User blog:Psychomantis108/Story: Myths of Mundus: Dark Pilgrimage - Chapter 19: Crusader's rest

Bologra stumbled back, making his way out of the caves as the heard of Undead abominations slowly shambled towards him, swaying from side to side as their moans filled the caverns, quickly becoming deafening. Even with his size and stature, the Orsimer couldn't take on this many zombies at once, he'd have to fall back and find a way to destroy them all.

He couldn’t even see where Arlas had been taken, he knew that it was towards the back of the cave but didn’t see what way that bitch Altmer had taken her. The sea of undead definitely blocked his path, obscuring his vision and he knew that it was only a matter of time before he’d either have to face them, once he reached the mouth of the cave.

The Orc decided to press on, fully turning back around and running through the cave. Bologra was, by no means, a fast runner but he could outrun these shambolic creatures, that slowly shuffled along behind him.

He pushed himself, until he reached the mouth of the cave, desperately bursting out of the cave as he began to look, desperately, from side to side for any semblance of an advantage. A large boulder that he could drop on them or block the cave’s entrance with, to create a bottle neck and concentrate the flow.

His search was short lived as he heard the echoes of undead moans, emitting from the cave, prompting him to realise that he was going to have to act fast. The Orc spun around, his hand axe at the ready as he saw their shadows dance on the wall, he knew that he was in the fight of his life, not only that but this was just the beginning…

As he readied himself for the attack, he kept his focus up on the cave, his eyes narrowed as he got ready to take on the horde, slowly closing off his awareness to the rest of his surroundings. This left him open to attacks from behind and a hidden enemy took advantage of this, quickly leaping out from behind cover and pouncing the Orc, hitting his chest with its large hands and pushing him to the ground.

Bologra cried out in both rage and shock of being randomly attacked from the left, his opponent was around ten feet tall, with a strength that possibly surpassed his and judging from the way that it handled him, it was pretty pissed off.

He immediately looked up to see that he had been ambushed by a werewolf, the beast had him pinned down and was eyeing him, tilting its head and snarling as it moved in and gnashed at his face with its large, rotting teeth.

It had its arms grappling around his shoulders as it tried to bite the Orc’s face, prompting him to wince and dodge as it brought its snout down, missing his head by inches. Eventually, the surprise wore off and Bologra thought to smash his forehead into its nose, seconds after its maw had snapped shut, resulting in a crunching sound that sent the beast’s head off to the left.

Bologra then readied his bayonet and drove it upwards, sinking it into the creature’s body and causing it to cry out in pain and jump back, landing on all fours, which quickly became three as it wrapped one of its hands around its wound, hanging its head and whimpering as it nursed it. The blade had gone in deed but it was narrow and didn’t hit anything vital but it was still incredibly painful for the creature.

The Orsimer wasted no time rising to his feet as he got a good look at his opponent, he began to wonder if this was another member of Clan Ardwolf, did they all carry the werewolf curse, like the Companions?

Either way, this werewolf had picked the wrong moment to try and tangle with him as the Orc was not in the mood to be trifled with, he looked around for his axe as the werewolf recovered and found it almost instantly, he rushed over to it and picked it up before looking back to see that the werewolf had now gotten over his wound and was staring the Orc down.

Bologra was ready to get even with the beast, he’d battle it to the death here and now but Arlas needed him and he had a bigger problem…

The Orc slowly backed away from the werewolf, weapon at the ready as he began to circle it, so that the creature’s back would be against the cave. The Beast’s eye was seemingly trained on the Orsimer, giving out the occasional snarl as it fixed its eyes on him, getting ready to go in for the kill.

They stared each other down for a moment as the inner wolf stirred inside both of them, the two warriors challenged each other and the rabid beast inside them was itching to accept it as their eyes locked onto each other.

However, it was then that werewolf began to hear the moans, coming from behind him, something was slowly moving towards him, from the distance. The creature turned back and saw a tidal wave of undead creatures pour out of the mouth of the cave, its eyes widened before narrowing as the creature began to snarl at him.

Their numbers were surprising but their impertinence was insulting, he was finally about to face the one that had destroyed his tribe and these soulless vessels had chosen this moment to attack him? He then turned back to Bologra but quickly found that the Orc, who knew that the zombies were coming had charged into the wolf, shoulder barging into his chest and knocking him back, he roared in fury as he did so, using his orc rage to amplify his strength.

The werewolf gave a pained growl as it stumbled back and was immediately beset upon by the undead, who began to claw at his back. The creature spun around and struck out at them with his tree-like forearm, knocking several of them flying as he did so but sadly it wasn’t enough to stem the tide and more immediately took their place.

His claws swept across their faces and bodies, sending one corpse after another flying off in different directions as the creature tore through the horde, quickly finding itself to be fatigued by its injury and unable to ‘refuel,’ due to the fact that his enemies were built up of disease riddled rotten flesh.

Bologra, on the other hand, was slowly strafing his way around the creatures as he made his way over to the mouth of the cave. He looked up as he saw the werewolf get overwhelmed by the undead creatures and couldn’t help but smirk at the sight, he hoped that it was the old man but this one had both of his eyes, so he doubted that.

The Orc turned his back on the wolf and rushed inside the cave, doing his best to ignore the fact that he had caught the attention of a dozen straggler zombies, who were following him inside.

Bologra returned to the point where he had been beset upon by the undead and immediately noticed a door ahead of him, he got ready and tightened his fist, ready to even the score. He wondered if these mages saw what was going on out there or if they were oblivious to his survival. Either way, he cared little as it didn’t matter, it was going to stop them from getting a bayonet up the ass, that much was certain.

He pushed on through, pressing his large paw against the door as he forced it open, ignoring the loud creak as he did so as he peered inside, seeing that it lead to a large room, which was seemingly empty.

The room had been formed naturally in the rock, just another part of the cave, which seemed a little off to him. This room was ‘’’huge’’’ wouldn’t they use it for something? Even if it was just storage space to keep a few of their zombies in?

This felt suspicious to him, resulting in him looking for the nearest exit, so that he could progress fast without falling into any traps. Unfortunately, he wasn’t fast enough and he heard the door slam shut behind him, prompting him to jump out of his skin as he turned back in time to see the wooden door slam shut against its rickety frame.

“Hmm… A rage driven soul, hell bent on destruction.” A voice echoed throughout the chamber, resulting in Bologra slowly turning from side to side, looking for the source of the taunt.

“Servant of Jorane Lorwel or no, the question begs as to why you seek his axe… Considering that you are maimed and incapable of using it.” He continued to ponder, in his condescending tone, Bologra quickly realised that the voice was coming from behind him, prompting him to turn around and see a middle aged Imperial man in Necromancer’s robes floating behind him, with a punch-worthy smirk on his face.

“I’ll show you what I’m capable of, asshole! Tell me where Arlas is before you end up wearing that smirk on the underside of my boot!”

The Imperial tutted and shook his head, not relenting his smirk as he did so, in fact Bologra’s threats just made it grow.

“Your friend is with Vallina… But you’d needn’t concern yourself with her, it isn’t like you’re ever going to see her again.” The Imperial began to move his arms around, creating purple aura around them as he formed a seal of some sort, a purple circle with various daedric symbols on the inside.

As he finished doing this, Bologra noticed that there was a fog in the air, resulting in several copies of the Imperial forming around him, before he knew it seven copies appeared around him, slowly floating in a circle.

“I am Quentin Nuncious, Former Master Wizard of the Mage’s Guild and the left hand of Valina Jorrire.” As Quentin spoke he and his copies slowly began to circle around Bologra, resulting in the Orsimer being trapped in a nauseating cage, that never stopped moving, with bars made out of black robes and long, grey, balding hair with tired eyes that remained fixed on him and of course a creepy grin.

“I’m Bologra Blackbeard and I couldn’t care less!” The Orsimer grunted, trying to figure out at this point which one was the real Quentin as he’d lost track some time ago as they were all moving so fast.

“Of course you don’t!” Quentin snapped, all seven copies spoke at once, overwhelming the Orc’s ears as they all spoke in unison, their scorn was pretty disorientating to anyone who wasn’t used to hearing a voice saying something from all angles.

“I’m used to your kind, the kind who don’t care about anything unless its on your front door, devouring your young! If I had, had my way, we would have ‘’’crushed’’’ the Thalmor! We would have a united Empire, still owned by the people that founded it!”

As the Imperial prattled on, Bologra found himself to be wincing at the sound of his voice, his brain couldn’t keep up with seven people all talking to him at once, from such a close proximity, whilst spinning all around him, it was making him dizzy.

“The tactics of General Serian would have won us the war! But apparently they were ‘immoral’ and ‘evil.’ Nobody cared that our people were dying, just to keep the Altmer at bay, nobody cared that we lost our empire to those fascists!

Nobody. Ever. Cares!”

Bologra had had enough of this, his brain couldn’t take it anymore, he felt like he was going to throw up from just looking at the spinning Imperials and the constantly dithering was scrambling his brain…

“Will you shut up!?” The Orc snapped, swinging his hand axe up at the nearest Quentin and causing him to explode into a purple cloud and the other copies, along with the original to vanish.

The Orsimer stood, panting on the spot, slowly calming himself down after that… overhaul. He found that sanity was regaining and that his headache was slowly starting to disperse. If he endured that any longer, his head would have probably exploded…

He heard flashes of energy around the room as several copies of Quentin began to appear all around him, one after the other, in different point throughout the room, quickly surrounding him again, he looked up to the nearest one, who stared down on him with a disapproving frown.

“Now… That wasn’t very sporting, was it?” The ‘Former Master Wizard’ pouted, sticking his lip out after he spoke. This resulted in Bologra growling in frustration as he tightened his grip on his hand axe and charged forward, getting ready to swing at the nearest copy, in the hopes of hitting the real ‘Quentin.’

The copy, however, to his surprise, quickly readied a spell in his right hand, that he immediately unleashed on the approaching Orc, hitting him, just beneath his left ribs with a crackle of lightning. The Orsimer stumbled to his right as he felt the electricity shoot through his body, tickling his nerves, resulting in minor discomfort as he approached the Master Wizard and swung his hand axe at his feet, growling in fury as he did so.

The copy dispersed, exploding into a purple vapour, like the last one, leaving five to dispatch, one of which was the real Quentin. Bologra wasn’t a mage but even he knew that killing the real Quentin would kill off the remaining fakes but how would he tell which one was real?

They all seemed so… Life like…

However, to Bologra’s surprise, all five Quentin copies raised their hands and unleashed a lightning storm down upon him, quickly draining away at his strength and life force. The Orc quickly stumbled back as he felt the weak spells hit him, slowly draining him of everything as he felt himself grow weaker by the second. On their own, they weren’t very damaging but in unison they were devastating, to the point that Bologra knew that he wouldn’t last a minute out there.

The Orsimer jumped out of the way, diving behind the nearest jagged rock as he did his best to keep his head down, watching as the lightning bolts dispersed.

Quentin, who was rather impressed with the manoeuvre, sent two of his copies out to retrieve the Orc, observing with a smirk as he watched them slowly float around the room, appearing at either side of the Orc as they hoped to finish him off.

However, to their surprise, Bologra was ready for them and immediately threw his hand axe into the head of the nearest copy, causing the copy on the left to explode into another shower of purple vapour. He then roared as he thrusted his bayonet into the right copy’s crotch, again causing it to disperse instantly.

“Fool! By destroying my copies, you only make the remaining copies more powerful!” The copy on the left laughed as the trio broke apart, slowly circling around Bologra, hoping to keep him at the center, so that they could blast him from all angles, like shooting fish in a barrel.

However, what Quentin probably wasn’t aware of, was the fact that only one copy spoke, giving it away. The one on the left, the remaining one, was the original. The Orc grinned as he quickly rolled over to the side and immediately jumped up to his feet, ignoring the searing pain on his right shoulder and pectoral muscle as he charged in towards the Imperial, moving from side to side to avoid the lightning spells of the copies before stopping just short of the real Quentin and plunging his bayonet into his stomach.

Quentin’s eyes widened as the blade sank into it, doubling over with a look of shock on his face as his two copies dispersed as he felt the blade pierce his vitals. Bologra couldn’t help but grin, triumphantly as he heard the copies disperse simultaneously, proving that he had won the battle, his reward was watching this asshole as he lurched forward, clinging to Bologra’s arm with his trembling hands.

The Imperial Master Wizard slowly looked up to Bologra, his eyes wide and his bottom lip trembled as he went into shock, quickly realising that he was going to die. He gave out some shaky breaths, glancing down to his stomach wounds and shuddering as he did so before looking back up to look the Orc in the face.

The one-armed warrior gave Quentin a toothy grin as he relished in the Wizard’s suffering, glad to see that his annoying smirk had been removed from his face. However, to his surprise, Quentin’s face quickly reverted as the smirk returned, forming into a grin of his own as the Master Wizard exploded into a purple mist.

The explosion startled Bologra, prompting him to stumble back as he shook his head in disbelief, taking in the shocking revelation for a brief moment before feeling a powerful lightning bolt hit him in the lower back, causing him to fall forward, through the remaining traces of the mist and land on the floor, with a thud.

“Honestly, did you think that I’d make such a base mistake?” Quentin mocked, darkly as he materialised behind the Orc, quickly conjuring up some more lightning spells in his hands.

The Orc growled as he heard the Imperial’s voice, moving his hand to a nearby rock that he used as support. The shaky hand wrapped around the stone, quickly resulting in his arm buckling and him slipping as he looked around to see the Master Wizard floating over him, with a victorious smirk on his face.

“You should have known better than to assume that Master Wizard Nuncious would be bested by a brutish pig elf!” He goaded, getting ready to finish the mer off, with one last blast to the back of the head.

However, Bologra didn’t consider this to be over yet, realising that he had a projectile in his hand that could do quite a lot of damage, if thrown right. Wasting no time, the Orc rolled onto his back as he looked up to Quentin, hurling the rock as he did so.

The stone flew through the air at a great speed, the jagged edge cut through the air until it eventually found its target, hitting ‘Master Wizard Nuncious’ between the eyes. The Rock caused his head to jerk back as it left a nasty gash on his forehead, cracking his skull and dealing a great amount of trauma to his brain.

Quentin’s face changed to a shocked expression as the spells in his departed arms vaporized in his hands and he slowly fell onto his back, landing with a thud on the floor as his open eyes stared into the void of death and his face remained vacant, whilst his head rolled to the side.

Bologra quickly scrambled to his feet as he looked the dead wizard over, poking his pelvis with the tip of his boot as he adjusted his bayonet, with a smirk.

“Guess you should’ve gone with ‘death by pig elf.’” The Orc snorted, spitting on the dead Imperial’s chest before walking away, heading straight to his hand axe. He knelt down and picked it up, slowly rising to his feet as he clutched the axe’s handle, glad that he didn’t lose it after just paying for a new one.

The Orsimer then turned back to the door behind him and got ready to proceed through it, knowing that it probably wasn’t going to get much easier from here on out.

Lars stumbled back as another cluster of bodies flew across the clearing, snarling at the unrelenting horde of creatures as they drew in on him. The Werewolf was used to enemies that weakened as they fought but these things just kept coming, feeling no fear or pain just a desire to kill.

He envied them in a way…

The Nord knew that only had two options, do his best to fight through, at least until reinforcements showed up or flee but he knew that the latter was not really an option, Angela must be avenged, his pain and rage must be satisfied.

He slowly pulled himself to his feet, knowing that he’d have to face the horde head on, if he wanted to reach the Orc. This was his only chance, there was nothing else to fight for, nothing else to live for as his life had already been taken from him.

With an enraged roar the Werewolf charged in, swinging its arm and engulfing a large cluster of zombies in the blow, sending several of them flying in various directions. However, the strike was slow and rather clumsy, due to the fact that he was incredibly fatigued and as a result, he left himself open to the horde of undead that quickly fell forward and stumbled towards him, snatching his fur and clutching it in their cold, clammy, brittle fingers.

However, as he became overwhelmed, he heard a heavy thud as several others landed to his left and right, followed by an intense growl. Before he knew it, the majority of the zombies went flying through the air as they were struck with an almighty swing, slicing them open and tearing them apart in the process.

Tait and the other Watchman charged forward, throwing the undead aside before Ymir charged past his son and threw himself into the fray, feeling his strength returning and his confidence improving, Lars stepped into the battle, hanging back as he threw his timed swings, which were somewhat weakened and clumsy from the stab wound dealt by Bologra in their earlier encounter…

Bologra stepped into the back room, hand axe at the ready as he kicked the rickety, fragile wooden door off of its hinges, bursting through it. As he stumbled into the next room, he found himself immediately coming face to face with an unexpected sight.

Just in front of him was a young, Breton Necromancer, a young man with short red hair, green eyes and freckles. He didn’t look old enough to be here but he was wearing the robes…

He quickly raised his hands, prompting Bologra to charge forward and shove the forearm of his arm brace against the boy’s throat as he quickly pushed him to the ground, landing on top of him before he pressed the tip of his bayonet against his throat.

“Where is she!?”

The Breton gulped, wrapping his long, slender fingers around Bologra’s arm brace as he swallowed, panting heavily as he felt the sharp point of the Orc’s blade dig into his flesh.

“Sh-She’s alive! B-But Vallina has her... and in a few minutes, she’ll have finished the ritual! We need to move!” The Breton stammered, swallowing hard again as he tried not to show how repulsed he was by Orc’s breath.

“We? What’s with all this we crap?”

“You won’t… Make it on your own…” The Boy assured him, doing his best to bring Bologra’s bayonet an inch away from his trachea but found his attempts to be fruitless.

“Killed your Imperial didn’t I?” The Orc said, with a smirk, though he didn’t want to admit it, that fight did take a lot out of him and considering that there was at least three of those cultists kicking around this cave, he’d likely struggle to bring them all down.

“Quentin? He isn’t even the worst…” The Breton insisted, speaking quickly as he lingered in his precarious position.

“L-Look… I want to save Arlas to, sh-she was the one who sent me to find you!

We were going to make it out together but then Vallina found us, she took Arlas… I don’t even know what she has planned for her but whatever it is, death is the least that we can expect for her.

I know you don’t trust me, I-I wouldn’t either… But you ‘’’will’’’ need me, if you want to save her.”

Bologra paused for a moment, considering his options, he could quite easily run this whelp through, if he wanted to. Best case scenario, he has one of these cultists on his side, worse case scenario this boy dies first…

Either way, it was somewhat win-win for Bologra…

The Orc eventually nodded, seeing the logic and reasoning behind it as he slowly eased off the Breton, rising upright before immediately returning his blade to its position.

“Let’s get one thing straight, if you try and screw me, you’re gonna wish that I killed you here and now, got it?”

The Breton nodded, not knowing what else to do as Bologra rose to his feet, the Necromancer was forced to pull himself up, wincing as the pain of the jagged rocks shot through his back and made his sigh heavily as he dusted himself off.

“Alright… Th-This way…”