Cayliss awakes to the sound of screaming. Eyes shooting open and her body lurching upright, she looks around in confusion at the inside of the barn she has found herself in. The confusion last but a moment, as memories of stumbling upon a little village in the night and taking refuge in the barn for some much-needed rest and recovery.
A scream, much closer than before, has Cayliss quickly wresting herself from the haybed she slept on and moving toward the barn doors with a blade in her hand. If the sounds of terror didn't give away what awaited the Dovahkiin on the other side, then the iron smell of freshly spilt blood certainly did.
A lone red-brown peeks through the crack of the doors, to see rough looking men merrily slaughtering their way through the village folk. They kill, rape, and loot, and it doesn't take a genius to see them for what they are. If the state of their rusted arms or piss poor hygiene didn't give them away already.
Bandits. Cayliss concludes.
The barn doors are flung open, and her body is moving toward the bloodshed before her mind can make the inevitable decision to intervene. Blades are in her callused palms in a flash while her legs carry her forward eating up the distance between her and her found target.
The poor, poor bandit never sees it coming. One moment he's in high spirits, a cruel victorious smile on his face as rips at the young girls' clothes beneath him, the next he savagely thrown on his back by his hair looking up at the sky before steel is in his throat.
Cayliss turns to the girl still trembling on the ground staring in shock. "Well don't just stare girl. Go, flee. To the barn, it is safe."
The girl gives no indication she understood, and not just because she's still in shock, as proven when she opens her mouth and squeaks out what Cayliss can only assume by her tone is some kind of plea as she stares at Cayliss' red-brown eyes and her long-pointed ears angled outward.
Great, a language barrier. Just what was needed. Cayliss thinks with no small amount of sarcasm.
A stern "barn, now" and pointing finger is enough to get the girl moving and Cayliss switches her attention the rest of these unfortunate victims... And the villagers they prey on.
With a quick assessment of the others and their positions relative to her, Cayliss takes advantage of their lack of awareness and quickly makes her way to the fool with the axe chopping away at a door while the villagers inside scream in terror. A knife in the spine quickly ends his foolishness and he drops with the door catching him midfall and his face is turned to stare into the eyes of his killer.
"I require your knowledge, so if you could be so kind." With a gesture almost kind Cayliss palms his face and allows her magicka to slow from her hand to the man's head. A rune appears above his brow, seared into his flesh like a brand completing the link she requires, and Cayliss ruthlessly yanks, siphoning what she needs from him like a leech would siphon blood.
He convulses, his face contorted in delirious agony yet unable to scream, while Cayliss pulls her hand away and tries to blink away the memories playing behind her eyes.
This is why I hate this method. Far too personal, far too crude. Effective in a pinch but...
Looking at the man below her, bleeding from every orifice and mind violated so thoroughly he's left in a state of catatonia, Cayliss feels a deep desire to look away in disgust but forces herself to look at it, crouching down to his level.
Time to see if it was worth it.
With her lips next to his she whispers words in a language never spoken from a native of Nirn in the hopes of providing a final comfort to a deeply troubled man.
"Rest now, find peace in the next life, with whatever Gods you worship." As the finality of the words settle, Cayliss pulls the blade from his spine and plunges it into the back of his head, ending his life like putting out a candle.
She has no time to revel in her success with the rest of these men still carrying out their attacks upon the village, not to mention the heavy steps quickly approaching from behind. In a flash she is on her feet and the blade in her hand is sent flying through the air at the simpleton with his sword raised above his head. the look of shock on his face when the blade meets his throat is almost humorous, but Cayliss has little time for laughter as another of his fellows rush at her.
A curse leaves her lips as she reaches into her little hidey holes for another blade and comes up empty, and she quickly sidesteps the horribly telegraphed swing of his sword. Cayliss finds herself beside him, his arm outstretched and vulnerable, she latches on and wrenches it toward herself with a horrible snap accompanying the motion. He lets out a scream as he drops his sword into the grass, a scream that's turned to a gurgle with a strike to his throat. it caves and blood spews from his mouth in a red mist and falls to the ground below, desperate for breath that will never return.
Cayliss raises her eyes to see all has ceased and the attention has shifted solely to her. The bandits stare her down and the villagers not dead or hiding watch anxiously, afraid to hope.
Cayliss counts twelve. Twelve men that need to die.
Well, I suppose it's time to do what I do best.
Kicking the sword at her feet into her right hand, she gives a wicked mocking grin to her audience as her left surges with a faint purple glow until a dagger equally as wicked as her smile is conjured in her grip. The conjuration seems to bring more fear and apprehension than any her actions thus far, and not just among the bandits but the villagers as well. Cayliss can only hope she hasn't landed herself in a civilization with a magick aversion, as she's certain the only way to return to Nirn is with magick.
Regardless, Cayliss throws the thought to the wayside in favor of capitalizing on their fear, rushing forward at the most isolated among them with a speed that leaves the man she finds herself in front of in utter shock and far too slow to react to the blade that cuts his throat. A spray of blood is released into the air and before the first drops have touched the ground, Cayliss is moving toward her next target. The man's eyes are wide and desperate as the sword slides through his gut, and the swords stays there in his gut as Cayliss is forced to abandon it to dodge the swing aimed to decapitate her. The swords sails over her head and she makes to reward his attempt with a dagger to the face but is forced yet again to dodge a strike from another man entering this dance.
Cayliss twirls gracefully away from the spear aimed to impale from behind, and watches as the spear instead impales his comrade through the chest. She doesn't give the fool a single second to realize his mistake before his throat is opened and she weaves away from the bastards quickly beginning to crowd around.
In less than ten seconds four men have been killed as effortlessly as others draw breath.
keeping her enemies in front of her where she can see them, Cayliss' grin grows wider, more disturbing, as she notices their hesitancy to attack her. One even lets out a curse and attempts to flee. Cayliss shows him and his merry band of miscreants how foolish that is when her dagger cuts the air and finds itself in his spine with a casual, almost lackadaisical motion of her arm, only for her to unbind the blade and conjure it back into her palm.
Now they are frightfully aware of the stakes. There will be no fleeing to raid another day. So as desperation settles in, they make one last foolish decision in a long line of terrible life choices. They rush forward at Cayliss.
For her part, Cayliss closes her eyes with a heavy sigh, and relaxes as her magick flows gently down throughout her body and seeps out from her feet into the soil beneath them. A whisper escapes her lips, indecipherable even to herself, as the winds blows and the first of the men reach her. He swings his sword with no technique but all of his strength, cutting through Cayliss like paper, splitting her in two.
Only, there is no blood. And the image of Cayliss distorts into black and then fades with the wind.
The bandits are left stunned, looking around in confusion. The man who did the cutting in twain finds himself unable to move, or speak, or even blink as a rune the size of a small rock glimmers at his feet. He desperately wishes to scream, to call out to his companions for help, or beg the woman who has done this for release as his hearts beats furiously in his chest like a drum.
A sickening gurgle is released among the bastards, and they all turn their heads toward the source to lay eyes upon the monstrous woman with her blade in another's throat and a mocking smile on her lips. What follows is nothing short of a massacre.
Cayliss is onto the next before the men can gather than wits and even hope to respond. A sword taken from one of their fallen finds its way into the guts of a man in an instant and again Cayliss move on to the next, her lithe body weaving in and out of their range and dancing around their strikes with sublime agility they cannot hope to match. She is like wind if the wind could cut, and as she blows on by the dead gather at her feet.
Then, there are none but her and the man in stasis and the villagers cowering in their homes or watching with a multitude of emotions to see what Cayliss will do next.
"It is safe now! You can come out; I mean you no harm and wish to depart soon, but I must ask of you some questions before I go. If anyone is willing to answer, please step forward otherwise, do as you would." Cayliss does her best to appear as no threat to the people here, which is difficult considering she is covered head to toe in blood and mud. There's also the magick and her ears that seem to draw quite some apprehension for whatever reasons.
She can hear the whispers of the villagers as they discuss what to do, and more heated whispers about her.
A word Cayliss notes is said with some frequency. Scoia'tael. Whatever that means, is not thought of with any warm feelings.
Cayliss sighs and makes to step forward and speak again, to reassure the people here that she is certainly not Scoia'tael, when her exhaustion makes itself known. The bone deep weariness she felt when she woke up on that battlefield has returned with a vengeance, and Cayliss finds herself falling like a stone into the grass below.
Lying flat with her head turned, Cayliss vision starts to cloud.
Shit. Pushed myself too far. How pathetic...
The last thing she sees before her dreams take her is the trim of a green dress ruined with blood and two dainty feet sprinting toward her.