Whatever cue Nepos the Nose had given his toadies, Gunter missed it. They were all over Jenassa in an instant. As she tried to draw the Skyforge blade, she was caught in the shoulder with a piercing ice spell. She screamed and Uaile stepped from the shadows of the kitchen to stick her in the lower back with a sharp carving knife. She fell to her knees and one of the men she had just been playing cards with clubbed her in the back of the head with a heavy mace. Gunter roared with searing orcish rage and flung himself into the fray, spinning round and round with his greatsword at anything standing on its feet.
Screams. Blood. Blood and curses.
When Gunter came to his senses, the room was a shambles of gore. Uaile and the three card players were mutilated beyond memory. Most of their heads had been cleaved in, and were in various states of separation from their torsos. One man’s whole body had been severed mid backbone, and had caught on Gunter’s blade as he whipped it around spraying everything in its radius with a coat of hot blood, his vital organs flying out like a coil of rope. Uaile had lost every limb as Gunter called her a filthy bitch and screamed for the knife she had used, hacking off a new limb every time she didn’t say “here it is.”
Gunter had no idea how much damage he himself had sustained in the melee, and he felt no pain but a great anguish that welled up like swelling poison in his chest. He shook and fell to the floor, his greatsword dropping with a sickening clang beside him.
He now lay panting on the ground next to Jenassa. A faint gurgle of bubbles puffed from the puddle of blood by her mouth. “Jenassa! Jenassa! Speak to me or something!!” Gunter was choking on rage and despair, and flipped her body over without thinking. Her eyes were wide and dazed, and her skin was the color of the fading night sky. He put his massive hands on her cheeks and felt no warmth, then cupped his fingers around the back of her head to lift it up. His fingers, however, could not find a hold as they met no resistance, pressing instead through a soft, shapeless mess of hair, pulverized skull fragments and jellied brains. “Oh… Jenassa,” he whispered, “These fucking.. these mounds of shit.. what in the fucking hell have they done to you?” He coughed and cleared his throat, heaved, and groaned, not knowing how to cry. His panting took up again and he bellowed a dragonic curse that shook the stones in the fireplace.
“My love,” spoke Jenassa, “you’re smiling.” Her eyes flickered and her own mouth pulled into a sleepy smile as one last breath rushed out of her. “I’m ready for the waterfall, father,” she sighed as she expired in Gunter’s hands. He set her head back down and dropped his forehead against hers taking in as much essence of her lovely life force that he could. Were that she a dragon and he could absorb her for reals.
“What do you suppose she meant by that?” crackled a voice from behind Gunter. Nepos had somehow managed to avoid the entire scene, and now sat calmly at one of the table’s benches with a wicked looking crossbow in his lap, the make of which Gunter had never seen in Skyrim. Dwarven, maybe.
“You…” growled Gunter.
“Yes, me,” said Nepos impatiently, “For the gods’ sake, Mr. Oniyama, how long are we going to continue this game of I-dunnit?” Gunter grasped the handle of his greatsword and made to stand. “No, no – don’t get up,” said Nepos as he fired a bolt that plunged through Gunter’s hand and stuck fast in the leather grip of the weapon. “I thought we could continue our little talk about the future,” he said as he worked a lever on the crossbow that simultaneously fit another bolt into it and cocked the string back.
“Fuck – YOU!” screamed Gunter as he stood up to full height.
Nepos was startled, and fired the crossbow again. The second bolt zinged and whizzed straight straight into Gunter’s chest, piercing the steel plate and embedding itself an inch deep into the flesh. Gunter raised his leg and kicked the edge of the table as hard as he could toward Nepos. The heavy wooden table shot forward and knocked Nepos’s head to the ground, his waist pinned between the bench and the table’s underside. The old man screamed as cups and cutlery rolled off and Gunter now stood over him holding the Skyforge greatsword high. “Don’t you fucking MOVE,” said Gunter as he drove the blade straight down through the tabletop, skewering Nepos’s pelvis along with the wooden bench.
Nepos twitched and sputtered as Gunter pulled the arrows out of his hands and chest and snarled at the quivering mess of the old man.
“P.. please.. remove.. free meeeeee…!” he squealed and wheezed. Gunter crouched down to get face to face with Nepos who regarded the orc with the fear and horror of a man being condemned to a hell of darkness and sodomy. Gunter opened his mouth wide and clutched the back of Nepos’s skull to draw him in as if to kiss the shit out of him. “What.. are you.. doing? N… noooo!”
But contrary to all that was merciful, yes. Gunter crunched down and his teeth bore straight through the flesh of the old man’s cheeks and tore it off like the skin of a rotten apple. When incisors met the cartilage of his titular nose, Gunter gave three hearty chomps and tilted his head to the side to add some twisting action to his vicious clamping bite. It gave and Nepos’s nose was loose in Gunter’s mouth. It oozed with draining blood and felt enormous in there. Gunter spit the severed organ into his hand, regarded it, and tossed it on the ground in disgust. His right ear was ringing. Nepos had been screaming into it, but now he was silent but for the drip of his blood off the bench. Gunter collapsed and crawled his way back to Jenassa, resting his helmeted head on her breast as the Markarth city guard rammed down the door and stormed inside.
“City guard! Everybody stay right where you are!” Seven armed men ran into the room and met with the eerie silence of a warm cozy room draped in blood and mutilation. They halted and observed the scene before them with what revulsion their fear could spare.
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” one man said as his body shook and vomit poured out of him onto the floor.
The captain ignored it and shouted, “Gunter Oniyama, present yourself to the city guard immediately.” The men moved in, stepping over bodies, trying not to slip on all the god damned blood.
It was clear that all was dead. The men checked the corners and the bureaus and the shadows for any sign of life and found nothing until one emerged from the kitchen and spotted the bodies of the two lovers.
“Here he is, captain!” he yelled and pointed at the heap that was Gunter from a healthy distance by stove. The captain approached and saw the disheveled orc, who looked like he might be feeding on the body of the dark elf beneath him. He appeared to be just hanging onto life and losing his grip rapidly.
“Gunter Oniyama,” spoke the captain, “you appear to have saved us some trouble. While we were initially going to pin the Forsworn murders on you, I believe we have enough here to put you away in Cidhna Mine for a thousand lifetimes.”
Gunter turned his head and the captain saw something he couldn’t quite process. Bleached green streaks ran from the orc’s eyes and appeared to be burning the trails of flesh they touched like a weak but persistent acid. He lifted himself up slowly and the men readied swords and shields. “Then take me away or something,” he said and raised his arms, “for now I have nothing and stuff.”