Spoopy Scary

Knights of Melarus

Ye, das good.

Knights of Melarus

<Snipped quote by Zorogami>

Alright, I will add it to the OP then. It might be important background should other characters join who wish to have used it.

@Spoopy Scary I sent you the information about necromancy earlier. I'm not sure if there are any edits you'd like to make due to that situation. Just let me know. The sheet as it is now follows the lore and is accepted. Question, though; what kind of undead do Wizzlebee summon when he's fighting? It sounded like it would be wights, since he travels with Bartleby, but making a wight would require a skeleton to already be under him. Also, when you say alchemy, you do mean making potions, right?

@Maxx

Yes and yes. Necromancy is ultimately a magic of convenience. But he still has golems and other magic.

Knights of Melarus

Edits may be required, but here he be. The living legend.

Wizzlebee de LaShtüp

Name: Wizzlebee de LaShtüp
Age: 81
Gender: Male
Species: Gnome

---

"Yes, yes, home grown in Ostraca, of noble blood, not no more! I've nary a shame over it, mind no pity, Nepharie is plenty peasant! A real land of... opportunity. Ah, yes, yes. Opportunity! Indeed..."

Background

Kingdom of Origin: Ostraca
Family:

Father, Bartleby de LaShtüp – 155 (deceased)(undead)
Mother, Glenna de LaShtüp – 172 (deceased)
Uncle, Bao de LaRouge – 112 (murdered)
Cousin, Trish de LaRouge – 54 (murdered)

Backstory: LaShtüp must have been born under an odd star or something, to have differed so from his cousins. An only child among gnome households was an absurd circumstance, and to be the only child of a Ostracan noble house would be to doom him to a life of upholding standards and expectations. As would be predicted, his nose was pushed to the grindstone in regards to his formal education. The goal, as it were, would be to direct LaShtüp to the head of house and to wed a gnome gal and continue the bloodline. The actual reasoning for pressing such a matter is to be the LaShtüps' trump card. The house itself was Machiavellian and unscrupulous. They also held a close relationship to the royalty. Enhancing Wizzlebee's education to prodigious levels would allow him the skill and know-how to create awe-inspiring potions that would make history. Revolutionizing the alchemy scene would lend credit to the family and their new-found favor would put them next in line to the royal family. So ambitious this family was, Wizzlebee’s own father deceived him into drinking a tonic – or so he said, and was in fact a vial of the divine blood of Gallor, granting him great magic power, after hiring a mercenary into obtaining it by any means necessary. He payed a fortune for the blood, and would have insisted on Ma’el’s blood, were it not for the fact that the High God’s blood was often harder to find and almost always heavily contested. The next step was to stage a disaster.

Hiring mercenaries, the next part of the family plan was to have the royal family assassinated and pin it on the Nepharian military. His human-looking face would perhaps allow him to make more effective diplomacy and ally agreements with Talbor. This in turn would appoint the LaShtüp family as the new ruling bloodline and Wizzlebee would have been appointed the new royalty, and Talbor having Ostraca's back when Nepharie retaliated. Wizzlebee himself never found out about this plan, but the pressure of all the burdens and expectations placed upon him, as well as the deception his father made over the potion, became too much, and he escaped Ostraca at age 30 before ever performing such alchemical feats. As a result, the Ostracan monarchy expatriated Wizzlebee and renounced his citizenship. Without a home to go back to, Ostraca never bore witness to his future feats of alchemy and his family never got to hire the assassination that would bring the LaShtüp house to be the ruling bloodline. Never to return, and the house never bearing another child, the LaShtüp house had died off, ending a thousand years of history. Talbor never went into war with Nepharie.

Wizzlebee's path was unclear. He decided it was best for him to follow the road into Nepharie and settle the Nepharian and Ostracan rivalry the best as he could, and to become a respected member of their society. There he could perhaps set up shop in alchemy and help its poor. Over his black and gold clothing he wore a sage green toga to exemplify his new beginnings as an artisan, or skilled labor, but kept his black and gold vestments as an indication of his noble roots, since history was something that should be embraced. Regardless, the fact stood that nobody in Nepharie appeared to understand the color coded indicators of his old status and simply took him for a noble by the way he had dressed so nicely, which in itself was erroneous and became problematic when people were asking him for lower taxes.
His first experiences in Nepharie were complicated in several other regards, such as the human bartering system that was dominant in the city. For some reason, Wizzlebee just could not wrap his mind around it and ended up giving high-grade potions and elixirs for nearly free, from a few copper pieces, to a couple silver pieces, and sometimes he completely drove away customers by demanding too much. Much to his chagrin, his lack of awareness when it came to barter was taken advantage of for a period of time before a local bill was passed that kept him, and merchants and artisans like him, from being taken advantage of to such a degree. This didn't stop everyone though. Even to this day, he still struggles with the trade, but he has gotten better with it than he was before.

His skill was often credited in making potions and that much is true to be sure, but there was a lot more behind the scenes than his patrons realized. The unscrupulous house in which he was raised did a lot in order to make sure his potions were of the highest quality. Refined. Devoid of impurities. This is, of course, nearly impossible, but he has reached a small percentage of impurities in his potions. Skill was important, but so were the ingredients – and the trick was to use life around one to create a truly wondrous elixir. He was brought up without the moral constraints of “respecting the dead”. He took body parts from leftover cadavers and corpses, received deliveries from agents who had gone into the morgue and harvested body parts. The quality of potions that was occurring after was astonishing, thus leading his interest in the nature of the dead and the alchemical properties of the organs of mortal creatures. A heart was ideal if one wanted to create an exceptional healing elixir, for instance.

He got to staying in that city for quite a while built up his own reputation as that “skilled but quirky alchemist down the alley”, managing to hide that taboo secret to alchemy of his from the locals when he learned that they respected their dead, and that grave-robbing was punishable by execution. A couple years in, and somewhere between 45 and 50 years of age, he began practicing his magic some more. Sometime during those five years, he made a raw trade with some shady looking fellow for a couple of valuable potions. The item he received was an old tome, as the binding itself was starting to come apart and the pages were turning green with mildew. He was assured that the book was worth the price, and Wizzlebee naïvely believed him. What he discovered in the book was nearly illegible, a language he had never seen before. During those five years, he spent countless hours collecting other books and tomes from other cultures filled with different language, trying to cross-reference the grammar. As he began to learn, the old tome he had traded with appeared to be the root to many of these different languages such as human common, cyclopse, satyr, but did not include his own gnomish tongue. He came to identify a word that helped to explain a lot of the tome's origins: Fairfolk.

The Fairfolk were not unheard of, and they certainly exist in this day and age, but a book of such age and of such origin was absurd. An unfamiliar word came out of a phrase, “complex element”, appearing to reference to the pre-existing four as the prerequisites for this element's mastery. An unfamiliar phrase: aether, or the “quintessence”. It was described as the element that had filled life and the surrounding universe. It sounded queer to even the strange little gnome, but it was something he had to at least try. His practice in magic was already exceptional, he himself already powerful, but his abilities fell short of mastery. Wizzlebee devoted much of his magical practice to studying this supposed fifth element, despite his shortcomings in the other elements. As the tome predicted, studying the nature of life without fully understanding its container – the world it belonged in, and how it interacted with its container – would bear to be fruitless. This did not trouble Wizzlebee one bit though. He sought to break the boundaries of the container, or at least, see through aether's nature without its container being the defining or influential aspects of his study. He felt he knew enough about the other elements of nature to at least supplement his understanding of quintessence.

Thinking outside the box, like gnomes are wont to do, Wizzlebee realized he had resources in which he could study this more directly: the magical effects of potions. Half of it was science, of course, but it contained magical properties that, as Wizzlebee realized, did not actually connect with earth, fire, air or water. It had magical effects that affected life directly, and thus, responded to aether. Using rats and guinea pigs, he observed the magical effects that took place. Eventually, whether through hallucination by repetitiveness and exhaustion, or getting high off the created fumes (really, it was difficult to tell), the gnome could practically see the effects being taken place and the energy that affected his test subjects – he could see the aether. The life force. Controlling invisible energy is exceptionally difficult, this presumably goes without saying. The old book mentions only a few wizards capable of controlling aether, even fewer mastering the element. The fact that this gnome, who had hardly considered himself a master in anything, was able to touch upon this element, it brought great pride to him... but never did he share this knowledge with anyone. He doubted most people would be able to begin to understand it, but he did acknowledge the potential power the magic of aether. Letting it get into the wrong hands would be disastrous.

The first aether spell he had ever performed was leading the life forces through his body, letting it pass through him in waves with each breath, then letting it occupy his mind – the resulting effect would be the ethereal glowing of his eyes, and through his eyes, Wizzlebee could see the aether. Like wisps filling and encapsulating every life-form, keeping everything bound together. It was like seeing what made up a person's or creature's spirit. And speaking of spirits, this spell was what led to his first discovery of them. However, as it stood, communication was impossible until Wizzlebee later learned how to “read” the aether, as the energy fluctuated according to expression and behavior.

Talking to spirits had contributed greatly to his interest of the dead, and he sought to learn much from the nature of death from these spirits, as well as history. As he took his first steps into aether magics, it inspired him to take his interest in death to the next level. We're now talking about the next decade or so, 50–60 years old, so he's entering seniority and has seen his fair share of experiences. Having stepped into the realm of aether magic and his own power of gnomish enchantment, death became to appear as a subjective topic. Using his enchantment powers to create golems, vessels, and using the littlest amount of aether to supplement his power, Wizzlebee has been able to – wait for it – raise the dead. Granted, without a soul, this was mindless undead. A corpse that is simply being animated and controlled by the puppeteer's will. His power alone wouldn't work on flesh, but with aether, necromancy became the gnome's reality. His interest in death and undeath was bolstered, and so he sought to look into aether magic some more. Less to control the world around him, but to delve further into the taboo art of necromancy and learn about the cycle of life.

The following years have been quite a roller coaster. It was difficult hiding his experiments and rituals, his necromantic art. Though risky, it was found the best location was in the cellar beneath his alchemy shop, where he was best able to control who goes in and out, and he had plenty of herbs and ingredients to mask the smell. Recycling and reusing the bodies became the regular. Animating the dead also made it easier to harvest choice cuts and organs from the cadavers. The basement was filled with sage and lavender to hide the smell. At 77 years of age, Wizzlebee came into contact with a spirit that claimed to have been a noble defender of the public, and wanted to come back to enrich and impart his knowledge of the history of those of this day, and to use his power to aid those in need, and the little gnome fell for it hook, line, and sinker. He agreed to use the spirit's aether to animate a corpse. This was, of course, his first time doing so. In retrospect, using a skeleton wasn't the best idea, since then the defender couldn't go out and impart his wisdom unto others without mass panic. Not that it mattered; as it turned out, the spirit had lied. The spirit actually had belonged to his father, and Wizzlebee had gone and used his spirit to ensoul a human skeleton.

Bartleby de LaShtüp also happened to be the grand master of the LaShtüp house's plot to becoming the new royal house. Of course, now being a live skeleton, Bartleby was unable to go anywhere or do anything by himself without risking getting caught. Despite his unfathomable plotting and unruly behavior, Bartleby was indeed proud of his son's accomplishments. Why, he might have not yet made a miracle potion, but he raised the dead for goodness sake. That has to count for something.

The last couple of years have proceeded little. He raised the bar on his alchemy as he learned how to get access to more “special ingredients”, and he became more attuned to aether, though nothing close to mastery. His father, Bartleby, on the other hand, has accepted his condition and grew quite accustomed to being an undead skeleton. He often makes fun of Wizzlebee and the predicaments he finds himself in, and takes every opportunity to find a bone or skeleton pun. Hey, you gotta amuse yourself somehow when you're spending eternity in unlife. Only lately, Wizzlebee was given the opportunity to expand, to have a little hut in the middle of Talbor’s own Maceron. Perhaps Wizzlebee would hire on a young man to man the shop while Wizzlebee remained in Nepharie, maintaining the bigger shop (and even bigger secrets in its basement). So with a horse and carriage, Wizzlebee set out there with his skeletal pappy in tow underneath some of the sheets in the back of the carriage.

What they had found in Talbor once they got there was frightening, indeed, Bartleby being ironically afraid of his own kind and Wizzlebee, while fascinated, was horrified by the implications made by a giant undead army of unkillable wights.

---

"Wrinkles? Wrinkles! Nay, no wrinkles, those be wisdom creases! Mind your respect around me, wee tall sugars, I still dress plenty better."

Physical Appearance:

Height: 4'01"
Weight: 72
Appearance: At a daunting and considerable 4'01”, LaShtüp is something of an out-of-the-ordinary gnome, if only for a few more reasons than being an inch above the average height. Perhaps in his youth he bore a rosy-cheeked smile with a fine complexion, but as he stands today, he looks too worn down to manage more than a stroll through the woods. Not that this is an appearance he lends on, as even for his age, is surprisingly spry and energetic, but nothing like he was back when he was a young'n. His face has collected wrinkles and age has pronounced his laugh lines. His large trademark nose, a distinguished feature among gnomes aside from its beak-like curvature, has done little in the ways of following his shriveling skin and receding hairline, allowing it to stick out from his face as his most noticeable feature. One of the biggest peculiarities, howe'er, lies in his resemblance to humans. Have no doubt that he is a proud gnome, but replacing a gnome's childlike features is a bolder, and more pronounced face.

In addition, unlike most gnomes as well, LaShtüp's skin color lacks as much pigment that contributes to the gnomes' copper skin. His own skin is quite pale in comparison, but manages a similar hue if nothing else – and if there is one other thing that LaShtüp shares, it is his balding hair. It is black, slicked back with a dab of oil, and widow-peaked. Then again, that could just be dye, because there is nary a gray hair to be found on top his head. As you would expect, he is not very strong, even by gnome standards. He weighs about 95 pounds soaking wet, and is a feeble old gnome reading books as large as a human's memo pad after all. Despite his kind usually have a short and stocky build, his limbs are pretty thin. There is not a tremendous amount of meat or muscle that sits between his skin and bone, but he has a gut that many a hearty gnome would be proud of. In this respect, he isn't as thin and weak as he could be. Given how many years he's pushing, he considers himself pretty lucky. LaShtüp has long, brittle fingernails that have turned black through a particular use of magic, but nobody would ever know, because they've been painted mint green.

Attire: Our favorite gnome dresses to impress. As a first layer, black Ostracan silk vestments adorn his body, and over that, a black vest. This vest has been trimmed with gold leaf and three brass studs are on either side of his color. Three large buttons go down the center of the vest. Over this, he wears what appears to be a sage green toga, where the sinus that drapes over his left shoulder is held together by gold clasp. This particular article of clothing is what indicated him as his city's alchemist, so that he is not mistaken for any priest or sorcerer, but it does not detract from his appearance of a noble. Were it not for his short stature as a gnome in a human society, there'd be no telling what he could get away with.

He has a few accessories on his person. Like the aforementioned painted fingernails. He wears a pair of black formal silk slippers, with white cotton socks. While they ease right on and off of his feet, they are fairly secure around his ankles and is difficult for them to fall off by accident. However, it is not uncommon for him to relax with his feet free, and then, there you would find that his toenails are painted a similar color to that of his fingernails! And unlike his fingernails, his toe nails appear to be kept in good shape. He has a number of rings, many of which contain secret compartments for certain herbs or powders for emergency alchemical improvisation. He has one gold loop earring on both his ears.

---

“So, you see, the strength potion really is tricky. Shave off some of the keratin from the bear's claw, take the... barley milk... you've been soaking the poppy seeds in, and mix it in with the egg yolk – that's reason why I can't drink most strength potions, you see, I'm allergic to eggs – and finally, whisk in that, uh... jelly. Yeah. It's jelly. Um... the smell? It... smells because you have to let it sit and ferment for a while! Now, enough questions, pay attention...”

Personality:

Personality: The eccentricity of gnomes is not lost on Wizzlebee – that is to say, he is no exception to that rule. He, during the early years of his life, had shared the race-wide suspicion that had made up a great deal of their quirkiness, but as the years had gone by, that attitude tempered. He was already unlike many gnomes as he stood, and he was aware of the global view of gnomes and this had brought forth some embarrassment. This has influenced his perception of other races a little bit as he came to realize that it was the gnomes who were considered to be the absurd, different race. This had half to do with luring him out from his homeland and to travel through the major kingdoms, eventually stopping at Nepharie, the largest kingdom, as it had exposed him to more of the world's culture than any other place, and where he got to meet the most people from all over. Since moving in, he's been regarded as generous, insightful and fun. At heart, he is a very dedicated and studious individual that doesn't stop when he sets his mind to a task.

As a gnome magi and alchemist, and all of his years of experience, there is no denying Wizzlebee's brilliance and creativity. As far as others are concerned, his most notable skill is his practice on the alchemy bench, where he develops some of the most refined potions a man has ever seen. However, his eccentric personality can distract others from that aspect of him. He is ridiculously cheerful, almost to naïve extremes. His mind-numbing optimism makes him appear almost oblivious to the world around him and to all of the issues plaguing the world or of his own situations. He comes across as a sensitive old gnome whose feelings can be easily crushed if taken the approach of pure and unadulterated evil, but otherwise, playground-esque meanness would simple inspire him to coddle you.

Further undermining his actual intelligence is his apparent inability to grasp the bartering system in Nepharie. It doesn't help that there are different languages and cultures for every race that passes through, but the dominate bartering system was such an extreme learning curve for LaShtüp compared to how it was back home at Ostraca. He is, what has to be, the worst barter in the kingdoms and has screwed himself out of so many deals without even knowing. His relationship with the locals is strange as well, as they don't seem entirely aware of the methods of gnomish flirting. Especially among the humans, specifically the men, they're not quite sure how to respond to an old gnomish man whose going on and on about how they should compare their wardrobes. The day and age of this land isn't entirely receptive to his sexuality just yet.

There does seem to be something else about the gnome, though, that sets him off from the others - an abnormality even among gnomish eccentricity. He proclaims an ethical and moral code, but there is almost something there to suggest that he doesn't entirely mean it. It could be possible that he does, and that he simply doesn't take matters of injustice or controversy very seriously, but there is an air of secrecy to him. It is something difficult to pick up, but it is there. Where he gets his ingredients from, what ingredients he actually uses, where he got his training, and how good at magic he is. He never gives a direct answer, and he seems to talk as though he knows something you don't. At his worst, LaShtüp can be full of himself, narrow-minded, and selfish.

Hobbies: As an alchemist, botany is a no-brainer. Studying plants and flowers and their alchemical properties has always been an interest. Just figuring out how life works. The study of fungi and their spores is also a topic of interest. Fashion and jewelry are staples for a luxurious life, and he knits in his spare time, although he isn't any good at it. However, here we get into dubious matters where the ethics become taboo. LaShtüp also possesses an interest in death and undeath. The inspection of corpses and fresh cadavers are made, inspiring him to consider the possibility of becoming a mortician, but figured his current position to be a better guise for his suspicious practices. This also comes into play in his wanting to figure out how life works.

Skills: An exceptional alchemist, though he sells only potions and non-lethal poisons, there is just a few recipes outside his reach. Though his skill in alchemy is not to be ignored, the power of his potions also lends credit to the ingredients he uses, often harvested from the dead in secrecy. His willingness to tread where others dare not even speak of gives him an edge in the potency of his product, as well as his flexible capability. He is also good at braiding hair. He can usually sense the motives of others, but very rarely applies the knowledge he gains to his advantage.

---

"Breathe in, breathe out. Hold it there, relax, mind blank... and let the very world open up to you."

Abilities/Combat:

Abilities: Wizzlebee, in almost all circumstances, would avoid combat at any cost. He's a pacifist at heart, you see. If combat cannot be avoided, he'd more like shift the responsibility onto another while he fled for his life. Which in itself is hard for an elderly gnome to do. If there is no one around, then he could raise one or two undead from the ground and use them to cover his escape. Mindless undead will often fall over after enough distance between them and their conjurer has been made. Ensouled undead are considered intelligent undead and will remain as long their conjurer remains alive or if their body stays intact.

Despite Wizzlebee's reluctance to fight, if he really applied himself, the little old gnome would be an awe-inspiring adversary when you consider that his potions are top of the line, and remember that, despite his clumsy appearance, he is also an outstanding wizard. Even without aether, he holds a degree of control over the elements that would at least put other prodigy wizards at odds with his own skill. And when you consider his penchant for aether, that alone gives him an edge since others have likely never heard of the lost fifth element. He applies this element in indirect methods, but assuming he gives it a shot, he could probably perform a good deal of damage using it as an offensive ability. If hurling a fireball as big as your own body doesn't cut it, he might imbue it with some aether to have it so that you feel as though your very soul is burning.

Weaponry: Wizzlebee has a little walking cane with a round gold head, and it is also a storage compartment for emergency alchemy. A tad too small for a staff, maybe, but it isn't beyond Wizzlebee to have enchanted it so that it would become a rather heavy wand.

Weaknesses: As an eldery little gnome, he doesn't have much physical prowess going for him. Nor can he run with ease. He'd rather avoid fighting if he can help it, and while he is powerful in his own right, he isn't actually a master in any field except maybe for alchemy. He's old and without much energy, come on. He is also allergic to eggs. Most strength potions require eggs.

Mount: Your daddy.

Other: Wizzlebee is hella gay.

The Elder Scrolls: Rage of the Waves

Certainly, a fair point made by the Reachman, there were more minds at play than the one who had sprung them. Finch wondered how long they had been planning this move, or if it was simply upon a whim. Regardless, Finch had made it to behind the barracks. It was away from all the fire and swords and blood – his stash was kept safe. Nobody would think to look on the outside. Finch buried his fingers in the dirt and shoveled it away until his nails scratched stone bricks that partly made up the barrack’s foundation. It was loose, loose enough for Finch to get the tips of his fingers in and haul it out of the ground. A small burrow was revealed. A little hidey hole, an empty space in the lazy workmanship – or so Finch would argue, when in truth he had prepared this spot before ever stepping foot into town. Inside this hole was a deer skin blanket, wrapped around a hastily tied up rucksack of burlap. Inside it were Finch’s belongings, which were nothing more than a few sentimental mementos, lock picks, a small stash of septims, and the book.

That precious little book that had gotten him into so much trouble. Finch knew exactly which house he was snooping in, they were some wealthy clothier or something. Were they a noble, Finch knew not, only they wouldn’t miss whatever Finch would take. At least, they wouldn’t miss anything Finch thought he would find. He hadn’t the slightest clue that this sort of contraband still existed before that night. Finch had never even heard of Sithis. The sound of the very idea was frightening. Ironically, it shined a light on the Brotherhood of old.

Blasted! This is not the time to be having his head in the clouds! Finch scrambled to collected his items. Behind the sack was a small crossbow with a little crank on the side. The crank itself was optional, but was easier on Finch’s back... at the expense of making a bit of noise. Littered about were spilled bolts, which Finch had scooped up and poured into a long wooden canteen, which he had personally refashioned so that it was secured to the fore-grip of his crossbow. Meaning, he whittled a little hole or two in it and tied it around the crossbow’s stock with a string. The rucksack had a leather band that was threaded through a hole in the crossbow’s butt. He propped the weapon onto his shoulder, and went through the back of the alley to make it into town.

On the bright side, now he didn’t look too much different from the bandits that were burning everything down.

He entered the jail where the others had gone. Some of the others had already gotten their belongings – he wondered if he would be the last to meet by the road. Perhaps they were not counting on him to appear; perhaps they were secretly wishing he wouldn’t. It didn’t matter either way to him. Normally Finch would do what they were probably hoping he would and buzz off, but one of the Reachmen’s words was echoing around in his head. There was still a chance that helping the noble would mean life. There was still a chance for him, if he were to run, that he were to die.

A chance at life was better than a chance at death. There was potential for death either way, wasn’t there?

In the barracks, he had no belongings that were here. But if he had to invade a castle, he mustn’t be too conspicuous. He kicked open a trunk and inside were a set of clothes that the guards wore off-duty. He figured that, given the circumstances, some of them weren’t coming back to wear them. With the case of these men being grown and muscular – appropriately so, they were guardsmen – these clothes would swallow him... but it was better than what he had. He tucked a linen shirt and some breeches under his arm and scampered out of the barracks and onto the road out of the village. By the gate, the other prisoners were already congregating. Some of them were even arguing with one another, maybe even about to come to blows. He felt... small and incapable standing next to them. If there was anything he had over them though, well, Finch had a knack for going unnoticed.

He watched as the both of the Reachmen, the elf, and the orc fought with one another. Finch couldn’t say the same for any of these four.

Finch sighed. On top of that, religious arguments always bored him. The fact that the Vigilant was also an Altmer made his hair stand on end.

“What does it matter?” Finch dryly muttered to himself. ”Neither the Daedra or Divines has our backs at the moment...”

Knights of Melarus

Fix it immediately or perish.

The Elder Scrolls: Rage of the Waves

Lost connection last night, didn't give y'all the pm I promised. Give me a minute.

The Elder Scrolls: Rage of the Waves

Damn it, he'll never make it at this rate. D:

The Elder Scrolls: Rage of the Waves

So far nobody has noticed Finch it seems, so I think this whole assassin arc is working out quite well!

The Elder Scrolls: Rage of the Waves

I AM a joke.

The Elder Scrolls: Rage of the Waves

Given these developments, Fiona would be a good leader. Whoever she doesn't inspire, she has them wanting to bed her.