THE DATE IS 1E 2200

The Thrassarian plague has just hit Tamriel. The populace, completely unexpectant of such a horrific event, are decimated. Over half of the population are obliterated. People lock themselves within their homes, boarding them inside. The streets lay deserted and misty with exception to the giant black "corpse carts" piled high with the diseased remains of both men and mer. Gaunt black robed Imperial "Inspectors" search houses for traces of the infected before dragging them out of their own homes and executing them in the street to stop the deadly contagion from spreading. The sky seems forever gray, and the land in shrouded with fear. It is an epidemic of which the likes have never been seen before, and it has the officials squirming in their seats.

The High Elf of Summerset suspect the Sloads are behind the ordeal. Not far off from their homeland, the noble Altmer know that the repulsive race of slug-men are keen practitioners of necromancy. A malicious and vengeful people, the Sload inhabit the bitter and blackened isles of Thras, a despicable and hostile kingdom of corral islands and desolate reef's surrounded by malicious sea. Dark waves crash upon the land angrily whilst gusts of forceful wind blow any nearby ships into the jagged and bloodied rocks. Little is known of these evil landmasse's , but the people of Tamriel are desperate. The plague has done enough damage already, and the Sload people must be punished before they can tamper in the dark arts even further and unleash even more chaos.

Bendu Olo is the current reigning colovian king of Anvil, and has gathered a gigantic fleet of naval battleships and frigates for a full on assault in which the Sloads would surely suffer heavy casualty, but the careful king does not want to risk losing too many good men. He wants the area surveyed to indeed confirm if there is a large presence of the necromantic slugs on the isles, and if the area is calm enough to send the ships in. Thus he has amassed a small team of able folk to scout the area out, going in under cover of darkness and scoping out good places for the ships to make their landing , aswell as gather other vial intel that would prove valuable in the operation.

The Seabreaker sets sail early in the morning from the port of Anvil, and travels for many weeks through harsh weather before finally sighting what seems to be a series of reef's in the distance. A small and nimble vessel, it carries on it six agents. Things however, start taking a turn for the worse as day becomes night...

The sea crashes as massive bleak waves batter the small ship to and fro. Lightning rages overhead as claps of thunder deliver harsh rains upon the crew of the vessel. The sky is black as the plague itself, and visibility is almost nill. The storm rages on as the ship is svcked towards the islands of Thras, the crew battling for desperate control of the boat to no avail. The ships nears the western coast of a small island at alarming speed, and it becomes clear that this is the Seabreakers last journey. The captain gives the order to abandon ship as the vessel approaches the jagged and welcoming rocks that lay scattered on the rocky wall of the reef.....

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And thus you are thrown right into the action. You are one of these six agents sent to survey the islands of Thras, a series of desolate landmasses ruled over by the necromantic Sloads. You know your fellow agents well enough to call them by name, but little bonding has formed between other members of your team as this was to be a strictly professional military operation....

That all seems to of gone out the window now. The RP begins just as the Seabreaker makes contact with the jagged rocks of the reef, shattering it to splinters. You are about to embark on a brutal tale of survival in this unwelcoming land. Food and water are scarce, as are weapons and spirits. You will have to form a bond with your fellow stranded men to survive, both physically, and mentally. Thras is a hostile place, and not all of you may make it out alive.

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RULES

Now, if you haven't guessed already from the somewhat long opening prologue and the fact only Ten will feature in this RP ( plus me ), this paticular roleplay I would rather reserve for the more "hardcoe" or "devoted" members of the fan fiction board. Ten character slots are not alot to fill, and I would rather have these spots filled by players with prior experience with RP's. Thus, I may reject some character sheets. Please understand that this is not a way of saying "no your not experienced enough now GTFO", but rather me being an elitist nitpicker. Its really only bad spelling that gets me down, so it shouldnt be a problem anyway.

With that in mind, here are the rules :

1. Decent spelling and Grammar is vital
2. Please do add some substance to your posts . No one or two lined posts.
3. No flaming or character controlling without said characters consent.
4. Keep OOC's realistic please. OOC's at the beginning of every post are unneccesary.
5. Romance is aloud, but nothing tasteless or explicit.
6. Violence on the other hand, go nuts. Your fighting for your survival so make it as gritty and dirty as possible
7. Any other basic common knowledge of may of missed.
8. Enjoy!
9. Oh and use the character sheet I have provided.
10. Oh! And Post the sheets to me for approval first, obviously!

The Character Sheet

Name:
Nicknames: ( if any )
Age:
Race:
Gender:

Physical Description: ( Eyes, hair, build, tone, any other notable marks/scars/tattoo's aswell as anything else )

Mental Description: ( How does your character think? )

Armor: ( Your main "kit" apparel-wise. Bear in mind the crash has come unexpected and thus you wont have too much hefty gear on. A studded jerkin maybe, but no daedric! This is a survival themed RP )

Clothing: ( What you wear under your armor. You may have an extra pair of boots or gloves also, or you may wear only clothing and no armor at all. Up to you, but keep it realistic )

Weapon/s : ( Keep it basic people, youll be scavenging most of the good stuff )
Miscellany : ( What else you keep in your backpack )

Bio : ( keep it brief )
Things of note: ( Anything else you may want to add. Fears? Traits? Quirks? Specialties? )

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My Character

Name: Clayton Hearst
Nicknames: Scrap, Clay, "The Hearst"
Age: 47
Race: Imperial
Gender: Male

Physical Description: A reasonabley burly man, Hearst is muscular, but not by too much. He is of average height and sports a reasonably fit physique. He sports a broad chin and somewhat large nose with a wide grinning mouth. His eyes are small in comparison to the rest of his facial features, and he has luminous green eyes that seem to pierce those he looks at. His hair is greased back in a gentleman-like fashion , coloured black, with grey hair down by his ears. he has a decidedly "french" looking moustache...two thin toothpick-like strips angled just below his nose. He has an overall gruffled and earthy look about him, mainly owing to his bristley stubble.

Mental Description: A unexceptional "by the book" man. Clayton just gets the job done as he was trained to do. He tries to keep things in order when he can and seems to have a voice of reason with him. He tries to avoid situations whenever possible but when things get hairy he can show a brutal and angrier side to him. He is overall respectable, dependable, and friendly to others.

Armor: Hearsts only real armor is a pair of black leather boot's with mithril spurs on them, and a brown leather vest with copper buckles, roughly sown together in parts. Other then that, he managed to scavenge little from his quarters before the ship amde impact with the reef.

Clothing: Under his vest, Hearst wears an orange cotton shirt, simple and practical, aswell as standard tan linen pants. He also wears black fingerless leather gloves and a rather brown leather belt that runs diagonally from his shoulder across his chest. His gear has a weathered but reliable look to it.

Weapon/s : Usually, Clayton carries a fine silver shortsword and bow with him at all times. However, he could scrounge up little more then a slightly blunted iron machete before impact. Its sheathed onto his "chest belt".

Miscellany : Items basically that are in Claytons pockets. One small potion of healing, scarcely bigger then a shot glass...a box of tinder with flint, and a small silver pocket-knife in a smart black sheathe.

Bio : Hearst is by no means a team leader or exceptional soldier. A lowly corporal in Anvils ranger corps. , Clayton did little work military-wise. With things quitened down with the Plague, conflict was a small problem as most people were either dead or dying in their homes. Instead, he took to living in a small shack outside the city walls, hunting his own food and surviving by himself. It was only when an Anvil official came knocking on his door and told him he was called upon to serve his kingdom that he took his dusty sword from off his fireplace mantle and "geared up" again. It still perplexes him why the king chose him over more capable soldiers.

Things of note: Hearst is a keen tracker and bushman. He can make a wide variety of traps from mere sticks and rocks and also knows basic first aid. He is an average shot with a ranged weapon and hits pretty slow with a melee one, but what he lacks in agility he makes up for in being a strong person capable of heavy lifting or climbing. He got pretty good eyesight too.

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CHARACTERS :
( this space will be filled as our places fill up )

1. Clayton Hearst ~ Atomic

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2.

Darkom

Name: Farnet
Age: 29
Race: Redguard
Gender: Male

Class: Sailor/Scout
Skills: Athletics, Alchemy, Sneak, Hand to Hand, Light Armor, Sailing, Reading Maps, Tying Knots, and Making Fire.

Physical Description: Farnet has brown eyes, black cropped hair, and an average amount of muscle, not skinny or large, but a good balance for his scouting/sailing career. His wrists are scarred and his hands are callused from rigging ropes and other jobs associated with sailing.

Mental Description: A very professional man, he has a very dry sense of humor. He rarely socializes, but loves his friends and family deeply, and is very faithful and trustworthy as he does not want to lose the few friends he has. His main drive is money to support his still growing family. He is away for months at a time, and spends almost every minute at home with his wife and daughter.

Armor: Was wearing no armor at the time of the crash.

Clothing: Upon the crash landing at Thras, he was wearing a brown cotton shirt and rough tan pants. He was also without shoes.

Weapon/s : None

Miscellany : He grabbed a small bag containing a few articles of clothing, a coil of rope, and a few pieces of food. He also has with him a small locket containing the painted image of his wife and daughter around his neck.

Bio : Nothing extraordinary about his past, he grew up in Rihad, Hammerfell. His father was also a sailor, and was away for years at a time, something Farnet vowed never to do to his family (the longest time he has ever been at sea is two months) His mother lamented his absence, and grew bitter. Him declaring he was moving the family to Anvi was the last straw for Farnet's mother, as she stayed in Rihad with Farnet's brother. Farnet grew up in Anvil, apprenticing to a ship captain until he became an advlt. He met his wife in a tavern after returning from a long voyage out to sea.

Things of note: His biggest fear is his wife leaving him or his children growing up without knowing their father. He commonly holds on to his locket when afraid or homesick. He is frequently victim to nightmares, and does not sleep well.

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3.

HolyWalrus

Name: Omas Chaldrego
Nicknames: Oma Socha Rego
Age:43
Race: Nord
Gender: Male

Physical Description: Socha has medium length corn rows, streaking down the back of his head. His eyes are a simple dark brown color, very unremarkable. Omas is a very wide man, very muscular. He stands at 5'8, but if he stood straight up he would be 6'1. A hideous scar marks the right side of his face where a swinging spiked club ripped off part of his cheek. Small gold stud earrings dot 3 places on each of his ears. He has an almost ogreish look to him.

Mental Description: Omas is a very, very simple man and is very hard to surprise. It almost seems as if he is living in his own little world. At best, he is distant, but guarding. At worst he is a dribbling buffoon. When the fighting gets tough, though, you could always count on this huge Nord to save your arses. His simple ways sometimes draws pity from the other men, but he doesn't understand what they're talking about when they confront him about it. He thinks he is perfectly normal.

Armor: Only real armor is a heavy leather overcoak.

Clothing: Under the leather is a huge white undershirt, and below it large black slacks. Dirty brown boots cover his legs up to beneath his knees.

Weapons : An oak crossbow with thirteen bolts.

Miscellany : Two rings lined with gems were upon his right hand, one on his left. A flask of heavy ale sloshes attached to his belt. A small compass.

Bio : Was raised by Khajiits in the Waterfront. Then he joined the Legion and was sent to Anvil. No unusual things mark his life until now.

Things of note: The Nord can be a very loud man when drunk, but usually is very quiet and friendly. Some of the men joke about him, others sympathize. Some think him insane. The Nord has very good reflexes even though he appears to be constantly daydreaming.

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4.

Jonasvault

Name: Vistha-Kai
Nicknames: Kai
Age: 32
Race: Argonian
Gender: Male

Physical Description: His eyes are a reddish color with the same vertical pupils as any other Argonian. His scales are a light shade of green on his shoulders and legs, but on his back it is a deep blood-Red color. On his head he has a two webbed frills stretching from forehead to the back of his neck. On his back, each scale has a Daedric symbol on it, if you read it from top to bottom, it spells out something rather disturbing...

Mental Description: Vistha-Kai is not the warmest Argonian, though he will tolerate and even be friendly to those he holds dear. To most, he comes off as simply another cold-blooded Lizard-folk. He was very fond of the Hist when he was young, which clouded his mind, and to this day it effects him by giving him flashbacks, and on rare occasions sending him into a frenzy, or giving him horrid hallucinations.

Armor: He wears a simple thick leather curaiss studded with bronze, on his chest. On his legs he wears basically the same thing. On his left arm he wears an Iron pauldron and a leather vambrace. On his right arm he simply wears a Banded leather vambrace that goes from elbow to the knuckles on his hand.

Clothing: Underneath his leather curaiss he wears a a long thick robe (much like a Heretics Robe from Shivering Isles, can't find a damn screenshot), he then wears fingerless cloth gloves on each hand. He wears a large leather belt around his robe.

Weapon/s : A basic 4 ft wooden Javelin, a wooden shortbow with 16 arrows, and a small curved Iron short-sword

Miscellany : a small sack of Scrib Jerky, a vial of Hist sap, a small bottle of wine, a sharpening stone, and a thick bedroll strapped to his belt.

Bio : Vistha-Kai was born in Blackmarsh near the Morrowind borders, even at just the age of a hatchling he knew what guerrilla warfare was. As he got older, his tribe made him and some of the other males, warriors. He fought slavers for most of his young life before getting involved with the Twin Lamps. Spiriting away slaves and fighting in guerrilla warfare made him an expert in stealth and sabotage.

He was eventually captured, but then set free due to the Sload plague crisis. He was signed on for the expedition into Thras because he wanted to get out of Tamriel, and also to test his abilities.

Things of note:

-Good with tracking, even in the waters and reefs.
-Proficient with a bow, also with javelins.
-Has a fear of birds, he doesn't know why, it may be from a bad Hist trip.
-Can camouflage and ambush excellently, in any environment

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5. open
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10. open



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I think thats all, Im dead tired here and will post an IC tommorow. Remember, Post sheets to me before listing them . I will fix any grammatical or spelling errors tommorow morning.

OOC : Righto! New post for the new day. It looks like we have a couple of people joined up now, So I will post an IC Four spots left for joiners folks.

IC :

The mind-tearing shriek of wood on rock shattered Clayton's hearing as the Seabreaker pounded into the sharp rocks with devastating speed. Splinters, glass, and flesh flew everywhere as the small vessel was torn to shreds by the brutal reef, Clayton only having barely enough time to grab his basic kit and bail out. He leapt desperately from the ship, his mind racing with adrenalin and fear.

He was greeted by the coldest water he had ever felt before, landing with a pathetic splash. The thick salty water clogged his throat as he swam upwards, pushing past what looked like a battered bronze telescope and a soaked bedspread. The water stung his eyes and mouth, and he found it hard to make out essentially anything. The night was black, lighted only by the occassional flash of lightning, and the pure chaos of the situation only worsened things.

He did however, spot what looked like a thin strip of beach beside the rocks that had so cruelly devoured the ship, so with all his strength...he pushed on towards it. The current was fierce, and on more then a few occassions he was battered into small surrounding rocks or debris, but eventually he made it to the beach, soaked and bruised.

Rain pounded down torrentially as the broken man dragged himself up onto the beach head. It was by no means pleasant, on the contrary...the beach was mostly made up of rock and pebble. But it would have to suffice. Finding an large angled rock off the ground that would provide suitable shelter, Clayton pulled himself under it before sitting up and almost fainting with exhaustion.

He looked up and around, spotting no other traces of survivors to the wreck. Lost on this god-forsaken rock with no men...perhaps I would of been better off letting the sea take me....

Name: Vistha-Kai
Nicknames: Kai
Age: 32
Race: Argonian
Gender: Male

Physical Description: His eyes are a reddish color with the same vertical pupils as any other Argonian. His scales are a light shade of green on his shoulders and legs, but on his back it is a deep blood-Red color. On his head he has a two webbed frills stretching from forehead to the back of his neck. On his back, each scale has a Daedric symbol on it, if you read it from top to bottom, it spells out something rather disturbing...

Mental Description: Vistha-Kai is not the warmest Argonian, though he will tolerate and even be friendly to those he holds dear. To most, he comes off as simply another cold-blooded Lizard-folk. He was very fond of the Hist when he was young, which clouded his mind, and to this day it effects him by giving him flashbacks, and on rare occasions sending him into a frenzy, or giving him horrid hallucinations.

Armor: He wears a simple thick leather curaiss studded with bronze, on his chest. On his legs he wears basically the same thing. On his left arm he wears an Iron pauldron and a leather vambrace. On his right arm he simply wears a Banded leather vambrace that goes from elbow to the knuckles on his hand.

Clothing: Underneath his leather curaiss he wears a a long thick robe (much like a Heretics Robe from Shivering Isles, can't find a damn screenshot), he then wears fingerless cloth gloves on each hand. He wears a large leather belt around his robe.

Weapon/s : A basic 4 ft wooden Javelin, a wooden shortbow with 16 arrows, and a small curved Iron short-sword
Miscellany : a small sack of Scrib Jerky, a vial of Hist sap, a small bottle of wine, a sharpening stone, and a thick bedroll strapped to his belt.

Bio : Vistha-Kai was born in Blackmarsh near the Morrowind borders, even at just the age of a hatchling he knew what guerrilla warfare was. As he got older, his tribe made him and some of the other males, warriors. He fought slavers for most of his young life before getting involved with the Twin Lamps. Spiriting away slaves and fighting in guerrilla warfare made him an expert in stealth and sabotage.

He was eventually captured, but then set free due to the Sload plague crisis. He was signed on for the expedition into Thras because he wanted to get out of Tamriel, and also to test his abilities.

Things of note:

-Good with tracking, even in the waters and reefs.
-Proficient with a bow, also with javelins.
-Has a fear of birds, he doesn't know why, it may be from a bad Hist trip.
-Can camouflage and ambush excellently, in any environment.

IC:

Vistha-Kai was asleep when he heard a loud roar, the crackle of lightning, and the distinct sharp crunch of a mast snapping like a twig. Water was rushing into his small cabin on the bottom deck of the Seabreaker at a frightening rate. The Argonian quickly grabbed his pack from under his bed, then grabbed his spear. Vistha-Kai climbed the stairs to the top deck.

It was pouring rain, and lightning flashed every few seconds. The ship was being ripped to pieces by the storm. He had to make a quick decision, as if he had any other. With a long leap, he dove headlong into the torrent of black swells. Vistha had fallen asleep fully clothed, making it harder then ever to swim, added on by the weight of his now wet pack.

Coming up for air and getting battered by rain, the Argonian saw a long strip of unmistakable land. It was a nice time to be a born swimmer, as Vistha swam further and further. He was worn out by the time he hit a rock, he reached forward, he felt the coral reef and rock that was exposed. He climbed onto the strip of land and ran to the nearest cover he could see, which was a small exposed cave.

To his immediate surprise, there was another inside, an Imperial. "Are you alright!" yelled the Argonian, trying to raise his voice above the roar of the storm.

"Ruhh?" stammered the big Nord. He brayed in confusion as it felt as if the boat itself was being rent asunder. With a terrible realization, he smashed through his door and stomped on one of the portside windows, squeezing himself through the smaller space to escape the crashing ship.

He splashed into the water with a thunder-like clapping sound, he surfaced quickly. Gasping for air, he saw two figures on the shore. "Raaah!" shouted Omas, struggling desperately against the current.

After five minutes that seemed like an eternity, he dragged himself ashore. The rocks and pebbles cut him. Thousands of tiny pebbles embedded themselves into his rough skin. Omas pushed through the pain, trying to find one of his brothers.

After a while of searching he decided to rest in a small cave he had spotted. "Brudders!" shouted the huge man. He rushed towards the Argonian and the Imperial, wrapping them both in a massive bear hug. After, he retreated to the side of the cave and waited for the men to talk, because he had no idea what to talk about.

IC : I guess that means Ill post up the character sheets

Hearst looked up at the Argonian. "Im fine, just...well. Exhausted" . His mind was still numb from the amount of sheer devastation that he had lay witness to , and all in the mere timespan of a few minutes. One minute he was feeling badly seasick in his cabin, the next he was swimming for his life in icy cold waters. He still hadn't gotten over it.

"Still, it's a pleasant suprise to see there are other survivors" he stated with a tired smile, rubbing his forehead with his gloved hand. "I dont think many made it".

No sooner had he finished his sentence had a throaty roar boomed out over the sound of the crashing waves. Clayton could see a brute of a man swimming up towards him, and for a second, he thought it was a Sload itself charging them ready to attack. The lumbering Nord tore out of the crashing waves like a crazed behemoth before almost crushing him in a tight Bear grip. "Alright!...alright!" he said through clenched teeth, begging him to release his squeeze.

The thunder raged on as the waves crashed against the beach-head, the ship still in its death throes. Most of it was still intact, and Clayton could only hope that more survivors would luckily scramble out of the deadly waves and join him. He really wanted to leave this bitter cold rockmass, to hide in some cave and start up a fire if he could manage...but he knew that any other survivors might miss him if he did so.

"Listen, we need to wait" he told his other two survivors. "Just for a while, to see if anyone else made it"

OOC : I have increased the amount of players being taken in from 4 spots left to 6. This is a more well rounded amount and will hopefully attract some more RP'ers.

OOC: Okay then, let's roll If the rest of you don't mind, I won't be joining you for a bit. Atomic already agreed.

IC: Farnet was lying awake in his hammock, staring at his wife's image in the locket round his neck. Just as started to drift off into the home sick memories of a sailor, Farnet felt the boat suddenly lurch, accompanied by a horrible snapping noise. The Redguard man sat up in his hammock. 'I must be dreaming. Was that sound the shi-' Farnet's thoughts were interrupted by another snapping noise, as he felt the boat begin to fall slowly sideways.

'Talos! The ship is sinking!' Farnet fell out the hammock, his normally dull eyes wide with fear. He picked himself up in a hurry, shouting as he grabbed his meager bag of supplies "Abandon ship! We're sinking!"

The sailor sprinted for the ladder to the deck, waking other sailors as he went. As he threw the hatch open, he heard shouts of panic from below. Their cries were soon lost in the torrential wind and rain that hammered the boat. Farnet could tell the bow of the ship was up, out of the water, having crashed into land of some kind. The starboard side was also tipping down to the dark water.

Ropes were snapping all around him, the sails having been left to the wind after the original crash. A few other sailors were scrambling about on the deck; the captain was still standing at the helm, shouting the desperate order to abandon ship. Many of the men were too happy to oblige, diving off the sides into the water below.

Farnet had always followed the captain's orders; he prayed to the gods he knew as he prepared to jump. The Redguard looked over the balcony of the small vessel, his fear growing with every passing breath. He stood there, frozen with fear, ignoring the howls of the wind, the grating sounds that the boat was still making on the rocks, and the cries of his fellow sailors. His last thought was of his daughter's face as a rope snapped, causing one of the booms that held the sails to come straight towards him. The large wooden pole hit him in the back as it swung across the ship, knocking the wind out of him and throwing him off the ship into the cruel waters below.

He struck the frothing water headfirst, the cold numbing his limbs and slowing his thought. As he lost consciousness, he had the slightest sensation of floating. His last sight was a blurry image of a large piece of ship-hull, broken off into the water and now floating to the top, mercifully carrying Farnet with it to the surface.