OOC In the Blood

[Telleroftales]

The dragon crisis and the Skyrim civil war have been over for several years. The Imperial Legion gradually gave ground until they were out of Skyrim entirely, in a series of defeats known as "the long retreat". Ulfric Stormcloak was quick to seize power, unchallenged by the now unprotected jarls that had sided with the Empire and the Dragonborn, who some said, retired to High Hrothgar after his fight with Alduin, the World-Eater. Besides some minor skirmishes with holdouts, Ulfric has enjoyed a stable, if somewhat harsh rulership.

Despite peace finally coming to Skyrim, all is not well. A so-far-unnamed ‘sickness’ is sweeping through the provinces of the Empire, killing hundreds. The best physicians, herbalists, and healers throughout Tamriel are stumped. Herbs and potions provide little, if any relief, and attempts to heal the afflicted through magical means tend to drive the caster stark-raving mad. The foremost minds on the subject seem to think that curing the symptoms early is the key, though the disease spreads so rapidly, there are yet to be any reports of success.

To make matters worse, blame is on everyone’s mind. From the Summerset Isles to Skyrim, unrest is brewing. With the Empire’s withdrawal from the homeland of the Nords, Ulfric Stormcloak, once jarl of Windhelm, now High King of the former province, is drawing ire from former Imperial jarls and his own followers. To make it clear to the popular ce of Skyrim, at least, he has issued a notice to any able-bodied adventurer, sellsword, or gutter-scum that those who find and destroy the source of the sickness will be pardoned, and adorned with more coin than they can carry.

Of course, collecting on grand bounty will not be easy. Bandits prey on unwary travellers on the road, strange, twisted monsters lurk in the wilds, and the dead do not rest easy. Our tale starts in the once quaint village of Rorikstead. As the autumn winds whip across the tundra, and pale grey clouds gather above, our “heroes” arrive in ones and twos, under the suspicious gaze of once hospitable villagers, passing through palisades and wooden watch towers that have been erected to keep the things in the night at bay.

 

[Telleroftales]

Rules and Character template
​

So I'm assuming you guys are fairly experienced writers and know to abide by the basic rules: No godmodding, respect character agency, keep any slurs/racism in character, etc.

As this is going to be an 18+ (mature), gore, drugs, and perhaps sexy times will be had. Please keep it classy. Most people don't want to read about Joe Mcbigdick's big...dick. Personally, I'm a fan of the "fade to black"/ "morning after" technique. Readers will know what went on, without having to experience your erotic writing prowess. (Or lack thereof.)

Character Template

Name:
Race:
Gender:
Sexuality:

Physical appearance:
Personality:

Weapons:
Armour:
Misc.Gear:

Background: <---- Not strictly necessary, but a paragraph or three would be appreciated. OR you can have your character's background come out during the story. So long as your background doesn't radically change throughout the story, I don't mind.

 

[Telleroftales]

Name: Solun Decius

Race: Imperial

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Physical appearance: Lean and muscular, Solun is not quite six feet in height. He has piercing grey eyes, dark hair and fair skin. An old scar follows the right side of his jaw, terminating just under his ear. A tattoo of the third legion symbol is on his right shoulder. His jaw is covered by light stubble.

Personality: Solun has always been a reserved, cautious individual. With the end of the war, he has only become more so. While slow to trust, he is loyal to his friends and allies.

Weapons: His legion shortsword and a steel dagger.
Armour: A mismatch of leather and chainmail. He 'lost' his legion gear months ago, knowing that to wear anything that gives him away as an imperial soldier would lead to a swift death sentence.

Misc.Gear: A worn travelling cloak, sturdy leather boots that almost reach his knees, a warm, dark brown tunic and pants. A coin purse with just shy of thirty septims, and cloth strips for bandaging wounds.

Background: Born the son of a minor imperial noble in Bravil, Solun was always fascinated with the military. When he was of age, he joined up with the third legion. Due to his status as a noble, he was given an officer's commission.

Despite his lofty post, he quickly built a rapport with his men, unwilling to order men to do what he wouldn't. He believed strongly in the cause and believed that unity was best for the empire.

When the third legion was all but destroyed during the Long Retreat he found himself unwilling to return home. Ashamed at his own survival, he was unable to stomach the thought of facing the families of the men who had died under his command, so he remained in Skyrim, hoping to find an end that was fitting for a deserter and a coward.

Text colour,

 

[Hale Loneshadow]

Name: Hale Loneshadow
Race: appears as Breton/Imperial
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual

Physical Appearance:
Hale appears to be roughly in his mid-thirties, weathered somewhat from both an exhaustive life of (mis)adventure, love and much loss, & the struggling with vices on-and-off. He is rugged and burly with a cropped black beard covering the lower half of his face, and while it certainly shows the "experiences" of such a life, Hale's grin can still yet often disarm the coldest of shoulders. While not as physically prime as he once was, Hale's broad and battle-forged frame do much to offset this. Hale isn't the tallest individual in the Kingdom, nor nearly the shortest, standing around a meter short of any given Standing Stone.

Personality (and some hints of background!):
The majority of Hale's life has been steeped in movement and life on the road and in the wilderness; that said, he is almost desensitized to how others might feel about such environs. But really, the crux of Hale's being -- and as such his worldview, thoughts on people, the gods, relationships, everything -- lies in the turbulent dichotomy of how he views himself based upon his past experiences: on one hand, he fancies himself a "true hero" that has always strove to do the right thing and help the right people. On the other hand, Hale is deeply troubled by losing or having abandoned some of his former adventuring friends, due to being ruled by his own selfish needs and vices, but most of all, fear. Fear of finally being truly known, seen, and heard, while knowing another friend or lover just as intimately...and then losing them. It has happened before, even before Hale came to Skyrim all those years ago. While he may often put on a stalwart, even happy-go-lucky front to those he crosses paths with, Hale knows within himself that it is often just that -- a front.

A front based upon nearly a lifetime's worth of struggle for redemption. Redemption in the eyes of his god, his friends, his former people, and himself.

Still, even in masks there is truth. Hale at least understands all of this about himself to a certain degree, and as such strives to be an archon of diplomacy in any group whenever possible. He has little trouble standing up for himself, and even less trouble standing up for others. At least, others that he thinks deserve it, which has led to just as many not-so-great outcomes as positive ones. While not confrontational in the traditional sense, Hale is ever the "great evaluator." If he takes a liking to you, or rather has a good gut feeling about you, you will likely know it right away. On the other hand, if there is any lingering doubt, concern, or general curiosity (good or bad!) about who you are, Hale will hang back some and, well, evaluate. His cheery mask may be replaced in this case, and although he also likes to think of himself as subtle in this regard (and others), that is not quite always the case. Hale aims to impress, even when he doesn't believe he does, and seeks validation within both friends and romantic trysts -- but, again, he is always yearning to find that intimacy to be truly known and to truly know someone else, even if that is also his greatest fear.

Right now, his greatest friend is his horse, Trinity.

For a self-proclaimed ranger (although, and don't tell Hale this, "bounty-killer" is a far more apt term for him these past few years) he is a remarkably poor bow shot these days. Really, he's gotten lazy in that training in tandem with how he's been living and the work he's been taking. Still, he has not lost his edge whatsoever with his swordsmenship, and takes pride if not pleasure at besting his foes. While Hale has kept the sacred bow of his profession and people, these days he has taken up the use of less-powerful, but far easier to use automatic crossbow -- to the detriment of his ego.

Gear:
77 Coins, in purse
Lantern
Rope (50 ft)
Saddlebags
Travel backpack and smaller satchel/knapsack
Herbal-based medical/healing kit
1 large bottle of Flin whiskey
Leather journal and quill/ink
cracked Spyglass
Pipe, with ~ 4oz of crushed nirnroot
small travel sized Lute
...one odd, very curious music box

Weapons:
Bastard sword; (unknown properties, appears as Stalhrim steel/ebony combination) (main, expert)
Smaller (steel) falchion for close combat (adept)
Automatic crossbow (main ranged; sub-par skill)
Dawnbow (custom magical bow; not currently attuned and thus can't use it; formerly expert)
Assorted throwing knives, a few are lightly enchanted (adept, at least when sober)

Armor:
Light chainmail
Skyforge breastplate atop a leather cuirass
Plated leather cavalry boots
Leather gloves with steel knuckles

One horse, named Trinity

Text Color

 

[Hale Loneshadow]

Name: Solun Decius

Can't wait to see what happens with your character bud! Want to maybe throw a message out to the others with a link here just so they know it's up, if you haven't already?

 

[Rafen]

Oh...damn. Give me an hour or two to get a character together. Looks promising!

 

[Rafen]

Name: Beren Valtien
Race: Breton
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual

Physical appearance: Beren is a well-built, muscular male, a couple of inches under six feet in height. His features are rugged, and he has short, dark brown hair which is starting to turn grey. His eyes are a deep blue, which somehow manages to convey his compassion and the horrors he has seen in his past life. His nose shows signs of being broken and reset at least once.

Both of his palms bear scars where he stopped an attempt to slit his throat without any barrier between his flesh and the assassin's blade. His beard, trimmed short, is also beginning to turn from a dark brown to grey. His torso is laced with several scars, though these are generally hidden from the public. A small symbol of Arkay is tattooed on his right hand.

Personality: Beren is a compassionate soul, always ready to help those less fortunate, be it by rescuing them from danger, or simply lending an ear. Many a bandit has mistaken the former mercenary's kindness for weakness and paid the price. He has no mercy for those who prey on others or exploit the weak. His new life as a warrior-priest of Arkay has also given him a new reverence for life.

Beren is also haunted by the things he saw and did during his time as a mercenary. His not-so-private weakness is a fondness for a strong drink to escape the memories. His old persona as a blade for higher often comes out when facing those of a wicked disposition. While greatly tempered in recent years, he still has that old ruthless streak.

Weapons: A plain steel warhammer, wielded with both hands. The weapon is obviously well-used, and equally well-cared for. As a secondary weapon, he has a long steel dirk, strapped to his left thigh.

Armour: A mishmash of leather, chainmail and steel, worn over faded yellow-gold robes of Arkay. A single steel pauldron on his left shoulder gives him a slightly asymmetrical appearance when armoured up. His torso he guards with a scratched and battered steel breastplate and chainmail. Completing his armour are a pair of unadorned, battered leather gauntlets.

Misc.Gear: Sturdy leather walking boots, trousers and tunic that are a neutral tan colour, and a worn, patched, travelling cloak. A leather satchel holds some dried fruits and meats, a flask of cyrodiilic brandy. A pitiful fifteen septims is all he currently has to his name.

Background: Born and raised in the slums of Camlorn, Beren had a rough upbringing, despite his parents doing their best to ensure he avoid living a life similar to theirs. For much of his youth, he helped his father at his meagre shop. They had food, most days, and a roof over their heads, that only leaked when it rained heavily, but not much else.

When he was a young man, Beren set out to make a name for himself. Born a peasant, he was banned from the ranks of High Rock's knights. Which left the options of a man-at-arms, for one of the noble houses, or a blade for hire. Never one to take orders with good humour, he chose the second option.

For years, Beren fought for several noble houses, wealthy merchants, and occasionally characters of dubious moral standing. He eventually made a reputation for himself among his fellow sellswords and his employers. All that was to come to an end during a campaign against Reachmen near Bangorkai Pass.

A zealous noble hired them to supplement his forces as they attempted to eradicate the Reachmen. The well-armed, well-motivated forces of the noble easily wiped out their opponents. What came after was nothing sort of a massacre. Women, children and elders were slaughtered in their camps as the victorious soldiers overran them, cutting down any too slow or foolish to flee.

Disgusted by the actions of those he'd once counted as brothers in arms, Beren abandoned his company. After months of wandering, he found himself drawn more and more towards the service of Arkay, a god who revered life. Though he was not much for temples or sermons, he knew how to fight, and fighting to preserve the lives of those who could not defend themselves is a noble cause indeed.

This tan for dialogue, please.

 

[FelidaePrime]

Well,well...a new roleplay? Don't mind if I do. If you'll have me, that is.

 

[Morbidbread]

General Information
Name: Thoras Lorian

Age- 98, appears mid-twenties, due to elvish aging.

Sex- Male

Race- Dunmer

Class- Arcane Hunter (anti-mage warrior).

Sexuality- Heterosexual

Marital Status- Single

Laterality- Ambidextrous

Afflictions- None

Religion- Azura

Appearance- Thoras Lorian, despite his name, is a dunmer with dark grey skin, not quite black, but dark enough to pass for it in dim light. His hair is black and braided with strings of gold and silver thread. He is not very muscular, but he is lean and clearly in shape. He has a thin, knife-like nose, and his ears are typically elvish. His right ear has a golden earring, studded with three rubies. His eyes are his most spectacular feature; rather than the crimson of most dunmer, his are an icy blue.

Swirling tattoos cover the lower half of his face, crimson swirls that cover his jaw and cheeks, then trail down either side of his neck. The tattoo continues down the upper half of his back, where it forms a dragon, coiled in on itself. Scars crisscross his torso, clearly from combat. Both of his forearms are scarred. However, these do not seem self-inflicted or caused by battle. Rather, it seems these were inflicted on him. Some of the scars are crooked, as if Thoras moved while the process was ongoing and someone had to restart.

Gear

Armor- Thoras does not wear a lot of armour. Instead, he wears light leather on his shoulders and torso, offering some protection during battle. Over this, he wears a long coat of deep purple, lined with gold thread. The coat offers little actual protection against blades or bolts but offers protection against most basic spells. He wears a pair of knee-high leather boots, the same type of leather that he has on his shoulders and chest.

Weapons- A steel glaive, the shaft itself is made of sturdy oak, and wrapped with leather. The shaft is just under two meters long, while the blade is exactly half a meter. The blade curves ever so slightly, and is good for slashing/chopping and stabbing attacks. A dozen throwing knives he keeps hidden in the inner pockets of his coat.

Known Spells-N/A

Misc. gear (clothing/jewellery/etc.)- A ruby studded gold earring. He wears a ring on each finger, all but one are gold and silver. One ring is made of dark material, seemingly ebony, and set with a sapphire. Within, a faint silvery glow can be seen, if someone looks close enough. Under his armour, he wears a long-sleeved shirt of deep red. His pants are made of black cloth. Around his neck, he wears an amulet with Azuras' sigil on it.

Personality- Thoras is a mysterious figure, but rather than being cold and stern, he prefers to bedazzle those closest to him with fantastic tails about his past, and slight mistruths that lead people to believe something that isn't exactly true. However, he prefers to not outright lie, and he will never say or do something that would endanger his companions. While used to travelling alone, Thoras is quick to introduce himself, though his eccentric mannerisms put the common folk on edge as often as they do charm them. He is quick with a smile and joke, though he possesses a fiercesome focus when in combat or serious situations.

Likes- Wine, women, stories, mysteries, travel.

Dislikes- Prisons, mages, boredom, undead and tyrants.

Combat Preference- Thoras fights with astonishing speed, considering his weapon. He prefers to be in the midst of the fight, where he can cause maximum chaos. He prefers his glaive, but is more than capable of using his hands and feet to cripple opponents, and will slip a knife in where he can.

Background- Thoras, as his name might suggest, was not born in Morrowind, nor did he have Dunmeri parents. In fact, he knows very little of his dark elf background. Found abandoned in the streets of Chorrol, Thoras was raised by a kindly imperial couple. He spent his early days in the city, and quickly revealed himself as something of a prankster. He also discovered that he had something of wanderlust, never content to be sitting and reading when he could be outside.

As he aged, he began to take long walks outside the city, often slipping back in just before nightfall. Soon, though, that ceased to sate his hunger for adventure. Shortly after his eighteenth birthday, he left home, becoming an adventurer. He quickly fell in with a small group that travelled Cyrodiil, seeking bandits and monsters to slay. They did much good and were welcome in every city from Leyawiin to Bruma.

It was not long before they met their match attempting to clear a ruin of necromancers. The group's spell caster was quickly overwhelmed, and the others were wounded or captured. Thoras was tortured by the victorious necromancers, but while his body was cut and beaten, his spirit was unbroken. One late night, he broke free of his bonds, and reclaimed his gear after slaying his guard.

He had nearly escaped when he was confronted by his companions. As undead husks. Despairing, Thoras cut down his old friends and fled. The ordeal left deep scars on his mind and body, but his resolve remained solid. He wandered on his own, hunting evil mages and other lawless characters.

This blue as dialogue.

 

[Telleroftales]

Well,well...a new roleplay? Don't mind if I do. If you'll have me, that is.

Go for it!

 

[FelidaePrime]

Name: Tavir Caemare
Race: Khajiit
Gender: Female
Sexuality: Bisexual
Age: 26

Physical appearance: A slender, athletically built woman, Tavir is frequently underestimated. Her fur is midnight black, except for thin whorls of cream-coloured fur on either cheek, that start behind her jaw and extend to cover most of the cheek. Her eyes are a brilliant amber colour, often catching the slightest movement.

Personality: Tavir often hides her true feelings behind a veil of sarcastic comments. This allows her to get the measure of would-be companions without revealing her true personality, which is that of a thoughtful, though somewhat mischievous young woman. When push comes to shove, she is more than willing to risk her neck for those she considers friends, though she'd never admit to that.

Weapons: A steel-moonstone hybrid of a blade, shaped much like the claw of a massive feline, forged by her adoptive father. She wields the sword one-handed, allowing her to keep her off-hand free for strikes or another weapon if she so chooses. In addition to the sword, she carries a pair of plain steel daggers, usually concealed on her person, but still easily accessible. Of course, being a khajiit, she has natural weapons in the form of claws.

Armour: Plain dark leather armour, slightly reinforced at the ribs and upper torso. A hood allows her to conceal her identity/ blend into the dark.

Misc.Gear: A collection of basic supplies, a couple dozen septims. When not in armour, she prefers grey or dark clothing .

Background: As someone would guess after learning her name, Tavir is far from a typical khajiit. Adopted at a young age by an Aldmeri soldier, Tavir was raised on the Sumerset Isles, and quickly learned to speak much like the Altmer do. She grew up working on fishing boats off the coast, and spending her free time staring off towards the mainland.

Though her parent's reputation as 'upstanding members of society' among the Altmer meant Tavir wasn't outright shunned, she never quite fit in with others. As she grew into a young woman, she began to desire adventure, excitement. Her parents were somewhat less than thrilled. They knew all too well that the world was a cruel and dangerous place. Still, Tavir would not be dissuaded.

So her parents, reluctantly and perhaps with a little pride, chartered a ship to the mainland. Her father forged her sword for her, and her mother passed on some of her best techniques. Armed with weapons and knowledge, Tavir began her adventuring life.

Three years later, she has discovered that the world is indeed as harsh as she'd been warned. Instead of being discouraged, she uses her experience, counting on others ignorance of her background, or assumption that she's merely a "thieving cat" to play to her advantage. Most of the time, she comes out on top. Even when that means negotiating with the tip of her blade.

Dialogue.

 

[Telleroftales]

Very nice characters so far, guys. Looking forwards to writing with everyone! I think we can start and I'll try to get the IC and my intro up within the hour.

 

[FelidaePrime]

Will try to get my intro up before work tomorrow.

 

[Hale Loneshadow]

Got my intro post up! I'm loving the setting and am excited for this one y'all. Remember if you can't get a post up when you think you can, don't feel bad. It's all about quality vs quantity, though I hope we can all be a continuing part of this RP together!

 

[Harkatti]

Looks good, everyone! I can get my card up today after work!

 

[Rafen]

Looking forwards to it!

 

[FelidaePrime]

Alright, obviously didn't get around to posting this morning, but it's up now. Our sassy kitty has entered the building!

 

[Harkatti]

Name: Katrina
Race: Breton
Gender: Female
Sexuality: Heterosexual

Physical appearance: Neither a particularly tall nor curvaceous woman, Katrina tends to go unnoticed by many. In fact, if not for her long, flowing black tresses, she might even be mistaken for a man from afar. Her face angular, though not quite gaunt, and she has piercing pale blue eyes, that seem to stare through someone, rather than at them. Her thin lips more often are fixed in a frown or scowl, rather than even the slightest grin.

Though her form suggests she's on the brink of starvation, she has finely toned musculature, and is stronger than she looks. Burn scars cover her hands and forearms, though she takes great care to keep these hidden whenever she can. Older scars cover her back, and these she never shows.

Personality: Katrina has had a hard, often miserable life, and it is reflected in the way she interacts with others. She speaks little, and prefers to keep to herself when forced to work with a group. She approaches danger and intimate encounters freely, but has trouble making any actual connections with other people.

Weapons: Being a spellsword, she has a collection of novice and apprentice level destruction spells. In case the situation calls for it, she also wields a plain steel sword. In emergency cases, she falls back on a steel dagger, kept at the small of her back.

Armour: Plain leather armour and chainmail, allowing for manueverability and a fair amount of protection at the same time.

Misc.Gear: A plain black cloak, several magicka potions she keeps in a satchel, some rations for the road, and dark gloves, that she keeps on whenever others are around.

Background: Will be revealed in time...because mystery and stuff...yes.

Edit- forgot dialogue colour! How about this?

 

[FelidaePrime]

Name: Katrina
Race: Breton
Gender: Female
Sexuality: Heterosexual

Physical appearance: Neither a particularly tall nor curvaceous woman, Katrina tends to go unnoticed by many. In fact, if not for her long, flowing black tresses, she might even be mistaken for a man from afar. Her face angular, though not quite gaunt, and she has piercing pale blue eyes, that seem to stare through someone, rather than at them. Her thin lips more often are fixed in a frown or scowl, rather than even the slightest grin.

Though her form suggests she's on the brink of starvation, she has finely toned musculature, and is stronger than she looks. Burn scars cover her hands and forearms, though she takes great care to keep these hidden whenever she can. Older scars cover her back, and these she never shows.

Personality: Katrina has had a hard, often miserable life, and it is reflected in the way she interacts with others. She speaks little, and prefers to keep to herself when forced to work with a group. She approaches danger and intimate encounters freely, but has trouble making any actual connections with other people.

Weapons: Being a spellsword, she has a collection of novice and apprentice level destruction spells. In case the situation calls for it, she also wields a plain steel sword. In emergency cases, she falls back on a steel dagger, kept at the small of her back.

Armour: Plain leather armour and chainmail, allowing for manueverability and a fair amount of protection at the same time.

Misc.Gear: A plain black cloak, several magicka potions she keeps in a satchel, some rations for the road, and dark gloves, that she keeps on whenever others are around.

Background: Will be revealed in time...because mystery and stuff...yes.

Mmm. Much mysterious. Can't wait to see how she gets along with others.

 

[Harkatti]

I foresee absolutely no problems