Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-24376253-20140723222218/@comment-3293219-20140724141959

Jaryl wandered the road between Bruma and Cheydinhal. His desperate sprint had been reduced to an over glorified shamble as he continuously marched on legs of jelly.

He couldn’t figure out who he worried for most. Telim had lost a lot of blood and Julie was recovering from brain damage, out there, alone. The Bosmer continued to wander the road, violently shaking his head, to keep himself awake. He hadn’t slept for days and it was already taking its toll on him.

He was incredibly pale, his eyes were dark and bruised and he probably couldn’t string a sentence together if he tried. If Isis were to see him at this point, she’d think that he’d been hitting the skooma again. It was odd but Jaryl was starting to crave the stuff again. He hadn’t even thought about it, until he arrived in this nightmarish future. He felt incredibly stressed right now, his stomach felt weak and tender, from where he hadn’t eaten but he got the feeling that he would just throw up anything he ate.

Shit… Was that a sign post? He thought, looking back over his shoulder and squinting, trying to make it out. He thought that he could see a sign post but…

Fuck it; all roads lead to the city anyways…

-

He never thought that he would walk the Blue Road again, or maybe it was more accurate to say that he’d hoped that he’d never walk it again. This place brought back a lot of memories, bad ones, the kind that he spent several years drinking in order to suppress. The Bosmer then chuckled slightly as he realised that his father always saw himself as the King of his own little world and in this backwards world, Jaryl was king at some point. Well, more like the Queen’s husband but in his eyes, that was even better. He wouldn’t trust himself as a leader; Isis was smart, rational and so, she was obviously more cut out for it. He paused and sighed, beginning to wonder what she saw in him…

“Psst!” A voice hissed, coming from behind a tree, to the Bosmer’s right. Jaryl slowly turned his head and saw that there was another Bosmer, stood before him, pointing a crossbow at him.

“Hands up, asshole.”

Jaryl just narrowed his eyes, he was tired and pissed off and he certainly wasn’t in the mood for this, he looked back at the path and began to judge the situation. He really didn’t want to give this prick the satisfaction of getting all of his stuff but equally, he didn’t want to aggravate him and get himself shot. It wasn’t just a pride thing either as his equipment was that entire he had and to lose it would probably be a death sentence.

“I’m not givin’ you my stuff…” Jaryl muttered, raising his hands and looking away, in disgust as the man approached, with his crossbow.

“Don’t worry, that’s not what I’m after…” He whispered, revealing that he was incredibly pale and his eyes illuminated a bright orange colour as he grinned. It was then that Jaryl noticed a presence behind him; someone was sneaking up on him. He spun around and drew his hidden blade, bringing it through the assailant’s chin and into his brain.

The Bosmer then reached for his sword, wrapping his fingers around it before he felt a massive, stabbing pain in his shoulder before hearing the ‘thwump’ sound of a crossbow bolt being released. He cried out and lunged forward, tripping and falling to his knees as he felt the tip of the crossbow bolt scrape against his shoulder, he winced and gasped as he dug his fingers into the ground collecting a big handful of dirt in the palm of his hand as he resisted the urge to make any vocal acknowledgement of the pain.

The man with the crossbow approached him, from behind as his friends emerged, there must have been about five of them, judging from the five different boots that stood in front of him, to the left, right and in both diagonals as he found himself surrounded by a forest of legs.

“Fuck… He killed Garret!” One of the voices snapped, a gruff voice, which sounded like an old nord or even an orc for all Jaryl knew. He slowly looked up, seeing nine hungry eyes staring down at him, all of them burning like miniature suns in his eyes, reminding him of Xervish, when he hadn’t drank blood for several hours.

It was then that one of the boots was brought down, right onto Jaryl’s face, knocking him to the floor and busting open his nose.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Fuckin’ piece of shit!” Another one of the vampires snapped, booting Jaryl in the ribs and making him involuntarily jump and grab hold of them. The Bosmer desperately tried to pull himself up, using his trembling arms, which soon gave way, due to the pain of being beaten on and the sheer exhaustion of not sleeping for several days as his captors drew their weapons. They used blunt instruments, maces and hammers, the ones that didn’t have anything blunt just had to use their hands and feet as he was kicked, smashed, stomped, punched, jumped on, booted and lashed several times across his back, arms, hands, fingers and legs.

<p class="MsoNormal">One of them decided to stand on the Bosmer’s fingers, which were still recovering from his ordeal at the hands of that psychotic orc, they resembled a dry leaf, which crumbled as the boot made contact with them and shattered every bone in them. He didn’t have much time to dwell on that as the maces and boots kept on coming, smashing down on his limbs and body as he began to say some silent prayers in his head, to make the pain stop, to make the vampires go away or kill him.

<p class="MsoNormal">The Bosmer’s thoughts shifted from himself and dwelled on Julie for a bit as he lay there, like a corpse, feeling his pelvis fracture as a warhammer was brought down on it. His body shook, his head wobbled a little as he lay there, motionless, tears building up in his eyes as he fixed his attention to the one thing that he cared about right now, the one place that he wanted to be…

<p class="MsoNormal">Isis…