History:

Falpen used to be a grand city on the border to Hammerfel, and it was ruled by two Lords: Lord Ajvus and Lord Marduck. When the two leaders' forces discover massive silver ore fields, Mephala corrupts and convinces Marduck to keep over half of the ore production from his brother's eyes, and using the money and ore for his own devises. Mephala also convinced Ajvus to lay spies in his untrustworthy brother's operations, and when Ajvus found out about the treachery he confronted his brother in a fury, sword drawn.

When Marduck realized his dear brother had doubted him and planted spies, he was furious as well and drew his sword. They lunged at eachother, slaying both Lords.

The nearby cities of Garvi and Vendus, currently led by Baron Tarvits and the Baron Paliij, debated over who's son would succeed Ajvus and Marduck's rule. As the fight elevated, the Barons soon considered each other hostile forces, and battle to this day over the ore fields and over Falpen itself.

Falpen:

Small bands of organized criminals or ex-soldiers have formed, trying to fight back for their freedom and their land.

Garvi *Baron Tarvit's Barony*:

3000 Crossbowmen: *one sturdy oak crossbow, twenty iron-tipped bolts, one combat knife per man*
4000 Heavy Swordsmen: *heavily armored, wielding claymores*
3000 Heavy Cavalry: *heavy armored, wielding heavy lances and spears*

Vendus *Baron Paliij's Barony*:

4000 Skirmishers: *iron shortswords and longswords, some wield crossbows, these men make every kill count*
2000 Crossbowmen: *see above*
2000 Heavy Swordsmen: *see above*
4000 Pikemen: *equipped with a buckler strapped to arm, a 10-foot long pike, and an iron shortsword*

Redguard Marauders: Warbands pillage Falpen daily, looking for loot and land for their nation of Hammerfel.

You, the Rpers, are citizens of Falpen caught up in all the madness, and are underground in a basemant of the Tavern called "Dragon-Breath Mead". You can be anyone, an ex-soldier, a scholar, an alchemist, a Morag Tong assassin swept away in this war, forced to live underground with the commoners. You are trying to make it out of the city alive, but even then what to do is unclear. It is for you to choose as you forge your own destiny in this war. Now that you have regrouped with many other survivors of the horrid battle, you can either strike back at the Barons and Redguard marauders, or you can escape the city, and abandon your friends, family, and home to burn to the ground. The choices are many, but only ONE will define the history of the Fight for Falpen.

Rules:
1. All basic RP rules apply.
2. If you're confused with anything, ask me.
3. No ubering, no character control
4. My word is law
5. No in-depth Rp posts until the RP thread is started.


P.S. I changed the "Where You Come In" ending, I think it's a lot better yall should check it out.

P.S.... again.. Don't post till I put the first one.

Character List:
Dark Fox as Razwel
Renault as, well, Renault
BSparrow as the Wolf of Vendus *Baron Paliij*
Aussie_Made as Cyrus Vilamon
Zalphon as Lord Zalphon Broodikus

IC:
Paliij's Court Hall

The adviser, Torgaddon Garvell looked upon his master, the Baron Paliij with the most utter respect, and hate at the same time. Garvell's withered and hunched form made him look like a troll, and his twisted, scarred face made him very unattractive. Paliij had slain Torgaddon's father for heresy when Garvell had been at the age of fifty, and Paliij only a boy of seventeen. "Me lord," rasped Torgaddon in his unappealing, croaky voice, "I advise you to turn your attention to the Baron Tarvitz. The pesky Redguards, no offense, are only a minor annoyance. In a single fell swoop we could wipe out Tarvitz' army and the Redguards!"

Realizing he spoke out of turn, Garvell looked at his feet, and backed away from the throne. His master's wrath was swift and spontaneous most of the time, and even the old adviser feared the younger man. "I'm.. Sorry, master. I shouldn't have spoken." Waiting for himself to be yelled at, and possibly beaten, Garvell ran a hand through his hair.

The Basemant of the Dragon-Breath Mead

Lieutenant Jorgun, the highest ranking militant official present in the basemant, surveyed the crowded room. There were men and women of all races and colors, languages and art forms. He smirked, that the very army he used to work in could stoop to the level of slaughtering such diverse cultures was.. Revolting. He put on a fake smile, trying to reassure the blasted civilians, who couldn't seem to stop braying and bantering about silly and ridiculous topics.

"Calm down people, please! Calm down!" shouted Jorgun, who was standing on a barrel, waving his arms in the air. Eventually, most of the civilians had had their attention stolen by the man, and he sighed. "I'm not one for speeches, and I doubt any of you want to waste precious time listening to one. We need a plan, and we need a plan now," he said with cold sharpness, his military-style blonde hair framing his striking, some would say handsome face, "If there are any scribes, or magic users in this group, please make yourself known and we can put you to good use. We also need soldiers, anyone who can swing something big and heavy is welcome to come forward. Anyone with weapons, or ammunition, please make us aware of it, we need all the supplies we can get. We aren't getting out of this by working alone, the only way we can hope to stand a chance is if you get yourselves disciplined, and under control."

OOC: I'll post one in the Baron Tarvitz' court after someone takes up that position

Edit: I just wanted to add, this RP is ALWAYS open. Anyone can join, there is always room

I need someone to roll as the Baron Tarvitz, that position has opened. Anyone can nab it, as long as you have at least a little RP experience

Why isn't anyone posting?! I started the RP!!

Character sheet:

Name: Baron Paliij Sentirus of Vendus
Nickname: Wolf of Vendus
Race: Half Imperial, Half Redguard
Gender: Male
Age: 34
Birthsign: the Warrior

Class: Baron
Skills: Tactics, Blade, Block, Heavy Armor, Mercantile


Physical Description: Paliij's appearance heavily favors his mother. He has curly black hair, russet skin, and an athletic build. However, his striking green eyes and square jaw bely his father's race. His expression is usually grave and reserved--rarely does he let his emotions show.
Height: 5'9"
Weight: 164 lbs
Scars/tattoos: He has several assorted scars. The most visible is a cut on his forehead where a raider's axe once nearly split his skull.

Clothing/armor: Out of armor, he favors neatly-cut jackets in earth tones; the only high-priced item he wears is his signet ring. When he's in 'tactician' mode, he typically changes into a set of steel armor.
Weapons: Silver Claymore, with an extra steel shortsword and knife at his belt.
Inventory: At his advisors' request, he usually carries a healing potion on his person somewhere.

Mental Description: Paliij is occasionally called the "Wolf of Vendus" because he is fierce, tenacious, and protective. He is a strict disciplinarian, both of himself and others, and has no sense of humor to speak of. He prefers to fight alongside his men when he can, and his tactics are often shrewd and unforgiving.

To his citizens, Paliij can seem a harsh ruler. His policy is to tax high to fund his militia, leaving the general populace somewhat disgruntled with their simpler existence. Paliij shows little interest in civil matters, leaving such things up to his staff and wife.



Other miscellaneous info:
Due to an injury sustained in his childhood, he occasionally has "attacks" of crippling pain in his left side, usually triggered by high stress. He dislikes showing weakness in front of his men, though, and will usually retreat to his rooms when he feels one coming on.


History:
Paliij was born into a life of luxury. His father was the Baron of Vendus before him, and his mother was the warrior daughter of a rich merchant in Hammerfell. Their marriage was politically arranged, and the two spent much of Paliij's childhood battling over dominance of their child and their land (the Baron won the land, while the Baroness won the son). Paliij's Redguard mother made sure he was well-acquainted with military tactics and combat, and he took to that much more than his father's Imperial lessons of statesmanship and loyalty to the crown.

When Paliij was nine, he was kicked by a horse, breaking several ribs. He spent several months bedridden and crippled, but managed an almost-complete recovery through hard work and discipline. Ever since, he has trusted heavily in the power of discipline and willpower. However, he was also left with a phobia of horses. He does not trust them, and will not have them in his militia.

When his father died, Paliij took over. Now, he is fiercely loyal to his citizens, and considers himself their protector more than their ruler. Thus, when the Redguard raiders began becoming bold, he took it as a personal offense. He primarily wants the silver mines so he can afford to launch a full offensive against the raiders.

He has 2 sons: one 12, and one 9, born of a loveless political marriage to the daughter of a Colovian duke. Both boys have strict training regiments, and spend most of their time being tutored or in the training yards with the militia, whether they want to or not. The boys are nevertheless adored by the men. His wife spends her time with the civil staff, trying to run a financially-strapped barony.


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Paliij's Court Hall

Paliij did not like holding court. He detested sitting on his father's throne, listening to the complaints of his courtiers and advisors when he should have been out with his men, defending his lands from being ravaged by raiders. What good was he doing here?

He sat on the edge of his seat, his hands clasped in front of him to keep them from fidgeting. He was a man of action; he detested sitting still for so long.

And so, when Garvell spoke, he swiftly reined in his irritation so that he did not backhand the man across the face. The old man was useful, in his way; that was why he was still on the advisoral staff after so many years. It did not do well for the men to see him lose his temper, especially not with someone so old.

"You're right," Paliij said sharply, just short of a snap. "You should not have." He rose from his throne, but did not approach the old man. Instead, he turned in the other direction and began to pace. "Tarvitz is not our goal; he is an obstacle to be overcome. And not one to be underestimated, as you so quickly do." He threw the old man a pointed look. "The raiders are everything, and the key to defeating them is to capture that silver mine. Once we have it, nothing but a long seige will be able to wrest it from us, and Tarvitz will be the one who is a minor annoyance."

Suddenly, he spun on the elderly advisor and stared him down. "Or perhaps, Lord Garvell, you believe yourself to be better equipped to direct my army than I am? Perhaps I shall tell the men that you wish to lead the skirmishers next time one of our towns is attacked by unlawful Redguards."

He knew putting the man on the front lines would be as good as a death sentence... and Garvell knew it as well. He'd understand the threat, and that was enough for Paliij.

The old man coughed, surprised and happy that his master hadn't slapped him, or otherwise done harm. "I.. Well, sir, it is of course your overall decision. You could place me on the front lines, and I would obligingly go, but you would only lose a trusted adviser. I am just here to give thee advice, and in my opinion Tarvitz' forces are larger than the Redguards' by a long shot. If we focus on the marauders, Tarvitz will wrest Falpen from out battered armies, and we will have no choice but to retreat!" Leaning on his cane, Garvell stepped a little closer. "We don't have to discuss this now, infront of them," whispered the old man, waving to the other members in the court room, "Let's settle the matter later eh?"

Patting his master on the shoulder, the old withered man sat down on a wooden chair near the throne, his knees cracking painfully. "Telvius Mathews, you are called before the court?" shouted Garvell as loud as his hoarse, aged throat could manage. The elder adviser always administrated the sessions where people accused of treason or other petty things would be brought before the throne. He administrated this because his lord would probably just cut through all their heads and order them to be thrown in the nearby lake, where there was already a growing amount of bodies.

"What is your crime?" croaked Torgaddon.

"I was accused unjustly of treason! My squad was attacked by marauders, and I was the only one left. The others thought I killed my squad, and they threw me in here..." he stammered, unbelieving that he was actually being prosecuted.

"My lord, what is his punishment?" asked Garvell, but he knew that Mathews was innocent. It wasn't his position to dish out punishments, and it would be what his master wanted it to be.

Cyrus sat in the inn, Dragon-Breath Mead, drinking his sorrows away. Things had never been the same since he left the Imperial City. He signaled the bartender for another drink. A cold frosty beer was slid his way, Cyrus began to chug it down. He put the empty glass back on the table and let out a loud burp. Cyrus looked around the bar, it was mostly empty apart from an Argonian in the corner with a mean look on his face. Cyrus looked away, he didn't need anymore unnecessary trouble. He tossed the Nord bartender a couple of coins to pay for his expenses. The bartender took the coins and the empty glass.

Cyrus began to hear a ruckus coming from outside, suddenly the door burst open and the room filled with the towns people. They began to shout and yell.

"The marauders are attacking!"

Panic struck the crowd and they began to cram into the basemant. Cyrus was caught up in the commotion and he was forced into the basemant. People were yelling and screaming, crying and breaking down. It was chaos. Cyrus stood in the corner trying to ignore the headache that the people were creating. He heard a voice above the crowd.

"Calm down people, please! Calm down!"

The people seemed to calm a little and the man began to speak again.

"I'm not one for speeches, and I doubt any of you want to waste precious time listening to one. We need a plan, and we need a plan now, if there are any scribes, or magic users in this group, please make yourself known and we can put you to good use. We also need soldiers, anyone who can swing something big and heavy is welcome to come forward. Anyone with weapons, or ammunition, please make us aware of it, we need all the supplies we can get. We aren't getting out of this by working alone, the only way we can hope to stand a chance is if you get yourselves disciplined, and under control."

Cyrus laughed and thought to himself.

"Ha these people will surely die if they try to create a resistance."

He looked around at the faces of the people, they were scared and distraught. Cyrus let out a loud sigh and walked to the man who was speaking.

"I used to be apart of the legion."

OOC: I'll edit this into a post later, I'm not feeling my best atm.

The scared politician slowly picked up his small tankard of mead. He was sitting there, trapped in a basemant with a bunch of people he'd never met in his life. He had no idea where the other town council members had gone, he guessed they were dead by now. And for all he knew he was probably the last politican in the whole city, the only one waiting to get killed that is. For now there was really nothing better to do but wait for someone to say something.... anything.

Razwel was a politican. He was a man sworn to the town coucil to help direct the citys daily earnings, and before everything went to hell he was quite known throughout cyrodil for giving advice to counts and countesses. He made lots of money too and used to live in a huge mansion. But that mansion was just a pile of rubble that had been looted and burned to the ground. Even his all his money had been stolen from the night before. Which makes him a worthless beggar.... once again.