Against the Empire : The Elder Scrolls Series Discussion

» Fri May 27, 2011 9:41 pm

Boros rushed to the Dunmers side, walking with him, and ready to support him should he fall faint or vomit. No sooner had the thought of wiping up chunder crossed his mind had the punched-out figure keeled over and blew out a great concotion of what seemed to be blood and possibly bits of venison and kwama egg. He rolled his eyes. Should of seen THAT one coming.

"Errr....I ain't cleaning that up" he said with a look of great disgust, avoiding the sick like the blight itself. "On the topic of introduction's...Im Boros by the way. Archer, Alcoholic, and lazy-bones."

He spoke these words with a beaming smile, as if he were proud of being recognised as such a good-for-nothing lout. "I suppose we better get you off to the infirmary then? You can vomit all over it's floor too" he smirked smartly.

OCC : bad post but blerghefergh =/

» Sat May 28, 2011 2:58 am

OOC: Thanks Atomic, i can read the progress of this story on my cell phone! you make my character sound like a drunk and more violent man then i intended him to be!

EDIT: Change of plans, i ain't leavin' til next friday, until then Atomic ill take charge of my character then on the next friday you can take control... and made a edit to my first post

» Sat May 28, 2011 5:53 am

As Shepherd started throwing up Fara wriggled her way out of the projection's way with the practiced ease of someone who had quite often brought drunks back to where they belonged.

"Nah we don't clean ? heard the sergeant ? We bring him to infirmary and let the others do the cleanup. I wholeheartedly agree with that." Carefully stepping around the noxious pool "Too bad I won't see the face of that ashlanders pack when they clean that one. 't would be funnier if they had to do it with their hands and tongues, but the path of wisdom is supposed to be getting content with what you have. Not that we bosmers are known to be very good at that wisdom thing..."

As her charge started displaying the signs of another puke, Fara once again altered her stance a bit to make sure whatever would come out would end up straight on the floor. With the bathing that can be had in here I'm already smelling a tad too much for my taste, I'd hate adding vomit to the mix.. "Once you've dropped that one we'll haul you to the infirmary. There shouldn't be much left to get out by then."

» Sat May 28, 2011 10:04 am

Dralliam being escorted to the Detention part of the fort, worried with fear, wondering hopelessly if he will get whipped, or help the miners, he arrives with his men waiting outside. "We don't know if you started the fight or if he did, but your punishment is minor, you have to clean the stables" said the Sergeant "But we don't have Horses or a stables!" he said, "We do now, some rangers stole some Legionaire horses from a nearby Legion Forester outpost!" he sneered, "Damn, why can't we just-", "Don't Worry private, we've seen your service record, a good Morag Tong assassin and a well-trained fighters guild warrior, you just have to do it till we can find a worker to do it, now go on your way and prepare the stables" he said
Dralliam wonders off to the new part of the fort that was excatavated

» Fri May 27, 2011 6:10 pm

Shepherd swallowed the gorge rising in his throat and managed to speak haltingly, "I'm done loosing fluids. If we're going to the infirmary lets be done with it. I'd like the healer to get rid of this headache for me if it's all the same to you people." As an afterthought he added, "Call me Shepherd, I don't want to hear you attempt to speak my given name. It would be an insult to me if you did and an affront to my heritage if you did it poorly."
A wave of dizziness suddenly overtook him and he felt on the verge of passing out.

OOC: sorry for the short post, its rediculously late for me and I might pass out myself if I don't get to bed. Just trying to keep things moving along.

» Fri May 27, 2011 7:09 pm

OOC : hehe, sorry about that mate. I tried to make him seem like a strong-headed and individual person, someone that doesnt take crap from nobody...I guess he did lose his cool a bit though

Also...Ezequeil, I think your on now .

IC :

"Alright Sheperd...just hold on. We're going to get you up to this here medic's tent and he'll lie you down and give you something to clear your head. That was a pretty damn brutal knock you took."

He suddenly remembered how he too had been punched. In all the commotion and urgency, his adrenalin had covered any pain he had felt...but now it had come back, and was drilling into his skull like a rusty scalpel. It shredded his brain, tore at his nerve's, and clawed behind his eyes. It was the most ear splittingly painful headache he had ever lay experience too.

"Garghk..." He blurred, gripping his head in pain. "He hit me a fierce one too eh. Some brandy will fix that right up. Speaking of which...anyone got booze on 'em?"

He realised that asking such a question would make him seem like a blithering drunk over anything else, and although he didn't care much for peoples opinion of him, he had a respect for this Fara character...and dint want her thinking any less of him. She seemed like a pretty strong Bosmer that could hold her own, a quality he could appreciate. Spotting the Doctor's infirmary ahead, he spotted a good oppurtunity to cover up his previously made stupid question.

"Err...actually never mind about that. I see the medic's tent ahead. Ill go and get him eh."

He ran ahead without waiting for response. Running up the small steps to the infirmary platform, he proceeded to check around for a field medic that wasnt tending to some patient. One was treating a soldiers fever...another yanking a pick axe out of the labourer's foot . Idiot...how dumb can you be to stick your own bloody pick axe in your foot? Boros thought as he walked by with an expression of somewhat dissapointment.

He searched the area looking for an available healer for a while before coming across a stressed-looking figure slumped in an armchair, head buried into his hands. Boros awkwardly approached, tapping the man on the shoulder.

"Sorry to disturb you but um...well you see, this soldier just got knocked out something fierce back at the mess hall. I think he need's some attention" he said somewhat pathetically.

» Sat May 28, 2011 8:21 am

OOC: Heya!

Name: Hadras Hlaalu
Nickname: Dras
Age: 29
Race: Dunmer
Gender: Male
Rank: Sergeant

Appearance: His hair is a braided gray/black that flows to his lower back, he also sports a goatee. Dunmeri tattoos run all along his back, chest, arms, and the left side of his face, they depict shadow, swordsmanship and Daedric worhsip. His body, he is 6'3" and his muscle is rippling from years of pit fighting in Vvardenfell.
Personality: He is kind to friends and family, his hatred for the Empire runs deep because of its treatment of his homeland. This has almost driven him mad over the years. However, he is clever like most of his brethren, and his partial madness does not affect his skill and wit in the battlefield or the council chambers.

Class: Hadras is comfortable as both assassin and fighter. So you could call him an Infiltrator.
Class Description: Master at infiltration and stealth. Get in, steal or kill, or both, and get out. But if caught, the Infiltrator can kill with discretion and get out.

Kit: Armun-an Bonemold armor decorated with Daedric symbols and runes. Underneath is an ornate robe also with the Daedric runes sown into the borders. It is the classic dress of Dunmer Royal guards and the personal staff of nobles. Hadras carries a Steel spear for throwing or close-quarters, and an Ebony katana belonging to his father. Sometimes he carries a small, crude chitin crossbow for stealthier missions.

Bio: Hadras was born a Hlaalu nobleman, so he knows of the strife in the Great Houses and the Empire thieves who stole his land. He had shady deals with the Morag Tong and lost his position within the house, becoming excommunicated. In the course of the following years of being a thief, ashlander, and virtually a degenerate, he would steal and kill his way to finally arriving in Vivec and becoming a pit fighter in the Arena. Years go by and he gets carted off to fight in the infamous Imperial City Arena. He was sick and tired of it, so he left, and went back to Morrowind where he went into some politics under the name of Behendras Dreth. He developed a seething hatred of the House wars and told the leaders they must unite and destroy the empire, that is the only way to establish peace.

He heard of the Drothmeri army and its cause, and he packed his bags and joined.

ICC:

Dras was on his way to the mess hall when a passing soldier with a bloody nose ran past him crying. Not another one, he thought. Fights had seemed to breaking out more often than usual, as if all of the men had been cooped up so long they were ready to kill any and every thing that crossed them. Hadras had joined to lead the army in a more dignified and organized manner, he wanted to destroy them Empire and bring about a new one, not destroy and let Chaos sew itself in place. As he rounded the corner and through the threshhold he saw shattered glass and broken chairs. What the hell happened here Private, and who is responsible!" he shouted at the nearest guard, " A fight broke out sir," glaring into the soldiers eyes Dras asked "And WHO did it, WHICH soldier was it!" looking nervously right and left "The who calls himself Shepard, sir, I believe he's in bein' checked out in the Infirmary." Dras coolly turned away and headed for the Infirmary.

Shepard was being checked out by the medic, Armas. When Hadras walked in, he ever so slightly made his way near the doctor, silently. Some display you made... Shabinbael Urshilaku, or Shepard is it?" Hadras knew the names of all the soldiers, and he proffered proper Dunmeri names, not these petty nicknames you would hear from some dumb Legionnaire.

"Well, I'll be wanting to see all of you after your checked, you look like hell to be honest." At the end of this one-sided conversation, Dras had to hide a smile, an almost proud smile. These soldiers were just what he needed to make this army work. Although he was possibly the youngest of them there, he knew he could lead them.

With this he went back to his quarters and began to put on his armor, and the bloody, damned tunic.

EDIT OOC: I was pretty tired and a bit drunk so this is all I could really muster up, more tomorrow.

» Sat May 28, 2011 4:04 am

"Sheperd he ? I wonder's what's wrong with your real name. Getting pissed if it's mangled I can understand, but taking as an insult if it's spoken right ? I wonder who did what to bring such discredit to it, but I suppose it's a topic best left quiet." Mentally completing her comment Or more simply you're such a bigoted racist that the notion some foreigner could speak your name right feels like a threat to your sense of superiority.

As Boros asked for some brandy Fara raised an eyebrow "Might do some good in the short run, but if there's some serious damage you'll end up worse for the wear. You'd be better of gritting your teeth until we get to the infirmary and get it checked. The medics there aren't why I'd call top notch, but as far as I know there's at least one mage in the lot. - and with what might be a cracked skull or the like, both of you should be able to get his attentions."

When they reached the medic's tent Fara winced at what she saw. Not that she had never seen what a flied hospital looks like, but rather because her previous experience to her these medics we a far cry from good.

Gesturing toward Boros "Actually more than one, Boros there caught some spillover from the scuffle too. Smacked straight in the face, battering ram style. Nothing seems broken, but you can't be sure with head injuries."

As she spoke a rather tall and muscular dunmer in an ornate robe made his way in, ordering that all of them came see him once healed. While she reflexively stood at some sort of attention ? both her natural casualness and holding Shepherd standing preventing a proper move. Damn, the last thing I need I some higher up's notice. Though as he left she wondered if he included her into the lot. With those funny tatoos and the like, it looks par for the course to be one of the rabid xenophobes. The sort who'd think me fit at best to be a camp follower for the lowest of their soldiers. Yuck.

Once he was left, she asked, low enough to make sure only Boros and Shepherd would hear. "Do you think His Pomposity is including me in that 'all' ? He just don't strikes me like the sort to have much use for the likes of me."

» Fri May 27, 2011 6:17 pm

OOC: thats okay, kind of amusing! doesn't take crap from anyone...... of course he's a pivate and a grunt so he would be acting all tought and what not.

ICC:Dralliam walking along, more and more workers come to Sundercliff each day, slaves, not a problem, all that was on his mind why he should be doing this 'Cleaning the Stables Job', he thinks to himself that should be a slaves job,
Thinks all to himself, about his family, the army, when should they attack.

As he walked passed Healers, Cooks and the newly Recruited Rangers from Morrowind and Valenwood, he comes up with an idea, instead of walking to the stables by the side exits he runs to Drothran's Chambers.

Day-Dream:
"I'm here to see the Master." he Saluted to the high ranking Officer, "Great! hurry on up before he eats his meal", "Thanks" he ran up the staircase, seeing a lot more then just plain artifacts of Dwemer Culture and Ayleids but most deadric, Drothran re-reading his maps, angry, confused and frustrated, Dralliam walking up to his desk,.

"Master Drothran?", "WHAT?" "Im sorry to disturb you, you are rather busy but i have a suggestion on how to make your army stronger!", Hurry up! What is it?" they argued, "Might i suggest that we hire Khajiit assassins from Eleswyr, they are extremely skilled with the deadly arts, and Argonians will make great thieves to steal routing, shift maps and information to help us in your Crusade!" he said, "You right, i'll send some of my recruiters to the two provinces immediately! thanks for your help" Drothran said......

Dralliam comes back to reality, he was day dreaming again, he opens the door to Drothrans Quarters, "GET OUT" he yelled launching a lightning spell at him before it hits Dralliam. "What in Oblivion was that about?" he wondered to himself. "Nah why would Khajiit and Argonians join us? he thought.

He finally makes his way to the side exits, he was too late, the scouts and rangers have stabled the horses in the stables, Dralliam mad, pissed off, swearing in Dunmer language....

» Fri May 27, 2011 11:19 pm

"Sorry to disturb you but um...well you see, this soldier just got knocked out something fierce back at the mess hall. I think he need's some attention"

Armas looked up at the Dunmer addressing him, and sighed exaggeratedly.

"Nine-be-damned, can't you goblin-brained drunkards go one day without beating each other to a pulp?" He arose from the chair with a grunt and motioned for the injured man, assisted by a slight Bosmer woman, to sit on a dingy cot. When the Bosmer mentioned the other man, Boros, was injured as well, he rolled his eyes.

"As far as I'm concerned, if yer standing, ya know yer own name, and ya can hang onto a sword with both hands, yer fine... but I'll get to ya in a minute if ya need it."

He turned his attention to the other Dunmer. He pulled a small bottle of pungent smelling liquid and stuffed it under the man's nose. With his other hand he held up three fingers while he stared into his eyes, his mouth twisting in concentration as he shifted from haggard malcontent to skilled medic.

"How many fingers d'ya see? And can ya tell me yer name, fella?"

He didn't see any burst capillaries in his eyes. He also was not squinting in the relatively bright light of the infirmary. Both were good initial signs. As he awaited the man's answer, he nodded to the Bosmer.

"Did ya participate in this little shindig as well, or are ya smarter than these two?"

It was his own, bastardized way of asking if she needed medical attention as well.

» Fri May 27, 2011 9:48 pm

Fara shrugged at the question, before answering with her usual decontraction " Sort of. I'm not exactly build like a prizefighter nor eager to get the stuffing beaten out of me, so I kept to the sidelines until a sergeant came in and calmed things down."

Shrugging briefly "Though I might have been involved a bit more. From how things turned out it looked like it would end up with at least one corpse. So I got a good thick chair leg. Just in case someone would have needed a gentle tap on his head to put ideas back into the right order."

Before he could answer, she added as an afterthought "Do you know who's that guy with the fancy robe and tattoos or where he's bunked ? He asked us to come to him once you're done, but I'd be stuffed if I know who he is. First time I see the guy."

» Sat May 28, 2011 10:03 am

Shepherd Recoiled at the stench of the bottled liquid and glared at the grizzled Dunmer who was apparently going to heal him. He gets to the point at least, Shepherd thought as the mer started shooting questions at him and waving his hand in his face. He cocked an eyebrow and quipped sarcastically: "My given name is Shabinbael, formerly of the Urshilaku Tribe of Ashlanders in the promised land of Resdayn, and I find the three fingers you're shaking at me offensive," and he leaned forward and hissed "Outlander" making sure he had the medic's gaze locked in his own.

Just then, yet another Dunmer marched in and accosted him verbally before marching right back out. "Stupid Great House S'wit," Shepherd mumbled, managing a brief and unimpressed glance at the mer's attire before he'd stormed out of the infirmary. What was going on this place? Shepherd was sure he was halucinating, probably had a concussion.

He shot an irritated look at Fara, one that said you brought me here to this ridiculous excuse for a healer and he hasn't healed me yet!

OOC: Not my most inspired post but I'm tired, lol. I'll post better after I catch up on some sleep, I'm sure.

» Fri May 27, 2011 10:03 pm

Armas smirked as the Bosmer commented matter-of-factly about her involvement in the bar brawl.

Tougher than she looks, eh...

At her question, Armas looked over at her and shook his head.

"Man's named Dras. Seen him about, but I've no clue where he's shacked up. Ask around, you'll find out I suppose."

When the Dunmer he was inspecting, identifying himself as Shabinbael, spoke up in a haughty tone, Armas chuckled good-naturedly and stood up, his stiff back cracking lightly as he did, and put the bottle back into a pocket on his apron, and raised an eyebrow at the ill-tempered Dunmer.

"Well last time I checked, fella, we're in Imperial territory, so I guess that makes us all Outlanders. Ya included."

He turned his attention to Boros, shoving his thumb towards the cot his companion was seated on.

"Want me t'take a look at ya, too? Yer friend here just needs a bit of rest and maybe some booze to take the edge off. I'm not gonna waste what precious little supplies we got just t'cure a headache."

» Fri May 27, 2011 10:47 pm

ICC:

"Private, could I see you for a second." Dras said to a passing soldier, probably just making his rounds. "What do you need, sir?" "I'd like you to deliver a message to some comrades, probably still in the Infirmary." "Names, sir?" "Fara, Shepard, and Boros, also there is another, Dralliam I think." Dras handed the Private the letter and sent him on his way, double-time. Dras spent the rest of the evening sharpening his sword and taking care of the rest of his armor, he never knew when he may have to use it. But however much he wanted to kill a Legionnaire, or ten, he was thinking about how the chance may come only in a dream, Drothran was a fool, and he knew it more so than the others. If they were to overthrow the center of Tamriel, drastic and quick measures had to be taken to gain even the slightest toe-hold.

But brooding over these thoughts would only make him enraged, so Dras sheathed his polished sword, and went for a walk-about in the dank corridors. He passed by the mess hall, where broken things were still being picked up, he asked for a mug of strong drink and he downed it in the blink of an eye. He continued his way, passing the barracks, the stables, and a few very deep chasms. It wasn't all that bad of a place to be honest. Dras sat down and dangled his feet over the edge of the chasm, sort of reminded him of Vvardenfell. Meanwhile, the messenger he sent to the Infirmary had just arrived, bringing the message to the three it was intended.

Dras was almost ready to fall asleep on the edge of that chasm, but a soldier behind him caught him by the shoulder. "Sir, you're wanted in your chambers." "And by who?" "I'm... I'm not supposed to say, sir." "Heh, well fine then, tell them I'm going." So Dras made his way back to his quarters, but along the way he was stopped again by another soldier "Sir, the message has been delivered." "Well good then... what are you waiting for, pay, get back to your duties, and good work soldier." Dras waited in quarters for the arrival of his newest, new recruits.

OOC:By all means make up something for the letter, it basically just says "Come see me, my quarters are in the north wing." to be vague.

» Sat May 28, 2011 7:33 am

OOC : weak post...I had a "good" post typed out good and proper and my P.C crashed...pissing me off >:( Im off soon so heres one to fill in quickly.

IC:

Boros got up from the cot, brushing off his armor. He looked at the doctor appreciatively, as a man as well-meaning as him was a rare commodity down in these god-forsaken depths. "Im fine thanks. I really appreciate you mending our newfound friend up here" he said with a trusting smile.

Just as he had gotten up a messenger had stepped into the room . Boros slunk his head and massaged his temples. "Why can't just get a moments peace to go into my cabin and get drunk?" he lamented. The messenger gave the note to Fara simply because she was closest to the door and promptly left.

Boros looked up, his eyes fixated on the letter. His curiousity had now been piqued. "Well...what does it say?"

» Fri May 27, 2011 6:41 pm

As Shepherd ? Or Shabinbael as he had presented himself shot her a mean stare, Fara replied with a casual smile and a shrug "There's only on infirmary down there, last time I checked Shabinbael". Speaking the name just fine, only omitting the irritated note it had been delivered with. "And if the rumormill is right, he's the best healer down there in gruntland ? might even be true, he didn't suggest leeches or enemas for a concussion."

She paused for a while, resuming in a more serious tone. "Now Shepherd, let met tell you one thing. You'd better put that 'I'm a though, proud ashland warrior' style on hold for a while. I don't know what you've done before ending in here, but I'd think you've never been in army. I have. And the sort of show that happened in the mess tells me I'm not in one right now.". She made a short pause to gather her thought.

"Think what you want of the Legions, but they didn't take and hold he Empire without knowing a thing or three about being an army. Main one being that in the Legion, no matter who or what you were before you're a Legionnaire and you root for your fellow Legionnaire. On the battlefield, in camp, on a night out, wherever."

She opened one of her hands "That's what the drothmeri army is. A loose bunch." Clenched her other hand into a fist "That's the Legion. An organized army". Pushing it against her open fingers and flexing them back "And that's what's going to happen when they meet. Been there, seen that. It don't matters how strong the fingers are, they can't stand to a fist. With everyone around here busy prancing and pounding his chest, eager to enforce how much better he is than all the others, we're going to have a frighteningly brittle canoe to sail through brow smelly stuff rapids. And I'm not exactly confident in Drothan's paddle either." Which makes me quite happy to be a scout rather than a regular grunt. Sure I'll be amongst the first to run into trouble, but at least I'll be able to get out after Drothan's plans are squished flat... she carefully kept that thought to hersel.

As the messenger entered and gave her the letter, Fara opened I, raising an eyebrow "Well it seem this Dras as taken an interest in us." Facing Boros, Shepherd and Armas in turn "The three of us and you doc. We're supposed to meet him in his quarters. Doesn't say a word about the why, but it says 'at first convenience'. That's officer speak for 'haul your backside there, quick !"

» Sat May 28, 2011 5:28 am

Shepherd barely listened as the Wood Elf made her spiel, rolling his eyes at her demonstration of what the Empire was going to do to them all when the fighting would begin in earnest. Of course he knew they would be crushed utterly and completely. The ideals and plans of this movement were ridiculous. What did he care? He just wanted to make sure that when the time came, he got to die with imperial blood on his hands.

He shook himself out of his own bitter musings when the messenger came in, handing a letter to Fara. He coughed a laugh at Boros' sentiment about getting drunk though he could definitely relate.

"Well it seem this Dras has taken an interest in us." Facing Boros, Shepherd and Armas in turn "The three of us and you doc. We're supposed to meet him in his quarters. Doesn't say a word about the why, but it says 'at first convenience'. That's officer speak for 'haul your backside there, quick!"

"That idiot that ran through here a minute ago?" Shepherd buried his aching head in his hands briefly and then looked back up, "Well, what are we waiting for then," he urged, "Let's go see what the S'wit wants. Just give me a healing potion and I'll drink it on the way." This day was shaping up to be downright strange.

OOC: Hope no body is getting offended by Shepherd being a big meany pants, lol, he's probably not going to improve for at least a little bit if at all

» Sat May 28, 2011 10:14 am

"No idea of what he might want. And not much more about where his quarters are. Officer country for sure, shouldn't be that hard to find once we're there.". She had a last look at the paper before folding it and putting it in a pocket. "Though I wonder why he's using a written rather than just verbal message. Let's just hope he's not trying to play cloak and dagger tricks. Things are messed up enough without some idiot sharpening daggers and measuring the backs he wants to stick them in."

» Sat May 28, 2011 4:17 am

Name: Aslyn Andoril
Nickname: Bones
Age: 86 (appears to be in his early 40's)
Race: Dunmer
Gender: Male
Rank: Corporal

Appearance: Battle hardened would best describe the rugged features of Aslyn. A stout muscular frame and tall height for a Dunmer make him seem intimidating to some. His skin is the regular ash grey of Dunmer as well as the dark red eyes associated with the Dunmer. Though not particularly rare for his race, but not seen too often, is his wavy mahogany red hair. He normally keeps his hair cut short, hanging naturally to about the middle of his ears, more for the ease of getting a helmet on and off than anything else. An always present stubble is visible the jaw of his oval face. What most people notice first, however, are the three gold earrings in his right ear and ruby studded jade earrings in his left. Overall most some would consider him handsome in his own way.

Personality: Despite the intimidating nature he gives off from his appearance, Aslyn is much friendlier than one would think. He likes to talk and drink, then drink and talk, then talk some more and drink even more. Though since most can't seem to hold their liquor as good as he can he usually ends up talking to himself sooner or later. He has a unique, if not sometimes morbid, sense of humor about most things; laughing at death and making fun of it. Though anyone who doesn't want to end up in the ground early would be wise to not mistake him for being unintelligent because he is far craftier than one would think and is the type of person that is always several steps ahead whether he acts like it or not.

Class: Entrepreneurial Combat Specialist (Some would call it a mercenary)
Class Description: When it comes to combat this one knows what it takes to succeed. He is well versed in most forms of combat (most meaning everything but magicka, in which case he knows little to nothing about) and can handle pretty much any weapon you give him, though he feels most at home with a sword. Skilled in both one-on-one battles as well as tactical large scale battles, he is the most comfortable on the battle field. When not on the front line or leading men into battle he is training himself or other to be in their top form and ready for a fight anytime. Even better is that all of this can be yours, for a price.

Kit:
Clothing/Armor: Standard issue Drothmeri tunic of course, which he hates. Underneath the tunic he wears steel chainmail, padded by cured leather on the back for a little extra protection from behind. Steel chainmail greaves covered by burgundy pants and leather boots help protect his lower body. He normally wears fingerless leather gloves as well, more for comfort than protection.

Weapon(s): His pride and joy are his two curved Elven shortswords that hang from either side of his waist. He also has several daggers hidden through his wardrobe, including one in each boot, one hidden in his tunic, and a throwing dagger up his sleeve. Though he is the most skilled with swords he is a fair combatant with just about any weapon, and if need be, will turn just about anything into a weapon.

Misc: Two bottles of brandy, two potions of health, and some scrib jerky.

Bio:
Aslyn was raised in a nobleman's family, and was brought up as educated as any young boy could be. He was proper in speech, proper in posture, and all around a proper young gentleman. When his father lost their money to a gambling addiction though things quickly headed downhill. His mother refused to work and his father tried to drown his sorrows in a bottle, so someone had to make money or they would be out on the street. It was at a young age in desperate times that Aslyn learned a valuable lesson, there is always someone lazy that needs something done will pay through the nose just to get someone else to do it; and so, a mercenary was born.

Once he was old enough he left his awful home to make it on his own in the world. During his early years he spent much of his time simply living out in the wilderness; it was an educational experience for him. Later he devoted he devoted his time to the noble cause of killing the perverse as a witchhunter and for the next forty years that was all he did was hunt down everything from vampires to necromancers, for a price. As his fame spread and he began being hired on to more dangerous contracts he also began charging more. Soon he expanded his operation from being a simple witchhunter to a full fledged mercenary.

Aslyn joined Drothans army for several reasons. The pay being good was one of them, but was far from the deciding factor. What was a major deciding factor for joining was that Drothan was going to try taking on an empire with not but a thousand men, which is completely crazy, but it's Aslyn's kind of crazy. Going to a battle outnumbered forty to one is one party you couldn't make him miss. Though if anyone really knew Aslyn they would know that these were petty reasons for him joining and that he was probably hiding the real reason he was in Drothans army.

(IC post will come soon, need some rest for now)

» Sat May 28, 2011 7:57 am

post cleared

» Fri May 27, 2011 11:52 pm

OOC: Uh... I don't mean to step on Atomic's toes here, but Jonasvault101, you've got some serious character control going on there. I would think that you should let the people who RP their characters tell you what they do, not the other way around. <_<

» Sat May 28, 2011 12:20 am

OOC: Uh... I don't mean to step on Atomic's toes here, but Jonasvault101, you've got some serious character control going on there. I would think that you should let the people who RP their characters tell you what they do, not the other way around. <_<

OOC: Strongly agree. And dude, seriously?

I'm taking my authority into full account and using all of my power as Lance Corporal to commission a new tactical unit.

Lance Corporals are very near the bottom of the food chain in the real military, man. I'd have laughed at this if I wasn't dumbstruck when I read it.

» Sat May 28, 2011 4:40 am

OOC: [censored], ya I know, I just read actual military ranks and I'm kicking the hell out of myself right now, well whatever. Anyways, how am I being too controlling? They came into the room and I said what was what, I'm giving all you guys a choice, I'm not telling you to do a damn thing. And what do you mean by "I would think that you should let people who RP characters tell you what they do, not the other way around." Uhh, when was I telling people what they do? Changed my rank by the way, hope nobody gets pissed off but it validates my story a bit so, it works out in the long run.

» Fri May 27, 2011 11:52 pm

[OOc : not much in the way of control - we were heading for your character's quarters afterall, but it serious shortcut nonetheles before all of us could tell wether they wre coming or not. And you should check with Atmic about the rank change]

post cleared

» Fri May 27, 2011 9:54 pm

ICC:

Dras was writing in his journal when the bunch of misfits from the Infirmary stepped through his doorway "Well, good to be seeing you again, I trust you found the place alright?" "Why are we here?" said Shepard with a sense of distaste. "Listen, I'll cut too it, because apparently somebody in the higher-ups doesn't like me. I'm taking my authority into full account and using all of my power as Sergeant to commission a new tactical unit. But please sit down, find a seat somewhere." They all got comfortable, Fara, Boros, and Armas in chairs and Shepard against a wall. "We all know how damn boring it is in this place, and Drothan is a fool in my honest opinion, we'll sooner win this war by letting the Legion die of old age, and it almost seams as if that is Drothan's plan exactly. So I'm going to take action if nobody else will. This army is rabble, no more than that of a rabid Guar herd, I've been studying all of you for some time now, and I think you're what we need. Especially you Fara." Fara looked at him, almost in disbelief.

"Yes you heard me correctly, you've operated in the Legion, you know its secrets, its chain of command, you are a value and a weapon." "And the rest of us, or are we just meatshields?" "On the contrary, you all have talents. Armas, you were an Armiger, no? I served with them briefly. Shepard, you were a dedicated follower of the Nerevarine cult, I too was deceived by the outlander who played as our race's savior, and I believe you share my patriotism and my want for vengeance. Boros, you a gifted sharpshooter if I'm not mistaken, you have a talent which WILL greatly benefit this new outfit."

"So you see here, this is why I called you to my quarters. If you have objections, speak now, and speak clearly. But know this, if my plan succeeds, it will mean the liberation of the Imperial occupation in Morrowind, I have bled for my land one to many times at the behest of the Imperial dogs, I want them dead as much as Drothan does, perhaps more." Dras sat back in his chair, waiting the response of his new hopefuls...

OOC: The bolded parts are all examples of character control: stating what the characters do, say, or feel, without the consent of the RP'er. Essentially, writing anything from the point of view of another character being RP'ed by someone other than yourself. You'll also notice, if you read through our previous posts, that none of our characters has left the infirmary yet.

As far as changing something about your character, I think proper RP etiquette would require you to ask the GM first, but Atomic may not care one way or another, so that's not my place to speak.