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  • Old Guild Username: MMGiru
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    1. MMGiru 11 yrs ago

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If ever I happen to disappear, it's my own issues at play.

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It seems being intimidated was unnecessary, Giru, as your sheet meets my standards.


Well, this is a genuine bonus to my self-esteem.

I'll get Ungimros' First Impressions done after a more thorough overview of everyone's chars. Only done once-over thus far.
Name: Ungimros
Age: 120
Gender: Male
Race: Bosmer - Wood Elf

Appearance:

To humans, apparently around thirty in age. Skin roughly the brown of a dead leaf, eyes with large pupils and dark irises, and bear-black hair. His beard and mustache are thin and trimmed, but not styled, and he has hair to the base of his neck, all wild but for two braids used to keep it out of his eyes.

He is not an ugly man, but not good-looking, and reinforces this with the rest of his unconcerned appearance. His hide armor seems to be composed of at least four creatures, and none of his leather-ware matches in dye, style, or quality.

Personality:

Marne-y. As long as he’s mobile, Ungimros is cheerful, competitive, and carefree. He’s also irresponsible in the extreme, and as often as he can keep himself, callous with other people’s lives and futures. He tries keep unattached from people or places, but makes an effort to enjoy them while they present themselves. He becomes anxious without change or excitement for too long, and will seek to create some if he perceives himself trapped on some capacity.

He's not particularly involved with Bosmeri culture, and is a bit loose regarding the Green Pact he grew up with. He avoids eating plants as he was conditioned to, but isn't opposed to them as spices. He also allows himself some leniency on eating every one of his kills, due in part to his itinerancy and adventuring tendencies. Rather than consuming as much of his kills as possible, Ungimros will typically take a sample, unless he genuinely needs the meal.

History:

Ungimros was mobile and active from a very young age; always running, swimming, climbing, and playing with shortbows, but in his childhood, he had several friends, some of them quite close. They grew up in a quite traditional village, where most families held to the Green Pact; only a few Bosmer families and the village's three Orc families did not. For the most part, this was never a problem, aside from how traditionalists looked down on those less so.

When Ungimros was of an age comparable to a human preteen, an incident occurred which was pivotal in his personal development. He got into a conflict with a close friend, over a girl, which devolved into a tumble on the forest floor. By accident, a punch sent the other boy's head to smack against a sharp rock. The wound was immediately dark and bloody, but Ungimros had never learned any healing magic from the village. By the time he'd carried his friend back, very tired and soaked in blood not his, it was too late. His family and the other boy's being strict traditionalists, it was made clear to Ungimros that he was not to waste the new source of meat, lest he dishonor himself and his dead friend.

The emotional difficulty of eating a good friend caused Ungimros to stop making and keeping good friends, and as soon as it was feasible, he left his village, to wander the rest of Valenwood, where there would be no family to oblige him to be strict regarding the Green Pact, and no friends to make him feel the way he had when following it. This was his mode for a few decades, and he became a competent hunter. But while hunting kept him fed, that was about all it did in Valenwood, where the career was densely saturated.

A more rewarding sort of work, he found, was bounty hunting plant-poachers near the (recently diminished) edges of Valenwood. Mostly these people were Khajiit, but various other sorts could be found trying to take flora from Valenwood. The jobs, while exciting and decently rewarding, were few. Ungimros went looking for similar experiences over the years, with a theme of adventure eventually making itself clear. Almost a decade into this, he wandered north, finding an Ayleid ruin tucked away in deep forest. The place had been long converted into a Bosmer village, it turned out, but studying the architecture, Ungimros was intrigued with how it must have looked to the first people to enter. He was told there were traps and hordes of undead, and the idea excited him.

From that point onward, Ungimros no longer restricted himself to Valenwood, exploring Cyrodiil, sampling the sands of Elseweyr, viewing the Red Mountain (from a distance), and even spending a little time in Skyrim. The last place proved colder than Ungimros had been entirely into, so he moved back south, to look into the parts of Cyrodiil he’d not yet seen, starting with Cheydinhal.

Skills: Ungimros is a consummate outdoorsman; well-versed in the behavior of most Tamrielic animals, as well as judging weather, terrain, and foliage. He's a practiced tracker and hunter, and can gauge how to move silently and keep downwind in a given situation. He knows how to skin, butcher, and serve virtually any creature in Mundus, including all the bipedal races of Tamriel.

Physically, Ungimros is strong and agile. His archery is very good with a traditional bow, and especially a long one, though not as great with a crossbow. He's not great with a blade, but competent with things near dagger length. He can climb with ease, swim swiftly, and run quietly.

Ungimros' only magical skill is a small amount of Conjuration experience, learned primarily for profit. He can bind souls at a distance and trap them in gems on their body's death, to be sold to enchanters and other mages later. He also knows how to summon weak daedra in the shape of either a spectral wolf or a dagger, though he has been working on trying to conjure a Daedra as an arrow.

Equipment: Ungimros wears hide armor, as much for warmth as protection. A longbow of Altmeri design is generally resting on his back, a strap with a button to be unlatched whenever he needs the weapon. He keeps his quiver on one thigh, and it currently holds just under two dozen arrows of varied make and material. The rest of things are kept in two satchels - either one strapped around his waist - since he's yet to purchase or loot a belt that does something to this effect. In the satchels after his trip to Cheydinhall are as follows:
• 4 petty soulgems
• two minor healing potions
• a spare bow string
• 37 scattered Septims

Birthsign: - The Steed

-First Impressions-

Hector: Military gone mercenary, obviously. Whether Aldmeri or Imperial, Ungimros had never been interested in people who follow orders so readily, but he supposed someone had to be bland to make others exciting. At least this one had decided to make himself more interesting than a suit of armor, and he seemed like someone who could handle himself.

Blackbird: Ungimros remembered a skooma peddler with a similar smile, which had faded when the man learned the only sale to be made was his head. Neither the bounty nor the Breton's heart had been satisfying. Still, it was useful to have a charmer and a veteran, and this man was both. Regardless of utility, Ungimros didn't plan to be present when the bird stopped cooing, entertaining as the day might prove.

Balen: Ungimros had found that in general, quieter people had the hidden potential to be more interesting than others, and he certainly hoped to find this true for Balen, since he was not entirely sure what other use the Dunmer would come to. The man seemed half in Oblivion all the time, and had expressed the impracticality of his own magic. Like the (presumed) mage's ashen homeland, Ungimros would observe from a distance.

Baladas: The more ostensibly useful of the two Dunmer mages was more sociable, as well. That he was a sorcerer of the oft-taboo, and probably a little bit mad, was only a concern for Ungimros in that their current venture was directly into a pit full of Nordic undead. Otherwise, he was an entertaining person to speak to.

Merci: Her name amused Ungimros, but fortunately she proved less naive than one interpretation, and easier to stand than the others. Her youth is apparently no barrier to her magic, either, and having more than just the Altmer as a healer strikes Ungimros as critically important for any extended ventures like crypt-delving.

Elayne: A sensible person, which was usually disappointing. In this case, Ungimros imagined the Breton's intelligence and passion would keep her interesting to watch and talk to. Although he's not entirely comfortable with her using him as a Bosmer reference point, it is amusing enough for him to have accepted such conversations.

Aenyarin: The typical Altmer, to Ungimros' experience, was one who shat upon the percieved lesser races, even when their guests. Disappointingly, this mage did not seem to be a deviation, and indeed had been Thalmor; the most concentrated of that ideology. Added to her obvious additional distaste for Ungimros, he did not guess any positive interaction in their future. Still, she was honest, and could presumably destroy many enemies with one spell; both of which were positives.

Miscellaneous: Apparently forgot this section existed.
I'd really like to hear an opinion on this character's design regardless of whether it passes.

Two days? That's a relief. I've only got the Appearance and a once-over of the full sheet to do, but there's a LAN party that's gonna last basically all of today, so I was concerned. I realize it's quite possible my sheet still won't be up to snuff by the end of this, but at least I'll be able to finish it.


I remember the tree-cities of the Bosmer being mobile, but when I look at UESP, all I can find as evidence is the word 'ambulatory' to describe the species of tree. But I see screenshots in ESO, and I can't imagine Zenimax Online making actually-mobile tree-cities, regardless of lore.
I'm enormously intimidated, but interested to a similar extent.

I'll write up a Bosmer. Always wanted to explore that business of the lone canninal in an adventuring party. Hopefully I can make a good char and sheet.
Decided I should wait about a week before acknowledging iSuspect hasn't responded to my last PM or collab post. I suspect the GM is busy.

SEEWADDADIDTHERE

But yeah: that's where we stand currently.
Hello, new @Nallore person.

I amused myself by having made Dalia think she's dreaming about this mugging. That struck me just now, probably because I'm sleepy.
@Chromane That was my general plan.

@iSuspect I can link my Sense8 workspace doc, if you wanna collab. Sorry it took a bit for me to post.

@Amaralyn Thanks for formatting!
Dalia and Jørn



Blood pumped through Dalia’s veins hard, but she allowed herself to relax, as she could see traces of a small room with a bed. She forced her apartment into view. That was the room that was real; the one that was relevant to her.

“Ja, men-” Dalia stopped talking, realizing she’d heard herself speaking an unfamiliar language. “Interesting. Well, this is not my first… contact, today.” She locked her door, before walking away from it, and placing her bag on the coffee table the stranger had appeared near.

Jørn let out a deep sigh of relief when the woman calmed down, seemingly affected by his words. He slowly lowered his hands again, hoping she wouldn’t take it as a threat. He didn’t dare to move his legs however, remaining on the exact same spot; although the blonde was shorter than him by at least half a head, she gave the impression she was stronger than him, both by her physical characteristics as well as by her firm demeanor.

The way the blonde formulated her comment made him wonder what exactly she meant: had she been in a position similar to him, or did she mean something more ordinary? A raid perhaps.
He hesitated asking her whether she had been seeing strangers as well, but realizing this might give her an even more shady expression of him, he decided to rephrase his question, putting it more neutral. “So… You’ve had another visitor besides me?”

Dalia raised a slim eyebrow while walking to her small kitchen, on the other side of a counter. She wondered if the man - the hallucination - thought he had actually been transported to a stranger's apartment. "I have seen another possibly-hallucinative person, yes. The last one seemed to favor the idea this was a shared perception of some sort." She set a kettle on her stove-top, and drew a teacup from her cupboard. “You’ll forgive me for not offering tea, given you’re not actually here.”

Jørn tilted his head. "A shared perception, huh? That actually seems to make some sense... I mean, I still have no idea how it works, but at least it sounds more likely than a mere hallucination. Must've been a smart person who suggested that idea," he smiled lightly. It made him wonder whether this woman had encountered someone else than Steve, since the man appeared to get the situation just as little as he did. Just how many people were there like him?

Feeling somewhat more at ease, he sat down on the sofa. "You don't mind me sitting here, do you? Since I'm not actually here, you know," he remarked jokingly.

"Of course," she answered, while carefully scooping loose tea leaves into a net, which hung into a smaller sort of kettle.

From his new position Jørn looked over the apartment, slowly taking it in. It was rather different from his own; apart from the bag that had just been placed on top of the low table in front of him, it was very neat and organized, giving off a modern, professional vibe. He let his gaze wander over the kitchen, before letting his eyes rest on the woman, watching her prepare her drink.

"Ah, where are my manners, I haven't even introduced myself, nor asked for your name yet," he suddenly realized. "I'm Jørn," he nodded.

"Dalia," the host countered, carrying a small tray with the steeping kettle and a teacup over to her coffee table, and sitting beside Jørn. There was no furniture around for her to sit opposite him. She picked her workout bag off the table and dropped it beside, rather than sliding it.

"This is Israel, by the way. Where might you be?" She allowed herself to see some of what his body did, as she had when he first entered. "Some sort of... cabin?" The style of the room was alien to her, having lived either in the city or a barracks her whole life.

Jørn glanced up, noting they were in an environment he was familiar with. The two of them were now seated on his bed which was still uncovered, the sheets flung loosely over the mattress as a result of the rush this morning; there was no place for a sofa in the small bedroom.
Although it was an hour earlier in Denmark than in Israel, the clouded sky gave the impression it was actually quite a bit later here in Skagen than in the sunny city.

Remembering Dalia’s question, he faced her once more. “Yeah, we rented a lodge in the northern part of Denmark. We made some shots of migrating birds this morning. Made shots of them, not shoot them,” Jørn stressed, ensuring sure to make his intentions clear; he was very much against the use of firearms. He knew how to use a rifle, but he only learned it as an emergency measure in case they were photographing larger animals that were known to sometimes leash out.

“It’s for the nature magazine I work at,” he explained. “Here, let me show you some of the pictures we managed to make.” The tall man stood up and walked over to a desk in the corner of the room. He picked up the hefty camera and carefully removed the lens to make carrying the object an easier task. He placed the optic instrument in a black case in which he kept several lenses, before heading back to the bed. Sitting down again, he felt the mattress underneath him sink in under the weight. With a few clicks on some buttons a photo of a white-tailed eagle in flight came into view. Jørn held up the device to Dalia. “Amazing, right?” he said, his eyes widened with fascination. “This really was a lucky shot; I hadn’t expected to see one this early in the season,” he added.

Dalia nodded appreciatively. "Bird and photo both are quite beautiful. I frequent a small museum which has some especially good photography of fauna." Her eyes drifted to the edge of the phone, and down its strap, as a thought came to her. Dalia reached down to the camera's strap, lifting it into the air, feeling the texture beneath her fingertips.

"If I was to assume this shared perception was real, how are we both holding this camera? Am I using your hand to lift the strap?"

Jørn looked down at his hands, both were holding tight onto the apparatus. Meaningful he looked up from his hands into the young woman’s face: he could not be the one lifting the strap as his hands were preoccupied. “Can you feel the strap?” he asked her, not sure what else to ask.

"I can," Dalia confirmed, but she paused, rubbing her fingers over the strap's surface, expression thoughtful.

“I um, I also had a ‘visitor’ earlier today, a man from Australia. When we shook hands I could feel the warmth from his skin,” he commented. “I figured that, because of the amount of detail and because I could not only see and hear, but also feel him, it couldn’t be a hallucination, nor a dream. Later I wondered that maybe your brain fills in the sensation of touch: you expect to feel warmth when you touch someone. Something like that, you know? But… that doesn’t seem to explain everything. Neither does the idea of a shared perception seem to.” He shook his head slightly. “What might be even weirder is that, even though I have no clue of what is going on and what is happening to me, I feel oddly at ease. Maybe it’s because I got sort of used to it, with all these nightmares and visions of the past few weeks, I dunno,” he cast his eyes to the ground. “I’m also a lot more talkative right now than I normally am,” he suddenly realized. “Usually I would’ve kept all these thoughts to myself.” He paused for a moment. “Sorry for my rambling; my thoughts are kinda all over the place at the moment.”

Dalia shook her head dismissively. "It's no trouble. Listening is my career. I suspect..." she said, allowing the strap to fall gently, "that your brain was allowing for you to think you were holding the camera with both hands, but you actually held the strap with one."

She stood then, and took a look around the small room, before forcing her own apartment back into her perception. "That's assuming this is all real, of course. Now, I really should be preparing for my evening, if you don't mind."

“Alright,” Jørn nodded slowly as he found himself back on the sofa. With the short time that had passed in between, the apartment was now painted with the glow of the setting sun. “Enjoy your evening, Dalia,” he smiled weakly as he departed from the woman and the rented bedroom came back into view. Putting down the camera on the wooden nightstand next to his bed, he let himself fall backwards on the sheets, closing his eyes. Vaguely the scene replayed itself behind his eyelids, after which soon he drifted off in a light slumber.

Dalia did not sleep for some hours more, having an obligation to see whatever romantic candidate her mother was trying to introduce. It had taken some effort to politely decline the man's interest, but not doing so had never even occurred to Dalia. Ultimately, she'd returned, tended to her teeth, seen a stranger in the mirror instead of herself, and gone to sleep. It seemed strangely routine.

-•-•-•-


It was some days later when, during her sleep, Dalia dreamt of one of the people she'd been seeing. The woman - the American - was walking through a neighborhood she really had no business in, and being surrounded by several men.

"You know," Dalia observed, "they're obviously untrained."

~*~*~*~*~*~


As days went by, Jørn frequently encountered the foreigners, getting more and more familiar with their faces. There were five of them, six if he included himself. He had gotten more or less used to the situation by now and had given up thinking about the causes and details. Right now he had other things on his mind anyway, as his birthday was drawing near. Last year he had spent it in the office, finishing up an article, but this year around the same time there was not much to do, which made him decide that he wanted to celebrate it in a somewhat nicer way. He had planned to spend the day with the people dear to him: his family, friends, and girlfriend. He wanted to organize something small for each of them; go see his friends in one of the local cafes, invite his father over, and have a special dinner with Stine. The problem was how to schedule it all in one day, and in what order…

At the moment Jørn didn’t want to occupy himself with this however. He was sitting in one of the comfy chairs in his apartment, softly strumming the strings of his guitar. He listened carefully to the tones, adjusting the strings where necessary. It had been a long time since the last time he had played the instrument.
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