Pain. That is the first thing Cayliss becomes aware of. As consciousness returns to her an excruciating ripple of pain courses from her head to her toes forcing a meek gasp from her lips. Lying still with eyes clenched shut hoping the pain will ease soon, the second and third thing she becomes aware of is the frigid cold and the feeling of water pelting down on her. Yet what forces her eyes open and her awareness to solidify is the putrid smell of death and rot, and the sounds of inhuman shuffling and chewing.

An unfamiliar night sky lies above but that is secondary to the horrific scene Cayliss finds herself in the midst of. Corpses, corpses everywhere, some scattered, others stacked, or even in pieces. Bedecked in armor, uniform blacks and reds, dead horses in similar colors, along with the tattered standards still standing, swaying ominously in the breeze. It's all a clear indication of something she wishes wasn't so familiar with.

A battlefield. The aftermath at least. Cayliss thinks cloudily.

Then she hears that sound again. The shuffling, the sound of flesh tearing and bones breaking.

She looks toward the sound but can't see past the bodies of men and can't do more than lift her head with the way her legs are pinned by the corpse of a rather massive horse with barding and the remains of a young man wearing steel strewn across her torso. His face is unfortunately angled up at her and murky blue eyes still wide-open peering into her own red-brown, he still has a look of shock, like he can't believe he is the one to die.

It's rather disconcerting.

What's more so is the shuffling growing closer and the little snarls that affirms that the possible danger is not singular but plural.

Cayliss tries and fails to pull her arms out from under dead, which would be much more plausible if she wasn't drained to the bone and her every cell didn't feel like it was on fire. The attempt to pull her legs free is equally met with failure and does nothing but reveal the broken state of her leg. A pained groan is released into the air and the shuffling intensifies, nearly atop her already.

Then she sees it.

Some form of undead creature, Cayliss assumes. A vaguely mannish face, rotted and molting skin, a malnourished appearance with its bones poking out of its flesh. It has plantigrade limbs, yet oddly it crawls on all fours like a beast. It growls like one too as it rushes forth intent on sinking its teeth into what it thinks is a helpless victim. Adrenaline pumps through her veins as Cayliss waits for her moment, waits until the creature is mere steps away from her face and rolls the body atop her with all her might. it's maw wide open and salivating is suddenly filled with the head of a corpse and before it can even manage surprise cayliss pulls one of her blades from her blouse and drives it down into its brain. Thrice, just to be sure.

Unfortunately, its death brings no reprieve, as she spots more of its kind circling her position. Cayliss counts six but senses a seventh somewhere behind her.

Stabbing the blade into the ground beside her, Cayliss takes another from the hidden compartments of her blouse before placing her open palm in the soil and pouring her magicka into it placing a rune underneath. It's a struggle to even place a simple rune, a telling sign of just how truly drained she is, and not just physically.

The monsters care nothing about her condition, only sensing the weakness of their perceived prey. They rush forward. Cayliss simply smiles, an ugly bloody thing, flips her blade and begins her count.

One.

Like a bolt from a ballista the blade cuts through the air and into the skull of the nearest of the monsters. A hand snatches another blade from her blouse and sends into another in less time than a blink of an eye.

Two.

One of the creatures is now upon her to her left seeking a bite of her neck and Cayliss awkwardly rolls her upper body toward the monster while snatching up the blade she planted beside her and drives it under its chin and up out through the head.

Three.

Swiveling her head to the right she sees the rotted beasts moving at breakneck pace right into the path of her rune and decides now is the time to find get herself unstuck and into cover. With all the strength her body can manage she slips her mostly unhurt leg out from under the horse before planting it on the horse's back and pushing with a painful desperate might until the mangled thing is free. Relief has but a moment to reach her before the creatures step onto her magical trap and she quicky throws herself over the horses body and curls to a ball.

A hiss and a flash of light is the only warning before furious arcs of lighting strike at the landscape. Arcs hit corpses both still and not still, turning one of the unlucky creatures into ash while blasting holes in the others.

Four, Five, Six.

Unfortunately, it doesn't end there, as when Cayliss placed the rune she found herself unable to focus and moved by desperation and so left the rune unstable and volatile.

The arcs continue for some time, striking wildly and random. Arcs light up the sky, bright enough to see for miles, with no accompanying thunder, only a terrible hiss like a serpent. Cayliss has no choice but to patiently wait it out.

When it finally ceases, she can only manage an exhausted sigh of solace. Picking herself up into a sitting position, leaning against the belly of the horse corpse, she wearily examines her leg internally with her hand and magicka, grimacing at what she finds.

Two fractures in the Tibia, clean breaks. Good. Severe fracture in the lower Fibula, completely shattered in areas. Less good. Followed by the expected muscle strains and tears, mostly in the inner and upper thigh, along with joint and tendent separations, and a dislocated hip. Wonderful.

"Where is my luck?" Cayliss rasps under her breath before tearing into the sleeve of her blouse. Rolling the cloth into a bundle she shoves it into her mouth and bites down, preparing for the agony to come. A faint golden glow emanates from her palm as she begins the healing process, starting with her hip, then down.

Forcing bone and flesh to mend, with or without magic, is no easy task and certainly not painless, but eventually as the last of her injuries of mysterious origin are corrected Cayliss spits the cloth out and takes a moment to just sit and rest for a while.

Divines know I need it.

The cells in her body burn and her brain must have a thousand knives in it with the way it pulses within her skull. Calling this exhaustion is a monumental understatement yet calling herself thin and frayed seems just as silly. The best way that Cayliss could possibly explain her condition is thin. She feels so very thin, not physically but spiritually, like her soul is spread somewhere unseen, a wine filling too many glasses with little left for herself. Cayliss knows that whatever happened to her was something profound and extraordinary, but whatever it is, whatever brought her here in this condition is eluding her clouded mind.

She blows air through her nose in frustration.

I should remember. Why Can't I remember?

Through the haze of her thoughts Cayliss hears it, and instinctually moves in time to avoid the teeth chomping at her skull. Turning she grabs the foul creature, that resembles the others of its kind save perhaps its larger size, by the throat and arm and tosses it over her shoulder and onto its back. It's stunned only for a moment but it's enough for Cayliss to take the knife from her boot and drives it repeatedly into its face. It's excessive but she'll take no chances. And perhaps her frustration got the best of her.

When it lies twitching in the aftermath of its ambush, Cayliss decides now is the time to remove herself from this place, and maybe find somewhere peaceful to rest and recover. A fools hope perhaps.

Seven. She thinks coldly.

A grimace takes over her face as she walks through battlefield turned graveyard, noting the long field of bodies and blood and rot and waste, especially the smell. Her mood is certainly sour as her leg throbs in complaint, still swollen and tender. Cayliss contemplates conjuring one of her loyal mounts, but decides against, not willing to cast anymore magic until she's gotten some rest and reassurance that it won't drain her completely.

Strangely enough, it becomes unnecessary anyway, as Cayliss notices a shape hiding behind one of few trees that litter the area. A horse, large but not quite as massive as the others she's seen, and solid black save the white splotch in the center of his face. He rests against the tree, his reigns tangled in the branches and his rider nowhere to be seen.

Oh, there is my luck.

Cayliss approaches with a soft and sure gait, walking into his sight and sending primal feelings of calm to the horse. It works and she reaches out with a gentle smile on her face, and rubs along his neck.

"Hey boy. Aren't you just the handsomest boy? What are you doing out here? Got stuck?"

He snorts as if to answer 'obviously', or at least that's how Cayliss chooses to interpret it. She smiles wider. "I'll cut you lose."

With care, she cuts the reigns and slowly removes the saddle from him, with no complaints from the gelding. Seeing his compliance, Cayliss decides to take her chances and hops on up. There's a little sway and apprehension but with some more affection and reassurance he quickly mellows out and decides to trust her. it's nothing unusual, as Cayliss has always had a way with animals, helped along perhaps by having a wood elf father and growing up on a farm.

If nothing else, it's comforting to have such a sweet, majestic creature between her legs trusting her enough to carry her burden. Laying her front across his back, the very image of sloth, she directs him away from the hell behind them.

"Come on Lucky. Let's find somewhere warm and safe to rest and I promise to find you a treat."