Lo Pellegrino

The Elder Scrolls: Rage of the Waves

@Macro Any idea when tax season is in TES? Not sure why, but I have the sudden desire to see Berch help Faruq with money advice before the game is through. Maybe he can help a knight save for retirement?

The Elder Scrolls: Rage of the Waves

I also realize I never had Cedric introduce himself. FUCK IT, LET'S ROLL.

@Dervish

Oh god dammit I did the same thing.

The Elder Scrolls: Rage of the Waves

A group collected at the gates like workers performing a task. Faruq followed the pattern, mind more consumed by the raiding party and their shameful display. His hand rested on the bone pommel of his blade. Drawing out of anger had been a mistake that quickly might have ended this brief departure from his quest. Still, what was a knight who did not stand against injustice? Perhaps a knight that lived longer. Faruq looked back onto the hamlet torn asunder with their citizens laid in the streets dead or dying. A horrid sight, but a fraction of what the Dominion would bring.

The conversation of daedra worship and murder did little to interest Faruq. While the altmer argued the definition of murder, he found his thoughts affected more by what occurred only a few moments ago. In light of countless innocents run down for no reason other than force their hands this Cyrendil felt the need to justify his crimes. Before Faruq could let vent his own frustrations the tattooed breton with a mind for humour spoke up. The words cut and cooled, offering a view not unlike Faruq’s, but following critique with crude comedy. Faruq might have laughed if not for the intimidating stature of the orc. Fortunately, the arrival of both the healer and the fiery haired imperial made further response unnecessary.

“We’ll need a plan to get this guy out. Anyone got a plan?” the healer began. Right quick her attention broke and posed as if to pluck a fluttering butterfly from out the air, she introduced herself as Gaela.

Faruq drew a deep and silent breath. Within moments of meeting one had begun debating the righteousness of killing a young girl only a few nights before and the other, distracted more by butterflies than the horrors behind them, declared herself as much a healer as an arsonist. A far cry from sharing the rode with Cyrodiilic nobles and seasoned soldiers struggling to protect life and liberty. He thought too of how many of them continued on this plain. The thought sent him away until his lungs burned and his sword hand drifted to a pouch strapped to his belt. Suddenly conscious of himself, Faruq released the breath and returned his hand to rest upon the pommel of his sword. He waited for the skinny imperial dressed in rags to finish his piece.

"Look around," Faruq exclaimed with a hand waving over Meir Thorvale. "Why any of us were imprisoned means fuck-all. We shan't have a chance to return to our lives lest we act now. It matters little to me who defies our saviour and who means to accomplish the task set before us. Camlorn is a ways from here. I wager there'll be time to plan and bicker on the way. Besides, strategies come easier over a map and ale." Faruq glanced to the ragged imperial with those words, then pointed a finger to the smoke rising from the hamlet. "What say you all we leave here before this Shornhelm fellow sends the guard?"

The Elder Scrolls: Rage of the Waves

Faruq is at the gate, I'm working on a post with him introducing himself and such.

The Elder Scrolls: Rage of the Waves

<Snipped quote by idlehands>

I really didn't want to have to kill of a player character after the first post. Even I'm not THAT mean.

1 Go Faruq Yourself vs. Dozens of mounted bandits = Redguard sushi.

Also, SASSBOWL CONTINUES!

@Dervish

We all have our lapses in judgment, aye? Thankfully Faruq avoided becoming s delicious meal and the lesson will stick!

"Faruq yourself" is the new insult!

The Elder Scrolls: Rage of the Waves

@Spoopy Scary I disagree, Faruq is young. Chasing stories, and is using moon sugar ( In humans, its consumption causes a euphoric state followed by complete exhaustion)

The last thing you need is the young man out of his mind on the sugar trying to lead coherently. The shits addictive.

My two cents anyway.

@ConstableWalrus

Faruq is consuming fairly small portions of sugar, like a newcomer weary of its effects. It's best to describe his use of this substance as a symptom of the reason he wouldn't make an ideal leader. I'd be more concerned about this youth trying to find his place and suffering from recent traumas at the same time. Now that doesn't sound like a good recipe!

The Elder Scrolls: Rage of the Waves

Going to give my post a second -- not dabbed out -- reading tomorrow. The italics are meant to be 'dream within a dream', so expect whimsy! Sorry, I mean whimsy!

Oh, and hopefully aggressive Faruq doesn't earn an early slap-stab!

The Elder Scrolls: Rage of the Waves

Clouds the shade of coin loomed over blackened fields. Rolling hills of shriveled grass thrashed in the furious wind, cracking into a dark dust that looked and smelled of death clung near the land. The macabre haze hovered as far as the eye could see in all but two realms. Though the deathly wilds spread far and wide they dare not encroach upon the fertile soil surrounding the City of Akatosh. Blood of dragons and daedra alike soaked deep, sprouting vibrant green upon the land and natural blue above it. In spite of such resilient beauty golden clouds gathered especially thick across the blackened fields from the City. Here the dark dust collected into a grim pillar drifting ever higher into the sky. Each time black plumes met gold clouds there was a rumble and lightening and a bit more of the greenery gone. Hundreds marched glinting in the light of the golden clouds across the blackened fields to draw the lightening closer. In there way stood three warriors.

"Three days, I'd say. Three days," repeated the captain, cocky and confident.
"We shan't survive this alone," warned the noble, somber and bleeding.
"Thrice you have proven a help," mourned the knight, broken and spiritless.

The Redguard arrived unwashed and caked in dust. This was not how one gained an audience with the Count of Meir Thorvale. The Redguard brought warnings and stories of war and wore fresh scars yet, he must wait. Meir Thorvale of meager population, the Craven Count of likewise repute. To wait would be to learn. To wait would be ponder the dead. To wait would be to eat a little more sugar to quiet and to forget.

Gold and black bled above and the skies tore. A blinding light shot down from the heavens, striking a hole from which the City of Akatosh bled. Children poured from out the city and played upon the fertile soil. They could not smell the death or see the haze. Hundreds marching beneath the golden cloud made way for the hole in the city. The captain rode his warhorse into the fray with a red banner in one hand and a steel sword in the other. The captain cut a swath in the shimmering army until once more the skies tore and lightening struck. And so the captain fell from his warhorse onto the blackened field and under the boots of the hundreds, all the while repeating, "Three days, I'd say. Three days." The noble rode his stallion into the swath with his own banner in one hand and an ornate sword in the other. The noble slowed the vigor in the shimmering army until twice more the skies tore and lightening struck. And so the noble too fell from his stallion onto the blackened field and under the boots of the hundreds, all the while warning, "We shan't survive this alone."

The Redguard waited a fortnight. When the audience was granted the Count of Meir Thorvale welcomed the Redguard with expectations for indebtedness, thankfulness, and general appreciation for such an expedited meeting. The Redguard wore a suit of plate and war paint as he would on the field of battle. He recounted the struggles for Cyrodiilic lands, the lives lost for freedom from the Dominion. The Count of Meir Thorvale would hear none of it. The Count replied as the southern Jarls of Skyrim had, although with apathy far less earned. Faced with yet more rejection and distracted by the sugar, the Redguard let loose. Slanders and accusations and threats filled the hall and a small fight broke out. Faces were bloodied. Counts offended. The Redguard arrested. He was stripped of his armour and his things and thrown into a cramped cell. He crossed his legs and sat in meditation as the days passed and his beard grew. The Redguard meditated for a fortnight.

The knight rode his colt into the swath of the slowed army a letter in one hand and a broadsword in the other. The knight killed many in the shimmering army until thrice more the skies tore and lightening struck. And so the knight fell from his colt onto the blackened field as a child, a young man really, leaped into the air and caught the strike in the heart. The knight held the young man with the blackened hole in the heart and mourned, "Thrice you have proven a help."

Crisp air of a dying winter filled his lungs and cleansed his mind. When the shackles fell from his wrists Faruq opened his eyes, perhaps for the first time in nearly two weeks. A blanket of white shined bright atop every home, shop, and field in Meir Thorvale. Yet, the beauty passed as blood and fire fouled the air. Faruq watched a man empty a woman's stomach and an altmer light a building ablaze. An orc of unholy stature plucked a fat sack of gold from the road like nothing at all. He scanned his eyes over the disappointing display, then rose and walked slowly to retrieve his things.

Faruq thought on the situation as he dressed. The others appeared to represent a broad range, some visibly disturbed, others by all accounts average. His eyes lingered upon the orc who mumbled something with deep pleasure on the way to the road. Orismer came in all shapes and sizes, but this one boasted such intimidating stature that he imagined guards shouting of drakes by mistake. Otherwise, Faruq noticed an imperial with hair the colour of her people's banners and a sword larger than he would ever care to wield. She looked hardened and moved quickly to assist the healer among them. His eyes stayed with her, noticing her watchful eye and confidence in every step. Faruq lifted his buckler last and began toward the imperial.

"Mind yourself, girl. Might aff to put you down," a bandit scolded a girl running from near the burning house. The rough looking breton grabbed her by the hair, jerking her backward onto the ground. "Aye, bit young, cute though. Paps I keep yuh, aye?"

Without breaking his gait, Faruq shifted direction toward the bandit. His pace sped, he pulled his chain-mail hood tight, and he drew his bone-handled sword. The bandit stood with his back to the knight. Faruq pommeled his shield twice, only just earning the bandits attention as he neared. Honour stipulated he wait for a weapon to be raised and the bandit did not disappoint. As the girl rolled herself away from the them, the bandit unsheathed an iron blade. By now a portion of the other raiders paused their raping and pillaging to see the next move. Faruq looked over them, a horde, and then to the girl, who by then had scrambled to her feet ran out to the road.

"Oops," the knight seemed to announce, feigning sincerity like a disinterested sload.

Faruq sheathed his sword and thought against joining the imperial. The bandit cursed, but did not strike. Silent, the knight stepped back and paid a shallow bow until the raiders returned to their work. He might hate to think of the fate Meir Thorvale, a fate brought on by yet another fool, but one sword could only accomplish so much. He shan't survive this alone. Faruq upon the imperial once more before making his way to the others awaiting on the road.

The Elder Scrolls: Rage of the Waves

@Dervish Dervish! that's the beauty of crossbows! Even an idiot can fire it! the mechanism does all the work!

@ConstableWalrus

Try loading the bolt and get back to me. 😏

The Elder Scrolls: Rage of the Waves

Name: Faruq, Bone Knight

Race: Redguard

Family Origins: Faruq was born a humble shop-keep and lyrical sell-sword. Alas, his sell-sword father was present only through letters and coin brought by courier every fortnight. In the days Faruq would work with his mother running the shop or picking up supplies, in the evening she would read the letters and tell great tales of his father's feats. In all his years Faruq never heard a sour word pass her lips. He spent his youth in Windhelm, the place of his birth, and has grown accustomed to living under occupation. What he knows of his father was told through stories and letters, aside from that, Faruq knows he is redguard and spent much time in southwest Skyrim.

Appearance: http://steamcommunity.com/sharedfiles/filedetails/?id=685032192

Faruq has the colour of his redguard father, but softened features of his imperial mother. His shoulders are broad and defined from constant use of a sword and shield. He lacks the height some full-blood redguard boast, but what he lacks in stature he makes up for in physical condition. Faruq is best described as thickly built. He is not toned like some knights, but his body is designed for hard work and abuse. His eyes are a warm brown and rest atop defined cheekbones with small scars faded with time. When not dressed for battle he can be seen strolling about wearing a leather doublet, the quality of which was moderate before enduring years of constant use, boots, and gloves. Faruq wears a soft expression in normal life and is known to paint a white skull upon his face in combat.

Age: 27

Equipment: Faruq wears a bone-handled sword on his hip and has a steel buckler hung over-top his leather traveler bag. He carries a curved, steel knife on the low of his back beside his water-skin and a simpler knife tucked into his belt for hunting. Within his bag are a day of rations, a leather journal, a bit of moon sugar, a small whetstone and cloth, his coin purse, and finally a writ declaring his knighthood. Atop a leather doublet he wears a black steel plate cuirass with rounded shoulders with a leather hood covering his mail coif.

Miscellaneous: Faruq keeps select letters from his father in his bag during travels. From time to time, one may find bundles of lavender and tea-making flowers as well.

Favored Skills:

Highly Proficient: Hand-to-Hand, One-Handed
Moderately Proficient: Shield, Heavy Armour
Somewhat Proficient: Armorer

Crime Committed: Slander, Rabble-Rousing, Criminal Threats -- including the words 'perhaps you will move when I shove this sword up your expletive expletive'

Character Background: Born to a mysterious father, a mother with a penchant for storytelling, and an ancient city, there could be no surprise that Faruq would grow hungry for adventure. Memories of his father come largely from the stories told by his mother and the letters that arrived each fortnight. As a child the stories seemed detailed and compelling, often Faruq saw his father, a vague image in his own mind, enacting the stories in his dreams. Such vivid stories brought warmth to the child even as Imperials lay siege and Windhelm changed. Where the stories offered distraction to the child, so too had they comforted his mother. However, age soon revealed that although told to entreat the senses, the stories were indeed quite cryptic. Faruq knew not for whom a bandit chief was slain, nor the precise details of their crimes, which so many tales deemed necessary. Naivety waned as the young redguard grew older and it became clear to his mother that he would not choose the life of a shop-keep as she had. Thankfully, she was a kind and patient and wise woman. As Faruq approached adulthood she tasked him greater duties. He began by picking up packages across the town, then to the docks, and eventually to the farms outside the city walls to the east. While she endured the Imperial guards, who years after the Stormcloak rebellion still warned of danger, the boy enjoyed a taste of adventure. Though the life of a shop-keep was indeed not his fancy, Faruq cannot deny today the skills gained from his youth.

A few years shy of a man grown, Faruq found himself travelling as far Anga's Mill. Mother had tasked him with securing regular shipments of lumber with the promise that this job could determine whether such trips became the norm. The young man wasted no time riding west from the Windhelm stables. In fact, he left in such a rush that the poor lad paid no mind to the eerie white clouds upon the horizon. A biting wind slowed his travels and though the boy fought desperately onward, the storm fought harder. Gods know how many died from Skyrim's cold embrace, gods know if Faruq will too, but he would not that day. An old cottage sat upon the hill not far from the road on which the boy had fallen. From there an old dunmer emerged, paying the cold no mind, taking in the boy and his horse so that their lives would be spared. Faruq stayed in the cottage under the dunmer's care as fever passed and his mind returned. He knew of the dunmer, well, he knew of the wives' tales. They called him crazed from too many years at war, some suggested he was a drinker of blood, but all the boy saw was a strange old mer whose tea smelled oddly sweet. When Faruq prepared to continue his trip to Anga's Mill the dunmer insisted on following. Though the boy protested, the old dunmer merely repeated, "You know nothing of the cold." The rest of the trip passed without issue. What marked Faruq were the outlandish stories the dunmer shared of vampire caverns and distant cities of ice. When the two separated, the old dunmer refusing to come too new to the city walls, the boy found his mind stuck on the strange mer. Several days passed after the boy's heartfelt return home, but it was clear to his mother something had changed. After a fortnight she sent a courier to the old cottage. Another fortnight passed before the reply. Despite so much time passed Faruq had continued speaking of the older dunmer, and while his mother worried, she knew what must be done.

With his next name day Faruq was sent to the cottage to begin apprenticeship under the old dunmer. He learned of the dunmer's decades of service, which included the Civil War, though the stories often meandered with references to impossible things. Training began early before his mentor tasted the sugar and continued until nightfall. Faruq practiced swordsmanship and combat akin to an Imperial soldier with unique twists that his mentor called 'flavour' before trailing off about colourful argonians and the like. The boy grew to appreciate the whimsy as wooden swords gave way to blunted swords and blunted swords to live steel. He found the old dunmer more than formidable and while the years slowed his mentor the skills faded little. After the second year Faruq was assigned tasks such as guarding trade caravans travelling nearby villages. On the third he began fulfilling bounties posted by the Jarl of Windhelm. By the fourth year of his training Faruq had grown in stature and reputation, and as the old dunmer hoped, earned the title of knight. Faruq returned to his mentor and mother a man of honour. Still, though the years offered much in the way of excitement and challenge, the stories of his father and indeed the old dunmer too echoed in his mind. He yearned for adventure. He yearned to see more than snow-flecked trees and unrelenting storms. When the Aldmeri Dominion and Mede Empire began their war that very year, Faruq found his calling. Before departing from Windhelm he paid his mother farewell. When he made to do the same to his mentor he found a gift waiting -- a bone-handled sword from one of the dunmer's impossible stories.

For the last ten years Faruq has fought hard against the Dominion. First, he traveled south to Cyrodiil where battles raged throughout. The good knight thought he would be of use, and after days of hard riding found himself put to work by nobles struggling to evacuate their people. Faruq learned the ways of war quickly. For each township or city suspecting attack camps would raise kilometers out and away. A few knights, those not needed to strategize, guarded the folk on the journey from bandits and raiders and others who might capitalize on chaos. A few times Faruq would return to battles nearly, if not already concluded. More often than not they fell in favour of the Dominion. Still, he continued his efforts until years passed and his aid reaped some measure of recognition. Faruq rode into Kvatch among a hardened legion intent of taking back the city from the Dominion. Beside the Imperial captain, from whom Faruq took orders, was a knight from a noble house in Kvatch. The entire lot were allowed through the city gates only to suffer traps and cruel magic. Faruq fought beside the noble-knight, and when the latter called for retreat, Faruq did not wait for the captain to agree. What few survivors escaped those bloody gates left speechless from the horror. It was then that Faruq heard the noble-knight say the words that would ultimately guide him to Meir Thorvale -- "We shan't survive this alone."

Faruq arrived to High Rock less than one month ago. Flustered with the apathy shown by lords from his native Skyrim, he entered the province with fire in his belly and politics far from his mind. He demanded an audience with the Count of Meir Thorvale citing important news of the war. A fortnight passed before he was received, shame to say, he smelled a touch of the sugar. When Faruq demanded aid to combat the looming threat of the Dominion, the Count bristled. When the Count explained their position -- a thing they need not do -- Faruq spat back insults. Foolishly, he called the Count traitorous and without mind and a few words he learned on the battlefield that still burned his own ears. The Count's guardsmen took hold of Faruq and had the situation still been salvageable, the redguard's fist into a guard's mouth saw otherwise. Today the Bone Knight sits in a cell with one lesson fresh in mind. "Be weary of calling a count a cunt."

Fighting Style: Defend your own then strike fast and true. The words passed down from his mentor perhaps referred to a style of combat less overt and heavy than what Faruq would pursue, but they remain true. Faruq trusts metal and has learned every piece to be a weapon. Whether the vambrace, which might catch a blade if struck, or a shield that may block or strike, he was taught to use everything at his disposal. He enters combat as if a knight of legend invulnerable to his foe. That is to say, given the opportunity to surprise Faruq will instead warn his opponent in order to conduct a proper battle. He prefers single combat with a blade and buckler, and while he is less mobile than those with lighter armour, what he lacks in movement upon the field he makes up for in quick strikes (relative to that of a two-handed blade, that is). Although Faruq does not typically indulge in destructive magics or poisons, he learned from his mentor to respect them. He will allow a blow in combat, but never if he suspects an enemy to have fouled their blade. Finally, despite a decade of campaigning in the war against the Dominion Faruq is in truth still learning. Much of his time has gone to evacuating citizens, building camps, and travel. He is a better warrior than the man who left Windhelm all those years ago, that is undoubted, but he is far from the level of a soldier.

Personality: The last years of youth are still upon Faruq. Despite years of war and hard training, at the core, he is still young redguard chasing stories. First he ran about all of Windhelm with an obscure image of his father in his mind. Eventually the old dunmer appeared in his life with grand tales that, if touched by the Mad Prince, served to inspire him further. That need to understand his father and to realize a life worthy of both him and his mentor is the driving force propelling Faruq forward. However, there is a deeper level to all this that even Faruq does not realize. In his heart of hearts he doubts that his father's stories are in fact noble, that the killing and feats, if true, were done for the betterment of a hold. Also, the old dunmer himself has recounted tales of killing and deaths clearly immoral. The core of the conflict deep within Faruq is not that his heroes are villains, but instead that Faruq is in fact tainted. Doomed to a life poisoning the world. This is perhaps his greatest fear.

On that note, Faruq actually makes for pleasant company. He has absorbed many a tale of brave knights and heroes, if nothing else good for entertainment, and sincerely cares what others feel and have to say. He can hold a decent conversation, but know that if wisdom more often spills from his tongue than is written in verse (wise words come accidentally, and perhaps ill-understood). He is young in heart, drinks like a lad given his first cup of ale, and is easily deceived by the promise of luxury. Of course, the trials of the last ten years have had their effects too. As exemplified during his audience with the Count of Meir Thorvale his anger towards those who does not live to his moral code can quickly swell. This is worsened by his recent use of moon sugar to aid sleep and quiet the nightmares from horrors long passed. But let's not get into that, say, have you ever heard the story of Grey Knight?

Font Colour: Faint purple ftw.