Fire and Snowfall RP: IC Thread

Post » Fri Jan 18, 2013 9:33 pm

Fire and Snowfall

(the Unofficial Sequel to Crimson Snow)

NO SPOTS REMAINING


With the death of High King Torygg, outright Civil War in Skyrim is now a certainty. News that Ulfric Stormcloak had been captured was swiftly replaced with that of the town of Helgen being razed...by a Dragon. The Legion is mobilising, the Stormcloaks are raising their banners...and across Skyrim, whispers and rumours of 'The Dragonborn' begin to surface from myth and legend.

All of this is of little comfort to a small band of legionnaires, auxiliaries and rag-tags trying to make their way across Skyrim's wilderness. Brought together by the Legion, they are sent to perform the tasks too dangerous, too important (or not important enough) for Tullius to have traditional legionnaires perform. Their unit has no name and no proud history other than that which its members bring with it. Some have joined willingly, others had little choice. For some, it is the chance to redeem themselves for past wrongs, and for others it is just another chance to earn some coin.

Their mission; to win hearths for the Imperial flag by aiding the people of Skyrim in any way they can, against any menace. Wandering the wilds of Skyrim, they deal with problems others cannot (or will not); whether 'simply' wild beasts and attacks from rebels and bandits, or the threat of lesser known but no less deadly creatures and monsters, and especially the threat of Stormcloaks. Survivors of ambushes, Stormcloak victims and maybe even some who lived through Helgen, even the melting snow on the plains helps little. For everywhere they go, Stormcloak eyes search for them. And if dragons truly are coming back, even the sky may hold danger...











Rules

1) Post length: At least three paragraphs of decent writing (A sentence is not a paragraph, though starting a new line for dialogue is accepted). This is in an attempt to prevent the occurrence of “conversation posts”:

Player 1 posts a line of dialogue and brief description

Player 2 replies to line of dialogue

Player 1 replies with two lines

Player 2 replies with two lines

Player 1 replies with two lines

etc


Please don’t do this. Not only does this make it hard to keep track of everything that’s going on but it means that a thread reaches its 200 post limit earlier. Try to let everyone get a post in before putting up your next one. That way everyone gets a chance to react to an

I’m sorry if that sounds snobbish, but I’ve found it can make keeping track of an RP very difficult. If you don’t feel that you can do this, then this RP probably isn’t for you. (Basically, follow the rules of “So you think you can RP” and you’ll do fine)

2) No God-moding or Character controlling (kind of a no brainer)

2.1) No vamps or were-characters, or dragonborns (again, for fairness)

3) No uber weapons/armour (ideally steel or lower, but dwarven/elven is acceptable)

4) Romance is fine, but no bonking.

5) No out of character arguments or deliberate slander. Yes, there are times where we are going to disagree, but keep it civil.

6) Historical Accuracy: Yes, the Imperial Legion is based on the Romans. But they AREN’T Romans. Try not to get bogged down trying to be historically accurate. (Do be realistic however).

7) In game mechanics: don’t use them. That includes instant healing potions, carrying a thousand arrows, eating six apples to regain health… you get the idea.

8) HAVE FUN :smile: That's why we're here.

Character sheet (Don’t be afraid to be detailed)

Name:
Age:
Gender:
Race:

Appearance:

Personality: (Please attempt from putting “Shown in RP”. That doesn’t tell us anything. Give us at least some indication of what they’re like.)

Skills (max of ten, can include non-game skills):

Weapons, Armour and Other gear:

History: (Include why they’re part of the group)

Current Sheets


Tom (GM)
Spoiler

Name: Caradin Ironspike
Gender: Male
Age: 42
Race: Nord
Born: 4E 158

Appearance: 6’3 and solidly built with scars on his arms and chest. He has black hair that is long and thick, kept from his face with two braids, and a short beard. His eyes are deep blue. He has heavy brows and a largish nose. He has the noble look about him, but also weary.

Personality: Caradin is occasionally hot-headed, with a dead hatred for the Thalmor and the Dominion. At the same time, he bares ill will towards the Reachmen of High Rock, and the Stormcloaks; the former for how they treated the local Nords in their uprising, and the latter for causing disunity within the Empire. He is wary of outsiders, but incredibly loyal to those who he calls friend. He is not easily impressed. Most of all however, his attitude is dour and grim. Having seen so many die fighting the Dominion, for seemingly no cause, has made him bitter towards the Empire. That said, he still remains loyal in the hopes that one day the Empire will regroup and renew the fight against the Dominion.

Skills:

- battle strategy (especially guerrilla warfare)
- One handed (mainly swords, but also handy with an axe)
- block (shield)
- hunting and tracking
- smithing
- Wilderness survival
- heavy armour
- speech
- endurance

Weapons, Armour and Other gear:
- elven broadsword
- steel axe
- octagonal shield (made of steel and wood)
- steel Nordic bracers and cuffed boots, a sleeveless shirt of chainmail and plate cuirass worn under a blue fur-trimmed surcoat, scale pauldrons/sleeves, a black cloak with wolf pelt hood
- a silver chain with the point of an iron fire poker
- a small pack of supplies, such as a few poultices, rope, bandages, a few days worth of food, flint, and a waterskin

History:
Caradin’s father, Haedrian, was a mighty Nordic warrior who lived in County Skingrad, but originally lived in Eastmarch. He met a woman one night named Ayla and bedded her. When she fell pregnant, Haedrian asked her father for her hand, so that her honour may yet remain intact. But her father refused, and would not give his consent. So Haedrian and Ayla eloped and moved as far away as possible, settling in a small village in County Skingrad. Caradin was the result of their union. He learned to become a smith, like his father, also learning the basics of combat. However, things took a turn for the worst with the invasion of the Aldmeri Dominion and the outbreak of the Great War.

Skingrad soon fell to invaders, and from there the army continued a devastating rampage of destruction, with many raiding parties sent ahead of the army to torch the countryside. Caradin’s village was one of the last to fall. A small detachment of Nordic legionnaires (including one Aerys Borne) had been despatched in the area to halt, or at least delay the advance of the Aldmeri troops to allow more time for reinforcements to arrive. The aid of the legionnaires however did little to prevent Haedrian dying while defending his family. Despite being only fifteen years old Caradin joined the fight, half act of wild vengeance, half out of survival, and managed to survive the battle, committing a great act of valour that is seldom spoken of, involving the defeat of a mighty Aldmeri warlock. The legionnaires were able to defeat the Dominion raid, but the village was destroyed and their numbers were reduced to a pitiful count. The body of Caradin’s mother was never found.

From that day on, Caradin served the legion as a smith until the Great War ended. He left the legion’s service, and returned to Skyrim, needing a change of scene from the horrors of his youth. He made a living by offering his skills as a trapper and hunter. This soon expanded into mercenary work. It is for this reason that he finds himself leader of the rag-tag group of warriors, legionnaires and others, as he knows Skyrim’s landscape and people better than any other.


Spoiler


Name: Aerys Borne
Gender: Male
Age: 49 years
Race: Nord
Born: 4E 151

Appearance: Fairly tall, at around 6'1". Ice blue eyes that almost lack colour, and pale blonde hair, curly and cut short, with a slight beard to match. His face looks weather beaten and haggard, but above all - stern. His skin also looks very pale, as though he has spent most of time out of the sunlight, though he is clearly a man of the outdoors.

Personality: Stern, practical and austere. He has a grim sense of humour, and can be very cynical. He's easy to admire and respect, but hard to like and get along with. He's a decent military strategist, mainly in the art of defence, and taciturn. Seldom does he show any sign of compassion or kindness, but is a believer of 'tough love'. He does however, possess a solemn respect of soldiers. His position is difficult; as he isn't strictly a legion officer he can't officially issue commands to troops unless Tullius has given permission (eg, Aerys is sometimes called to serve as a temporary commander in various camps and forts). That said, his reputation tends to precede him, and it is highly advisable to carry out his orders.

Skills:
- Strategist (especially involving a defended position)
- Wilderness survival (particularly in the harsh northern climate)
- One handed (sword)
- Block (shield)
- Standard Legion Training (how to arrange camps, dig trenches, tend to wounds without magic, etc)
- Horseman
- Surprisingly good cook

Weapons, Armour and other gear:
- Steel hand-and-a-half sword
- Steel dirk
- steel shield (round shield)
- Splintmail cuirass, pauldrons and vambraces, all made of steel, unpolished and black in appearance
- sturdy boots
- Long black cloak featuring a wolf pelt hood
- a few poultices, various wild herbs, salted meats and bread

History:
Aerys was nineteen when he enlisted at the start of the great war. Thirty years on, Aerys has long since left official service of the Legion, but still aids them on occasion, delivering messages, taking temporary command of garrisons, even helping out in a few battles. He has a hatred of the Thalmor, but age mellowed him, and now he thinks only of the soldiers who died fighting them. Once General Tullius arrived in Skyrim, Aerys went forth and introduced himself, and a strange kind of friendship grew between them, if it could be called such. Since then, if Tullius has needed a little extra hand, he has called on Aerys, occasionally running garrisons or commanding units, and acting as his unofficial errand boy, performing the tasks no one else is really qualified (or can be bothered) to do. Now, he is part of a band of rag-tag legionnaires, ne'er-do-wells, do-gooders and others, and back in his element. Among friends old and new, as well as a few strange faces, he will prove that his skill in battle has yet to be dampened by age.

His reasons for joining the group:
- after delivering a less than favourable evaluation of a certain Quaestor, Aerys ruffled a few feathers, and Tullius decided that he should be under the radar for a while until the situation cooled down.
- messages and reports upon the situation in Skyrim can be delayed or inaccurate. Aerys is none of those things, and a local to boot.
- Aerys has been wanting to get back in the field for a long time, though he’d never admit that.


Manu
Spoiler


Name: Fara
Gender: Female
Age: 35 (by human standards she looks in her early 20s)
Race: Bosmer
Faction: Legion


Skills – sneak, light armor, marksman, acrobatics
minor skills : survival, armorer, 1-handed blades, alchemy, tavern brawls


General Appearance: Fara is a young bosmer woman of average size, on the slim rather than voluptuous side. Her face is far from outstanding, most would describe her as nice or cute rather than pretty. Her light built is misleading, as years of hunting followed by month of legion training have muscled and toned her frame.

Weapons: bosmeri bone bow - compact but quite powerful, and immune to humidity (Valenwood is a jungle afterall), quality steel saber (a cavalry blade, slightly curved, sharpened on half the blade's back). Quiver of thirty arrows, ten of them are silver-tipped.

Armour/Clothing: Legion leather armor, supplemented with pieces of steel mail and scales, along with whitish fur strips and patches for dissimulation. And an extra fur liner that cost a few wolves and rabbits their lives. Despite a shabby (and completely non-regulation) look, the armor is rather effective and silent, while reasonably comfortable This is supplemented with fur boots and light steel greaves and pauldrons. Over the armor she wears a large hooded cloak of mixed furs, for both warmth and camouflage.

Other Items: small mortar and pestle, hammoc, blankets, utility dagger, folding sapper's tool, first aid kit, a flask of moonshine, a pair of snowshoes

A small alambic hidden in the woods she uses to brew moonshine whenever she gets a leave (or sneaks out for an undeclared one).

Personality: Fara is quite a cynic – her destitute youth didn't leave her much faith in men, mers or beasts and her conscripting didn't help. As she feels having much simply means more to loose and attract trouble, she's just coasting along, fighting boredom with simple (and cheap) fun like carousing on someone else's money when off-duty. She don't cares about the war and isn't interested in becoming an officer. Watching over her own skin is already enough of a pain... Her definitively unmartial attitude make sure she'll raise in rank only through a stroke of luck. But since she's as low in rank as possible and holding one of the the most dangerous and undesirable jobs in the Legion, there's little she can loose beyond her life.

Brief History: Fara was born in a somewhat destitute bosmer family in southern Cyrodill, her parents scraping a living as hunters. She learned the way of the hunt and the bow, but didn't improve her condition much - owing to both being a bosmer after Valenwood parted from the empire and her spendthrift and lazy habits.
She was merely coasting along with that life when a night of drunken revelry suddenly changed her situation : with the fumes of alcohol dissipated, she found she had signed for joining the Legion. With a pair of firm and barely polite soldiers standing ready to enforce the contract by chaining and dragging her if needed....
Dumped in the Skyrim mess after a few month of not exactly relevant training (marching in ranks, using heavy armor, a bit of siegecraft - digging, hauling siege machine parts, that sort of things...), Fara's hunting skills have kept her alive and earned her a a scout affectation..

Her first taste of warfare saw her involved in the cleanup of bandits from an abandonned fort near Solitude. It turned out to the Stormcloaks had astrong party in the place along with the bandits, turning what ought to be a fairly easy mission into a bloodbath which saw the Legion victorious but decimated. Unfortunately for her peace of mind, their commanding officer was amongst the survivors. Which prompted her to ask for a transfer to another unit. Much to her surprise her wish was granted – and surprise gave way to dismay when she learned the oddball unit she was transferred to. Wandering though the frozen countryside with little to no support sounds about as good a way to get killed as a frontal assault on a fort...


Kayle of Whiterun (Co-GM)
Spoiler

Name: Lyria Shadowsong
Gender: Female
Age: 23
Race: Breton
Faction: Imperial


Skills – 10 max – non game skills allowed:
Lyria’s training is all relevant to her occupation. Not one for sneaking about, she prefers Heavy Armour (1) backed up with a sword (2) and a choice of Destruction magic in the other hand (3). She’s also a fairly capable healer (4) although not on the same scale as her offensive magic.
Also, in keeping with her family traditions, she has studied Conjuration and binding magic, but applies it in reverse, using it as a weapon against summoned undead and Daedra (5) (although so far the most she’s had to deal with are mouldering zombies and the odd skeleton, the highest being a summoned Flame Atronach) She is also used to placing wards on weapons and armour, and is still learning more about enchanting (6).
Finally, she is capable of looking after herself for long stints without much in the way of resources, and can cook reasonably well (7/8)

1: Heavy Armour
2: One Handed
3: Destruction
4: Restoration
5: Reverse Conjuration/Banishing
6: Enchanting
7: Survivalist
8: Cook


General Appearance:
Lyria is pale, even for a Breton, paler even than most Nords. Her face is young but also gaunt, giving her a certain rugged ‘handsomeness’ rather than actual beauty. She tends to keep her long, jet black hair braided and curled over right shoulder to keep it out of the way, but when let down it reaches just past her shoulders.

She is also quite tall, at about 5’ 11”, and more solidly built then most women, although not unnaturally muscled. She’s simply toned and tough. Her piercing, ice blue eyes are the final point of note for her appearance.

She talks with a non-descript and precise accent (Precise text-book English to us) and usually quietly. It is not an unpleasant voice, usually soft, but also capable of taking on an edge when she is angry.

Weapons:
-Steel Legion sword
-Steel Dagger

Armour/Clothing:
-Steel Legion Heavy Armour
-Blue Mages Hood
-Steel Imperial Gauntlets
-Steel Imperial Boots

When out of armour Lyria wears a Blue Mages robes.


Other Items:
She wears three pendants around her neck and usually under her armour;
The first is her Shadowsong emblem, a necklace made for her when she became a Battle Mage to mark her as one of the family line
The second is an Amulet of Arkay
The third is an Amulet of Stendarr.
All three are kept on her at all times, and she is very protective of them.
Miq’a, familiar

Personality:
Well aware of her somewhat odd appearance and her job in Skyrim, Lyria tends to be quiet and somewhat self conscious.
Her almost reclusive nature should not be mistaken for cowardice, however; like all of the Shadowsong line she is more than capable of standing up for herself, and can be incredibly stubborn at times. She only remains so on personal opinion or in areas she feels she has the most knowledge, though, as she is more than happy to differ to those with superior knowledge, especially if she can learn from such experience.

Lyria’s family life has lead to her growing a fairly thick skin, meaning she is slow to anger and finds it easier to resist barbed comments. She does, however, possess a temper as fearsome as her father when roused, and she despises the presence of undead or Daedra.

Ultimately, Lyria does what she does because she wants people to be able to live without fear. The rebellion in Skyrim prays on her mind, as brother fighting brother is an idea abhorrent to her philosophies, as does the fact that some see her as a pawn of the likes of the Thalmor or as bad as the monsters she hunts. But she refuses to back down, and will serve the Empire and its people as best she can.


Brief History:
While the Shadowsong history is hard to fully trace, it is a fairly reliable point that they became better known after the Oblivion Crisis. As the Vigilants of Stendarr became more prevelant to combat the undead, supernatural and Daedric threats, a member of the Imperial Battlemages turned his or her (records are unclear) expertise to such threats.

Many years later, the Shadowsong family operate primarily out of the Imperial City. Lyria’s father is relatively well know, having retired to be a Priest of Stendarr in his old age. A man known for his fiery oration and unwavering resolve, it is hardly surprising that Lyria had her families morals and goals hammered into her from a young age. While her mother taught her skills such as survival and cooking techniques when they left the city to gather herbs and other supplies, along with building her strength by giving her heavy bags to carry, her father instilled in her the lessons of her forebears.

Joining the Imperial Mages College at the age of eighteen, Lyria has finally completed her training five years later as a relatively competent mage. Assigned to the Battlemages of the Imperial Legion, much like many of her ancestors, Lyria’s parting gifts from home were her father’s sword, amulets of both Arkay and Stendarr (the family’s chosen Divines) and an amulet made by her father’s own hand as a symbol of her lineage, a rare sign of affection from the old man.

Her first deployment in Skyrim wasn't a roaring success, although it was certainly a crash course in combat and action. While her actions in banishing a Flame Atronach and efforts in combat were well-looked upon, her clash of minds with her direct superior was of more note to the higher ranks. In the end she was transferred (along with one of the Bosmer scouts she served alongside...) to a detachment where it was believed her skillset could be best put to use...

What is that! your mom
Spoiler

Name:Cicero Velarius
Age: 36
Gender:Male
Race:Cyrodiilic Niben.

Appearance: standing at 6'2, quite high for an Imperial, Cicero has the stereotypical Niben appearence. His hair is dark brown and short. His eyes are green. Slightly more built than an average Niben but not as much as an average Colovian

Personality: Cicero is a selfish man. While he may have some pity, he generally only goes to the path that benefits himself. He can be quite intelligent given how Nibeneases focuses allot on education. And he is an alcaholic.

Skills He knows basic restoration spells, not bad but not good with a sword, prefers light armor, and can be persuasive.

Weapons, Armour and Other gear: He tends to wear Light Armor. He doesn't stick with a certain type though.

History: His life can be summed up like this:

He was born in The Imperia City, his family barely made it out of their during the siege of The Great War. (They did not returned their until the war was over.) His father was also an alcaholic and abused his mother frequently. He grew up in a life of crime mostly dealing Skooma and stealing. However, he was arrested for murdering a rival Skooma gang member and was sentenced to life in Prison. (How he avoided execution is a mystery.) After several years in Prison, he was offered to join an indepedent unit in The Imperial Legion for five years. He would mostly travel around Skyrim and winning popular support of The Population. In exchange, he would be released from Prison at some point in his life. Obviously knowing it's either this or rotting in Prison, he willingly accept.

The Pompous Altmer
Spoiler

Name: Lothren
Age: 55
Gender: Male
Race: Bosmer
Date of Birth: 4E 146

Appearance: Lothren stands at 5 feet and 6 inches tall, which is just a little bit above the average height for male Bomer. He's also more built than your average Bosmer too; he has a medium build. He's pretty strong for his size, but not enough to be a rank and file soldier. Lothren has golden hair tied into braids. He has very dark green eyes that almost pierce into you. He has your distinctive Elven features: High cheekbones, narrow jaw line, narrow chin, slit and almond shaped eyes, and full lips.

Personality: As a young Wood Elf, Lothren grew up in the constant fear of his family being purged by the Thalmor. When he was 22, almost his entire family was pruged for reasons unknown. The only family member he had left was his mother. The Thalmor came to him and said that if he didn't join the Dominion army, they would kill his mother and his fiancee. He knew friends that would disappear all of sudden the next day, so he harbored an absolute hatred for the Thalmor and the Dominion.

Skills: Lothren is very skilled with bows of all kinds: Recurve, Long, Short, any bow is comfortable in his hand. He's is very good at tracking wildlife which carried over into tracking as a scout for the Dominion when he was younger. He is adept in sword and shield combat too. He is very agile and fast and is very athletic. He is also skilled in Medium armors. Due to him being a Bosmer and a scout he has developed excellent sneaking skills. He is also good with plants and their properties.

1) Archery
2) Scouting
3) Tracking
4) One - Handed: Swords
5) Block
6) Athletics
7) Acrobatics
8) Medium Armor
9) Sneak
10) Alchemy

Gear and Weapons:

Weapons -
1) Falnesti Recurve Bow and 60 steel arrows
2) Elven Longsword
3) Steel dagger (for skinning deer and wild life)
4) Hide Shield

Armor -
1) Forest green and black thick leather armor (Medium)
2) Cowl (covers his face and topf his head. All you see is his eyes).

Misc-
1) Venison
2) Coin purse with 200 gold
3) Bottle of wine


History: Lothren was born to a fairly well off family in Falnesti, Valenwood. Lothren's father was a nobleman in the Kings court. The prblem was the King was merely a puppet of the Thalmor. His mother was a hunter and she would bring the meats and hides from her kills to the market to sell. When Lothren grew old enough he started to accompany his mother on her hunting outings. Through years of helping his mother hunt, Lothren developed a wide range of skills such as, Marksmanship, Tracking, Scouting, Alchemy (Ingredients were imported from elswhere mind you, due to the Green Pact).

When Lothren went on into his later adolescent years and early twenties, his family started to be the target of the Thalmor purges. He wanted to join a resistance group, but he knew it would just get him killed. He wanted to leave Valenwood and go to someplace like Cyrodiil or Hammerfell, but he didn't want to leave his mother, who was all he had left for family. Then one day a company of Thalmor Justicars, abducted him in the middle of night and brought him to a interrogation room. They gave him an ultimatum, either join the Dominion's Army as a scout and archer or witness the death of your mother and fiancee. The choice was clear to Lothren from that moment on, he would have to join the Dominion.

3 years later the Great War broke out and he pressed into service and was sent to Lord Naafarin's Army on the main assault of the capital of the Empire, Cyrodiil. This is where Lothren was going to plan his escape. When Lord Naafarin asked Lothren to scout ahead for the location of one of Legions, Lothren agreed. He set out at night to avoid detection by the Imperials. Once he got about two miles away from the main army, he broke for. He never go back to the Domnion or Valenwood.

For many months he lived off the land and fended for himself. Those years of going with his mother hunting had prepared him for these moments. One day he came a across a century of Legionnaires. He stopped in the middle of the road and threw his hands up as a sign of peace, because at first they thought he was a Dominion scout. He followed the Legionnaires to their small encampment where he met a Centurion by the name of Domicus Vinici. Lothren explained to the Centurion about his past and his pressed service into the Dominion army and his months of living off the land. Lothren asked the Centurion was in need of a scout and Centurion Vinici accepted his invitation.

Over the next 30 years Lothren served as a scout for the Imperial Legion. He is now ststioned in Skyrim is assigned to a group of rag-tag assortment of Legionnaires to deal with Skyrim's daya to day problems. He was aslo informed that would probably have to deal Stormcloaks if the situation presented itself.

Xolah
Spoiler

Name: Cormac
Age: 33
Gender: Male
Race: Breton

Appearance: Like most Bretons Cormac has fair skin and dark hair. However, unlike most Bretons hes slightly more muscular than the typical High Rock Breton, and has blue eyes. Cormac keeps his thick black hair short and a shaven face, as the Imperial Legion dictates. Though his appearance was almost no different than a High Rock Breton, he was a mongrel with what some would non pure blood in his veins. Cormac was also five nine, had close set eyes, a thin & wide mouth, and blunt chin. Two small scars run along both cheeks, from a sparring “accident”.

Personality: As a child Cormac witnessed the massacre in Markarth by Ulfric Stormcloak's militia, friends and family alike were being slain. This has planted a seed of mistrust of Nords and the Empire, but he holds hatred for both the Stormcloaks and The Empire. The Stormcloaks committed the massacre and the Empire didn’t care even though, they were about to give the Reach back to the Reachmen. Bretons are infamous for their outgoing personality this is not Cormac. Instead hes quiet and reserved rather cleaning and polishing the blade of his sword or reading a book, than talking. If you looked up the words cold and aloof in the dictionary, you’d find his picture and name. Off duty Cormac often gets drunk which sometimes leads to fights even with his quiet and reserved nature, the mead numbing the pain of the past.

However, he will talk when pressed he just doesn’t go out of his way, to make friends. The Stormcloaks robbed Cormac of his heritage and identity as a result; he worships the Nine Divine every morning and every night instead of Reachmen Gods. In battle hes calm, calculating, steadfast, and alert. As a child growing up his favorite book was a The Mirror, so as result he adopted the fighting style of Mindothrax and his twin Jurrifax. Why waste unneeded energy and tire yourself out? Cormac like outside of battle feels nothing when his sword, plunges into person’s flesh. The only thing keeping the blood running in his veins is that one day the Reach will belong to his people again, cold hard septims, and the Stormcloaks will pay for what they’ve done.

Skills (max of ten, can include non-game skills): Cormac’s ma was a mage, but like most of the Reach a hedge mage.Under her loving care and tutoring with magic, he learned some basic Restoration spells (1). She also taught him Alchemy (2) so he knew which plants were beneficial, and which could kill a man. As a child Cormac almost remembers going out with his pa, and practicing with a wooden sword and shield. Though it was until he was apart of the group of sellswords, did he fully learn how to use a blade and shield (3 and 4). The sellswords horseman at heart taught young Cormac horseback riding (5), so they didn’t have to hear him whine or have to carry him. Occasionally the group had to hunt so he was taught how to use a bow and track (6 and 7).One of the sellswords was ex-legion so he was taught how make camp for legion standards and how to cook. (8 and 9). Like all the sellswords he wore medium armor (10) preferring both the mobility of it, over heavy.

1. Restoration
2. Alchemy
3. One Handed (Sword)
4. Block (Shield)
5. Horseback riding
6. Archery
7. Tracking
8. Camping
9. Cooking
10. Medium Armor

Weapons, Amour and Other gear:

Weapons:
-Steel Long Sword
-Hunting Bow

Armor:
- Sleeveless shirt of chain mail with a leather cuirass, underneath for added protection.
- Steel Bracers
- Steel Boots
- Steel Horned Helmet
- Round Shield (Made entirely out of steel with a leather grip)
Misc:

- Quiver with a dozen arrows
- Five healing potions
- Flint
- Waterskin
- Weeks worth of food
- Piece of cloth

History: Like many in the Reach Cormac learned the hardships, the Nords thrusted upon them. However, this didn’t last long for when he was six the Reach was taken back by the Reachmen. Cormac never knew of the executions of the harshest Nords, only that his people had their land back. Though their land would soon be stolen again by Ulfric Stormcloak’s militia. At eight he watched the walls crumble and Nords invaders pour in, killing women, men, and children alike.

Ma already killed Cormac’s pa took him and fought through the city, so they could escape. Just when they were almost out bow range, an arrow pierced his father’s chest. Placing Cormac upon the horse his father smacked the rear of the horse, sending the horse south. Water droplets poured from his eyes as he turned back, to witness a Nord chop his father’s head off. By the time the horse stop a group of sellswords found him, them taking him in as their own.

However, Cormac has to work for his keep doing tasks for the group. As he grew older he adopted their teachings, him becoming a sellsword. Though they were close as kin they could never replace the family, culture, and homeland that was taken from him. Most of Cormac’s septims were spent on books and alcohol, finding comfort the books gave and the numbness the alcohol gave. Though he had no love for the Nords or Empire he joined the Legion if only for the septims, revenge for his pa and ma, and maybe one day getting his homeland back.

Yes Man FTW (character sheet pending)

Madhog
Spoiler

Name: Lunia Roscius
Age: 25
Gender: Female
Race: Imperial

Appearance: Just above shoulder length auburn hair. Ever so slightly red cheecks with the odd freckle upon them. Blue eyes and a slim build. Standing at 5'9” she is a little short.

Personality: Light-hearted and merry, first to laugh and last to frown. She is rarely serious and always joking. Loves to goad others and make them look foolish. However, she is actually wiser than she appears, and has the occasional nugget of good advice.

Skills (max of ten, can include non-game skills): Lunia loved to sing during her life as a bard (1). She also loved to leap around (2) while performing with her lute (3). She was able to captivate audiences with her tales(4), and get a little extra coin with her persuasive words.(5) Wore light armour to enable her to dance around (6) and fashioned her own props (7). When the patrons got to violent she could stave them off with her short-sword (8) and could spot a good patron a mile away.(9) Learned about enviroments of Tamriel from her performances.(10)

1- Singing
2- Acrobatics
3- Instrument playing
4- Acting
5- Persuasive speech
6- Light Armour
7- Crafting
8- One Handed (Short-swords)
9- Scouting
10- Survival

Weapons, Armour and Other gear: Short-sword called 'The Quill'. Wears light-fur armour while travelling, and while static wears colourful garments. Carrys a lute with her as well as a few materials for making props on the go such as leather and nails in pouches around her waist. Also has a small pouch with 50 gold in it.

History: Lunia grew up the daughter of a couple of travelling merchants. They travelled the land, peddling their wares wherever they could. Lunia would help her parents by enticing patrons with her honeyed words and angelic music. For many years Lunia lived like this her skills flourishing as she moved from place to place.

After many years of this, Lunia's parents finally passed away. She mourned them for a brief time, for she was told death was the celebration of new life somewhere else in Nirn. She travelled for a few more months, growing more and more restless for some excitement and adventure. She found herself looking to the Legion to satisfy this craving.

She enrolled in the Army as a bard, there to rally the troops and fill them with confidence. She gave many a grim man fresh hope on the battlefield, so she was soon sent to cheer up the most dismal of the soldiers in the army. A little known rag-tag group, who performed jobs nobody else wanted to.

xNorthernPastaLoverx
Spoiler

Character Sheet:
Name: Nikolai Swift-Arrow
Gender: Male
Age: 28
Race: Nord
Faction: Auxiliary


Skills – 10 max – non game skills allowed: Archery, hunting, speech, sneak, smithing, wood lore, hammer craft, light armor.

General Appearance:
-Short platinum blonde hair, falling in persistent thick strands around his face. Left to grow to mid length, longer parts often pulled back and out of his face.

-Ice blue eyes, cold and calculating. Sharp and extremely observant.

-Slight in frame but muscular in arm and broad in shoulders. He’s bulky where being a bowman is required, but other parts of his body less so.

-6’2” in height

-Facial scars from eye to cheek, varying in length and depth. Another scar from corner of his mouth to mid cheek. His body is also peppered with scars from hunting in the Pale from a young age. He makes no such effort to cover them, nor does he mention them.

-Smooth quiet voice, slightly deeper than expected considering his slightly ‘once pretty and fair’ features.

-One piercing: He also sports a part of a saber cat’s tooth, through his left earlobe.

Weapons:
-Long bow: Exceptional quality, reinforced with mammoth tusk. Iron arrows.

-Iron hammer: One handed, there was once an inscription but it has been worn away, chipped and scratched in places this hammer has clearly seen much use.

Armor/Clothing:
-Shirt of chainmail beneath a fine leather cuirass.
-Over top a padded long coat including a hood.
-Knee high fur boots, archery vambraces.
-Two strips of leather, one each on his middle and first fingers.

Other Items:
-Hunting knife
-Flint
-Water skin

Personality:
-Quiet: He is naturally a surly and stony character, though he doesn’t mind throwing his raw two cents worth in he’s usually more of a stand back and watch kind of guy. Depending on who he’s speaking to he can hold a rather prolonged conversation, though whenever he does he makes it apparent he’d rather not be speaking with you much at all, emitting quite the disinterested air.

-Charming: Despite his gnarly features he’s well aware of his silver tongue and of what remains of his good looks and though he’d rather avoid being looked at and utilizing such talents on occasion he’s not adverse to putting them to good use. He may not use them often but he is good with his words.

-Serious: By nature he’s serious, a bit of a downer, not exactly ‘the glass is half empty’ but rather ‘I refuse to acknowledge the glass’. But he usually looks at things with a negative slant, and while death is a very serious matter he no longer see’s the grim in it. He simply grins roughly and bares it. Often passing it over with poorly timed humor.


History:
As a child Nikolai was raised in the Pale, his father a hunter began teaching Nikolai’s older brother, Alexei the trade as a young boy, however the older Swift-Arrow became a self teacher when his father marched south to fight the Dominion. Incidentally (With Tom’s permission) he served alongside Aerys. This took place when the Alexei was ten years old. Nikolai only a baby. Unfortunately their father never returned, Nikolai’s mother, wracked with grief became sickly and eventually passed due to the harsh winter. It eventually became too much for even a woman of the Pale to bare. Nikolai and his brother, now left to fend for themselves left to live with their fathers father. Though the original reception was good and they were well fed, with clean warm beds to sleep in. It did not last, the elderly man grew sour, disliking the idea of sharing his house with so many young children. Especially as the two of them grew up alongside their cousin, Lukka, born a bastard with unexplained heritage (therefore a ‘True-shot’ like all other bastards of that family) though Lukka was more favored and therefore sheltered by their tyrant of a grandfather.

When Nikolai became old enough Alexei taught him to hunt and the skills of the bow so to appease their Grandfather by contributing to the household. Nikolai spent a majority of his child hood wandering the forests of the pale, refining his skills with the bow and his hunting abilities. Much preferring his own company rather than that of his cousin, grandfather or even his brother. Though forced to spend time with the older when being taught the ways of the wild, this training still did not prepare him. While mistakingly hunting a saber cat the younger was set upon by the beast who promptly fell on him. Scarring Nikolai’s face with a few deadly paw strikes he poorly fended his attacker with his hammer breaking one of its teeth. The cat soon lost interest in the smaller when Alexei enticed it with a few deadly accurate looses of arrow. The beast soon fell on the older with the same ferocity. Nikolai too shocked to move was unable to help his brother, and so the Pale-man, ill equipped for such an attack was killed. Bloodied Nikolai found his way back to his grandfathers Hall to report the death of the older. Alexei was twenty at the time of his death. Nikolai twelve. He then devoted his teen years to tracking the beast down, but was unsuccessful.

The families brief stale mate of luck ran out when Nikolai turned twenty one, his grandfather died, Nikolai was left his younger cousin to care for. Despite them not being close he felt a sense of duty and obligation to care for him. He decided that Lukka would benefit from a change of scene, due to the younger archer being close to his deceased grandfather. He took his younger cousin to Rorikstead, were he earned money smithing. Unfortunately they were present when Rorikstead experienced a dragon attack. During said attack Lukka and Nikolai assisted the hold guards in trying to drive the dragon back. Lukka, foolish young and inexperienced broke cover and was soon enveloped by flame and devoured.

In failing to protect his remaining family (however indirect) and left with a dark void marked by death Nikolai chose a different path. Deciding to take up his fathers path in joining the legion, traveling to solitude. Though once their it became abundantly clear he was not suited for traditional deployment. For that reason he found himself part of the group of rag-tags lead by Caradin Ironspike.
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Sxc-Mary
 
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Post » Fri Jan 18, 2013 9:15 am

GM POST

While the evening sun slowly begins to descend behind the mountains, the failing sunlight falls upon the tiny of village of Fenn, a little hamlet within the great forests of Falkreath Hold. A small band of rag-tag legionnaires, ne’er-do-wells, sellswords and general opportunists have survived, left to deal with the immediate aftermath of killing a band of Stormcloaks who had taken the village and forced it’s occupants out. It is here, in the aftermath of their victory that their story begins…

***************************


Caradin Ironspike… Village of Fenn, Falkreath Hold…


Caradin removed his elven blade from his foe, letting the freshly made corpse fall into the dust. Wiping his blade and taking a steady breath, he looked up from the last kill of the battle and surveyed the scene. The village of Fenn was little more than a mill, a tavern and a few houses surrounded by a low wooden palisade. A single statue of Talos stood in the village square. It was a tiny little place that wouldn’t be marked on most maps. Indeed, an astute cartographer would be more likely to make note of the old Dragonmound that the village was situated close to, rather than the village itself. All of the buildings faced in towards the centre of the village, and it was in this relatively open space that the battle had taken place.

Dead Stormcloaks littered the ground, around twenty or so. Another ten lay dead in the woods about five hundred yards away. Caradin’s group was not many, but they had the element of surprise. Still, they had taken some casualties that day, for among the blue of Stormcloak bodies lay the occasional body of one of his company. Caradin didn’t know anyone in his group particularly well, either living or dead, nor did he want to. His job wasn’t to know them; it was to lead them, this rag-tag band of misfits. Despite having journeyed with them for a few weeks from Solitude to Falkreath Hold, he wasn’t particularly close to any of them, knowing little about them beyond what he had read in the reports. Still, at least half of them appeared to be useful, and it offered slight comfort to know that someone had his back on the battlefield.

“Is that the last of the bastards?” shouted an all too familiar voice. Caradin turned his head to lock eyes with Aerys Borne, the only member he did know to some degree. The older Nord was not exactly a man he liked, but he still considered him in a strange way to be a friend. Both he and Caradin had been in the thick of the fighting – as was the Nord way – but he looked a little less worse for wear, though his black attire hid any trace of blood quite well. He nodded in response to Aerys’s question.

“Tullius gives us the best assignments doesn’t he?” Caradin grumbled sarcastically, spitting out a glob of blood from his mouth.

“I wish he wouldn’t.” Aerys replied “People might start accusing him of favouritism.” The shorter, older Nord moved over to stand beside Caradin. Their private sense of humour would be lost on most people, all the more confusing due to the fact that neither of them laughed. This wasn’t the first time they’d been on such an assignment together. They both stared at Caradin’s most recent victim.

“What do you think?” Caradin asked.

“Yup. He’s definitely dead.” Aerys stated flatly.

“You know what I meant.” Caradin growled.

“A small raiding party like this? Probably knew sod all about Ulfric’s troop movements.” Aerys replied. “So, you won’t get any bonus coin for getting information out of them, but we’ll still get paid for killing them. Besides, you can split it into larger shares now.”

Caradin followed his gaze to the bodies of their comrades, lying in the mud with about the same amount of dignity as the Stormcloaks. He sheathed his blade as he strode over towards the statue, Aerys following him.

“This went better than I thought.” Aerys mused “I don’t know what compelled them to leave the fecking gate open, but it sure made things easier.”

“So what if they did? I could have always said ‘we’re going to set the gates alight’ right?” Caradin asked completely dead pan. Aerys wore a small, fleeting grin, and sharply exhaled – the abbreviation of a laugh – before their gazes were drawn to movement on the road. The sound of hooves filled the air as a contingent of Legion Cavalry cantered toward them, emerging from the evening mist, heavily armoured and wielding spears. A single rider held aloft the black legion banner depicting the Imperial Dragon. They passed through the gates and their leader, an Imperial, raised a hand, drawing the cavalry to a standstill in front of Caradin and Aerys. The head horseman’s armour was of a slightly brassy hue. Caradin and his group knew this particular unit; part of the legion garrison that operated out of Falkreath Watchtower, about a day’s journey east if one followed the road, faster on horseback or cutting cross country.

“Late.” Caradin said darkly “As usual. At least the legion is consistent.”

“It would appear that you have defeated the Stormcloaks.” the lead cavalryman said, ignoring Caradin’s statement “Tell me, did you get any information out of them?”

“They didn’t give us the opportunity to ask.” Caradin replied with a simple shrug.

“Pity.” the Imperial replied.

“Aye, alas.” Caradin added sarcastically, but the Imperial didn’t seem to notice.

“No matter, you were sent here to kill them and it is done. Here is your coin, from the Jarl.” the Imperial said, tossing a coin purse over to Caradin. “I shall return to Falkreath and inform the villagers that they may return home.”

“And what of us?” Caradin asked “What are we to do?”

The Imperial drew forth a rolled up piece of parchment with the legion seal and passed it to Caradin. A slight smirk played about his mouth as he spoke.

“You’re fortunate.” he said. “I hear Markarth is very nice this time of year.” He spurred his steed out through the gates and his regiment followed after him. Caradin watched them for a moment before unrolling the parchment. He scanned the document and then passed it to Aerys when he was done.

“Oh, and here I was hoping it was just a joke.” Aerys said dryly. “Well then, looks like our next course of action is clear.”

“Of all the holds in Skyrim, the last place I want to see is the bloody Reach.” Caradin grumbled “Still, an order is an order.” He looked up at the sky and saw the fading light. “Everyone!” he announced “We’ll be setting up camp here. Tomorrow we start for Markarth.” Caradin returned his gaze to Aerys. “Figure out how much coin we’ll need for supplies and take it out of the reward, then divide and distribute the rest.”

Aerys gestured at the bodies, raising an eyebrow.

“Burn them.” Caradin replied simply.

“Careful.” Aerys warned “You sounded like someone I’d rather not be reminded of at the moment.” Aerys began to trudge over towards a little smithy, built up next to one of the houses.

“Just tell me one thing.” Caradin called out to him. “Was he really that tall?”

Aerys paused mid stride, before looking back over his shoulder for a moment. “No, not really.” he replied before resuming his march towards the smithy. Caradin grinned for a moment before heading over to the empty tavern and crossing the threshold.

Inside the tavern was simply furnished, the plates and mugs crafted of wood or ox horn. The door and windows were wide open, allowing for a slight breeze. The odd mouse scurried across the floor. There was split ale, half stripped bones and empty bottles lying on the floor.

Stormcloaks were too drunk and full of food to fight properly.

Picking up an unopened bottle of ale, Caradin moved over to a seat in the corner. He positioned himself next to an open window so that he could still survey the village. He went to take a swig before realising he wasn’t the only one in the tavern. For the first time he saw that a Stormcloak sat next to him, slumped in his chair, completely still. Caradin studied the man, prodding him harshly. The body rolled slightly, revealing the arrow protruding out of his neck before hitting the floor with a resounding thud.

“Cheers.” Caradin said to the corpse as he took a long draught of the ale. Placing the bottle onto the table he watched his company dealing with the aftermath of the battle in their own way, absentmindedly fiddling with the spike of iron hanging around his neck.

*************************


Aerys Borne… Village of Fenn, Falkreath Hold…


Aerys trudged over to the smithy, taking a seat beneath the shelter and scattering the coins across a small wooden table. He counted the coins; three hundred in total.

“Well, there’s an easy split.” he mused. He sorted the coins into ten groups of eleven septims and stowed the rest back in the coin purse. He then placed each little division of coins into tiny little pouches. He looked about at the gathered members of the little party he’d become part of. He didn’t particularly like the look of his new companions; ne'er-do-wells, sellswords of questionable morals, a bard, magic wielders of varying dispositions, and a bucket load of archers/hunters. He would have liked a few more solid line infantry types, but at least they wouldn’t get lost, or go hungry. He was glad however, though he’d never admit it, that he had three familiar faces in the group.

Aerys knew Caradin from a long time ago, and though they had not seen each other for almost twenty years, he was more or less the same man. And then there were Lyria and Fara. He could remember when they were green recruits, having just experienced their first battle. The attack on Fort Hraggstad was a pyrrhic victory and he abhorred the man who led the assault. Everything that could have gone wrong did go wrong; poor recon, little scouting, no siege equipment and more enemies than anticipated. Despite his feelings about the way the battle had occurred he knew that in the end, no matter how painful the experience was, it would only serve to benefit them in future battles. Aerys himself, when he was much younger, had had a similar experience during the Great War.

Though he would never admit that he cared about the Battlemage and Bosmer Scout for fear of looking soft, he was secretly quite happy that they had been transferred with him. He was going to keep a very careful eye on everyone in the group who had male genitalia; he was confident that Fara and Lyria were more than capable of looking after themselves, but he wouldn’t tolerate any tomfoolery towards his legionnaires.

“Alright you miserable sods!” he shouted “Come and get your pay!”

He stowed away the large coin purse and two of the pouches – one for himself and one for Caradin – and looked back up at the others.

“Come on, I haven’t got all day.” he said grumpily.
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Nathan Risch
 
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Post » Fri Jan 18, 2013 12:36 pm

Nikolai Swift-arrow


Nikolai raised a hand in the briefest of gestures, callused thumb wiping a newly formed trickle of blood from his cheek. His other tightened momentarily around the supple wood of his fine bow, stowing it away over his shoulder only after toeing the corpse that lay at his feet to be sure it wouldn’t move. Nothing, it barely twitched, nodding his approval he raised his gaze, they’d made it through predominantly unscathed. A few minor injuries scattered about was about it, nothing truly extensive at first glance. He rolled his shoulders, stretched his neck and adjusted his hood, pushing it back and running a hand through his platinum and slightly sweat-damp locks. With a few sharp clucks of his tongue he stepped distastefully over the Stormcloak at his foot. A thought crossed his mind, how much would they be payed for this pitiful task? As menial as the last, which resulted in a pittance that still mostly remained in the coin purse around his neck. Or would this truly be the spat of gold they’d been enticed with upon joining, which the Paleman had come to know was mostly talk. Not that gold had ever been much reason for his joining, he’d have plenty awaiting his return in the Pale if he so chose to ever return. No, this was about family honor, being the only left of afore mentioned family.

Blood left him in very little unease now, battle too though this one he would take note of. It may not have shaken his nerve but it did leave him twitching, unsettled. Fighting brought out the beast, his anger, and it was not so quickly stowed again. He crossed the uneven expanse of damp earth, the sun would be setting soon. Avoiding the mounds of bodies that littered the area in infrequent piles he came to stand beside the person he came to know vaguely as a superior of questionable stature. Just in time for the show too, after assessing his surroundings vaguely he caught site of the more official Legion soldiers, galloping toward them. Of course. What had Nikolai expected? A more warm welcoming party, perhaps some kind of parade in their names. This would be to make sure they’d actually done their jobs, to pay them and be off as quickly as they possibly can. He’d come to expect that much of this lot.

“Late.” Said the darker of the two, younger Nikolai thought, he knew him to be Caradin. And as usual the seriousness to his tone did not go unnoticed.“As usual. At least the legion is consistent.” Well he couldn't’ help but agree with that, at the very least they regularly appeared, not exactly in time to see the battle or anything else. Though on the other hand, they could be very prompt. It just had to suit them. After listening to a particularly dull exchange between the Legionnaire and the two Nikolai only managed to learn a single thing. So their next assignment was to be in Markarth? That -he could already tell- was going to be a particularly unpleasant experience, but above all he was indifferent about it. As he was about most things of late, he could only make out that they, Aerys and Caradin enjoyed being a part of the group about as much as he himself did. Though it did provide an easiness, not having to know anyone especially well made things more bearable. He had no reason to speak with anyone, nor did he have an obligation to any of them past a professional relationship, and in hind sight; even that was quite the stretch. It allowed him to be still yet more detached than he’d planned to be.

Seeing the money change hands he could only gander that it wouldn’t be a steep amount, possibly better than his last earnings though. That was something, he turned his back, he’d not learn much more from the two by listening in to their dull back and forth. He turned his attention to survey the other members, not for long, because none of them held much of his interest. Though he could say without doubt that they were an interesting bunch, from the little he’d unfortunately learned about them he at least knew things wouldn’t become quickly boring.

Once the dry comedians decided to break ranks Nikolai chose to stand by the lean-to Aerys favored. Watching the earnings being divided with little interest. Gold was gold, no matter how much or where you got it.

“Alright you miserable sods!” Declared the more elderly “Come and get your pay!” That was his cue, stepping away from the wall he took his cut from the other, only inclining his head in any real gesture of thanks before retaking his place. Watching as the others grouped to do the same. But moreover he watched the old man, something seemed awfully familiar about him, though what he knew not. Or even why, he would have been far too young to ever have known him before he left home. So what exactly was it? His evaluation didn’t go unnoticed, his icy eyes locked with a similar pair. And for a moment Nikolai thought of simply turning away, that was until, “Come on, I haven’t got all day.” Said the man. That was his cue, to leave. Mockingly saluting the grey-maned soldier as he tentatively turned his attention elsewhere.

Seeing Carridan break the group and stride off toward another building peaked his curiosity, and of course when his gaze met the sign of that very building, a dry chuckle of self amusemant escaped him. An eyebrow quirked to himself as he course corrected, heading in the same direction. It wasn’t exactly a quaint little building, such places hardly existed anymore. It was genuine though, earthen and timbered to the last detail, earnest looking or perhaps it once was. The new redecorating didn’t say much for the place; though bodies didn’t look like particularly appealing decor no matter where the poor souls landed. Brushing his knuckles against the door frame as he entered the Swift-Arrow found a sturdy piece of wall to lean against and did exactly that.

Nikolai decided then to plaster a kind of smirk similar to a smile and dropped down the edge of a table, utilizing it as a place to lean, arms crossed. “You know they say you shouldn’t drink alone,” He began, he didn’t speak loudly, but he hardly needed to. His voice carried enough. He toed a body to his left, sitting between himself and Caradin. The platinum blonde raised his eyebrows. “Though I see you have that...somewhat covered.” He added disdainfully, directing a look not dissimilar to indifference toward the poor bloke that lay dead at his feet.
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