4E, 243. Titus II is dead. Havfyg has taken his place. Under his banner, The Imperial Empire is nearly fully restored. The Aldmeri Dominion have all but been pushed to their home, the Summer Isles. Emperor Havfyg I readies his armies to wage war, to commit genocide upon the entire Altmeri race. But first, you have some work to do. For The Empire.
Unwilling. Uncooperative. Persuaded. You all have been given a task by The Emperor, in exchange for your freedom. If you fail this task, the ring around your finger will kill you. Slowly. But it will not be the final death. It has never been the final death.
----
A three act roleplay, focusing on the metaphysicaland political aspects of Elder Scrolls. There will be moments of calm and when the storm hits, there will be bloodbaths Mehrunes Dagon would be proud of. Politics will be player influenced. The roleplay is a kitchen sink of ideas that I've always wanted to explore in Elder Scrolls, but never had the opportunity to.
Characters can be fairly badass. Don't worry, there's always a bigger fish.
Quick wit will be rewarded. Violence will be necessary. Harm will happen to you and those you interact with. You have been warned.
But hey, have fun!
Character Concerns:
As far as your abilities, you are likely fairly talented in at least one area. Whether a warrior, a professional thief, or a educated mage, you aren't imprisoned because you weren't important or skilled, even if that skill is a thorn in the Empires side.
You did something that warranted permanent imprisonment, rather than instant execution. It was against Imperial interests, or simply against the law.
Yes, you can be a vampire or werewolf. No more than one of each. If you were imprisoned, it's likely that you're starving as a vampire. Don't worry, future vampire and werewolf characters are possible (I will allow characters to contract the disease), but for the purposes of the roleplay, it's not likely many would be imprisoned.
Imperials have mostly accepted Havfyg as their defacto ruler, given his claims of being the reincarnation of Talos, however, his fourty year war of genocide has lead to higher taxes to fund the war effort, along with a few mandatory drafting periods when the war got desperate. Many Imperial are not happy about this.
The Nords are doing much better. Havfyg has actually avoided taxing them at all, and they're some of his most staunch followers.
The Breton, along with the Redguards, were conquered early into Havfygs reign and have been drafted far more than Imperials or Nords. This is due to their natural tendencies towards spellblades and martial prowess, respectively. The Breton have mostly taken this well as many have also been given free education at the College of Whispers or Synod with only a year of military service required on their part. The Redguard are less pleased.
Altmeri are slaughtered on sight, typically. However, you won't be. Feel free to have your character be as snarky about this as possible.
Elves aren't treated very well by The Empire. However, most Imperial citizens feel rather bad for Dunmer and Bosmeri, given their recent history of just sort of existing and being treated like second hand citizens.
Orcs. One the one hand, they have been given far more respect in Havfygs Empire than they ever had previously, to the point that some of them have ceased to worship Malacath. On the other hand, their population has dwindled over the years due constantly being drafted and sent into the most dangerous battles the Yellow War has ever seen.
For Argonians, few Hist trees remain in the world. Many were destroyed in The Black Marsh Razing of 4e 2021. Three reside in Cyrodil, and are kept by the Emperor as a threat to Argonians, should they think of abandoning his rule. You are understandably not happy about this.
As a Khajiit, your people have been rebelling ever since The Emperor began a moon sugar tax twenty years ago, then a full on moon sugar ban nine years ago that was temporarily lifted mere days before a moon sugar purge occurred. Every legal farm was destroyed and those that remain sell Skooma at a very, very high price. The Empire pays well for informants.
It is possible to have been trained by The Imperial College in Thu'um. You will only know a few words, because it takes years of training if you aren't the Dovahkhiin. Don't worry, like any other character, I will allow your character to learn more of these skills as the plot progresses.
Character sheet:
Name:
Birthsign:
Race:
Appearance: Text necessary, picture if you want to be fancy. Pictures placed at the top please.
Background:
Personality:
Typical Equipment:
Why you were left to rot in the Imperial Prison (this will be changed later, when players who join in later get involved):
Skillset: A summary of your actual abilities. Are you an accomplished mage, able to rend flesh with fire by a mere thought and gesture? A warrior, trained by the sword and lives he has taken? A thief, making their living off stealth and cunning? A mix of these is fine, though as is often the case, we cannot be good at everything.
This one writes a letter. It will listen, for the letter that this one writes is of much importance. Many have been sent and many more will.
This one once owned a providential businesss. This one was successful. This one sold skooma up the golden roads Cyrodil, to the frost heart of skyrim, to even the Redguards who are not really red beyond. This one spent its coin in luxury, its nights in comfort. This one was happy.
As the many know, as we know, lasted this did not. When came the sun on 4e, 2032, this one awoke to flames. This ones farm, centuries of profit, burnt to cinders. This one fled. We all fled.
This one was harried by dogs. This ones children were brought to the ground and butchered. This one cried, but no one cared, least of all the Emperor. This one wondered if there were ones, ones who would fight this evil. The evil of many.
This one found its brothers. This one thinks you can too. Ask for that for which the cat calls. The cat calls for gold.
- Sincerely, Those Who Resist.
Graytus thought this was a nice city, once. Before the riots. Before shops were set aflame, before the The Followers of Talos or the Peoples Blades fought each other in the streets.
He was passing through the Talos Plaza District. This was especially dangerous, for it was the Emperors Day of Rebirth. When Talos was reborn. A statue stood of the Emperor standing proud before a cowering Dragon, holding a sword that glowed a brilliant golden light. Gratyus had attempted to steal this sword, once. He awoke days later, in an cell. Paralyzed, they told him. He thought that was it, that it had simply been paralysis. But he had been awake. He had been conscious the entire. Time.
He was somewhere else. It was all black, but he kept hearing words. And now, awake, he couldn't speak against The Emperor. Whenever he tried, he gagged.
"Havfyg is a...havfyg..." he muttered. He coughed. Before the statue, was a circle of worshipers. Those that believed that Talos had come again. That Talos would guide the Empire towards a return to glory. A large man, Imperial, stood with a mighty tome he held in one hand. His voice was that of a orator. "Talos has been reborn! The time of Mer dominion has come to an end! Repent, or find yourself crushed under The Mighty Emperors heel!"
Well that's unfortunate, thought Gratyus. A fanatic. It wouldn't be long before The Peoples Blades came.
Gratyus looked around. He saw faces looking on in disgust. They began to form a larger crowd, around the smaller one worshiping at the statue. From the other side, more worshipers came. Then it came to shouting. He couldn't make out every single individual shout. But he got the gist of it from the many Peoples Blades, who were identifiable by red armbands, joining the crowd, handing weapons to those that stood with them. Many of them were simple kitchen tools.
"The Emperor betrayed!" "Murderers!" "Bloodline!" "Tyrant!"
Gratyus's head swam. Faint outlines merged with what was really happening. It was as if the shadows of the rioters were moving on their own. Fighting. But, in reality, no one was fighting. At least not yet.
Then, a flaming object Gratyus didn't have time to identify was thrown. It hit the orators skull. He crumpled to the ground, clutching his bleeding head. His followers took a moment to grab him, take him from the crowd. They made a point of not retreating, however, and as they formed lines, to face those who had assaulted them, they pulled out weapons from their robes. Real weapons, like maces and swords.
The melee began. Gratyus tried to move, tried to get away, but then someone grabbed him by the arm. A voice rasped, "This one wonders, who do you follow, Imperial?"
Gratyus turned to the face of a Khajiit. He had a slight dent in his skull, from a blunt wound that healed poorly. A red band crossed over where the dent would be, creating the impression of a larger hollow. He gulped, "Peoples blades."
The Khajiit handed him a metal cudgel, then said, "Then fight, brother."
Shoved into the melee, Gratyus did what came naturally. Which was swinging for dear life. A nord approached him, wielding a greataxe. He barely managed to avoid a swing that instead chopped into a Argonian woman, down her shoulder. In the moments it took the Nord to pull back the blade, in the moments between the beginning of a scream and its end, he brought the cudgel down in a two headed swing to the side of his head. He fell to the ground, stunned. Realizing what he had done, Gratyus ran. He hoped the man lived.
Over the sound of yelling, of weapons contacting weapons, the louder sound of full plate marching in unison began to approach from the outer districts. The Guards were coming. Red lights began to emerge, from both sides, as mage began to cast magic. There was so much, it almost became a ambient wave.
It didn't harm Gratyus, or anyone in the fight. Not precisely. But he started to feel...hatred? Yes. Hatred. For everything. Everyone around him. He started to swing, more violently than he ever had before. And he couldn't stop. Mustn't stop. He was furious. His vision was red, whether from the blood flying from the men and women around him, or just his eyes swelling with it, he couldn't tell.
The Guards broke into the swarm of frenzied combatants like a boulder slamming into a wood house. People fell to the floor and were trampled. Some of the rioters were killed, but most to the credit of the City were not. Merely bludgeoned to the point of death. One guard, particularly bulky and through the faceplate appearing to be an Orc, gripped Gratyus by his shirt, lifting him a few feet off the ground.
The Orc spat, "Stop right there! Right there..." He frowned in confusion. "Well, stop right there, criminal! Or I'll beat your face in! Like this!" He smacked Gratyus in the head with one, gauntleted hand
---
When he awoke, he found himself not in a cell, but in...what? A lords solare? Through blurry vision, he could see there were banners, of the Empire no doubt, but also rich animal pelts serving as carpet. He was seated in a cushioned iron chair, but when he lifted his right hand, he realized it was chained, a mere foot from the chair.
An hour passed. He found he had wine, bread, and meat before him on a long square table. On the other end seem to be placed a similar meal for another. He waited some more.
Then, The Emperor came.
In heavy, slurred Nordic, Emperor Havfyg said, "So, you see visions of the future. I knew someone would...well, no matter. All that matters now is you're of use to me."
OK, I think I fixed the "temporary links to font image websites being unusable because they're temporary" problem. Working on a final pass for the first IC post.
Not saying that I'm joining (I already have multiple Elder Scrolls RPs that I'm a part of) but I'd like to point out that the year should be 4E243, not 2043. That's all for now.
Not saying that I'm joining (I already have multiple Elder Scrolls RPs that I'm a part of) but I'd like to point out that the year should be 4E243, not 2043. That's all for now.
Thanks! Don't want to give the impression this is set in a 80s movies far cyber future.
Question though: When you say ALL hist trees, do you mean ALL hist trees? Did the hist trees not have some populations moved into the impassable zones of the Black Marsh? Or did the Imperials surpass the impassability of those Black Marsh regions?
Question though: When you say ALL hist trees, do you mean ALL hist trees? Did the hist trees not have some populations moved into the impassable zones of the Black Marsh? Or did the Imperials surpass the impassability of those Black Marsh regions?
I had to really think about that and I later decided some (maybe three) would be more reasonable. I'll do a rewrite, but basically they got to the edge of the Argonians swamplands, got sick of being slaughtered relentlessly by the same race that invaded oblivion, and instead used magic and the sheer might of dragons. The fact their forces could fly helped quite a bit, that and without any dragonborn souls, the dragons were able to keep coming back to try again, and again, and again. To the Argonians credit, they managed to submerge some of the dead dragon bones in the swamps, making them hard to find/revive. Some of the Hist trees were just burned down. So, the Hist population is already lower than normal and some of the Black Marsh's forest has been burned to the ground, mostly near the border of Blackwood.
Of course, the hostage situation hasn't entirely worked out. The Argonians are only pacified into underground resistance.
A man must say that he is quite impressed with a concept such as this. A man shall be perusing the halls for that of a Dunmer... perhaps a spell blade with ancestral hunts reminiscent of the dark elves from the World of Sigmar or the Drow of Menzoberranzen. A man feels such venom may easily be birthed from a canal of oppression and degradation. Of course, you should not concern yourself or with an idea only partially hatched. A man will keep his eyes upon this thread and compile a viable concept. A man appreciates such an inspiring idea.
A man must say that he is quite impressed with a concept such as this. A man shall be perusing the halls for that of a Dunmer... perhaps a spell blade with ancestral hunts reminiscent of the dark elves from the World of Sigmar or the Drow of Menzoberranzen. A man feels such venom may easily be birthed from a canal of oppression and degradation. Of course, you should not concern yourself or with an idea only partially hatched. A man will keep his eyes upon this thread and compile a viable concept. A man appreciates such an inspiring idea.
Kirimvose se geros ilas,
Sounds good! Not familiar with Sigmar (I know a bit of Warhammer Fantasy), but how Dark Elves are treated in DnD/Menzoberranzen seems pretty similar.
Final clarification questions so that I can make sure all my character concepts are effectively tied to the BBEG and the plot of the story we'll be telling as a team:
1) Hafvyg is definitely the Dragonborn, correct? 2) Is the Volkihar vampire clan a powerful force in Skyrim or have they been driven to extinction (How did this Dragonborn's Dawnguard campaign end)? 3) Paarthurnax. How pissed/deceased is he knowing that the Dragonborn couldn't control his conqueror's urges? 4) Is Ulfric alive? 5) Is Miraak alive? 6) How many dragons have evaded being conquered and enslaved by the Dragonborn? How many still follow Paarthurnax's Way Of The Voice? How many Greybeards were killed/has a new generation of Greybeards taken their place? Or are the same ones alive still because hella dragon vocal talents? 7) How do things look in the court of the King Of The Thalmor? Are they still the primary political power of the High Elves? 8) What is the fighters guild's stance on the Emperor? 9) What is the mages guild's stance on the Emperor? 10) Are the Daedra staying out of events and just betting right now? Or are they starting to interfere at the realization that the Dragonborn is in Herma Mora's pocket (assuming that 4 states Miraak is dead and the Dragonborn is Herma Mora's new servant)?
Final clarification questions so that I can make sure all my character concepts are effectively tied to the BBEG and the plot of the story we'll be telling as a team:
1) Hafvyg is definitely the Dragonborn, correct? 2) Is the Volkihar vampire clan a powerful force in Skyrim or have they been driven to extinction (How did this Dragonborn's Dawnguard campaign end)? 3) Paarthurnax. How pissed/deceased is he knowing that the Dragonborn couldn't control his conqueror's urges? 4) Is Ulfric alive? 5) Is Miraak alive? 6) How many dragons have evaded being conquered and enslaved by the Dragonborn? How many still follow Paarthurnax's Way Of The Voice? How many Greybeards were killed/has a new generation of Greybeards taken their place? Or are the same ones alive still because hella dragon vocal talents? 7) How do things look in the court of the King Of The Thalmor? Are they still the primary political power of the High Elves? 8) What is the fighters guild's stance on the Emperor? 9) What is the mages guild's stance on the Emperor? 10) Are the Daedra staying out of events and just betting right now? Or are they starting to interfere at the realization that the Dragonborn is in Herma Mora's pocket (assuming that 4 states Miraak is dead and the Dragonborn is Herma Mora's new servant)?
1) Havfyg is the dragonborn!
2) Havfyg brought the Dawnguard down upon Lord Harkon. After his death, many of the vampires beneath him disappeared into the Sea of Ghosts.
3) Paarthurnax is alive and furious. He agreed to, in exchange for all the Greybeards not being slaughtered, convince the Greybeards to train others in Thu'um in exchange for their lives/culture not being completely assimilated. He's trying very, very hard to keep his tranquility, even as Thu'um is used to slaughter innocents as well as warriors. Most of the free dragons are his followers (around 40) though they're usually hiding if not under Imperial thumb.
4) Ulfric the One Armed King is the King of Skyrim and is kept under a tight leash by Havfyg. His role was temporarily usurped during the period Havfyg was uniting Skyrim to march on Cyrodil. He was defeated by Havfyg in single combat when Havfyg shouted his left arm off and imprisoned during that time.
5) Miraak is dead. Hermaeus Mora gave Havfyg the same, "position" lets say, but Havfyg has largely ignored it and any duties it entails for his own ambition. Basically, it was the ending where you told Hermaeus Mora to buzz off, essentially, and he said "your intent is immaterial."
6) The official number of dragons following Havfyg is 27 (9, 9, 9), a sign of Havfygs supposed divine nature. The actual number is 33. There is not an exact count of free dragons, but the number is somewhere around 40 alive, spread throughout Tamriel. Most of the greybeards still follow Paarthurnax's Way of the Voice, though some are sent down on occasion to teach Thu'um to his armies throughout Tamriel and especially in the Mages College near Cyrodil. One greybeard, Wulfgar, attempted resistance but Havfyg managed to beat him into unconsciousness using his bare hands. It took months for his bones to recover. Besides this, there are fifty official new Greybeards, who are obviously far younger than those currently living. Some jokingly call them "Brownbeards".
7) The King of the Thalmor was deposed by several of his lords who stabbed him to death in his own Throne Room and assumed the throne. The new King Highorins first order of business was to send a letter to Emperor Havfyg I to inform him of his ascension, the dissolution of the Thalmor command structure, and to beg for an end to the bloodshed. Havfyg refused. While the Aldmeri Dominion itself is actually quite different from how it was ran previously, to most people it would seem to be the same entity.
8) The Fighters Guilds official stance is he is Talos Reborn, The Warrior Emperor that will free men from the tyranny of Altmer oppression, and they are his loyal servants and will fight the Altmer to their dying breath. Unofficially, they do not appreciate their strongest fighters being drafted nearly every month and find his methods of justice, cruel at best and insane at worst.
9) The Mage's Guild actually quite likes Havfyg. He's provided Greybeards to help with learning how Thu'ums work, he's given them large sums of money to continue their research, and free education for Breton has resulted in very talented individuals who have advanced magic far faster than had been possible previously.
10)Hermaeus Mora has given Havfyg a black book recently, without being asked. A few of the Daedra are getting involved in response to this and for various other reasons. Hircine believes there will be a "great hunt" in the future (one of the players is a follower of Hircine at the moment). Mehrunes Dagons followers have been randomly joining battles on both the side of the Aldmeri Dominion and The Empire, to the confusion of both.
A man has a question. Upon completion of a character sheet should it be post in this section or shall it wait to be approved in the actual character section of the thread?
A man has a question. Upon completion of a character sheet should it be post in this section or shall it wait to be approved in the actual character section of the thread?
Hmmm we'll go with posting it in the thread. We'll save the character section for all the approved ones.
Enathrae Ra’athim possessed features common amongst the Dunmer. Yet, even amongst his own kind he was a stranger. His skin the color of mountains enshrouded in shadow blanketed in a thin layer of snow, smooth without the faintest wisp of facial hair. Slender lips hid the stained teeth that restrained his forked tongue. The nose upon his face suited him perfectly, aquiline and subtle. But Enathrae’s eyes were mesmerizing (his most conspicuous feature) - a staple for those of his heritage yet not seen amongst the Dunmer in centuries. Two pools of liquid amethyst drawing hesitation from those who dare bare fool witness, as if drawn by Hermeaus Mora’s slimy tendril’s down into their depths. His ashen hair was pulled back tightly against his skelp into a single braided tail that barely breached the length of his shoulder blades.
His dress was simple, inconspicuous. The dark colors of his leather garb contrasted well against the powdered appearance his skin naturally took. Soft soled black leather boots kept his feet nimble while on the prowl. Dark leather slacks gripped his legs adequate, avoiding the restrictions of taunt material yet proving not to snag while moving swiftly over terrain. His cloth shirt was similar in design with little of merit to note. The backs of his hands were protected by strange leather gloves, which left the raw flesh of his fingers and palms exposed. The only impressive feature were thin, seemingly pristine sheets of mithril integrated into the material of his clothing to protect certain vital areas (i.e. thighs, abdomen -front and back- , arms -above and below the elbow- yet not fully connected to allow freedom of movement).
Background
Born of Ebonheart, a young Enathrae was born to the Elenil family line; however, his parents were proud to trace their lineage back to the great house of Ra’athim. This is how he acquired the name.
He spent his juvenile years in the local mines as was typical amongst his family, learning the trade as well as how to work the material to a respectable manner for his age. It was during this time that Enathrae began to understand the powers of magic for his family made their living transmuting what they could from one less valuable material to something more worthwhile.
Subsequently, Enathrae traveled to Solstheim where he found service amongst those mages living at Tel Mithryn. Here his service was exchanged for training. This training was ultimately cut short when he was kidnapped by a subsidiary of the Morag Tong. Beginning as a prisoner, he slowly found a way into their good graces. He failed their tests and subsequently was released with his life. Few would be brave enough to betray the guild of assassins and Enathrae was not amongst those men.
Passing through Skyrim, Enathrae made acquaintances of those at the College of Winterhold and many of the other settlements. He spent many months amongst the Dunmer of Windhelm, loudly murdering those who went out of their way to discriminate against his kind. Beyond the stone walls of the oldest city in Skyrim, the spellsword found employment across the kingdom specifically focusing on Morthal as a centralized location best suited for his habitation.
As boredom ensued, and his skills progressed through training as well as very real use Enathrae moved south through Falkreath and into Cyrodiil. His journey was very much the same as it had been while exploring Skyrim. He befriended those whom he could exploit for his own gain or were able to train him further. But ultimately his journey ended in Bravil, where he was eventually captured (...enslaved) by the Emperor.
Personality:
Enathrae Ra’athim in the most simplistic terms can be seen as a lawful evil dunmer, methodically takes what he wants within the limits of his code of conduct without regard for whom it hurts. He cares about tradition, loyalty, and order but not about freedom, dignity, or life. He plays by the rules but without mercy or compassion. He is comfortable in a hierarchy and would like to rule, but is willing to serve. He condemns others according to their actions but is not above discrimination against race, religion, homeland, or social rank. He is loath to break laws or promises. This reluctance comes partly from his nature and partly because he depends on order to protect himself from those who oppose him on moral grounds. Enathrae does not enthrall himself with the thought that he is better than the man who goes home and beats his wife or the drunkard who pulls the wench into the alley. He is a cutthroat, plain and simple. A mercenary and assassin for hire where the only rules that matter are those instituted as an establishment of his own code of conduct.
Typical Equipment
Moderate amount of Septims
Waterskin
Trail Rations
A few Magicka Potions
Why you were left to rot in the Imperial Prison (this will be changed later, when players who join in later get involved)
While visiting the coastal Imperial city of Bravil, Enathrae was employed by an inconspicuous businessman with a particular agenda that required that a certain individual no longer drew breath. It was a task simple enough. Unfortunately, his employer was not the only person who had required the spilt blood of this individual. The other person, Emperor Hafvyg. The Emperor had sent his own thugs to end this person’s life. While the thugs were inferior individually it was their numbers that not only allowed the target to escape with their life but also was lead to Enathrae’s capture and subsequent sentence. He had taken the lives of two men, while the third had exploited his subtle dunmer frame before exploiting the wonderful darkness of a sap to the back of the head. Enathrae had no other choice for above all else, his code required him to be alive.
Skillset
Enathrae is a unique representative of what might be considered a spellsword. His style is all about flexibility, switching between weapons and spells as the situation demands, aggressively creating and exploiting enemy weaknesses. So what makes his situation unique? This dunmer does not carry a single weapon, yet manifests them at will through pure magicka. Given his subtle frame staggering his opponents is most important forcing him to focus on attacking more aggressively with powerful attacks and spells that pack a wallop. While more of a parlor trick, his innate ability to call upon his “Ancestor’s Wrath” often times has proven useful only to escape in grave situations. Perhaps uniquely to a magick user, Enathrae’s focus is on offense exploiting his natural grace and agility to escape harm’s way. Of course, he does balance his one-handed and destruction spells quite well as if either falls behind on its own how could Enathrae rely on either of them when he needs them most. He maintains light armor well and subsequently focuses on such skill sets that allow him to remain agile and protected since he is without shield. Even seemingly rogue fireball can be lifesaving when it comes as an evasive maneuver. While offensive spells are especially important, he has from time to time exploited illusion spells to distract large groups of enemies allowing him to eliminate them on a level playing field. Most importantly, when a situation gets hairy Enathrae will not hesitate to exploit his signs ability to become invisible for a period of time if only to escape harm, which is more likely than trying to gain the advantage.
Enathrae Ra’athim possessed features common amongst the Dunmer. Yet, even amongst his own kind he was a stranger. His skin the color of mountains enshrouded in shadow blanketed in a thin layer of snow, smooth without the faintest wisp of facial hair. Slender lips hid the stained teeth that restrained his forked tongue. The nose upon his face suited him perfectly, aquiline and subtle. But Enathrae’s eyes were mesmerizing (his most conspicuous feature) - a staple for those of his heritage yet not seen amongst the Dunmer in centuries. Two pools of liquid amethyst drawing hesitation from those who dare bare fool witness, as if drawn by Hermeaus Mora’s slimy tendril’s down into their depths. His ashen hair was pulled back tightly against his skelp into a single braided tail that barely breached the length of his shoulder blades.
His dress was simple, inconspicuous. The dark colors of his leather garb contrasted well against the powdered appearance his skin naturally took. Soft soled black leather boots kept his feet nimble while on the prowl. Dark leather slacks gripped his legs adequate, avoiding the restrictions of taunt material yet proving not to snag while moving swiftly over terrain. His cloth shirt was similar in design with little of merit to note. The backs of his hands were protected by strange leather gloves, which left the raw flesh of his fingers and palms exposed. The only impressive feature were thin, seemingly pristine sheets of mithril integrated into the material of his clothing to protect certain vital areas (i.e. thighs, abdomen -front and back- , arms -above and below the elbow- yet not fully connected to allow freedom of movement).
Background
Born of Ebonheart, a young Enathrae was born to the Elenil family line; however, his parents were proud to trace their lineage back to the great house of Ra’athim. This is how he acquired the name.
He spent his juvenile years in the local mines as was typical amongst his family, learning the trade as well as how to work the material to a respectable manner for his age. It was during this time that Enathrae began to understand the powers of magic for his family made their living transmuting what they could from one less valuable material to something more worthwhile.
Subsequently, Enathrae traveled to Solstheim where he found service amongst those mages living at Tel Mithryn. Here his service was exchanged for training. This training was ultimately cut short when he was kidnapped by a subsidiary of the Morag Tong. Beginning as a prisoner, he slowly found a way into their good graces. He failed their tests and subsequently was released with his life. Few would be brave enough to betray the guild of assassins and Enathrae was not amongst those men.
Passing through Skyrim, Enathrae made acquaintances of those at the College of Winterhold and many of the other settlements. He spent many months amongst the Dunmer of Windhelm, loudly murdering those who went out of their way to discriminate against his kind. Beyond the stone walls of the oldest city in Skyrim, the spellsword found employment across the kingdom specifically focusing on Morthal as a centralized location best suited for his habitation.
As boredom ensued, and his skills progressed through training as well as very real use Enathrae moved south through Falkreath and into Cyrodiil. His journey was very much the same as it had been while exploring Skyrim. He befriended those whom he could exploit for his own gain or were able to train him further. But ultimately his journey ended in Bravil, where he was eventually captured (...enslaved) by the Emperor.
Personality:
Enathrae Ra’athim in the most simplistic terms can be seen as a lawful evil dunmer, methodically takes what he wants within the limits of his code of conduct without regard for whom it hurts. He cares about tradition, loyalty, and order but not about freedom, dignity, or life. He plays by the rules but without mercy or compassion. He is comfortable in a hierarchy and would like to rule, but is willing to serve. He condemns others according to their actions but is not above discrimination against race, religion, homeland, or social rank. He is loath to break laws or promises. This reluctance comes partly from his nature and partly because he depends on order to protect himself from those who oppose him on moral grounds. Enathrae does not enthrall himself with the thought that he is better than the man who goes home and beats his wife or the drunkard who pulls the wench into the alley. He is a cutthroat, plain and simple. A mercenary and assassin for hire where the only rules that matter are those instituted as an establishment of his own code of conduct.
Typical Equipment
Moderate amount of Septims
Waterskin
Trail Rations
A few Magicka Potions
Why you were left to rot in the Imperial Prison (this will be changed later, when players who join in later get involved)
While visiting the coastal Imperial city of Bravil, Enathrae was employed by an inconspicuous businessman with a particular agenda that required that a certain individual no longer drew breath. It was a task simple enough. Unfortunately, his employer was not the only person who had required the spilt blood of this individual. The other person, Emperor Hafvyg. The Emperor had sent his own thugs to end this person’s life. While the thugs were inferior individually it was their numbers that not only allowed the target to escape with their life but also was lead to Enathrae’s capture and subsequent sentence. He had taken the lives of two men, while the third had exploited his subtle dunmer frame before exploiting the wonderful darkness of a sap to the back of the head. Enathrae had no other choice for above all else, his code required him to be alive.
Skillset
Enathrae is a unique representative of what might be considered a spellsword. His style is all about flexibility, switching between weapons and spells as the situation demands, aggressively creating and exploiting enemy weaknesses. So what makes his situation unique? This dunmer does not carry a single weapon, yet manifests them at will through pure magicka. Given his subtle frame staggering his opponents is most important forcing him to focus on attacking more aggressively with powerful attacks and spells that pack a wallop. While more of a parlor trick, his innate ability to call upon his “Ancestor’s Wrath” often times has proven useful only to escape in grave situations. Perhaps uniquely to a magick user, Enathrae’s focus is on offense exploiting his natural grace and agility to escape harm’s way. Of course, he does balance his one-handed and destruction spells quite well as if either falls behind on its own how could Enathrae rely on either of them when he needs them most. He maintains light armor well and subsequently focuses on such skill sets that allow him to remain agile and protected since he is without shield. Even seemingly rogue fireball can be lifesaving when it comes as an evasive maneuver. While offensive spells are especially important, he has from time to time exploited illusion spells to distract large groups of enemies allowing him to eliminate them on a level playing field. Most importantly, when a situation gets hairy Enathrae will not hesitate to exploit his signs ability to become invisible for a period of time if only to escape harm, which is more likely than trying to gain the advantage.
Interesting! I like his inherently code driven nature and the kind of moral juggling he has to do to justify his actions. It sounds like he's made plenty of enemies in Skyrim and High King Ulfric might have heard of his existence if one of his Jarls sent word to Solitude of the matter of a Dunmer rumored to be ending race fights rather...abruptly.
Anyway, sheet's good! You can put the sheet in the character section and if you want, you can write your first IC post (I'm available pretty much whenever if you want a longer conversation with Havfyg).
As far as old Nords go, the seventy-or-so year old is rather unassuming. A long snow-white beard, braided and jutting from under his mask. Thick eyebrows and a large nose decorate a wrinkled, skeletal facade. A certain amount of charisma might have been present in his face were he so decrepit looking. Rather than possessing the eternal placidity of some elderly folk, he has an unending self satisfaction that is only occassionally breached by his battle rage, his night terrors, or his general disgruntlement at an inability solve a new problem. His physical form has degraded over the past thirty years as his voice has grown with strength and his wisdom has been amplified. His arms are long and skinny. His legs are stocky and strong, but whithered. Background When the Dragon Crisis began so long ago, Floki was among the few wild, unimperialized denizens of Skyrim. He and his family worshipped Alduin as the Eater of Worlds, and told the stories of yore. He and his siblings, the only remaining kin he had when he came to be thirty, scampered across the countryside practicing their old magics and slaying foreigners to eek out a meager living. No grand banditry, just simple survival in the harsh everwinter.
Through his youth his understanding of the world was shaped by the realities of Skyrim. These realities, he had decided, were three.
Firstly, Skyrim is cold, as are its people.
Secondly, Magic brings warmth, and eternal life when used as the ancestors used it.
Thirdly, the Draugr and their priests are immortal. The cold does not touch them as it touches us. They are the goal.
These three truths were altogether disconnected from Skyrim's reality, save perhaps the first. Floki then was not a grand intelligence, but he had the aptitude to study. So he studied from his mother's notes and became a witch and a corpse tender.
When, during their migrations, they found Bleak Falls Barrow to be empty, they decided that it was an omen from Alduin. The Draugr were dead and the dragon's wall was left untended. So from it they read, studying independently from their wellspring of knowledge.
It was the third month that they realized that they had no way to understand the words beyond the syllables. The words became their battlecry when they flash-froze their foes and they continued their living.
It was at night when they would all think of the futility of the cold. The darkness that it brought them. The force with which they struck their foes was not their guardian. They were temporary, and Skyrim was eternal. As they fell to sleep they, unwittingly, entered a meditatve rage that brought them closer to the words that thrummed in their minds like drums.
It would not be until twenty years later when the battle cry, "Rahgol Vulom Fus," yielded results. Floki's voice carried loudest over his three siblings and the six teenaged children that they had all born at some point or another. The merchant they had been accosting was forced to the ground as he twitched and shuddered. His body contorted in a violent rage, while he sunk into an unknowable horror. A fear of himself. He died quickly, and Floki sung that night in the Dragon's tongue for his siblings and his younger kin.
The pale dragon, ten years later, convinced them of a new life. A life in which one could become something more. Floki took on a new name, and with his siblings became one of the first New Age Dragonpriests.
His dedication to the peaceful path in the Way Of The Voice became pure. His inspiration, however, came from the grand images of the Old Way. Great Dragonpriests worshipped by the living and the dead as vessels for the Dragons. His thirst for power mingled with the peaceful message of the Way Of The Voice.
Over ten years he began building his following. He taught his followers all that he knew, a limited vocabulary. This limited vocabulary, however, was evangelical in a manner. It taught a simplicity, and made life understandable to the people that followed him.
When it came time for him to enact his plan in full, the College Of Winterhold intervened. A Mage's Guild representative was sent to Meyz, and informed him of the legal uncertainty of conspiring to become a Lich. His followers dispersed into the wilderness, prepared to answer his call. Personality:
Through the difficulties of growing up a young man in Skyrim's wilderness, disconnected from the Imperialized settlements, he has developed a sturdiness. A hardiness of spirit centered around his experiences. He isn't particularly vulnerable to stress or anxiety, though his survival instincts are sharp so he heeds both feelings well. He is a poor problem solver but has an excellent memory and recall that gratifies him when it succeeds and dissapoints him into a rage when it fails him. Floki's view of Elves and Beastfolk is reductionary, and he often finds them lacking after assessment of their personal abilities. It may be said that he holds them to a higher standard based on their race. When he does enter a rage, which he is prone to doing, he tends to do so violently. Breaking things, conjuring and killing a creature, and so forth. The one thing he has avoided doing in a rage, however, is shouting. This is a point of pride for him, and beyond that he has little alternative pride. He sees the Way Of The Voice as a personal code of conduct rather than some government's legal system or law of any kind, and if it were one he would likely reject it. He sees the Dragonpriests of yore as respectable figures and seeks in his life to immitate the legendary men that they were.
Floki doesn't feel strongly about the law. He has the highest regard for loyalty. He values family greatly. He thinks friendship is important. He believes that the acquisition of power over others is the ideal goal in life and worthy of the highest respect. He does not particularly value the truth. He greatly respects the shrewd and guileful. He values eloquence. He sees life as unfair and doesn't mind it that way. He doesn't care very much about decorum. He holds the maintenance of tradition as one of the highest ideals. He doesn't care about art one way or another. He values cooperation. He finds the ideas of independence and freedom somewhat foolish. He sees introspection to be a waste of time. He doesn't particularly value self-control. He values tranquility and a peaceful day. He values a harmonious existence. He doesn't really value merrymaking. He has a great deal of respect for worthy craftsmanship. He respects the development of skills. He values hard work. He finds sacrifice to be the height of folly. He views competition as a crucial driving force in the world. He believes that perseverance is one of the greatest qualities somebody can have. He finds leisure time wasteful. He is somewhat put off by trade and commerce. He doesn't care one way or the other about romance. He has a deep dislike of the natural world. He believes that peace is always preferable to war. He views the pursuit of knowledge as deeply important.
Typical Equipment
Thick furs and thick linens make up the primary weather-defensive aspects of his clothing. One might even suspect him a broad, strong old man. This is an illusion maintained by his clothing, which he has further enchanted to defend against the cold and against getting wet.
An old, oak staff made in the style of the old Dragonpriests. When activated its enchantment casts a directed ray of Dinsintigrate Armor, and a large goute of magically enhanced Coldharbour Coldfire.
A boning knife, constructed with ebony and dragon bone. It is about seven inches long, and was made long before the Dragon Crisis by one of Floki's ancestors. He has enchanted it in recent years, so that when activated it creates a Bound Spear.
His mask and shawl are the key elements of his gearset. The greatest number and strength of enchantments are found here. His mask, constructed from the same stone that the ancient Nord ruins dotting Skyrim are carved from, is the actual vessel for the enchantments. The shawl simply acts to cover his neck, shoulders, and the back of his head while counterbalancing the weight of the mask and creating for him an imposing form.
Levitate
Circle Of Command Undead
"Massive" Fortify Magicka
Why you were left to rot in the Imperial Prison (this will be changed later, when players who join in later get involved)
Upon his arrival at the Imperial city with his mage's guild traveling companion, he was indeed arrested for conspiring to become a Lich. Among his charges was intent to raise a rebellion, intent to reject the Emperor as Talos reborn, and a plethura of other magical, religious, and military legal codes. Despite his movement being small, the ability of him and his followers to shout made them a legitimate threat. City-destroying threats, under the wrong circumstances. So their leader was removed from the equation. The cult, expectedly, dissolved to the shadows.
Skillset
Meyz is a mockery of a Dragonpriest, but a rather firm mockery of them. He maintains a robust magical toolkit, with several Words Of Power commited to usability. It would be accurate to call him a conjurer, but that is a small-scale view of his abilities. Most of his spells are common, though his family does have a few calling-card Alteration and Destruction spells. In his age his strength has faded, and so too has his agility. He plans for them to return with his Lichdom, but that endeavor has been put on hold due to his acquisition by the Empire. By nature of his upbringing, enchanting and alteration are also rather key magics for the man.
As far as old Nords go, the seventy-or-so year old is rather unassuming. A long snow-white beard, braided and jutting from under his mask. Thick eyebrows and a large nose decorate a wrinkled, skeletal facade. A certain amount of charisma might have been present in his face were he so decrepit looking. Rather than possessing the eternal placidity of some elderly folk, he has an unending self satisfaction that is only occassionally breached by his battle rage, his night terrors, or his general disgruntlement at an inability solve a new problem. His physical form has degraded over the past thirty years as his voice has grown with strength and his wisdom has been amplified. His arms are long and skinny. His legs are stocky and strong, but whithered. Background When the Dragon Crisis began so long ago, Floki was among the few wild, unimperialized denizens of Skyrim. He and his family worshipped Alduin as the Eater of Worlds, and told the stories of yore. He and his siblings, the only remaining kin he had when he came to be thirty, scampered across the countryside practicing their old magics and slaying foreigners to eek out a meager living. No grand banditry, just simple survival in the harsh everwinter.
Through his youth his understanding of the world was shaped by the realities of Skyrim. These realities, he had decided, were three.
Firstly, Skyrim is cold, as are its people.
Secondly, Magic brings warmth, and eternal life when used as the ancestors used it.
Thirdly, the Draugr and their priests are immortal. The cold does not touch them as it touches us. They are the goal.
These three truths were altogether disconnected from Skyrim's reality, save perhaps the first. Floki then was not a grand intelligence, but he had the aptitude to study. So he studied from his mother's notes and became a witch and a corpse tender.
When, during their migrations, they found Bleak Falls Barrow to be empty, they decided that it was an omen from Alduin. The Draugr were dead and the dragon's wall was left untended. So from it they read, studying independently from their wellspring of knowledge.
It was the third month that they realized that they had no way to understand the words beyond the syllables. The words became their battlecry when they flash-froze their foes and they continued their living.
It was at night when they would all think of the futility of the cold. The darkness that it brought them. The force with which they struck their foes was not their guardian. They were temporary, and Skyrim was eternal. As they fell to sleep they, unwittingly, entered a meditatve rage that brought them closer to the words that thrummed in their minds like drums.
It would not be until twenty years later when the battle cry, "Rahgol Vulom Fus," yielded results. Floki's voice carried loudest over his three siblings and the six teenaged children that they had all born at some point or another. The merchant they had been accosting was forced to the ground as he twitched and shuddered. His body contorted in a violent rage, while he sunk into an unknowable horror. A fear of himself. He died quickly, and Floki sung that night in the Dragon's tongue for his siblings and his younger kin.
The pale dragon, ten years later, convinced them of a new life. A life in which one could become something more. Floki took on a new name, and with his siblings became one of the first New Age Dragonpriests.
His dedication to the peaceful path in the Way Of The Voice became pure. His inspiration, however, came from the grand images of the Old Way. Great Dragonpriests worshipped by the living and the dead as vessels for the Dragons. His thirst for power mingled with the peaceful message of the Way Of The Voice.
Over ten years he began building his following. He taught his followers all that he knew, a limited vocabulary. This limited vocabulary, however, was evangelical in a manner. It taught a simplicity, and made life understandable to the people that followed him.
When it came time for him to enact his plan in full, the College Of Winterhold intervened. A Mage's Guild representative was sent to Meyz, and informed him of the legal uncertainty of conspiring to become a Lich. His followers dispersed into the wilderness, prepared to answer his call. Personality:
Through the difficulties of growing up a young man in Skyrim's wilderness, disconnected from the Imperialized settlements, he has developed a sturdiness. A hardiness of spirit centered around his experiences. He isn't particularly vulnerable to stress or anxiety, though his survival instincts are sharp so he heeds both feelings well. He is a poor problem solver but has an excellent memory and recall that gratifies him when it succeeds and dissapoints him into a rage when it fails him. Floki's view of Elves and Beastfolk is reductionary, and he often finds them lacking after assessment of their personal abilities. It may be said that he holds them to a higher standard based on their race. When he does enter a rage, which he is prone to doing, he tends to do so violently. Breaking things, conjuring and killing a creature, and so forth. The one thing he has avoided doing in a rage, however, is shouting. This is a point of pride for him, and beyond that he has little alternative pride. He sees the Way Of The Voice as a personal code of conduct rather than some government's legal system or law of any kind, and if it were one he would likely reject it. He sees the Dragonpriests of yore as respectable figures and seeks in his life to immitate the legendary men that they were.
Floki doesn't feel strongly about the law. He has the highest regard for loyalty. He values family greatly. He thinks friendship is important. He believes that the acquisition of power over others is the ideal goal in life and worthy of the highest respect. He does not particularly value the truth. He greatly respects the shrewd and guileful. He values eloquence. He sees life as unfair and doesn't mind it that way. He doesn't care very much about decorum. He holds the maintenance of tradition as one of the highest ideals. He doesn't care about art one way or another. He values cooperation. He finds the ideas of independence and freedom somewhat foolish. He sees introspection to be a waste of time. He doesn't particularly value self-control. He values tranquility and a peaceful day. He values a harmonious existence. He doesn't really value merrymaking. He has a great deal of respect for worthy craftsmanship. He respects the development of skills. He values hard work. He finds sacrifice to be the height of folly. He views competition as a crucial driving force in the world. He believes that perseverance is one of the greatest qualities somebody can have. He finds leisure time wasteful. He is somewhat put off by trade and commerce. He doesn't care one way or the other about romance. He has a deep dislike of the natural world. He believes that peace is always preferable to war. He views the pursuit of knowledge as deeply important.
Typical Equipment
Thick furs and thick linens make up the primary weather-defensive aspects of his clothing. One might even suspect him a broad, strong old man. This is an illusion maintained by his clothing, which he has further enchanted to defend against the cold and against getting wet.
An old, oak staff made in the style of the old Dragonpriests. When activated its enchantment casts a directed ray of Dinsintigrate Armor, and a large goute of magically enhanced Coldharbour Coldfire.
A boning knife, constructed with ebony and dragon bone. It is about seven inches long, and was made long before the Dragon Crisis by one of Floki's ancestors. He has enchanted it in recent years, so that when activated it creates a Bound Spear.
His mask and shawl are the key elements of his gearset. The greatest number and strength of enchantments are found here. His mask, constructed from the same stone that the ancient Nord ruins dotting Skyrim are carved from, is the actual vessel for the enchantments. The shawl simply acts to cover his neck, shoulders, and the back of his head while counterbalancing the weight of the mask and creating for him an imposing form.
Levitate
Circle Of Command Undead
"Massive" Fortify Magicka
Why you were left to rot in the Imperial Prison (this will be changed later, when players who join in later get involved)
Upon his arrival at the Imperial city with his mage's guild traveling companion, he was indeed arrested for conspiring to become a Lich. Among his charges was intent to raise a rebellion, intent to reject the Emperor as Talos reborn, and a plethura of other magical, religious, and military legal codes. Despite his movement being small, the ability of him and his followers to shout made them a legitimate threat. City-destroying threats, under the wrong circumstances. So their leader was removed from the equation. The cult, expectedly, dissolved to the shadows.
Skillset
Meyz is a mockery of a Dragonpriest, but a rather firm mockery of them. He maintains a robust magical toolkit, with several Words Of Power commited to usability. It would be accurate to call him a conjurer, but that is a small-scale view of his abilities. Most of his spells are common, though his family does have a few calling-card Alteration and Destruction spells. In his age his strength has faded, and so too has his agility. He plans for them to return with his Lichdom, but that endeavor has been put on hold due to his acquisition by the Empire. By nature of his upbringing, enchanting and alteration are also rather key magics for the man.
Spells:
Levitate
"Massive" Burden
"Greater" Absorb Strength
Absorb Health
Detect Enchantment
Conjure Lesser Atronachs
Conjure Greater Atronach
Conjure Massive Atronach
Light
"Greater" Chameleon
"Greater" Charm
Blind
Soultrap
Conjure Restless Draugr
Conjure Draugr Wight
Conjure Hulking Draugr
Command Humanoid
Command Undead
Telekinesis
Words Of Power:
Guardian - Vahlok
Eternal - Unslaad
Force - Fus
Rage - Rahgol
Darkness - Vulom
Becoming - Meyz
Sorry, this one took me a while! A few things of note: to learn Thu'um, you need at minimum a teacher to gain the technique to gain the basis to learn. It's possible he may have pulled an Ulfric, and went to the Greybeards and learned for a while. Or, if he joined the Imperial military at any point (or was drafted), he could have learned a bit there. I suppose alternatively, if he knew anyone who had been taught by Greybeards (former soldiers, students who practiced under them and left the general magical community of the Mages Guild in Cyrodil or Winterhold).
As to spells, I'd ask that you tone that down a tiny bit. It seems he knows several schools to their highest level of knowledge, which would be highly dangerous to learn without a teacher. Most mage apprentices in elder scrolls end up dying in various ways, including summoning daedras that are too intelligent, spells exploding in their own face, or otherwise trying to cast something and it backfiring in some miraculous way. Even the College of Winterhold can't keep its own students from dying.
Otherwise, the idea of a dragon cultist inspired crazy old man sounds pretty badass as a character concept! If you want to talk about the sheet, I'm on discord or pm or on here. discord.gg/XQasp75
Where would you prefer our opening statements take place? Typically, most threads IC start with a post from the creator setting the mood and indicating where the player characters gather and begin on their adventure. Perhaps you would be so kind as to shed some like on the subject?
Where would you prefer our opening statements take place? Typically, most threads IC start with a post from the creator setting the mood and indicating where the player characters gather and begin on their adventure. Perhaps you would be so kind as to shed some like on the subject?
I did write a IC post, though I just noticed that the "0th post" doesn't count as the first IC post, as far as the tabs are concerned. Anyway, roleplayerguild.com/topics/179398-the… "Of Dreams and Nightmares" is where your characters actually are, locked in the Imperial Prison not unlike what happened in Oblivion. Because everyone's in a cell, there's not too much going on yet.
Edit: Sounds like I'll be getting blitzy, kiwi, and Parzis sheets soon (parzi is doing a rewrite) so maybe everyone can get together for a collab soonish, yeh?
