text: Water, filling you with peace even in the middle of a bloody battle and allowing you to calmly assess the situation, flows strongly in you.
  
  Life will be and has been shed, but this is nothing that you can prevent anylonger. You can only hope that it will not be your life, or that of your allies, though that hope already has been betrayed.
  
  You briefly wonder about J'Arel's death. The goblin shamans cannot be possibly capable of wielding such magic. But the thought quickly eludes you, for you know you have to act fast and decisively if this battle is to be won.
  > You will attempt to strike the enemies with a barrage of magical missiles.
  You quickly climb up the coach to get a better view of the battle.
  
  There, you concentrate briefly and hurl tiny bolts of pure magicka with deadly precision into the horde of goblins. When struck, the goblins fall down never to get up again.
  
  As the channeling of combat magic is not exactly your specialization, the feat proves to be very taxing.
  However, dozens of goblins fall to your small but deadly precise hail.
  
  The goblins are close to breaking and turn to flee, when suddenly you are distracted by a scream. Lucius, having prevented that you become the target of those goblin archers that have not yet dropped their bow, is spitted on an evil looking sword.
  
  You give a start when you realize that it is Farhan Brownhand, the emissary of Alzur, that wields the blade that has stabbed Lucius into the back.
  
  Grimly, you prepare to channel another two bolts of pure magicka into Farhan's direction, as you remember too late that his bodyguard is always close to him.
  
  A blow on your head drives thoughts of magic away for quite some time, and darkness engulfs you.