Oak7ree

Why We Fight? (WWII with superpowers)

@ayzrules It could be, if, you know, someone posted a new IC.

Why We Fight? (WWII with superpowers)

@shylarah Let's fight off some zombie Nazis?

Ouroboros - A Viking/Mythology Inspired RP

@Lurking Krog That was the idea, that Bothilda could step in.

Ouroboros - A Viking/Mythology Inspired RP

@Oak7ree

I've taken the liberty of kinda building the small settlement of Sparrowton, putting an old Thane in charge of it. If you don't agree with anything please lemme know and I'll change it.

I've also left out names for the people, and the description of Sparrowton's symbol in case you wanted to come up with that info. Again, please let me know if you want to come up with any of that. I read over the first OOC post and didn't really find any info on the town. Sorry if I messed anything up. Like I said, I'll change anything you don't agree with.

Also I set up a way to bring us together with the courier heading out to the main cities requesting aid, if that's something ya'll wanna do.

@Master

I don't mind if you take some liberties at naming places or other things, but it was good that you asked. I didn't map out every little detail in the world, as it takes some time, but if you have ideas, please, share them. And sigil of Sparrowton could be a sparrow.

The Elder Scrolls: Swords & Septims

@Hank One Steelpike was ordered, and a Steelpike you shall have.

"Steelpike" Roland Corvo

Name: "Steelpike" Roland Corvo
Age: 21
Gender: Male
Race: Imperial
Birthsign: The Steed

Appearance: Roland is a young man, and tall for a Imperial, about 185 centimetres or about six feet. He is a sinewy man, who is quick and agile, but is not a brawny or muscular man at all, and there are stronger men than him. For his services during the Civil War and in the Imperial Legion, he has gained more than just a few scars. Roland has long, dark brown hair, bordering almost black at times, and clear green eyes, that have a spark of determination and will. His face is kept clean shaven meticulously. He could be considered a handsome man, if he smiled more with his thin mouth.

Biography: Roland was born into the Corvo family on 29th of Midyear, 181 Fourth Era. The members of the Corvo family have served in the Imperial Legion as officers and soldiers for generations. His father Marcus, for example, fought against the Aldmeri Dominion in the Great War. As such, Roland has always wanted to distinguish himself in the Legion. Roland lived most of his childhood and teenage years in Cyrodiil, often moving from town to town, as his father was assigned to different towns to act as an inspector and instructor for Legion's troops in Cyrodiilic garrisons.

Roland learned how to use a sword and other weapons while still being a child. Often, he would just use a stick or a wooden sword and fight with his friends, siblings and cousins. As the eldest son of the flock of six children, he was often given the best education, but Roland has always looked after his younger siblings.

Roland grew up into an ambitious young man, who took service to the Empire seriously and saw life in the military as a prestigious one. As he turned eighteen, Roland joined the Imperial Legion as a footman, starting as a swordsman. Proving himself as a competent and aggressive duellist and a handsome young man, Roland became a poster boy, so to speak, for the Legion for a while during his training, as he excelled as a soldier and came from a military family. Two of his younger brothers also joined the Legion as scribes.

He gained some fame before the Skyrim's Civil War, and he rose quickly to the officer ranks just before the war's beginning, he was given the command of a cohort of heavy footmen. His commanding officer would turn out to be Hector Sibassius.

Roland had heard a few rumours and whispers of Hector from some older men of the Legion, but not many concrete facts. Roland soon was acquainted with the man himself, and served as one of his junior staff members throughout the war, helping him pacifying Skyrim's countryside. Roland's cohort of swordsmen often broke the back of Stormcloak resistance in any battle and often took the heaviest losses. Often clad in steel and taller than most Imperials, he gained the nickname "Steelpike" from his fellow soldiers.

Roland often volunteered to take his men into the fray if needed and led them from the front. The unit shared a tight bond and certain feel of entitlement forged in the many battles. They saw themselves as the best unit in the whole Legion, which, of course, could be always argued by other units.

One day, though, Roland's Raiders, as his cohort was known, was attacked by a brown-scaled dragon while on the march. The attack lasted only a couple minutes, but it left the cohort devastated and decimated. Out of the dozens of men under Roland's command, only a handful survived, and the dragon was hardly hurt at all, vanishing as fast as it had attacked. The Raiders lost most of veteran soldiers, who had been serving ever since the beginning of the war and beyond.

The attack left Roland mentally shaken and embittered, and tried to serve the same way as he had before the dragon attack, but something had changed. He had become more short tempered and angry, often snapping at people. Some of his comrades would say that he had lost his edge in the dragon attack, and they would be right. After seeing his men and friends dying a fiery death, Roland was devastated emotionally.

Roland was recovering in a field hospital during the battle of Windhelm. After the Stormcloaks were defeated, Roland was assigned to the Imperial garrison of Solitude as an instructor.

By the summer of 202, 4E, Roland has been instructing new recruits, both Imperials and Nords, although his current commanding officer has taken a dislike on his attitude for some reason, racking a few warnings from his superiors. It might be soon that his officer's commission is withdrawn.

Personality: What is duty? To fulfill the norms of the society? To serve a country? To bring honour to your family, and not to disgrace your name? Roland has pondered these questions lately, as he has continued serving the Empire in the Legions. Never has he been an academic or a philosopher, but recently Roland has started to ponder the wider meaning of life. Why did he survive, but many others perished? What will be left of him after he is gone?

Words like service, duty and the Empire were drilled to his mind by his father Marcus, but in the end, was it Roland's fate or duty to become a corpse in Skyrim, in the name of the Emperor? Has it come the time to lay down the dutiful role of a son, a soldier, a leader? Fighting for a cause has been one of the mainstays of Roland's life, but at what price?

Roland, once a man of laughter, a dutiful son and an examplar soldier, now questions his role in life. Would it be impossible for him to carve his own way into history by not following the examples and principles set by his father and the Legions? After all, the world is large, and able adventurers have begun modestly, and carved kingdoms and fortunes by their wits and with the strenght of their arms. Roland is still young, experienced and ambitious. Perhaps the bards will sing of his accomplishments. Isn't a man's duty to serve himself first, after all?

Skills:

Major
One-handed: Roland is an expert swordsman and duellist, hitting his opponent hard and fast. His bastard sword is like a continuation of his right arm. It feels natural in his hand.
Block: As a swordsman, Roland likes to use a shield usually, both for defence and offence, to block incoming blows or to bash an opponent’s face with it.

Minor
Heavy armour: Roland is used to carrying a heavy armour on him, and he isn’t much fatigued by it while walking or marching.
Athletics: Roland has always been an athletic and a man who likes to stay outside. He endures the hardships of the wilderness better than most people.
Speech: Roland is accustomed to command and instruct people, and while he doesn’t have a silvered tongue, he can talk his way out of most ordinary incidents.


Equipment:
Armour: Red gambeson, black mail hauberk, black breastplate, pauldrons and gauntlets, full-helmet ornamented with bird feathers.
Weapons: A steel bastard sword, a foot-long steel dagger and an oaken shield with a steel rim.
Miscellanous: Green wool shirt, a brown travelling cloak with a hood, a green cotton tunic, a scarf, a backpack, a flagon, an amulet of Talos.

Other: Roland likes card and board games, especially if Septims are involved. He also enjoys drinking Nord mead and Cyrodiilic brandy. He hates the smell of burning flesh and fat, and is afraid of burning alive.

Ouroboros - A Viking/Mythology Inspired RP

It was well past midnight, when the four thanes left the Howling Wolf. Bram, Gorlund, Harlan and Aubry had played a dozen or so round of cards, and emptied more than just a couple pints of beer. The sky was well lit with stars, and the moon was full, so it wasn't a trick to see in the streets.
Most buildings in Serpentstone were built of wood. They were low and small, built to conserve warmth during the cold wintewr months. The street starting from the Weavers' Gate housed many weavers and other artisans, as one might guess, and it ran quite straight to the castle in the centre of the town. But the four thanes walked in no straight line, to be honest. Gorlund and Harlan had to lean each other to stay upright, while Bram had borrowed a walking stick from the tavern. Only Aubry tried to walk without a support, and it didn't go as well as he thought.
This would be easier if the street kept still, Bram thought in his mind. Thank the gods the earl isn't here to see me.
They passed many alleys. Most of them were dark, and that made them good places for cutthroats to ambush them. Never Bram had been robbed or attacked by a thief or a rogue in the dead of night, and he prayed that their streak of good luck would continue.
But the gods must have slept at the moment. Three figures erupted from an alley, moving lightly and hitting fast with sticks and wooden maces. Bram couldn't react to the attack, as one figure hit him hard to his stomach with a mailed fist. Bram, and his comrades, had been ambushed and struck like green recruits. Bram fell down to the ground, and he could see that Gorlund was been held by one of the attackers. Aubry and Harlan were both on the ground.
Damn it, ran in Bram's head, as he comtemplated on the situation, feeling the pain and trying to get up. Three had attacked them, but a fourth figure emerged from the alley.

Ouroboros - A Viking/Mythology Inspired RP

And concerning magic - it is there, but it burns slowly, so to speak. Supersitions live on, but there might not be wizards and sorcerors throwing magic missilies and prismatic sprays 24/7.

Ouroboros - A Viking/Mythology Inspired RP

Ouroboros - A Dragon Eating it's Tail

BRAM

A sword.
Bram saw it was coming, and so he took a step away and raised his shield to turn the blow away. It would have hit him on the shoulder, but now Bram had a chance of taking the initiative from Ragnar the Red. Ragnar had been his opponent for most of the morning. The young warrior was eager and fast, but he wasn’t that fast. Ragnar was two or three years younger than Bram, but he was also bigger and a bit taller than Bram. He could put some weight behind the blade and hit you good into your head, but then again, he was too eager at times. He wasn’t patient enough to watch for the small things.
They were in Serpentstone, the very centre of Harkland. Trade and money of the region flowed through the city, and only Beornhall, the kingdom’s capital was richer or bigger of size. Inside the city, a might castle called the Jormundgard was located. Bram and Ragnar, along with many other warriors, both old and new, recruit and veteran, were changing blows and training on the courtyard. There were half a dozens practice circles erected on the courtyard, and those who weren’t fighting in the circles, were watching with keen eyes.
Bram had deflected the blow and now was at an arm’s length from Ragnar, and without much hesitation, Bram gave him a good smack with a longsword. The redheaded warrior gave out a grunt of pain, but continued with more wariness. He had been reminded of keeping a distance and watching for his opponent.
”Come on, you milk-drinker”, Bram taunted Ragnar. ”Such a big man, and cannot take a small hit.” Bram had been a thane for Earl Hjalmar for three years now, and he had the responsibility of training new recruits of his household. They would become thanes for the Earl of Harkland, if they had enough skills and potential, but the training weeded most of the bad or the ill-prepared. They were commonfolk; sons and daughters of carpenters, farmers, blacksmiths, tanners, weavers and other such folk, who hoped a taste of another life. Thanes would live, drink and fight together.
It was rumoured that Earl Hjalmar was preparing for a war with Earl Alarik, and thus needed as many capable warriors as he could. The King of Borrland was old and out of his mind, and would sooner depart this world than later. Alarik, the king’s grandson and Earl Hjalmar weren’t at the best of terms, Bram had heard in the many taverns of Serpentstone. When the king would die, a war for the crown would erupt with the two men, and Bram Halvorson, the firstborn son of a blacksmith didn’t know much more about it. He knew the way of the sword and spear, of bow and shield, and he liked the way it was.
The fight went on for a while. Ragnar had grown more cautious and wary of Bram… for a few moments. He took into himself again to attack more recklessly and with more frustration, as Bram blocked, parried and evaded his blows. After few minutes, both of them were breathing deeply and getting more and more tired. Time to end this play, thought Bram, and started his attack. He closed on Ragnar, exchanging a few fast blows and then grappled him. It was like a bear hug, but Bram had acquired momentum and speed, putting his weight on Ragnar, toppling him and forcing him to the ground. It wasn’t over, as an wrestling match started, and at that, speed and agility played a crucial role, or so Bram had been taught in the streets of Serpentstone. He took the initiative from the tired Ragnar, who had been surprised by the grapple by a couple seconds.
He resisted bravely a moment or two, but Bram countered his moves and flailing arms with quick movements. ”I yield”, the big man said to Bram. ”I yield”, he repeated, whimpering.
Good, Bram thought. He rose to stand, and said to the small crowd of few recruits watching their fight. ”Never overlook an opponent. He might be smaller or slower than you, so surprise your opponents and enemies. Be realistic, and keep your wits with you and eyes open, and you all might become thanes sooner or later for Earl Hjalmar.”
Bram took a look at them. All of them were younger than him, looked a bit malnourished or as green as grass. He had eight recruits under him, and Ragnar the Red had the most potential of them. A son of a tanner, he wanted to become a thane so he could bring honour and fame to his parents. Like all of them want to do, Bram thought.
”Next pair. Riordan and Halvdar, you’re next. Ragnar, take a small break and then go to practice javelin throwing. I need to take a piss.”

---

Later that day, Bram found him himself in the tavern of the Howling Wolf near the Weavers’ Gate. It was a nice little tavern for fifty or so people. There was a smell of fire and smoke in the air, and the tavernkeep was cooking a meaty soup on the fire of the common hall. Bram was sitting the evening with Aubry the Hammer, Gorlund the Unicorn and Harlan the Younger, some other thanes of Earl Hjalmar. The tavern was their other home besides Jormundgard, and they had spent many an evening there playing cards, dice and board games. Today’s business, however, was politics.
”The whole thing stinks, boys”, Harlan the Younger talked. He was called the Younger, but was clearly the eldest of the four. He was pushing forty, but was still board shouldered and thick haired and bearded. He took a sip of his beer and continued. ”We have rarely taken in so many recruits and green boys to be trained as thanes, and now we’ve gotten nearly fifty people in the past two months. Something is up, let it be known.”
”Well, reports have said that goblin raids have increased in the fringe villages. Some villages have been burned, and some other have been ravaged by pissed-off giants. You shouldn’t interrupt them for their mammoths, I’ve heard” Gorlund answered. He was often the realist of the group, often saying what he thought in his mind.
”Goblins have never been hard to kill, and some villages have become quite proficient on that regard. Even our dear Bram has killed a few”, Aubry pointed out.
“I don’t know about that”, Bram said. The other thanes were older than him, and he wasn’t as keen on politics as them. “Perhaps a civil war is coming, but we’ll see it when it happens. Until then, we’ll train the recruits and prepare them the best we can. But now, let’s order more beer and enjoy the peace we have.”
“I’ll drink to that, Bram. Toast today, and suffer tomorrow”, Harlan said. “Enjoy the moment, as we don’t know we will see the end of the week.”
Drinking continued, until the late of night. They laughed and played dice and cards and joked. As the night went, only Odin knew what would come of tomorrow. It was late summer season, and the nights grew darker and longer. Day by day, the winter was approaching.

Ouroboros - A Viking/Mythology Inspired RP

@Lurking Krog, @Master I've been biding my time because my studies just started, and I've got more time on my hands on the weekend.

Ouroboros - A Viking/Mythology Inspired RP

@Lurking Krog & @Master Both of you can put your characters ro the characters tabs, by the way.