Private Tower Of Tyranny [18+]

[MagicBlade]

7 years after the end of the Stormcloak Rebellion, the Empire's Legionnaires defeating the Nord Rebels. The Empire secures their hold in Skyrim, and elects a new High King, Feyydon of Cheydinhal, a tyrannical King with his mind set on his own pleasure. He lives in Solitude, and has under taken large structural re designing, transforming the Castle Dour, into his ' Tower of the Empire' Although most folk call it 'The Tower of Tyranny' Feyydon rules his people, demanding higher taxes and being a complete ass. With the folk's raging and angry at their King, they demand him killed, posting signs in the depths of the night. You are among a band of people trying to kill the tyrannical lord Feyydon. A diverse selection of angry citizens eager to send the king to the depths of Oblivion.

For the people, for the future, for Skyrim!

Rated 18+ for blood and gore.
Basically, it's just a adventure stating at Whiterun trying to kill the High King Feyydon. Post you CC's up, and here are the Rules
1. No Over powered boss characters. A powerful mage is allright, not a perfect archer, wizard, warrior, and thief.
2. Be respectful to your fellow Roleplayers Simple enough, don't harass or discriminate, be kind, yo!
3. This RP will have violence and gore, but I'd prefer not to have people in sexual situations. This is an adventure to help Skyrim,
4. Have fun No good of an rp is no one enjoys it!




Cast RECRUITING CLOSED.

MagicBlade - Svengal
Artemis Shadows - Cyn 'Longshot'
Delusional - Ri'Visah
Writes-Many-Post - Maquiavel
ZPfor3 - Estrid

 

[MagicBlade]

Svengal sat in the Bannered Mare, watching the door, awaiting an arrival, a recruit perhaps. He had already posted the signs around town. Reading.

Brave And Noble Warriors!​

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I will not give my name, but meet me in the Bannered Mare Tavern. To kill our tyrannical leader Feyydon!​

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MUST BRING OWN ARMS​

NO LATER THAN 8:OOPM​

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-S​

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He hoped he could find some people willing to kill Feyydon. He glanced at his side, his battleaxe leaning on the wall. Svengal smiled. 'Hopefully that axe will kill Feyydon!' He muttered. He glanced at the door, awaiting someone​

 

[ZPfor3]

"Down with the so called 'High King' and his enslavement of his subjects!"-Random man in Winterhold Bar

When Estrid raised his mug and cheered, he knew he had made a mistake. High King Feyydon had outlawed any form of speaking out against the King or government, and that's exactly what they were doing. He knew everyone here agreed, but he knew anyone caught voicing their opinion about the King would be sentenced to death. Winterhold was becoming unstable, and Estrid did not want to be a part of any riots or rampages, at least not until he was ready. Besides Estrid was sick of Winterhold anyway. When the High King came to power, he closed the College of Winterhold, the only reason Estrid had ventured up this far north in the first place. With nothing tying him down, he decided to venture off. The next morning, Estrid left the one place he had known for the last 6 years. It was heartbreaking, but he knew it was safer away from this place. He walked until he came upon the town of Whiterun. The sun was just starting to set and Estrid's legs were starting to hurt. He walked into town with nothing on his mind but sleep. As he opened the door, not even noticing the sign on it, he saw a man sitting by the fire, looking at an axe propped against the wall. Thinking nothing of it, he sat down at the bar and asked for a room.

 

[Delusional]

A gust of cold wind brushed Ri'Visah's cloaked figure, and the Khajiit shivered as he clutched the now crumpled parchment. Why must this god forsaken place be so cold? He thought to himself, as he leaned forward and started down the path further into Whiterun.

He pulled his hood down far past his eyes and drew his cloak near as he briskly walked through the crowded streets. He avoided any collision, despite not looking ahead, but heard many curses and felt the eyes on him. How can a people be so intolerant?

He looked up briefly and saw that he had arrived. The Bannered Mare Tavern, the parchment had said. He looked down at the wad of paper in his paw and chuckled. It was finally time.

He let the wind take the notice, and reached a hand out to push the door open, and stepped inside.

 

[MagicBlade]

He looked at the mage. 'He looks capable, hopefully he has come to enlist, seems a mage might prove useful' He thought. His eyes looked towards the door when a Khajiit entered, one of his parchments in his hand. When the Khajiit moved over to him, Svengal quickly said 'Name, Age, and skills, If you're here to... Eliminate Feyydon...'
Svengal, with a glance, knew the Khajiit was not your average caravan Khajiit, he had an air of... Skill. Svengal waited for is reply, glancing at the mage.

 

[Delusional]

"My name is Ri'Visah, and I come to exact revenge on the Imperial Legion." Ri'Visah replied, eying the burly Nord. He reached up, slipped his hood off and sat down in the vacant chair at the table with the Nord.

"And you?" Ri'Visah asked, curious about this man.

"My name is Svengal the Bold, and I have arranged this to kill the tyrannical High King." He replied. "Now, I ask again, what is your skill set?"

"Ah yes, my skill set..." Ri'Visah trailed off, and reached for his waist. Svengal gave a puzzling look, searching for answers in the cryptic Khajiit.

Ri'Visah unsheathed two small, glistening blades, and tossed one to Svengal, who quickly reacted, catching the blade. Quick for a Nord. I may actually be dealing with worthy foreigners. he thought, and a smirk appeared on his face. "My skills." Ri'Visah said, when he noticed Svengal closely examining the beautiful midnight blade in awe.

"You will not speak with a quicker, more deadly assassin in your lifetime, I assure you." Ri'Visah spoke softly as he leaned forward. "It would be a fool's folly to turn this offer down."

 

[Writes-Many-Posts]

Maquiavel arrived to Whiterun. At last... His efforts with the forsworn had been crushed recently by Feyydon's troops since he did some "changes by whip and lash" in Markarth. The only good side about the new High King was that his bounty had been cleared and he didn't have to wear a mask to enter the cities without getting thrown in jail. The breton was free as a bird, and planned to leave Whiterun that way, unless that annoying girl Braith didn't watch her tongue, and he went to jail again, for assaulting the same child, again.
The inn was in front of him soon enough. He had gone for drink, but before his sight could spy any good products, beautiful women or even the building itself, a few posters about the assassination of Feyydon. A devilish smirked sparkled out of that idea. Having the man kneeling to him, with wounds from his axes on the legs and arms, all his armies detonated. The blood on the ground caused him chills in the neck. Just thinking he hadn't inflicted pain in two days could make him scream if he didn't care about what the others thought about him and his sanity. It could be the bloodlust taking over his brain, but he just spoke to himself as soon as his bloody fantasy ended. "I am sick of losing to the guards of Markarth, Feyydon dies!" His acceptance of the situation surely looked idle-moved, but on another perspective, he had no place to go but the tiny cave where most of the forsworn were hidden, or the sanctuary of the Brotherhood, where he would risk being stabbed by Cicero. In another set of words, Maquiavel needed a hobbie, and assassinations would suit him just fine, be it paid or not. The man opened the doors of the Mare with the poster in one of his hands and a grin on his face. After making sure everyone saw what he holded, hoping the mysterious inviter showed himself, he torn the poster apart and threw the remains under an empty table.

 

[MagicBlade]

Svengal nodded several times, twirling the blade in his fingers. ' I knew you had something, the moment you walked in ' Svengal slid the blade across the table towards Ri'Visah. 'Well, I suppose we could use someone like you.' ' We shall depart at dawn, if we have enough my morning tomorrow.' Svengal glanced at the mage once more. 'Know anything about him, eh?' Svengal questioned. He looked at Saadia, gesturing to his empty tankard. 'And get me one for my Khajiit friend, eh Saadia?' She placed two fresh mugs of ale on the table. Svengal raised his cup, and began drinking.

EDIT: Just pop over here, Writes-Many, and just ask. Be easier.

 

[ZPfor3]

Estrid cursed under his breath, "Why can't I escape this?" Estrid thought. "Maybe it is time to face the truth. Maybe I should join this cause. I can finally start to make a difference in people's lives." Wanting to make an intimidating first impression, he stood up, faced the man, who was now talking to a Khajiit fellow, and said, "The name's Estrid. I'm 27 years young and if you can find a better Destruction Mage than me, I'll lick your boots until they shine." Hoping that wasn't too abrasive, he awaited the man's response.

 

[Delusional]

Ri'Visah followed Svengal's finger to the bar, where he saw an iron-clad Altmer, drinking vigorously. "The Altmer? Well, from what I have observed, he seems to be conflicted. I saw it in his face, and his actions. He drinks to try to cloud his judgement, so he can decide, yes or no." Ri'Visah answered Svengal. "To what, is the question."

Just then, the Altmer quickly rose from his stool and turned to face them. "It appears that we are the question." Ri'Visah whispered to Svengal, and turned back to face the mage, who was striding towards them. Ri'Visah reached for the wine bottle that Saadia had just set down and uncorked it, and took a sip, just watching as the elf began to talk.

 

[Writes-Many-Posts]

No inviter showed up, Maquiavel had to search. A few men were gathering in a table, those seemed to be the best leads since the rest of the inn looked as usual. He got closer to them, realizing slowly they were talking about skills each had. "Errm... Excuse me, are you here for the..." He gestured with his finger sliding across his neck hoping they'd understand what he meant. "If so, then I believe we will get better acquainted." Still unsure if they were the right men, Maquiavel didn't sit down in the table, ready to gain distance if those men weren't seeking what he was.

 

[ZPfor3]

The look on the faces of the two men almost made Estrid feel embarrassed. They showed no emotion, a tail tale sign of hardened men. He sat down at the table, grabbed a tankard, and poured himself a glass of wine. "So dawn it is?" stated Estrid. As soon as the words left his lips, a Breton walked through the door, a crazed look in his eye. He asked if we were here for the, then did a motion of slicing one's throat. Estrid looked to Svengal, seeing what he would say.

 

[Delusional]

Ri'Visah heard a door shut behind him, and turned around to see a Breton standing behind him, facing their table. He started to speak. "Errm... Excuse me, are you here for the..." He slid a finger across his throat as if to emulate the slitting of one's throat, then went on, "If so, then I believe we will get better acquainted." He stood there, distanced.

"Ah, welcome. Come sit with us, and drink." Ri'Visah spoke first, to the surprise of Svengal and Estrid. He gestured towards the nearly full table, and lifted his wine bottle to take a sip.

 

[ZPfor3]

"Umm... Yeah... Join us?" Estrid played a million different scenarios through his head as the Breton sat down. "Ri'Visah must know him, has to..." Estrid thought. He decided not to ponder on it too long. After all, he was allowed in with in with hardly any questions. He downed his last drink and said aloud, "Gentlemen, I will see you at dawn. I have traveled all day and I need my rest. I am honored that I was able to join the ranks of such a noble and needed cause. Goodnight." He walked up to his room and was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

 

[Delusional]

Ri'Visah rose from the table shortly after Estrid departed to his room, and set his bottle down, which was close to empty. He grabbed his daggers from the table and sheathed them in the dark leather belt that was taut around his waist. He shrugged his cloak back on, and turned to the table. "It is late. You all should get rest." And with that, Ri'Visah pulled his hood over his face and stepped out of the tavern into the chilled night.

He pulled his cloak around him and briskly walked down the vacant streets of Whiterun. The few people out were either returning to their homes, or the town drunk. He reached the city gate, and started to ascend the stairs to the top of the wall.

He reached the top, and crouched down right at the edge of the wall. Ri'Visah looked into the distance thoughtfully, and smiled.

This is working out quite well, the mysterious Khajiit thought to himself, and with that, he vanished into the night sky, the cold winds blowing across the cityscape uninterrupted.

 

[ZPfor3]

Estrid awoke in the middle of the night, for he was too excited. He was finally taking the fight to the Empire, well mainly High King Feyydon. Estrid got up and started pacing around his room, muttering, "I'll show him. I'll show him exactly what I think about him closing the College. And what I think about him taxing the people so much that they have to resort to hunting..." That sparked a memory in Estrid's mind. The hunter's. The ones that found him on the side of the road, beaten and nearly frozen. He never was able to figure out what happened that caused Estrid to be on on the side of that road. Whenever it tries to think about, he just gets angry and gets a headache. So instead, he thinks of the hunters. He used to always wonder about them, about how their hunt was going and if they made it through the harsh winter. As he was thinking and pacing, he walked over the the porch that overlooked the lobby in the Bannered Mare. He noticed that Svengal was still sitting there, waiting for new recruits. Estrid admired the man's determination. Even though his poster said no later than 8 PM he was still willing to wait all night for just one more member. Even if it was a weak, little man, he would gladly accept anyone who believed in their cause. Estrid got a little concerned when he did not see Ri'Visah or the Breton, but thought little of it. Something told him that Ri'Visah had plently of experience on his own and no one in their right mind would mess with that Breton. As Estrid stood there, he decided to go wait with Svengal by the fire. They were set to be heading off in a couple hours anyway, so might as well get to know the leader a little better. Estrid carefully put his Banded Iron Armor, boots, gauntlets on and pulled his mage hood over his head. He headed down stairs and greeted the barkeeper good morning and took a seat next to Svengal.

"Thought you need your rest?" mocked Svengal.

"Got all my rest I needed,but thanks for asking. Why are you still up?"

"Ri'Visah dissappeared and I'm just making sure he gets back. Plus, I can't sleep."

"Big day tomor.... In a couple hours. You ready?"

"Ha! I've been ready. The question is, are you?"

Estrid remained silent for a minute. He pondered in his head. Am I really ready? He sat there mulling over this, when he turned to Svengal, in all seriousness, and replied, "Yes. I am ready to send this madman to the depth's of Oblivion."

Svengal patted him on the shoulder and said, "Now that's what I like to hear."

 

[Writes-Many-Posts]

The men were tired and all went to sleep, leaving Maquiavel in the table for a while. They would get to know him the next day, then, whether they liked it or not. He had no idea of where to go then. Everyone went on separate ways, either outside of the inn or inside a room. All he did or could do was getting up and leaving the inn as well. He passed by Warmaiden's and looked at the forge. It was still ignited and warm. He sat down close to the forge and slowly closed his eyes, falling asleep with the aid of the heat from the flames.

He woke up with some kicks in his back. A guard was waking him up, as if he was a beggar who needed to leave. "Get up you useless low-life!" Maquiavel rubbed his eyes from the blunt awakening and got up. It wasn't even dawn, it was not like he would drive away any customers. "I would kill you if you did that to me outside the city walls!" He whispered as he walked away back to the Bannered Mare, ready to speak with the other men that were going to rebel against Feyydon. Before he arrived, his stomach growled. For the same reason that he had to sleep near the forge, he couldn't buy food: Empty pockets. A few vegetables in a wooden box appeared to be asking to be taken. After taking looks around his surroundings and realizing he was unseen, Maquiavel devoured a bunch of tomatoes and a carrot. He then got inside, finding two of the people he had seen the day before. "I believe I need to tell you my name if we are indeed here for the same reason?" This time he didn't get very distant, trusting he would be right in knowing their purpose.

 

[ZPfor3]

"Telling us your name would probably be a good thing. I would hate having to call you The Breton the entire time." Estrid said.

As the Breton sat down next to Svengal, he spoke, "Where is that Khajiit fellow?" Estrid just shrugged his shoulders as glanced at Svengal to see if he knew. Svengal gave the same response.

"So," questioned Estrid, "what IS your name?"

 

[MagicBlade]

Svengal looked at the two men. 'That would be best, Breton. A name' Svengl glanced around again, searching for Ri'Visah. 'No sign of our assassin friend...' The bulky Nord leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed. 'I suppose we may as well relax, eh?' Svengal smiled.

 

[ZPfor3]

"And a have few drinks while we are at it!" cheered Estrid. He was looking forward to heading out, but without Ri'Visah, they could be waiting a while. Or he could be back any second. Anyways, he needed to know more about this Breton before he set out with him. He had that look in his eyes, a look of madness, and Estrid wanted to make sure that none of that would be directed at the group, or him. "So, Breton, begin your story. And Saadia? Can I get a mug of mead? Thanks."