Andreyich

Age of Broken Shackles(Soft Sci NRP)

Yes

𝚂𝙸𝙶𝙽𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝚀𝚄𝙸𝚁𝙴𝙳

Sure :)

Blackguards!

Xerus merely laughed as the orc insisted he weren't a beast. "So easy to anger, exactly like a beast!" he remarked, going further on his way. And so he kept on his way, knowing that he movement of the sun up or down could be used to track whether it was rising or setting regardless of its shade. "You know, I remember a mouthy greenskin I came across on the Blackbridge campaign. Very articulate for one of their kind. Of course, unbeknownst to my comrades he happened to have supped from a cursed well. Seemingly his comrades hadn't caught on that he wasn't quite himself when his eyes started glowing all sorts of different colours. But he probably beat them enough into submission. Anyway, when we went to-" so his rambling about the Blackbridge campaign would go on in the same vein as many other ramblings of the elderly, where it would be unclear if he was genuinely convinced everyone around him would find it interesting or if inversely he was recounting the story now that he finally had an audience that couldn't avoid him. Of course, when he was out of earshot of the rest of the group, his mouth wouldn't stop regaling the tale.

However, his story stopped abruptly as the chalk on his plate turned to ash, and his eyes flooded with visions of the surrounding area. "Bugger." he muttered, knowing now that there were a good deal of quite unpleasant fellows coming their way.

He would turn to face the coming Easterlings, drawing a ritualistic dagger from his belt. He didn't heed any of the superstitions of the pagan cultist he'd slain to get it, but truly it was a wonderful cutting tool with its asymmetric grooving making it cut through just about anything short of metal. It was also not a very good weapon to most people, since it couldn't stab very well. Either way he began dragging thin lines across his skin, just in case these barbarians wouldn't stop when he called out to them. He'd have to make his skin as stone to not have all his bones break when inevitably he'd be run down. He was confident his armour could stop himself being impaled on a spear or cleaved by a blade. By blunt force from a charging cavalier would make even someone much younger than him break from inside his plates.

As they got close enough to have their faces be made out, Xerus got down on one knee, his spear turned over to have the blunt end face the charge, while his other hand was extended palm to the sky. A show of deference and respect was made, even the proud head of the old Lord bent down enough that he could barely see the coming riders.

"I greet you, o great and [*] warriors, me and my [**] appear to have been [***]." The man's mustache twitched as he started to remember more of the language he was speaking. "We mean no [****], and there is very little of value upon us. As the honourable stewards of this land, could you show us to the land of the Sulfreyans? We would be most grateful, and we would never forget the good you have done us should we come across your kindred." He wouldn't be happy about this hypothetical debt, but internally Xerus reasoned it wasn't too likely he'd actually have to carry it out.

*= A word for "noble" in a dialect quite distant to the locals, but in an adjacent one would approximate to "wealthy"
**= While meaning servants in the lexicon as Xerus studied it, the word truly means something implying a degree of outright ownership of the people in question like a Serf or Thrall.
***= Intended as waylaid, deceived would be a more appropriate translation
****= Intended as harm, but likely interpreted as war

Blackguards!

i should be able to post after work

Blackguards!

New post is up. It's go time, party people.

@Red Wizard

Would Xerus be able to see anything scrying? And, being a learned man could he reasonably know some of the Easterling tongue?

Blackguards!

Hmm, hopefully the warden leaves the body intact, it would be nice to already have an undead minion!

Blackguards!

Quick OOC check in, does anyone find the rhyming for Fuhgoad in character too grating? Like, "I can't even look at it" and "please stop?" Just checking to see if I'm accidentally pissing anyone off.

@wanderingwolf

I love it, I hope my post wasn't taken as being disparaging of it!

The Elder Scrolls VI: Sentinel

Imperial Nordboo

Name: Thorius (or, Thor, Tyr, Tàr, and many other variations depending on the milieu he is attempting to ingratiate himself with.) Justinianus
Gender: Male
Race: Imperial
Appearance: His hair and eyes are both very dark, whilst his skin was at birth quite pale and has further paled by his time in Skyrim. Often he might don face paints of all sorts on himself. Uusally his face will be cleanly shaven while his hair falls neatly to his shoulders to keep the cold away from his ears.
Personality: Thor is a man heavily influence by the fact that he worships not one but two pantheons, more than ten Gods demanding his attention in sometimes contradictory ways. Combined with his belief that the Gods are speaking to him (be it literally in his head, or through omens he believes he can decipher) this leads to behaviour that at first sight might seem somewhat erratic. However, past the artificial cheeriness brought for by his communing with the pantheon, Thor is a quite dour soul. In his youth forced out of his home, it was the first of a series of tragedies that culminated in his imprisonment. Though now Talos worship is legal in the Empire and he has an opportunity to fight against the true enemy of him and his people, he can't help but feel a defeated man serving his conqueror.

To the surprise of most, he doesn't have any problem with Elves, in fact getting along with them quite well so long as they do not happen to be Thalmor and their lackeys.
Brief Backstory:
Thor was born in the North of Cyrodiil, far enough to be close to Skyrim without being a Colovian pseudo-Nord. His family were merchant elites, bringing him into the curious position of being well educated and privileged without any of the true hereditary might of a noble, merely that which coin could buy. This made his father ceaselessly teach him that he had to be always on guard, for unlike a nobleman, he could only rely on that which coin could bring him. This was he would later learn, a prelude to the realities his family had to face as worshippers of Talos.

A voracious student, Thorius's academic studies were brutally interrupted as the truth of his family's confession was revealed by another merchant family they were competing with, and a raid forced the once proud Justinianii to become refugees.

Thus they fled for Skyrim. Suddenly bereft of funds, the once prestigious family became menial workers in Windhelm. With his family being outlanders that didn't speak the Nord tongue, Thor more and more found himself uninterested in whatever wisdom his father had to espouse. Instead the constant firebrand zealotry roared by the Stormcloaks enamoured him, and slowly Thor came to adopt himself into the Nord culture. While he never forgot his roots and kept the Imperial Gods, he more and more found himself feeling his soul to be Nordic. Before he even went through puberty, he left home and joined the Priests among the Stormcloaks. The teenage Thor would see many battles, both losing and winning among the Stormcloaks. He would mature in their ranks, slowly coming to wield a blade as tending to the wounded and dying did not feel a sufficient calling. He was more and more convinced that the ailing state of both Skyrim and the Empire was a result of their own failings, that the Gods were punishing them with the Thalmor for their inadequacies as he thought he heard their calls.

But he did not have much time to speak on this, as the first hairs on his face came at about the same time that the Empire seemed to wrap up the civil war in Skyrim. So Thor was imprisoned among many other Stormcloaks that went quietly.

Mixed feelings came across him as the new self-proclaimed Empress declared the worship of Talos legal and necessary once more. On the one hand, it meant that in spirit he had won. The Stormcloak cause of fighting for their right to worship one of the Nine divines was successful, even if it wasn't under the banner of the Bear. On the other hand, it meant he had fought for nothing. The woman that brought him and his comrades low had suddenly turned her back on the very same cause that she had fought for when defeating him and his brothers in arms.

Thor was confused, and the only thing that was clear was that he personally had lost. He had tried so hard to learn the blade to fight. He had prayed every day and night to ensure the Gods would be on his side. But still he was defeated.

Thus it was strange when admidst his sentencing, he was granted amnesty on the simple condition of his enlistment into service of the Empire. With little choice, he accepted, albeit warily. After all, was the Empire sincere in its reverence for Talos since mere years ago it had fought its worshippers? Or perhaps the tales of realpolitik were true, that they were merely bidding their time to fight the Thalmor, that Thor was an unwitting agent of the Thalmor? Either way, he was eager to seek revenge.

Equipment: He does not need very much. Ritualistic equipment (paints, incense, bones, etc.), a blade, a shield, and ideally some armour to catch the arrows. But he will gladly take anything greater if it is available.
Skills: Thor is not a true warrior, nor is he a true mage. A man learned in both blade and Godly sorcery, he treads directly on the line between these paths. While he calls on the power of the Aedra, he is more than willing to raise a weapon in hand in the instance they do not answer his prayers. While a learned fellow, he still has many gaps in his academic resume. However, in respect to history and religion of any culture and race of Mundus, he will be an expert.

Andy's hunt for kin-spirit dreggs

Blackguards!

"Barbarians? You mean the likes of which have been made my unfortunate company?" Xerus wondered out loud, giving his lip a few thoughtful taps with an index finger. Still, deigning himself to still be loyal to the realm, Xerus saw a very definite threat described by the Warden. Indeed, if he hadn't been arrested it would be an almost guaranteed fact that he'd end up fighting these barbarians as a commander and warrior on the field of battle.

Well, he'd be doing the same now. Of course, now his company would be a lot less pleasant. Gone were his retainers, gone were his loyal footmen and banner bearers and servants. Alas, this vermin he was surrounded by would suffice. He scratched his mustache, taking in the appearance of these agents that they were to discover. "Oh but Warden dearest, what if we fail to find them? Not by a lack of want that is, but a crisis of competence among either us or them? That is to say, if they have already all been disposed of by the foemen? How would we go about contacting you if we cannot find these people?

Still, it seemed time for them to go. "Wheeeeeeeee!" the elderly gentleman wooped and howled as if a child on a toboggan as the world twisted and turned, until at last they were in new surroundings.

Opening his eyes, he jumped upright. Ah, his staff was with him! Giving it a twirl between his fingers before placing it down into the dirt. "We are exactly where we need to be my dear little beast!" he proclaimed, very obviously assuming the greenskin lacked the attention span to make heads or tails of the crone's ramblings.

"Since the sun is that way, then East is that way." Xerus would remark, first pointing the spear skywards, and then in the direction he assumed that the city they were to get to was. "East I figure, is a good guess to find the city we need, since this upstart nation is to the East. Now then, on we go!" He finished with a sing song voice.

He wouldn't wait any longer, from there heading in the direction he'd declared. He was quite spry for an old man, speed-walking faster than many a pampered nobleman could. But, he did also clearly find much need of his spear as a walking stick, propelling him faster across the scene. After all, there was no time to waste! The Kingdom awaited its loyal servant's labours. He wasn't going to wait for some bird to tell him where to go. But, he had to concede, the woman had the right idea. With a sigh, he'd reach into his pockets and root around for some chalk. Aha, yes! They'd left it there! He'd start scrawling the appropriate sigils on his breastplate in the hope of doing a bit of scrying to see their surroundings.