Urgal was staggered back, bleeding profusely from his left arm where a vicious lunge from a clawed hand had sliced the flesh in four neat thin red lines. He was swinging his remaining mace valiantly with both hands, attempting to reach his other mace that was still embedded in a collapsed skull some distance away. He only usually threw his mace when not surrounded, but Lloden being hunched over, blade in hand and seemingly in pain had been in danger of being attacked from behind.
He looked around him for a second to see his comrades similarly overwhelmed, taking cover and hastily swigging Dro'Araaj's potions. Even this seconds glance cost him, as an iron war axe lodged itself deeply in between Urgal's knuckles on his right hand.
Urgal roared ferally which echoed around the cave as he punched the offending thrall in the throat using the iron axe as a makeshift knuckleduster. It came loose from Urgal's still clenched fist revealing empty space an inch deep pulsing dark, red blood every half second, like wine flowing forth from a bottle.
Urgal's vision blurred and he felt the pain fade as the natural defence mechanism of Orismer berserk rage kicked in. He charged two shambling thralls to the ground and planted a mace blow in another's chest in a bid to reach his discarded weapon. He no longer wished to fight to survive or to protect his allies. He was driven by another, more destructive force that wished only to die trying, and decimate as many as he could before he did so.
He headbutted an iron helmet wearing thrall denting the helm slightly, but cutting a bloody ridge across his eyebrow in the process. He had reached his goal and stretched out a clenching broken hand to the handle of his weapon. But the mace wasn't it's usual bottle green hue of orsinium, in fact it had been replaced by an ebony material clearly of daedric origin, which furrowed between his knuckles as he grasped it, weaving patterns over his wound and halfway up his wrist.
Urgal Gro Lee, you have proven yourself worthy and defended my name and honour. Today you could die and join me in my eternal exile, but I have another fate for you. Take Scourge and punish all of those who defy me and would rob you of this destiny.
Urgal had no time to think or take this in at all as a storm Atronarch was spinning rapidly towards where he was stood. He lashed out with Scourge which seemingly had no effect, until a Dremora appeared in front of him and took the incoming blow on his shield. The Dremora then parried which stalled the spinning lightning creature enough so as Urgal had the chance to crush it's rocky head between Scourge and his other mace in a powerful clashing of the two weapons, which sent a streak of electrical sparks gracefully soaring overhead.
The time elapsed between his knuckles being split and this point had seemed like an age to Urgal, but really can't have been much more than half a minute. The rest of his comrades seemed to be on better footing than when he last looked, but were still struggling to turn the tide against the necromancers.
He looked around him for a second to see his comrades similarly overwhelmed, taking cover and hastily swigging Dro'Araaj's potions. Even this seconds glance cost him, as an iron war axe lodged itself deeply in between Urgal's knuckles on his right hand.
Urgal roared ferally which echoed around the cave as he punched the offending thrall in the throat using the iron axe as a makeshift knuckleduster. It came loose from Urgal's still clenched fist revealing empty space an inch deep pulsing dark, red blood every half second, like wine flowing forth from a bottle.
Urgal's vision blurred and he felt the pain fade as the natural defence mechanism of Orismer berserk rage kicked in. He charged two shambling thralls to the ground and planted a mace blow in another's chest in a bid to reach his discarded weapon. He no longer wished to fight to survive or to protect his allies. He was driven by another, more destructive force that wished only to die trying, and decimate as many as he could before he did so.
He headbutted an iron helmet wearing thrall denting the helm slightly, but cutting a bloody ridge across his eyebrow in the process. He had reached his goal and stretched out a clenching broken hand to the handle of his weapon. But the mace wasn't it's usual bottle green hue of orsinium, in fact it had been replaced by an ebony material clearly of daedric origin, which furrowed between his knuckles as he grasped it, weaving patterns over his wound and halfway up his wrist.
Urgal Gro Lee, you have proven yourself worthy and defended my name and honour. Today you could die and join me in my eternal exile, but I have another fate for you. Take Scourge and punish all of those who defy me and would rob you of this destiny.
Urgal had no time to think or take this in at all as a storm Atronarch was spinning rapidly towards where he was stood. He lashed out with Scourge which seemingly had no effect, until a Dremora appeared in front of him and took the incoming blow on his shield. The Dremora then parried which stalled the spinning lightning creature enough so as Urgal had the chance to crush it's rocky head between Scourge and his other mace in a powerful clashing of the two weapons, which sent a streak of electrical sparks gracefully soaring overhead.
The time elapsed between his knuckles being split and this point had seemed like an age to Urgal, but really can't have been much more than half a minute. The rest of his comrades seemed to be on better footing than when he last looked, but were still struggling to turn the tide against the necromancers.
