.
Against the Argonian’s sword of frost it resounded with a clang and left a tiny chip in the stolen blade. Without giving the lizard a chance to react, I pushed in closer before twisting my wrist and running the Light of Dawn down the entire length of his weapon. The folded metal of the blade itself may have been enchanted but like most magicka infused weapons it wasn’t universal. With a flick of my wrist I sent a collection of clawed digits falling to the ground as my weapon sliced through the mundane cross guard, shredding its hand grasping the hilt and through the hilt as easily as softened butter.
As he hissed in surprise and agony, I twisted my attack in mid motion and turned the slice into a powerful stab that transfixed him through the chest and folded him over. Only a handful of seconds had passed since I had launched my attack against the bandit commanders and already two were dead and the enormous ‘Black Brugo’ was suddenly left alone.
“Ah… I… Uh…” he stammered, looking this way and that and trying to back away from me without appearing to do so. The others around who had been watching were staring aghast at how effortlessly I had killed two of their number considered to be their champions.
“Yield.” I hissed threateningly, all the time moving towards him with the Light of Dawn clasped tight.
“Sure. Whatever you say. I surrender to the better man.”
To anyone not expecting it, the blow that he tried to land would have been something of a surprise but I had seen it coming. I had fought and trained with some of the greatest fighters that Tamriel had to offer even before I had deserted and this particular bandit couldn’t have made his duplicity any more obvious even if he had sent me a letter stating his intentions. Even without my vampirism, the way that he swung the two handed mace above his head and brought it down as though it was an axe and he was chopping firewood gave me plenty of time to react. It thudded into the ground at my feet and almost without any effort at all I flicked the Light of Dawn out and separated his head from his shoulders.
Spurting blood from the thick stump of a neck, the surprised expression on the orc’s face rolled off into the darkness as the entire body dropped nervously to the ground. The three bandits were dead and I had almost managed to kill them with a single blow each. Those around me who had been watching and not drawn into the fighting against the rest of my companions were alternatively shocked and disbelieving at my success and was the moment that we all had been waiting for.
Greagious and Mogens had fared as equally well against Alexi and Mazoga in their respective duels. The leader of the Black Bows lay on the ground turned sodden with blood and shit while bleeding out from the impressive wound in his throat, and Mogens was pressed face down into the ground with an orichalcum boot in his spine and both legs shattered at horrific angles. The overwhelming force of our assault and how quickly we defeated their champions left the surviving bandits shifting away from us as a single-minded horde until a space opened up between us and them.
In the end all it took was one of the surviving number to look at the number of dead and wounded scattered about, the fact that we all were still standing despite the handful of injuries we had sustained and how effortlessly we had killed their leaders for the last strands of courage to snap. A spear clattered loudly to the ground as one of their number threw it at his feet and within seconds the entire group of them began throwing their equipment down in a clattering wave of noise.
Bloodtide Universe' collection. While it might seem weird that I'm releasing what is technically the sequel to Bloodtide Rising before its complete, it's not what I can call a 'proper' sequel.
Blood of Dragons as more of a 'standalone' sequel. Think along the lines of the Original Star Wars trilogy vs the Prequel trilogy (A way to think of how it works is Kaius is going through his Anakin Skywalker phase in Bloodtide Rising, and his Darth Vader phase in Blood of Dragons...)
Heh... heh... heh...
