Penny

At The Edge of The World

"Shizen!" I shouted as the merchant hit the water in a murky spray. The boat errupted in chaos as everyone ran for the far edge. The raft tipped precipitously. I unslung the fusil and brought it up to my shoulder by reflex and squeezed the trigger. The weapon thumped against my shoulder as it went off with a crash. I had never fired it before and had no idea how to use it properly. Though I could hardly be described as 'aiming', I pointed the barrel in the general direction of the things head. The tentacle holding the merchant exploded in a spray of blood and ichor a few inches above where it gripped his leg. It looked like a masterful piece of shooting for all it was the product of sheer dumb luck and the merchant managed to flail to the edge of the raft and pulled himself gasping onto the canted deck. I lowered the fusil, tried briefly to remember how to reload it, and then slung it again, drawing my sword with an appropriate flourish.

The wounded beast wasn't giving up its prize without a fight however. Three more tentacles struck at the raft. One wrapped a barrel of supplies, the other snatched a conquistador. Before he could be pulled into the water, Beren cut down with his axe, severing the wrist thick appendage with a butchers clop. Water sprayed up in a vast bow wave as the creature hauled itself up against the raft, easily counteracting the combined weight of the passengers. Slavering jaws snapped and gnashed bare feet away and I backed up frantically, bumping the second conquistador knocking musket a side a second before it fired. Splinters flew in all directions.

"Watch where you are going you dumb bitch!" he screamed, eyes half bugged out of his head with fear. A tentacle lashed at me and I made a slash with my sword that was two weak to do more than knock the thing away. It lashed back irritabley and grabbed me around the waist. I screamed and made another ineffectual slash. Beren's axe severed it but instead of relaxing the nerve impusles constricted it around me so that it half squeezed the breath out of me. I yelped an incantation and electricity sparked along the length of the severed limb. It flopped free and fell into the river with a spash of water and a hiss of steam.

It had half pulled itself onto the boat now, wild with pain and flailing with its remaining tentacles, pummeling our gear and the surivors with wanton abandon.

The Elder Scrolls: Endless Night

There were days when the mask of Granuaile Greenbow weighed heavily. Night's like tonight, when fear and unease lay heavily across the people of Anvil, the instincts of a destructionist tingled in her fingertips. Magicka hung ready to be shaped to her will. Idly she imagined the way she would ignite one of the thatched huts in a pillar of flame, planned exactly how she would fan the flames with mystic wind to send a holocaust of fire sweeping down the alley to incinerate her enemies. With trivial effort she could sweep from here to the ocean in a storm of fire that would...

"Mademoiselle Greenbow?" the young woman asked nervously. Granuaile blinked the vision of flames from her eyes. By Dibella, what had her face looked like just then? Judging by the shocked look on the teenagers face it wasn't in keeping with the persona of a simple healer. She smoothed the stiff planes of her face into something that approximated a smile.

"Sorry, I was thinking of home," she apologized. The thought of two Nord bravos, charred and smoking on the floor where they fell, wasn't that much better but the girl, eager to be reassured, nodded with knowing sympathy that was wholly false in most people as young as she was.

"How much for this one?" the young woman asked, sliding a small copper bracelet set with beads of polished glass across the counter. It had a minor enchantment laid upon it that would make the girl seem more desirable to her intended partner. That was all people wanted, charms to please their beaus and potions to restore their waning vigor. It upsets an artist's soul to peddle such trash.

"Thirty septims," Granuaile told her and the girl hastily pushed a handful of coins across the battered wooden countertop. Granuaile swept the coins into her belt pouch and forced her face into an approximation of a matronly smile. The girl snatched up her trinket and hurried out of the store. Granuaile gave her a moment and then crossed and closed the door. Her small shop was not much to look at. A single counter, a few shelves, some basic equipment in the backroom for enchanting and alchemy. Even the poorest thief would find little worth the effort. In the six months she had been in Anvil posing, or hiding to give a thing its proper name, as a seller of potions and simple magics, she had seen little point in investing in herself. Sighing, she collected her cloak and stepped outside, locking the door with a large brass key as she went. She needed a drink and who knows? Maybe this killer would try his luck and she could get a whiff of that delicious burned pork smell after all? Chuckling to herself, she headed for the Dancing Donkey.

It was with a faint sense of disappointment that she made it to the inn without being molested, for all an overt show of force would have exposed her as more than a simple healer. Still if she had burned down half the town, they probably wouldn’t have been able to fix her that stew she liked.

At The Edge of The World

Being underway I felt my heart lighten despite this idiot boatman nearly spoiling the whole thing by delaying the departure. Worse yet he stole whatever I had just legitimately obtained. I couldn't even zap him owing to the fact that I couldn't steer a barge. At least he seemed to have prevented us from being eaten by a giant killer turtle, which I guess was something.

"I am Lady Emmaline Von Morganstern," I replied hautily, using the thickest Andread accent I could manage. I lifted my chin with aristocratic disdain.

"And you are mistaken, I have traveled to many place and on many conveyances," I told him, playing the role of the world weary adventureress. I shifted the strap of the fusil on my shoulder to emphasise my point. I could feel the Dre Costan mercenaries on me, measuring me up. They looked like a rough crowd and I knew I was no match for them with either my sword or the fusil. Truthfully I could hardly use either, they were just props I had used to trick my marks into assuming I was the sort of person who might actually have a map of treasures in unknown jungles.

"I can see you know the rivers, that is good," I said, more to keep talking than from any real interest.

"You can get us safely up river I trust?"

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

For an outpost on the edge of nothing, Iskura was proving to be a surprisingly sophisticated place. The roof of the castle was clearly defensive in nature its, edges ringed by crenelations for archers to crouch behind in the last defense of the city, but for all its defensive practicality the local elite had done a remarkable job of transforming it. A soft layer of moss had been lain over the cold stones, neatly cut squares carefully interlaced to create the illusion of a single carpet. Short trees had been placed in small pots and small brass lanterns had been hung from their branches, the glass of each tinted a different color. Several musicians played stringed instruments from a stand on a platform that was probably meant for some kind of siege engine. Food and drink were heaped on long tables which ran around three sides of the space, the forth left open for the view out over the city. From this altitude that was a pleasant view of twinkling hearth lights rather than a sprawl of untidy alleys. Jocasta could see lights on a low hill beyond the city wall where the fireworks were being set up.

"Ah, the guests who brought the news about the unfortunate events to the south," a striking man with a neatly trimmed beard and a pointy mustache said with an accent Jocasta couldn't quite place. He gave every appearance of being genuinely excited to meet them.

"I must say I rather expected you to be dressed in bearskins and leather wot!" he joked, giving their costumes an approving look. He took Jocasta's hand and kissed it gallantly despite her making no move to offer it to him. As his hand touched hers she felt a slight twinge in the tattoo she had acquired when she struck her bargain with the outsider. She lowered her eyes, ashamed of herself for reasons that had nothing to do with social niceties.

"And you must be Beren, my you do live up to expectations," the suave noble continued turning his attention to the young monk with equal enthusiasm.

At The Edge of The World

There is an art to making a quick getaway. It has some of the same ingredients as a regular con. Planning: Pick a spot with a concealed exit. Misdirection: Get your mark looking at something else. Timing: Wait for the precise moment when you can slip away. It also has one additional element. Run like the Demon's of hell are behind you. People don't typically expect you to run, particularly if you spend some time with them and make certain never to do more than saunter. By the time they can react you will be surprised at how far away you can be. Its also worth knowing that all the ass hauling in the world wont help you if you aren't running somewhere in particular, preferably somewhere your mark wont be able to follow. In a pinch you can use a whorehouse. Most brothels don't bat an eye at a pretty girl rushing in, but the bouncers take a dim view of an angry looking man trying to charge through the door. I doubt there was a brothel in Thornton fit to kennel dogs, and in any case, I had a better option.

"Wait!" I shouted, though they didn't seem in imminent risk of pushing on without me. It always helps to get people in the right mindset though, and I wanted the handsome bargeman to be thinking about leaving post haste. I hoped down the pier and leaped onto the raft. I unhooked the mooring rope and shoved off, probably to everyone's shock, and then turned and put myself in position to block any attempt to tie back up. It would only take a few seconds for us to slip away from the dock, and a man will rarely crash tackle a woman if he has any other option. We slipped out onto the black water of the river.

"Thank goodness," I breathed, bending down and placing my hands on my thighs. "Those bastards thought they could kidnap me." I gave the shocked boatman, a thankful smile. Beren looked shocked, an expression which, I'm both pleased and ashamed to say, I engendered on many more occasions in the future.

Gold & Glory: AU thread

The coast had a kind of bleak beauty to it. They drove north under a lowering sky keeping the land in view of their port side. At first Markus had tried to keep close to the coast, but was bedeviled by frequent shallow reefs that spread from ridges of volcanic basalt that forced them to tack hard into unfavorable winds. After the second repetition and with Indrin’s assurance that they could safely cruise further out, Markus had acquiesced. Both the wind and seas were steadily rising and even Emmaline could tell that the squally wind would be a full scale storm by nightfall. Despite the worsening condition the Dark Elven vessel cut the water as clean and gracefully as any ship Emmaline had ever traveled on. She didn’t point it out to Markus, but she suspected the Hammer wouldn’t have done near so well in similar conditions. Idrin and Sulandar worked tirelessly with Morek providing muscle, somewhat grumpily, wherever their skill alone wasn’t sufficient. Emmaline lacking the skill and the inclination to do any of the actual work of sailing, prepared a simple meal of cheese and bread from the stores and served the crew. She even tried to feed the few surviving slaves, the smell of slaughter in the hold was so bad she nearly vomited to enter it. The pitiful creatures refused the bread, cowering back in fear of retaliation from the dark elves when they took the ship back. That was a more likely outcome than not, but Emmaline didn’t imagine these slaves would be any better off for being hungry when it happened.





“We should put out east into deep water,” Sulandar was arguing when Emmaline came back on deck, “we can wait out the storm.” Markus shook his head violently.

“The storm is the only chance we have to slip into the city,” he countered, “I’m not going to miss it.”

“Surely you can’t mean to sail into an enemy port in the midst of a storm,” Sulandar asked aghast. “Its.. its…”



“It is called having balls Elgi,” Morek grumbled, running a thumb along the edge of a boarding axe, “Not surpised you haven’t heard of it.”

At The Edge of The World

The Southlands were hot. Most people probably think they know that but unless you have been there you really can’t appreciate the fact. You can be warm in Andred or Vrettonia on a summers day and you can certainly be hot in Arad Lund, but you cant be really hot unless you are in the southlands. The air clung close around me as I walked through Thornton. It was a dirty little town of half warped jungle wood and thatched rooves, though a few of the more prosperous places had tiles of unglazed clay. Everything stank of the river mud and rot. Even the streets were little more than dirt, indifferently finished with corduroy road that was probably more dangerous for age and decay than the quagmire they covered would have been. Civilization had landed here and then grown sick of some tropical disease, stalling out on the coast and withering like a lettuce plucked from the ground. Human civilization had anyway. Rumors had always abounded of older civilizations further inland, long decayed or simply hidden. Yellowpatch made it difficult to know, as most expeditions returned decimated by the disease, if they returned at all. I was counting on those rumors and doing my best to quietly encourage them. Of course the plan had been to simply sell the ‘ancient map’ I had uncovered in my ‘family library’ to this party of Vrettonian rubes. It was a scam I had run more than a few times, hammer a few pieces of lead into exotic form, guild them with magic to make them look like gold, tell a few tall tales to encourage people to think I really knew of some ancient ruins in the southlands. The trick was, as always, not to appear too keen to part with the knowledge. People always trusted knowledge more if they had to drag it out of you, and if I could get a few meals out of it who was I to argue. I had not counted on this particular group of marks though. Gauln, the leader, was a Knight of Vrettonia, though his lineage had been in decline for many years and had seemed an easy mark. I hadn’t counted on his romantic streak however. My own story of being from an ancient but impoverished line had clearly struck a nerve and at the last minute he had refused merely to buy my alleged map. Instead he had insisted I come with him, so we could restore our houses together. Id tried to plead of, but he had been insistent and promised more money, worst of all I could see in the eyes of his grim faced squire that he was beginning to get suspicious of my reticence to accompany them. That bit about people trusting things they had to work for worked both ways, there was only so much objection I could raise to something that would clearly appear too good to be true.



“According to the map, we have to travel up river to a falls and then procced overland,” Gauln remarked for the hundredth time. I thanked the Gods that I’d copied an actual map of the Southlands when I drew it.

“We will need to find a boat to take us upriver, it would take us months to cover the distance on foot,” I said sagely. In truth I knew little to nothing about trekking through jungles. My only goal was to find a good time to slip away from Gauln and his band, preferabley once they had committed to going up river and I had relieve them of what little gold they had left.



“We should buy supplies,” Locke, the hardfaced squire said. He gave me a look that mingled desire and skepticism. I certainly was dressed like I was an Andredan noble heading out into the jungle. A broad black hat of dark leather with one side folded up in musketeer fashion. A leopard skin shawl over a linen mantle over a cotton shirt which covered me to the wrist. I even wore dark grey gloves of soft doeskin to protect me from the ever present mosquitos. I had stout trouser which tucked into knee high boots of polished leather and I carried both a sword and a slung fusil along with a cartridge box and several other items of adventuring gear. Most of it was as foregin to me as this stinking town was, but with luck it would only be a few days before I was on a ship headed back north. Perhaps to Arad Lund, or one of the Islands. I had heard that Calaverde was nice this time of year.



“I can make the arrangements,” I declared blithely, eager for a chance to spend Gauln’s gold and skim a bit more off the top for my own use.

“I wouldn’t dream of it my lady,” Locke simpered, “afterall you need to find us an appropriate boat, a much more essential task.”

The Enemy Beyond: Warhammer 40,000 Inquisitor RP

"Stop him?!" I demanded, shocked and appauled at the carnage all around me. I was no Sanctioned Adept schooled in the disciplines of pshyic combat. I didn't have the first clue at how to combat a warp tainted madman. I lifted the force staff and leveled it at the distant pyramid before lowering it hoplessly. It was abundantly clear that if something wasn't done, none of us were going to get out of here. It seemed unlikely that Bahometus was interested in an illusoary harem. My eyes fell on Lucius and his battered gauntlets and I remembered the way he had torn appart the tomb spider.

"Ok," I breathed and began channeling into the staff. It wasn't a tool for subtlety, but it was a tool for projection. A phalanx of tomb spiders began to scurry from the side of the pyramid, mandibles clacking in robotic irritation. Immediately gunfire began to flicker in their direction. Sweat began to bead on my brow and I started to fall behind the group. Keeping my focus became extremely difficult as my vision was split in two different directions. Bahometus' horrible psycic presence lashed out, blasting a furrow through the tomb spiders. They crumpled and flew in all directions. Several of them scrambled to their feet and continued thier advance. A second blast of malevolent energy tore into them and again the horde was scythed down.

Even I wasn't that good.

I couldn't keep track of enough pieces of debris to make it believable. Bahometus roared in rage which stabbed into my mind. I slapped back at him with everything I had. It wasn't much, a pillow to a charging bull. He grabbed hold of my mind and bored in, intending to finish me there and then.

I stood on a broad golden plain. The sky above me was weird and filled with flickering and unwholesome lights. Something terrible lurked just beyond the horizion, hungry and malevolent. A dark stain was rapidly spreading across the golden field. In a broad arrow at the head of the shadow strode a figure, dark, formless and terrible. It was Bahometus, clad in his own self image. He was in my mind. He was invading my mind.

"It is over, whelp," he said in a voice that seared my marrow, "you might be Cognitate, but even they are nothing compared to the power I will have once I have opened the great rift."

"I might be what?" I asked, the word tickling at the back of my mind like dust in a sinus.

"No matter welp, your interference ends here," he sneered, reaching out with his mind intent on snuffing me out like a candle.

“Oh frack,” I mouthed and then did the only thing I could think of. Five Emmaline’s stood on either side of me. Emmaline-Who-Is-Brave charged forth with the force staff leveled while Emmaline-Who-Is-Desperate picked up a rock and hurled it at the approaching Chaos Sorcerer. Emmaline-Who-Is-Terrified turned and bolted away across the golden plain, blond hair streaming behind her like a banner. Emmaline-Who-Has-A-Plan disappeared into some other facet of our mind while Emmaline-Who-Thinks-On-Her-Feet flew up into the sky as though she were wearing a jump pack. A dozen other facets of my personality reached in their own ways, fighting, fleeing or freezing depending on their individual aspect. Bahometus lashed out with warp lightning and obliterated Emmaline-Who-Is-Brave before she could reach him with the staff. She flickered out of existence and then appeared somewhere else in the golden field, looking confused but characteristically determined.

“You think this trickery will save you?!” the chaos sorcerer roared.

“Here is hoping,” said Emmaline-Who-Can’t-Keep-Her-Mouth-Shut before Emmaline-Who-Looks-Out-For-Others whisked her out of the way of the heretics eldritch blast.

The Hyborian Chronicles: Of Sword and Sorcery

Sythemis sat bolt upright eyes rolled back, white and staring. Her sightless gaze fell upon the thief and her face controted in a more than human countenance. Her lips opened and worked and a silibant hissing sound escaped her lips.

"Do not invoke my name in service of this apostate. She would use me as she uses..." the voice cut off as Sythemis' eyes came back into focus. She shuddered stiffened and then her eyes widened. The beast had staggered to its feet, blood dripping over its dark coat and glistening in the moonlight. It's clawed feet tore up handfulls of the strange earth as it charged, tongue lolling and jaws slavering. Sythemis lifted a hand and the odd plant life exploded into motion. Vines snaked out and seized the thing wrapping its legs and midrift and dragging it to the ground. The thing yowled and screamed as more vines entombed it. Rootlets burst up from beneath the earth and burrowed into its body, making it swell grotesquely as though filled with magots. The light left its eyes and the plants continued to grow until it was nothing more than a slightly lump in the ground where roots and moss hid what might have been a rock instead of a bloody mess of shattered bones and organs.

"We must... reach the gem," Sythemis gasped as far away a great black bell began a slow and terrible tolling.

The Elder Scrolls: Endless Night

Granuaile Greenbow

Name: Granuaile Greenbow aka Mercada The Red
Race: Breton
Age: 30
Birthsign: The Apprentice
Family Origins: Daggerfall City, Daggerfall

Appearance:

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Personality: Granuaile works extremely hard to project an aura of simple goodness and self control. She is upbeat and positive to an almost relentless degree. All of this is a cover to conceal the fact that she is filled almost constantly with a towering rage that she controls only by years of practice. This results in her appearing extremely brittle and unbalanced, often plastering a smile on her face as the only available mask in tough situations. Granuaile is an extremely organized person, with a distaste for mess, clutter and inefficiency. This is not a great combination for someone with her unresolved anger issue.

---

History: Mercada comes from one of the minor noble families in daggerfall. From an early aged she showed something beyond the typical Breton aptitude for magic, particularly for destruction. In a not unrelated story, she burned down several barns during her teenage years.

When she was seventeen she got into a fight with a couple of local toughs, whom she also burned down in rather spectacular fashion. Her family connections weren't quite enough to hush up what they uncharitably termed 'the murders' an so she was packed off to the Imperial Legion where she served as a battle mage.

The Legion was a good place for Mercada , clear rules and routines made it much easier for her to avoid the kind of pyrotechnic missteps which might otherwise have gotten her an early execution. It also let her put her talents to use against the occasional group of rebels like the Stormcloaks. This time people seemed to appreciate her burning Nords, which was confusing, but pleasant. She made a name for herself during this time and earned the name ‘The Red’ for her frequent use of fire.

During her time in the Legion Mercada learned alot and her magical skills broadened out to include the basics of healing and alchemy. The senior battlemage in her legion seemed to have some clue as to what was going on in her mind and learned to handle her in a way that made her a productive member of the Legion. It also gave her a chance to see alot of the Empire. Mercada loved the Legion and made it her home.

Towards the end of her second enlistment Mercada was assigned to a patrol in a disputed border region. Her patrol ran into a group of Thalmor soldiers and hot words became threats. Then threats became spells and a few minutes later Thalmor became charcoal briquettes. The Legion, bound by the terms of the White Gold Concordite, was required to hand the soldiers over as murderers. In a related note Mercada decided that this would be a good time to leave her employment with the Legion.

Since leaving she has changed her name to Granuaile and hidden her true talents, studying and practicing in secret.

Biggest Regret: When Granuaile (then Mercada) deserted from the Legion she left her mentor Callus behind. She tried to convince him to flee with her but he refused, disgusted that she had lost control and broken the peace. Although she dosen't know for sure, she suspects he was handed over to the Thalmor in her place in order to keep the peace.

Character Name ‘s Goal: Despite her pose as an innocent friendly healer, in the depths of her heart Granuaile is a true believer in the Imperial cause. She also hungers for revenge against the Aldmeri Dominion. Fortunately these two desires are largely interchangeable, and after all, if a High Elf catches fire in a forest and no one is there to report it, did it even really happen?

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Skills: This section gets a bit more complicated. Using the main skills of the game (two handed, smithing, destruction, illusion, lock picking, pick pocketing, shield, et cetera) things are rated by proficiency. You may have 1 expert skill, 2 adept skills, and 3 novice. You may, however, move up a class at the expense of another skill of the level below it (e.g. you pick 1 expert at the cost of 2 adept). Likewise, you can gain more skills if you downgrade a skill (1 expert becomes 2 adept, 1 adept can be 3 novice). Explain why your character is good at each skill in a brief sentence. If in doubt, ask!

Normally TES games may use 1 x 3 x 3 for skills, but I want to try it scaled back. Sometimes we get too caught up in the details and approximations of skills and spells etc. While there is structure, let's go with the flow. Let's see what works for your character and makes sense.

Also again, don't be put off writing the character you want to because someone else wrote x type. I am more than happy to GM this game around 4 Argonian thieves if those are the characters that are working.
Expert: Destruction - Born under a bloody moon.
Adept: Restoration - Sometimes you get a little carried away…
Alteration - If I alter it enough it will it burn?

Novice: Speechcraft - In hiding, you need to talk the talk.
Enchanting - How many times has a trooper wanted a good luck charm.
Alchemy - Burning things is great but I need to pay the bills.

Spells: Wall of Storms
Incinerate
Fireball
Chain Lightning
Heal Other
Close wounds
Detect Life
Water Breathing
Soul trap

Equipment:
Legion Gladius (carefully hidden)
Alchemy and Enchanting tools
Short sword
Cloak
Medicine kit

Misc. Possessions:
Statue of Dibella