Open Tʜᴇ Gᴇᴀʀs ᴏғ Cʀᴇsᴛ

[Lord Rokinges]

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THE GEARS OF CREST​

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a steampunk/Skyrim roleplay​

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Tʜɪs ɪs ᴀ ʀᴏʟᴇᴘʟᴀʏ ᴄᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴇᴅ 100 ʏᴇᴀʀs ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛ ᴇᴠᴇɴᴛs ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ Sᴋʏʀɪᴍ: Eʟᴅᴇʀ Sᴄʀᴏʟʟs. Sɪɴᴄᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴠᴇɴᴛs ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀᴄᴛᴜᴀʟʟʏ ᴍᴀᴘᴘᴇᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ, ᴛʜɪs ᴍᴀʏ ʙᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɪᴅᴇᴀʟ ᴄᴜᴘ ᴏғ ᴛᴇᴀ ɪɴ ᴄʜᴏᴏsɪɴɢ ᴀ ʀᴏʟᴇᴘʟᴀʏ ᴛᴏ sᴛᴀʀᴛ. I ᴀᴍ ʟᴏᴏᴋɪɴɢ ғᴏʀ 3 ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴘʟᴀʏᴇʀs, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ʀᴇᴄᴇɪᴠɪɴɢ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ᴄᴀʀᴅs (ᴅᴇᴛᴀɪʟᴇᴅ) ᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇᴍ, I ᴡɪʟʟ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ɪᴅᴇᴀʟ ʀᴏʟᴇᴘʟᴀʏ ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴅ. Iɴ ᴛʜᴇ CC, ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴜsᴛ ᴘᴜᴛ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ʟᴏᴄᴀᴛᴇᴅ, ɢᴇɴᴅᴇʀ, ɴᴀᴍᴇ, ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ, ᴄʜᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴏғ ʙᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ, ᴡᴇᴀᴘᴏɴʀʏ, ғᴀᴄɪᴀʟ ғᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇs, ʙᴏᴅɪʟʏ ғᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇs, ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴛ ᴄᴇᴛᴇʀᴀ. Bᴇʟᴏᴡ ɪs ɪɴғᴏʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀsᴛ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴠᴀʀɪᴇᴅ. There are no planes, ships, cars video cameras, computers, no screens, no phones, no guns, etc.​

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PRESS HERE FOR THE SPOT FOR THE OOC. I RECOMMEND YOU READ IT BEFORE READING INTO THIS POST, AND APPLY IF YOU WISH TO JOIN.​

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Rules:​

1. No cussing without * at the vowels and obvious letters​

2. At least 3-4 paragraphs per detailed post​

3. Be mature​

4. If using magic, make it light magic, no heavy lightening spells (LIMITED, you get drained when using spells)​

5. No Godmodding, no invincible, no bad grammar​

6. No AMAZING inventions invented on the first post ​

7. regular rules for roleplaying​

8. Colored text for your character is required.​

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In this story you are allowed to make up special types of weaponry invented by your type of person. Each roleplayer must be a known inventor. This is also known as the age of Ventio, or the age of Inventions. The CCs can be found at the OOC. The main city where everything takes place is called Ivory's Helm, a closed of octagonal city filled with thousands of Redguards, Bretons, Orsimers, and Nords, as well as a thin assortment of varied typed elves. The city is called Ivory's Helm, also known as the Watched County. It has been there for the past 70 years, and people still remember the old dark ages before the city. Their neighbors would emerge, frothing from the mouth, and kill themselves. It is located near the city of Windhelm. Since Windhelm was shut out because of the plague taking almost everyone, life was harder. Meanwhile, counties and towns battle among each other. People outside of Ivory's Helm have banded together to get resources, but barely anywhere is safe due to the roaming Plagued.​

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The adventures of inventors​

Surviving the life​

Maybe rich, maybe poor​

Some'll be killed by a knife​

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The stupid mens' closely drawn eyes watched the broad built man who traversed past them. It was their job, watching over the Black Alley to ensure no out-of-hand activities occurred. They knew this man well, but if he decided to go rogue like the short Breton did 6 days prior, they would have to be ready. 3 men in all, their job was to utilize small knives and defend the Black Alley entrance--they would be payed a good fee.

The man left their sight.

The man continued down the Black Alley, enjoying the hungry stares as the addicts watched him as well. The sellers concealed their slight of jealousy, the addicts would buy their drugs from that man and come back to them...hopefully.

A few venturous drug addicts follow the man into his small shack on the side of the Alley, like all the other shops. It was their job to know that he usually sold for an hour (this hour) and left, leaving to his home to make more.

The first addict walked up to him as he brought from his long leather coat pockets a handful of packets filled with mashed and thinned herbs. "Clarence."

Clarence Gerrick nodded. He knew the man well, whose name was Abbey, and handed him five packs. "No, no, ten o' those beauty packets today, are you kiddin'? I can't come next week..."

The drug seller gave him five more packs, and Abbey stared at the small cheesecloth packages in front of him. "Good enough. Here."

He paid the price for five. Clarence looked up and stared straight into his eyes. Abbey held his gaze, but it was impossible-Clarence Gerrick was missing an eye. He had replaced it before he came to Ivory's Helm, they said, almost sixty-five years ago. Instead of deep blackened red sockets, there was a round mirror-like marble made of silver embedded where is eye was formerly located.

Abbey tossed down the other half of the price. Then he gathered the packets in his arms and ran from the stall.

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An hour passed. Clarence had emptied his incognito coat of drugs, and began his leaving of the Black Alley. The other shopkeepers stared at him, jealousy ringing in their eyes as they scrambled to pack up their goods before the Black Alley gates were closed. What Clarence Gerrick didn't know is that one of the shopmen was a bit more envious then the others.

As he walked near the gate where the guardians of the Alley stood, ready to close it in about 4 minutes (according to the nearby water clock), one of the watchful men walked forward and stopped him.

"Wait."

Clarence tried to keep on walking.

"Halt." A hand went on his chest, and a knife point dug into his ribs, drawing a drop of blood.
Clarence looked at the man who had stopped him, he was one of the 3 guards. The strongest, and largest one, it seemed to be. This meant something was out of place.

The man who had stopped him motioned for the other to stay back. "Close them gates as soon as I get back."

He lead Clarence into a trash branch, a dead end alley filled with large square metal bins filled with random trinkets and pieces of cloth. This was the Lord's use for this alley, but the evils used it for a black market sort of thing, called the Black Alley. It was normally packed with a couple hundred men who wished to buy parts for their inventions, or to purchase medicines and pills. Some just wanted to buy weapons, and alcohol of such.

Gerrick stood erect. The man stood in front of him, wielding the knife tightly in his drawn hand. He glanced at the opening of the branch, and seeing it empty, lunged for Clarence.

Clarence drew a small black longknife from his wrist and stabbed upwards as the mans reached his arm out, and as Clarence leapt to the side stealthily for such a big man. The knife Gerrick held went through the large guard's wrist, and Clarence, still holding of to his blade, reached him forwards and snapped his neck while slicing his hand in half to rid of the stuck knife blade.

Gerrick left the branch and walked through the gates, returning to his home. The extremely envious shopkeeper waited behind the gates, behind the guards, with a bag of money in his hands. Clarence Gerrick looked at him. "You're not going to be needing that anymore." And after lying to the guards, saying the other was late because he found a gem in the trash bins, he left and began his journey to his oblivious home.

 

[Writes-Many-Posts]

Ghavor shook his head as he woke up. Apparently he had fallen asleep in front of his desk, and had spent the night drooling over his unfinished projects. He didn't care about them anymore. For weeks, Lage hadn't read a single word written by him in the past, and didn't even visit the junkyard for new parts. In fact, the inventor could not remember the last time he picked up the mask and went outside. Ven stood still in his glass cage, on the small pool of water provided to keep itself moist, croaking occasionally, making the only sound heard in his master's house.

The lack of care of the inventor wasn't hard to notice. His bed wasn't made, and its sheets looked fairly dirty, there was dust in nearly everything in the house, other than the food and clothes, and even his desk was a complete mess. One of the five windows of his house was open, being it the only source of light Ghavor had right then. Its shiny string of natural light was properly aimed at his desk, allowing him to read a few words in his horrible caligraphy, scribbled with ink without any vanity or beauty.

On the left side of his desk, his electric armor stood tall, in a majestic pose. If anyone saw it without knowing its story, they would probably have guessed it had brought its creator fame and wealth. But it hadn't. It was because of that armor that Lage was in that misery. He remembered it as if it had happened a day before. The man who tested it was incredibly nervous, anyone would have noticed that, and the heavy rain that day made everyone present during the experiment shrug. The guards, the Lord, his sister, everyone but Ghavor, who had complete faith in his creation and in how it would win the war effortlessly. The first moments were a success. The man would haul thunderbolts at all the targets displayed accross the field, and incinerate them immediately. The Lord almost shook Ghavor's hand, only stopping himself when the lad screamed as loud as he could, hardly muffled by the steel monstruosity that he wore. The armor then moved awkwardly, as the electricity crippled the man and gave him strong shocks and seisures, until finally, the man had his last stroke and fell, dead. Everyone was shocked, and it was immediately interpreted as an attempted murder. The memory of Ceryn shaking her head in disapproval still angered Ghavor that day, even though his failure wasn't her fault. This time.

The inventor stood up lazily and dragged himself to the shelves where he kept his food. To his worry, there were only two chunks of bread and half a bottle of wine left. If he didn't make anything soon, those would be likely to be his last meal, unless he chose to eat the frogs in his basement, which he wouldn't. Ghavor grabbed the smallest chunk with his scar-heavy right hand, and headed back to his desk. After sitting down, his elbow hit something tougher than the hundreds of scrolls littered in that desk. Something he hadn't touched in a long time. After sweeping away the pieces of paper, some of them to the floor, Ghavor found his notebook about the various toads and frogs he had captured over the years. Lage also had one for spiders, but like most of his work, its location was unknown. After opening its very first page, an idea came to him. I've... never profitted with their poison... It wasn't very risky to work with his frogs and spiders again, nor very brilliant, but if he was able to pull off something decent for the war, maybe the Lord would gather back his faith in him. Ghavor stood up quickly and headed hastily to the basement, notebook in one hand, bread in the other.

 

[Lord Rokinges]

The sullen row of houses on the left side stretched quite long and had the ongoers traveling past it constantly. A wide road spreading and forming the gap between the right and left sides were reserved for traveling men (on horses) or the city guards doing inspections. At this time of the day, the inner part of the city on the west side would have an immense shadow cast over it. Since their location in Ivory's Helm was more to the center, near the head government, everything was tinted golden in the sunset light. It was yet becoming Clarence's least part of the day, and the other side of him's favorite time.

Clarence Gerrick walked past four houses, bumping into a few people, common for the narrow sidewalk. Tomorrow was a market day, where the tailors would sell their item on the streets. Most of the town's inventors would be their too, so Gerrick was going to mark them in his mind...for "nightly" reasons.

People were scrambling on the sidewalks to get to the stores and such to make sure they had extra supply of woolen clothes, or leather tunics, or wolfskin hats. The materials were provided by the central government, who had heavily equipped men who left the safety of the wall of Ivory's Helm and gathered skins and materials for inside the city. Then there were the less-substantial smugglers who helped mostly the inventors, and traveled farther than the government's men. Half the time they didn't come back, but when they did, they told many tales of what they'd seen.

Once in a while, and inventor left the city to find materials that needed to be kept a secret. The last time that happened was 16 years ago, by a man (who was sane back then) name Ian Victor. He died three nights ago, something Clarence Gerrick had no part of. Some say he was trying to appease the lord of Ivory's Helm, the center of the government, and give him amazingly invented weaponry to fight of the plague from city of Windhelm. 30 years past, the citizens of Ivory's Helm had a choice to leave and fight, promised great authority and wealth as they returned. None ever returned, and it was rumored they still fought on the old battlefield driven by the Lord on the ruins of Windhelm. The smugglers claimed that that was the area of hell, where the Plagued were in immense numbers. It was true that the Lord spent most of his time in the battlefield, and that he was looking for at least better weapons for his large army. If not an antidote.

Clarence Gerrick had no temptation to please the Lord with his creations. His creations as an inventor were entirely for himself, incase he ever had to take actions for some reason.

The fifth house down was a normal sized house, quite large with an outer of gleaming oakwood. A frame around the front and the room was made of redwood with dark varnish, and a round brass doorknob stood out on a normal darkbirch door. Gerrick put his large hand on the doorknob, and pulled it off; there was a sideways imprint of a miniature key. Reaching into his leather coat, Clarence brought out the small key needed from the same pocket where he stored the coins he made from the drug selling.

Placing the key in the imprint, a click was heard, and as Clarence glanced backwards, he placed the doorknob to its prior location, took the key, and pushed open the door.

 

[Writes-Many-Posts]

Ghavor walked down the wooden stairs, as slowly as he could to avoid breaking the steps that he hadn't bothered to protect from bugs in months. There was no step that didn't creak below his weight, but none had broken once he had both his feet on the marble floor. In small glass boxes, displayed horizontally on the walls, frogs and spiders lurked in their simulated habitats, each deadlier than the former. Their master took bites off his tough chunk of bread, and flapped the pages with his free hand, looking for a poison that would be useful in a war. After a few carefree flaps, he palced his thumb as a brake, on a picture of a black and orange frog. Or was it orange and black? It didn't matter then. Ghavor had no clue whatsoever about the name of that animal. He once did, but his caligraphy back then was even worse than it was now, and a giant would more easily understand it than a human.

Between a green toad with purple dots on its back, and a flaming red spider, was the orange one, making noticeable movements when breathing, standing on a branch, never croaking, as the shy creature it was. He couldn't read his own notes about the small animal, but his drawings were clear: a man grabbing the frog, the same man feeling dizzy, the man falling asleep, a dog biting the man without him waking up. Its poison was like a sedative, that could be used to relieve pain, when a soldier's situation was so grisly his demise could be predicted by all. Ghavor closed his book and finished his meal, heading to a table in the middle of the cellar. The notes were left at the edge of the simple wooden table, and a wooden box was taken off it. It had a large iron lock, fruit of Lage's fear of people taking his ideas or possessions, and the only key that could open it legally laid in his right pocket. Ghavor took it out at his first attempt, not even touching the other utilities that he kept there, and pushed the small key against the lock gently, until he could hear a click that echoed across the silent room. Inside it, there were seringes, blades, scissors and other small cutlasses that he used to dissect or extract venom from his critters. Ghavor grabbed a paper thin blade of steel, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. Thanks to his gauntlets, the toad's poison could not go through his skin, and so, he didn't fall asleep when he grabbed it. The animal remained calm, being used to human contact, while Ghavor carefully got the razor closer to it. After cornering the least sharp end against the frog's back, Ghavor slid it across it, from the bottom to the top, as the poison pooled on the steel. Once the blade's trip was finished, the inventor carefully placed the frog back in its exhibit, and turned to the spot with most light in the room, near the torch that was placed above the only frog that needed light to live: a fat brown one that easily camouflaged itself in mud. The poison had an orange tint, but it was so light that it could almost be called colorless. Ghavor headed back to his dissection kit and took out of it a cardboard box, that was formerly used to keep matches, and now held needles instead. Each needle had its tip covered in a tight small glass protection, so the poison wouldn't drip out of the sharp tip. Lage greedily dipped 10 needles on the frog poison, covered them with the protection again, and put each in its own small pocket, on the inner side of his jacket. If things went his way, he would present the poison to the Lord in the next 24 hours and manage to make something out of that. If not, the last chunk of bread on his shelf would possibly be his last meal.

 

[Lord Rokinges]

Entering his modified and largelike house, Clarence Gerrick stepped on the scrubbed and stained leather mat at the front, covering the dark oak floors, polished and clear. He had a cabinet near the entrance which he placed his small invented items on top of. He had to build it himself, but the beautiful wood parts were provided by a smuggler he knew--who was caught three years ago. He had a few pieces there only; a small stone statue of a spider, delicate and cold, and a jar of poison he had bought a few months in the past in exchange for some herbs. The woman who sold it to him told him to let it ferment for 5 months to let it be used at its full performance. It was a purplish, light gel, but when mixed with an oil from a certain fruit which was plentiful in the orchards of Ivory's Helm, it would become a whitish powder. That's what she claimed. A few weeks later, Gerrick learned that she had attempted to flee the walls, and was bowed down in the act.

The house Clarence lived in consisted of two floors, a ground level one as well as a basement, which is where he created his inventions. Instead of having the underground desks cluttered with heavy tools, he kept them neatly organized in wooden crates he bought regularly. They broke often, simply nailed or tied together with iron or twisted hide.

All the metal tools and attempted inventions were extremely heavy to carry, but since Clarence Gerrick was still injecting himself with the Mixture, he remained fit at the age of 85. He surely did not look of it, with immense muscles. His hair was matted and thin, being long and spread backwards, revealing half his ears. The color was seemingly brownish black with shades of gray throughout.

Clarence Gerrick descended down the stairs into his basement, a darkened room with a brightened cage at the end and all his workstations on the other. He walked to a lamp and lit it, then trudged to his cage, where an eerie moaning noise was emitting from it. The candle, which surprisingly gave off white light, lit the 2 yard by 3 yard glass shutters in the concrete cage. Inside was a man.

The man had thick strands of white hair, and was covering his face with gnarled wrists and wrinkled fingers. His arm was extremely thick with veins running all over the sides. His enormous fingernails fit his immense hands, and Gerrick knew they would grow bigger when the man was mad. The moaning stopped.

The man uncovered his face, revealing himself to be a triple eyed beast with gleaming red eyes as well as what seemed to be hundreds of sharp needlelike teeth. Its face was elongated, and its thick neck revealed the strong, gleaming muscle it had surrounding its entire body.

Clarence Gerrick pick up a stationed needle, placed there to inject the creature that the beast ate. Uncovering a cage with a black cloth, Gerrick opened the door of an old iron cage, awaking the 7 rabbits that slept inside. They began to chatter with excitement.

He placed a wad of herb inside, which they each took some for themselves. In the process, he grabbed one before it moved, and opening a hidden compartment in the hard shutters, tossed it into the concrete cage with the beast after injecting it wit the serum he held in the needle in his hand. The beast leapt forward, banging the glass, and began to rip the bunny apart. The wide mouth it had could've swallowed the vermin raw, but the beast decided to disembowel it first.

Gerrick began to watch to the other side of his room, the stopped. He place the stationed injector into its rightful place, then turned and briskly stepped towards the cage of rabbits once more. He murmured, "Just one more night...and I'll make the cure. It may be worth this...side effect."
He grabbed one of the rabbits and began to choke it.
Watching its beady eyes fade as his hand tightened against its throat and his other hand close the cage doors and replaced the cloth to its former, made it exhilarating....as he bit the rabbit's head off.
Clarence Gerrick was no more.
Now it was the Golem.

Screaming, the Golem knocked over a table and sped forward towards the stairway.
While chewing.