Private The invasion of the Damned

[cazzer14]

Cyrus awoke from his trance of dormant consciousness to find himself mounted on his horse, in formation with the rest of the Witchers outside Whiterun. His head felt light, as if his skull had escaped from the cage of his flesh and skin, and had floated into the realms of Aetherius, and his whole body was dizzy and confused.

He tried to remember what had happened, why he was here with the majority of the Guild. The last thing he could remember was preparing for combat with Geran during that third round, back at the HQ, before their spar was interrupted by a loud knock on the front door. Cyrus had a feeling that a lot of time had passed since then. He shook and held his head, and concentrated on trying to recollect the past hour or so that he had consciously missed, judging from the position of the sun in the sky, he reckoned that he had roughly blacked out for that amount of time.

He could see fragments in his mind. A collapsing body. Blood. Horses. Whiterun appearing over the horizon. Frantic orders bellowing. Panic. Smoke.

He pieced together the mismatched jigsaw puzzle his shattered memory had left for him, and came to only one conclusion : Whiterun was in peril, and the Witchers had arrived to help. It was the obvious answer, and probably the ultimately inevitable one.

Cyrus once again shook his head, and tried to focus on the present, instead of running in mental circles over the fragmented past. He looked over to Jaygue, who was conversing with an elf, a survivor of the undead riot, one of the few who weren't dead or turned. He then looked around the centre of the city, taking in the horrific sights that the corruption of this once prosperous city had to offer.

Blood stained the stone ground, entrails littering the wooden walls of the buildings, drag marks of blood leading to a ravaged corpse, slumped against a bench. Cyrus grimaced in disgust. This occasion must be limited to Whiterun and Whiterun only, the Witchers could not allow every city or settlement in Skyrim to suffer the same fate.

Seeing enough of the delightful scenery, Cyrus followed Jaygue to accompany Geran. He noticed that Edwyn and Sal-Dus weren't around, Thorral's voice was heard, but he was nowhere in sight. Before he could catch up to the Guildmaster and his Head-Witcher, Cyrus caught sight of a rapidly approcahing figure in his peripheral view.

Cyrus instantly unsheathed his shortsword and aimed it towards the incoming being. He heard words halfway through his unsheathing, they had a strange accent on them, and one word Cyrus couldn't understand

"These are some laloria. How may I help you?"

Cyrus sighed relief that he didn't have to kill something in his dazed state, and answered with "You can help yourself by being careful how you approach people, you scared the daylights out of me." Cyrus paused for a moment and assessed the man, before continuing with; "And that word you said, 'lolara', was it? What language is that? Unless you scrambled your words..?"

 

[MR-WIKI-96]

Arith took too what Jaygue had said. I have no idea what a witcher is, but I think that they might be able too stop this, thought Arith. He walked up too Jaygue who was asking about their objectives with their leader, Geran. He was Nord with a scar over his left eye. I shouldn't mess with him, thought Arith. He then too his bow out and spoke. Let me help you, you look like you could use some. A survivor's account could also help you figure this thing out.

He then took two arrows out of his quiver and readied his bow at a zombie roaming about 20 feet from them. He shot at the zombie. The two arrows hit both its eyes, leaving an arrow in each bloodshot pupil. I also want too say thank you for saving my life. I am indebted too you. I will use that debt too join you in your fight against these creatures, said Arith. He knew that his parents will always be proud of him.

Also I have a question, said Arith. He then placed bow back on his back and folded his arms in curiostiy. Jaygue told me that you are witchers. From the looks of the events around us, you deal with tragedys like these. Arith waited for an answer form the tough nord.

 

[death raider]

J'Oran looked about him wandering what to do it looked like these people who were fighting the zombies seemed to be having no struggle so he sat down on the ground waiting for the zombies to come to him. he started to drift off, but he knew if he did he would next find himself in the void. So he got up and headed towards Jorravskr to see how the companions were doing. when he got there a male dark elf and a nord both lay on the ground their blood staining the cobbled steps.

J'Oran unsheathed his sword and stabbed both the men. He didn't want to, but he couldn't risk them following him and decide to bite into his flesh. He didn't fancy looking around Jorravaskr because he really didn't feel like coming against expert warriors (even if they were dead). He then saw a Talos Worshiper begging Talos to people him, but I doubted Talos to come in and start chopping zombies heads off with an overly sized axe. J'Oran felt pity for the man, asking a dead hero to come when even the man must admit that Talos isn't coming, but he prayed otherwise.

J'Oran looked around for survivors, but there were very few. He pulled his bow out along with a full quiver of arrows ready to shoot at any unlucky dead person to catch his eye. He pulled an arrow out of his quiver and readied it on his bow and crouched down to hide himself a bit better, he was like a hunter waiting for his pray to come into sight.

 

[CHIM]

Casimir sheathed his sword and lowered his shield, but kept his hand on the hilt, just in case. "No, not scrambled. Lolara, it's an Ayleid word. Dark times, it means. An apt description for what is happening to Whiterun at the current moment." Casimir gestured around at the carnage, and the bodies that covered the cobblestones. He looked back at the Redguard that stood before him. He was shorter-than-average, but looked like he could go a few rounds with a giant. "I can tell that you cannot understand my guttural accent. I can speak more refined, if you would want." Casimir mocked the Cyrodillic accent for the last phrase and nocked his head to the side. "I am Moriche, or Dark Elf, as the men call me. Now, would you be as so willing to tell me what in Oblivion these... things... are?"

 

[lbrasz44]

Thorral once again made his way back to the shop. His arms were cut from crashing through the window at the top floor and blood was flowing, but they were just cuts and nothing severe. The infected man was a bit... smarter than the average zombie. It was probably in the process of turning or something like that. Didn't really go after my blood. Once again in the bedroom, Thorrak made sure to check every corner before retrieving his greatsword.

Picking it up, there was not any excessive damage done to the sword so it was still usable. Sheathing it to the hilt on his back, Thorral began his way back out to rejoin the guild in the fight. Luckily the infected weren't as much as brutes in the rest of the city so they were easier to take care of. Making his way to the market, Thorral soon found himself surrounded. The infected clearly smelling his blood, Thorral took out his greatsword and charged forward towards the nearest zombie, cutting it down.

Whiterun appears to be lost, there couldn't be any more survivors than three in the city. It is a ruin in its former glory.

 

[Mini Mongo]

Geran smiled as he saw the man save Jaygue's life, he was certainly a valuable fighter, but whether he would actually survive was the true question.
Geran saw as yet another survivor walked up to them, speaking in a old language, which definitely ringed a few bells to Geran, but he couldn't actually translate.
He then turned his thoughts back to replying to Jaygue ''They will be fine, they are Witchers after all. Now we head to Dragonsreach in 10 minutes, prepare yourself.'' Geran said bluntly, and then began to reply to the random man ''Yes we are Witchers, a highly trained group born and bred to kill Undead scum. And we are here to help. You only don't know of are name because we stay quiet, and live up in the mountains, but much information you know off about Undead is because of us. I am Geran'' Geran said as he held out his hand to the man, offering to shake his hand.
Geran then walked up to Whiteruns walls as he heard a grown, it was a Zombie, but this one did not attack, but merely stared at Geran, exchanging looks with him as if he was human.
But then they both swung their heads towards the main gate of Whiterun, and in the background by the Meadery was a vast horde of undead charging towards Whiterun, they looked obsessed and crazed by blood, at least 100 members of this horde.

''Horde!!!!!!! Every Witcher on me, and I mean everyone! Last one in the Courtyard close the gate!'' Geran shouted at the tip of his voice as he called his Witchers.
The Horde charged, not only him staring as they made their way to Geran but also the Zombie, it was as if this Zombie did not know what it was, as if the man that was there before was still alive.
Trying to escape from the foul plague that had taken his body, and now controlled his every actions, he was fighting this powerful plague.
But then, the vast horde of Zombies smashed the main gates of Whiterun, knocking it down in minutes, and then began charging to the drawbridge.
It was odd behavior though, some went to the drawbridge as if they knew how to get there, but others ran to the wall, merely trying to reach up to Geran.
And as they did Geran took out his bow, placing his arrow onto the string and pulling it back, it was tense as it came as far back as possible, and then he released his fingers.
The arrow shot to the Zombies head, and Geran placed another arrow, and released again.
He was killing as many Zombies as he could, he wouldn't want to fight them on their way out, but they might have no choice.

 

[Skyrimosity]

Edwyn made short work with the disorganized zombies. The zombies were slow and just no match for Edwyn's skill with a blade coupled with his agility. His strikes against them were quick and strong. He and Sal-Dus had killed the 10 or so zombies rather easily, the guard going to see if there were more survivors. "So Sal-Dus, having fun killing monsters?" There was no time for him to answer as Geran's shout of a zombie horde approaching broke all conversation. Edwyn quickly ran to where he heard Geran. Geran was standing on top of the drawbridge wall firing arrows at the zombies, but they weren't having much effect.

Edwyn was on the ground standing a few feet behind the drawbridge. Edwyn thought up a quick plan. He yelled out "Anyone who knows how to shoot an arrow gather with Geran on the wall. Those who can't shoot an arrow, gather with me. Should the zombies break the drawbridge we must be ready!"

 

[meben15]

Jaygue nodded in response to Geran, indeed Edwyn and Sal-Dus tore apart the weak zombies that crouded around them. As they were about to procede up towards Dragonsreach Geran shouted, he had spotted a horde of zombies approaching them from the farmland of the hold. Jaygue reached instantly, running over to the gates and motioning for the others to join him in a fighting line. Edwyn came running down from were he had been earlier to stand by his side, shouting hurried orders to the group.

Jaygue redied him self in the few minutes they had before the zombies breached the drawbridge. He closed his eyes, casting several defensive spells around his body to strengthen his armor as well as mentally readying himself for the engagement. As he opened his eyes again he saw the zombies had started to smash through the wooden boards. There were a few witchers up on the wall, shooting arrows and magic down on the zombies but they weren't killing nearly enough of them. Just before the zombies breached the wall Jaygue conjoured up a whirling tempest of silver fire, letting it extend down his arm to surround his entire body, "Don't fear, the fire will only effect our enemies." Jaygue reasured his comrades as the fire flared to engulf those next to him, "Stick close and don't let them get through our line, I they get behind up to we will be overwhelmed."

The first zombie broke through the wood in front of Jaygue and it thrust its horrible head towards him, growling into his face and showing its nasty, plagued teeth. Without flinching Jaygue stabbed it through the head with his katana. Even as he killed the first zombie others poured through the opening it had made and Jaygue was quickly swiping his blade in lightning fast patterns in front of him, severing limbs and heads from any creature that got within range of him. The silver fire surrounding him also detered the zombies, making them fall back slightly, growling and shaking their heads as they lit up in flames.

 

[CHIM]

Casimir twisted suddenly, his hand almost knocking into the man he was speaking to. He watched as a pillar of silver fire rose from the Whiterun Gates, and a horde of... draugr, Casimir would assume, running and stumbling towards him. He took out his spear and bashed it against his shield pointed it at horde whilst slowly backing away, towards the drawbridge, where some men were creating a line of defence. "This will get gravia." Casimir said to himself, and to others that could hear.

"Redguard!" Casimir called, to the man he spoke to. "Hilyat!" Follow me! All thought of the man escaped his mind when the first of the draugr jumped at him. It can't be draugr, Casimir thought when it jumped on him. It was too slow, even for Skyrim's own dead. These... things... thralls of a sort? What kind of summoner would do such a thing? Casimir stabbed the draugr in the neck with his spear and batted a second off with the butt of his spear. His shield smacked against the ground as he got up and twirled the spear in the air, and cut a draugr's neck open. Maybe, these were accidentally created? The sign of the Ritual, perhaps? Casimir backpedaled, and turned to run to the safety of the defensive line, blue cape billowing in the wind. He needed to catch his breath, even for a fighter like him.

 

[Mini Mongo]

Geran and the Witchers on the work made quick work of a few weak Zombies, but there was simply to many, they couldn't kill enough of the stronger Zombies.
And then they began to crash through the wooden gate, their hands reaching through the gate as they began to destroy the gate, until finally a Zombie made it's way through into the courtyard.
It groaned and moaned as it stumbled into the courtyard, a group of maybe 20 stumbling in as well.
Geran ran to look at the other Zombies that were originally just trying to catch Geran from the wall, they were starting to move to the gate, but they would take maybe 1 minute as they were incredibly slow.
The other Zombies were not, they were able to put on a jog at the most, but the Witchers still had the mobility among the battle.
Geran shot of a few arrows into the Zombies, at least two or maybe three dropping, his fellow Mages and archers doing the same.
Bored with staying back Geran thought he should get involved in the heat of the battle, he jumped down, unsheathing his mighty greatsword, and jumped down.

He looked around his surrounding to see exactly where he had landed.....right in the thick of the battle.
A Zombie instantly charged at him, and another closely behind ''Easy kills'' Geran muttered to himself as he swung his blade, the mighty great sword decapitating the Zombies, rendering it useless.
The Witchers were making quick work of their prey, almost as if it was a sport they shared, and in a term it was, a group of Undead slayers fighting Undead.....it was easy.
The other Zombie then began to jog it's way to Geran, groaning as it did, and with so Geran did a fluent quick motion, knocking the Undead into the ground as he hit it in the legs.
The Zombie let out a groan, as yet another one grabbed him from behind, but before it managed to bite Geran he launched his elbow backwards, as it hit the Zombie heavily in the stomach.
It stumbled for a moment from the strength of the hit, and before it was able to have another go at Geran he pulled out a small dagger, and stabbed it right into the brain of his enemy.
It was now dead, he still had to win this battle though.

Geran surveyed the battle ground, the Witchers were winning easily, easy kills as all of them dispatched the enemy. But of course this was just the first wave, only a quarter of the horde, and they hadn't even finished killing them all yet.
Then suddenly, by Geran's surprise the Zombie that he had got to the ground grabbed Geran's left leg, and began to try to pull him to his mouth, this Zombie was hungry.
With Geran's right leg he brought his foot down onto the Zombies arm, it literally snapped off, this was a frail and decayed Zombie, probably one of the first.
It let out another groan, but like before it wasn't of pain, but anger, and with such went to scratch Geran.
It's sharp claws scratched against Geran's leather armor, but snapped by the strength of the leather, and weakness of it's claws.
Geran was certainly lucky it's claws didn't manage to pierce his skin, they did not no how this virus or plague of some sort spread, and he wasn't going to take any chances.
In a quick and swift motion he brought his great sword down on the Zombies neck, a snap and then a groan of anger simultaneously commencing.........it was dead.

 

[cazzer14]

"I am Moriche, or Dark Elf, as the men call me. Now, would you be as so willing to tell me what in Oblivion these... things... are?"
"
Cyrus studied this 'Dark Elf' for a moment before he replied. He looked like a Dunmer, yes. But there was something about him, not that he was something more, just something... different. This elf was no normal Dark Elf, and Cyrus expressed his presumptuous observation;

"They call you Dark Elf, but you're not the typical Dark Elf, are you?"

A moment of silence between the two parties occurred, before Cyrus broke it by saying; "As for these things... I dunno. They're not your average undead though, and if you let one piece of advice sink in, let it be this : Don't let them bite you. As if that wasn't obvious enough" Cyrus followed this remark with a quick smile.

"So who are you? What's your na -"

Cyrus was cut off by a bellowing cry coming from the direction of Geran and Jaygue. Cyrus deciphered it to be Geran's voice. But the shouter was not relevant, it was the words that were shouted. Or, specifically, the first and most important one.

Horde.

The word was rarely used before this zombie menace, but it was the only one in a vast vocabulary that could describe the sight of dozens of ravenous, hungry zombies rapidly rushing towards prey in an disorganised, drooling, ferocious undead pack.

Cyrus turned to his patron of conversation, and heard him say another strange word, followed by a gesture that probably translated the previous statement that said "Follow Me!". In his head, Cyrus simply thought;

'No thanks.'

He wasn't sure if those words slipped out of his lips, or whether they were kept internal. Cyrus, distracted by thought, suddenly saw the world tip sideways as he was dragged off of his horse and onto the stone floor. The blow stunned him slightly, as he was caught off guard, and saw a blurry figure approach his vision.

Once he had recovered his eyesight and senses, he pushed off the advancing figure, that was seeking to climb on top of Cyrus. The figure materialised into that of a determined zombie, the black 'blood' visible through thick, protruded veins on the face, and the mouth drooling with a bubbly, rabid saliva.

The undead then gave no warning of attack as it spontaneously rushed towards Cyrus, looking to get a grab-and-bite in on his neck. Cyrus was too quick, though, as he stepped aside and contently watched as the dull zombie ran past him with it's own momentum.

Cyrus decided to add to its existing speed by grabbing its shoulder and forcing it into a stone wall as the undead brushed past him. Stunned, dazed, confused, the zombie remained slumped against the wall, and Cyrus, casually as you'd like, simply turned his back to the zombie and full on reverse roundhouse-kicked the undead's spine, paralyzing and then killing it within seconds. The corpse slid down to the ground dead, the black, frothy liquid in its veins smearing against the once-pristine surface.

Cyrus watched the body fall, and then turned as soon as he heard the first syllable of Edwyn's rally of; "Anyone who knows how to shoot an arrow gather with Geran on the wall. Those who can't shoot an arrow, gather with me. Should the zombies break the drawbridge we must be ready!"

Cyrus couldn't use a bow all that well. He could fire one if he needed, but the arrow was as likely to hit a bystander 6 feet away, as it was to hit his intended target. Cyrus remarked in response;

"I could throw small rocks from the wall? Does that count?" Cyrus smirked as he spoke, imagining him throwing pebbles to cause minor damage to the oncoming zombies' skulls. Internal bleeding, at best.

Cyrus made his way over to Edwyn, standing by his side, both ready for any more incoming zombies.

"It's nice that Geran takes us out to these nice places, isn't it? Really builds up Guild morale." he remarked, the small talk between the storms of undead brutality.

 

[death raider]

J'Oran got up and watched a bloody battle in front of him he got a bit closer to get a better view and it was horrible! He got up on the wall there were a lot people of many different races beginning to shoot down upon the ever growing horde of zombies. He looked towards the gate and saw men begin to run towards it getting ready in case the massacre came into the city which it did very quickly. J'Oran saw as the archers easily shot down the zombies like they had done it since they were born (which would have been a bit weird).

J'Oran joined the men with bows and unsheathed his own trying to choose an unlucky target, the tension began to build up in him for no particular reason he felt like he had to impress those standing around him. It was weird because he wasn't really friendly with other races except Khajiits and the odd Argonian. He readied his first arrow putting it into place slowly. He lifted up his bow, the arrow now in place he drew back the string, his hand shaking and he released. The arrow was in its targets head before the string of the bow stopped shaking. He began to pick up the pace shooting his arrows towards his enemies. A few arrows missed by only a few centimeters, but after a while his arrows found their target without trouble.
An evilly satisfied smile came onto his face remembering the days in the dark brotherhood.

 

[MR-WIKI-96]

Arith had been firing arrows at every undead that came walking or running up to him. This is good practice, he thought. Every arrow that he fired had hit either an eye, a nose, a mouth, he even managed too hit an arrow through both ears of one of the zombies. He then saw three zombies had climbed on to the city wall. Below them was what looked like a recruit. The fear in his eyes and the way he fought confirmed Arith's suspicion that he was a novice witcher. The novice had just slashed the head of a zombie guard. He was smiling at his kill, unaware that he was about to be pounced. The three zombies then jumped down below. Look out!

Arith ran up too the novice witcher. He then took two arrows out of his quiver and fired both of them at once with his bow at two of the zombies, taking them out. The novice witcher looked behind above him and saw the last diving zombie. The novice witcher was frozen with fear for a split-second. Arith didn't have time too take out another arrow, so he took out his glass dagger instead. Arith shoved the witcher out of the way. Making the zombie land on Arith instead. The zombie was opening it's mouth aiming it at Arith's neck. Arith was inches away from being bitten. He was using all his strength took push it away. Get. Off! Balfring pushed the zombie off. He then stabbed it five times in the head. Thank Y'ffre. Arith then walked up too the young witcher and helped him up. Always be aware of your surroundings. I won't be there all the time too save ya.

Arith returned to Geran and Jaygue, who were busy fighting other undead creatures. He only met this group not long ago, but already he felt like he was a part of them. Like a family. Arith equipped back his bow and started helping again. I hope you guys are keeping count! Shouted and chuckled Arith, as he shoot an arrow through the head of a zombie.

 

[death raider]

J'Oran watched the brave fighters fearlessly slash and kill zombies. He managed a smile towaqrds the others he then realised with shock that he had no arrows. Was he really that quick at archery? he thought for a second, but he decided he should go and help out, not that the fighters needed any help the way zombies lay on the ground beneath them he began to chuckle like a little child while the fighters made jokes to one another. He felt save around these people like he belonged to help them get rid of the undead. He gave out a long sigh and began to yarn as he was quite tired from all his sleepless nights of having to be woken up because of strange noises when it only turned out to be an owl or a drunken mad man!

He charged towards the ones that were using melee combat drawing his sword as he ran. He could tell everyone knew what they were doing because by the time he got there, there weren't to many zombies to behead so he just went into over kill throwing his sword from side to side trying not to stab one of the fighters.

 

[lbrasz44]

Hearing Geran's voice and racing to the top of the wall, Thorral looked at the landscape around Whiterun. Hundreds. "Shi*."

Jumping down from the wall and onto lower ground, Thorral ran to the front where all of the melee weapon using guild members are. It will take all of them, possibly even more, to take care of the coming horde. Thorral really wanted to charge out like he always does, but it would be stupid to do it this early. When they come close and his guild will be nearby will he do so.

The horde has reached the stables. This is the time to do it. Yelling at the top of his lungs, Thorral charged with his greatsword in hand. Thankfully they were no where near the caliber of the one he had encountered in the blacksmith shop. Bringing his greatsword from up above his head, he brought down the first in a brutal, crippling fashion.

The numbers were overwhelming and the space was too open for Thorral be by himself in the middle of the horde. It wasn't long before the entire guild, due to their small numbers, had to move back a little bit into the close quarters of the city. This doesn't mean that they are having a tough time handling the horde however.

Cutting left and right, the zombies that had dared to come across Thorral had fallen, and with a loud yell Thorral had started calling, laughing. "These ones are hungry, they're so frail and weak!"

What was known to most was that Thorral relished in the bloodshed. He lived for it, for he had nothing else to really live for. Such was the life of a typical nord.

 

[meben15]

Black blood was flying all around him as Jaygue fought. The zombies were relentless but the hardy witchers stood fast, cutting down dozens of them in seconds. The fire surrounding Jaygues body kept most of the zombies away from him, but he worried that the others may not be as lucky, that one of them might get bitten. If that happened it may well mean a death sentence, although they did not yet know what the effects the plague had on a living creature. Whatever they were Jaygue was sure they wouldn't be good.

As vicious melee raged on Jaygue aquired several bruses on his arms and shoulders from zombies arms slamming into him but he ignored them, pressing onwards. He made sure to keep close to his more vulnerable comrads so they would remain inside his fire aura, expecially Thorral. The burly Nord was an amazing warrior, but he had a tendancy to charge in a bit recklessly, and in a situation like this were one bite could mean death that wasn't the best of tactics.

Jaygue sensed the waves of zombies thinning and pushed forwards to cut the rest of them down. With a burst of speed, he shouted to the others, "Push forward! They are weakened, finish them off!" He swung blightfire before him, cuting through the zombie flesh like it was butter. One zombies managed to get under his vicious sword swings and went for his neck. Jaygue ended that atempt with a deadly uppercut with his mailed fist, smashing the zombies feeble jaw bone and making its head fly backwards.

Soon all the zombies lay dead before them and Jaygue took a steadying breath, looking to his brave companions and calling down the line to them, "Good job. Did anyone get bitten?" He didn't know what he could do if someone had, but there were a few cure disease potions on his belt that may help, in adition to his magic.

 

[The_Madgod]

Sal-Dus span around the battlefield, slicing and dicing the horde as if they were cheese. His blade entered skulls and chopped off heads with ease, as the skulls were already partially decomposed and Tsaesci blades were some of the sharpest weapons on Nirn. It was hard to avoid the people at first, but the more they cut down, the less human the zombies looked. Sal-Dus was elated that he was able to take revenge on these creatures that had decimated his homeland, murdered his family and destroyed his tail. He was really angry about the tail, especially when it itched, even though it wasn't there. He hated that most of all. Thinking of his homeland, and his tail, spurred the Tsaesci on. He stabbed zombies in the eye sockets, he stuck his sword up the back of their necks, he even scalped the creatures. Whatever was needed to kill them. The battle waged on, never ending, never subsiding.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the ranks began to thin. The Tsaescis arms were tired, as was his heart, but Jaygues call returned the fire to his soul: "Push forward! They are weakened, finish them off!" Sal-Dus stabbed another in the neck, leaving its head hanging on by a thread of skin, which quickly snapped. He cut through another's skull, then simply decapitated a third monster. There were very few left, enough for one Witcher to take care of. The archers rained down a hail of arrows, killing most. With the fire still burning in his soul, but not his body, Sal-Dus staggered towards one of the last creatures, almost as slow as some of them himself! He sliced it's head off, killing the last zombie.

Sal-Dus leaned on his sword and caught his breath, exhausted from his fight. "Good job. Did anyone get bitten?", asked Jaygue, looking around and panting as well. Sal-Dus, not thinking straight due to exhaustion, began to look over his body for bite marks, before remembering that he would've noticed that kind of thing. He quickly lowered his arms in embarrasment and limped towards a pile of hay, which he quickly fell into, waiting for any other commands.

 

[Mini Mongo]

Tired from the long battle Geran's arms became heavy, but he was able to remain strong, the ranks of the Undead horde became to thin, until eventually their was but 20 of the foul beasts remaining.
The archers from atop fired their volley of arrows, killing most of the undead, and what had been a incredibly powerful horde, had became a few 'wanderers' that had became confused through the battle.
Geran sheathed his greatsword as the others such as Sal-Dus, Thorral and Jaygue finished them off.
Jaygue asked if anyone had been bitten, and Geran was pretty sure he hadn't, he surely would of felt it, with so he approached the Witchers that had died and gave him their rights, as was Geran's way.
Geran looked around at the Witchers, they were tired, some of them even frightened, they knew they had became lucky, this was just a test, weak frail Zombies, the true beasts would now rise.
Geran doubled check the area, no Zombies remained apart from perhaps a few Wanderers walking outside the City, looking for nothing but food, inhaled in their own disease.
He sighed, looking at the rotting corpses as they laid on the floor, after being killed for the second time they had began to let of a disgusting smell, and with so Geran began to let out a new command.

''We move for Dragonreach, check your equipment, and be aware for anything, are great ally could lay dead.
And be aware.'' Geran said to the Guild, he then turned to the new recruit who had asked who he was.
''I am Lord Geran, the Guild master of the Witchers, and we're here to help. But now is not time for introducing, you can run and die, or stay with us. I care not.'' Geran said to the man, he was quite bold and harsh, but he was right, this was no time for introducing and idle chat.
Happy with the situation he walked through the closed gate of Whiterun, it was completely deserted, not even Zombies remained.
But Geran heard something, a screeching noise echoing, it was like the noise he had heard before the large horde had arrived, it was as if a Zombie was calling these hordes.
If that was the case, they needed to move and fast.
''Move Witchers! I heard that screech before, just before that horde arrived, if we don't hurry I think we might die this day.''

Geran and the Witchers then began to make their way to Dragonsreach, they were untouched by Zombie attacks, in fact not even one assault was set upon the Witchers.
Each step was heavy, each time they breath they smelt death in the air, a foul look upon their faces as they marched.
Everyone gripped their blades heavily, tightening among the handle, or the wood of their happens, everyone was cautious, fear was among them.
Geran, the Witchers and the survivors that had tagged along finally reached Dragonsreach, staring upon a large Palace, this was where the legendary hero trapped a Dragon in the very walls, but Geran could not think of when or who did such a thing, his mind was elsewhere.
He felt the Guilds rank tighten, all of them looking at every crack and corner of anywhere, until finally they reached the entrance.
''Be ready for anything, I fear we have a rather powerful Zombie behind this door.'' Geran said to the Guild before entering.
The Witchers, survivors and Geran's lesser Masters gained their senses, they knew that some kind of evil, undead or not was behind this door, and it was powerful.......

Before even readying the Guild, he charged and kicked the door, thrusting his legs strength into one powerful thump against the door, his leather boot contacting heavily with the oak.
He kicked again, this time his kick was even more powerful, the Oak was weakening, the hinges loosening, he feared this was the last kick before they got in.
He closed his eyes and lowered his head, tensing his fists and muttering a little pray, and then suddenly used all the force of his legs strength to contact against the gate, for a moment the gate merely weakened.
Geran had just used his strength, for his enemy to get through, and then suddenly a huge group of Zombies, along with a strange looking one smashed down the Oak door from the inside of Dragonsreach.
The Zombies didn't smell at all, as if there wasn't any odor to intoxicate the air, and instead as if they were fighting nothing, a large group of lifeless nothings.
It was the weird, perhaps mutated looking Zombie that caught Geran's eyes, it's mouth was large, nearly large enough to take up his entire face, half of his head was this large mouth, then two small eyes above it.
The teeth in the mouth of this mutant were dirty, blood dripping through them, sharp and large enough to sink and kill into any beast, let alone humanoids.

The Zombies stood behind the mutant, they were eager to charge, and sniffed the air as if they were Vampires, smelling the scent of the humanoids, and then the creature screeched, and the entire horde of Zombies charged.
There was perhaps 20, easy enough to take, but these Zombies look more frail, but their skin certainly wasn't as Geran, the Witchers and the stragglers were about to realize.
The Zombies were blood thirsty, one charging at Geran, it's eyes fixed upon him, this thing was as bloodthirsty as a Dremora, if not more, and as terrifying as a Dragon.
The creature was not 1 step away from Geran, and he decided it was best for him to attack this beast, and with so he swung his mighty greatsword, the blade piercing into the skin of the Undead.
But this wasn't enough...........
The creature charged, no pain or remorse, and it's hands gripped on the very blade of Geran's greatsword.
These Zombies were different.

 

[lbrasz44]

The horde was defeated, and the battle was over. Now it was time to check on the jarl. Tired from the conflict, Thorral dropped down against the wall to rest. "We're going to go and get ambushed at the jarl's place aren't we?" Said Thorral with a dry laugh.

Walking up the stairs, Thorral grew more and more tired. It was strange that there were no sight of zombies still walking around and attacking them as the guild made their way through the city. Maybe the city was defended and the attack was over.

Finally reaching up to Dragonsreach, Geran turned to say ''Be ready for anything, I fear we have a rather powerful Zombie behind this door.'' Then proceeded to try to kick down the door. The first couple of times failed.

Thorral knew something just wasn't right, and needless to say he was starting to get tired off constantly fighting these zombies who never seemed to get the idea. The third time Geran went to kick the door. The door did then go down... but it wasn't by Geran. It got torn off from the other side, revealing a group of 20 and one... creature. The one didn't exactly look like the others, in fact it seemed a bit mutated. In fact, none of these zombies seemed like the other ones. They didn't smell at all and they looked even more repulsive.

"Of fu**ing course." Said Thorral, rolling his eyes and unsheathing his greatsword.

 

[meben15]

Jaygue walked through the ranks of Witchers, making sure everyone was alright. He noticed that they had two tagalongs. The elf who they had picked up outside of the city and a Khajiit archer type, and a regal looking Dunmer. They all seemed fairly competent so Jaygue didn't mind them coming along. If push came to shove, however, his brothers and sisters came before them.

With the imidiate thread of attack over the group congregated around Geran and he shouted out his orders. They were to move towards the palace to find the Jarl. Jaygue didn't really think the Jarl would still be alive, and nor did he care, but this entire fiasco started in dragonsreach, so that is were they should go.

As they headed through the streets of Whiterun, not a thing moved, aside from a few zombies that flitted around buildings as soon as the heavily armored group came into sight. Jaygue did not like it, it seemed very much like a trap.

When they reached the first step of the stairs leading up to Dragonsreach Jaygue felt a sudden pulse of necromantic energy and gripped Blightfire's hilt tighter. This was going to get bad very fast. They reached the huge doors to the keep, and Geran battered them with a series of powerful kicks. The last one broke the wooden crossbar on the inside, forcing the door open a little more. Then from the inside the door was torn free of its hinges, splintered by several stronger looking zombies. These seemed to be much more developed than the pitiful ones they had fought in the street, there skin was as white as snow, with their veins standing in dark contrast. There was also one big one, seemingly mutated in some way, hulking in the back of the group.

The zombies paused for a second before they all charged. Luckily the space around them was limited, so all of the frontline fighters only had to deal with one zombie. Jaygue, who was next to Cyrus, was charged by one zombie, its arms streched out before it, eager for his blood. Jaygue briefly considered conjouring another flame cloak, but decided against it, he didn't want to over exert his magical abilities in case he really needed them later.

Instead as the zombie ran towards him, he hit it with a quick ball of flames. To his surpirse it didn't seem to mind, most undead hated fire but this thing seemed utterly unfased. They really were the epitimy of uncaring death. Instead as the creature moved nearer to him, he lifted his sword before him, stabbing it through the gut. It ran right onto his blade, never stopping, and grabbed at his neck with its horrible decaying claws.

Before it could get near enough to bite him, Jaygue grabed the zombie by the throat, keeping it at arms length. He then twisted his blade around inside the thing, conjouring pale silver flames along its edge as he did so. At the same time he let his had light on fire, slowly burning away at the things flesh. It seemed to grimace slightly in discomfort as the divine fire from his katana started to devour its flesh at a fast rate.

Stretching out its arms the creature tryed vainly to rip at his face, but he was to far away. It managed to get him only once, gouging a bloody line down his left cheek. Jaygue ignored the injury, simply holding the creature steady as his trusty blade did its work. After a few more moments the creature finally disolved into ash at his feet. As soon as he killed the one another came at him and he swung his blade to knock its groping arms backwards.