Aberforth slammed violently into the ground yet again, his chest taking the brunt of the impact. Struggling to regain his now blurred vision, he pushed himself up to a knee, spitting a gritty mixture of blood and dirt from his mouth. The air he so desperately wished to suck into his lungs was thick and poignant, making it difficult to do so. He had been transporting a group of Dominion defectors across the Shadowfen border when a scout party had caught up with them. Normally they wouldnt dare venture this far from Auridon but unbeknownst to him the elves he transported were high ranking Thalmor officials, who wanted to leave the corrupt political life behind them. Now, it would seem that life had already caught up with them in the form of four highly trained Altmer magi, accompanied by a handful of scouts and soldiers, all watching as they played with their food and wasting no time attempting to relieve him of his followers. With odds like these it was only a matter of time until Aberforth would surely die, but he had a certain knack for surviving. He stood up to face his adversary's stern faces. He had been disarmed already, his sword laying some few feet away in the middle of this forsaken forrest trail. They had learned not to underestimate him, after sending a few soldiers to dispose of him only to see them gutted with ease. He stood between them and his cargo, holding a posture daring them to attack, despite his odds. He had hoped this would unnerve them, and so far it had. They were distraught by his state of wellness. No matter how much cosmetic damage they had managed to cause, it would all wash away in a golden aura not long after Aberforth composed himself. Adding to that, they were having trouble landing spells at all. Aberforth had yet to even attempt to attack them, choosing instead to save his precious and dwindling energy for defending himself and his group. Every spell the Altmer sent his way either redirected or disintegrated altogether before reaching him, ultimately just angering them more. They now surrounded him though, determined to put the disobedient dog down. Aberforth closed his eyes and took a deep breath, taking in the stench of his own sweat paired with the exotic wildlife that surrounded them, knowing that this was likely the final assault he could survive. All at once the mages pounced like tigers, using every empty hand and staff they possessed to unleash a constant torrent of impressive spellwork at their foe. The weary Breton made a last ditch effort to save himself and the others by dive rolling backwards and bringing his hands above him just in time to raise a magical ward around him and the cowering ex-Thalmor. The pure volume of spells quickly brought him down to one knee as he struggled to maintain his ward. Vision blurring, strength fading, he looked up just in time to catch a glimpse of a new set of dark silhouttes entering his line of sight. The sound of steel piercing soft flesh was the last thing he heard before his world went dark.