Before Sauriil could die, I casted Healing hands and got the dagger away from his hands. "He's bleeding too quickly! I need help to stop the bleeding!"

"Maybe if we combine all of our spells! It might restore him comepletely!" I say, handing out tomes for Healing Hands to all who don't have it.

"Let's all cast it at once! 3! 2! 1! Now!"

*We cast the spells, quickly stopping the bleeding. The stab wounds in Sauriil's stomach heal, and his breathng becomes less shallow. His slit throat was healing quickly. Eventually, Sauriil took a deep breath, and we saw his throat was healed (We all had our eyes closed), and breathed a large sigh of relief.*

"Sauriil!" I say, " What in Oblivion was that?!"

This post has been deleted.

deadeye21
Don' scream you idiot we gonna get a whole army on top of us if you stay screaming

OOC: changed post so now I'm not shouting.

"Something must have been wrong with the dagger." I pick it up, and begin to hear a voice. "Oh god..." I drop the dagger and the voices stop. "I know where an elder scroll is now..."

"Do we even need that?" I ask, "Sauriil has told the future. This is the future he foretold. It will most likely be written in an Elder scroll, meaning Saurill has the knowledge of future Elder scrolls, likely because of some magic. And you know that magic doesn't go halfway, so I presume he has all the knowledge of every elder scroll, past and future. Is this correct, Sauriil?"

I look distracted, 'Huh? Um, yes. Yes that is so. Molag Bal. Was taking my soul. He doesn't need to use the ritual, although the Worm Cult does. Just enough of my soul was sacrifice. Look.' I point up. There in the sky was a metal ring. Chains slammed into the ground, making a loud clinging sound as it spun before spurting dust into the air as it merged with the dirt. I turn around and see that Molag Bal has sacrificed many more souls, leaving easily 100 Dark Anchors. 

'Arui-El help us.'

(I also found out that Arui-El, the High Elven god of time and creation is also Akatosh.)

(Huh, thought that one was more common knowledge.)

Falin groaned quietly and shifted, carefully pushing herself up. The pain had dimmed to a dull ache, but her vision blurred slightly.

"Thanks..." She carefully leaned against Deadeye, wishing her vision would hurry and clear.

(I'm sure the eye the Ooze healed doesn't look all that natural anymore...)

Makor saw the Dark Anchors. Makor howled and six other werewolves showed up. Makor and the werewolves ran to the dark anchors. But these werewolves weren't just regular werewolves they were the Riders of Orisinium the most well knowen mercenaries in all of Tamriel, (well former mercenaries they're too old now) and Makor was their leader. 

"Just like old times eh, Makor."  said Kofgog gro-Galmog (he was the archer of the six mercenaries). 

'I walked toward one anchor directly after absorbing the life force of the Anchor Guardians with the Staff of Magnus. Nearby you can here multiple Worm Cultists chanting:

'Let the Deadlands remake Nirn in its own image!
God of Destructions, we offer this victim to you!
Through the power of innocent blood, bring forth your anchor and let two worlds become one!
Bind this world with your chains! Draw it ever closer to your realm!'

More Anchors were summoned. Though those were . . . different. As was the prayer. The portals were red instead of blue and the metal was rusted and decayed. Molag Bal had almost lended the Dark Anchors to Dagon. He created them after his own realm, the Deadlands.

The Daedras' souls went into one Anchor Pinion. Just enough, I thought as I destroyed the pinion.

Using telepathy I told everyone: Help me destroy the pinions. As I said that Clannfears, Banekins and Flesh Atronachs came as blue fireballs.

Falin took a breath, "I think I can stand on my own now." She shifted her weight back and forth, testing her strength.

'No. Falin you need to rest. You're too weak.'

"I can't just sit around and do nothing."