Ever since entering the vessel, Caius did his best to remain alone and not attract too much attention. He had gotten a quick glance at the group and they all seemed staunch, they'd definitely be able to handle themselves, they all had a good physique and the majority had weapons of top-notch quality. Nonetheless the Imperial still wanted to stay away for now; he would rather get a view of them first before engaging in any conversation, you never know when you may regret it. In fact, Caius wore one of his dark travel cloaks to conceal his appearance. It wasn't certain that the group would know of him, most of his deeds were performed in County Chorrol, but it was better safe then sorry.

As soon as he walked onto the ship, Caius briskly darted in the opposite direction of all his soon-to-be workmates. He wasn't in an overly pleasant mood to begin with, and still felt the same way. This ridiculous expedition had gotten in the way of one of his parties, and Caius did not like missing the chance to get a little merry. Only four times each year he could get with all the other nobles of Chorrol and drink, and now he couldn't, the amount of anger that this caused him to pent up cannot be described with words. The Duke's problems and the fate of Morrowind did not concern the Imperial in the slightest; it likely would if he knew what destruction Reznar Rerim could cause, but Caius was ignorant to the fact. However despite this, he still knew that he had no choice but to oblige with Vadem Dren's wishes, the Duke was rather bold in his letter and only a fool would realise that you really had next to no choice in the matter, and upsetting a ruler such as Dren would not be on anyone's mind. Besides it was a chance for the Imperial to widen his range of fame, expand it further than just Chorrol, but to the whole of Tamriel! Caius let out a toothy grin at the thought.

Caius decided it would be best to seclude his presence in a private lounge of sorts. Thankfully there was a room similar. It was not large, but definitely cosy and comfortable. Hmm yes, this'll do perfectly, the Imperial thought, nodding his head and smiling in approval. The lounge itself was relatively well decorated, portraits and paintings adorned the walls and lavish tapestries were draping across, along with a bearskin rug laying flat on the floor, acting as nice decoration; however what won it over for Caius for the roaring fireplace, blazing away and producing a perfect temperature. The Imperial strode proudly over to a bookcase on the far side of the room, and started eying vigilantly over what it offered. In truth, Caius didn't even know if he was supposed to be in this room, although he did not care. What do they expect if they leave such a place unattended? Besides these sailors and seamen are filth compared to him, and could do nothing to command him. At least that is what he thought.

The first book that caught Caius attention had a small cover and was titled, "The Lusty Argonian Maid".

"The Lusty Argonian Maid?" Caius muttered to himself in a disgusted tone, and quickly threw the book back onto the shelf. He would of spat if he did not find that type of action so vile and dirty. Instead he continued to glace at what was on selection.

The next tome that caught the Imperial's attention was named, "The Argonian Account". Since his recent encounter with a book that had 'Argonian' in the title, he was tempted to shove it back into where it came from. However from skim reading a few paragraphs it did not imply to be nearly as sixual as the other so instead sat down on a comfy leather armchair and began to read. Also, for the first time since meeting the group, Caius pulled back his baggy hood to reveal his face.

The Argonian Account was a rather enjoyable read in Caius' opinion, what Decemuus Scotti was going through was interesting to read about but what intrigued the Imperial even more was the references to Argonian culture, and Caius was always interested in the subject. Unfortunately though there is always a catch to enjoying something; in this case it was a disturbing shriek coming from the outside.

Instantly, Caius jumped from his comfy chair and almost fell to the ground. The screech was frightening to say the least, something completely out of the ordinary. It certainly wasn't natural, it came across as almost mechanical. But the Imperial couldn't put it finger on it.

"God's blood, what in Oblivion was that?" Caius murmured, as he cautiously walked out of the room, clutching his hilt, trying to find out the source of the shriek. It had caught his attention, and he couldn't go and leave something such as this unnoticed. For all he knew it could be something dangerous.

Caius peeped round the corner of a corridor for his eyes to meet a large plaza room full of the people he was supposed to be interacting with. This room was nowhere near as lavish as the reading lounge; its walls were just simply wooden with barely any decoration at all, likewise with the floors. All the inhabitants started to walk up out onto the portside of the vessel. Caius followed suite.

As Caius appeared on the portside, he took the time to observe the sea. It was extremely choppy and the waves were crashing into the ship with force; as if they wanted to shatter its defences and penetrate. The sky was almost blood red and Caius was shocked at the sight. He didn't understand how it was possible. But for some reason, it was an unnerving but beautiful sight. It was only after gazing at the sky for a good minute that the Imperial heard it speak.

As soon as Caius heard the voice he turned his head swiftly, looking at the source directly. He almost gasped at the horrid sight. What had perched itself on the railings before him appeared to be some robotic and disfigured raven. The Imperial cringed at the sight but at the same time he wanted to get a closer look at the grotesque figure.

The Raven spoke with a human voice, no, an elf voice. It had the same raspy tone that the dunmer often had. It spoke in a poetic and elegant fashion, which at first surprised Caius. However he did not bother listening, he was to focused eying the contraption, attempting to figure out what in Oblivion it was. Although after it finished its speech, it rose into the air and soared away, back towards the hellish red sky.

Foolishly, the behemoth nord that stood within the thick of the group, attempted to pummel the raven with his enormous fist. Instead the meaty ball crashed into railing with force, causing the leviathan-sized man to crash to the deck, coughing vigorously and making an utter mess of himself. "Pitiful?" Caius said to himself, shaking his head in an unimpressed manner, as he ambled towards the main group. He looked down on the nord, almost feeling sorry for him. In a way he felt obliged to help him to his feet. He was not intending of becoming friends with such a brute, but first impressions lasted, and he wanted to make a good one in front of them group.

"Come on, good man! Get on your feet!" Caius said in a slightly enthusiastic tone, hoisting the nord up. As he did so, a lady next to them started say that perhaps the raven could lead them to Rerim. In fact the Imperial half agreed. It would be an easy way to get the job done quick! "Name's Sir Caius Sallonus, pleasure to meet you," he saw it fit to add the 'Sir' onto his name, even if people rarely did actually address him as such. In honesty it was not really a pleasure to meet him, but still, better to have friends then enemies. Although he promised that if the nord ever got himself in such a ridiculous situation again, he would not be there to aid him.

Before Caius could continue, the Captain came striding out of his cabin, looking disappointed and frustrated.


"It's no good people, I can't make any sense of the area whatsoever. These coasts will tear us apart should we try to even bring the ship near...that bastards got us in quite a situation alright. I'm sorry, but I don't want to risk getting any closer. I can lower the dinghy's, but Im not taking any chances." Before the Captain could continue, the dreaded raven returned.

You look upon your situation with somewhat disdain
But surely you cant give up this late in the game?
Take your ship around to the west
There is a landing that suits you best
Its rather sad really, I thought you were skilled
But now I have to help you get killed!

Once again the raven let out another deafening caw, causing Caius to hold his ears tight. The raven did a good of lowering the Imperial's confidence. The way it seemed so calm and sure that the group would get killed, made Caius agree, there actually appeared to be no chance. Honestly, they were being mocked by a robotic bird, what could be more humiliating? Nonetheless he had to admit, the speech was wonderfully poetic, and if you could appreciate its nature, it could be nice to listen to. Unfortunately Caius could not.

"The fiend is playing with us...it could be a trap. But then again, I don't think we have a choice?" The Captain started to bite his nails, contemplating on what to do. "Look...this isn't my mission. I will put it down to you lot. I can take you to the west face of the island and we can see if there is a suitable landing like this hellish thing just said, or you can take your chances in the rowboats. The coasts look treacherous but Im guessing there will be a lesser chance of your position being given away.... and we don't really know what could be in store if we venture to the west."

Caius was not impressed. The Captain of the ship, supposedly meant to know everything about the seas, "didn't know what could be in store for them".

"So, Captain. You are a shipmaster, correct? You are supposed to know about these areas, correct? Then tell me, good sir, why can you not give us the simplest piece of advice? Why do you not know what is here? Hmm?" Caius interrogated harshly. Most people would understand with the Captain, but the Imperial was in a near foul mood, and just wanted to complain. "Poor show, poor show indeed."

The Captain gave back a cold glare, eying Caius with much frustration.

"Oh forget it! You others can come to an agreement. I am not bothered either way," With that, Caius sat down on a chair, trying to enjoy the evening breeze, hoping he would not be disturbed.

OOC: Okay this is a pretty long post, making it quite difficult to look over and check, so if there are any spelling mistakes or anything similar, then I do greatly apologize.

Saren listened to the crow, turning her head mechanically to view it, then looked back at the Captain as he worried. She understood his concern; she knew how difficult sailing could be, and in this hostile and uncharted territory it was all the worse. Nonetheless, she did not offer words of comfort for him; that was not her way.

The Imperial- one 'Sir' Caius- preceded to berate the Captain. Saren allowed him to finish talking, and then, completely ignoring everything he had just said, addressed the Captain. "Land, as the creature said," the healer urged, but once again in that soft, low voice. "If it is a trap, so be it. Afterall, we're supposed to be able to deal with anything he throws at us. The water is getting rougher, and there's nowhere else to land. It's land, and maybe fight, or turn back home and leave the world to its fate."

Her cold white eyes moved to Caius. "Undermine not those you consider your subordinates, for they are all that is between you and drowning, imperial." She knew his name, but did not use it.

Then she moved her icy gaze from him to the Raven once more, watching him stiffly, tensely, and silently.

OOC: Alot to catch up with. I think i'll jus start posting when the real thread is opened.

OOC: Yeah I agree. I might respond to Illusionary's post or I might not. I just want to let other people have a chance to write something before I go off on one and write 4 pages worth of post for just answering a question.

So yeah sorry Illusionary if I don't make a post. If I don't let's just assume that Caius just sarcastically mouthed something back. Or something similar. With that said I will try my best to get one in, it's just if there is one thing I hate doing, it is rushing posts in RP's.

Name: Norien Histran
Nickname: Nor
Gender: male
Age: 50
Race: Imperial Lycanthrope
Birthsign: The Thief.
Class: Werewolf/ Demon-hunter
Class Description: Norien is a werewolf himself, and a mercenary by trade. A werewolf now for over thirty years, he has begun to grasp very basic control of himself in Werewolf form, able to choose who he kills. He has become in the last ten years a very infamous Hunter, tracking and destroying desecrations and taints. His methods are questionable, his purpose is questionable; hell, he's questionable. But he gets the job done.
Skills: Blade, Hand-to-hand, Destruction, Unarmored combat, Acrobatics, Hunting (which includes tracking and trapping of prey), Sneaking.

Appearance: Norien is not a large man, average in height and in width. But he is by no means skinny nor is he bulky. A well toned body shows years of steady exercise and battle. His posture is always slightly hunched over, his chin in line with his shoulders and back bent. His eyes are hard and serious, and he generally looks ready to kill anyone who would take a mug of ale from him. He also doesn't look like a man who appreciates the idea of regular bathing, as he is always dirty and smelling of wet dog.
Height: 5' 8" at full height, 5' 7" because of his slight slouch.
Eyes: Hard, wary hazel. Occasionally they turn a deep golden in color.
Skin: tanned well, and smeared with black dirt in many places.
Hair: he has a military cut hairstyle, and his short hair is black.
Tattoos/Scars: His chest, arms, and back are like a painting canvas for some sick, twisted artist, a myriad of scratches, burn scars, and bruises. Four parallel scars run across his left cheek.

Weapons: A silver katana, and a silver Wakizashi.
Armor: He wears no armor, though the leathers he calls clothes come close.
Clothes: He wears a leather shirt without sleeves, and tight leather pants. A buckle shaped like a wolf head holds his belt in place.
Inventory: Along his belt he has a few bottles of healing potion, as well as money, a map of Tamriel, and a compass in a satchel on his belt.

Misc: ?prone to taking risks.
-heightened senses of smell, sight, and hearing, though only a little over that of an average man.
-When a werewolf, he is vicious, unrelenting, and deadlier than human. He is around 5' 11" in height, with more muscle mass than a Nord, and more hair than one too. His hair is glossy black, and his eyes a fiery gold. He exercises only a minimal semblance of control, able to stop himself from killing certain people, on occasion. He transforms every night, something he takes immense advantage of in his line of work.

Spells: He knows only minor fire spells in Destruction, to deal with vampires.

Mental: Norien never was a 'safe' boy, always rough-housing the other children and throwing stones. His favorite games included King-of-the-Hill and sword-fights with wooden blades. He always won, or else the winner got beaten up afterwards by him.

That mentality continued through advlthood despite his infection, and he is as risky and danger-loving as ever. He willingly walks into danger, laughing at Death as he slaps it in the face. His humor is aggressive in nature, and he isn't the politest of men.

Bio: Norien was only 20 when he was infected with the disease of Lycanthropy while vacationing in Morrowind with his family. Afterwards, he killed his family, finding the taste of their blood better than the greatest feast. For twenty years he hunted under the name of his Lord, until the anniversary of his infection, when he began to combat his own urges. That night had come with the death of another Lycanthrope at his own hands. Maybe it was the Lycan blood in his throat, or maybe it was just his own conscious realization, but he found himself capable thereafter to control just who it was he killed. Barely, as he still had to kill each night, but he could stop himself from killing a child and kill the father instead.

And what came with this reality was a decision. He was going to hunt his own kind, and other outcasts of society tainted by Daedra. Though he is feared by all that employ him, he has risen as the greatest Demon Hunter in Tamriel. However, his disease is not forgotten, and one step out of line in a town, and he is likely to find a sword in his chest in any city.

Hid lengthy ears perked up, hearing the creature before his eyes caught the trail of dark smoke it bellowed out it's back end. His gaze was frozen on the beast as it shrieked closer and closer to their vessel, quickly, arming himself and pulling his quiver quickly over his back. He did not speak however, he was unable. But, it was doubtful anyone knew this just yet.
So, his longbow ending it's path in his left fist, an arrow pulled free and aimed towards the raven as it perches itself on the railings of the ship.

Taking in a deep breath, his fingers gently run along the feathers that decorated the arrow, his fore, middle finger and thumb almost dangling off the rear of projectile aimed towards the mechanical beast. He new it was unnatural, but he said nothing, his left eye slowly closing tightly as his aim became true.
The bird spoke, a rhyme or a riddle?

He looked at the captain as he spoke, the gruff old man seemed fearful, and rightly he should be as they begin to get dangerously close to the jagged rocks of the island.
The bird then suddenly darted upwards, towards the mast and sails of the ship, his aim followed it, it did not waver and he had no choice but to simply await the crews response.
Do they follow it's instructions. Should they follow it's instructions and be forced into a trap? Or smash along the rocks and perish, having not even started their mission? He wasn't sure himself, for he was the 'live to fight another day' type, and he cannot simply vanish into the forest this time.

Name: Robyn Dale
Nickname: Ugly
Gender: Male
Age: 65
Race: Breton
Birthsign: The Ritual
Class: Friar
Class Description: Friar are similar to priests. Unlike priests, however, who sit in their temples, flogging themselves for minor transgressions, friars got out amongst the people, preaching and offering their services to anyone who is in need
Skills: Blunt, Dodging, Restoration, Alchemy, Speechcraft, Mercantile, Marksman

Appearance: An almost perfect copy of the merry friars from Breton legend, with his blonde tonsure and cheerful face. He is not very tall, easily dwarfed by a good majority of the men he meets. His cheeks are a bright rosy red, and he has good blue eyes. He is by no means a skinny man, with his well-sized paunch. Despite the bulk, however, he is no slouch. Though he can tire easily, and despite his old age, he seems to be in decent shape. Despite the cheerfulness, he is an incredibly ugly man.
Height: 5' 4"
Eyes: Blue
Skin: He is rather pale, but his face is pretty red
Hair: Blonde Tonsure
Tattoos/Scars: Scars, deformities, you name it

Weapons: A steel chained Morning-Star
Armor: An ugly, dirty, smelly robe, tied about him with a rope belt. He wears undergarments, and a pair of well-worn sandals.
Clothes: N/A
Inventory: Because he carries a case specially devoted to potion bottles, Robyn carries a great deal of Restore Health and Restore Fatigue potions. He also carries a small dagger

Misc:
- A very jolly, happy man.
- Prone to harmless flirting with most women, despite his horrible ugliness.
- Loves to tell jokes, even bad ones that no-one actually finds funny
- Loves wine a little too much
- Has a deep devotions to Stendarr. However, he rarely actually talks of religion.

Spells: Robyn knows a plethora of Restoration spells. Ranging from restoring a person's health, to fixing their bodies if they are diseased or cursed.

Mental: One of the jolliest men a person can meet. He seems almost oblivious to his ugly looks, and if commented on, he jokes about it. Nothing seems to actually phase him, and even in very dire circumstances, he is always a source of comedy and laughs.

Bio: Abandoned at birth because of his grotesque nature, Robyn was found on the side of the road by a group of traveling misfits. He was raised by a bearded woman and a man with a hare-lip and one eye. Because he had never encountered "normal" people, he had no problem mixing with the "freaks" of Tamriel's society. As he grew, he began to appear in shows, both as the bands "Troll Act" and as a standup comedian. When he was twenty years of age, he was walking back to the camp the misfits had made for themselves when he was accosted by a group of drunk youthes intent on killing him. He likely would have been murdered if he wasn't rescued by a man he could not see. Convinced that his rescuer was none other than the God of Mercy himself, Stendarr, Robyn left his "family" and entered a monestary. After seven years of study and the learning the ways of the Nine, Robyn left his place of residence, taking up the mantle of a Friar, and began criss-crossing the continent of Tamriel.

Nice character Verlox Good to see another person with a commoner sheet.

IC: S'letr opened the hatch to the upper deck to a horrid, piercing screech. Looking up and around, the Argonian could not find the source of the sound with his still blurry vision. Then, a distorted yet elegant voice breaks the silence,

"Your strength is proven, you have travelled for miles
Now, you approach the ClockHeart Isles
You see, my machines have fully awoken
Flesh, Metal, Magic....all interwoven
You may try to thwart my grand design
But you will fail, and, upon your flesh... my creations will dine"

A deep voice followed the eerie mechanical one, what sounded like a Nord "Blasphemy!" Before Sleeps could find the Nord, another mind numbing shriek almost made him fall back down into the ship. "What in Oblivion is that thing?!" The same deep voice called out.

As S'letr's vision began returning, he could make out the rough shape of a large man he assumed was the outspoken Nord. Strangely enough, he was on the ground. A large man in a ridiculous looking suit of armor hoisted the Nord back up "Come on, good man! Get on your feet!"

Before Sleeps could ask them what was going on, a softer, more delicate voice addressed the man "It has already told us what it is. 'Flesh, Metal, Magic....all interwoven'."

Sleeps turned to the source of the voice, a Nordic woman with curly red hair, facing away from the Argonian. Strangely enough, she wore an aqua colored dress 'Bad luck for sailing.' The woman spoke once more "I don't think we should kill it. It may well lead us to Rerim."

The armored Imperial spoke up once more, his gravelly voice even more annoying to hear than the deep Nord's "Name's Sir Caius Sallonus, pleasure to meet you."

'What? What are pale mountain people speaking of? Rerim...' Before the Nordic man could utter a response, the Captain burst from his quarters and out on to the deck, oblivious to the scene before him "It's no good people, I can't make any sense of the area whatsoever. These coasts will tear us apart should we try to even bring the ship near...that bastards got us in quite a situation alright. Im sorry, but I don't want to risk getting any closer. I can lower the dinghies, but I'm not taking any chances."

'Why not swim to shore?' S'letr's thoughts were interrupted once more by the ominous, disembodied voice. Looking up to the source, Sleeps found the black outline of a bird,

"You look upon your situation with somewhat disdain
But surely you can't give up this late in the game?
Take your ship around to the west
There is a landing that suits you best
Its rather sad really, I thought you were skilled
But now I have to help you get killed!"

'Where do we go that birds have tongues for speaking?' S'letr walked to the center of the deck, his gaze still fixed on the bird. No one seemed to notice him as the captain resumed speaking "The fiend is playing with us...it could be a trap. But then again, I don't think we have a choice..."

The large bearded man, Sleeps could never tell if he was Breton, Imperial, or Nordic, continued his weak speech "Look...this isn't my mission. I will put it down to you lot. I can take you to the west face of the island and we can see if there is a suitable landing like this hellish thing just said, or you can take your chances in the rowboats. The coasts look treacherous but I'm guessing there will be a lesser chance of your position being given away....and we don't really know what could be in store if we venture to the west. So? What say you?"

Before Sleeps could suggest swimming to shore, the lavishly armored Imperial belittled the good captain "So, Captain, you are a shipmaster, correct? You are supposed to know about these areas, correct? Then tell me, good sir, why can you not give us the simplest piece of advice? Why do you not know what is here? Hmm? Poor show, poor show indeed."

Sleeps wanted to go tell the Imperial off, but he was afraid if he looked away from the demon bird for a moment that it would attack. Much to the Argonian's displeasure, the haughty man spoke once more, then went to sulk in a nearby chair "Oh forget it! You others can come to an agreement. I am not bothered either way."

S'letr quickly tore his gaze from the drama unfolding on deck, realizing he had looked away from the talking bird. Even with his eyes elsewhere, the Argonian could tell the next voice that spoke belonged to the soft spoken Nordic woman "Land, as the creature said, if it is a trap, so be it. After all, we're supposed to be able to deal with anything he throws at us. The water is getting rougher, and there's nowhere else to land. It's land, and maybe fight, or turn back home and leave the world to its fate."

Sleeps could take silence no longer; he could not go on without knowing where they were bound, as all he could make of the nearby island were dark silhouettes. With one last cold look at the rhyming bird, S'letr strode towards the captain, hoping to find his answers.

"Sir, what happens here? Where are we to go that causes such things?" He indicated the mast with one long, bare arm, his voice hissing slightly.

I don't mind. I'm happy for things to go slowly.

Likewise. I'm near skint on time as it is.

I took another character sheet format and re-did it on this one. It isn't going to be the best in format, as I don't generally like this format that you chose. I have to have a part of this one. Nice roster by the way. You guys got Chris, Darkom, IN, Soldior, quite a few others. I'll have to get in this one

This is the same character I use in the Immortal Blood timeline.


Name: Jamaal Arhano
Nicknames: N/A
Age: 29
Race: RedGuard
Gender: Male
Birthsign: The Steed

General appearance: Jamaal has compelling deep brown eyes, with short cut black at about 1/2 an inch. His hair is very thick. He has a deep muscle tone, and bears the usual Red Guard tan. His nose looks quite normal, not too short, not too long. The RedGuard's calf muscles are enormous, along with most of his leg muscles, from his birthsign. His Arm muscles are at a moderate size, along with his height, where he stands about the average man's size. He bears a lean body, and is careful to maintain it, for assassins need to be quick. Jamaal wears a large, thick scar along his right forearm, along with a scar just under his left eye. His overall muscle composition is moderate overall, with his legs as an exception. He is quite athletic and fast, through genetics, and the stars. He also keeps a black hood tied around one of his belt slots.

Psychological Profile: He isn't evil, but he isn't good. He pays his respects to Sithis, because he believes Sithis was there first. He also respects the Nine, since he believes they created Nirn. However, he more moderate in a karma sort of category. Many however, do not know his deep personal views, and view him more evil than good, because he respects Sithis. He believes Sithis is a being.
Class name: Stealth Soldier
Class skills: (I don't like doing this) light armor, blade, security, sneak, marksmanship, speed, acrobatics
Class description: An elite assassin, a good face up fighter, although he relies on his stealth as a primary ability.

Weapons: Jamaal bears a rather small longsword that hangs from his belt. It is bigger than the usual short-sword, but is not as big as an average longblade (A longblade classified in history as a sword with the blade twice the size of its hilt, therefore, it may very in size somewhat to a degree.) He also bears a short blade, the hilt 6 inches, and the blade 9 inches. It is held in a tie up leather strap pocket on his right arm just below the shoulder, covering his horrible scar. He also wears a small iron dagger in a pouch above his ankle, for such needed instances. It is very light, and does not affect his running in a way that matters. The last weapon of his is a short steel and leather cross-bow, featuring steel in the middle, right on the straight section from which the arrow is aimed, and flexible leather covering it. It sits in his light flexible black leather quiver, slung across his shoulder, with 20 iron arrows. Short blades stick out of both ends of the head, allowing somewhat of a good killing technique.
Armor/Clothing worn most often: Jamaal is an assassin, but he always doesn't try to look like one obviously. He usually wears, unless disguising himself on certain events, Black Leather Armor, with Light, flexible leather boots. He bears an amulet, which he wears under his armor. His mother gave it to him in his childhood. It is said to give him luck, and it may possibly be enchanted with that ability. He also wears a black leather belt, with many slots of its own. He also wears leather braces, and fingerless leather gloves.
Armor/Clothing worn least often: Jamaal wears a thin linen shirt under his armor, in which he uses to disguise himself as an ordinary citizen. He also wears thin linen shorts. However, this does not matter, as it is of no use to him on the island.
Miscellanious Possessions: Jamaal also keeps one minor invisibility potion handy within his gear belt. He saves it only for life saving instances.
Miscellanious Information: Jamaal fears not for himself, but for the ones that he loves. He fears losing his family, and friends to death, as he has before.

BRIEF Bio: Jamaal grew up in Rihad, Hammerfel, and studied the ancient Ansei as a boy. His Mother was a caring mother, a former Morag Tong Agent. His Mother taught him the arts of stealth, and the little combat that she new when he was young. His father was always away. He really knew anything about what he did when he was young. Later though, he finally realized his father was not a former member of the Morag Tong, but an active one of the sort. He was always away in Morrowind doing whatever he did, which Jamaal didn't know about at his young age. Meanwhile, he continued to study the Ansei, the ancient battles of Hammerfell, and the works of Destri Melarg. At the age of ten, his Uncle, a high ranking fighters guild member, taught him some advanced combat techniques, for his mother did not know much of combat. At the age of 16, his father retired, and trained him in stealth, and the art of the stealth kill as much as he could. He was an Ark'ay worshiper growing up, and also worshiped Julianos. At the age of 18, he forsook his parents will to become a member of the Morag Tong, and joined the Dark Brotherhood after being invited by an assassin that saw his talent. He therefore started to worship Sithis. Even though he wasn't as religious as some of the other members, he still pays his respects to the void. He worked his way up through the Brotherhood, prospering through the ranks. He achieved a high rank, and, besides from managing a good bit of the Brotherhood, is famous for his freelance work. He has now beem called up on to go to a so called "island" where mysterious whereabouts lay.

The Captain looked stressed enough as it was, having been berated by a snobbish Imperial and now being asked questions by an argonian, of which he did not have any answers. "Look" he firmly stated. "I just dont know...Im just a Captain, I had my orders and they were to drop you off on the island. Nothing else. I know who Rerim is but Im afraid thats all. Im flying blind here...."

He turns to the majority of the team. "Alright. Looks like most of you voted in favour of being dropped off on the west landing. The seas are getting choppier...so this is probably for the best."

He turns up to the rugged orc manning the wheel. "Urtnotz, you heard me...to the west!"

The Captain now darts into his cabin and shuts the door behind him. Clearly he has had enough social interaction with the team and the idea of being foulmouthed yet again doesnt appeal to him at all. The cabin door slams with a resounding crack, and the ship once more lurches forward, heading towards the west of the island.

The sea is continuing to become worse, the sun has now almost fully fallen and within a short time, the sky will be shrouded in darkness. Hopefully, this will play to everyones advantage....but it makes one wonder whether there are beasts that lurk on the isle that have already adpated to this knowledge.

OOC : Im short on time folks, but Im absoloutely flabergasted to see the amount of people that joined whilst I slept . I will update all your sheets and then its time for school, but when I come home I shall create the new thread and link it here. Cheers muchly!

OOC: Indeed, our elite team of champions has rather become a small army Though it will probably make things a little too fast and a tad confusing, this should still be great fun. However, with this many people, etiquette is very important. Please try not to interrupt a direct question or discussion between two or more characters without having been invited somehow. Communication is a must if you want to take any drastic measures, please PM anyone it might affect.

That said, it seems all that is left is any conversations you all would like to have. Because as it is, we are on a direct course for land and, with it, the formal RP thread.

I've seen some good characters here; good luck to you all, and have fun.

PS In case some of you don't know, my Argonian is shirtless. Just something that might affect your characters feelings towards him.

(Oops, I think I just took some of Atomic's thunder Sorry)

Great -.- two member of the DarkBrotherhood on one expedition.

Can i kill Almerion off now or later?

OOC : Aye agreed with Darkom an all accounts. Manners everyone Until I get back, this would be a good time to get some chatting going on between everyone. Again, I thank you all for joining and will see you soon.

Yes I did notice Sleeps' lack of attire on the torso, much to Caius' displeasure

But yeah I feel this RP is going to be epic. Great story+great host+great RP'ers= win.

OOC: So... You guys got room for one more? I'd be stretching myself thin, but this RP seems really cool and reminds of something... Anyway, I'll make a sheet and PM it to you, if that's okay.

C'mooon we have to let Ambrose in!

Oh and Atomic said we're allowed to post sheets here in the thread. But you may need his permission first.

And since theres so many people, once we're on the island it may be a good idea to split up into different groups. Nothing draws the eye like a roving band of heavily armed missfits, in smallergroups we'd have a better chance and it would be more organised and easier to control as an RP.

Excellent idea my man! Shall we talk about this now or wait for later?

Eheheh... in under the wire and approved by Atomic.



Name: Mavus Ulenis, House Telvanni
Age: 76 (appears in his late twenties)
Race: Dunmer
Gender: Male

General Appearance: Mavus looks like any (relatively) young Telvanni male, clocking in at the tender age of 76 (appearing to be in his late twenties... he is a Telvanni, after all!). He is thin and poorly muscled, since he spends all of his time studying and practicing magic. His facial features carry a harsh, gaunt mein that is often associated with other Telvanni, and he keeps his dark red hair tied back in a tidy tail with a silk ribbon. The most noticeable part about him are his eyes, which are quick, intelligent, and piercing, as if everything he looks at is a thing to be dissected.

Psychological Profile: Mavus thinks like a Telvanni wizard, just as he looks like one. He tends to hold himself above everyone else, and is wholly obsessed with perfecting his magic. He is, however, extremely curious about the world around him... which leads him into all sorts of precarious situations in pursuit of his study, as he is just arrogant enough to wander into the dragon's maw for the sake of an extra bit of data.


Class name: Telvanni Wizard
Class skills: Mysticism, Illusion, Alteration, Destruction, Enchanting Items (minor) Scientific anolysis, Random Academic Trivia
Class description: Mavis is a Telvanni Wizard. He spends most of his time cloistered in his tower on the east coast of Vvardenfel, but does occasionally venture out for "field study," which usually includes tagging along with a group of adventurers to a dangerous location for the sole purpose of collecting data. This time is no different.

Known Spell Effects:
Mysticism:
Mark and Recall
Reflect
Detect Animal
Detect Enchantment
Dispel

Illusion:
Light
Silence
Paralyze
Chameleon

Alteration:
Levitate
Feather
Water Walking
Water Breathing
Shield
Open and Lock (although not strongly)

Destruction:
Fire, Shock, and Frost Damage (Strong only in fire)
Weakness to Fire, Shock and Frost (Strong only in fire)
Disintigrate


Weapons: He keeps no weapons, as he is arrogant enough to think he'll never need steel when he has magic.
Armor/Clothing worn most often: He favors intricate robes equipped with a minor Fortify Fatigue enchantment to keep him awake during long nights of study. He keeps the robes immaculately clean when he can, but will sacrifice their cleanliness in the interest of pursuing his studies.
Armor/Clothing worn least often: He has a light linen undershirt and trousers as backup, but he is loathe to wear them.

Miscellanious Possessions: He keeps a number of scrolls secreted in his robes in case of an emergency, including 2 Dispells, 4 Restore Healths, 4 Restore Magickas, and 1 Almsivi Intervention. The one item you can always count on seeing him with is his field journal, a leather-bound book with shock enchantments should anyone but himself open it... he's constantly writing in it when not in his tower.
Miscellanious Information: Mavus's biggest flaw is his arrogance. He considers himself to be highly intelligent and a formidable magic-user; therefore, his actions carry an almost naive surety in his own success. This also obstructs his dealings with "lesser races." However, he can get very passionate about his studies; once you engage him in a topic he's interested about, all arrogance goes flying out the window.



BRIEF Bio:
Mavus had always lived with the rest of his House, clustered on the eastern coast of Vvardenfel. He spent most of his early years studying with a minor house noble named Eli Saren, helping the older wizard with his projects until he finally earned enough to start growing his own Telvanni tower. Mavus remains, to this day, a minor Telvanni wizard, with only five retainers to speak of.

In truth, he signed up for this mission because he'd heard rumors among the other Telvanni about what Rerim has accomplished. Mavis is, put simply, curious about these Dwemer-like clockwork objects the rumors speak of. He wants to find out more... and perhaps learn how ot harness the technology for himself. Not that he's going to tell his companions that.


--------------------------


The first time the mechanical voice rolled over the ship, a robed Dunmer in one of the small cabins beneath the deck barely flinched. He was bent over his journal, revising his notes. A globe of soft green light bobbed near his elbow. He'd noted an interesting new plant among the wilds when his transport had stopped in Tel Branora last week. Perhaps it had been brought from the mainland. He meticulously studied the leaf he'd pressed and dried between the pages of his leather-bound tome, sketching it as accurately as possible for later identification.

As the mechanical voice sounded again, the Dunmer looked up in annoyance. "Theatrics," he grumbled, touching up the last of his drawing and closing the tome with a sigh. He stood up and started gathering his things with a put-upon air, his fine robes moving easily around him. He suspected their target had used some sort of voice projection, possiby by means of a Sound spell, although he knew no spell that would distort it in such away. But he wasn't particularly worried, whatever it was. He was a Telvanni, so he considered himself ready for anything.

Once he'd gathered his meager posessions, he dismissed his light spell and wandered up toward the deck to see what the fuss was about.

When he emerged, he was momentarily transfixed by what he saw. While he'd been poring over his studies below deck, it seemed they'd reached their destination. The Telvanni gazed upon the isle in fascination. As his eyes shifted and fell upon the mechanical bird, they widened in sheer amazement. Immediately, he yanked his notes and quill out of his bag and jotted down all the observations he could on the wondrous creation, completely disregarding all the lesser beings currently milling around the deck.

Could talk about i now, but i honestly have no idea how many characters there are until Atomic updates the OP.

EDIT: Nice to see you back Bsparrow.

Great to have you here, Sparrow! I take it your character is the arrogant type, snooty? If so I think out characters could possibly mix well Except your guy uses magic <_< Hehehe

Tey-Enus stared up at the strange bird."Nothing special." he thought to himself even though hes never seen anything like it before, but it was calming for him anyway.He just sat back and relaxed watching the others on the deck talk and argue and captian storm in his cabin." This captian is a fool. They should of picked someone who knows what their doing, but atleast were going to land soon." He said in relativly casual tone and ended it with his smile. He was still eager to land and was glad they finaly made a choice and stoped complaining.

Afterwards, he looked over the rest of the group, trying to see who to trust. They seemed fairly capable and ready, just not thery trustworthy. He'll have to remember that.

Edit OOC: A short post, I'm just wating for the real thread to start.

OOC: Ah, well I suppose in that case I'll just post up this character, yet again. How many times have I used him, I wonder... Regardless, tell me of any errors and I'll correct them.

Name: Orson Ashcroft
Race: Breton
Gender: Male
Age: 37
Sign: The Lord
Legion Rank: Knight Bachelor

Class name: Legion Agent
Class skills: Destruction, Blade, Heavy Armor, Tracking, Poisons, Interrogations, Hand-to-Hand
Class description: A Legion Agent is the right hand of any powerful member of the Imperial Legion. They take high profile missions that no ordinary soldier could be expected to survive, but unlike the Blades, they serve the Elder Council and serve in the open, rather than in the shadows as spies. This makes them obvious targets, and their causality rate is usually high. It takes a special kind of person to be an Agent, and they are not to be crossed.

Physical Description: He has light brown hair that is slicked back, with a small portion hanging forward over his right eye. His eyes are equally brown, and have dark bags underneath. He had a semi-thick beard and gaunt cheeks. He's fairly muscular, as his position in the Legion would suggest, and is more than capable of some heavy lifting if need be, but presents that aura of nobility that would make people assume he would never sink that low. He has a thin, faded scar on his right cheek and another crossing his abdomen, which is not faded. Overall, he looked to be a very serious and driven man, not one to joke with.

Mental Description: Orson often acts like a man possessed. He was follow any order, no matter what it is, to the letter. He acts only with a singular purpose in mind, and while he is more than capable of deception, he will only do so to help accomplish his mission. Despite his rank, he is not a particularly effective leader, preferring to take orders rather than give them. That said, in times of crises, he is perfectly capable of taking charge.

If necessary, he will not hesitate to give his life or the lives of others for the mission and the overarching objective. Anything that gets in the way of that has no chance of living in his eyes. He's extremely cold and unfriendly for the most part, though those that have served for long periods of time know him better than most, and he may act almost friendly with them in times of ease. Once danger becomes apparent however, all pretenses of friendliness drop, and he becomes nothing more than another soldier in the crowd.

He feels that he has no time for relaxation, and is so driven is his objectives that he may go without sleep for days at a time while he works. Any attempts at helping him with this issue is usually met with passive hostility, which is to say that he won't physically lash out for interruptions.

Armor/Clothing: He has a special set of Legion armor from Morrowind, rather than the type commonly used in Cyrodiil. It was a gift from his wife, who was the daughter of a rich merchant. It's a set of silver armor, or rather would could be made from silver. The helmet and cuirass, specifically. The rest is a polished steel, though still of the Morrowind variety. The armor isn't terribly practical, and while being slightly lighter, it's also more fragile than the standard armor, and can't withstand significant force as well as steel.

Underneath it is a regular tunic and pants, both a light blue. It shows beneath his armor in places, giving it a bit more color than the Legionnaire standard of a dull gray. This tends to make him stand out.

Weapons: Similar to his armor, his sword is silver and made specially in Morrowind. The sword is a point of curiosity to most Legionnaires around him, as it's far from typical. The http://www.georgehernandez.com/h/xMartialArts/Media/Swords/scimitar.jpg is kept sharp at all times, and has seen heavy use by Orson over the years.

Miscellaneous Possessions: He carries three powerful healing potions on his belt, and one vial that is a poison, but looks identical to the potions. In addition, he has a book he carries around inside his tunic. Some believe it to be a diary, but Orson is the only one that knows the contents.

Miscellaneous Information: Orson fears very little, but has recurring nightmares every night that plague his sleep. One thing he is terrified of is the undead, specifically zombies, due to an unfortunate incident. He also refused to eat cheese, and becomes paranoid around large birds.

Bio: Orson grew up in the Imperial City and enlisted in the Legion as soon as he came of age. He didn't rise through the ranks very fast at first, and suffered five years as a trooper before meeting a man named Lucius and receiving a promotion alongside him after a daring feat of valor. He refuses to talk about said feat. Several years after the promotion found him married to a young woman named Monica, whom he loved dearly. She was the gem of his life, and he was obsessed, bordering on paranoid with her safety.

His paranoia was proved justified in the worst way when, after finishing a particular mission with Lucius, Monica was assassinated. Someone had shot a crossbow at him, but missed and hit her instead. Though not killed by the shot, the poison on the tip insured a long and painful death. Orson was sent spiraling into a deep depression, barely registering what was going on around him.

He eventually recovered, after the death of Lucius, but was never the same again. He radiated a sense of danger, and everyone was careful to avoid him, fearful that he might snap. He is often sent on missions with high death rates, as he has little value for his own life, but still maintains a fierce sense of loyalty. He's the personal hand of a specific commander, who sent him to board a boat in Morrowind...

Continuing OOC: Hope that wasn't too long. I like this character. And I'd also like to point something out, as I've gotten this comment, that my character is not emo, he's merely rude. He's quite capable of social interaction.

Oh yes, and welcome back BSparrow!