MiddleEarthRoze

💀 HAIL SITHIS 💀 ~The Next Chapter~ (Skyrim Dark Brotherhood RP) (Male or Female Partner Needed) (18 + ONLY)

Potentially interested - is Aleera acting as your main character, or is she an NPC?

Golden Compass RP?

@Tonks

The basics there sounds good, but a full on plot would be really helpful. I wouldn't want us to just to do essentially everything that Lyra does without deviating even slightly, rather we make our own plotline within the story?

Golden Compass RP?

I did always enjoy the books, though it's been a while since I've read them. What did you have in mind for plot?

Tʜᴇ Vʟᴏɢɢᴇʀs Cʀᴜɪsᴇ

Could I reserve lifestyle blogger please?

Actually, scratch that - my idea probably wouldn't fit the roleplay style. Sorry!

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

21st Second Seed

Rather than things improving like they had almost seemed to be in their first successful counter-attack against the Dwemer, the next few events went greatly downhill, particularly for Sol. While he avoided death or injury in the second attack with the Rangers, the journey back to Skingrad had been a harrowing one. Barely anything to eat or drink, and not a second wasted on sleep in the hurry to return to the safety of stone walls. A false hope really, considering how easily the Imperial City was taken... but it was better to forget that fact when the relief washed over you as you spied the castle in the distance. This was how Solandil felt, despite his exhaustion - exalted to be back to a city he didn't know nor care for, just for the false safety it provided.

Of course, this relief swiftly ebbed away as he caught wind of it's newest protectors. Before the word "Dominion" could even come from Pollux's mouth, Sol's facewraps and helmet had taken up residence on his his head once more, hiding a very stricken, pale face. These coverings stayed there for the next 24 hours and beyond, out of sheer paranoia of being recognised by any of the soldiers patrolling Skingrad. He could only find relief in that fact that his group were all leaving for Anvil on the morning, but even so, he couldn't relax. He failed to find any sleep that night, despite his exhaustion, and didn't rest until the group were well away from the fallen city. Sol couldn't quite balance the two schools of thought running around his mind - that the Dominion never gave a shit about him in the first place so wouldn't waste time and effort on bringing him to justice, or that they'd do anything to put down the abomination he was.

The arrival at Anvil finally prompted Solandil to free his head from hiding, and breathed a weary sigh of relief for it. Several days with his skin and hair utterly covered had left him sodden with sweat, and all he truly desired was a bath, a soft bed, and something beyond scrappy barbecued meat to eat. Unfortunately, those three things weren't going to come to him without money. As Daro'Vasora had so promptly put, the group were not going to be paid their promised amount. Sol could have threatened Rhea for his payment as he had with reluctant employers in the past, but he just felt too tired to do so. Rhea looked too tired to even feel intimidated by him. In fact, everyone he looked at seemed tired, barring the blase Anvil residents who hadn't been affected by the budding war so far. Hopefully they wouldn't be too frightened of a grubby snow-white Altmer asking them for a job. Whether they were involved or not, war always made people skittish.

As the group dispersed, Sol left wordlessly, picking a random direction and not looking back. He was surprised to find himself disappointed. Though he hadn't spent much time with them, the group had been a good one to travel and fight with. It had been diverse, and filled with capable men and women. One woman in particular had struck him more than the others, but now he supposed they wouldn't cross paths much again. Once more, disappointment hit him. Attempting to shake off the feelings, Sol affixed his usual grim visage as he entered the nearest tavern. Bartenders had plenty of word of mouth about tasks around the city, and looking like a forlorn pup wouldn't do him any favours in getting any.

---

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22nd of Second Seed

Trudging along the muddy backstreets of Anvil, Sol's lip curled as he squinted at the piece of parchment in his hand once again. This had been one of a dozen odd-jobs he'd picked up in the past two days, and was still being paid a pittance for it. Some old lady had lost a ring while out walking her pet rats, and had employed him to find it. He didn't even want to know why she had made such awful creatures her pets, and was fairly certain that one of them would have just gobbled up a shiny object if it had fallen in front of them. Whatever the case, he had nothing else better to do than to trawl back alleys for something of the ilk. Chances were the decrepit Dunmer would just find it in her jewellery box or something.

As the alleyway emptied out into a modest courtyard, Sol took note of the two men standing at the other entrance. They were lingering in the dark, and as he made his way forward, noted with narrowed eyes as they copied his movements. The slightest noise behind him caused his head to whip around, and there stood another man, stepping out behind him. Clearly, it was an ambush of some kind.

"Yes?" He sighed, coming to a halt in the center of the courtyard as the men formed a triangle around him. A particularly ugly one stepped forward, offering a grin that was missing several teeth.

"We've been lookin' fer you." So... not a random attack due to bad luck then. Sol didn't really need two guesses as to who had sent them, and once again, he was very disappointed in his sister. Even after all this time, she found the lowest of the low to try and kill him. Not once had he had a Dark Brotherhood or Morag Tong pay him a visit - just mercenaries who had happened across his bounty papers, of which several had been randomly sent around the continent from Alinor. She just didn't seem to learn.

Sol regarded the three uncouth attackers with about as much interest or alarm as he would a bird pecking at the floor for scraps. The three were leering and jostling their swords foolishly, possibly in the hopes of intimidating him but only appearing more inept as time went on. Their grip was flimsy, their manner thuggish, and they all reeked of filth and pickled... something. Fair to say, Sol wasn't exactly shaking in his boots.

"Let's get this over with then. I've had a long week." He said in a bored, tired tone as he lazily drew his swords. All he really wanted was a warm bed at this point, but didn't exactly have the money for it, even after all of the jobs he'd taken on. He brightened up slightly as he realised that these idiots would at least have some coin on them. If not, there'd be plenty of merchants in the streets that he could hawk their items to. The trio looked at him uneasily, but still advanced with a hearty bellow. Sol stayed unmoving, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

---

Naturally, the fight hadn't lasted very long, but Sol was still displeased with the lack of money the three had carried between them. There was enough for a room at an inn for perhaps three days, food and drink included. Not enough left over to send a certain package back home to his dear sister, to yet again remind her of her pathetic failures to end his life. He pondered between comfort and petty revenge, and logic eventually won the former choice. He'd have to wait until next time to send her another broken toy. After counting up the coin, Sol took the men's swords and knapsacks, sighing heavily as he continued on his way towards the closest inn. Hopefully, wherever it was had a bath. His once silver hair was beginning to turn black.

---

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23rd of Second Seed

Half-submerged in a steaming tub laid Solandil, enjoying his second bath of the week with a content smile. The Flowing Bowl had been more than accommodating to him despite the filthy state of his body and fresh blood on his swords. A room with a steaming bath had been provided swiftly, along with some well-earned hot food and wine. His first bath had quickly turned brown with the layers of grime on his body, and the luxury of his room was quickly forgotten as he fell into a soft bed, still half-naked from being too bone-tired to get dressed. The next day, another bath was called and paid for, and this time Sol made sure to enjoy it as much as possible.

Bathing was nearly always a luxury for adventurers and mercenaries such as himself. Spending so long on the road meant a lack of resources for such a thing, and if one was in a city long enough to enjoy one, they clearly weren't earning enough money from work. But especially for Sol, he couldn't even enjoy bathing in rivers or waterfalls in the wild. Self-conscious of his own body, along with the paranoia of someone noticing his unique colouring and the Dominion receiving word of it. This meant bathing in private was almost impossible for the Altmer. But not now, in his own little room.

As he reached for a glass of wine he had left nearby, his eyes were drawn to the knapsack he had taken from his attackers yesterday. A cursory look through had revealed food, a tinderbox that was nearly empty, and a sheaf of bounties, some of which had crudely been crossed through. Ironically enough, they had crossed his out... far too prematurely, as their corpses would show. Reaching from the tub and grabbing the strap, Sol tipped it upside down on the floor beside him, looking through the remainder of rubbish that the thugs had accumulated. They truly seemed to have picked up every little thing they had come across. Scraps of paper, shiny rocks, wooden ladles, a rusted old dagger... nothing of any use.

Just as he was about to turn away, a small item glinting amongst the rubbish caught his eye. Brushing away a pile of feathers, Sol's expression turned incredulous as his long fingers delicately picked up a golden ring, embedded with an emerald.

"Well, I'll be. Looks like the old woman was right." He murmured, turning the ring over and over his palm as he examined it. It definitely matched the description she had given him, and he'd even found it in the alleyway where she had claimed to have dropped it. It appeared that the looting of his thugs had been far more lucrative than he could have ever imagined. In no time at all, Sol had sought out the old woman with her missing heirloom, returning to the bar of the Flowing Bowl with reward money in hand and feeling more content than he had in days.

Goldberg Tech: Serendipity

Are you still looking for more members? I'm interested and willing to wait for the OOC to come up to let us know how to build characters but had a brief couple questions.

@Dr Catfish

We certainly are still looking for new members! The more the merrier.

Are you allowing synthetics?

Synthetics (or robots) will be a part of the universe, but we won't be allowing characters of them. Strictly human.

Are neurological-based implants a possibility?

Absolutely! More information will be available with the OOC, but it's fair to say that if you can think of a body part, there'll be a cybernetic enhancement for it.

And are you willing to reveal more details on the paragraph you seen describing climbing stairs?

It was extremely tedious, and I do wish I could remember where I saw it, haha. Let's just say there was about a sentence dedicated to each step paired with pointless inner monologuing. *shudder*

@ihinka

Hey! As we're wanting the CS to look as much like a dossier or colony case file as possible, we'll only be allowing static images, so no GIFs please.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Flesh Wounds

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A Collab by @MiddleEarthRoze and @MacabreFox

After reuniting Daro’Vasora with Latro, Brynja picked her way through the carnage, and while her chipper attitude might have come across as unusual, or even out of place, she couldn’t help but feel that way. However, just like fog in a field evaporating with the rising sun, so did her brief moment of joy. There were the dead and dying to be taken care of, and the first one on her list was Solandil. As promised, she told him she would take care of that flesh wound, and she intended to keep it. She found Solandil not long after.

Nodding her head, she spoke, “It’s time. Let me take a look at this flesh wound of yours.”

Following the destruction of all the Dwemer present at the ruin, and their strange airships secured, Solandil had found himself checking the mangled remains of the metal constructs, ensuring each of them were well and truly dead. With the living, one could check for tell-tale signs of life. Faint pulses of blood, a rising chest, and if that failed, the clouding of metal when held against their mouth from dying breaths. With metal, things became more complicated. The best he could do was kick away their soul gems after wrenching open carcasses, provided it hadn’t been done already. The Rangers had certainly done a thorough job.

Starting slightly as Brynja spoke up behind him, he turned to look to her, surprised. Last he’d seen she’d still been at Latro’s side, rejoicing that he was still alive. He’d just assumed she had forgotten about his injury and moved on with her friends.

“Ah.” He paused, feeling uncomfortable all of a sudden. “... I’m sure there are far more grievous injuries on the field to be tending to.” He couldn’t really understand his discomfort, before he recalled that it had been a long time since someone had willingly gone out of their way to make sure he was alright after a battle. The past mercenary jobs had never held such compassion.

“Nonsense.” She said, waving her hand for him to remove the armor. “You first. There are plenty of healers among our ranks.”

It only took a look at her face to understand the Nord woman wasn’t going to waver in her decision to help him. “Very well.” He replied stiffly, fingers fumbling at the clumsily repaired strap of his cuirass. Outwardly, he could have appeared ungrateful, whereas within he was just unsure of how to tread in this unfamiliar territory. There didn’t appear to be any ulterior motive in Brynja’s desire help him, and she didn’t owe him any favours. After a lifetime of being distrusted himself simply for his appearance, Sol was having a difficult time in trusting too.

Despite the hasty repair made in the midst of battle, Sol’s cuirass and pauldrons soon clunked to the floor beside the pair, and his lip curled in annoyance as he saw his bloodied undershirt. That had been his last good one, and with no payment from Rhea and a lack of entrance into Skingrad, he was going to be stuck with it for the foreseeable future. Not that it was much use with a bloody great big rend through the material. As he shifted the shirt over his head with a wince, Brynja would see the scarlet of his fresh wound peppered across his chest, still in the middle of clotting. Against the paleness of his skin the red of blood stood out as brightly as a fire, and the older wound from the Falmer still remained on his shoulder, the once purple bruising which surrounded the cut now giving way to a vivid collection of blues and greens.

Brynja took note of the older wound on his shoulder, part of her chastising how she could have missed this injury. After all, out of all the skills she took pride in, healing was her forte. As her eyes traveled across his chest, she couldn’t help but take a closer look at his torso. Her face coloured darkly despite her furrowed brows.

Thankfully, Brynja had gone to retrieve her rucksack after leaving Vasora, “I’ll clean this up. It’ll hurt, so… grit your teeth.” She said, and took a deep breath. Unravelling the leather thong that kept the water skin closed, and opened it enough so that the water wouldn’t spill everywhere. With practiced hands, Brynja guided the water skin to the glaring red wound on his chest that stretched from his right shoulder down to his left pectoral muscle, and began to pour the water along the length of the wound, washing what blood she could from the wound. She had to admit, Solandil was… very fit, and she struggled to maintain a proper stature.

Indeed, Brynja wasn’t wrong. As the liquid splashed against the cut, Sol inhaled sharply, eyes squeezing shut and gritting his teeth as suggested. While it was hardly the most painful experience of his life, it still stung like a bugger. One thing he’d noted with wounds involving cuts was that the shallower they were, although less fatal, always burned more than a deep wound. Whether that was typical for everyone or just him, he didn’t know - but his minor wounds had always brought to mind a far more fiery pain than others.

Opening his eyes and glancing down, he realised that for once he didn’t have to look down all that much to see Brynja’s face. It was rare to see a human of this height, particularly a female one. A nice change, in his mind. A tall height in human women was seen as a physical disadvantage from what he’d seen, though he couldn’t understand the basis behind such a thought. They were lesser, because they were taller? Silly men. Brynja was clearly an extremely capable woman on the battlefield, and her height only aided her in this.

Suddenly, Sol came to the realisation that he’d been staring at her in silence for a few moments now. More specifically, her red hair. It certainly captured his attention with ease, and he watched as a few stray tresses blew in the breeze. Altmer’s never had hair with such vibrant beauty within it.

Deciding that was quite enough ogling before Brynja noticed, Sol cleared his throat, still wincing here and there as the water trickled down his chest. “What of your arm, Brynja?” He couldn’t tell whether she had already tended to herself or not… surely, she hadn’t put him before herself? The very thought brought a flush to his cheeks, and he bit the inside of his cheek in embarrassment. He hated when he blushed. It always stood out too much on his white face.

“It’s nothing but a scratch. I’ll take care of it later.” She said quietly, she shifted to her rucksack beside her feet and rummaged through it before she pulled out a simple cloth, and wet it with her water skin. She applied the cloth to the wound, removing the blood that had dried, she did her best not to cause him too much pain.

“I’m sorry…” She glanced up at him, their eyes meeting briefly, was he blushing? And she hadn’t noticed the color of his eyes before, a pale grey, like a cold winter morning when the sun had yet to rise. She averted her eyes quickly before she continued, “...if this hurts. It doesn’t look too deep, which is good.” Brynja moved her hand along his chest, and again her cheeks flushed. Gods, what was wrong with her, it wasn’t as if it were her first time seeing a man without his tunic on. She turned her face away for a moment, her top teeth sinking into her bottom lip before she faced him again, continuing her work with a dedicated diligence. She finally put the cloth away, and nodded.

“This might feel uncomfortable, but tell me when you’re ready.”

Sol had almost forgotten the sharp pain in his chest as he locked eyes with Brynja, noting her expression curiously. It swiftly came back to his senses as she began wiping with the sodden cloth, cleaning the wound and the skin around it thoroughly. As she kept her head ducked, Sol was once more drawn to her hair. It seemed so warm. As if it were giving off the heat of a fire that shared its crimson tones. Even her skin, pale by human standards, had more life in it that his. Looking down to his chest, the contrast between their skin alone was obvious, even when streaked with blood. Once again, he questioned her motives for helping him out, though he grew increasingly more trusting of her actions.

Meeting her gaze again, he nodded in response, though briefly wondered what he had to be ready for. Stitches? Cauterisation? A brief bit of panic filled him at the thought of the latter by way of a fire spell, before he recalled Brynja was about as proficient in destructive magic as he was. He still had scars from when far less sympathetic mages had healed him in the past. Sol certainly wasn’t used to such careful first aid.

She rocked back on the heels of her boots and turned her hand palm up. A pulsating orb appeared, glowing with white and golden light swirled in the center of her palm. She rotated her hand towards Solandil’s exposed chest, as if the orb was liquid, and she didn’t want it to spill. The light flowed out towards his skin, inching along his wound until the entirety was consumed. Slowly, the broken skin began to knit itself back together, like how a mother mends the torn fabric on her child’s torn sleeve. She had never much enjoyed the sensation of her skin pulling itself back together, it itched like a scab she wanted to pick. There, she had done it.

Brynja pulled her hand back, closing it into a fist, where the healing light was quelled. She raised her eyebrows, admiring her handywork. There would be no scar, that much she knew.

“And there we have it.” She smiled, rising up to stand. She stretched her arms behind her head, her shoulders cracking. “I think we’re needed to destroy those airships.”

Restoration magic had been the last thing Sol had expected. Perhaps leftover prejudices against the Nords from his life on Alinor, or the knowledge that she hadn’t know destructive magic, but he had just assumed that Bynja didn’t know any magic whatsoever. The surprise was so great that he didn’t even notice his discomfort, instead enraptured by the gentle ebbing glow of the healing spell, and the concentration upon her face. “So that’s why she’s known as ‘WhiteHand’...” He thought to himself, touching the new pink flesh as she finished. The colour would fade eventually, leaving no mark upon his snow-white skin.

Still feeling somewhat awestruck, Sol simply nodded in response as Brynja’s back-to-business attitude returned with a smile. He couldn’t find any words to thank her just yet, so instead cracked a rare smile in return. Though small, it still lit up his face.

Buffy inspired roleplay anyone?

I'll throw my interest in as well. Never been able to find a BtvS roleplay before, and I've been a fan since I was a kid. Also be happy to take a co-Gm spot too.

Buffy inspired roleplay anyone?

Would the Slayer be an NPC? Could be problematic having the Slayer as a PC in a group roleplay, as they're the main character.

For Queen and Country

THEODOR MINEA

^{Texting Abigail @Kirah & Ignoring the Methuselah Court because they ruined his morning routine.}

The fairly standard routine of Theo's morning didn't vary all that much from day-to-day activities - he figured that he didn't have enough enemies desperate enough to harm him that he needed to change up his schedule all that much, and therefore had settled in certain habits each day he awoke. Firstly, was breakfast. He'd never been fond of heavy meals, but at the same time, wouldn't touch human food unless it had been well made with decent produce. Therefore it was usually some freshly warmed blood (When he couldn't get it from the vein from one of his... "employees") paired with poached eggs and whatever he could be bothered to pair with it. Following this, he was bathed, groomed and dressed before leaving the apartment and opening up his business. Far too early for most wine-lovers to come in, but he usually had some people come in for brunch. And students, strangely enough. He couldn't imagine how drinking at 9 in the morning would help the children in their studies, but then again, Theo had never suffered the stress of a higher education. Regardless of his customers, they were seen too by his staff; offices above were checked for voicemails or important business, and once tended to, he could finally indulge himself in his morning coffee. The Crypt Cafe wasn't the typical aesthetic he'd grown accustomed too, but the coffee there was good, the barista's polite, and the clientele quieter than other cafes in Edgetoun.

A simple schedule, but one Theo liked to stick too. Unfortunately, his day was shattered the second he'd finished poaching his eggs.

An text 'pinging' on his phone stopped Theo as he plated his breakfast, a frown creasing his face. As any businessman should, he kept separate phones for separate occasions. One for pleasure, one for work, and the last one was connected to the Court. With the latter being the one alerting him, Theo abandoned the kitchen to see what the issue was. Those of Methuselah weren't ones for idle conversation via text message, that was for sure. Examining the text for a brief second, Theo was by his radio in the next, turning it on and tuning it to the correct radio station to hear the last few sentences of the hijacked broadcast. His hands clenched in irritation, and he waited a moment before answering the text.

Damned humans. No doubt the Court would be pestering him all day now.

While Theo held no ill will against the werewolves, he didn't particularly hold any love for them either. An attack on their kind wouldn't bother him in the slightest, but it was the fallout of such an action that would be concerning. Vengeance would breed vengeance, and if someone didn't do something, the humans and Weres would be in all out war against one another. A war the humans would surely lose, but with homo sapiens being his and many others' favourite food source, that too was a problem.

It would be even worse if their turned their sights to the vampires, and Theo had no doubts that it would. In no time at all the humans would be screeching in terror at their oceans and forests, polluting the former and burning the latter in order to kill mermaids and bigfoot. As if they existed.

Ignoring his phone as more messages pinged through, Theo turned to his bedroom and got ready for the day. The office would have to wait now, as would his espresso. AS it happened, he had other priorities on this day as well. For one, he had an appointment with the good Doctor Wilcox, provided she was finished with her other 'patients'. No doubt she had some opinions about the broadcast as well.

Swiftly dressed in an impeccably clean and pressed suit and tie, Theo was ready to leave before hearing another text alert - this time, from his personal phone. Looking at it with interest, he raised his eyebrows in surprise as he saw who it was from. So, Abigail was back in town. Was it coincidence, that she'd arrived the same day the humans had issued their formal threat to their world?

"A long time indeed, cousin. We've plenty to catch up on - I'm in the same place you left me. Noon should be fine."

Now he was fully booked for the day. Although different to how he would have liked, Theo much preferred spending time between Clara and Abigail than complaining with the other old vampires at the Court. He just hoped something else didn't come up later in the day...

---

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ZOEY ALSTON

^{Chatting to Olivia @Nallore, hoping her lawyer will be more personable than her patients later on.}

Zoey was still frowning at the news on her phone when Olivia replied, drawing a look from the Doctor.

"I'm Australian." She retorted swiftly, raising a chastising eyebrow, though smiling so that the younger girl knew she was teasing. Although it had been many years since she'd lived in Australia, remnants of her accent remained, along with a strong sense of pride in her home country. It was just a matter of principle to be mildly offended at being called a pom. Booting up her computer, she waited for the fairly decrepit machine to wake up fully as conversed with her. "Not much to do, unless we get some more bodies through the door. You can always chase up some tox reports for me, though you'd get a quicker answer from the corpses themselves." She said with a grin, pulling up her calendar as the computer finally arose from it's slumber. Just a reminder about a lunch meeting with a certain pernickety lawyer. Of course. That explained why Belinda had fled the country so quickly.

"Tah." Taking the tea as soon as it was handed to her, Zoey took a few grateful mouthfuls. She hadn't realised just how dehydrated she'd felt, but then, a diet of red bull and coffee since 3 in the morning didn't do much for quenching one's thirst. Pulling up a new file to start filling in the report for the John Doe autopsy she'd just finished, Zoey hesitated. Nick had been pretty lost on where to go after the examination didn't pull up anything to do with murder. She should really just wait for the toxicology and forensic reports to be finished and come back, but the temptation always hung over her head. Physical evidence was all that could be used in court (God knows what kind of shit would happen if they allowed psychics to give testimonies.), but if she could find out once and for all how that man died... all it would take was a touch.

Pausing and glancing at Olivia as she continued talking, Zoey mentally corrected herself. A touch and some privacy.

God, that sounded wrong.

"That's nice of them." Zoey replied idly, realising that she'd never asked Olivia much about her life back home, beyond work-related stuff and small talk. Still, Olivia had never really surrendered much information about her home life, nor had Zoey. Her own existence as both a witch and a psychic hadn't had all that much impact on her so far, but one could never be too careful these days. Especially with the current climate. "And I doubt it'll be a problem. You might have to come in if we end up having a pile-up of bodies or something, but Professor Carlisle should be back by then. You'll need to let her know, though." The Prof was in charge of holidays and the like, but she was a decent sort, as long as you didn't lie to her or mess her about.

Pondering over how long the meeting with Mr. Carvallo would take - probably a while, what with three victims to go through and the very thorough nature of the man - Zoey's mind turned yet again to the other victims laying in fridges in the next room. Some of them were still unsolved, and definitely needed her unique help. Depending on how busy the day was, she'd have to be out tonight to stick her nose where it didn't belong once again to stir up some clues.