Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-5824038-20150620140931/@comment-5583506-20150626232222

(One post, gotta get up really early tomorrow.)

Myra descended down the mountain side, watching her footing. It hadn't been the first time she had died from falling down a great height, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. In the distance she could see a fire burning. Presumably the camp of the bandits that had slewn her earlier. She made her way down the snowy slopes and steadily marched towards the bandits sitting in a ring around the bonfire.

"Did you see the look on her face?!" snickered a sparse-toothed Bosmer.

"No, how could we? She wore a full helmet, you dumb fuck", a gloomy Imperial replied.

"Still", laughed the Elf. "That was hilarous. I can almost picture her expression beneath that helmet."

Myra trudged through the deep snow with slow lumbering steps. The armor was heavy and tiresome, but at least it kept her warm.

"Hey, what the hell?!" growled an Orc who sprang up from his reclining position at the camp. "She... she is back!"

The Elf choked on his laughter. "How the... Well, don't just stand there! Get her!"

''Four... Five... Six... ''she counted and sighed. ''I expected more... Such a shame that I would let myself get killed by only six men.''

The first one to cross blades with her was the Orc. His own sword shattered as it cut deep against the material of her giant cleaver. Splinters and shrapnels of the blade flew in all directions and buried themselves deep into the Orcs own body, killing him instantly. She didn't even need to cut him down.

He seemed to handle that pretty well himself...

"Die, bitch!" growled the Elf and struck her with a dagger to the side.

She groaned. The dagger had found its way in-between a couple of her ribs, rupturing her left lung. He was quick and danced around her, looking for another opening. Her armor protected her from many would-be fatal blows from the Imperial and a Khajiiti bandit cutting at her way with a sword and a curved sabre, but a dagger was more precise and always found a way into the smallest and most sensitive gaps. The armor didn't allow her to move as fast as the bandits as well.

She swung around as fast as she could, grabbing into the empty air in the hopes that she would get her hands on the Bosmer. He lunged for her chest. It was his final mistake. In the last second she managed to parry the blow with the hilt of the cleaver, sending his dagger flying through the air. The Imperial stepped on the heavy tip of the blade, sending it down into the ground. It didn't matter, she had the Bosmer right where she wanted him. Without further ado, she grabbed the Elf by the throat with her hardened gauntlets, lifting him a couple of inches above the ground. She then placed both her hands on either side of his temples... and began to squeeze.

She was glad that she wore a full helmet, otherwise she would have had to endure the Bosmer's piercing scream as she utterly crushed his skull with her hands and sheer strength. His eyes popped out of their sockets and ultimately his head exploded in a wave of blood, brain tissue and chips of bone. In her hands were now the meaty rags of what used to be the Bosmer's head, still hanging onto the rest of his lifeless body, still twitching obscenily in her grasp. The remaining bandits observed in a mix of fear and hesitation.

"What the hell?!" snarled the Khajiit. "She killed Arno! Get her!"

A female Dunmer and a male Redguard also appeared from the camp. The remainder of the six bandits. She had four opponents to deal with. The Imperial finally stepped off her blade, but not before delivering a piercing blow to her chest, skewering her left lung.

''Two times in the lung... Why do they always go for the lungs?''

She wheezed and coughed. She felt the familiar iron-like taste on her tongue and felt blood trickle down her lips.

''Internal bleedings... Just my luck... Seems like I will die yet another time...''

The Redguard approached her with a raised axe, about to bring it down onto her head. She used all her strength to evert her blade in a straight diagonal line, severing the Redguard in two blood-gushing halves, flying in different directions. The killing made her blind to spot the Khajiit, placing his curved sabre behind her hamstring and cutting it off.

She collapsed onto one of her knees in the snow, having lost all mobility in her right leg. When the Dunmer got to close to her, she threw out her fist and grabbed a hold of the female bandit's leg, pulling her close in for a kiss... a deadly one. Myra knocked her head against the Dunmer's, smashing her face in with her sharp helmet, leaving nothing but a revolting, disformed cavity behind.

Two more to go...

The Imperial brought his sword down on her left shoulder, eventually managing to cut into her arm and dealing a deep cut into her body.

That hurt...

Myra struggled to get up on her funtional leg with some effort, steadying herself on the pommel of the giant cleaver. When she sensed the Imperial making himself ready to strike again, she swung around hastily, facing him. It seemed that he was unprepared for her fast recovery. The blade of the cleaver cut straight through his neck, separating his head from his shoulders, and sent his body collapsed to the ground like a lifeless ragdoll.

She breathed heavily. Every breath she took was a pain as she felt her lung fill itself with her blood. She wouldn't make it for very long, but at least the mountains would be safer for travellers.

"You iron-clad whore!" shouted the Khajiit and approached her with the curved sabre.

She replied to his insult by thrusting the tip of the cleaver straight through his ribcage, lifting him up with all her strength, which caused his body to slowly slide its way down –  all the way down, until it hit her hilt. The still expression of the Khajiit was that of surprise and disappointment as he had in his final moments realised his fatal mistake. She lowered the blade and brushed the corpse off with her foot, before she sank to her knee again. Blood was pooling out on the fresh snow once more.

It was cold... She crawled her way to the camp where she sat down by some snowy rocks, enjoying the vague heat she received from the fire. But judging from the harsh winds in the mountain pass it wouldn't be long before the fire was extinguished and so would her life be in short. She clutched to the wound behind her leg and groaned lowly inside her helmet. She looked up towards the starry sky above her. The grey sheets had finally rolled past her and she could see the constellations of stars high above her. It reminded her of how she had put her daughters to sleep. She had told them to look up through the window in their bedroom and count the stars until they fell asleep. Irony that she would do the same for herself, though she had no memory that falling asleep had been as painful.

The blood had filled her lung to the brim and her breathing was becoming more rugged and hoarse. She closed her eyes for a moment and expected it all to be over soon. When she woke up she would be fine. She only wished that she could retain the memories of counting the stars to fall asleep easier.

Better make the best use of those memories then, she reflected and looked up into the never-ending cosmos above her.

And so she began to count: ''One... Two... Three... Four... Five...''