Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-3293219-20141207202844/@comment-5735114-20141224170036

(Oh dear, now my timeline is behind.)

The sun had begun to set when Venilius was done with his day's work. The race was being held in Chorrol tomorrow, and the influx of people meant that food would be in greater demand. Even though the Imperial farmer knew the food was to be more exotic and unique for the big event, he could hope sales went up.

''Might be able to buy a carpet... Even though the floor's not stone, it's still cold in the mornings...''

With that rather pleasant thought, Venilius reached his shack and lit the torch on the sconce just to the left of his door, and entered. The inside of the shack, usually basked in an orange glow from the setting sun, was tainted with a bloodred aura that permeated throughout the room. To the Imperial's great surprise, when he looked to the center of the room, he found his exhausted Aldmeri guest floating a few feet off the ground with his eyes closed, silhouetted by red light and softly muttering words that he couldn't make out.

"What the devil!?"

The Altmer opened one eye slowly, and tumbled down to the ground, the red light dispelled. He seemed paler than before, even less rested than he had earlier in the day. However, he quickly got back on his feet with an enraged fervor.

"You..."

The tone of his voice chilled the Imperial right down to his bones. Panicking, Venilius turned around and made a mad dash towards the door, but was grabbed by his shoulders and turned around. The Altmer hadn't moved towards him; rather, he'd caught him with a pair of arms exentding from his that looked to be made of nothing but blood. It was pure adrenaline keeping Venilius conscious, and he tried swiping at the hands on his shoulders in panic. They lost their shape and the blood did as it naturally would: fell to the floor or abosrbed itself into the farmer's shirt. Disgusted, Venilius again tried to run for the door. If he could just make it outside...

Garnaril thought it better to just catch the damn Imperial without wasting any more blood. Retracting his extended arms and regaining the feeling in his real ones, he lunged towards Venilius, who'd just managed to escape it and made out the door. Snarling, the Altmer walked after him. He needed blood, and Venilius' would do nicely.

The farmer shut the door behind him and leaned against it in a hopeless attempt to keep the Altmer away. He heard soft footsteps slowly approaching from inside, and shivered when the Altmer tried to open the door. However, he seemed to be too weak to actually get it open, and began pounding on it again and again. The door wasn't pariticularly strong and would eventually break, so Venilius needed to think fast. The pounds came at regular intervals, and by the sound of them, were fairly forceful. The only was a weakened indivindual such as the pale Altmer was able to deliver such forceful blows was if he threw his whole body weight on them. Just as the Altmer was about to pound the door again, Venilius stepped to the side, and the Altmer came tumbling out as the door opened.

Running quickly, the Imperial farmer came to the back side of his shack, where he kept his tools. Leaning against the wooden wall were a hoe, a spade, and a scythe. All of them were old and wouldn't be much help against armor, but the Altmer wasn't wearing any. The Imperial decided on the scythe, and grabbed it just as the Altmer stumbled around to the back of the shack.

Garnaril was fed up with this Imperial. He had interrupted his ritual, weakened him severly, and gotten dirt in his face. This ended now. Calling upon the blood in his right arm again, the bloodmage winced as a massive sword made of his blood formed itself around his arm. He charged in with reckless abandon, having nothing to lose, sword-arm held out and ready to stab the Imperial's heart.

Venilius quickly sidestepped the Altmer's charge. He'd never fought before. How on Nirn was he to defeat this apparently extraordinarily powerful mage!? Gripping his scythe so tight his knuckles were white, Venilius raised it slowly, trying to determine which angle he should strike from as the Altmer turned around and readied himself for another attack. He didn't have much time to decide, as the bloody sword-arm rushed straight at him in a vicious lunge, and the farmer reacted out of instinct and swung the scythe horizontally, aiming for the Altmer's left side. The blade hit its mark, and the blood was absorbed back into the Altmer's skin right as it was about to impale him. It seemed to rather be oozing out of the wound the scythe made. It wasn't extremely deep, but it was enough.

Garnaril looked up at the Imperial farmed, shocked. How on Nirn was he defeated by some old farmer and his ancient scythe!? His shock quickly changed to contempt, and he stared straight into the Imperial's panicked eyes as he realized this was his end. With his final breaths, he spat out two words.

"Fuck you..."

With that, the Altmer fell to the ground, the scythe still lodged in his left side. Venilius just stood still for a moment, before he realized what had happened. As soon as he had, he began sobbing loudly. He hadn't wanted to kill him! Merely save himself! Terrified more by what had happened that what could later, the Imperial removed the scythe from the Altmer's side and applied pressure to the wound with both hands. He then closed his eyes and concentrated, trying to remove all the panic and fear from his mind... He had to be calm. When he opened his eyes and lookes at the limp form of the pale Altmer, he was far from calm, but his hands were glowing with a soft yellow light none the less. He could still save him! He put all of his focus into his healing spell, and began to pray.

(Man, I love fight sequences.)