Eheh, for everyone else, please remember to put charsheets in the OOC first for approval. xD
Minotaur's good, though.
Minotaur's good, though.
Raineh Daze
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- Old Guild Username: Raineh Daze
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Cold air is spiky, not soft. Spiky air.
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i wasn't expecting to see spam for an indian moving service
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i slept on my shoulder funny. ow
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fight existential dread with cake
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Most Recent Posts
Fujiwara no Mokou
Well, now that they had averted fighting for the moment… back to the evil orb. It was certainly unfamiliar, and it oddly wasn't the first recent interaction she'd had with magic orbs, so…
"Do you know what this one does if you touch it?" Mokou wondered, pausing for just a second before asking, "If not, do you want to find out?"
The inn-keeper brightens even with your wavering commitment, and is happy enough to serve up lunch at what seems to still be rather a steep price—or perhaps the standards of travellers on the highway is simply higher than what you're familiar with? It might be basic, but there's nothing to complain about in terms of quality.
This leaves plenty of time to be filled in on what's a rather basic story in excruciating detail. A necromancer's taken up resident in a nearby cave, and the occasional undead are giving the inn a bad reputation. The Mage's Guild should be dealing with it, it's their ban on the practice after all, but the Roxey Inn apparently rates too low to send anybody out in a hurry. With the inn's usual mercs already working for other employers… well, Malene explains, she'd been forced to ask random travellers.
Lannessa seems in oddly high spirits as she leads the way north, pushing through the undergrowth while nonchalantly eating an apple. Why? "Every day you get to kill a necromancer is a good day."
The innkeeper's directions are correct, though, and sure enough there's a small cliff-face with a rather noticeable opening. It doesn't look particularly dangerous or necromantic, just… dark as you stand outside it, although the light at the end of the elf's staff promises that this won't be an issue for long. "So, I think you can handle this one mostly on your own. Small-time necromancer… probably just some skeletons and zombies."
This leaves plenty of time to be filled in on what's a rather basic story in excruciating detail. A necromancer's taken up resident in a nearby cave, and the occasional undead are giving the inn a bad reputation. The Mage's Guild should be dealing with it, it's their ban on the practice after all, but the Roxey Inn apparently rates too low to send anybody out in a hurry. With the inn's usual mercs already working for other employers… well, Malene explains, she'd been forced to ask random travellers.
Lannessa seems in oddly high spirits as she leads the way north, pushing through the undergrowth while nonchalantly eating an apple. Why? "Every day you get to kill a necromancer is a good day."
The innkeeper's directions are correct, though, and sure enough there's a small cliff-face with a rather noticeable opening. It doesn't look particularly dangerous or necromantic, just… dark as you stand outside it, although the light at the end of the elf's staff promises that this won't be an issue for long. "So, I think you can handle this one mostly on your own. Small-time necromancer… probably just some skeletons and zombies."
Canon enough. Grabbing abilities from it is certainly applicable.
As an organised force? Destroyed in short order by pretty overwhelming power. Standard civil war questline stuff.
Tullius was still around for a while to do cleanup before the whole upended power thing, and the remnants have either stood down or are becoming more and more irrelevant as their recruiting options have reduced one by one.
Tullius was still around for a while to do cleanup before the whole upended power thing, and the remnants have either stood down or are becoming more and more irrelevant as their recruiting options have reduced one by one.
Heyo~
Pelinal levels of murderousness would be concerning. Please don't kill any friendly elves. :P
Pelinal levels of murderousness would be concerning. Please don't kill any friendly elves. :P
The third century of the Fourth Era began turbulently, to say the least. Skyrim erupted into open civil war that threatened to have it secede from the Empire, to then be rudely interrupted by the sudden resurgence of dragons and vampires. The old Emperor, Titus Mede II, died under mysterious circumstances shortly before making a visit to inspect the Legions' progress in quelling the unrest.
To the bafflement of onlookers praying for the Empire's decline, the chaotic situation was just as quickly stabilised at the hands of a single figure. The Civil War? Brought to a bloody end by force of arms, despite the two sides' previous stagnation. The dragons? Similarly brought to heel, and the vampire threat silenced as quickly as it had sprung up. Even an attempt to take advantage of the College of Winterhold came to a dismal failure.
Yet still, as 4E 204 drew to a close, there was another interregnum, and the Legions were spent. Everything was ripe for the Aldmeri Dominion to make another move and finish what it had started.
Then the same woman that had caused them so much trouble in Skyrim waltzed into the Imperial City and declared herself Empress, the old regimes' hereditary bodyguards in tow. Her qualifications? Being Dragonborn, like Tiber Septim and Reman Cyrodiil before him.
And the dragons. Quite a persuasive argument, them.
Common wisdom and the advisors of the Elder Council suggested time to build the Legions up before acting provocatively and courting Hammerfell, actually readying themselves for the inevitable conflict ahead. The Empress? She declared the worship of the Nine to be the Empire's official faith once again, goading the Aldmeri Dominion to take action.
Another war looms on the horizon.
"And so, you, my Blades, are to go to Hammerfell and see to it that we at least have another ally against the Dominion. Preferably, they would rejoin the Empire fully, even if you have to make concessions. Tullius insists it would make travelling to High Rock easier than going through the Reach." As usual, the Empress looks distinctly unregal, lounging across the Ruby Throne in full armour. Not that it would be wise to provoke the Breton woman; that diminutive figure can be quite terrifying.
"I have to stay here and keep the Thalmor on their toes, so… Lydia? I think I'll pick Lydia. She's going to be the open diplomatic mission, use her as your point of contact back here. You get the fun part. Use your imaginations, just… don't start a war, I don't need the old man retiring out of frustration yet."
Your orders are open-ended, and your resources limited beyond what you can take on the journey. But, for better or worse, you are the hand-picked agents to bring Hammerfell back on the Empire's side.
Akatosh have mercy on us all.
In summary: the Dragonborn has taken control of the Empire, pissed off the Aldmeri Dominion immediately, and just picked the people she likes the vibe of to go do undercover work.
As you may imagine, this can make for quite the eclectic set of individuals. Albeit with two restrictions: they actually are on the Empire's side, and they're not quite as tiny as their boss. That's not hard, she's a short lady. I'm also aiming for a posting rate of once a week, so please don't apply if you can't keep up with that.
Bios:
To the bafflement of onlookers praying for the Empire's decline, the chaotic situation was just as quickly stabilised at the hands of a single figure. The Civil War? Brought to a bloody end by force of arms, despite the two sides' previous stagnation. The dragons? Similarly brought to heel, and the vampire threat silenced as quickly as it had sprung up. Even an attempt to take advantage of the College of Winterhold came to a dismal failure.
Yet still, as 4E 204 drew to a close, there was another interregnum, and the Legions were spent. Everything was ripe for the Aldmeri Dominion to make another move and finish what it had started.
Then the same woman that had caused them so much trouble in Skyrim waltzed into the Imperial City and declared herself Empress, the old regimes' hereditary bodyguards in tow. Her qualifications? Being Dragonborn, like Tiber Septim and Reman Cyrodiil before him.
And the dragons. Quite a persuasive argument, them.
Common wisdom and the advisors of the Elder Council suggested time to build the Legions up before acting provocatively and courting Hammerfell, actually readying themselves for the inevitable conflict ahead. The Empress? She declared the worship of the Nine to be the Empire's official faith once again, goading the Aldmeri Dominion to take action.
Another war looms on the horizon.
"And so, you, my Blades, are to go to Hammerfell and see to it that we at least have another ally against the Dominion. Preferably, they would rejoin the Empire fully, even if you have to make concessions. Tullius insists it would make travelling to High Rock easier than going through the Reach." As usual, the Empress looks distinctly unregal, lounging across the Ruby Throne in full armour. Not that it would be wise to provoke the Breton woman; that diminutive figure can be quite terrifying.
"I have to stay here and keep the Thalmor on their toes, so… Lydia? I think I'll pick Lydia. She's going to be the open diplomatic mission, use her as your point of contact back here. You get the fun part. Use your imaginations, just… don't start a war, I don't need the old man retiring out of frustration yet."
Your orders are open-ended, and your resources limited beyond what you can take on the journey. But, for better or worse, you are the hand-picked agents to bring Hammerfell back on the Empire's side.
Akatosh have mercy on us all.
In summary: the Dragonborn has taken control of the Empire, pissed off the Aldmeri Dominion immediately, and just picked the people she likes the vibe of to go do undercover work.
As you may imagine, this can make for quite the eclectic set of individuals. Albeit with two restrictions: they actually are on the Empire's side, and they're not quite as tiny as their boss. That's not hard, she's a short lady. I'm also aiming for a posting rate of once a week, so please don't apply if you can't keep up with that.
Bios:
- Name:
- Gender:
- Race:
- Appearance:
- Personality:
- Brief Backstory:
- Equipment: Please, keep it reasonable; this isn't a game economy and things beyond common steel are going to get exponentially more expensive, fast.
- Skills:
So, apropos of absolutely nothing, I am once more in the market for trying to run a post-Skyrim Elder Scrolls game! A proper writeup will be forthcoming if there's enough interest, but the TL;DR reason is that you have been chosen by your new Empress to be a member of the Blades and go… get Hammerfell back in line with the Empire while she goes and keeps the Thalmor from overrunning Cyrodiil because Talos is back in fashion.
Now, if only she wasn't an idiot savant who did also think that "prisoner with nice vibes" is an acceptable recruitment target.
Now, if only she wasn't an idiot savant who did also think that "prisoner with nice vibes" is an acceptable recruitment target.
"For a first attempt, well done." You stand on the water's surface—oddly yielding, and moving with the lapping waves, as opposed to your instructor's apparent ability to treat the lake as smooth stone, but it is nonetheless a success, and without a further word Lannessa turns and starts walking for the more distant northern shore at a leisurely pace, only briefly adding to let her know if you start to run low on magicka to recast your spell.
The trek across takes the rest of the morning, the elf stopping to show how to not waste all the magical potential of the Ayleid stone in a single shot, and otherwise avoiding any questions about herself. Not magical knowledge, though, if you thought to ask further about that. Regardless of the topic.
As noon approaches, she glances towards the sun and casts another spell. It isn't clear what it did for a moment, until some of the omnipresent heat dies down and the glare of the tropical sun gets slightly less oppressive. "Strange, how few mages seem to consider that their destructive spells are just as easily turned to convenience. Though, I doubt most would be making such an unprepared trek across Cyrodiil."
The reason for the northward trek is more apparent—if not asked before—as you head from the northern shore, passing through the trees and joining the Red Ring Road: a modestly sized inn, serving travellers along the highway, its wooden exterior looking slightly the worse for wear. Inside, the most apparent group is a small band of likely mercenaries that oddly back off at the elf's glare, and a Nord woman that returns a suspicious look of her own.
"You again? Still not going to help with the necromancer?"
"Oh, I don't know. What about you, Vivienne? Do you feel up for some bounty hunting?"
The trek across takes the rest of the morning, the elf stopping to show how to not waste all the magical potential of the Ayleid stone in a single shot, and otherwise avoiding any questions about herself. Not magical knowledge, though, if you thought to ask further about that. Regardless of the topic.
As noon approaches, she glances towards the sun and casts another spell. It isn't clear what it did for a moment, until some of the omnipresent heat dies down and the glare of the tropical sun gets slightly less oppressive. "Strange, how few mages seem to consider that their destructive spells are just as easily turned to convenience. Though, I doubt most would be making such an unprepared trek across Cyrodiil."
The reason for the northward trek is more apparent—if not asked before—as you head from the northern shore, passing through the trees and joining the Red Ring Road: a modestly sized inn, serving travellers along the highway, its wooden exterior looking slightly the worse for wear. Inside, the most apparent group is a small band of likely mercenaries that oddly back off at the elf's glare, and a Nord woman that returns a suspicious look of her own.
"You again? Still not going to help with the necromancer?"
"Oh, I don't know. What about you, Vivienne? Do you feel up for some bounty hunting?"
Tyaethe and Fiadh
"Oh, that's great," Tyaethe said, armour gone and vampire darting over to inspect Fionn with a grin, "It's been too long since we had somebody throwing around magic blasts from their sword and the like, it just never feels right without some of that, you know? There was Elly, and Ed, and Parv…"
The vampire's rambling stopped, hands reaching out and pulling Fionn's sword down to inspect closely. At least it wasn't quiet for long, Fiadh had freed herself from her safe little bunker and flung her weight on the former mercenary's back with a cheery, "Yay!"
"That was very impressive, darling, I didn't know you'd take to everything so fast! Oh, to think you're so talented…" It was probably a bit awkward, all the Niyar's weight hanging from his shoulders while she did her best cat impression against Fionn's head.
"You broke your sword a little," Tyaethe noted, tapping the metal adornments on the hilt. What had previously been golden and shiny was now looking distinctly melted, with all sorts of interesting and oddly translucent bubbles ruining its previous symmetry. That was nothing compared to the smoking ruins of the runework, blackened and slightly steaming if one were to listen closely. Probably how the shortsighted girl had even noticed it to start with.
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