POOHEAD189

The Elder Scrolls: Endless Night

Thoughtful Nord Blacksmith

Name: Hakon Ingmarsson
Race: Nord
Age: 28
Birthsign: The Tower
Family Origins: A family farm in Rorikstead

Appearance:


Personality: An old soul, Hakon is unlike most of his more fiery-hearted brethren, at least on the surface. Having seen his father killed for his words on the steps of Markarth, and what happens when you don't think before you act, his youthful impetuousness has been tempered like fine steel. A man of strong morals, he has an empathetic heart and does his best to be understanding, even to his enemies. He likes working with his hands and it gives him a down-to-earth wisdom reserved for older Nords. Still, Hakon possesses an ardent passion within him that needs only to be stoked, and he prefers not to speak or even think about politics because he knows he might say something that just brings trouble. He has a love for stories and talking, which surprises people he opens up to because generally he's fairly aloof. Just make sure you don't anger him. At heart, he still has the wrath of Atmora locked deep within him.

History: Born 10 years after the Great War, his father was a veteran of the conflict. His mother, a maid in Riverwood, bore three sons, Hakon being the middle child. Hrothgar was four years older than him, the eldest and the most like their father. His younger brother by a year was Barnjulf, who grew up athletic but found his niche in farming.

Initially they grew up in Riverwood, playing by the river and helping their father with his forge-work. One night when Hakon was twelve, his brothers and he heard a pack of wolves attacking the livestock and sneaked out to track them through the wilderness by the White River, his older brother spurring them on all night, though Hakon was excited to run across the landscape like his ancestors. They continued on, until they lost the trail and only had a few chicken feathers for their trouble. They saw Valthiem Towers in the distance, and Hrothgar's caution was thrown out by his curiosity. Large and strong, he continued forward and would not answer Hakon's questioning when confronted, telling him to be silent.

At the edge of the road, Hakon and Barnjulf waited in the brush while Hrothgar stepped out to speak to a solitary figure standing beside the abandoned ruins. To this day, Hakon believed he was trying to find some food to purchase for the journey back. They saw the stranger place their arm around Hrothgar and lead him toward the door, speaking to him as a friend, and without warning stabbed Hrothgar in the stomach time and again. Their oldest brother fell bleeding in a memory that would live with Hakon forever. They ran back to Riverwood and told their parents what had happened. Their father was furious and their mother burst into tears, and over the next day, the muster of Riverwood was summoned and moved north to purge the towers over the river. Hakon still remembers his father coming home, blood crusted on his wolfskin cloak. Only then did he cry for Hrothgar.

The next year, they traveled to Rorikstead. Their father was a native of Markarth and they wanted to become farmers. Hakon thinks they could not bear to live in their old home anymore.

Growing up, his father would teach Hakon the art of the forge in his spare time when they were not working the fields. Barnjulf grew to be a lover of things that grow, but Hakon preferred the heat of the forge and the working of steel. They lived much the same and grew happy for a time, until the Thalmor began lurking the roads and oppressing the people, and it was only a scant few years later when the Skyrim civil war erupted. His father, Ingmar, was a staunch Talos worshiper and a believer in civil liberties. He had paid the Empire with his own blood as many Nords had, and now the Thalmor were walking freely amongst a nation they had 'made peace with,' harassing the population and enforcing their laws. Meanwhile, the Forsworn had attacked Markarth and disrupted caravans, making the already Thalmor infested roads downright disastrous for trade.

When Ulfric Stormcloak and his volunteers passed through Rorikstead, Ingmar joined. Hakon was left home to tend the farm and forge, but his father returned just as he had in Riverwood, with blood and scars.

Hakon heard firsthand of Ulfric's ultimatum to the Forsworn, and was told his father witnessed the power of his Thu'um blow open the gates of the great dwarven city. The militia charged in, but I won't bore you with the details. We all know the Markarth incident, however Ingmar claimed to Hakon the slaughter in the aftermath was greatly exaggerated by the Imperial scholar Arrianus Arius, who also penned 'The Madmen of The Reach' which was a staple for Forsworn apologetics. Ulfric and his men would not have been welcome back had they slaughtered the populace within as the Imperial claimed, and Hakon did not believe his father was that cruel.

There was peace for a time, and even the Thalmor showed their faces less as the year passed. But his father told him it wasn't the end of it, and he trained Hakon in the way of the sword for months, before Markarth was pressed by the Imperials and went back on its word and denounced the terms of the treaty for Markarth. It wasn't what his father had exactly expected, but it was the next step in the conflict. They gathered themselves quickly.

His father and a few of the more ardent Skyrim loyalists took up arms for the third time in Hakon's life, and for the first time, Hakon could accompany them. He was proud to stand by his father and go to question Igmund on this betrayal. But when they saw Markarth on the horizon, the Thalmor were waiting for them, and they surrounded the small contingent of men who had come but to talk. The elves gave the men the chance to disperse, but Ingmar and a number of the men spoke up, asking what right the Altmer had in ruling Skyrim?

The elves only answer was the drawing of their arms. Hakon watched his father die by the sword, and his cloak was now covered in his own blood, and not those of his enemies. The rest of them ran, and Hakon was pulled away as he watched in shock. It was a minor skirmish, not even noteworthy for the history books, but to Hakon it defined his life.

He fled home and wept when he told his mother and brother, and he swore he would join Ulfric in his war to rid the nation of the elves and the imperial traitors. But his mother convinced him not to, told him she needed him alive. He listened to her, and the only time he raised his sword was to fight Forsworn raiders that threatened the farm of Ingmarsson. For three years he stayed home, helping his brother and mother. He saw his brother get married and was there for the birth of his nephew, but he couldn't share in his brother's happiness.

At the age of twenty one, he decided he had to leave his own. Skyrim was not what it had once been, and as much as it pained him, the most business one could find was in Cyrodiil. He also understood who to blame and who to save his ire for. The average imperial was not his enemy. They were men as he was, and he knew he would rather see a thriving land ruled by a faithless man than a land he called home losing its will to live. He couldn't stay there, and so he left and made his home in Anvil, by the sea. He had never seen the sea before and it had the ethereal quality of watching a snow-capped tundra without being reminded of his home. He became a blacksmith there, started a trade on his own and finding contentedness in his work and the people he would see everyday.

For seven years, he grew in skill and knowledge and he felt his heart growing softer. Until the current year, in the Endless Night...

Biggest Regret: Not having the strength of character to stop his brother, or stop his father, or in the silence of his heart... in not having the courage to join them.

Hakon's Goals: What Hakon wants is peace and success, and to leave his scars behind. A good woman and a fine meal would be great. Deep inside, however, he wants much what I want. What do I want for him? I want him to help people while simultaneously getting less peace and more ardent. I want his nordic side to come screaming out of him and for him to fight like his ancestors. Fight for a cause and for Talos!

Skills:

Expert: Smithing
Adept: One handed sword, Speech
Novice: Blocking, Sneak, Heavy Armor

Equipment:

• Steel Armor
• Steel Sword
• Iron Shield
• 2 Mead
• Jerky

Misc. Possessions:

• Blacksmith Hammer
• Tongs
• Necklace of Ingmar (plain silver necklace)

The Elder Scrolls: Endless Night

Normally I don't do backstories well but I'm kinda proud of this one! Hope I submitted on time, forgot you were so far ahead of me in timezones.

Thoughtful Nord Blacksmith

Name: Hakon Ingmarsson
Race: Nord
Age: 28
Birthsign: The Tower
Family Origins: A family farm in Rorikstead

Appearance:


Personality: An old soul, Hakon is unlike most of his more fiery-hearted brethren, at least on the surface. Having seen his father killed for his words on the steps of Markarth, and what happens when you don't think before you act, his youthful impetuousness has been tempered like fine steel. A man of strong morals, he has an empathetic heart and does his best to be understanding, even to his enemies. He likes working with his hands and it gives him a down-to-earth wisdom reserved for older Nords. Still, Hakon possesses an ardent passion within him that needs only to be stoked, and he prefers not to speak or even think about politics because he knows he might say something that just brings trouble. He has a love for stories and talking, which surprises people he opens up to because generally he's fairly aloof. Just make sure you don't anger him. At heart, he still has the wrath of Atmora locked deep within him.

History: Born 10 years after the Great War, his father was a veteran of the conflict. His mother, a maid in Riverwood, bore three sons, Hakon being the middle child. Hrothgar was four years older than him, the eldest and the most like their father. His younger brother by a year was Barnjulf, who grew up athletic but found his niche in farming.

Initially they grew up in Riverwood, playing by the river and helping their father with his forge-work. One night when Hakon was twelve, his brothers and he heard a pack of wolves attacking the livestock and sneaked out to track them through the wilderness by the White River, his older brother spurring them on all night, though Hakon was excited to run across the landscape like his ancestors. They continued on, until they lost the trail and only had a few chicken feathers for their trouble. They saw Valthiem Towers in the distance, and Hrothgar's caution was thrown out by his curiosity. Large and strong, he continued forward and would not answer Hakon's questioning when confronted, telling him to be silent.

At the edge of the road, Hakon and Barnjulf waited in the brush while Hrothgar stepped out to speak to a solitary figure standing beside the abandoned ruins. To this day, Hakon believed he was trying to find some food to purchase for the journey back. They saw the stranger place their arm around Hrothgar and lead him toward the door, speaking to him as a friend, and without warning stabbed Hrothgar in the stomach time and again. Their oldest brother fell bleeding in a memory that would live with Hakon forever. They ran back to Riverwood and told their parents what had happened. Their father was furious and their mother burst into tears, and over the next day, the muster of Riverwood was summoned and moved north to purge the towers over the river. Hakon still remembers his father coming home, blood crusted on his wolfskin cloak. Only then did he cry for Hrothgar.

The next year, they traveled to Rorikstead. Their father was a native of Markarth and they wanted to become farmers. Hakon thinks they could not bear to live in their old home anymore.

Growing up, his father would teach Hakon the art of the forge in his spare time when they were not working the fields. Barnjulf grew to be a lover of things that grow, but Hakon preferred the heat of the forge and the working of steel. They lived much the same and grew happy for a time, until the Thalmor began lurking the roads and oppressing the people, and it was only a scant few years later when the Skyrim civil war erupted. His father, Ingmar, was a staunch Talos worshiper and a believer in civil liberties. He had paid the Empire with his own blood as many Nords had, and now the Thalmor were walking freely amongst a nation they had 'made peace with,' harassing the population and enforcing their laws. Meanwhile, the Forsworn had attacked Markarth and disrupted caravans, making the already Thalmor infested roads downright disastrous for trade.

When Ulfric Stormcloak and his volunteers passed through Rorikstead, Ingmar joined. Hakon was left home to tend the farm and forge, but his father returned just as he had in Riverwood, with blood and scars.

Hakon heard firsthand of Ulfric's ultimatum to the Forsworn, and was told his father witnessed the power of his Thu'um blow open the gates of the great dwarven city. The militia charged in, but I won't bore you with the details. We all know the Markarth incident, however Ingmar claimed to Hakon the slaughter in the aftermath was greatly exaggerated by the Imperial scholar Arrianus Arius, who also penned 'The Madmen of The Reach' which was a staple for Forsworn apologetics. Ulfric and his men would not have been welcome back had they slaughtered the populace within as the Imperial claimed, and Hakon did not believe his father was that cruel.

There was peace for a time, and even the Thalmor showed their faces less as the year passed. But his father told him it wasn't the end of it, and he trained Hakon in the way of the sword for months, before Markarth was pressed by the Imperials and went back on its word and denounced the terms of the treaty for Markarth. It wasn't what his father had exactly expected, but it was the next step in the conflict. They gathered themselves quickly.

His father and a few of the more ardent Skyrim loyalists took up arms for the third time in Hakon's life, and for the first time, Hakon could accompany them. He was proud to stand by his father and go to question Igmund on this betrayal. But when they saw Markarth on the horizon, the Thalmor were waiting for them, and they surrounded the small contingent of men who had come but to talk. The elves gave the men the chance to disperse, but Ingmar and a number of the men spoke up, asking what right the Altmer had in ruling Skyrim?

The elves only answer was the drawing of their arms. Hakon watched his father die by the sword, and his cloak was now covered in his own blood, and not those of his enemies. The rest of them ran, and Hakon was pulled away as he watched in shock. It was a minor skirmish, not even noteworthy for the history books, but to Hakon it defined his life.

He fled home and wept when he told his mother and brother, and he swore he would join Ulfric in his war to rid the nation of the elves and the imperial traitors. But his mother convinced him not to, told him she needed him alive. He listened to her, and the only time he raised his sword was to fight Forsworn raiders that threatened the farm of Ingmarsson. For three years he stayed home, helping his brother and mother. He saw his brother get married and was there for the birth of his nephew, but he couldn't share in his brother's happiness.

At the age of twenty one, he decided he had to leave his own. Skyrim was not what it had once been, and as much as it pained him, the most business one could find was in Cyrodiil. He also understood who to blame and who to save his ire for. The average imperial was not his enemy. They were men as he was, and he knew he would rather see a thriving land ruled by a faithless man than a land he called home losing its will to live. He couldn't stay there, and so he left and made his home in Anvil, by the sea. He had never seen the sea before and it had the ethereal quality of watching a snow-capped tundra without being reminded of his home. He became a blacksmith there, started a trade on his own and finding contentedness in his work and the people he would see everyday.

For seven years, he grew in skill and knowledge and he felt his heart growing softer. Until the current year, in the Endless Night...

Biggest Regret: Not having the strength of character to stop his brother, or stop his father, or in the silence of his heart... in not having the courage to join them.

Hakon's Goals: What Hakon wants is peace and success, and to leave his scars behind. A good woman and a fine meal would be great. Deep inside, however, he wants much what I want. What do I want for him? I want him to help people while simultaneously getting less peace and more ardent. I want his nordic side to come screaming out of him and for him to fight like his ancestors. Fight for a cause and for Talos!

Skills:

Expert: Smithing
Adept: One handed sword, Speech
Novice: Blocking, Sneak, Heavy Armor

Equipment:

• Steel Armor
• Steel Sword
• Iron Shield
• 2 Mead
• Jerky

Misc. Possessions:

• Blacksmith Hammer
• Tongs
• Necklace of Ingmar (plain silver necklace)

Gold & Glory: AU thread

The gale howled intensely as the the rain batted against the deck like artillery, pelting all on board and filled the already loud wind with with the noise of battering droplets. While never pleasant even with his vast experience, Markus was used to sailing in trying conditions. He felt goosebumps on his skin as much of his body was both warm and strikingly cold at different extremities. His dark hair matted to his face, his eyes steeled and piercing the veil of wind and blackness.

"Hard to port!" a fey, elven voice cried from the front of the ship. Markus spun the wheel, turning the ship as quickly as he could. The lightning flashed overhead, and the vague shape of the land that he had perceived as mountains were suddenly illuminated into monstrous shapes out of nightmare. Huge towers of jagged spires laden with wet corpses set around temples of obsidian and blood, all built in tandem to make the countenance of a great screaming visage in the brief flash. It started Markus's heart for a moment, and if he did not know any better, he thought he might have awakened a heathen god better left undisturbed.

"Raise mast!" Markus called back over the din. Lightning flashed again, giving him a glimpse of the deck. Morek ran across toward the mainsail rope as Sulander held onto the aft lines, yanking them down for all his worth. Indrin's figure was mid-leap from the foredeck onto the main deck, and behind him, dead ahead, was the maw of the bay. The world was continuously instantaneous intervals of light and darkness and roaring weather.

Spinning the wheel, Markus felt the ship sink dangerously low before launching into the air once it slapped against an oncoming wave, holding on for dear life. He felt as if he heard Emmaline squeal below him under the deck, but he knew that was impossible due to the noise. It was the last great interval before they made it into the inlet, where the waters were rough but manageable. Thankfully, the ship was far steadier than any manling vessel would be and almost skimmed to the darkwood docks where deadly sloops were anchored.

He knew no one would be out in this storm, but he still could not but feel eyes watching him. Something older than even the elves, and he couldn't help but feel on edge as they slid somewhat roughly into a vacant area, knowing this might be the last time he would ever sail. With luck, they wouldn't find any dark elves. Just his ship and the crew...

"Sigmar willing," he said and chuckled darkly. He knew in his stomach there would be blood spilled before the night was through.

At The Edge of The World

Needless to say I was bewildered. She had bounded out of nowhere and leaped right onto the raft. I had to leap on there with her with my pole and halt the raft by sticking the staff into the water to halt the craft so the others could clamber on, getting their legs and feet wet. It didn't enamor them with the newcomer, and I admit I was hesitant to take her on. If there was one thing that led to deaths on the river, it was chaos and a lack of cooperation. It already wasn't off to a great start, and as the last of them got on and threw their bags onto the craft, I turned and regarded the woman with my arms crossed.

"Wait a minute, who are-..." I started, but she thanked me. Looking at this noblewoman in trouble, I knew in the end I would let her stay. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I left someone in need stranded there, particularly a woman who had just escaped pursuers. Behind me the others began to grumble.

"Who in ze hell is that!" One of the Dre Costans called over my shoulder.

"Did you not see her? I say let her stay." Another said with obvious lust.

"Did she even pay?" the woman asked as the dock drifted away. I had not yet begun guiding the craft, but it was slowly moving with the current. I looked at the golden haired woman and sighed, a smile growing on my face. I really shouldn't have done so, but it just wasn't in me to not accept her. Still, I had to do something. In her hands she clutched a weird object. I took it out of her hands with a quick, nimble slip of the fingers. When she started to protest, I gave a wink and leaned in.

"I'll reimburse you later," I told her, letting her know I wasn't keeping it. "Yeah, she paid. Aristocrats get a discount, anyway. They keep the waterways safe with their trade, after all."

The merchant snorted his hooked nose at that, likely having tried to buy his way into nobility, or had been outsourced by one on the northern continent, or maybe he was simply jealous? I never asked. I tried not to get involved with any passengers unless they were open to talk, but this new woman I was definitely curious about. If nothing else I would speak with her and tell her about where we were going, since she probably had no idea. No doubt she had questions too.

I turned from her to address the group, opening my mouth to speak. I was interrupted by a cry from the dock, now twenty paces away and sliding further and further in the distance. Two men were shouting obscenities. One look at the other passengers and I could tell they were equally as confused, so I assumed they were the kidnappers. I pointed at them and looked at the noble woman. "Are those the guys?"

She nodded, buttoning her lip. I turned back at the men on the dock waving their hands, one of them swinging about an unsheathed sword. I admit I was pissed off at them, and it would do both me and the newcomer some good to let off some steam, or watch me do it.

"Yeah, you can kiss my ass!" I cried, stepping over to the butt of the craft and cupping my hands by my mouth. "Hope the wailing plague take you, bitches!"

I admit it wasn't professional, but the sexy aristocrat seemed to like it and a few of the others who weren't wide eyed chuckled at my manner. I then regained my dignity and cleared my throat, before going back to do what I did every time I shipped people or goods downriver. I needed to lay the ground rules. The water was dark, even with the noonday sun hitting it through the canopy of tropical trees that loomed above us, their trunks equally comfortable on land or submerged in the shallows. Bubbles popped up in streams every now and then and fish hopped out of the water in ubiquitous spurts. It all looked so calm, but soon it might get less safe for those who did not take care.

"Ok, sorry for both interruptions. Now... I know none of you are familiar with this land, so here is what I require of you to come on this journey: You do what I say, when I say it. I won't command you to do anything unless it is for your own safety and those around you. I need you to never put your hands and feet in the water unless I say so. Don't ever pick anything unless I say so. Don't make loud noises like I just did, unless you're in desperate need for help, and even then do so cautiously. Don't fight with one another or fraternize in whatever way you wish until we make it to the outpost..."

I was lucky I turned my head then. One of the conquistadors had drawn his gun and was setting it to his shoulder to carefully aim, one eye closing and the other glaring down the sight. I saw the flint lit and moved quickly, shoving the gun barrel up and licking my fingers before pinching the fuse out. The Dre Costan looked at me like I was daft, and he might be right in other circumstances but in this instance he was about to do something stupid. I looked at where he was aiming and saw what he was about to shoot.

It looked like a large rock basking beside a tree, the tree roots having slithered into the riverbank. I imagine it looked very much like a statue to most of them. The conquistador had probably been looking at it for some time. Moss covered what looked like a scaled form with a shell. Its ridges sharpened into rough points along the carapace. Whoever had carved it had a lot of time on their hands, being as large as it was. But as theirs eyes focused, they would dreadfully realize it wasn't a statue. It was a beast, armored and primordial in countenance. It lounged beside the river, not ten paces from the raft.

"And don't shoot anything unless I say it." I told him firmly.

"Look at the size of that thing! It's worth its weight in gold if we can just-"

"That's Grik-Tache. He's a local beast the town values." I informed him, letting go of his gun. I honestly felt like he was an idiot at the time. Even if he killed the creature (and that was a big if), we were at capacity. What would he store on the craft? "If you shot him, it wouldn't kill him. He'd just get pissed off and come over here and sink us. He's harmless unless provoked anyway."

"So it's a...town... death-turtle?" The new woman asked, incredulous.

I laughed. "Kinda. It's a Cleaver-mouth. This one has been here for thirteen years. He doesn't like the taste of people and he keeps the other beasts away. Don't bother him and he'll keep the town safe, but the last person that hit him was by accident, and he took their leg. Just leave him be. We're lucky we saw him, actually. Usually he's not so close to town."

With that, the commotion died down and everyone withdrew to looking at the water and treeline, either deep in thought or to see if they could spot anything else I imagined. As for me, I took my pole and gently pressed against the riverbed, guiding the raft forward, standing right by the golden haired woman. Slowly I reached into my pocket and handed her the strange item back, our fingers brushing for a brief moment.

"Would you like to tell me who you are, my lady? I bet this isn't the usual transportation you're used to." I told her with a wink.

At The Edge of The World

I slept peacefully, if one might call a log peaceful. It was honestly pretty hard to wake me up, something I inherited from my dad. Both of us were strong, big eaters, and heavy sleepers. I trusted Filden to sufficiently wake me when the time came, but enough about me. Let's check back in with the other player in the story.

This next bit will be from what she later told me, so the details might be a bit fuzzy. But here it goes: I didn't know it yet (and I wouldn't for some time), but Emmaline was a fucking good liar and con artist. She had finangled these two guys, Gauln and Locke, with her charms and a story that would make a great novel. Topping it off with one of her many costumes, she played them like a fiddle and they actually bought most of what she said. Of course, lying can lead to some poor consequences and now she found herself being tugged around and forced to find a boat.

Her eyes were sharp as her wit, luckily. Through the throng of the desperate and destitute, she found a pair of beady eyes that scanned her would-be suitor with open greed, something she could appreciate and recognize easily enough, I bet. I don't know why, but when she gets that look in her eyes it drives me nuts. Anyway, slipping through the crowd, she found someone I could have told her to avoid if we had known each other. A known scoundrel named Anwir. He smells like piss and it's hard to miss, and no I didn't mean to rhyme. He had himself a small corner shop with a small roof that could barely keep out the sun let alone rain.

Gauln almost had a conniption when he thought he had lost her, but he was taller than many of the immigrants and saw her across the river of people. I know I could spot that ass out of a lineup, but judging by what she's told me about him, he was deeply enamored with her. Locke was more savvy to her games, but he had most men's weakness and didn't want a pretty girl to disappear. Even if it's not the normal reasons, if he found she was lying and could prove it, he would get a big reward from his boss.

"A boat?" Anwir asked aloud. His voice sibilant and loathesome. Most of his hair had receded, and a small patch of it formed above his upper lip looking like someone had shoved a caterpillar on it. He had swindled a lot of people out of their money, but he wasn't used to Emmaline. She did that thing girls do where they press their arms close to their chest and looked at him with her big blue eyes. He still wouldn't get fooled out of his own money, but it buttered him up. "All the boats are gone, but there is a way to get on the water..."

"What is it?" Emmaline asked as Gauln found her.

"Step away from him!" He told Emmaline, stepping between the two and grabbing at his sword. He might be estranged of his lands, but he looked every inch a noble. "Who are you, cur?"

"Merely a humble purveyor of information, my lord. I saw you and your lady were of means and I felt it was terrible to see you walking amongst the riff-raff. As I told her, there are no boats left. But there is a craft that would go downriver, and you're in luck. It's to leave today at noon. But that's not all..."

"Noon?" Emmaline and Gauln said together, though she was aghast and he had laughed out the word. It was almost noon just then!

"I also happen to have a souvenir, something I found at an auction down in Darkwater..." He said with a bitter smile, producing a piece of brass, formed in a long hexagonal shape with two sharpened points, perfectly proportioned. He held it before their eyes for a lingering moment, before setting it down on the small table set before him.

"Why do you wish to sell us this?" Locke asked, daring to speak before his master. Gauln seemed to give him leave, however, and so he continued. "Where is this raft you speak of?"

"Why the eastern docks." Arwin hissed, and he placed his hands on the table, standing up and leaning over it to look Gauln in the eye. "But you won't get on it without a ticket. One I could provide, and I will if you would but purchase this item. This, my lord, is the key to the ancient city of Tzecholitchi. A fabled city of untold treasures. I've heard tell it's in the jungle nearby, with treasure just waiting to be taken."

"Why not simply allow me to purchase the ticket? Why care about this...key?" Gauln asked.

Arwin laughed. "Ah, a question only an educated man could form. But my secrets are my own. You see this...this... what? Where the fuck is it?"

The scoundrel looked down at the table to find his glorious key now missing. Gaul and Locke's eyes followed his gaze, and then they looked to their side. God I wish I had been there, I would have laughed my ass off. As you could probably guess, Emmaline was now gone. And it took only a minute for the panicked lord to take his squire's advice and check his coin purse to find it missing as well.

---

"Wake up boy, they're here." Filden said, shaking me awake. My world came rushing back, and I let out a grunt. My body was warm and felt very nice indeed, but living with the dwarves had helped me get a healthy work ethic. I got up without complaint, thanking the old man who mumbled a complaint. I smiled. Blinking, my eyes adjusted to the scene laden before me with a new crowd.

There was a young man, well groomed and in the robes of a scholar who stood waiting alone. I couldn't guess his origins... some northerner. Next to him were three conquistadors, wearing morion helmets and sporting breastplates. Their mustaches were of the Dre Costan fashion, and they carried sideswords and primitive arquebus. They chatted amongst themselves, arguing in their tongue over something specific. Standing nearest the dock was a woman, if I had to guess close to her forties. She had long brown hair and a workman's apron on, bedecked with tools and a shawl. The last one was an older gentlemen with a red merchant's tabard and a plumed hat. He looked at everyone and everything like they had been found wanting, something that would grate most people. I didn't care, as long as he had payment for a ticket.

"Alright," I said, drawing their attention. They all turned, their aimless gazes and thoughts interrupted when they looked at me. I was distinctly aware of what most of them thought; I was used to it. My skin was caramel and kissed by the sun, and my features, though not unlike theirs in some ways, were somewhat alien in others. I was a half-blood, wearing strange clothes in a strange land. I wasn't offended by the looks. Stuff like that didn't bother me. But if something poor came out of it, that was a different story. I gave them a smile. "I'm Beren, I'm your guide. We're going as far as Stranglecreek, down river."

"Not up river? I was told..." The young man asked, the elderly merchant nodded in agreement and speaking his mind. "Yes, can we not go north?"

"There's nothing north but jungle and elves, and desert if you go far enough. The river the barges use isn't fit for anything less than a full ship to sail. Water's too rough. You can go with me or stay here."

Needless to say, they gave me their money. Just when I was about to list the rules, I saw her. She came sprinting out of the alley like her ass was on fire.

Gold & Glory: AU thread

Markus wasn't sure why Morek had come aboard muttering about filthy manling magics, but it looked to him like Emmaline had solved the problem of his slave collar. He busied himself by raising the mainsail as Indrin and Sulandar prepared the wings and checked small rivets in the ship Markus wasn't entirely familiar with. For the most part, Elven ships were much like human vessels, but the design was far more sophisticated and there were a few added features Markus wasn't entirely familiar with. He felt he was roughly in command but he would follow their lead on maneuvering.

"Let's cast off!" Markus called, and with Morek's help in hauling the anchor up, Indrin set the ship in a short curve to the mouth of the inlet. To Markus' surprise, the ship started to move almost immediately. The ship's was keen edged but it was bluffed above the water and sharp below, sleek in design. If he had to guess it gives the hull a finer entry and a long run as she goes aft, which made sense but there was something more to the ships. Perhaps it was the material? He couldn't say.

Markus made it to the helm, taking the wheel as Indrin looked out to the open sea. Markus gave him a look, and to a man unused to elves he would think the slave was simply wanting to go home. But Markus knew while there was longing, he was making his peace with what could happen very soon. The elves were cruel in their way, just as the dwarves were greedy and fatalistic, but the elder races had a nobility Markus envied. Something about them men could only aspire to.

"I assume we're going north?" The Captain asked.

"Directly north, yes." Indrin said softly. Sulandar stepped lightly up to their level on the aftcastle, if it could be called such on a ship that ran so low in the water.

"How did you and your men come to be here?" Sulandar asked Markus. The swordsman gave the elf a smile that showed his teeth.

"We're pirates," He said, and they both looked at him hard. He knew they would judge him, but elves were so used to warfare on the ocean, they at least had common ground. "Don't worry, we're not foolhardy enough to go after Ulthuan vessels, but we are trying to gain membership in the Sartosian council. We need to go to Ind, by far Cathay. Lustria was our most recent stop."

"You seem worldly and well spoken for a pirate," Sulandar said, eyeing Markus up and down. "But I don't doubt you after what I've seen you do."

"Pirate, merchant, the envoy to Karl Franz, who cares?" Morek said, stepping up with them. It was hard not to hear his approach. He walked like a bulldog and every step creaked on the ship, which was saying something. Even Markus and Emmaline made barely a sound on the mysterious dark wood. "As long as we get to kill some elves."

"Dark elves." Indrin corrected, glaring at the dwarf.

"Whichever elves collared me. On that we can agree, aye Elgi?" The dwarf said. The dwarf didn't bother looking at the elf when he finished his question, rather stepping over to the side of the ship and watching the forest drift away as they slipped out toward the northern coastline. Markus saw the elves, as put off by the dwarf as ever, but steeled. They were wary of going to this 'S'sildra Tor,' but Markus knew the hatred between the elvish races. When a drucchi got within sword distance of either of his new companions, they wouldn't hesitate.

And they would enjoy it.

At The Edge of The World

.

At The Edge of The World

Some call it the Dark Continent. Other's call it Desarke in the old Basilean tongue. There are a few who even speak its name 'Watchite' in the language of the natives. Colloquially, it's known the Southlands. No sane man travels there, I've heard. It's a wilderness of steaming jungles and deadly rivers. Deserts and hoodoo rock formations touching the skies. Even the land of the God-Kings is located here, where sorcery of unimaginable depravity is performed and children are sacrificed to heathen death-gods. On the west coast, the mysterious elves make their homes and live as seafarers and await the return of their deities.

Below that is where men call the Black Delta. Where vast jungles cover the corpses of dead empires and men hack away at the forest until the forest bites back in return. I don't know about sane, but only the fool hardy or the very desperate immigrate, as beasts beyond scholarly knowledge lurk in the waters and stalk beneath the tree canopies. Diseases of unknown origin proliferate and eat at the very flesh, and that is only the beginning of one's troubles. The Southlands are dangerous, and known by many names.

For me? I call it home.

Thornton was abuzz with activity. I had been here many times, but I felt fortunate I didn't live here. The streets, many of them wooden planks set up by supports over the Sarka river, were packed with desperate refugees and irate locals. The Inns had been filled up for a week, and it was all the mayor could do to keep order in the streets. He had finally found an excuse to let his local thugs have 'fun' and beat anyone who was caught with a minor infraction, throwing them out of town to die in the wilderness or buy their way out of the jail cells located beneath the town, where water seeped into the floor and men had been known to drown there. Once, long ago, I heard of a man who had disappeared. Something had broken through the wall from the water and had taken him. I had fond memories of this place, and though the ownership had always been cruel, it was a reliable stop before one had to hop from outpost to outpost until there was any semblance of civilization along the coast. But something had happened to Bloodmud. Some cataclysmic mudslide or a rampaging tyrant-beast, but whatever had happened, the way there was shut, and the last barges to go upriver had gone days ago.

I was all there was left. My raft and my services.

The locals knew me well enough. I made berth here a few times a year during the wet seasons where the rivers overflowed and made passage easier, and I'd come here since I was a small boy. The shopkeeper and dock-men were always kind, and I saw new people every visit with tales of far off lands to the north. I had never been anywhere but in the delta, and though I had read of knights, castles, and snow peaked mountains in my books, I knew I would never appreciate it as much as this land. Despite its unforgiving nature, there was a beauty about it I could never put to words.

Now I waited on the deserted east docks, where old man Filden had set himself down to fish and his hound Humphrey sat just beside him, panting in the light of the noonday sun. I sat beside the crates, out of sight of any eyes that scanned the scalding wooden planks just above the jetty where the craft lay. The mayor nor his men had ever had a problem with my services before, but he was squeezing these people for all they were worth. He wouldn't want my lightening the load. And so I waited under the sun, closing my eyes and lounging by the last bit of flour the last barge had left, letting Filden act the part of guide until all were there.

I had a contact in the town, one that would find the best money to be had for the most desperate to leave. Whoever they found, I would take. Some might say I had a bit too much faith in other locals, but people born here were so rare, there was a kinship there others couldn't understand. In my defense, I had not been expecting to go to sleep, but I did drift off. Little did I know I would wake up to get my first look at the vivacious lady Emmaline Von Morgenstern and company, and it would change my simple life forever.

The Elder Scrolls: Endless Night

I might join as well, if I can come up with a good concept.

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

"Well, if you think I could learn the bow in such a short amount of time, or however long you believe, then I believe you." He said, as surprised at himself as she likely was. He wasn't used to giving people the benefit of the doubt but one had to trust someone, no matter how cutthroat the world was. He had chosen Silke days ago for that role, he just hadn't figured that out at the time. He popped another dumpling in his mouth and chewed gingerly. "You've not led me astray so far, and if you're as competent with the bow as I suspect, then who better to listen to?"

Yes, she hadn't necessarily mad that claim, but he was as sly as anyone. He could see her manner and ascertain the gist of it. He even smiled with her conspiratorially when she played coy to show he knew her game, though briefly he took a sip of water to hide his smile growing wider. He didn't see everything behind her eyes, but that much he could guess.

"Vincent should suffice," He told her with an effete manner, though his smile had not quite escaped him. In fact he knew how transparently facetious he was being and he knew she could see it. "However, I insist you attend. The more the merrier, my lady, and it would do my heart a great service to see your radiance."

Had he been standing, he would have bowed to finish the performance, but it sufficed. He would take her advice on her brother, but he also figured she was far better than she let on and would appreciate her there beyond the fact she was familiar. Though it was nice to compliment her in a way that would not be taken seriously. If he was a poet he might have written a letter about her in a similar manner. Whenever she smiled, he truly did feel a certain radiance.

"I suppose I would like to learn the way of the sword," he said as he stroked his chin thoughtfully. He didn't think it would be too hard, considering how good with a knife he was. He had always been a natural with a blade. Of course there would be stark differences, but he far more nervous when it came to the bow. "But let's focus on that after I have consolidated myself." He said, not entirely sure if he had used the correct words but felt he had given his meaning. He finished up his meal over the next minute as he started to ponder. After Silke spoke of Count Thrule, he felt it was a good match until she mentioned the daughter. He nearly choked on his food.

"Uh, no." He said, beating his chest with his fist, taking the last sip of water left to help flush his food down. It was a bit too early in his career as a noble for him to look for a match, and he still felt very interested in Silke despite her misgivings. He just couldn't bring himself to do that just yet. "That's alright. She's a little too young for me, and I should focus on the hunt I think, don't you?"