she/her pronouns. I'm interested in a wide variety of roleplays, but I tend toward prefering High Fantasy and High Sci Fi settings (think Elder Scrolls or Warhammer 40k). Whether it's a Nation Roleplay (I love digging into fictional politics) something on a smaller, individual scale, or something in between, there's a good chance I might be interested! I especially enjoy fantasy setting with weird, esoteric fluff - up to and including the nonsense that happens in Elder Scrolls, or, occasionally, Age of Sigmar.
Fave settings /period/ are Warcraft, and Golarion. WH40k and AoS are close.
"Are you certain that it's wise to confront Paris about this, Ambassador Davis?” Conceição asked, her clawed fingers knotted together beneath her chin. Her brow furrowed, her eyelids pushed down in a flat, disapproving line. The man across from her - a thin man, his brownish-grey hair surrounding the top of his yet yet somehow managing to miss all of it.
“I am, Madam President.” Davis responded, carefully adjusting his spectacles. “I have to disagree that the French government will see this as a confrontation, however; they’re aware that we’re likely a few steps ahead of them. We don’t have anything to gain from stealing from them, but-”
Conceição nodded, bringing her hands down against her desk. She leaned back ever so slightly in the huge, leather chair supporting her - only to quickly rock forward again, spending a few short moments staring at his lapel, a handkerchief in the pocket. She nodded again.
“You think we can convince them to cooperate with us, Ambassador?” She asked. He nodded in return, without even a moment spent in thought.
“I’m certain that we can. As I’m sure you know, President, Paris could use a beachhead in the Americas. Furthermore, if our scientists are right, this technology - this ‘Faster than Light” propulsion - is going to be frankly *huge*. They can’t afford to fall behind. Nobody can.”
The President nodded again. “I doubt we’ll be able to get the Soviets to cooperate with us, but... OTAN *would* be extremely valuable. They’re friendly enough, and you’re correct that their support will be valuable - especially when it comes to the UN vote.” She said - and Davis nodded back.
What about India, she wondered? They were deploying orbital weapons against fucking *pirates*, of all things. Could they be relied upon if they were willing to throw that much weight around so flagrantly? What if the Americans simply vetoed the resolution, or the Soviets pretended to play along as they proceeded to hoard all the technology for themselves?
Brazil *needed* allies.
“Prepare a plan of action for me and inform the French that we’d like to to speak with them, and give my greetings to the President.” She said. Davis promptly stood up, bid her a respectful farewell, and proceeded out the door without another word. He was a dedicated man, if nothing else - and she could respect that - but she still had to keep a handful of secrets from him.
"B'Vehk! Can I not think of a single thing to write on when it finally becomes relevant?!" Tylmaesa groaned, letting her fingers run back through her hair. The mess of dark, blueish locks of hair atop her head parted in waves, tugging and straining toward the back of her head - but she paid the sensation little mind. If her hair came undone, it would. If it didn't, then she could handle a little bit of pain. Perhaps it would inspire her, even?
Laughing the thought away, Tylmaesa allowed herself to stare at the darkened sky above, her vision blocked by a thick net of tightly packed clouds, the rays of Aetherius occasionally managing to punch through in one place or other. Where Magnus or the clouds did not obscure her sight, she found falling snow, tiny shapes of falling, frozen water alighting upon her ashen skin. For several more seconds, she simply stared into the sky, deep in thought... But nothing came. No flash of inspiration from the blood, no idea formed from the aether - nothing.
Sighing in frustration, she brought her gaze back down to earth, and the bodies strewn about her presence in various states of injury. Some were lucky, she thought - their limbs were shorn from their bodies, bone and muscle cut so cleanly and effortlessly through as to seem like they were cut by a perfect blade. Others had been less lucky, bellies sliced open, leaving their guts to spill out into the snow, but even these s'wit received the kindness of their heads being removed from their bodies, their lives plucked away like ripe grapes from a vine. It would have been a sight to behold, truly, Tylmaesa reasoned.
A single warrior - a giant among her kind - assailed by a horde of hardened Nord bandits, each one of her foes a warrior in their own right. But she - this half-naked Dunmeri warrior, a stranger in a strange land - was possessed of skill that was perhaps sublime, and a heart so steely that nothing could shake her. Why, then, did every tale she could think up sound so terribly uninteresting? What distinguished the droll slaughter of a poorly constructed camp full of savage highwaymen from the many masterpieces of Vivec? How would she tell the tale?
Quietly laughing, Tylmaesa shook her head. Even Lord Vivec's ego was not so towering. Perhaps that was her fundamental issue.
Over and over, Tylmaesa let those thoughts simmer in her skull, idly kicking aside the ruined body of a man clad in tattered furs and steel mail. The next, a lightly protected and willowy archer, was brusquely shoved aside by Tylmaesa's foot. Both bored her, but in wildly different ways - one lacked finesse, and the other possessed far too much. The third corpse she encountered in her path, Tylmaesa couldn't even bother to remember, offering it the indignity of being stepped on as she passed on by, crunching bones beneath her muscular bulk.
Ah. She thought to herself.
"There you are." Reaching down, the heat of a roaring bonfire illuminating her face, Tylmaesa deigned to turn the next body over onto its back. A giant of a woman, equal to her height or perhaps even taller, lay motionless in the snow, unable to survive having each of her limbs systematically cut away from her torso. Some wounds were older than others, no doubt, but only so little as to scarcely matter, and so Tylmaesa paid little mind to the precise manner in which she removed each limb from the steelclad warrior's body. So savage was the beast that she wore the collected teeth of what Tylmaesa assumed were her fallen prey around her neck - the thought sent a sharp, throbbing pang of agony through Tylmaesa's leg and arm, a reminder of the now heavily bandaged wounds on her limbs, and the yawning gash across her torso.
"Tough little bastard, you were." She grunted, bending down to stare at the expression frozen on the bandit's face. Stoic. Unflinching. Not a hint of terror in her eyes. Did she not know death was coming, Tylmaesa wondered, or did she simply not care?
A woman like this expected it, Tylmaesa reasoned, glancing sidelong at a pair of wooden cages aside the tents scattered around the camp. The camp was old, lived-in - discarded bones, no doubt from their meals, dotted the campsite, and a think layer of ash beneath the bonfire told her it had been used many a time. The wrinkles on the towering woman's face, the scars that seemed to cover nearly every last inch of her skin...
She was old, Tylmaesa reasoned, reaching up to wipe flecks of blood from a small cut on her face. Allowing her hand to fall, reaching behind her neck, it came to rest on a scar of her own. Which it was she couldn't remember, much less what gave it to her - did the old bandit think the same? Did she wonder what brought her to a life of thievery, kidnapping, and senseless murder, or did she simply accept it, just as she seemed to welcome death? Was she forced to do all this by circumstances, or did she merely lack any moral fortitude?
Her chest tightened. A physical pain, perhaps, or did her heart truly ache?
Get your head out of your ass. She silently admonished herself, faintly recalling Vivec's Thirty-Sixth sermon, the words that haunted her. Foul Murder. Foul Murder. The sound echoed in her head, over and over, until she finally pushed herself back to her full height with a huff of frustration.
He had murdered, and He knew it to be wrong. He had admitted as much, even if not publicly. What distinguished Vehk from a simple bandit? After all, had both not committed murder for personal gain?
F O U L
M U R D E R.
The very arrangement of the words stuck in Tylmaesa's thoughts. Masked, but only just. Hidden, but in such plain sight it was a wonder more did not see it. It must have been intended to be seen, surely. Why else would Vehk have written it?
That was what separated them. It must have been. Vehk was a tormented being; one who surely harbored regret for his actions, who knew that his murder was "foul". Was it not Vehk who had permitted the Tribunal to fall, who even perhaps orchestrated the ascension of the New Temple which would defy him?
She remembered the fall of Baar Dau, the death of so many of her friends in the fall of Vivec city, the dying of her crops, the loss of everything that was important to her...
She remembered the pain of betrayal, of how eagerly people she once thought to be her friends abandoned her for their own personal gain, the Morag Tong assassins that surely followed her even now.
Foul Murder.
And yet, here she was. She was strong. Stronger than ever before, perhaps; no longer a soft noble that relied upon what she was born into to survive. She remembered how angry she felt as Vivec abandoned her people, and he slaughtered what he had mode - and then, finally, she remembered that her people had only grown stronger by their suffering. That they had loved, and they had lost - and yet, they persevered, throughevery moment of all-consuming hopelessness.
Only then did Tylmaesa realize she had been clutching her skinning knife so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
Smiling, the fog of pain dispelled, she remembered His final words to her.
The beginning of the words is ALMSIVI.
Tylmaesa allowed the knife to drop softly into the snow, a tear rolling down her cheek. She reached into her pocket, removing a weathered map, upon which was marked the city of Skingrad, circled in red.
Her fate had only just begun, and there was so very much work to do.
Standing at an impressive 7’3” in height, Tylmaesa easily towers over most of her fellow Dunmer - and even mer, far beyond the usual height range for women of her race. Sher is often quick to use this intimidating height to her advantage, but, beyond that, her body is also packed with well-toned muscle, leaving her with a relatively bulky figure that is neither lady more obese, instead at the peak of phsyical fitness. She lacks some of the tone that is more common in those who exercise for show, however, instead having cultivated a body built for combat.
Her skin is a soft, slightly blue-tinted shade of grey, marred in several places by scars - most notably, a thick, knotted path of darkened skin on the bottom of her right arm, where she was bitten by a Wamasu as a child. A number of fresher scars mark most of her torso, too, including an especially large set of faded claw marks across her well-muscled chest which Tylmaesa claims she acquired in a battle against a towering werebear that would have slain her, if not for the timely intervention of a pair of fellow adventurers. Her black hair, a handful of shades darker than her skin, is cropped close to her head, tied into a tight knot near the back, her eyes a dark sangria red.
Most often, however, despite her intimidating appearance, Tylmaesa is usually found flashing a bright, pearly-white grin, framed by her chiseled, angular face, like that of a statue sculpted from granite.
Even her tattoos are designed to highlight the warrior's figure, and particularly the shape of her muscles, most notably a statue of Lord Vivec stabbing at the Ruddy Man across her back, hammered into her skin such that the Man's figure contracts toward the tip of Muatra when Tylmaesa flexes her back muscles in a specific way. Much of the rest of her skin is covered in Tribunal screeds, particularly Vehk's Sermons. Her favourite, as she will often announce, is the tattoo around her neck: "Reach heaven by violence."
To precisely pin down Tylmaesa’s personality, without knowing her well, in a difficult task. Raised among nobility, she is fully capable of - and often willing to - adapt and change her behaviour to suit whatever her interests might be at the time, whether that involve seducing an Altmer Kinswoman, bartering with a Khaajiti merchant, or intimidating a thief into submission. She flits between false personalities with incredible ease, in fact, though that is not to say she lacks a true personality; rather that she is willing to bite her tongue in many cases.
To those who know her, Tylmaesa is a shockingly convicted - if unusually so - woman. Her morals are relatively unflinching where they exist, and she is quick to jump to the defense of the less fortunate at risk to herself, whether that be to prop herself up as a hero, out of a genuine desire to be compassionate, or both. She hates what she hates, and on the few occasions which she is able to suppress her anger long enough to talk to someone she strongly dislikes, it is either to serve some greater purpose or to allow her to better achieve retribution at a later, more effective time. To most people, she is supportive, always willing to offer advice, a helping hand, or a shoulder to cry on - though she is just as quick to fly into a wicked flurry of insults or start throwing punches at those who severely displease her. Otherwise, she tends to actively seek to make friends with all those she meets, usually regardless of their race or cultural origins (with a handful of universally hated exceptions, such as Sloads). In fact, she tends to actively search for new perspectives, and surround herself with companions from all corners of Tamriel.
However, Tylmaesa has no interest in romantic relationships to speak one - one might assume she is merely too hurt by the loss of her love to bother, but, in reality, she simply is no longer interested in romantic relationships.
Behind a veneer of openness and confidence, however, is a woman that is deeply insecure. From the moment of her birth, Tylmaesa had great expectations placed upon her, and she is deeply afraid of being unable to meet them, despite the deaths of her parents. More than that, however, she has a deep desire to make a positive difference in the world, but, without the immense assets she used to possess, she struggles to do so outside of the Skingrad revolt and oftentimes finds herself paranoid that the revolt will abandon her, frequently for invented, paranoid reasons. She does not speak of these insecurities, however, and prefers to deal with them through time spent in taverns and brothels.
From the moment of her birth, Tylmaesa's parents thought she would be a problem child, born blessed in much the same manner as Lord Vehk. Unusually large from birth, she struggled with aggression from a very young age, a problem that was only exacerbated by the bullying she received for her unusual size. Her mother, a House Sister, did what she could to protect her daughter, but there was only so much she was capable of - and so the duty of teaching her daughter how to defend herself fell to her father, House Brother himself and the Captain of the Golden Wamasu Company, a conglomeration of elite mercenaries, primarily Dunmer but consisting of fighters seeing lucrative employ from across Tamriel.
Fortunately for Tylmaesa, while her size was often a cause of her bullying, it meant she was easily able to protect herself - while children of similar station were willing to pick on her, they were far less so, she quickly found out, willing to do so when they knew Tylmaesa would do far worse to them than they could to her. She was still a mere child, however, and one with other studies to attend to even in the turmoil that beset Morrowind at the time, unable to dedicate as much time as she wished to practicing with her father. For much the rest of her childhood, things proceeded the same way - she would spar with her father, a fellow child would try to bully her, and she would teach them a lesson. What she quickly discovered, however, as she was taught by her mother from a very young age, was that words could often be just as effective as the blade, and swinging one's fists was rarely a good way to make friends. For as many rivals as she had, she had just as many friends, whether they be commoners or others of high birth. Atypically for House nobility her parents encouraged this unbigoted behaviour - discrimination, they reasoned, was more often bad for business and diplomacy in the long term than it was beneficial, and the same applied to personal relationships.
Tylmaesa carried this philosophy into her teenage years, even as bedtime stories of the Tribunal evolved into genuine, fascinated interest. Most interesting of all to Tylmaesa was Lord Vehk. In her childlike mind, he was perhaps the greatest hero in Dunmeri culture. He was shrewd, his tongue was unblemished silver, and he was an impeccable warrior - but, most importantly, nobody could presume to tell him what to do. He was just like her, she thought, and so it was his ideal she strived for.
Like many teenagers, her hormones too, eventually took over - and her interest was drawn to a teenage servant girl in her family's paid employ, a Bosmeri girl from far off Valenwood that Tylmaesa struggled to take her eyes away from. Tylmaesa wasted no time in pursuing her, and it wasn't long before she discovered that the feeling was mutual, and the two began a relationship that would last for years to come. In many ways, they were polar opposites - one was practically miniscule and born of a family that Tylmaesa wasn't even sure had a name, and the other was a giant born into the Great House Hlaalu by blood. She cared little, of course, if at all, and their relationship continued uninterrupted for several years, an exemplar of young love despite the stink-eyes Tylmaesa often received from the rest of House Hlaalu.
As Tylmaesa grew older, however, she spent more and more time on hunting trips with her father, and studying either under her mother or on the training fields with her father. Oftentimes, the family went on hunting trips into the marshes to the south together, seeking the various types of game that could be found in Deshaan or the nearby Black Marsh. On one such trip, however, Tylmaesa wandered from the trail, attracting a territorial adult Wamasu. The creature attacked her, and nearly killed her, only for her father to narrowly drive it off -- but not before it unleashed a powerful shock into her arm, badly burning her flesh. She was only saved thanks to the healers employed by her parents, who were narrowly able to save her arm from amputation.
The experience, nonetheless, was equally as formative for her as her earlier abuse at the hands of her peers. Scarcely anyone could have expected a mere teenager to protect themselves against a fully grown Wamasu, but for Tylmaesa, her failure was nothing more than her own fault. She needed to push herself further, and so she threw herself wholeheartedly into her combat training. Formally enlisting in her father's mercenary company, she joined him on an expedition to Elsweyr to the aid of a minor Khaajiti lord alongside her lover, only for their small fleet to be attacked along the way by a band of pirates. Mistaking the convoy for merchants under the cover darkness, the pirates assaulted the Golden Wamasu in vain, only to be quickly repulsed by the mercenaries, but not before killing Tylmaesa's lover in the process in the opening volleys of the botched raid.
Devastated by the loss of her first love, Tylmaesa sought comfort in the being whose works had offered her so much valuable guidance in the past; the sermons of Lord Vehk. Poring over tome after tome throughout the rest of her journey, Tylmaesa found reassuring purpose in Vivec's message of real self-actualization and hedonism, and in an effort to respect her lost love's funerary customs, consumed her corpse.
By the time they arrived on the shores of Elsweyr, Tylmaesa knew precisely what to do. She was far less learned than Lord Vehk, and she had both seen and done much less than he - so she would strive to emulate his example. Here, in Elsweyr, that meant exposing herself to the unique perspectives of the locals and enjoying their company as deeply as she could between her duties to her father, just as Vivec split himself between his own selfish desires and his duties to the Dunmer people. Immersing herself in Khaajiti (and especially Baandari) culture, Tylmaesa participated in all manner of native custom, from partaking in moon sugar when she was able to studying Khaajiti spirituality. It was only through extremely careful, regular participation that Tylmaesa was able to avoid developing a crippling Moon Sugar addiction, however, or the exhaustion that it often those unused to ingesting it with. So regular was her participation in local customs, in fact, that eventually began to build up a tolerance for the negative impacts of Moon Sugar, though far from the same extent as the native desert-walkers. Nonetheless, through her experience, Khaajit developed a healthy respect for the people of Elsweyr.
Unready to return to Morrowind, Tylmaesa instead opted to travel to Valenwood with the bones that remained of her love, seeking the girl's family. She spent nearly a year searching for them in Valenwood mostly alone, with the carefully stored bones of her love on her pack, eventually managing to successfully deliver the skeletal remains to her lost love's family departing for Morrowind soon after her burial.
Tylmaesa spent little time in Morrowind before setting out again, however, spending the next three decades as a wandering adventurer seeking challenges across Tamriel, of which she found many, from bandits to magi gone rogue. Though she occasionally visited Narsis to deal with family business and maintain her connections in Morrowind, she spent all the time she could living this itinerant lifestyle, a book of Vehk's sermons always at her side. As the first years turned into decades, Tylmaesa's chosen prey, too, became increasingly dangerous. Novice mages became necromancers, and bandits became hardened pillagers. Necromancers became Daedric cults, and pillagers became enormous monsters that could tear men apart with scarcely any effort. The more Tylmaesa fought the more she learned, and the more she challenged herself, the closer she came to following Vehk's example, at least in her mind. She rarely debated the precise meaning of Vivec's writings, however, as in her mind, it seemed obvious that they were to extract different meanings for different folk, aside from a handful of exceptions.
As her preferred prey shifted, so too did her goals, however. Tylmaesa was increasingly forced to study the techniques of her enemies, and, in doing so, so did her fighting style change. Now, with much of her focus shifted toward the supernatural, her fighting style itself began to change. More and more, she studied magic herself, learning rapidly vanishing techniques that allowed her to distort the flow of magic to hinder her foes and better protect herself. She was a noblewoman, thankfully, allowing her the luxury to pursue her studies with far fewer restrictions than were placed on the common folk, even during the time she spent in Morrowind. At the end of her thirty years away from Morrowind, she returned home, to parents that were reaching the ends of their lifespans. Neither were injured, nor diseased - simply so elderly that it was inevitable than they would soon die, and that Tylmaesa would soon have to take control of the branch of House Hlaalu that she belonged to, spending the next several years between further schooling, enjoying herself in Narsis’s taverns, and gathering allies for the struggle ahead. Confident that her position as the successor to her parents was secure, she took power some time before either would pass away, smoothly transitioning into control of her particular branch of the Hlaalu family. Her parents passed away peacefully in their sleep not long afterward.
In an effort to prove herself worthy of holding such a position, Tylmaesa was quick to expand her family's enterprises into the production of arms and armour, purchasing various ore mines and smithies, and opening others. Her reasoning for doing so was simple: there was always someone looking to purchase arms, whether that be militias paranoid of possible invasions or the Imperial Army itself. She had no love for the Empire, however, finding its laws stifling and its rule overbearing. They had provided some of the pressure needed to begin turning Morrowind over to slavery, but the mere idea of being beholden to a far-off ruler that did so little for Morrowind stunk of tyranny to Tylmaesa.
Unbeknownst to many, including Tylmaesa, their Emperor no longer ruled his Empire. In the absence of a strong ruler, however, Tylmaesa’s mercenary company found abundant business. Her Company returned to Elsweyr to participate in the Five Year War on the side of the local Khaajiti lords until its last year, upon which they were forced to return to Morrowind to replenish their numbers and recuperate. Before the Golden Wamasu could return, however, the war was already over - and finding herself without work she could directly participate in, Tylmaesa once again began to travel Tamriel all by her lonesome, with no company aside from the equipment she could carry with her Nix-Ox. The majority of the next three years was spent in Skyrim and Wrothgar, hunting down and destroying whatever manner of monster happened to catch her interest, from werebeasts to vampires, though she nearly lost her life in the process; most notably, to a pair of trolls she had sought to defeat single-handedly as the result of a bet and was only able to narrowly escape.
Business quickly proved lucrative in the wake of the Warp in the West, with dozens of Lords and Ladies seeking weapons and armour with which to arm themselves against their foes. Tylmaesa, of course, was more than happy to oblige and further profit from her constantly expanding business Empire, selling the services of herself and her Company to practically every side. She sought profit, after all, and with little moral stake in the Chaos engulfing Daggerfall, saw little reason to do much else. Continued Imperial encroachment into Vvardenfell’s affairs, however, saw her grow increasingly distrustful of the Empire, largely thanks to the stifling taxes and tariffs it imposed, rendering trade within and even without the Empire far less profitable. With her profit margins tightened even further, for several years, Tylmaesa was only very rarely able to pursue her love of adventuring, instead spending far more time than usual carefully managing her business. She was not so foolish as to openly rebel against the Empire, however - with most of her House having thrown their lot in with the Imperials, she was placed in a position where she was forced to simply bite her tongue and circumvent Imperial taxes wherever able. Increasingly, Tylmaesa found herself utilizing her contacts in the Cammona Tong to sell goods in the black market, where she was able to obtain far greater margins of profit than within the Imperial systems of trade.
Her attention was soon brought back to Morrowind, however, as turmoil struck her House. Hlaalu officials were being slain left and right, and Tylmaesa was there to take swift advantage of her less lucky rivals, even between her trips to the varied environs of Tamriel. Once again, however, her plans were thrown into disarray with the return of the Nerevarine, and though she certainly understood the desire of those who aligned with Dagoth Ur to see Morrowind released from the grip of the Empire, she was quick to confirm her allegiance to the Tribunal Temple when the time came. The very foundations of Dunmeri society were uprooted not long after, but even with the deaths of Sotha Sil and the betrayal of Almalexia, Tylmaesa’s loyalties stayed firm.The anchor to her faith - Lord Vehk - remained for relatively long after the deaths of his fellow Tribunes, but even when he departed into seeming nothingness, Tylmaesa’s faith remained utterly unwavering. He was gone, but her ideals were not - and so, Tylmaesa found herself once again pushed away from the province she called home. The times were changing, and her people were drifting away from the Tribunal and toward the ‘Good Daedra’, but Tylmaesa flatly and loudly refused to venerate any other than Vivec. He was gone, she reasoned, but his ideals were not, and they yet still offered her far more than any Daedra ever could.
Growing differences between herself and her fellow Dunmer, however, didn’t stop Tylmaesa from participating in its defense against hordes of invading Deadra. Tylmaesa, in fact, eagerly participated in its defense, personally slaughtering more than a dozen Daedra with her enchanted greatblade over the course of the Oblivion Crisis. To fight against legions of Daedra, in the warrior’s mind, was a thrill and a challenge like none other, and one which she found impossible to refuse. What was nearly as tempting, however, was the utter Chaos that followed the termination of the Oblivion crisis - but Tylmaesa found herself unable to profit from it, increasingly forced out of her businesses by the Hlaalu Councilors thanks to her persistent willingness to insult their character. She knew she was right to do so - or she thought as much, at least - but the simple fact of the matter was that present circumstances left Tylmaesa without the protections her network of political allies would have usually offered.
Soon came the Argonian invasions of Morrowind, and with them, an indiscriminate force seeking righteous vengeance for centuries upon centuries of terrible injustice. tylmaesa quickly consolidated all the forces she could muster around her estate, hoping to protect it - and although she partially succeeded, few Dunmer escaped the destruction of the invasion, and Tylmaesa was no exception. The ash of the red year had slowly been choking her crops, and now, the An-Xileel had devastated much of what remained, setting mining operations and farms back by years of progress.
In other words, put simply, Tylmaesa had been put in the perfect position to be made a scapegoat by the loyalists among House Hlaalu. She had unequivocally refused to abide by a valuable, newfound alliance with House Dres, she had openly 'slandered' the House's leadership, and now, her businesses teetered on the verge of complete bankruptcy. Under the guise of protecting the House's assets, kinsmen and women who had sought Tylmaesa's removal for some time finally struck, buying out the vast majority of her ventures from under her nose, or poaching her most skilled employees where they could not. She protested, even railed against them - but instead of backing her up, the House's leadership opted to strip the supposed traitor of rank, reducing her to the status of a landless mercenary captain. Even that would not last long, however, for mercenaries had little interest in working for an employer that could not afford their upkeep between contracts, and the Golden Wamasu quickly disbanded.
Tylmaesa told herself that she found these experiences liberating, but, in truth, some part of her felt entirely helpless. For ages, Tylmaesa had been used to an extensive support network. She was used to having access to the finest healers in Tamriel to mend her body when she overstepped her abilities and found herself wounded, but now, she was forced to strictly ration her funds, little more than a mendicant adventurer wandering away from Morrowind, taking up whatever jobs she could find and perform adequately along the way. In those days, she found little comfort, aside from the warmth of sujamma and the occasional company of a fellow traveler in her bed, wandering and aimless without a nation to fight for.
Perhaps her greatest comfort, however, was in the teachings of Vivec, or at least what she perceived in them. The most valuable message Lord Vehk gave her was that of self-reliance and independent thought, even where his writings appeared to run in contrast to his actions. It was Vivec, after all, that wrote of how one should distrust religious authorities, yet formed the nucleus of one himself. It was Vivec that appeared to espouse violent passion as the way to reach divinity, yet expected absolute obedience out of his subjects. Where someone else might see contradictions, Tylmaesa saw a man that lived honestly by his philosophy. Vivec's sermons were a guide to cultivating the self, and Lord Vivec had taken advantage of them to the fullest extent of his ability.
So too would she, she reasoned, if she were to survive. Lord Vivec remained as an example to strive for, but most essential of all to the mendicant adventurer was that she cultivate a path to self-actualization in a way that best suited her. In some ways, however, she tried emulate him too closely.
With no armor, she was forced to temper her body against her foes, repeatedly exposing herself to extreme temperatures and straining herself beyond what she even thought possible in an effort to bring her body to a level at which it could somewhat compensate for her newfound refusal to wear armour. She was used to making use of heavy armor, however and whatever her martial skill, Tylmaesa could not simply change the way she fought at the flip of a dime. She spent nearly a decade honing her body, but, in those decades, she picked up thick knots of scars, wounds that were far more severe than they would have been had she fought as she always did. Her access to adequate healers, likewise, was far more limited than she was used to. It was not long before Tylmaesa began to realize that she would swiftly die should she continue to persist on defiantly operating alone (after all, even Vivec had his allies), difficult as it was for her to admit it.
It was not long, however, before the Empire caught her eye once again. Word reached her of an ongoing peasant revolt in Skingrad against a cruel Imperial count, led by an unassuming woman of Imperial descent and a minotaur that rarely, if ever, left her side. Deeply intrigued by the chance to find like-minded people to join with once more, Tylmaesa journeyed through Skyrim, and down toward Cyrodiil, eventually finding her way through Skingrad.
Though she lacked many of her traditional allies, though her contacts in the Cammona Tong and Baandari caravans that travelled through Cyrodiil, Tylmaesa was eventually able to have a message making clear her intentions delivered to Isobel.
She was a mendicant warrior, without purpose or a place to stay, and, should Isobel offer her shelter, she swore that she would fight by the woman's side until at least Count Hruldan was slain and the peasant revolt's position in Skingrad was fully secure. She espoused her skill as a negotiator and warrior, but most importantly her experience commanding irregular forces, and was eventually able to meet Isobel proper, promising her sword to the woman's service.
In the months since, Tylmaesa has been a decidedly unusual presence in Isobel’s revolt, capable as a negotiator, diplomat, logistician, and warrior. Her presence is not, however, without turmoil - Tylmaesa remains impulsive despite her fears of once again being left socially stranded, loudly announcing her political and religious views when prodded. She struggles to make lasting friendships, likewise; despite her dedication to the cause, she rarely speaks of her past to her comrades aside from her passionate retelling of embellished stories of her triumphs, and even more rarely dares to truly trust them, despite her generally friendly demeanor. After all, what guarantee does she have that they will not simply abandon her when it becomes convenient?
Major Attribute: Endurance. Though her strength is indeed impressive, it is in her sheer ability to persist in the face of adversity, however it may come, that Tylmaesa reaches truly superhuman heights, though she is far from invincible. She can outdrink the most alcohol-soaked Nords, withstand injuries that would fell lesser warriors and keep standing, and possesses the mental fortitude to make her mind a more ironclad fortress than the greatest of castles. Her improved physical endurance, of special note, is partly due to her relatively recent desire to fight in the manner of Vehk himself - without adequate armor.
Minor Attribute: Strength. Owing to her natural size and more than a century of training, Tylmaesa has honed her body into a dangerous machine. While certainly fast, it is in her ability to strike hard, and typically with lethal force, that makes her most deadly on the field of battle. She is capable of feats of strength that would generally be considered incredible, yet still quite naturally achievable.
Expert: -Two-handed: Befitting her immense size, Tylmaesa favours the use of large weapons uniquely suited to her immense size. This includes a number of implements, from polearms to the occasional heavy-handed bodyblow, but her favorite - even signature weapon - is her greatblade, a hooked ebony blade in the Hlaalu style, with which her skill is certainly impressjve. She can just as easily tear a knight from his steed as she can cut down swathes of the risen dead, thanks to decades of practice and study with everyone from her late father, to Redguard swordmasters, and Nord berserkers. She has fought just as wide a breadth of foes, if not moreso, and while no warrior possesses unassailable technique, she is usually at least aware of the best way to use her weapon against a given foe.
Adept: -Mercantilism: Among those aware of the existence of House Hlaalu, it is a common stereotype that its members, especially those by blood, are skilled merchants and devious politicians. In this respect, Tylmaesa fits expectations perfectly. Not only was she brought up to inherit a moderately large business empire including everything from crops to armoring (an effort she engaged in to diversify the family Business), but she was frequently placed into positions where she was forced to make hard choices to keep the family alive, and, perhaps most importantly, capable of arranging complicated political deals with unlikely allies such as House Redoran, the Baandari caravans, and even the Camonna Tong. In other words, she is also diplomat, and is skilled in the complicated arts of negotiation and compromise.
-Unarmored: As discussed above, Tylmaesa prefers to forgo the use of armor these days, including in combat. In her effort to imitate the absent Vivec, however, and to cling to his memory, she has come to realize that her unusual size and strength makes her movement necessarily clumsy, meaning that she is not a true master of unarmed combat, forced to rely on ability to resist and mitigate the impact of blows rather than simply dodge out of their path. She finds this satisfactory, however, and takes pleasure in the intimidation factor an bare-chested warrior wielding a massive hooked blade in the Hlaalu style can supply.
-Speechcraft: Befitting of someone who seeks to emulate Lord Vivec, Tylmaesa exudes a natural charisma - aside from the sheer dedication she has to sculpting an appearance that is aesthetically pleasing Tylmaesa has a knack for knowing what people want to hear, and when to say it to her advantage. Whether than means subtly altering her accent to affect a high-society air while speaking to a noble, speaking in a common drawl interspersed with vulgarities to a dockworker, or simply knowing how to provide a shoulder to cry on, she's broadly capable when it comes to social niceties. That's not to say she doesn't make mistakes, however, or more notably allow her impulsive anger to get in the way when it'd be beneficial to avoid it.
-Mysticism: Although she possesses some academic knowledge of most disciplines of magic, Mysticism is the one in which most of Tylmaesa's actual power lies; specifically, its utility in crippling the supernatural and exploiting the weaknesses of supernatural beings, whether that involve capturing their souls or leaving their magicks to fizzle away on contact with her body. For a dedicated monster-hunter such as herself, these sorts of abilities are often essential, including spells that allow her to better hunt down her prey.
Journeyman:
-Hand-to-hand: though she is a trained martial artist, Tylmaesa lacks the specialization that people who use hand-to-hand combat as their primary way of fighting would have. Rather, she is capable of remaining dangerous without her tools of choice.
-An Ebony greatblade, crafted in the style of House Hlaalu. Hooked at the tip, the multifunctional blade is capable of being used for all the standard functions of any typical bastard sword, though its hooked end additionally gives it utility in tearing away shields or pieces of armour, or even dragging riders down from their mounts. Heavily enchanted, the greatsword’s strikes are enchanted to both scorch and shock foes, and can even drain magicka from foes. Additionally -A network of magical tattoos and wards carved into Tylmaesa’s skin, which serve to harden Tylmaesa’s skin beyond natural means, particularly against magical assault. -A sack of potions, particularly healing potions, potions of cure disease, and a handful that increase Tylmaesa’s resistance to harm from specific elements and allow her to see in the dark. Some of the vials are partly empty. -Tylmaesa always carries various ritual reagents with her, both to aid in the creation of wards and in the typical casting of her spells -Worn for warmth, Tylmaesa is often found with the partial hide of what appears to be a massive werebear on her back. Though she rarely wears it into battle, due to how cumbersome it can become, she generally drapes the hide over herself as protection from harsh weather or to better warm herself at night when her bedroll proves insufficient.
-Hla Gah-Julan, Tylmaesa’s Nix Ox, has been her mount of choice for a substantial portion of her life - and, when he hasn’t, other nix-oxen descended from his same line have serveds the same purpose. With its hard hide, he is a valuable ally in battle, and his insectoid strength means he is often left to carry what Tylmaesa cannot in various saddlebags. -Second-most prized of Tylmaesa’s possessions are a collection of tomes containing all of Vivec’s sermons, immaculately maintained despite the apparent browning of their pages due to age. Tylmaesa rarely allows these books to leave her side. -Among Tylmaesa’s possessions are a number of maps of various regions of Tamriel, mostly military maps describing topography, major landmarks and strategic locations, and routes of supply. All are marked with known typical routes used by Baandari caravans, and several have the locations of suspected Daedric cults and the lairs of various dangerous creatures marked upon them. -Tylmaesa carries a thick, leatherbound journal with her, meticulously detailing a number of her exploits and a trove of knowledge sher’s gathered on the various dangers of Tamriel, including sheafs of paper apparently torn from other books describing the methods of various daedric cults and sorcerers in incredibly dry, academic language. -In addition to the above, Tylmaesa carries with her various thick tomes containing a wide range of folk legends, from Khaajiti tales to Nord mythos. -A sack of various precious gemstones, and a handful of gold septims. Though gems are inevitably less easy than official currency to use for trade, Tylmaesa finds gemstones to be more convenient for her use due to their generally lesser weight and relative ease of exchange. -Two small glass vials, containing portions of the ashes of her parents. At their request, Tylmaesa has ensured that they are always by her side, in some respect, even in death. -A somewhat worn sleeping roll, crafted from thick hides and expensive furs. Tylmaesa rarely carries this herself, instead typically leaving it tied to her mount when not in use. -A signet ring of House Hlaalu, marking her as a House Sister. -A traditional Khaajiti sugar pipe, along with a small satchel of moon sugar, tightly sealed in a small salt-filled jug to protect it from moisture. -Various eating and cooking utensils, along with several small bags of cooking spices -A copy of “The Sacred Annals of Prophesied Rid-Thar-ri'Datta, First Mane of the Epiphany” written in Ta’agra -A pair of well-maintained waterskins -An empty Sujamma jug, along with one that is halfway full, and one that is full to the brim. -An ebony statuette of Vehk wielding Muatra, The statuette is somewhat worn, but is otherwise well-polished. -A heavily worn axe-head emblem, forged in the old Nordic/Atmoran style. -The broken dynamo core of a Dwemer Centurion -Flint and steel -Trail rations
Born under the sign of the Steed on the 26th of Midyear, Tylmaesa most embodies the Steed’s impulsiveness, moving where she pleases, and doing things as the mood strikes her. She is somewhat deceptively quick for her size, but only slightly so.
So I don't want to lay all my cards on the table right now, but I was also planning on playing a Dunmer with some association with the Tribunal Temple. I would have preferred it if the trial was not considered canon for the sake of my character's backstory, but I can work around it either way.
@Jeddaven Would it be alright if we compared a few notes privately? I am worried our two character concepts might have significantly overlapping backstories.
Sure, that's fine my me. My Dunmer concepts aren't directly involved with the temple, though, mind you - I asked about Vivec because I always found the speed with which the Dunmer abandoned their faith of the Tribunal to be a bit much, even despite, well... The apparent death of two and the revelation that they aren't gods in the literal sense, and whatnot.
Everyone is free to apply with a character when the OOC thread goes up. Keep in mind that this is the Advanced section, though. I doubt we'll be posting more than once or twice a week -- and the posts we write are big. But yes, we'll be doing it in a thread.
<Snipped quote by Jeddaven>
How would that affect your character, if I were to say yes?
That depends on what character I end up playing, as unhelpful an answer as that may be - I can say that, more generally, if I end up playing a Dunmer, it'll impact how they spiritual faith turns out, esp. how they view Vivec. In the event that the Trial is canon, however, it's probable that a Dunmer character I end up playing would likely either continue to venerate/worship Vivec in some capacity, to the exclusion of most of the Daedra now worshipped by the Dunmer, esp. Azura.
In the event that it's not canon, well... I'm not sure what'd happen, then, on account of, if I remember correctly, Vivec not really having been resolved in the canon.
One hand gripping the cord above his head, the other idly pawing at his rifle's buttstock, Maksim stared unblinkingly out the window to his side and into the dark Ukranian night. He could hear scarcely little, aside from the drone of the floating coffin he stood inside and the muffled chatter of his fellow soldiers - but he was far more focused on the deadly dance about to unfold outside. Two aircraft - one painted in the colours of the Hetmanate, the other marked with the Whites and Reds of his own country - sped toward each other. The White pilot's aircraft was far more maneuverable with its two wings, dodging and weaving wildly out of the heavier plane's line of fire. Suddenly pulling upward, it...
Burst into flame as it was struck by red cannon-fire, spiralling toward the ground with a sound that Maksim imagined must've been an incredibly pathetic whimper. His shoulders slackened, the wind taken out of him - only to be abruptly shaken back to full awareness by a husky woman's voice, a gently scarred face looking back at him from over her shoulder.
"What's got your attention, comrade?" She asked. A sergeant - technically his superior - but he'd never known his commanding officers to be especially unfriendly.
"Escort fighter. One of the white biplanes, it just..." He pursed his lips, bringing his hands together only to suddenly spread his fingers in a crude imitation of a fiery explosion. "I knew the Whites were running on elbow grease, but biplanes?" He snorted.
"Too busy trying to hand themselves back to the Tsarina to make anything else, I guess. Olga, by the way." The woman shrugged, nonchalant. "British scraps are better than nothing, I guess."
"Are they?" He said, earning a slight chuckle from the woman and the handful of comrades listening in.
"Better than the nothing we used to have." She said - and then, his entire field of view changed colour as the cabin was bathed in a bright green, a stark chance from the warm yellow of before.
"Go, go, go!" Came the sound of a barking officer's voice. Moving forward with the line of men ahead of him, Maksim watched as the aircraft's open door and the grizzled officer next to it rapidly came into view. His heart pounded in his chest. His first combat jump.
Before he knew it, the Sergeant leapt out of the plane ahead of him... And at the grizzled man's signal he followed, briefly deafened by the sound of a spinning propellor before it was quickly replaced by an onrush of wind. His body jerked upwards, compelling him to gaze upwards to see his vision covered by a circular chute.
Letting out a sigh of relief, Maksim gingerly gripped the cables, slowly turning his gaze toward the burning city to the northwest.
Ternopil, was it? He couldn't exactly remember the name. The village beneath him, though, he was intimately familiar with - or at least how to capture the place named Village Seven. It seemed so small, from so high up - Maksim even swore he could see the advancing tanks far to the west from here, or even the volunteers advancing in from Belarus to the East-northeast. He couldn't, of course - the horizon stopped long before then - but he liked to imagine he could, even if the only light he had was a distant moon and a few clusters of burning buildings.
Even then, it didn't take eagle-eyes to notice how rapidly the ground was approaching. Bending his knees, Maksim pushed himself onto the balls of his feet the moment they made contact with the grassy earth - then he fell, rolling onto his side before frantically detaching his parachute. Grabbing for his rifle, he quickly pushed himself to his feet, struggling to gain his bearings until his gaze fell upon the fat, boxy shape of a landed glider and the tiny tank trundling down the ramp that was its opened nose.
Good, he thought. He landed in the right place, already rushing to rendezvous with the vehicle and the rest of his squad, gathering around the vehicle as it began to advance.
One, two, three, four, five, six... All-in-all, he counted one short of two dozen men and women scattered in loose formation about the tank and the pair of small artillery tractors following it. A handful of men had taken most of the few available spaces on the back of the tank, quietly watching the surrounding treeline. Maksim quietly joined them at the front, holding his loaded rifle across his chest - and without a word, the formation began to move down the nearby roads, into Village Seven.
If they could even be called roads, that was - to Maksim's eyes, they looked more like poorly arranged sections of packed dirt, stone, and gravel, hardly roads at all. More of note was the rail line that passed through (and briefly stopped in) Village Seven, though Maksim noticed there seemed to be fuckall else of interest, staring into the cluster of buildings ahead.
Suddenly, the column came to a stop near the edge of the village as the man in front of him held up his arm, gesturing toward a large hill to the northwest.
He could hear it too - even at this distance, the sound of old Russian artillery pieces firing in staggered succession was clearly audible.
The sound of artillery-fire was suddenly broken by the crack of a gunshot, whizzing by Maksim’s head and pinging loudly off of the tank’s frontal plate. Acting quickly, Maksim dove to his left, out of the way of the road - just as the tank opened fire, presumably stitching the building toward the town square with gunfire. Truthfully, he couldn't tell. He was far too busy frantically smashing his way through a window and into cover to pay attention to exactly where his legs were carrying him or what he was doing, as long as it took him out of the line of fire. He wouldn't be much good to his comrades dead, after all, except as fertilizer, and-
Maksim found himself staring upwards as his ears caught the noise of the ratta+tat-tat of machine gun fire above him. Unthinking, he charged up the rickety staircase, toward the source of the noise - and skidded to a halt.
A door blocked his passage. He didn't have the explosives to blow it apart quickly enough, and if he tried to bludgeon it down...
Placing a hand on the handle, he turned it, and...
Clunk.
Maksim sucked in a deep breath, pushing the door inward with a grunt and a shove. Bringing his rifle up to his shoulder, he briefly scanned over the room - two men, manning a Maxim gun, by the window - and opened fire, pumping a hail of bullets into their prone bodies before they even had the chance to realize what was happening. Rushing over to the window, he peered outside, just in time to catch a glimpse of the distant hill upon which the White artillery sat before it was consumed wholesale in a devastating rocket barrage, the noise soon drowned out by the droning buzz of aircraft passing overhead.
she/her pronouns. I'm interested in a wide variety of roleplays, but I tend toward prefering High Fantasy and High Sci Fi settings (think Elder Scrolls or Warhammer 40k). Whether it's a Nation Roleplay (I love digging into fictional politics) something on a smaller, individual scale, or something in between, there's a good chance I might be interested! I especially enjoy fantasy setting with weird, esoteric fluff - up to and including the nonsense that happens in Elder Scrolls, or, occasionally, Age of Sigmar.
Fave settings /period/ are Warcraft, and Golarion. WH40k and AoS are close.
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">she/her pronouns. I'm interested in a wide variety of roleplays, but I tend toward prefering High Fantasy and High Sci Fi settings (think Elder Scrolls or Warhammer 40k). Whether it's a Nation Roleplay (I love digging into fictional politics) something on a smaller, individual scale, or something in between, there's a good chance I might be interested! I especially enjoy fantasy setting with weird, esoteric fluff - up to and including the nonsense that happens in Elder Scrolls, or, occasionally, Age of Sigmar.<br><br>Fave settings /period/ are Warcraft, and Golarion. WH40k and AoS are close.</div>
Member
Izurich
