(OOC: Well Alket, I really enjoyed you being in the RP. You were one of the first few to join, and if you ever decide to come back, note I will have a place for you.)
Rale and Derath:The dragon priest bellows in rage, and launches a two bolts of lightning from dual staffs. The lightning flies as swift as a wolf, biting hard into your sides (Rale :30/100, Derath: 70/100) Both of you are paralysed with the current flowing through your armor, and the Dragon priest comes over, floating past the many draugr slain by your hands.
The vacant eyes stare at you both mercilessly, no doubt aggravated by the fact you had put down what it considered to be the greatest reward any mortal could obtain. It plays no more games, and the staves buzz anew with brilliant white light.
Your muscles unwilling to obey you, you have no choice but to look directly into the blinding white light. it glows until it fills your whole vision, the last thing you see is the dragon lord's leering face. Your time must be over, nobody outruns death in the end. No matter how many times you cheat it's grasping arms, it will always envelop you. Be you god, mortal or somewhere between, this is an inevitable fate.
Suddenly, the light dims dramatically, and you hear the screeching sound of metal against bone. Your muscles slowly go back under your control, and you look up.
Beran and Antonius: As both of you chat to each other, no doubt having a certain degree of entertainment, You feel a shift, a slide in the air. Beran swings round, to be met by a swirling vortex, defying spacial laws. Just before you are teleported, the last thing you think is : When am I ever going to be able to move of my own accord?!
All: With the other 15 hosts and the dremora teleported to the Throne of Bones. You realize somethign is very off. Perhaps it is some misculculation on your part, but there is definitely not 18 here...It' 35. Then your mind make sense, and you feel overwhemed by their presence. The 17 lords.
"The time of the prophecy has come, we must all act. Look at our hosts. Go on, look at all these people, who were willing to sacrifice their life for us! Our hosts are ready, but the question is, are we?" A voice shouts from across the circle, followed by the barks of his daedric pet, Barbas. Clavius Vile steps forth, a roll of paper in his veined arms. He takes a contemptuous look at the dremora, who glares back at him.
"My fellow lords, I know we have all had our disagreements in the past. Several of our hosts have even been sent to Sovngarde by other hosts, causing us alot of trouble to get them back out. But I ask you: Would you rather be fighting each other, while the horseman com to slit our throats? Or would you rather die fighting? My kin, death by a horseman is far different from any other death. We don't rise back up. Never. So my brothers and sisters,answer me, send to me your words upon the sealing scroll!"
With that, Clavius unfurls the parchment, tossing it into the air. It reaches far above the heads of the lords, and begins to plummet. Half way down, it strangely stops, a slow bluish glow enveloping it. Then you see Azura, arms outstretched, her aura melding into the paper. She finishes, and a strange seal is upon the paper, as if real wax had been dripped there.
One by one, the lords let loose their shades of energy. Read,blue, green and yellow flash before you,each time creating yet another seal upon the paper. Some of the lords hesitate, and you see a calculative look behind their eyes. But when the majority agreed, even they had to join in. A thick sphere of daedric power swirled around it, swelling up every time it changed to another vibrant color. The final pact, the treaty of the war.
The dremora lords look at you all, then Hircine says "Ah...the leaders of the packs of Nirn. I trust your time here has been pleasant? No matter, I think we should give you our ummm, gifts."
(each of you, add the item of your daedra to your item list. Example, Molag bal's host will get Mace of Molag Bal. Beran will get Wabbajack OR staff of Everscamp, and so on. )
As you admire your new items, you feel the clattering of hooves, the neighing of horses. The daedric lords tense, their faces turning dark. Yet the sounds continue, growing louder at a rapid pace. What will you do?
Lambada: gregory was about to answer, but suddenly he stands up straight, saying ,"the time has come, brother! Onwards! Without saying anything more, he jumps onto his pearl white steed and gallops off, celebrating " They've come! On to the Hall of Fang, us at our full strength!"
Your horse is strangely agile for one at it's stage of ...life. It jumps boulders, clearing great patches of forests in mere bounds. It's hoofs clatter on the pebbles underfoot, its stringy hair flowing back.
You turn around, and see a strange but welcome sight. Three flashes in the sky, speeding down like comets. Red, black and grey. They each disappear amongst the trees behind you,and mere seconds after they vanish, a bright light illuminates the sky for a while. This happens 3 times, each a different color. Your horse climbs the steep mountain, and for a moment you thought you would fall. But you don't, somehow scaling impossible cliffs to go on. Then you see the hall, a great Nordic structure, cut into the walls of the mountain peak. Dragontongue covers the wall, and smoking remains of a dragon skeleton lay scattered upon the floor.