The Redguard died with barely a sound. The Nord man staggered back, clutching his chest, and the others were looking for her, leaving Vilkas confused. The Orc was next, also sent reeling, but by that point the Nord woman was coming for her, shield raised, and the Imperial's arrows whizzed by. Time to break cover.
Armour cast. Atronach summoned. While that took on the Nord, Shevawna drew her sword and axe and sprinted for the release lever she could see through a stone arch. Vilkas could help her with the bandits, and then she could return his gratitude by murdering him while his back was turned.
The Imperial's arrows nearly hit her but Shevawna kept running – until the archer's aim finally did fall true just as she passed under the archway. Then the Orc recovered himself and charged her down, berserker rage in full swing. Shevawna, still staggering from the bowshot, wasn't able to dodge the Orc's weapon in time.
Pain, blood, and Shevawna went staggering forward, only momentum keeping her going until she hit the wall and collapsed in agony, weak and about to pass out. As her vision blurred, she saw the lever and before the sword could fall and finish her off, she yanked it back.
The gate rattled up, freeing Vilkas, and Shevawna expected her last sounds on Nirn to be Vilkas shouting Nord battlecries. She'd not expected to hear a wild howl of fury out of Oblivion itself, and human screaming as something sank into flesh and tore it open.
The Orc, turned, swore and ran back inside to help his friends, and Shevawna closed her eyes and cast healing magic, feeling flesh repair itself and skin knit back together, lost blood slowly replenishing itself, and finally, she staggered to her feet, pain not as bad as it was. Eased enough to take some potions for anyway. Bow raised, she peered in to see what was going on.
Both Nords, dead. The Orc falling to the ground, shredded to pieces, and the Imperial dying screaming as one of Hircine's manbeasts, Storihbeg incarnate, sank its claws into her. And then it let its prey go and turned to her.
Shevawna knew her folklore. When faced with a minion of Hircine, the last thing you ever did was run. Because then you were prey, and then you were dead. So she held her ground and kept her bow trained on it, and where in the Void had Vilkas fucked off to anyway? Maybe it had killed him too. She could but hope.
“Get back,” she said quietly. “Get back, son of Storihbeg. Go back to the Hunting Grounds, there is no more prey for you here.”
She could have sworn it whined at her, but she was fairly sure manbeasts didn't whine like a wolf pup. Then it dropped to its knees and did it again, and this was just weird.
“Stop doing that, minion of Hircine,” she snapped. “I'm not falling for your tricks! Go on, get out of here!”
The wolf closed its eyes and went on all fours, flesh and fur rippling, and then everything blurred, and then Vilkas was kneeling there, naked as the day he was born.
Oh. Oh. Sirrah Afflicted. Werewolf. Oh. Well, no wonder he'd been able to smell Kieran's scent on her. And the way the others had sniffed her... oh Sithis. Jorrvaskr was full of them. And no one had ever told her. Kodlak had never told her. Keirine had never warned her, and Shevawna refused to believe the First Matriarch hadn't known.
“Going to put the bow down so I can find my clothes in peace?” Vilkas asked quietly, not meeting her eyes and angling himself so she couldn't see his man bits. How very annoying. She could see his backside though and his shoulders, and very nice they were too – no. This went no further. This madness had to stop, they seriously needed to talk, and by Sithis, Dibella and Namira, he definitely should get dressed so she didn't spend the entire conversation trying not to stare at his cock. She lowered the bow.
“Not stopping you,” she said curtly. Vilkas nodded, getting up and walking off, not so quickly she didn't get a look at Little Vilkas, and it clearly wasn't so little either. Not bad at all – sweet Dibella, she was doomed.
Finally Vilkas had his armour back on, Skyforge steel greatsword on his back, still as grumpy as ever... and blushing? Certainly embarrassed.
Re: The Witch of Jorrvaskr 6.5
Armour cast. Atronach summoned. While that took on the Nord, Shevawna drew her sword and axe and sprinted for the release lever she could see through a stone arch. Vilkas could help her with the bandits, and then she could return his gratitude by murdering him while his back was turned.
The Imperial's arrows nearly hit her but Shevawna kept running – until the archer's aim finally did fall true just as she passed under the archway. Then the Orc recovered himself and charged her down, berserker rage in full swing. Shevawna, still staggering from the bowshot, wasn't able to dodge the Orc's weapon in time.
Pain, blood, and Shevawna went staggering forward, only momentum keeping her going until she hit the wall and collapsed in agony, weak and about to pass out. As her vision blurred, she saw the lever and before the sword could fall and finish her off, she yanked it back.
The gate rattled up, freeing Vilkas, and Shevawna expected her last sounds on Nirn to be Vilkas shouting Nord battlecries. She'd not expected to hear a wild howl of fury out of Oblivion itself, and human screaming as something sank into flesh and tore it open.
The Orc, turned, swore and ran back inside to help his friends, and Shevawna closed her eyes and cast healing magic, feeling flesh repair itself and skin knit back together, lost blood slowly replenishing itself, and finally, she staggered to her feet, pain not as bad as it was. Eased enough to take some potions for anyway. Bow raised, she peered in to see what was going on.
Both Nords, dead. The Orc falling to the ground, shredded to pieces, and the Imperial dying screaming as one of Hircine's manbeasts, Storihbeg incarnate, sank its claws into her. And then it let its prey go and turned to her.
Shevawna knew her folklore. When faced with a minion of Hircine, the last thing you ever did was run. Because then you were prey, and then you were dead. So she held her ground and kept her bow trained on it, and where in the Void had Vilkas fucked off to anyway? Maybe it had killed him too. She could but hope.
“Get back,” she said quietly. “Get back, son of Storihbeg. Go back to the Hunting Grounds, there is no more prey for you here.”
She could have sworn it whined at her, but she was fairly sure manbeasts didn't whine like a wolf pup. Then it dropped to its knees and did it again, and this was just weird.
“Stop doing that, minion of Hircine,” she snapped. “I'm not falling for your tricks! Go on, get out of here!”
The wolf closed its eyes and went on all fours, flesh and fur rippling, and then everything blurred, and then Vilkas was kneeling there, naked as the day he was born.
Oh. Oh. Sirrah Afflicted. Werewolf. Oh. Well, no wonder he'd been able to smell Kieran's scent on her. And the way the others had sniffed her... oh Sithis. Jorrvaskr was full of them. And no one had ever told her. Kodlak had never told her. Keirine had never warned her, and Shevawna refused to believe the First Matriarch hadn't known.
“Going to put the bow down so I can find my clothes in peace?” Vilkas asked quietly, not meeting her eyes and angling himself so she couldn't see his man bits. How very annoying. She could see his backside though and his shoulders, and very nice they were too – no. This went no further. This madness had to stop, they seriously needed to talk, and by Sithis, Dibella and Namira, he definitely should get dressed so she didn't spend the entire conversation trying not to stare at his cock. She lowered the bow.
“Not stopping you,” she said curtly. Vilkas nodded, getting up and walking off, not so quickly she didn't get a look at Little Vilkas, and it clearly wasn't so little either. Not bad at all – sweet Dibella, she was doomed.
Finally Vilkas had his armour back on, Skyforge steel greatsword on his back, still as grumpy as ever... and blushing? Certainly embarrassed.