A Suspect Father - RP Thread #1 : The Elder Scrolls Series Discussion

» Tue Oct 29, 2013 8:33 am

Welcome to A Suspect Father, an adventure RP with a heavy focus on character interaction and development.

We have space for 1 more! ;D Saddle on up!

~The Start~

In the years leading to the war, before the dragons burnt the skies above Skyrim, there was a peace. A fragile peace, some would say, but a peace nonetheless. For Traynu Asog, this peace ended abruptly, one cold, icy night.

At first, there was the sounds of household objects being broken. The locals though little of it, for the southerners were nothing if not easy on the wine. However, the shattering of windows and the splintering of pots caused some to stir, a clash of steel and the local guard were called. In the distance some heard the sound of wolves, but few paid attention for the guards had now drawn their weapons and were ordering each other around.

Carefully, they stepped up to the house, a soft, warmth came over them as they began to get closer. The heat became a blaze and soon the straw roof was a torrent of flame. There was no time left to react, the guards charged. Their heavy boots collided with the sturdy door, it gave way.

A week later and still no one knows what truly happened that night, all they know was Sarah Asog, the youngest of two children within the Asog family disappeared. The guards will tell you that they saw Traynu alone on the floor, clutching a torn piece of yellow tunic. His back was bent and his sword bloodied by his side.They will tell you of how he was sobbing, of how the house appeared to have been turned upside down and thrown left and right.

The only man to know what truly happened that night was Traynu, Sarah's father, yet his mind is oddly foggy. The guards keep a close eye on a man with an unpredictable reputation, a man few could believe would be capable of killing a girl but even fewer truly know the southerner.

---------

It is the day of the funeral and all of Riverwood is out. Each of them dressed in black as they cover the burial site in bouquets of flowers too colourful to describe. Traynu stands beside his wife, Olga while his son, Firendal, garbed in his Imperial Guard uniform salutes the diggers.

Within his hand he holds a note, a note he has sent out to each of his city contacts, the people he really didn't want to know but had to. They have promised him to send the notes onto clients, men and women who might be down on their luck and looking for a poorly paid job. He opens it up, the paper is crumbled and worn from use.

Dear Reader,

My name is Traynu Asog and I am contacting you for I am being wrongly investigated for the disappearance of my daughter. I need a team with which will travel with me and find her. You shall be paid 500 denars upon participation and a further 1500 denars upon completion. I am looking for a team of four who are willing to face dangers I cannot describe.

If this sounds like a job worth doing, meet me within Riverwood Tavern on Sundas, the 8th of Suns Dawn.

Good Luck,

Traynu

OOC:

This is a small adventure RP which follows Traynu's journey to find his daughter and clear his name. After her capture he has enlisted the help of four others to accompany him. He is not paying well and thus he understands that he will not be getting the best of the best but the mavericks, the rouges or those that never really had the courage but always had a willing pair of hands.

Character Sheets:

Name:
Age:
Race:
Gender:

Occupation:
Birthsign:

Major Skills: Note: I am looking for people who aren't experts at their craft. This is not a high ranked job, think rookie or old and desperate.

Appearance:

Weapons:

Clothing/Armor:

Bio:

Rules:

Usual rules apply, no character controlling unless otherwise agreed upon. No being mean to each other and respect the forum rating.

» Tue Oct 29, 2013 2:59 pm

-Approved Character Sheets-

Traynu Asog - Uglius Maximus II

Spoiler

Name: Traynu Asog

Age: 43
Race: Imperial
Gender: Male

Occupation: Bounty Hunter/Farmer
Birthsign: The Tower

Major Skills: Archery, Hand-To-Hand, Cooking and Farming.

Appearance: Traynu is your average beer belly farmer. Strong, burly and very scruffy. He never had the body of a runner or a fighter; instead he closely resembles a brawler - The sort of person you'd see drunk in an inn punching someone in the face. Standing at 5'8", he's not very tall either and overall, isn't very impressive. He has a kind face however and his skin, while cracked and rough is well tanned.

Weapons: Iron Shortsword with an Iron Crossbow and 15 bolts.

Clothing/Armor: Traynu never really liked armour, he sweats enough without it. Instead he opts for normal clothes and is often found wearing tan coloured trousers with a thick cotton shirt that's a dark brown. His boots are built for hiking and he is often seen wearing a long travelling cloak.

Bio:

Traynu is a simple man, born to simple parents who worked a simple farm. For Traynu, becoming a farmer was as natural to him as tying his shoe laces. It was expected more or less. This lack of expectations gave him a vast amount of free time. Time he spent in the local inn. He here met people from all over Cyrodiil, men and women of tall tales and taller riches.

Traynu was jealous but knew his lot in life. Uneducated, unattractive, loveable Traynu - That was his life.

It all changed shortly after his parents moved to retire in the Imperial City for Traynu suddenly found himself with some responsibility. For Traynu, his fairytale adventure didn't end there, he soon found love - A nordic woman by the name of Olga made a man out of him, taking pleasure in his simple nature and kind heart.

Children complicated matters however as education wasn't cheap. While Traynu understood he was grown to be nothing more than a farmer he wanted better for his children and thus, signed up for something he'd never tried before - Bounty Hunting. They moved to Skyrim, where they settled down within Riverrun. It was here where Olga and Traynu raised their two children Sarah and Firendal.

-

Jora Loanshield - Person From Anticlere

Spoiler

Name: Jora Loanshield
Age: 17
Race: Nord
Gender: Female
Birthsign: The Steed

Occupation: A traveller, seeking adventure
Major Skills: Cooking and sewing. Some knowledge, too, of Skyrim’s herbs; how to sprinkle them, once properly dried, in a soup to relieve sickness, or how to rub them into a bandage to ease pain. And, lastly, a beginner’s enthusiasm with a shield – instinct acting to save her where technique might be lacking.

Appearance: No matter how tightly she clenches her slender fingers; no matter how far apart she holds her arms, thin but not lacking in wiry strength; no matter how wide she stands, her legs long and toned by travel longer still – there is no escaping she is just a girl of seventeen summers acting an advlt, an act foiled by the pleasant softness of a face too young to be as grim as she wishes it were.

Weapons: A sturdy wooden shield with a rim of iron.
Clothing/Armour: Her clothes, like her shield, are clearly not hers, meant for a man but taken for her own. A baggy white shirt that succeeds, at least, in obscuring the curves of a young woman’s body; dusty black pants, held up only by a wide belt of coarse leather and stuffed, at their ends, into simple fur boots; and a heavy cloak, likewise of fur, her ward against the cold and her bedroll both.

Bio: “Loanshield” is what Jora calls herself; “Shieldthief” is what she should be called.

Born the youngest of four children (if only by a few seconds’ margin), she was never meant to be what she is now; battle is her brothers’ duty, not hers. But, a few moments holding a shield; one lucky block of her father’s blow; songs of the heroes of old, sung though they may have been over the bubbling of a stew... Together, more than enough to spark a flame in the youthful mind of a girl cooped up at home and fearing a life holding onto the hem of her mother’s skirt.

And so, she left – slinking out in the dead of night, the strap of a pack cutting into her shoulder and the weight of a stolen shield on her back.

-

Ra'Jirra - Not Intended

Spoiler

Name: Ra'Jirra
Age: 35
Race: Suthay-Raht
Gender: Female
Birthsign: The Serpent

Occupation: "A little bit of this, a little bit of that."

Major Skills: "What? You wish to know more of Ra'Jirra? Very well, she will tell you more. She is a clever kitty, hmm? To survive in a Tel Hlaroth, you must know a few tricks. First, she uses words, twisting them into whatever shapes she prefers, 'lying' as the less open-minded among us might say. Ra'Jirra much prefers 'speechcraft' if she must give her art a name at all.
Should this fail, she knows a few illusions, and is clever with her hands; one might say she practices the way of the thief, if one wished to insult Ra'Jirra. Ha! She jests, though she see's how you cringe at this, and she promises not to do it again. Yes, she is a thief, and not a half-bad one at that.
Should even this fail, Ra'Jirra knows how to fight. She is not strong, and knows nothing of war or battle, so it should come as no surprise she cannot win in a fair fight. Luckily for her--not so much for you, friend--she has no intention of fighting fair, ever."

Appearance: "Appearance? What a silly question, Ji. But Ra'Jirra likes you, so she will tell you of her appearance. She is tall for a Khajiit, standing at about six feet. She is a tad portly, but she does not mind this; it is a sign of good living, which is not a luxury she could afford as a child. Her fur is red and black, which the other Khajiit tell her is a sign her foremothers and forefathers stalked the Tenmar, where the sugar is grown. She does not know if this is true, but it makes a nice story, no? She has only one tattoo; the Ta'agra word "Baan Dar," inscribed on her tongue."

Weapons: "Heh, you are a nosy Ji, Ra'Jirra will give you that. Yes, she is armed; but only with a simple dagger, for her own protection. She is no killer."

Clothing/Armor: "Ra'Jirra wears a travel cloak, fashioned for her by an Argonian in Whiterun; according to him, it bears the markings of the Paatru, his ancestors. She does not know what these markings mean, but they please her, so she continues to wear the cloak. It has seen better days, but the thought of replacing it brings Ra'Jirra sadness, so she has held onto it.
This shawl was given to her by her mother, long before she left Telvannis. Unfortunately, little of the original fabric remains; she has had to repair it so many times it has become a patchwork of different cloths, from the finest mothsilk to the coarsest Nordic leather.
She also, of course, has no shortage of trinkets, all picked up during her travels. Some call her excessive for decorating herself with rings and necklaces, but you must admit, Ra'Jirra likes what she likes, no? Most of them have some meaning, though she does not remember all; there is an Amulet of St. Rilms, a fragment of the Crystal Tower, a Septim Ring- gah, too many to count. Perhaps Ra'Jirra is excessive."

Bio: "Now you want to hear her whole life story? Ra'Jirra does not mind telling you, but it is a long story. Come, let us gather around the fire, and she will tell you what she can.

She was born in the holding pens of Tel Hlaroth, a remote Telvanni mushroom tower that survived the fall of Morrowind, even as the world around it crumbled away. While never a market, Tel Hlaroth was always packed to the brim with slaves, and conditions were never good for us. The mistress of the tower, Alvula Telaran Uvirin, was a cruel, ancient s'wit, even by Telvanni standards. Life was not easy, but we made due; some escaped, taking boats to the mainland, or to Tel Fyr, which, in those days, was There-And-Also-Not, always a distant image on the horizon. But most were content to stay put, wallowing away their lives as nothing more than animals; Ra'Jirra regrets to say that she counted herself among them.

Make no mistake, however; Ra'Jirra was not soft, and even the oldest and most cynical 'jiit in the tower were impressed by her cleverness.

Eventually--and this is a story for another time, when we have more wood for the fire--Tel Hlaroth was destroyed. Burnt to the ground by the very woman who built it. Most died; the mages all teleported to safety, while the rest of us scrambled to safety.
Ra'Jirra was among the first to escape the tower. She could not swim, but she managed to steal a boat in the chaos, and rowed her way to Vvardenfell.

From there, she became a traveler. She knew enough of the world to get by, and the skills she'd learned as a slave applied just as well outside. She made her way through Morrowind, into Cyrodiil, and eventually, to Skyrim.

It was in Riften, a city she remembers fondly, that she became involved in the sugar trade. She worked for Clan Mother Rashima, the 'Devil of the Rift;' an exile from Elsweyr who controlled the sugar trade in southern Skyrim.
It was a strange time for Ra'Jirra, for it was when she first walked among other Khajiit; not slaves, but the children of Elsweyr. They thought Ra'Jirra strange; her beliefs, her customs, even her name, they said, were tainted by the east. Rashima once told her that she was like a "cat ground under the heel of an elf living in the land of men."

But she performed her tasks well, and she made them laugh, so Ra'jirra was welcome among the Khajiit of Riften. It was a good life, and she grew fat on sugar and wine.

These days? Well, the Devil of the Rift is no longer such a fearsome Devil, and Riften is no longer such a nice city for a kitty like Ra'Jirra. This too shall pass, no? There is a new Devil, a new Riften, a new sugar trade. She misses it, sometimes, but it is no use worrying about the past.
Nowadays, Ra'Jirra finds work where she can; trading, adventuring, picking the pockets of unsuspecting Ji. And that, friend, is her story. Perhaps I embellished a line or two, but I did not lie; merely used the art of speechcraft. Now, if you'll excuse me, the moons are calling, and Baan Dar awaits."

» Tue Oct 29, 2013 9:51 pm

Traynu - Sleeping Giant Inn, Riverwood - Morning

Traynu fiddled with his tankard, his fingers running along the glass details as he waited. He watched as each bubble of air ran along the bottom of the ale filled mug and floated towards the top, he made a note of how long it took and inspected the froth head. "Everything alright there Traynu? The family still holding up?" Traynu blinked and his thoughts turned to the man in front of him, Orgnar looked his usual haggard self but a look of genuine concern stood fast in his eyes. Traynu smiled and nodded, taking a large gulp of his ale and patting his hand against the bar counter.

"Aye, well enough." He answered, his mind flooding back with his thoughts, who was he going to meet? Were they going to be fine warriors or weak willed belly lubbers? He noticed he was tapping the bar nervously and Orgnar had stopped his glass cleaning duties and was staring.

"It's been a week since the funeral aye?" Orgnar continued, the same level of concern echoed within his voice. Traynu cleared his throat and wiped his mouth with his cloth tunic.

"Is it still a funeral when there's no body?" Traynu frowned, he hated having to do a funeral but Olga insisted on it. He clenched his fist, Olga had given up hope after a week. Granted she knew the land better, knew their ways but Traynu couldn't give up so easily, he wouldn't give up so easily.

"Now don't be like that Traynu, it's been two weeks since Sarah went missing, you can't be blamin' poor Olga for wanting to do right by her." Traynu took another large gulp. He hated when people took her side. "What are you doing here so early anyway? Not needed on the farm? I heard you guys have hired a few new hands. Must be nice not havin' to plough the fields in the winds now, eh?" Orgnar tried to laugh but failed, resulting in a timid cough.

Traynu appreciated the attempt, "I'm waiting for some friends, I'm taking a short leave, going soul searching you could say." Traynu smiled inwardly at the pun, he remarked on how clever it was. "Travelling you could say."

Orgnar raised a brow and smiled, "Get away from it all, eh? Can't say I blame you Traynu. After the sugar sniffin' guards started pointing fingers towards you I've been thinking about packing up and leaving myself. Can't have them blame one of us for something like that, it's just not on."

"Aye, I appreciate that Orgnar, I really do." Traynu looked towards Orgnar and smiled, he'd known Orgnar for only a few months but thought of him as a simple minded man who would make for a loyal friend. Was still simple though.

"So who are these friends of yours? What do they look like? If you want, I can put something on the pot for you while you wait? Sit down by the fire and put your feet up? I wont tell Delphine if you wont, eh?" Orgnar winked, or attempted to, squishing one side of his face until he was forced to blink.

"That's the fun of it, I don't know. But you know, I'd love something to warm me up, I think I'll take you up on that one." Traynu stood up, making sure to tuck his tunic down so that his belly didn't show before heading towards one of the comfier chairs in the corner, confident that Orgnar would point people his direction.

He picked up a book from the bookshelf before sitting into the chair which squeaked violently in protest to his large build. "Spirit of the Daedra?" He mumbled and half shrugged before turning to page one. Anything to get his mind off the wait.

» Tue Oct 29, 2013 11:08 pm

Outskirts of Riverwood

Jora Loanshield

The moment she laid eyes on Riverwood, her heart was gripped by a longing so painful that she could do little else but stop and breathe a quivering sigh.

It had been timber walls much like those looming below that had served as the pillars of her childhood world; and the crunching of pebbles caught underfoot as she made her way nimbly down the mountain slope sounded eerily similar to the gravelly path she had walked so many times to her father's fields. Her whole life was written in those steps. Crunch and she tripped, spilling the stew meant for her brothers; crunch and her twin brother's voice was calling after her, in the stupidest jape you could think of.

Crunch, and she stopped.

With a firm tug, Jora shifted the weight of her pack slightly to the left. It hadn't been two days since she'd left, and already her shoulder was starting to bruise. "But it'll be alright, girl."

Another quivering sigh. Her throat was so awfully tight.

"Your back to the mountains, your eyes on the road." And crunch went the pebbles again, caught under the thick soles of fur boots.

There was nothing worthy of song to this arrival. Ysgramor's breath did not whisper into the ears of the lone guardsman standing watch; and if he spared our beleaguered heroine even a single glance, it was only to note how pathetic she looked as she slunk in through the town gates like a portent of the sad fates already woven for Skyrim. It was not a hero's blade that her girlish fingers gripped underneath the heavy fur cloak, but a ragged piece of parchment - folded, unfolded, then folded again times beyond counting as she made her way towards Riverwood, some tiny corner of her heart always adamant that somehow, she would never actually reach it.

Well, she had. All that remained now was to find one, single man...

"Traynu Asog." Jora coughed. The name was alien on her lips; she'd have to get used to it, whisper it like some magical chant - "Traynu Asog, Traynu Asog..." Her fingers clenched the parchment tighter. Traynu Asog. A father searching for his daughter.

It was in the corner of a tavern that she would first see him, seated and reading, his solitude guarded by the one-eyed bartender who pointed at his chair with all the authority of Tsun on his whalebone bridge - "Traynu? Right there in the corner, lass." And as she turned her back to him, our little Nord heroine breathed her third quivering sigh.

"Traynu Asog?" A lock of honey-blond hair in her eyes and soft, warm fingers clutching parchment many times folded, offering it to him. "I'm here to help."

» Tue Oct 29, 2013 5:56 pm

Traynu - Sleeping GIant Inn - Riverwood

Traynu looked up from his book as the door opened, the cool afternoon breeze toyed with the fire and gave life to the otherwise quiet and dimly lit tavern. His heart skipped a beat as he wondered if this would be his saviour to walk in, axe in one hand, fireball in the other. He sighed and took another gulp of his ale after he saw a small, dishevelled child walk in. The young one couldn't have been much older than Sarah and was obviously lost. He debated as to whether or not the youth was male or female for it was hard to tell and what made the situation even more curious was the shield that looked completely out of place.

He chuckled and returned to his book, murmuring under his breath, "Northerners, creepy lot." It wasn't until the child spoke up that he paid her any real attention.

"I'm here to help" The words sounded almost angelic, untainted and pure, it was the voice of a young girl. Traynu laughed and almost ruffled her hair but decided against it because Orgnar was looking and he didn't want to start those sorts of rumours.

Still smiling, Traynu lightly took the parchment in the girls hand. It looked familiar but he couldn't place it, "What's this then, hmm?" He looked to Orgnar who quickly looked away, his eyes darting around trying to find something else to fixate upon. Traynu turned himself back to the parchment and unfolded it, the paper was well worn and soft to the touch. He started to read the letter, his smile fading with every word. "Oh." He didn't need to finish the letter, he knew it all too well.

He looked at the girl and saw Sarah, she had the same drive in her eyes. Seeing the little thing infront of him brought back memories of her, her fire and passion, the typical nordic spirit that was definitely passed on from Olga. Traynu tried to clear his throat, "Well, I, um." He stammered and wiped a hand through his hair, did she really think she could help him? He tried to form a sentence but kept failing, he didn't know what to say. He laughed nervously to himself while he drank on his ale. He gulped down the foamy liquid and wiped his jaw. "Where did you get this?" That seemed like a good place to start.