The Elder Scrolls: The Dominion [OOC Thread]

[UnfunnyPete]

Here is the OOC Thread for my Roleplay, TES: The Dominion. You can find the Interest Thread here, where you can read the general story to the Roleplay:

Interest Thread: http://roleplayerguild.com/showthrea...asual-Advanced

(Update: This Roleplay is closed until further notice. There may be spaces in the future.)

Okay, and here is the character sheet:

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Name: Your characters name. Try to keep it relevent to their race; I.E, you wouldn't get an Argonian named Dave.

Gender: Your characters gender.

Race: Whatever race you wish to play as.

Age: How old is your character?

Height: Your characters height.

Weight: The weight of your character.

Appearance: The general appearance of your character. Include clothes, facial features, ECT.

Birthsign: As in Oblivion, what is your birthsign? Make it relevent to your character.

Personality: What is your character like? How do they act?

Skills: What is your character good at?

Motivation: What motivates your character? Greed? Revenge? ECT.

History: Here, give a brief history of your character.

Claim to Fame: Describe something your character is known for. Maybe a quest?

Equipment: What does your character carry?

Other: Anything else you wish to add.

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And there is the character sheet. Feel free to fill one out and post it below.

And now, for the rules of the Roleplay:

1) You're not the DragonBorn; you can't take out entire groups of bandits on your own. Play realistically, please.

2) No killing off other characters without their permission.

3) Post atleast a paragraph or two, at a minimum.

4) No god-like weapons or spells.

5) If you have something bad to say, do it over PM; lets have a level of maturity here.

6) Speaking of maturity, I expect a certain writing standard; use proper English, and try to keep your grammar to the best you can.

[The Whacko]

Name: Kurik

Gender: Male

Race: Breton (Reachman)

Age: 46

Height: 6'0"

Weight: 230 lbs

Appearance: Tall, bulky and broad across the shoulders with thin lips drawn into a perminant scowl, hooked nose and beady eyes (one green, the other a blind white orb). His head is kept shaved to a fine stubble, while he sports a thick salt-and-pepper horseshoe moustache. Most distinguishing, however, are the bright blue traditional tattoos that cover the greater part of his face.

Birthsign: The Mage

Personality: One of those gruff but likeable sorts, Kurik is a man devoted to his studies, but not so focused that he forgets the plight of the little guy. He is a staunch supporter of the Empire, and will promptly drop whatever project he is working on when called apon to defend it from the hordes of evil. He doesn't show any sort of hesitation about his work, but he does hold 'renegade' Necromancers with utter contempt.

Skills: As a Necromancer, Kurik is schooled in Conjuration, Destruction and Restoration magics, as well as a decent combatant with a mace.

Motivation: A mixture of patriotism and a desire to prove the existance of decent Necromancers in the Empire.

History: Born and raised in the city of Markarth, Kurik lived in the shadows of the local Nords for most of his childhood, as most Reachmen. As the son of miners he had a slightly better start than most of his people, but still could not compare to the lowest of the Nords. During the brief reign of Madanach and his band in the Reach, his father took his family East to Whiterun, which in the end saved them from Ulfric Stormcloak's summary purging of the Reach. It was during this time that he first met one of the mages from Winterhold, and the day that he decide that the life of a mage was for him.

From that day onward he saved every septim he had to pay for spellbooks and lessons from the Jarl's court mage, until eventualy at the age of 21 he set on the wagon to Winterhold. There he began his lessons in earnest, and took an interest in the art of Necromancy under the tutilage of Phinis Gestor. At 23 he left the college briefly to combat the growing threat of Forsworn in the Reach, which gave him ample opportunity to perfect his art with the corpses of his savage kin. When the second batch of wars with the Aldmeri Dominion began, he again left the College, this time to join the Imperial Legion as a battlemage. Now a civilian once again, Kurik still seeks out ways to combat the Dominion, even if it means a volunteer asignment that will likely get him killed.

Claim to Fame: In his younger years, he aided the Jarl Igmund with the Forsworn threat in Markarth, even going as far as killing Madanach himself during a brief stay in the Cidnha Mine. Later he served proudly in the Legion as a battlemage.

Equipment: He isn't very flashy, usualy sticking to wearing the traditional robes of a Necromancer and heavy black boots, and carries a steel mace when the situation permits.

Yeah,....not my best CS.

[Thorny]

Name: Javek

Gender: Male

Race: Argonian

Age: 26

Height: 6'1, Though often is seen crouched or sulking

Weight: 135

Appearance: Green scaled with several small horns along the back of his spin and two large horns on the back of his head. Often keeps his Hood pulled low and hiding in shadows. He is tall when standing straight up and quite lean. His expression is often one of content.

Birthsign: The shadow

Personality: Javek is cautious and timid around others, not fully trusting anyone, as they could stab him in the back at any second, he would know, after all, he has done it before. He often gets paranoid when people look at him because that means they can see him which means they could kill him. Almost everything can be seen as black and white.

Skills: Javek is skilled with a bow, often laying in wait for hours in the shadows for the perfect shot on a target. he is somewhat skilled in lock picking, though he prefers to just scale the building and enter through a window. Often times he sneaks around, not wanting people to see him.

Motivation: Javek is often motivated by his own life. he wants to live. If he needs gold for food, complete a contract for the dark brotherhood. Need to sleep in the wild? go to that camp and rest there, If they complain, silence them with any means available. He does not have to kill them, but will if needed.

History: Javek was born in the black marches, both his parents where living poorly, especially when the war hit home. He wanted to help so he looked for a job but couldn't find one so he became a petty thief. Over time though, people started catching on to him, knowing who was stealing from them, so he did the only thing he could do, he killed them. He did not see himself as a murder, just a survivor. Soon, he left his parents to die, not his fault they couldn't help themselves. At least, that is how he saw it. soon his skills as a thief and killer brought him to the attention of the Dark Brotherhood. He decided to join, might as well get payed to do the killing anyways. When he first joined, they gave him the basic gear and a weapon of his choice. he immediately felt drawn to the bow and decided to use it. Now, years later as the war goes on, he is often in the shadows with his next victim facing death without knowing it.

Claim to Fame: Javek is well known for being an assassin, although very few know anything about him besides the fact he wields a bow.

Equipment: Forsworn bow, elven arrow(120), Dark Brotherhood outfit.

[UnfunnyPete]

@The Whacko, welcome aboard! A very good character, exactly what I'm looking for

@Thorny, unless you improve your character sheet as I suggested, I'm afraid I can't accept your character. I'm sorry, but I have to keep a standard for this Roleplay.

[Superfly]

Name: ‘The Pariah’

Gender: Male

Race: Wood-Elf

Age: 28

Height: 5’8

Weight: 170 lbs

Appearance: The Wood Elf has pale white skin. He has dark hair that is cut unevenly around several areas, making The Pariah look homeless. He has dark eyes that look soulless and empty. Two scars decorate each cheek, stretching all the way out to his jaw. He wears black leather armour. On his torso, his legs and hands show the signs of severe torture and burn marks.

Birthsign: The Shadow

Personality: The Pariah is a loner and outcast by nature. He is socially awkward and has not dealt with people for many years. He is cold when he needs to be, and distant at other times but most paranoid. There is rarely a time when he feels the need to speak, and his voice has become hoarse and weak over years of isolation.

Skills:
Expert at Marksman,
Adept at Alchemy,
Adept at Illusion
Apprentice at Destruction
Apprentice at One handed combat

Motivation: Justice.

History: The Pariah was once a normal man until the Thalmor initiated one of their raids. He was taken in the middle of the night as his family and lover were slaughtered and trapped within burning buildings, before then he went by another name but he can no longer remember such a name or a time when he was happy and content.

When the Thalmor took him they tortured him for what seemed like years. They burnt him, flayed him and subjected him to days without sleep or food. This tore away at his sanity with the only comfort was the joy they seemed to take from beating him. He was a toy. They never asked him any questions, they simply did it out of enjoyment.

One day he woke up in Skyrim, convinced that he was dead and in the afterlife. He did not know anything and had to endure to survive the cold terrain and ferocious animals. Years passed, but he adapted, hiding in fear of people and had a strong hatred of elves believing them all to be Thalmor spies. He kills as soon as suspicion creeps into his mind, giving him quite the bounty in several Skyrim holds.

Claim to Fame: Surviving the massacres of Valenwood. Slaughtering several Thalmor spies over the years.

Equipment: Orcish bow, several orcish arrows. Steel dagger.

[UnfunnyPete]

Here is my character:

Name: Vahlok
Gender: Male
Race: Nord
Age: Twenty-Five
Height: Six foot, one inch.
Weight: 150 Pounds
Appearance: Vahlok has a relatively impressive athletic frame, boasting muscular legs and a toned upper body. His jaw is sharp, and covered in a dark, rough stubble. His black hair falls loosly around his neck, complementing his natural pale complexion, and unnaturally green eyes, which rests above a faint scar across his cheek. His attire consists of his once Nightingale armor, which only slightly resembles that of a Nightingale; it's once complete blackness has faded to a dark grey, with various tears and rips.
Birthsign: Steed.
Personality: Vahlok is by no means a cold-hearted man; on the contrary, he left the Nightingales solely because of their inability to take action, and help those around themselve. He is incredibly cautious around those he doesn't know, and choosing to be a 'strong, silent' type. He has a rather distasteful sense of humour, and will often say exactly what's on his mind, to the point of thinking outloud.
Skills: Vahlok has exceeded at two things in his life; his mobility, and his skill with a blade. Unlike other Nightingales, whom are skilled at remaining unseen, Vahlok trained himself to be swift, with the agility to match. He has turned his fighting into more of an artform then a slugish exchange of strikes.
Motivation: Put simply, Vahlok's motivation is that of the people; more specifically, those who don't have the means to help themselves.
History: Born away from the cold hills of Skyrim, Vahlok was born in Kvatch, into extreme povety. His mother, a whore, was too high on Skooma to take notice of Vahlok, and he never met his run-away father. Life became stealing what he could to survive, and fighting those who tried to stop him. His Uncle, a Nord soldier for the Empire, would occassionally visist, teaching Vahlok how to fight as best he could with the time they had together, giving him the only sense of order in his life. And then, came the Elves.
When the Dominion invaded Cyrodil again, at the mere age of five, Vahlok lost his home, and his mother, to the Elves. His Uncle made sure he got out safetly, loosing his own life in the process. Vahlok himself almost died at the hands of an Elven mage, who managed to slice across his cheek, giving him his tell-tale scar.
After weeks and weeks of moving from orphanage to orphanage, Vahlok was eventually found by the theives guild, and after seeing what he could do, they took him in. For the next ten years, he proved himself to the guild, his skills only advancing with each challenge they set him. They moved him to Skyrim, where he settled in Riften, with the rest of the Guild. After proving himself extensively to the Guild Master, they gave Vahlok an option; he could continue to work for the Thieves Guild, or he could put his skills to the test and become a Nightingale, which until that point, Vahlok had assumed was merely a folk-tale. Desperate to prove himself as always, he accepted, not daring to look back.
His time training to become a Nightingale was a long and painful experience; months upon months of constant training and practising, learning to use his blade as though it was an extension of his own arm. He learnt how to put his agility to good use, using his enviroment to his advantage. After a long process, he was declared a Nightingale.
And what did Vahlok do with it? He went rogue.
Vahlok despised what the Nightingales were the second he became one; the amount of power they held, and yet they used it for their owns means, not to help others. Atleast when he had been with the Guild, they aided the poor where they could, and looked out for one another; there was none of that with the Nightingales, only service to Nocturnal.
That was five years ago.
Then, a new chapter of his life began. A few weeks after leaving the Nightingales, Vahlok was approached by the Dark Brotherhood, whom offered him a place amongst them. Knowing too well what they were responsible for, he denied, to which they responded by attempting to hunt him down. This began a series of exchanges between Vahlok and the Brotherhood, whom to this day still seek his head, whilst he does what he can to halt their expansion, seeing them as nothing more then senseless murderers.
Claim to Fame: Vahlok's probably most known for his actions against the Dark Brotherhood. Since leaving the Nightingales, he was quickly offered a place amongst the assassins, which he refused instantly. Since then, he has done what he can to protect those who the Brotherhood seeks to silence, saving the lives of many people who would have otherwise become victims to the Brotherhood.
Equipment: Vahlok carries two sleek, Ebony Daggers with him, which he stole from the Nightingales; you can take the thief from the guild, but you can't take the guild from the theif. These blades tend to be his weapon of choose, using them either simultaniously, or individually, depending on the situation. He also carries a few iron daggers strapped to his belt, as well as his Bow and various Arrows.

Yes, I went for a sort of 'Robin Hood' character, I suppose.

Oh, and 'Superfly' you're accepted.

[Thorny]

So i am wondering, am I accepted? you never said after i improved my CS.

[UnfunnyPete]

So i am wondering, am I accepted? you never said after i improved my CS.

Oh, sorry. Yeah, you're accepted. Just keep a check on your grammar, pal?

[Thorny]

Yeah, I can do that.

[Coiled]

Name: Skith, known as Chooses-His-Words in Cyrodiil.

Gender: Male

Race: Argonian

Age: Thirty-four

Height: 1,85 meters

Weight: Seventy-nine kilos

Appearance/Personality: As any Argonian Skith stands high above the ground accompanied by his slim figure and his great endurance. It is not the staunt strength as that of a Nord, it is the leathery toughness, never loosing its grip. This trait is not only physical, it exists just as strongly within an Argonian's mind, if not stronger. To live in such harsh environment this is demanded, you will not survive unless you fight for it. Once Skith sets his eyes upon what he wants, he will not forget it, never.

Clad in sanguine scales, the light often bounces off him, reflecting beautifully over his body as a stream of light through a ruby. His sanguine scales are accompanied with equally reddened eyes with a pair of horisontal pupillaries, black. The scales over his arms grow slightly darker further down, nearing black at the end of his fingertips, exquisitely melting in to his pitch-black claws. The same goes for his long legs, ending in darkenend claws. His broad leathery ears is spotted with darkenend spots, this would also be seen over his long tail.

His expression is always a mystery, never revealing what he truly thinks. This goes for all Argonians, making it very hard for other races to socialize with these reptilian-like humanoids. However, when they are angered, it is easily noticable due to their barring of teeth and narrowing of eyes. This fits Skith perfectly as he always strives to lead the conversation to where he wants it to go. Without giving away any emotions through facial expressions, it is hard for whoever he might be conversing with to read his emotions, which usually is confusing. He uses this to his advantage and his main way of acquiring what he wishes.

Birthsign: The Atronach

Skills: Convincing, plotting and adapting.

Motivation: Power over others.

History: Skrant was born in the northern swamps of Argonia, close to the Morrowindian border. He grew up in a family of four with his mother, father and older brother. As expected they were extremely poor, surviving only due to their village's collective farm which barely provides for the entire village. Trading with the other tribes or bigger settlements was out of the question, whatever gold they had was either stashed away or used for repairing of their home. As known to any Argonian or visitor of the Black Marshes; nothing remains as it was. The constantly shifting acid rivers are not reliable. What once was dry sand could be nothing but mire the next day and the day after that entierly swallowed up by the treacherous water. This is the primary reason for no bigger cities in the large marshes, resulting in many smaller settlements or constantly moving villages. But Skith was more fortunate than most, being born in a village surrounding a seemingly dry pocket, which the inhabitants used for farming purposes.

In his early life, nothing else than fending for himself and his family was of priority. The villagers had some sort of bond, but not strong enough for any serious interractions. This taught him to only trust himself and his closest, as in his family. They lived a quiet and sparse life, his only true enjoyment was the books his father owned. The books covered most of the empire's history and other fictional stories. His father collected them from the old imperial preachers and missionaries which are now long gone. This resulted in his suprisingly large vocabulary in the Tamrielic language, apart from his native tongue. His days consisted of helping the village with its farm and his family with miscellaneous tasks. Whenever he had a free moment he would read through his small library and re-read when he read them all, soon getting to know them all, along with a large vocabulary and knowledge about the outer world.

His knowledge of the outer world grew into a desire, not wanting to spend the rest of his days in his damp swamp. His knowledge, which out-matched the other inhabitants of the small village, granted him a sort of superiosity. They usually came to Skith with simple questions, asking him what he throught of different matters and usually trusted his judgement. He loved it, in his eyes they came to him as if begging and laying their whole existance in his hands. He could easily tell them something and they would trust him, not having a reason not to do. He did nothing sinister, but his thoughts was, loving this form of power over others. As he grew up he eventually moved out of his village, much to his family's dismay. But he had a greater destiny.

Equipment: Simple commoner's clothing which is accompanied with a pair of tough leather boots. He wields a minor dagger for whatever protection it might serve. He also carries a larger knapsack over his back, filled with supplies such as food and simple tools. In his possesion he also has a potion with healing probabilities, inherited by his grandfather. He also carries with him his most treasured book; "Mirror". The book is carefully wrapped in linen cloth, in hopes of saving it from any possible damage.