spicykvnt

The Elder Scrolls: Endless Night

An Elder Scrolls horror roleplay, inspired by both The Elder Scrolls and the ambience of acclaimed Witcher series. This roleplay is a reboot of Days of Night, and will lend from horror tropes and tales from mythology. A macabre experience bound in the high-fantasy setting we have come to know and love.

This game is for you if you enjoy collaborating with other writers, and if you enjoy building a storyline for yourself.

4E213

Evil is afoot in Tamriel. Everything feels different and unsettled. You dreamed of Anvil in a way that felt like a calling, and so - from wherever you were born, from wherever you once called home - you traveled to it's golden shores.

Everything is not as it seems. The days seem shorter and the nights much longer, with a chill in the air that draws a tension to the City. People are quieter, and people are going missing. The barkeep who served you an ale last night is nowhere to be seen today. The woman who sold you a new garment last week has disappeared without a trace.

There are whispers of a silent killer.

Why are you here? Why did you answer to those dreams?

Noteworthy - World State

• The year is 4E213, the Stormcloaks were defeated and Skyrim sits under the Empire. The Dragonborn has not been seen since the Battle at Windhelm. Empire and Dominion have a tense peace. Presumed dead. No dragons remain in Skyrim.
• Individual guild/school states to be confirmed;
• State of provinces to be confirmed;

• No Godmodding or Powerplaying. This is a story, not a competition to be Billy or Betty Badass. Keep your characters balanced. I don't want to enforce strict rules that stifle your creativity in creating a character, I will always be reasonable and work with you to create a compelling character with the skills that you want but you have to be prepared to tone things down if necessary.
• While this is advanced level, I'm not hung up on novel length posts. I'm looking for players who can write well enough, collaborate with other players, and keep the momentum of the story. No pressure, we're here for fun.
• Be considerate, communicate. If you can't post for whatever reason, just let me know. If you're working on collabs with other players, let them know too.
• Be kind. I really, really, really don't want dick behaviour in the OOC, it doesn't foster the kind of atmosphere I like to create. So be nice to each other, respectful, and helpful. If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all. I will remove people who start ruining the groove.
• Keep it PG-13. You know the rules of the guild. No naughty posts in the IC. If you really have to, take it to PM.
• Have fun. The most important rule of all.
  
  
  Noteworthy:
• Due to the setting of this game, please be aware that your characters will be exposed to perilous situations from time-to-time. They can get hurt, they can get very hurt. Please be mindful when engaging in combat of your skills and setbacks, and who is around to help you should you get very hurt.
• Please no prior relationships with canonical characters from any of The Elder Scrolls games. If you wish to write up prior relationships with other player characters within the game, then by all means please do so as it can be fun. But it's also just as fun to be ~total strangers~...
• Be sensible in your capabilites. That means try not to weigh down your character with a full inventory. We’ve all been there in game, with that one extra cabbage tipping us over the edge! I like to play TES roleplays realistically - and anything that your character has, must be explained in some way. For example, if they are carrying a lot of money on them - why is this? Are they from a rich family? They have a pretty swish weapon but pretty basic armour? Was it an heirloom? These are things I will question on sheets.
• Vampires/Were/Undead characters will not be accepted at initial application stage. Despite the setting, the start of the roleplay will not allow for those characters - there is always opportunity for those storylines to occur, and further down the line in the roleplay there may be openings for characters of a grizzlier nature. But for the beginning, a character like that is simply too different from the initial cast. With that in mind, I am always open to your ideas so please talk to me in advance.

Character Sheet

Name: Full name, and any aliases/nickname used.
Race: Nord/Imperial/Breton/Redguard/Altmer/Bosmer/Dunmer/Argonian/Khajiit
Age:
Birthsign:
Family Origins: Place of birth, where they live/grew up etc.

Appearance: Pictures allowed, no anime. Try to keep lore friendly images. Pinterest is a great tool.

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Personality: I want to know who your character is. What makes them tick, what do other people think of them? Of all sections on this sheet, this should be the most thought out and detailed.

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History: A brief history of your character. How they got to where they are now, examples of 2 or 3 notable events. A glimpse of who they were to become who they are. Don’t be too hung up on it, part of this Roleplay will be allowing players to reveal and flesh out their backstory through flashbacks and through uncovering as we go. I don’t really want to know what they were doing at 5 years old unless it was really important. With that said, don't go throwing in anything unbelievably wild down the track.

Biggest Regret: This is incredibly important, it can be an event you didn’t cover in the history. But I want to see what has crippled your character, what decision has stayed with them since they made it.

Character Name ‘s Goal: Equally as important, if not more so than anything else on this sheet. This is how I will craft my story around you, and find you an arc. What is your characters dream now? If this was a solo adventure and your character was the hero - what happens to them? Do not write this section based on other characters submitted. Be selfish, tell me what you want. The dream of your character may well change, and that is also fine.

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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:
Adept:
Novice:

Spells: Should match the level you’ve put as the school of magicka. No Wall of Flames for a novice destruction mage, for example.

Equipment:
Misc. Possessions:

Noteworthy:

• Applications welcome. Please complete the sheet to the best of your ability. No places will be given as first-come-first-served. I will review all sheets after a length of time has passed, and I have been able to answer questions. Loose deadline currently at; 28th February

Mass Effect: Second Vigil

Solveig Wistrom

Solveig Wistrom

Wraith

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D O S S I E R Species Human Homeworld Earth Age 31 Height/Weight 6'2 Class Infiltrator Affiliation Alliance | N7 L O A D O U T - Cybernetic Arm II. // Increased strength/mobility/defense. - Volkov IX Sniper Rifle I. - Kovalyov VII Assault Rifle, scratched and damaged I. - N7 Special Operatives Gear (Light/Rosenkov) I. - Casual Clothing: Leggings/form fitting athleisure/pleathers/heavy boots/Alliance issued hoodies I N V E N T O R Y 1400 Credits - 1200 credits given by SRN for capture of fugitive, later transfered to Katya, to cover any extra medical cost. Tarot Deck Chunk of Rough Obsidian Crystal First Aid Kit Jellybeans P O W E R S Operative/Operational Mastery II. Fitness II. Tactical Cloak II. Sabotage I. Cryo Ammo I.

A P P E A R A N C E Solveig suffers quite terribly from what is known as "resting bitch face", meaning, that she is often found with a less than neutral, neutral expression. It's hardly lightened by the trademark sweeps of black eyeshadow and purple smudged waterline that frame her smoke-coloured eyes, always observing, always bright. Gaunt cheeks add to the sharp intensity to her face, and her pale, freckled skin speaks to her Scandinavian heritage. Naturally blonde hair is turned black with dye, and worn unkempt in messy waves, and tightened into a braid across the side of her head, just above her ear - revealing heavy black and grey tattooing down her neck. The woman is tall and slender, standing at 6'2", taller still by a further 3 inches in the heavy heeled boots she opts to wear in her everyday activities. When meeting Solveig, your eye may be persuaded at first by the arm. The silver cybernetic left arm. The alloy is shaped into prominent muscles. It doesn't quite suit the woman, and she regards it as an attached weapon, as opposed to a limb. Expertly crafted, and intimidating to look at for too long. What the arm has done... What her appearance shows, betrays the nature she is desperately trying to unearth again - under her unintentional scowls, twitching nervousness, and shrinking posture is a warm personality, a kind heart, and a giving spirit - somewhere. B A C K G R O U N D Solveig was born as Leo lay to the east, and Libra to the west. She came into the world under the sign of Virgo as the last strokes of summer melted away in Vaxjo, Sweden. Born to a soldier mother, and a spiritual father, she was to be raised in the centre of two ideals. Her mother, who knew the stars to simply be stars; and her father, who knew the stars to be the pathway of humanity's past, present, and future. Solveig was born, as her mother described "wrong". The left arm smaller than the right, fingers too small and too few. To her father, his daughter was born perfectly as she was meant to. Solveig, it seemed, fell to the view of her father. Her arm was never something that held her back, and even as a toddler, she managed just fine. She was intuitive in the ways that she would get around situations that otherwise would prevent her from reaching her goal. She had the precision focus of her mother, and the faith in herself that her father continued to pour into her. She was an unstoppable and unruly child. He loved that about her. At night they would discuss the stars, mythology, philosophy and the ways in which the Earth could heal us - old ways that were becoming lost as the future continued to usher in answers for everything. At 12, her father sat with Solveig to give her first reading; pulling the cards that would mark their way for her future. In her mind, she focused on what she should do - and who she should become. Slowly, she picked her way through that old deck carefully. The High Priestess - her divine feminine. The High Priestess was how she saw herself, intuitive and conscious, attuned to her destiny and only in need of a guide to carry her forward. The Hanged Man stood before her as the blockage. He who represented victimisation and emotional blackmail. He who held out the expectations she had to adhere to. Her mother, the shadow, always at play in her mind. For her future, she had pulled Death. That at some point, an abrupt ending would come, followed by rebirth. For years, Death hovered in her mind. She was priming herself to her mother's wishes. To join the Alliance just like she had. Her quiet nature and intense focus had meshed well to the line of Infiltrator. This had been a surprise to her mother, who was a powerful Soldier of the front line. Unrelenting in combat, still, she was proud of her daughter and becoming more and more impressed with her growth - even with her imperfections. Still, she was growing impatient. A soldier's whole body had to be primed for battle. Solveig was imperfect, and so she got to work. By the eve of Solveig's 20th birthday, her mother had finished. A true feat of technology in the form of a cybernetic prosthetic solution to her daughter's disability. All silver and rippling with metal corded muscle, emblazoned with the Systems Alliance insignia. In an event entirely orchestrated by her mother, Solveig found herself manipulated onto the operating table - her father had been suspiciously sent away on other errands days prior. As she lay on the table, and looked up at the glass ceiling, she saw in her reflection the image of The Hanged Man. The last thing that she saw as she was anaesthetised was the image of the card that had always been blocking her. It was too late to fight back. She dreamt of being the greatest sniper in the Alliance. Her mother had promised her that with the arm she would become an N7 one day, that she could bring justice to those who needed her. When she woke up, everything felt wrong. Suddenly, there was something that was now a part of her that hadn’t been before - and what had been a part of her was gone. Long gone. It took her weeks to be able to move the fingers of the arm. It was alien to have five on one hand. More alien to have ten altogether. It started with wagging them, and letting her nerves connect to the technology. Her own mind, the biggest block. Some nights, she would feel searing pain within the new limb - like her actual arm was trapped and encased inside, bleeding into the prosthesis. She would wake up screaming, clawing at the arm to free herself from it. Only then did she find out the strength of the thing when she punched a hole through the wall in desperate frustration. Worse yet, she was stuck there - bleeding inside and stuck. She was claustrophobic in her own skin. It took months longer to get used to it. The coldness of it, the weight, the sensations. But she did. She channeled her focus, and with the help of her father and his spiritual support, she overcame the challenge. She grieved for the loss of her body, for the agency she had handed to her mother. Slowly but surely she began to work with the arm, and not against it. It wasn’t a part of her - but it was her tool - and it was making her a better soldier. Her trigger finger was faster, more precise, and more deadly. She began to climb the ranks at an alarming rate - an N5 by the time she was 27 and credited with over 60 successful assassinations. A lone ranger. A ghost story. The Wraith. When a team of good men couldn’t bring down a ring of slavers. The Alliance would send in their bionic staring machine. This track record of success kept her going through her career, further isolating her from any kind of social life. She became one of the Alliance’s greatest weapons, indoctrinated for the pursuit of violent honour. Point and shoot. Rinse and repeat. Solveig forgot what it was like to be home, to be calm, to be present. To look up to the stars. The silence of being off-mission haunts her. She thinks of all that she has done, those she has killed, and when the wonder and curiosity of the why of human existence became replaced with such a hunger for justice at any cost, and why she was always starving for it, no matter her successes. At her cousin’s wedding, she read the palm of his new wife in a perhaps completely overzealous and awkward fashion. She thought about it for months afterwards, a cold shudder of cringe gnawing at her when she did. She didn’t think about such things in the field. Her skin didn’t crawl when she was crouched in hiding, set to kill. Solveig went back into hiding. Only when she is with her father can she fully relax. Only in his presence does her true nature present itself and almost as if it were never buried to begin with. In following Tarot reads, The High Priestess has never again shown herself to Solveig. During the Reaper War, Solveig was recruited into the N7 Special Ops - finally realised the promise her mother had made to her, even if it wasn’t quite the way it had been intended. The promise felt… Shallow now, transparently insincere. Even as the Reaper War ended, Solveig knew there was much to do, much to fix and mend, systems to be rebuilt. As a weapon, she couldn’t do that. Knowing that she needed to find herself as the echoes of violence ran through her still, she reached out to her in-law, to the Sol Restoration Network. The cards and the stars told her to. The stars told her to humble herself and heal, and the cards told her that Katya was waiting. The arm grew heavier, the fingers felt numb, a black hole opened up inside like a wound. She could no longer be a lone ranger; humanity, and the galaxy, needed her for a mission more important than any other before it. She could shed her ghostly skin and find her heart again. M O T I V A T I O N Solveig is a soldier, through and through. Motivated by justice, peace, and proving her worth. On the battlefield, her mindset is as solid as a rock and as sharp as a razor. To her, pain, stress, climate, and just about any situation can be survived and endured when victory is on the horizon, and victory is always glimmering on the horizon. There is always hope. She is incredible at her job, as an N7 Special Ops, she had to be. Outside of the field, Solveig will over-analyse situations and holds an extremely critical eye on herself. Solveig will go through all possible elements of thinking before making a decision. One of those elements will be to consult her tarot deck, to literally look to the skies for an astrological reason. Perhaps, by looking up, she doesn't have to look ahead so much. She is as supportive of people in her life as she can be from a distance. While near silent when in recreation, Solveig enjoys that silence, and her impressive skill affords her a break from the teasing for being so introspective. She is respected as she is, even if others do wonder who she really is. Truthfully she cannot answer that question, she doesn’t know who she is either and so she is elusive when in personally confronting situations. She lacks the emotional intelligence her father was raising her to have, she oversteps boundaries socially because she does not know that they exist. She is awkward, impatient, tactless, and her energy can rub others the wrong way. But she is trying, to be better. F L A W S Absolute God-Awful Personality - apparently not so bad, just a very poor speaker Will go to any length for Justice - manifesting as Never Stops Working™ Psychological body trauma issues. Frequent neuropathic pain. M I S C "What is this misc?" (Loves jellybeans) A Polyglot - Languages - Swedish/English/Russian. Now considering vegetarianism after visiting the Havana meat plant.

Opinions

Zenobia | Lunatic
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<sub>1. Reckless. Impulsive. Predictably unpredictable… A Sagittarius if I’ve ever met one. Interesting interaction with her on a mission. Picking a fight with me, I think… It was for a distraction, still… I am scared that she thinks that I wanted those Quarians arrested or in danger. I should have taken their side.

2. Ex-Eclipse... I guess we all have some colour in our pasts, right?

I think the best way to appeal to Zenobia is to outdo her. If only she could have been there when we took down the brute... Hell, if Zenobia was there perhaps she would have been holding it down and not me.</sub>

Nadara | Sunset
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<sub>1. She is…. Wonderful. I trust her. Nadara puts us on the right path with grace and wisdom only Asari seem to possess. I…. Fear disappointing her. I will follow her orders, hers maybe… over Lizbeth.

2. I didn't like that Nadara took Janiri but I understand... I am not angry, but I felt some kind of way about it. Not sure she is as wise as I previously gave her credit for based on how she handled it, but my trust was not misplaced. She put the situation right, probably at a personal cost. She made sure of it.

I see that Nadara tries hard with her appearance, I don't think I can offer anything of value to her there - perhaps if I found a way to appeal to her sweet tooth... Would she eat Jellybeans, I wonder?</sub>

Zenn | Shadow
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<sub>1. Fascinating that we are so similar… I rarely am intrigued by others but… I have not worked with many Quarians. He seems so hopeful despite everything… I hope he heals soon.

2. Hell, quite an adventure we just had. Can't say I've ever worked so well with anyone as well as I did with Venator and Shadow. I look forward to working with them again. I want to thank them both for their words. If only they knew how much it meant. I'm proud to have helped Zenn and those Quarians. He can call on me anytime.

I see that Zenn cares a lot, about everyone. I admire his way with words, and his ability to articulate his feelings so clearly and express himself. There is so much that Zenn values in life. He is optimistic, brave, kind, and smart - and he even cares about me, which I'm not used to. I don't know how to process it... He also hugged me. Something I keep thinking about..

He enjoys talking. I wish I was better at it.</sub>

Amina | Rogue
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<sub>↳1. Amina is a perfect soldier. I think my mother would have liked her, I think my mother would have preferred her. Her comments to our team, I cannot condone… I should have spoken up - I worry that they mistake my silence for agreement. I think there is much to be learned from Amina - and I think she has much to learn.

2. I respect Amina for defending Nadara, and making sure we knew of her efforts. That's integrity. Seems she appreciates honesty and a job well done - and apparently hot chocolate... Averse to cleaning a mess, though.</sub>

Kysar | Venator
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<sub>↳1. I worry for him, I glimpsed a darkness in his heart - I understand it, revenge is a temptation. I don’t know if I can talk to him about it, I don’t think I should. I… am worried, and yet I feel safe fighting with Kysar, he is a good soldier, he’ll fight all the way into the tile.

2. Friend. Good friend. From experience now on our mission, I know he is heavy.

Honoured to fight at his side, literally. He speaks so openly from his heart, I think he finds some shame in his feelings but... I am glad he expresses himself, even if sometimes that anger is inflammatory within the team, I appreciate that I always know where I stand.

I don't know what it is but I just trust him. Maybe I just know he'd never lie to me. I wish there was more I could do to calm his anger. That darkness.... Worries me. Whatever he did on the mission, I hope he stays away from it - I feel that nothing truly good can come from such power. There's... A price, always.

Still, he makes me feel useful, and his laughing at me does not appear to be mean spirited. He treats me like a person. I feel at ease in his company.

I have noticed he enjoys jokes. I will try and find good ones to tell him.</sub>

Katya | Husky
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<sub>↳Katya is my cousin-in-law. She gave me this opportunity at SRN, I know she knows some things about me. Nils must have told her. She tries her best to connect to me, I just find it hard. I don't know her all that well, just that I'm now her only family left on Earth, my Dad too... I feel responsible for her state right now.

I know if the roles were reversed, she'd be spending every moment taking care of me. She's... caring like that. Best I can do is sit with her, pour her a shot, try a kiss and a squeeze of her hand. Easy to talk to her when she's like this. I wonder if she hears me, I am grateful for her trying to find me a new purpose.

Please wake up.</sub>

The Hunt

12 years ago

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It was late at night, made darker still by the complete lack of lighting in the apartment. An evening that had gone dangerously awry by an unexpected guest. Two men squatted in the corner of a library room, lit up only by the opalescent moonlight that was spilling in from the window - setting a spotlight into the library and lighting a path back out into the hallway.

The two men hunched behind the bookshelves. “Gods,” one of them whispered out, a pained expression on his face, “my fucking knees.”

“Shut up," the other answered from behind gritted teeth, jabbing the shorter (and rounder) man in the ribs. "She’ll hear us,” He peered out from behind the bookcase, seeing only the presence of a long shadow in the hallway now, disrupting the line of pale white like a thick streak of black paint. It moved, only just, before disappearing again.

“Shit,” he said, closing his eyes tight. He was still out of breath from running through those damn hallways. He was too drunk to run anymore. That damn Merlot. The short man next to him spoke up again.

“You have any shots left?”

“Nada, you?”

“Fuck.. I wasted them back down the hall there.” He sighed again, standing up to his full height, his knees creaked and he groaned again. “I was bloody enjoying that wine, but now I’m all adrenaline and fear.”

The taller one sighed, tossing his weapon to the ground. “We’re bloody up shits creek then and it’s your fault.”

“What the fuck did you just say?” said the other with an incredulous gasp, looking genuinely offended at the statement.

“You think us versus an Alliance sniper is going to go well? That Alliance sniper?” He sighed, exasperated. “She already got Karin, Sven, Johanna, and Evan! You’re a complete fuckwit. We’re trapped in this room until one of us makes a move.” It had been a bloodbath, and a frantic thirty minutes.

“Well. In that case, I think it’s time you ate some shit Felix,” the man said, his face scrunched up with frustration as he barrelled towards him, grabbing him at his side as he charged out of the door. “Human fucking shield!” he shouted out in a voice loud and booming enough to wake the dead as soon as they came into the clearing, sprinting towards another room.

It was too late for Felix. His eyes found the barrel of the gun immediately. Hanging just below one of the beams of the ceiling. The trigger was squeezed, and he was dropped to the floor as the shorter (and apparently, stronger) man began to run faster. A high-pitched scream left him. “Fuck. Fuck! Fuck!”

He found himself cornered, like an animal - the darkness had disorientated him and as he swiveled around he made out the unmistakable shape in front of him. Ridiculously tall, made taller by the bird's nest of blonde curls stacked up high on her head - a gun in her hand pointed at his face.

“Have some bloody mercy!” he said, holding his hands out as his last attempt to avoid the inevitable. “I’m unarmed!”

She did think about sparing him, a momentary lapse in judgement - of caring about the man in front of her… Nah, she thought. No survivors.

She pulled the trigger.

A powerful squirt of water erupted from the barrel, and hit his forehead dead center - splashing his moustache and beard. He sighed in defeat. Felix’s voice rang out from down the hall.

"I look like I’ve bloody pissed myself!"

There was also a loud and sudden thud which must have been Felix slipping and falling over again.

“I win,” Solveig Wistrom laughed gleefully, dropping her water pistol to her side.

“Yeah no shit,” Lars Wistrom answered, blowing away at the water on his lips, having been (rightfully) defeated by his daughter. “Bloody last time I’m inviting you to games night, darling” he sighed. “I mean, did you have to climb in the fucking rafters like a spider!”

“Yes,” she answered straight faced.

He furrowed his brow, “and I suppose you had to cut the lights too?”

“Element of surprise.” Solveig shrugged her shoulders with a playful smirk, mischief dashed across her eyes. “Create the environment in which you need to meet your objective.”

Using his sleeve, Lars wiped at his mouth and started laughing too, his voice quietened. “Sure put the shits up everyone though. Especially Sven. What a fucking prick.” He slapped a hand on Solveig’s back and squeezed her shoulder fondly. “It’s good to have you here,” he said after a moment - as the lights came back on. Karin or Sven must have fixed the switch.

In the light, the apartment was far less threatening and haunting, and was instead all warmth - wood and brick, art adorning the walls, and shelves that housed books, knick knacks, artifacts, and various other trinkets. In the light, her father looked as he always did - comfortable, content, and happy (even having just been shot in the face with cold water at close proximity and chased around his home for a long thirty minutes, and in his favourite slippers, too).

He smiled again, “I wish you’d come home more often.”

Solveig nodded, “I know, I should try… But, my training - it’s important. I have… so much to learn - and less to learn it all with.” She winked, shrugging her shoulder and wiggling the fingers of her smaller arm at him.

He grinned, a sense of pride filling his chest, “I’ll bet you give them as much hell as you just gave us though.”

She glanced to the side, and bit her lip, “well, yes - I try.”

Lars sensed her slight discomfort, it pained him to see her confidence falter, but he knew one way to make her happy… “By the way, one more surprise for you… Smell that?” he asked with his usual warm smile.

After a moment, her eyes widened with joy, and she beamed out a smile “kladdkaka?”

“Kladdkaka,” Lars confirmed, pulling her closer to him as they strode in the direction of the kitchen. “Oh, and Solveig…

Always play to win. Never let up.”

The Road

7 Years Ago
The open road. A small winding track of dirt and asphalt that curled like a snake through the hills, bordered both sides by woodland. Thick, and ancient. It wasn’t the stars. It wasn’t a ship of cold metal floating in the voids of space. This was Earth.

This was Sweden.

The engine of the motorcycle growled through the night, its rider dressed in black leathers - save for an arm of silver, holding against the handlebars as she pushed on, taking each corner with care, but still allowing herself to feel the thrill of oak scented air. Life. You just couldn’t get this on the Citadel.

Strange then, that a woman so enamoured by the stars, felt the closest to happiness on a motorcycle in her home country, away from them. The rumble of the engine was a comfort, and Solveig pressed on, with plans to visit her father, it had been too long. As she rode, the growing darkness seemed to swallow her at times. Her headlight cut a narrow swath through the road's abyss.

Up ahead, even as relaxed as she was, she was ever alert.

A vehicle in the front disturbed the relative silence with the sound of tyres on the ground like a scream in the night as it was brought to an abrupt halt. The distinct and loud sound of something crashing against glass. A thud that rang through Solveig’s ears, followed by a pained yelp.

The deer that had been hit limped and dashed, and limped and dashed again away from the danger. It’s eyes wide and white with the shock of it. The car took back off without a second thought, just a curse from the window until it disappeared over the hill and around the turns of the road. Solveig’s heart pounded in her chest and she stood silent, her bike at a halt.

She felt a turn in her stomach as she watched it falter and fall down into the grass. Her heart ached as she observed the creature's labored breaths and the pain that flickered in its eyes. Without thinking, she moved from her bike - the headlight still a beam on the road. A tunnel of harsh light.

She moved quickly and sat beside the deer, her hand resting gently on its heaving side. The darkness, untouched by the beam of her motorcycle, just the glitter of the stars above that gave glimpses of vision to the animal that lay dying.

The sparkle of the deer's eyes began to dim, and made way for pleading, and as she watched it, it was like time stood still under the moonlight as life slipped away, leaving the wilderness less wild for an instant. Solveig stayed with it, silent witness, and as it took its last laboured breath, the Soldier was left alone once more.

As she continued to sit with the deer, her hand remained on its shoulder, but she felt nothing. There were no nerves in this hand to feel anything, not any more. Lost in the stillness of the moment, a rustling in the underbrush nearby startled her. Her head snapped in the direction of the sound and her eyes met those of a tiny fawn, its delicate form bathed in moonlight. It watched Solveig with curiosity. Innocent and unafraid, its tiny face found the image of the other deer on the ground. A high-pitched vocalisation sounded.

With a heavy heart, Sol mounted the motorcycle, the road ahead still stretching out towards her father’s home. The engine's now gentle purr provided the return of faint comfort, a lullaby of sorts, as she pressed on slowly across the ribbon of asphalt.

Mass Effect: Second Vigil

Aw shit, here we go again

Solveig Wistrom

Wraith

---

D O S S I E R Species Human Homeworld Earth Age 31 Height/Weight 6'2 Class Infiltrator Affiliation Alliance | N7 L O A D O U T - Volkov IX Sniper Rifle - Kovalyov VII Assault Rifle, scratched and damaged - Cybernetic Arm // Increased strength/mobility/defense. - N7 Special Operatives Gear (Light/Rosenkov) - Casual Clothing: Leggings/heavy boots/Alliance issued hoodies I N V E N T O R Y 1400 Credits Tarot Deck Chunk of Rough Obsidian Crystal First Aid Kit Jellybeans P O W E R S Operative/Operational Mastery. Tactical Cloak. Sabotage. Cryo Ammo.

A P P E A R A N C E Solveig suffers quite terribly from what is known as "resting bitch face", meaning, that she is often found with a less than neutral, neutral expression. It's hardly lightened by the trademark sweeps of black eyeshadow and purple smudged waterline that frame her smoke-coloured eyes, always observing, always bright. Gaunt cheeks add to the sharp intensity to her face, and her pale, freckled skin speaks to her Scandinavian heritage. Naturally blonde hair is turned black with dye, and worn unkempt in messy waves, and tightened into a braid across the side of her head, just above her ear - revealing heavy black and grey tattooing down her neck. The woman is tall and slender, standing at 6'2", taller still by a further 3 inches in the heavy heeled boots she opts to wear in her everyday activities. When meeting Solveig, your eye may be persuaded at first by the arm. The silver cybernetic left arm. The alloy is shaped into prominent muscles. It doesn't quite suit the woman, and she regards it as an attached weapon, as opposed to a limb. Expertly crafted, and intimidating to look at for too long. What the arm has done... What her appearance shows, betrays the nature she is desperately trying to unearth again - under her unintentional scowls, twitching nervousness, and shrinking posture is a warm personality, a kind heart, and a giving spirit - somewhere. B A C K G R O U N D Solveig was born as Leo lay to the east, and Libra to the west. She came into the world under the sign of Virgo as the last strokes of summer melted away in Vaxjo, Sweden. Born to a soldier mother, and a spiritual father, she was to be raised in the centre of two ideals. Her mother, who knew the stars to simply be stars; and her father, who knew the stars to be the pathway of humanity's past, present, and future. Solveig was born, as her mother described "wrong". The left arm smaller than the right, fingers too small and too few. To her father, his daughter was born perfectly as she was meant to. Solveig, it seemed, fell to the view of her father. Her arm was never something that held her back, and even as a toddler, she managed just fine. She was intuitive in the ways that she would get around situations that otherwise would prevent her from reaching her goal. She had the precision focus of her mother, and the faith in herself that her father continued to pour into her. She was an unstoppable and unruly child. He loved that about her. At night they would discuss the stars, mythology, philosophy and the ways in which the Earth could heal us - old ways that were becoming lost as the future continued to usher in answers for everything. At 12, her father sat with Solveig to give her first reading; pulling the cards that would mark their way for her future. In her mind, she focused on what she should do - and who she should become. Slowly, she picked her way through that old deck carefully. The High Priestess - her divine feminine. The High Priestess was how she saw herself, intuitive and conscious, attuned to her destiny and only in need of a guide to carry her forward. The Hanged Man stood before her as the blockage. He who represented victimisation and emotional blackmail. He who held out the expectations she had to adhere to. Her mother, the shadow, always at play in her mind. For her future, she had pulled Death. That at some point, an abrupt ending would come, followed by rebirth. For years, Death hovered in her mind. She was priming herself to her mother's wishes. To join the Alliance just like she had. Her quiet nature and intense focus had meshed well to the line of Infiltrator. This had been a surprise to her mother, who was a powerful Soldier of the front line. Unrelenting in combat, still, she was proud of her daughter and becoming more and more impressed with her growth - even with her imperfections. Still, she was growing impatient. A soldier's whole body had to be primed for battle. Solveig was imperfect, and so she got to work. By the eve of Solveig's 20th birthday, her mother had finished. A true feat of technology in the form of a cybernetic prosthetic solution to her daughter's disability. All silver and rippling with metal corded muscle, emblazoned with the Systems Alliance insignia. In an event entirely orchestrated by her mother, Solveig found herself manipulated onto the operating table - her father had been suspiciously sent away on other errands days prior. As she lay on the table, and looked up at the glass ceiling, she saw in her reflection the image of The Hanged Man. The last thing that she saw as she was anaesthetised was the image of the card that had always been blocking her. It was too late to fight back. She dreamt of being the greatest sniper in the Alliance. Her mother had promised her that with the arm she would become an N7 one day, that she could bring justice to those who needed her. When she woke up, everything felt wrong. Suddenly, there was something that was now a part of her that hadn’t been before - and what had been a part of her was gone. Long gone. It took her weeks to be able to move the fingers of the arm. It was alien to have five on one hand. More alien to have ten altogether. It started with wagging them, and letting her nerves connect to the technology. Her own mind, the biggest block. Some nights, she would feel searing pain within the new limb - like her actual arm was trapped and encased inside, bleeding into the prosthesis. She would wake up screaming, clawing at the arm to free herself from it. Only then did she find out the strength of the thing when she punched a hole through the wall in desperate frustration. Worse yet, she was stuck there - bleeding inside and stuck. She was claustrophobic in her own skin. It took months longer to get used to it. The coldness of it, the weight, the sensations. But she did. She channeled her focus, and with the help of her father and his spiritual support, she overcame the challenge. She grieved for the loss of her body, for the agency she had handed to her mother. Slowly but surely she began to work with the arm, and not against it. It wasn’t a part of her - but it was her tool - and it was making her a better soldier. Her trigger finger was faster, more precise, and more deadly. She began to climb the ranks at an alarming rate - an N5 by the time she was 27 and credited with over 60 successful assassinations. A lone ranger. A ghost story. The Wraith. When a team of good men couldn’t bring down a ring of slavers. The Alliance would send in their bionic staring machine. This track record of success kept her going through her career, further isolating her from any kind of social life. She became one of the Alliance’s greatest weapons, indoctrinated for the pursuit of violent honour. Point and shoot. Rinse and repeat. Solveig forgot what it was like to be home, to be calm, to be present. To look up to the stars. The silence of being off-mission haunts her. She thinks of all that she has done, those she has killed, and when the wonder and curiosity of the why of human existence became replaced with such a hunger for justice at any cost, and why she was always starving for it, no matter her successes. At her cousin’s wedding, she read the palm of his new wife in a perhaps completely overzealous and awkward fashion. She thought about it for months afterwards, a cold shudder of cringe gnawing at her when she did. She didn’t think about such things in the field. Her skin didn’t crawl when she was crouched in hiding, set to kill. Solveig went back into hiding. Only when she is with her father can she fully relax. Only in his presence does her true nature present itself and almost as if it were never buried to begin with. In following Tarot reads, The High Priestess has never again shown herself to Solveig. During the Reaper War, Solveig was recruited into the N7 Special Ops - finally realised the promise her mother had made to her, even if it wasn’t quite the way it had been intended. The promise felt… Shallow now, transparently insincere. Even as the Reaper War ended, Solveig knew there was much to do, much to fix and mend, systems to be rebuilt. As a weapon, she couldn’t do that. Knowing that she needed to find herself as the echoes of violence ran through her still, she reached out to her in-law, to the Sol Restoration Network. The cards and the stars told her to. The stars told her to humble herself and heal, and the cards told her that Katya was waiting. The arm grew heavier, the fingers felt numb, a black hole opened up inside like a wound. She could no longer be a lone ranger; humanity, and the galaxy, needed her for a mission more important than any other before it. She could shed her ghostly skin and find her heart again. M O T I V A T I O N Solveig is a soldier, through and through. Motivated by justice, peace, and proving her worth. On the battlefield, her mindset is as solid as a rock and as sharp as a razor. To her, pain, stress, climate, and just about any situation can be survived and endured when victory is on the horizon, and victory is always glimmering on the horizon. There is always hope. She is incredible at her job, as an N7 Special Ops, she had to be. Outside of the field, Solveig will over-analyse situations and holds an extremely critical eye on herself. Solveig will go through all possible elements of thinking before making a decision. One of those elements will be to consult her tarot deck, to literally look to the skies for an astrological reason. Perhaps, by looking up, she doesn't have to look ahead so much. She is as supportive of people in her life as she can be from a distance. While near silent when in recreation, Solveig enjoys that silence, and her impressive skill affords her a break from the teasing for being so introspective. She is respected as she is, even if others do wonder who she really is. Truthfully she cannot answer that question, she doesn’t know who she is either and so she is elusive when in personally confronting situations. She lacks the emotional intelligence her father was raising her to have, she oversteps boundaries socially because she does not know that they exist. She is awkward, impatient, tactless, and her energy can rub others the wrong way. But she is trying, to be better. F L A W S Absolute God-Awful Personality. Will go to any length for Justice. Psychological body trauma issues. Frequent neuropathic pain. M I S C "What is this misc?" (Loves jellybeans) A Polyglot - Languages - Swedish/English/Russian.

DC Comics Roleplay: Fall of Justice

^{Robinson Park, Gotham
Ivy’s Greenhouse
Evening;}

---

Dr. Pamela Isley, or as she was better known, Poison Ivy, had been alone with her plants for a while now, her last stint in Arkham was in the past - and she was looking forward - or trying to. It just happened to be, well, boring, to live in her partial garden. She raised her arms above her head, fingers interlocking as she stretched, humming a melody to the evening, and the sprawling life around her.

Vines, spread across the floor, flowing and flowering - knots and roots intertwined into a carpet of viridian. The woman walked daintily across it, moving her arms in time to her song.

She gracefully took to the branch of a tree which spilled in through an open window, climbing out and into the night - the cold air felt like kisses on her skin and she almost smiled. As she moved near silently across the canopy, she heard voices from below. Usually, people at this time of the night kept far away from the pavilion, but this man was bold.

In his hand was a blade, the shine flickering in the moonlight as he held it in the direction of a woman on her own. Older, tired - probably on her way home from a night shift and having to deal with this. Ivy continued to observe, quietly.

“Come on, just give me your purse,” he said, his steps and movements were anxious. That made him dangerous.

She fidgeted and raised her hands, “look I don’t have anything for you - I have no money,” she pleaded.

“Just give,” breathed the mugger, drawing nearer, “me your purse, your phone.” His voice had gotten low, he’d found his composure enough to bring their distance to inches.

CRACK!

No sooner had he cleared the distance, than he was up in the air - suspended by his left foot - gripped and constricted by a vine. The knife dropped blade first, dropping into the graveled path.

“You’re on the wrong side of the park,” purred Ivy as she moved down from the tree - in the dark and obscurity it appeared that she floated down. “You want to mug someone, you do it on the other side-”

“Hey!” said the woman “th-thanks,” she interrupted - Ivy turned to face her - eyes transfixed to her as she clutched her crocodile purse close to her chest.

“You’re on the wrong side too. I suggest you start running,” Ivy warned. She took her advice.

Still hanging upside down from his foot, the mugger protested - curses and inflammatory language.

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” Ivy asked, moving closer towards him. She smirked. It was a constant battle - her desire to stay out of Arkham. She was already on thin ice enough. But this... This criminal was like a fly that had landed in her web. The vine tightened around his ankle and he yelped. “You stepped on my flowers,” she said.

Ivy didn’t want to kill the man, only warn him, teach him a lesson - make him think twice about his actions in the future.

BANG!

Her train of thought immediately derailed as soon as she heard it - the explosion. Even from her spot, she could see as the flames roared up into the sky, smoke billowing out and covering the moon. “Oh, now that’s interesting,” she said absent-mindedly to herself, completely forgetting the man in the vine. “LEXCORP,” Ivy said. She wanted to see them burn more than she wanted to punish a simple wannabe-criminal. Besides, didn’t this town have Baby Bats and Kittens for that?

She crouched down to pick up the blade. It was a pocket-knife, stupid really. She felt the tip of the blade with her fingers and chuckled.

“I guess it’s your lucky day,” she sang out, placing it just out of reach of him, before heading out towards the source of the explosion - in no real hurry, and in her own world.

If he was smart enough, he’d figure it out himself.

DC Comics Roleplay: Fall of Justice

P O I S O N I V Y
P O I S O N I V Y

^{"Why be a wallflower when you can be a Venus Fly Trap?"}

C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________ C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y _________________________________________________________ Dr. Pamela Lillian Isley _________________________________________________________ Reforming Villain | Botanist & Biochemist _________________________________________________________ Gotham City C H A R A C T E R N O T E S C H A R A C T E R N O T E S _________________________________________________________ [+] - M I S C E L L A N E O U S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ Connections The Bats, The Cats, The Gotham Bunch - Various Gotham elite heroes and villains alike have had varying levels of tangles with Poison Ivy. Abilities Toxikinesis The deadliest touch. Chlorokinesis Plant manipulation. Pheromone Control I put a spell on you... - P O S T C A T A L O G P O S T C A T A L O G _________________________________________________________ [+] - P O S T C A T A L O G ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ -

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T ________________________________________________________________________________________ "Watch them die. Watch the Earth take them back, and in their deaths they give more to Gotham than they ever did in their lives." You already know my story, you know who I am and everything I've done. I created paradise, it might have lasted forever... And yet... I couldn't stand it. I couldn't stand me. In this iteration, and in this story, Dr. Pamela Lillian Isley is an older woman, in her early-forties. She has spent most of her adult years in and out of Arkham Asylum for only ever trying to protect nature, the world - in her own way, of course. She has always been masterful at obscuring and changing the truth, creating a skewed version of events where she is the hero. Those who had died were simply faceless villains in her battle. Humans were cruel and men especially. She is the hero. Justice League, Injustice Gang... They're all the same really, aren't they? And she's moved through them and others over the years - serving only her own agenda, to push back against humanity and protect the Earth. Ivy has been committed to Arkham multiple times in her life. She is easily enraged, and is especially distrusting - especially towards men. Despite her best efforts to redeem herself in recent years and to live peacefully, she can be prone to spells of aggression. But, she still tries again, in spite of each setback. She now takes residence in a pavilion-turned-greenhouse in Robinson Park, monitored closely so that she doesn't overstep, and if she does the threat of another trip to Arkham is always there. She's always been caught before. It's not like she hasn't got her ear to the ground though, she knows enough to be able to whisper a secret to the right person for the right price when it counts. She has connections. Now, Ivy longs more than ever to create a Garden of Eden away from Gotham, but not before she has faced her true past. Following Ivy, is a Rolodex of enemies from a variety of places - a trail of scorned friends, and ex-lovers. When she sleeps, each spurned face haunts her as if she's on trial and they are her jury, but they're all she has. She hopes that her next favour and good deed is going to be enough to get her out of Gotham for good. P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) ________________________________________________________________________________________ Why wouldn’t I want to play this character? She’s deliciously entertaining, enduring, iconic. And yet there is so much more she can give. I want to play a very human Ivy, as she works through the connections of her life in search of redemption, yet even now, as she attempts to wrong the rights she has caused, she can't help but dig her thorns in. A self-fulfilling prophecy that she'll do it all again anyway. On her journey to forgiveness with some of of the elder heroes, she finds that she is a natural mentor and maternal figure to the younger heroes of tomorrow. Just... take her advice with a pinch of salt sometimes. "I believe the children are our future..." Being older, Ivy sees opportunity in helping the younger heroes. She has a soft spot for them - she wants to keep them away from the path she fell upon, and still tiptoes along the fence of. She has a lot to teach, if only she can focus on it for long enough. All of these young guns can't just rely on Batman, Wonderwoman, and Superman now - can they? What exactly can they really teach them about life?

---

DC Comics Roleplay: Fall of Justice

@Bonnie's Ivy sheet is...

@Master Bruce

Aw yeeeehaw

I've left my connections blank pretty much. Lots of Gotham lot in here if anyone would like to make some past connections that would be cool, I'm keeping loooooooooosely to canon and happy to workaround current characters established stories.

I'll get to working on an into post asap!

DC Comics Roleplay: Fall of Justice

<Snipped quote by Bonnie>

That's not Icon.

@Lord Wraith

shhh...

DC Comics Roleplay: Fall of Justice

Did somebody call for an icon?

P O I S O N I V Y
P O I S O N I V Y

^{"Why be a wallflower when you can be a Venus Fly Trap?"}

C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________ C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y _________________________________________________________ Dr. Pamela Lillian Isley _________________________________________________________ Reforming Villain | Botanist & Biochemist _________________________________________________________ Gotham City C H A R A C T E R N O T E S C H A R A C T E R N O T E S _________________________________________________________ [+] - M I S C E L L A N E O U S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ Connections The Bats, The Cats, The Gotham Bunch - Various Gotham elite heroes and villains alike have had varying levels of tangles with Poison Ivy. Abilities Toxikinesis The deadliest touch. Chlorokinesis Plant manipulation. Pheromone Control I put a spell on you... - P O S T C A T A L O G P O S T C A T A L O G _________________________________________________________ [+] - P O S T C A T A L O G ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ -

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T ________________________________________________________________________________________ "Watch them die. Watch the Earth take them back, and in their deaths they give more to Gotham than they ever did in their lives." You already know my story, you know who I am and everything I've done. I created paradise, it might have lasted forever... And yet... I couldn't stand it. I couldn't stand me. In this iteration, and in this story, Dr. Pamela Lillian Isley is an older woman, in her early-forties. She has spent most of her adult years in and out of Arkham Asylum for only ever trying to protect nature, the world - in her own way, of course. She has always been masterful at obscuring and changing the truth, creating a skewed version of events where she is the hero. Those who had died were simply faceless villains in her battle. Humans were cruel and men especially. She is the hero. Justice League, Injustice Gang... They're all the same really, aren't they? And she's moved through them and others over the years - serving only her own agenda, to push back against humanity and protect the Earth. Ivy has been committed to Arkham multiple times in her life. She is easily enraged, and is especially distrusting - especially towards men. Despite her best efforts to redeem herself in recent years and to live peacefully, she can be prone to spells of aggression. But, she still tries again, in spite of each setback. She now takes residence in a pavilion-turned-greenhouse in Robinson Park, monitored closely so that she doesn't overstep, and if she does the threat of another trip to Arkham is always there. She's always been caught before. It's not like she hasn't got her ear to the ground though, she knows enough to be able to whisper a secret to the right person for the right price when it counts. She has connections. Now, Ivy longs more than ever to create a Garden of Eden away from Gotham, but not before she has faced her true past. Following Ivy, is a Rolodex of enemies from a variety of places - a trail of scorned friends, and ex-lovers. When she sleeps, each spurned face haunts her as if she's on trial and they are her jury, but they're all she has. She hopes that her next favour and good deed is going to be enough to get her out of Gotham for good. P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) ________________________________________________________________________________________ Why wouldn’t I want to play this character? She’s deliciously entertaining, enduring, iconic. And yet there is so much more she can give. I want to play a very human Ivy, as she works through the connections of her life in search of redemption, yet even now, as she attempts to wrong the rights she has caused, she can't help but dig her thorns in. A self-fulfilling prophecy that she'll do it all again anyway. On her journey to forgiveness with some of of the elder heroes, she finds that she is a natural mentor and maternal figure to the younger heroes of tomorrow. Just... take her advice with a pinch of salt sometimes. "I believe the children are our future..." Being older, Ivy sees opportunity in helping the younger heroes. She has a soft spot for them - she wants to keep them away from the path she fell upon, and still tiptoes along the fence of. She has a lot to teach, if only she can focus on it for long enough. All of these young guns can't just rely on Batman, Wonderwoman, and Superman now - can they? What exactly can they really teach them about life?

---

DC Comics Roleplay: Fall of Justice

<Snipped quote by Bonnie>

Yeah sure.

@Sep

Awesome!

I'll work a sheet, should be done this evening :)

DC Comics Roleplay: Fall of Justice

Is there any room for more characters?