[Sercen, Cyrodiil] Why Are Men Attacking Everywhere

Ayleid ruins really aren't that scary. The argonian wasn't sure why more people didn't take advantage of the somewhat crumbled stone as extra protection and fortification for a night's camp. Maybe the common traveller was too afraid of ghosts and other spectres haunting the long-forgotten relics of a dead culture. The Salamander wasn't. Ghosts are notoriously wimpy when it comes to magic. And, really, once you've burned a ghost into nothingness like morning fog, you can't really be very scared of them any more. The lake surrounding the imperial city was actually visible from here, as was the crossroads that led up past Bruma and into Skyrim. He had even seen an inn signposted not very far down the road - but his latest experience with an inn had dissuaded him. Besides, he preferred to be alone.

The Salamander sat cross-legged on his bedroll, staring into the fire unblinkingly.

The problem with staying alone in an Ayleid ruin, though, is that one tends to stick out like a sore thumb. And when one is being hunted by a group that is willing to scour the whole of Tamriel for someone, it is quite easy for them to find that person.

Especially if the person has a bounty on their head and had been reported by a traveller heading to the inn.

A group of six Vigilants approached Sercen, shrouded in the night. Their weapons were at the ready, and they kept their eyes open for the argonian mage.

The Salamander was an argonian used to sticking out like a sore thumb. Of the six approaching Vigilants, he saw and heard nothing. The faint crackle of dry leaves and twigs was to him simply furtive little animals in the undergrowth. The fire that he stared into robbed him of all night vision, leaving the darkness that they shrouded themselves in as impenetrable as an ocean.

As the Vigilants drew closer, they saw that their quarry's fire was no ordinary fire. There was no ring of stones to contain the blaze. And, on closer inspection, no fuel. The flame simply burned on, impossibly, in the middle of the ancient stone.

Well, they did know that the argonian is a mage. So the magical blaze only made them pause. Judging by how merrily it burned and how the mage seemed to have no trouble sustaining it...they would have to be cautious. A careful look through a seeing glass confirmed their target.

Four of the Vigilants silently swapped weapons and notched ebony arrows, black in the night. The remaining two prepared their own spells; blue wisps swirled around their hands and they waited until each of them were ready.

Then all six attacked at once.

If the Vigilants had simply stuck with their bows, the Salamander would likely have been killed on the spot. A long life on the run ended in an inglorious hail of black arrows. However, the two mages among them had prepared spells of the exact opposite to those the Salamander was proficient in. Spells that he had found himself highly attuned to from long years of study. He felt rather than heard the swirling magic, an imperceptible chill crawling across his black hide.

The fire went up like a meteor, a bright searing flash followed by the void of night that blinded his assailants for a crucial few seconds. The arrows whistled through the night, clattering and shattering uselessly against stone. The badly-aimed spells offered some small illumination, a slight blue glow as the Salamander dive-rolled through a ruined archway and out of sight. Their prey was alerted.

Alerted and wounded. The Salamander clenched his jaw tight, reaching down to snap the ebony arrow off just behind the head. It had hit at an odd angle, mostly trapped between the layers of his armour, yet it still managed to pierce him with those edges sharp like glass.

With the fire blinding them, the Vigilants had to act in another way. The mages quickly hardened their flesh and the rest switched weapons. They charged at the direction of the Salamander and roared. If the sneak attack could not kill him, they would have to do it the hard way.

The mages prepared fire this time, working to clear their eyes as they searched for their target. The others splintered off, two with daggers, one with a great sword and the last with an axe and a mace. All worked to look for their target. "By the Order of the Vigilant," one called out "you have been deemed a Daedric Worshipper, surrender now and it will be quick."

The speaker received an answer, alright. A fireball, blazing like a tiny sun, streaked from the darkness. Their quarry was briefly visible, clad in black, lips curled in a snarl, before the darkness washed over him again. It was a hasty spell, impacting on the wall beside the Vigilant, but the explosive burst would hopefully take care of that.

At the Salamander's abandoned camp, they found his travel-pack and bedroll. They also found a strange sword belt with a double-scabbard. A longsword sat in the rightmost sheath, but the other - perhaps a hand-and-a-half sword - was empty.

A dagger-wielding Vigilant found this out all to intimately, as the Salamander gripped his steel sword in both hands and swung it at the man in a wide, chopping arc.

The fireball was unexpected, but the hastiness and the vigilant's automatic responses meant that he was still alive...for now. He tried to run at the direction that the fireball came from, but a shout of death from one of his companions told him, as well as the other vigilants where to fire.

The mages let the fireballs out at the Salamander, while the rest charged forward, weapons at the ready.

The fireballs struck home, searing flesh from bone, splashing over the body and spilling down to die against the stone and dirt. The Salamander flung the dead Vigilant down, snarling with pain from the burns he had not been able to avoid. That left the charging three.

The Salamander thrust his sword down into the dirt, freeing up his sword hand. They came together, the black scales flickering in the light as a flame burst to life between them. Staying small, compressed, and yet blazing hotter and brighter all the while. He flung out his hands, palms spread wide.

A wide arc of flame sprayed forth as if from the mouth of a dragon. The ruins came to life with its light, crackling as it showered off the stone, spraying over the attacking Vigilants like a great wave.

The flames caught those charging, and they shouted in pain as their armour heated up swiftly in the fire. The flames burnt them until they fell and remained still.

The two mages stayed back, however, and in the time that their companions died, they prepared their own spells. One summoned up a frost atronach, which lumbered at the Salamander, while the other launched another fireball.

The Salamander flung a fireball of his own even as he dived for cover. The spells collided in mid-air, a spectacular flash of light and wave of heat sweeping the ruins as they collapsed around each other. And... yes. He had left his sword behind too.

He ducked to another piece of crumbling cover, panting from the exertion. He needed a way to deal with these last two, and fast.

The mages chose not to chase, though the atronach lumbered after Salamander. As it approached the cover, it prepared to swing a sharply tipped arm.

One mage was preparing its own summon now. A feminine form flickering with flame erupted from the ground and followed the frost atronach. The Frost's master was took out two vial full of blue liquid, one of which he tossed over to his companion. Both drank their draughts and restored their magicka, ready to fight once more.

That was when the flaming Argonian tackled the frost atronach.

The Salamander was covered in flame, every inch of him burning, and yet he felt no pain. It was a cloak of fire, as intense as any other that he conjured, but it was certainly not aimed inwards. The atronach's icy hide melted to water beneath him, his claws carving out great watery gouges like heated knives. He leaped off the maimed and half-melted atronach, rolling past his sword and drawing it free. He turned to face the two mages and their newest conjuration.

"Run home, boys," he growled. "I've killed enough men today."

Rather than reply, the two mages unleashed a wave of searing flame each as the fire atronach lobbed its own flames, hissing with flame.

The flames rolled over him, consuming him. The infamous Salamander, murderer of their comrades, defeated by his trademark skill.

Except he was still standing. He had dropped his sword once more, thrown his hands up. A glowing translucent white shield hovered in front of him, pulsing with energy as the last of the flames died away against it. He let it die with a snarl, snatching up his sword in both hands, charging at the mages like a roaring nightmare. He ignored the flame atronach - it would fall when its conjurer did.

Ignoring the atronach was a mistake; the maiden of flame simply floated after him, slashing at the argonian with obsidian claws. The mage he targeted had a staff, which he used to deflect the blow, before using the head to counter, swinging the wood to crash into the argonian's head. The other launched another fireball at the Salamander.

The Salamander hissed in pain and stumbled, his charging swing easily deflected by the mage. He only party dodged the countering blow, escaping with a ringing head rather than landing out cold on the ground. He grabbed the mage's robe and hauled him over with desperate strength, pulling him into the path of the fireball once more. He threw the man down, not stopping to check if he still lived, and aimed a brutal two-handed chop at the flame atronach's neck.

The mage stilled, and the atronach was knocked back by the blade; it did not cut for the daedra's flesh was too hard, but the force was more than enough. It shrieked and lashed at the Salamander with its sharp, burning claws. The other mage remained back, switching spells and, at the first opening he could get, launched a bolt of ice at the argonian.

The Salamander ducked, rolled beneath the spike of frost and came up with fire springing to life in his free hand. A burning bolt was launched at the mage in reply. He whirled as he did, swinging his sword in a spinning full circle. If that frost bolt hadn't struck the atronach in the crossfire, maybe he sword would stave it off a little longer.

The mage fell over from the bolt of flame, but judging by the atronach's continued existence, its summoner had not perished yet. Indeed, the man had gotten up as the maid of flame was knocked back by the sword.

The mage charged, a bound axe summoned in his hand as he swung it at the Salamander. The atronach came at him again, hissing furiously, fire in its hands and claws raised.

One last effort. One last charge. Sword in his right hand, spell in the other. The Salamander ran to meet the last Vigilant, stumbling and roaring in pain as the atronach's burning claws raked through his armour like paper and down his back. He did not stop. He kept coming, a blaze springing to life around his free hand like a tiny sun. This hand grasped the haft of the axe the Vigilant conjured, halting its arc with a powerful shock all the way down the argonian's arm. The haft grew hot, too hot to touch, too hot to stand. Flesh and scale alike burned and sizzled. The pain gave the exhausted mage strength. He thrust his sword forward, plunging it through the Vigilant's robes, sliding it through his ribs. Spitting him on the blade until the very hilt pressed up against the man's chest.

"You should have left me alone."