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Thread: A Cat and His Girl (Tana/Kazahan Moments)

  1. #21
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    The elf's eyes darted to Tana, and then to the prisoner.

    "You know this man?" he asked, though it sounded more like an order. He glanced back to Kazahan, who simply stared at him.

    "Of course she does," Morag blurted out. "She's a Talos worshipper too."

    "She is my prisoner and desires to escape," Kazahan growled. "She lies."

  2. #22
    Her mouth clamped shut in an instant, and when the Orcess spoke up, trying to level an accusation, Tana cut a sharp sideways glare to her. A pinched expression pulled her features into a scornful frown then, which soon enough turned into a scowl as she stepped just a little further behind Kazahan.

    "He looks familiar," came her defiant growl.

    "Being a Nord doesn't make me a follower of Talos," she couldn't help the angry rumble. Which was a new thing, admittedly. Had she picked it up from Kazahan?

    By Talos, she couldn't help but inwardly flinch, Kazahan will black her eye for this.

  3. #23
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    "I can prove it," the Orc girl hissed, tearing herself away from Kazahan's clawed grip. The Thalmor smirked, before stepping forward.

    "We'll take the girl," he said, his tones radiating a calm and assured superiority. Kazahan cocked his head.

    "No, you will not," he rumbled. The Altmer sneered.

    "Don't throw your life away so rashly, cat," he spat. "Especially not for someone like... her."

    Kazahan's hand rested on the hilt of the greatsword on his back.

    "One swing, and this one can split you in half," Kazahan growled. The Thalmor smiled mirthlessly.

    "It will take hours to cleanse the scent of burning fur from my nose," he responded, his hands suddenly alight with flames. There was stillness for only a moment, before Kazahan drew his sword at the same time as the Thalmor soldiers did the same. His sword was longer, and one powerful thrust spit an elf through his breastplate; Kazahan pivoted and pulled the spasming soldier into the path of the Justiciar's flame spell.
    '
    He took only a moment to glance back and see Tana standing almost directly behind him, before placing his foot against the dying soldier's chest and kicking him off his blade and into the mage with considerable force.

  4. #24
    She'd sought refuge for only a moment after Kazahan's blade cleared free of flesh. In the next instant she came around him like a whirling Hagraven, dagger in hand and brought to bare with wild efficency. She remembered her Khajiit guardian's lessons as though they were second nature, sweeping in before flicking her wrist and stabbing straight inward. Her target was the Justiciar, and the High Elf backpedaled quickly. Short legs ate up the distance with ease, and Tana Little-Bear looked past those flaming hands to the prize at the center. The prize of a Justiciar's blood on her hands. Perhaps it was offhand justice for her mother and father?

    Either way, the girl saw only her target, and with a feral cry that she'd picked up from Kazahan, the Nord girl dove into the fray like a wild sabrecat.

  5. #25
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    Morag stumbled back, sliding down a tree as she watched the incredibly fast and brutal melee. The little girl had set her eyes on the Justiciar, who was dancing out her dagger's arcs with ease as flames sprouted around his hands. She had closed in quickly, but was unable to finish the Altmer and it was only a matter of a moment before the elf would have the positioning to cast his deadly magicks on the girl.

    At the same time, the monstrous Khajiit was giving the whole combat a new sense of the word 'brutal'. Immediately after kicking the spitted soldier off his blade, his clawed hand had flashed out and grabbed one of the smaller soldiers by the throat, and simply held him while wielding the greatsword with one hand; a heave of the sword had clashed loudly against a mace-wielding Thalmor, knocking his mace off to the side and himself to the ground, where Kazahan had simply raised one booted foot and stomped down on the helmeted head.


    "Ahh! Ahh!"
    The Thalmor soldier screamed in pain and clutched at his head, while the Khajiit moved on. The last remaining soldier stepped backwards, sweat and panic beading on his face. The Khajiit strode inexorably forward, his eyes fixed on the soldier.

    "Stay back!" The Thalmor shouted. "Stay back, damn you!"

    Kazahan stopped, and with a little flip of his wrist held his sword in a reverse grip. Glancing off to the side, Kazahan saw the Justiciar raise his hand to immolate the Girl. Kazahan settled his feet, and tossed the choked soldier at the mage, and with a shift of his weight back to the other foot, hefted the sword like a javelin and hurled it at the last soldier, spearing him through the neck.

  6. #26
    She had seen the hands raise, seen the beginning of fire magic blossoming from those soft, slender fingertips. And for a moment she had seen her death. But Tana was a little bear. That was why her father had given her that name; she bulled on with fierce determination in the face of impossible odds. So it was now. Facing a very real, very fiery death, the young Nord committed herself to the battle, her white-knuckled grip on her dagger tightening more.

    And then...

    A body.

    It seemed to materialize from behind her, sailing over her head like some flailing Azura's Star talisman, to crash into the Justiciar. Both went down in a tangle of limbs, and Tana surged forward.

    She pounced on them, winding herself past the thrown soldier until one hand found the softer robes beneath, and without hesitation, Tana thrust her blade forward. She felt it cut through fabric, the the flesh beneath. A hand grabbed her wrist, and with a yelp the girl nearly recoiled at the burning sensation now engulfing her arm, but like her namesake, her cry turned into an angry shriek as she pushed her entire weight behind her killing blow.

  7. #27
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    The Justiciar's flames went out, but he did not die immediately.

    He gurgled, his gloved hands pressing against Tana's face, pushing her away from his as his body arched in pain and fear, eyes wide and fixed on Tana while he tried to process the fact that he was dying.

    Behind them, Kazahan stalked over to the elf with his sword spitting his throat, and reached down, pulling out the dripping blade with a wet visceral sound, which was covered mostly by the screams and gasps of agony of the Thalmor whose helmet was crushed to his head. The Khajiit took his time walking over to that one, and placed a booted foot on the mer's head. One visible eye, wide with pain and tear-filled terror, turned to regard him; his screams quieted to whimpers and small keening sounds, and his writhing became small twitches. The hands that had been occupied with trying to push the warped metal off his head went to the Khajiit's booted foot, ineffectually trying to push him off.

    "Your whimpers are music to this one," Kazahan growled, dark satisfaction oozing from his low toned voice. "Khajiit revels in this. Keep fighting."

    He used the tip of his sword to push the breastplate down and reveal the cloth covered neck as he spoke, and placed the blade gently in the hollow of the soldier's collarbone. A gloved hand gripped the blood-soaked blade, but Kazahan's strength kept it in position. An ugly smile opened his mouth and showed his fangs.

    "No, no," the elf sobbed. "I— I don't—"

    Kazahan applied the merest of pressures to the sword; blood smeared the blade where it slid against the soldier's gauntleted hand; and with a soft, muffled popping sound, it pierced the undercoat and skin, cutting off his victim's pleas to soft choking gasps. He kept the blade there, watching the Altmer weep and open his mouth in a silent agonised scream. After a short moment, he pulled the blade free and watched with ugly satisfaction as the elf coughed and choked to death.

    "May Oblivion's worst plane be the only one to accept your soul," he cursed the soldier with an even gravelled tone.

  8. #28
    Not the instant kill that she had hoped for, Tana let out a snarl that mimiced the sort she'd often enough heard from Kazahan. The hands on her face only made her angrier, and the little Nord redoubled her efforts.

    The blade came free, flicking up for the briefest of moments before plunging back down into the body beneath her. Out again. Down again. Each time she felt her hands smear with the elf's blood more and more until flecks of red nearly reach her elbows. And still she stabbed into the body that had become the recipient of every ounce of vengeance she could muster. This stab was for last week's nightmare about being chased by the Orc Imperial! This stab was for not being able to wear her small Talos necklace! This stab was for having to huddle close to a fire instead of being in her old home! A litany of reasons for each and every one.

    Tears had begun to flow even as the girl felt the Justiciar's hands slide down her face, down her arms, and to the ground. She didn't care, and she didn't stop.

    Through ugly, angry tears she did not stop.

  9. #29
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    Morag shivered, scooting back further against the tree as the Khajiit turned from the dead Altmer soldier to look at her, before calmly viewing the Nord girl stabbing the mage continuously.

    Beside them, the Thalmor soldier he'd thrown began to cough violently and gasp for air as his wits returned to him. Kazahan looked at the soldier with an opaque expression, and stalked over to him, even as the Girl stabbed the mage for the twentieth time. Kazahan stalked past them, his shadow looming over the dead mage and living Nord for a moment; Morag couldn't push herself any farther away from the specter of death that he'd become.

    He reached down and grabbed the High Elf by the hair and dragged him away from the girl and her victim.

    "Ah! Damn you!" the elf sputtered. "Let go!"

    Kazahan let him go. The elf sprawled and quickly pushed himself to his knees.

    "I'll—" He cast the Khajiit a swift glare, and his last sight was the glint of a bloody sword as it cleaved through the air and through the nape of his neck, clipping the breastplate and breaking with a loud snapping noise. The elf flopped back, his head hanging from his body by a few centimeters of skin and flesh, half the blade stuck in his spine.

    Sparing the hilt in his hand a look, he dropped it and turned to regard Tana as she exhausted herself on the dead elf mage beneath her. He said nothing; he only watched inscrutably until she drove the knife into the Justiciar one last time, huffing and bloody and wet with tears and snot and drool, and looked up at him.

    "We will discuss your performance on the way to the stronghold," he said shortly. "Search him for any valuables and remove his boots, and then help me remove what undamaged armor the others wear and retrieve their weapons. We now have more to bargain with than when we began."

    Morag blinked, and looked around, suddenly coming to herself and swearing internally. It had been the perfect chance to escape and she only watched in terror like a soft milk-drinking babe!

    Before she could stand and run, however, she found a shadow looming over her; it was Kazahan, brandishing a knife. She cowered, but the Khajiit only gripped the rope they'd used to tie her hands, and fixed shackles that one of the soldiers had been carrying around her wrists. Gripping the shackles by the chain, he lifted her arms until she was nearly but not quite lifted from the ground and stabbed the knife through a link in the chain, affixing the shackles and herself to the tree.

    "What was your first mistake?"

  10. #30
    Through the emotions and blood and tears and crying rage, Tana had at least been well enough to hear and understand Kazahan. Chest heaving as she held her blade hilt-deep into the Justiciar's chest, the Nord could only give a vague nod in answer. Her breath came out ragged, angry and filled with the immediate release of revenge and raw need. The primal call for revenge had made her see red, and the girl couldn't help herself as she answered in kind.

    She coughed. She sputtered out a formless word that was more cough than anything. Her hands sprang open to release the dagger, both palms going to place flat against the Thalmor's chest as she stared into his lifeless eyes. His mouth was twisted, and she could almost still hear the rattled cry of his last breath still. Well, what she could remember of it; she'd been too taken with the rage to properly hear his last life-air escape from between his lips. But she remembered snippets. Only snippets.

    A lost long exhale, and her hands began to move. Fingers shifted inward to knife past the outer robes and along the corpse's side in search of whatever she could take. A small leather pouch was removed, then another. One hand traveled upward then, to rake fingernails slowly toward his lower jaw. The slender tips of her fingers hooked below his neckline then, and she grasped at an amulet that had been hidden. She pulled it free, and with a quick jerk broke the cord holding it around his neck.

    Kynareth.

    No doubt an amulet that had been stolen from a Nord.

    And now a Nord was stealing it back.

    Hurriedly she affixed the bit of jewelry around her own neck; if she could not wear Talos openly, at least she could show her reverence to Kyne.

    Her blade was pulled out from the Justiciar, and with a last, bitter look, Tana slid from his lifeless body. She gathered the two pouches, then moved down the length of his body to begin removing his boots.

    That was when Kazahan's voice broke into her thoughts, and for a brief moment she said nothing.

    Finally.

    "I let him burn me?"

    The fire of the Justiciar's magic still stung her wrist.

  11. #31
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    Kazahan glanced blankly at the Girl for a moment, before continuing to remove one elf's cuirass.

    "No," he replied. "You attacked as a Nord would."

    He almost smiled, able to feel her affronted pride. He stood to his full height and tossed the breastplate to the side, starting a pile.

    "Tell me what weapon you wield."

    The boots came off, one by one. Kazahan continued to work.

  12. #32
    She paused, one hand having just finished off prying a boot and the other still clutching her glistening red dagger with an equally bloody fist.

    "I have a dagger."

    Oh, she had her own little bow to be sure, but that was not for close-quarter fighting. No, for that she used the steel dagger that once belonged to her father.

    The little Nord gave a wounded sniff as she swiped the back of her hand across her brow, leaving a crimson streak in its wake.

    "I still killed him," was her parting grouse.

  13. #33
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    "You did," he replied. He pulled a dagger off the elf. "You do not wield the dagger as if it is a dagger. You throw it around as if it were a sword, or an axe. You wish to hear the sound of it in the wind."

    He swung his arm twice, the dagger silently cleaving the air.

    "The dagger, Girl, is about positioning," he growled, and stooped over another dead soldier, still looking at Tana.

    "The sides, where the armor is buckled."

    He thrust the dagger into the Altmer's side without once glancing at the body, finding the gap with a smoothness that spoke of long practice.

    "The throat. The thigh, where the blood will flow and kill them as they fight. But you must get close enough to do so without being killed."

    He hissed the last, and tossed the bloody dagger onto the growing pile of loot.

    "So. Tell me. What was your mistake?"

  14. #34
    She watched, almost entranced as he showed her the way past the armor points and in through the weak spots. It all seemed to be so simple now, that he was pointing out each area that she had missed. Tana felt equally shamed, yet bolstered. Of course, she would not let him see her hungry eyes taking in each new lesson in where to attack. Instead, she watched in silence as he went on.

    It was his last question that finally broke the spell, and the little Nord bit her lower lip as she knelt down into a studious crouch, one hand reaching out to inspect the openings that Kazahan had made.

    "I... "

    gingerly she reached for a dropped sword. The craftsmanship was light and airy, the lines dangerous and flowing.

    "... I got close, but was almost killed... ?"

    She tested the blade with a thumb.

    "I only sheathed my dagger in his chest."

    The golden color of the sword was alluring, and she hugged the weapon close as eyes and tear-stained cheeks turned upwards to her Khajiit ward.

    "He died because of that, and not a quicker, more efficient way."

  15. #35
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    "Again, you are wrong," Kazahan said, wondering if perhaps he were giving the Girl too much credit. "A chest wound, whether efficient or not, is sufficient to remove nearly anything from a fight. Ribs, heart, lungs. As long as any those are injured, it is not a waste."

    He gave the Girl a long look, but her visible frustration was clouding her mind.

    "A dagger is not a face to face weapon unless you are robbed of other options," he said finally. "Your error was this: you, with a dagger, charged a mage in a straight line as if you wielded a greatsword, and did not break off your attack when you did not close the distance quickly enough."

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