Year 4E32.
Divayth Fyr claims to have found the cure for corprus. Test subjects already infected with corprus show 100% improvement, becoming completely human in a matter of weeks. Tests on normal subjects (subjects without corprus) have shown the opposite effect; the subject transforms into a full-fledged corprus beast in a matter of days. Divayth Fyr decides to have the cure confined to his corprusarium.

Year 4E35
Divayth Fyr decides that one of his cured subjects, known only as Mike, is ready to be released back into society. But Mike has bigger plans. When Divayth takes Mike to Balmora for release, Mike steals a bottle of the cure, taking it with him.

One week later
For unknown reasons, certain citizens of Balmora have shown signs of corprus, and the disease is rapidly spreading. Divayth Fyr attempts to give those who are infected the cure, but then finds that the disease has mutated, forming a new, more resistant strain. Fyr returns to his tower indefinitely, trying to find a cure for the new strain. All clues point to Mike as the culprit.

Year 4E38
All of Vvardenfell has been infected, the status of Divayth Fyr is unkown. The disease has spread to the mainland, and corprus beasts have destroyed Mournhold and killed all of its inhabitants, including King Helseth. The Horde now moves to the other provinces, the majority heading toward Cyrodiil...

You play as a normal person, trying simply to survive the onslaught of the corprus horde, which is right at your doorstep in Cheydinhal. The Empire has lost all communication with Morrowind, and nobody alive is aware of the looming corprus threat. Ocato has dispatched a large portion of the imperial legion to guard the Cyrodiil-Morrowind border, spread thin across the contryside. You can work with others, go it alone (not advisable), or take the fight to the monsters in the fight to survive.

Some info on the corprus beasts.
About 80% of the horde will be mad up of generic, but powerful, corprus beasts. Although quite strong, they move obnoxiously slow due to their extensive muscle and bone decay. They can run clumsily to a certain extent. These beasts have heavily decayed brains, only able to make simple thoughts, and have only the most primal of instincts: To stay alive, and to eat.

Another 19.9% of the corprus beasts will be made up of the recent infectees; these beasts have only recently be infected, and therefore will not have suffered from the same muscle and bone decay as their slow counterparts. Their brains, however, are just as damaged as the others and stil cannot carry out complex thoughts.

The other 0.1% (one in a thousand) is quite different. This group is made out of corprus beasts that were exceptional in their life. These beasts had immense willpower as a human, and therefore retained much of their mind, stil able to carry out complex thought processes. These few can cast spells, use weapons and tools, even command lesser corprus beasts. Be wary of them, as they can match and even outsmart your character.

All corprus beasts, no matter how powerful, are extremely sensitive to UV radiation, and therefore stay out of the sun. Thus, they only come out at night, often hiding from the sun in caves, ruins, or even people's basemant's during the day.


Character sheet format

Name:
Race:
Gender:
Apparent Age: (How old you appear to be)
Actual Age: (How old you really are)

Skills: (Not necessarily those in the games, just whatever you're character is good at)
Armor/apparel: (Please don't pick anything better than Mithril or its heavy armor counterpart)
Unique apparel: (Jewlery, etc.)

Weapons: (Nothing ebony or daedric, please)
Equipment: (money, food, etc. If you have a horse put it here)

Physical Appearance:
Unique Appearance: (Scars, Tattoos, etc.)
Mental Description:
Short Bio:


Rules:

1. No ubering/character controlling
2. No one-liners
3. You are not immune to corprus
4. PM all character sheets to me
5. My word is law. Disobedience will be punished by me killing/crippling/dismembering/eating your character alive
6. No short posts. All IC posts must be a minimum of 50 words.
7. No OOCs without also including and IC.
8. Romance and cursing are both fine.
9. You know the '0.1%' of corprus beasts that can think for themselves? Well it is me and only me that gets to decide who those are, when they appear, and what they do.

List of Characters

Chriso123

Name: Louis Dilbor
Race: Breton
Gender: Male
Apparent Age: Mid 20's
Actual Age: 30
Skills: Longblade, Heavy Armour, Smithing, minor Destruction, Geography, Culture and being nice to people. Has an average knowledge on Restoration but rarely ever uses it, however with complete focus he can heal adequatly.
Armor/apparel: Dons steel armour (minus helmet and shield, he wears simple gloves, he hates heavy gauntlets) when in battle. When not he wears a basic brown long sleeved tunic and trousers etc.
Unique apparel: Gold ring he had since very young.

Weapons: Fine steel longsword
Equipment: In his pocket-pouch he carries 50 or so septims, an apple and a key to his house.

Physical Appearance: Of average height and build, standing at around 5'11'' and about 180lbs. Has a lot of defined muscle around his arms from much sword and repair work, however he's not as strong as an Orc or Nord. Looks more thin then bulky. Has a very young and tender looking face, despite being around 30 odd. Has a small nose without any lumps or bumps. His eyes are of medium size but often seemed to be pierced naturally, making them look shorter then they actually are. He isn't anything special to look at but not ugly either. Has quite smooth skin, and despite being trained in heavy combat, hasn't suffered any cuts, bruises or scars on his face from battles and fights. Always seems to have a natural smile on his face.

Unique Appearance: One scar in the centre of his back from when a wolf clawed him there.

Mental Description: He is your typical nice and friendly chap. The only way to make him aggressive is to push his buttons extremely hard and probably use physical contact on him. Always looking to make new friends, which is usually rather easy seeing as he has a soft and friendly voice. However the women never semed to bothered with him, which was one of the things that sadens Louis slightly. If someone isn't feeling too good he will always try to make them feel better. Hates conflicts and arguments, one of the only thing that angers him. Is quite talkative but knows when he needs to stop. However despite hating people who are angry and rowdy, he does like a good drink down the pub. Overall a nice and sociable guy. But people often underestimate him, but if provoked he is swift with a blade. If there is a fault with his mentality it is that he lacks confidence, and often gets nervous for silly reasons, sometime making him annoying to be around.

Short Bio: Never had a special life really, just ordinary like most people. He was born in High Rock but his father moved to Cheydinhal when Louis was at a young age. Father was a good smith for the town and earned the family a good income, he often worked for the Fighters Guild giving Louis respect among them when he grew up.

His Dad always taught his son the ways of smithing but Louis never really cared for it, he'd much rather be studying the cultures and geography of Tamriel. However when it's embedded into your brain, you learn the skills. He did undergo serious sword training from his father, which was compulsary, it turned him into a fit young man. His main hobby however always was studying and going to the pub and having fun with friends, it was more interesting to him then fighting. As a matter of fact he was going to make an expiditon to study Morrowind, but with the Corprus outbreak it was impossible. On his way to the land of the Dunmer, he was attacked by a savage wolf, his first real battle.

Since then he did a few odd jobs for the Fighters Guild and repaired people's equipment when his father was not around to do so, getting him good money. However with the threat of Corprus lately, the city has been much more strict, so Louis decides to not even step outside the city. In fact he's too nervous to even go by the gates. The only time he leaves the house now is to go to the guild or have a drink.

Darkom95

Name: Durber
Age: 32
Race: Imperial
Gender: Male
Sign: The Lady

Class: Citizen
Abilities: Endurance and Luck
Skills: Mercantile, Blunt, Athletics, Farming, Cooking, and not getting himself into trouble

Height: 5' 10''
Weight: 150 lbs
Build: Average; some muscle, but not enough to be called strong.
Eye Color: Brown
Hair: Brown, military style without the headband

Armor: None
Clothing: Commoner clothing, mostly tan or green.
Weapons: A shovel
Miscellaneous: A head of lettuce and his lucky topaz sliver

Spells: None

Mental: Very resistant to change in his lifestyle, he is very comfortable with the small farm he inherited from his father. He does not want to "rock the boat" and usually keeps his head down.

History: Grew up on his father's farm outside Cheydinhal with his parents and two sisters. His mother passed away recently, but his father still lives with him. His sisters left for the Imperial City together several years ago. He has been eking out a living for twenty years without any significant events.


Elite Birthday
Name: Ral-Kimas (Nickname: Blue)
Race: Argonian
Gender: Male
Apparent Age: 27
Actual Age: 29

Skills: Speed, Agility, Climbing, Jumping, Archery, Swordsmanship, Chivalry
Armor/apparel: Fur Armour, with a Daedroth-resembling helmet (Bronze Cast); He also wears a red robe, with the hood down at times of relaxation.
Unique apparel: None

Weapons: Iron bow, and Dwarven Shortsword (awarded to him by his father)
Equipment: Couple of Various Fruit, 20 Septims, 30 various arrows.

Physical Appearance: Even though Ral is a male, he still has a deep purple colour, instead of the dark blood red. This is a recessive family trait that has got him the nickname, He-Who-Is-Blue. He is shorter then average, and has spikey spines going down his scalp.
Unique Appearance: While fighting a bandit who had ambushed him while on the road, half of his tail was cut off, making it harder for him to balance and swim.

Mental Description: He doesn't like to talk about his family, and short bursts of rage can come as a result of that, but he mostly lives a jubilant life. He also has adopted sarcasm and hilarity as a main part of his personality.

Short Bio: Growing up in the Black-Marsh, Ral-Kimas showed excellency in combat and agility at a young age. His naming ceremony at 7 years was quite debated, as much wanted to display his swiftness in his name, while some wanted to show off his archery and swordsmanship. Finally, the family decided that a traditional Hist name would be good, and his name was Ral-Kimas. After his naming ceremony, he was presented with a Dwarven Shortsword, a family heirloom. The family decided to go to Cheydinhall to see Ral's uncle, but were ambushed on the way by bandits. His family were slaughtered, and Ral had lost his tail. He grew up in Cheydinhal in solitude, but finally got over his past, and adopted a outgoing personality. He continued to develop his outstanding skills, while having a mediocre, but extravagant life.


Jerod Kayne
Name: Radek
Nickname: Wild-Eye
Race: Argonian
Gender: Male
Apparent Age: Early Teens (16-19)
Actual Age: 20

Skills: *Hand to hand, *Athletics, *Acrobatics, Blade, Sneak
Armor/apparel: Dark Green shirt, Old raggedy Chain mail Shirt (Wears over Green shirt), Black Trousers, Leather Boots, Chain mail Gauntlets with half finger-sleeves.
Unique apparel: None

Weapons: Fine Steel Machete
Equipment: Food, little gold, map

Physical Appearance: Looks weak and frail, but actually is not. His body is covered in a range of green-yellow scales. His eyes are unnatural colors, his left eye being a blood red color, and the other being a bright yellow.
Unique Appearance: Long cut marks, scraqes, scars all over his body, incredibly long claws on his feet and hands. Long sharp teeth.
Mental Description: He's not the most sanest person you'll ever meet. Sometimes, he can act incredibly crazy, almost like an animal. In other times, he rarely speaks, eats, and sleeps.

Short Bio: Sole Survivor of a massacre in Morrowind. He fled to Cyrodiil in order to survive, leaving family and friends to be butchered.

Misc:
-Has a split-personality.
-Twiddles and/or locks his fingers together when he's nervous

Name: Kalif

Race: Argonian

Gender: Male

Age: 20

Birthsign: Serpent

Physical Description: Your average joe. Although has some well muscled legs, and a lot of cuts and scraqes riddled on his arms and hands.

Mental Description: Cheery, and a bit gung-ho. Respects people older than him, and loves to learn and try new things.

Weapons: Iron dagger, and doesn't know how to use it.

Clothing/Armour: Chainmail Greaves, brown shirt, leather boots, and fur gauntlets.

Misc Items: Leather bag full of archeological equipment, maps, and gold, some of his inventions.

Misc:
-A bit gung-ho.
-Loves anything to with the ancient world.
-Likes to invent things.


Short History: An Archeologist/Inventer known throughout Tamriel. He spends most of his inside ruins and caves, or examining old artifacts. He's rich, but rarely uses the money, only to buy food and archeological provisions. Rest will be revealed as the RP progresses.


woolymammoth45
Name: Jamaal Arhano
Gender: Male
Birthsign: The Steed
Race: Red Guard
Age: 29

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

Apparel: Jamaal is an assassin, but he always doesn't try to look like one obviously. He usually wears, unless disguising himself on certain events, Black Leather Armor, with Light, flexible leather boots. He bears an amulet, which he wears under his armor. His mother gave it to him in his childhood. It is said to give him luck, and it may possibly be enchanted with that ability. He also wears a black leather belt, with many slots of its own. He also wears leather braces, and fingerless leather gloves.

Weapons: Jamaal bears a rather small longsword that hangs from his belt. It is bigger than the usual short-sword, but is not as big as an average longblade (A longblade classified in history as a sword with the blade twice the size of its hilt, therefore, it may very in size somewhat to a degree.) He also bears a short blade, the hilt 6 inches, and the blade 9 inches. It is held in a tie up leather strap pocket on his right arm just below the shoulder, covering his horrible scar. He also wears a small iron dagger in a pouch above his ankle, for such needed instances. It is very light, and does not affect his running in a way that matters. The last weapon of his is a short steel and leather cross-bow, featuring steel in the middle, right on the straight section from which the arrow is aimed, and flexible leather covering it. It sits in his light flexible black leather quiver, slung across his shoulder, with 20 iron arrows. Short blades stick out of both ends of the head, allowing somewhat of a good killing technique.

Misc: Jamaal also keeps one minor invisibility potion handy within his gear belt. He saves it only for life saving instances.

History: Jamaal grew up in Rihad, Hammerfel, and studied the ancient Ansei as a boy. His Mother was a caring mother, a former Morag Tong Agent. His Mother taught him the arts of stealth, and the little combat that she new when he was young. His father was always away. He really knew anything about what he did when he was young. Later though, he finally realized his father was not a former member of the Morag Tong, but an active one of the sort. He was always away in Morrowind doing whatever he did, which Jamaal didn't know about at his young age. Meanwhile, he continued to study the Ansei, the ancient battles of Hammerfell, and the works of Destri Melarg. At the age of ten, his Uncle, a high ranking fighters guild member, taught him some advanced combat techniques, for his mother did not know much of combat. At the age of 16, his father retired, and trained him in stealth, and the art of the stealth kill as much as he could. He was an Ark'ay worshiper growing up, and also worshiped Julianos. At the age of 18, he forsook his parents will to become a member of the Morag Tong, and joined the Dark Brotherhood after being invited by an assassin that saw his talent. He therefore started to worship Sithis. Even though he wasn't as religious as some of the other embers, he still payed his respects to the void.

He quickly rose through the ranks by doing contracts, and soon the leader of the Dark Brotherhood appointed him as the leader of the Brotherhood in High Rock. Soon, he left the Brotherhood, feeling no honor involved in the guild. He moved to Cheydinhall, forging armor, and working at a freelance assassin. Soon, the corpus came to be, nd now he running for his life, hoping to find survival.


Jonasvault101

Name: Durzol gro-Mughol
Nickname: Durza
Race: Orc/ part Nord
Gender: Male
Apparent Age: mid-30's
Actual Age: 43

Skills: All Blades, Axe, Bow, Survival, Climbing, Hand-to-hand, Cooking, Armorer
Armor: An antique Orcish briastplate and greaves, thick leather sandals, a fur helm, and Iron pauldrons.
Unique Apparel: A thick black sack cloth skirt with gold wrothgarian designs, underneath all his armor he wears mainly fur lined but very noble robes made of weaved wolf and bear fur.

Weapons: A large curved Orcish scimitar made of steel but with a blackish color, it has a fur and ebony sheath. He also carries a 2 and half foot axe of plain iron with a wooden handle. He carries a horn-bow and 36 wooden arrows.
Equipment: An old coin belonging to his grand sire, and a battle horn. A small pouch on his hip with about 70 septims, as well as a loaf of bread.

Physical Appearance: 7 ft tall, thick muscular build. Durzol has war-braided his thick black/gray hair and grown a long warlike beard. His body is covered in the tattoos of his Wartribe of the Wrothgarian Mountains.

Mental Description: A born fighter, he is easily angered. However, he was raised to be kind and respect those who would wish him no harm and would help him. Like many Orc chieftains, he is humble and wise to allies. In battles, he may lose himself in bloodlust.

Short Bio: Born in the Wrothgarian Mountains to a powerful Orc Warlord and a Nordic Skaal mother, Durzol was bread and trained to live up to his family's legacy of warriors. He became a mercenary at a rather young age and battled hundreds of men, always coming out victorious with his Orc and Nord warriors. When the corprus disease destroyed Morrowind and Mournhold, Durzol was hired by a Dunmer noble to escort him out of the far side of Morrowind. But alas, not only was the noble killed, but so were Durzol's men. He fled across Morrowind in stealth and speed, making his way to Cheydinhal.

instantdeath59

Name:Orange-Blade
Race:Argonian
Gender: Male
Apparent Age: 24
Actual Age: 24

Skills: Swordsman, Adventuring, dodge, athletics.
Armor/apparel: Light iron
Unique apparel:None

Weapons: Silver Longsword, and a single dagger at his belt
Equipment: Some money, a torch, a small ration of supplies.

Physical Appearance: A moderate size, is a light musculer build. He has orange eyes, and reddish colored scales. He also has latge fins.
Unique Appearance: None
Mental Description: Not as easily frightend due to his adventuring lifstyle. He usualy is quite, but can speak up, and has the idea that he can help peaple with personal problems with a rather negative answer.
Short Bio: Born in the black marsh, he found it boring and not enough adventure. At 18, he packed up and moved to Cyrodill. He soon found himself leading a succeful career.


forrest gump951
Name: Fanier
Race: Wood Elf/High Elf mix
Apparent Age: 25
Actual Age: 63
Gender: Male

Skills: Fanier's a master at close quarters combat, very deadly with shortswords and hand-to-hand. He's also pretty good with long blades and bows. When necessary, he can cast a basic fire or restoration spell.
Armor/apparel: Fanier has a full suit of leather armor minus the helm. When he's not wearning armor he has some simple clothes and a nice burgundy jacket for when its cold.
Unique Apparel: Fanier always wears the amulet of his late wife.

Weapons: Fanier has an elven shortsword, along with a simple shortbow with a quiver of 30 arrows.
Equipment: He's got about 50 gold in his savings, along with a bay horse named Perce kept not in the stable, but tied outside his house.

Physical Appearance: 6 feet, 2 inches, due to high elf ancestry. 160 pounds, little body fat, average muscle mass. Brown hair, often tied in a short ponytail or let loose in a short, ruffled fashion. Hazel eyes, some stubble around chin and upper lip.
Unique Appearance: Fanier has several scars across his chest from a nasty fight with an argonian a while back.
Mental Description: Charming man, though has a bit of somberness behind the charm from the death of his wife fifteen years ago. When forced to talk about his wife, he becomes irritable, sometimes breaks down. Always carries her amulet to remember her by. He doesn't like it when people try to feel sorry for him. He isn't bothered by blood, gore, etc.

Short Bio: Son of a nobleman in summerset isle, left his family as he grew tired of the noble life. Traveled across Tamriel, and met a beautiful wood elf named Lathora in Cyrodiil. They traveled together, and were married in the Temple of the One. A year later, during a visit to Morrowind, Lathora came infected with Corprus, and eventually became a fully fledged corprus beast. Devastated, Fanier took her amulet and left Morrowind. He became a privateer for well-paying customers, sometimes easy jobs like pest-extermination (rats), sometimes doing the dirty work for skooma dealers. Although he sometimes murdered, he never did so unless his employers told him what they did to deserve such a fate. Fanier never told anyone of his wife.

W00tz

Name: Faric Rielle
Race: Breton
Gender: Male
Apparent Age: Appears slightly younger.
Actual Age: 16

Skills: Through a rough life on the street, Faric has learned to live by the knife, and has grown to be very familiar and efficient with it. Can also throw knives. Learnt to patch and repair old clothing and leather armor. Often being forced to eat less than tasty food, he has no problem stomaching even the most disgusting food. Has learnt a simple spell to purify a small quantity of dirty water. Can pick nearly any lock, is a skilled pickpocket, and can move unseen throw nearly an entire town. In rural settings he is at a disadvantage, but in an urban setting he can seemingly disappear in the streets.
Armor/apparel: Wears a pair of dirty sack cloth pants with several felt and leather patches, a white collared shirt obviously too large for him and stained a light tint of yellow, and a grey cloak with a brown felt patch near his right shoulder and a leather patch on the front-left. Faded and worn leather shoes, which he has stuffed with a little extra padding.
Unique apparel: Sells every piece of jewellery or finery he can get his hands on, if only for a shower or a night in the inn.

Weapons: A steel poignard he got from a fight with a skooma dealer when he was younger. Three throwing knives in each side of his cloak, and a single throwing knife strapped near his ankle.
Equipment: Carries a pouch made from a potato sack, contains a few bits of food and cloth scraps. Has a small pouch containing 13 septims in his cloak.

Physical Appearance: At 5'7 he is very lean from malnutrition, and hasn't been able to build much muscle as a result. People are often unsure whether his face is darker from a heavy tan, or a thick layer of grime.
Unique Appearance: A few minor scars across his body, and bruises from a recent confrontation with the guards.
Mental Description: ( Would rather this be developed in the roleplay, rather than limit myself to what is written here. )
Short Bio: All he knows is that his mother succumbed to a heavy skooma addiction and died, and a local homeless cutthroat raised him until he was old enough to take care of himself, taught him a few tricks, and dumped him in the bustling market of cheydinhal. This was done in the hopes someone would take pity and take him in, but mankind is not so kind as was hoped. Faric has since for the most part slept at the far south end of the city, sleeping near the wall.

Sannes Vallen
Name:Silv-veh-rah(Nickname:Silver)
Birthsign:The shadow
Species:Khajiit
Age:20
Skills:Acrobatics,Stealth,Marksman,Athaletics,Illusion,rudementary destruction,alchemy,short blades

Physical appearence:He is slimmer than most khajiit,standing about 5'9",with almost reflective silver fur that he keeps slicked down for stealth.His eyes are also light blue,almost silver.His fangs and claws are kept sharpened,and filed down to knifelike points.He has few distinguishing scars,other than an intricate tatoo of his birthsight on the side of his neck.When he senses danger,his slicked fur begins to stand up,whenever hes nervous he keeps looking at the backs of his hands.

Armor/Apparel/Weapons:He wears no shirt,as his fur provides good stealth due to its reflective appearence.He wears a bandolier style belt across his chest though,with six daggers strapped to it,some poisoned,some not.Around his waist he wears a black leather belt attached to the bottom half of a robe.Attached to the belt are two silver short swords,named Moonshine and Moonfire,and on his back is another dagger.Concealed by the robe and strapped to the side of his leg,he wears a very long dagger that can almost be considered a short sword.

Misc:A pouch of alchemy ingredients,and another pouch containing around 500 septims(His earnings),He also has a third pouch containing lockpics and potions(Mostly minor chamelion and invisibility)

Short Bio:Silv was born to a khajiit family,his mother died in childbirth and his father was an abusive drunk.One day,he killed his father with a kitchen knife out of pure hatred,and the sixteen year old Silv was then recruted into the dark brotherhood.Although deadly,he posseses a number of fatal faults.He is mostly a coward,and tends to avoid high risk jobs because of it.He is also nocturnal whenever possivle.The only times he leaves the sanctuary during the day is when it is raining or cloudy,he is apparently not a vampire,nor albino,he only has an abject hatred for sunlight.Recently,he has been dismissed from the dark brotherhood as punishment for refusing a direct order,and now takes on low risk jobs with the fighters and theives guild to earn his pay.He is hard to anger and has a few antisocial tendencies,not major,but a few,he tends to say the wrong thing at the wrong time and is particularly downcast and pessimistic.His uses are limited due to his cowardice,and he carries around all the weapons mainly for show,and his love of collecting shiny objects.He has no religeon,and never belived in sithis when he was in the dark brotherhood.He is great at stealth,but rarely draws his weapons other than to admire them or threaten someone.He was a liability to the DB from the start because of his cowardice.He will allways run away when he can....allways.Ne chivalry,he woyuld give up his best friend(If he had friends)to save his own skin.

Faldom
Name: Kiel

Age: 33

Gender: Male

Race: Redguard

Birthsign: The Steed

Class: Ranger

Class Description: (DF) Rangers are at home in the wilderness, and are excellent hunters. They are very skilled at survival and tracking.

Skills: (Mostly DF) Long Blade, Short Blade, Marksmen, Alchemy, Climbing, Running, Jumping, Spriggan, Light Armor, and Sneak

Non TES Skills: Horse Riding, Crafting, Sailing, Tracking, Survival, etc.

Height: 6'2"

Weight: 204

Eye Color: Dark Brown

Hair Color: Black

Appearance: Has short frizzy hair and a small goatee. His left ear is slightly deformed from where a piercing used to be. He has a broad jaw, and well defined facial features. He has small scars all over his body that has been hardened from physical training. He bears a tattoo of Yokuda on his right Bicep.

Weapon(s): Elven long sword, Elven dagger, and a set of an Elven Bow and arrows

Misc. Items: A white stallion named Thunder, a pouch full of herbs, wilderness equipment and a few maps held in another bag. The pouch and bag are both concealed under his cloak.

Armor: Hard, black, leather boots and a vest, over dark brown pants, a lighter brown shirt, and draqed in a green cloak. Under all of that is a suit of mithril chainmail. He always wears a silver medallion

Mental: Kiel can be headstrong and tends to have a one-tracked mind, but he has great perseverance. His behaves rather calmly outside of combat, but in combat he lets his natural adrenaline take over. He also finds it had to trust others.

Background History: Kiel was born to a couple of Redguard pirates. They raised him on the ship, teaching him the tricks and trades of sailing, and little bit of training with a cutlass. They intended to teach him more of those. When he was age 10, they both died on a large raid. He was stranded in Valenwood; he spent a year wandering until he was taken in by a Wood Elf man named Delaeon.

Delaeon was harsh to Kiel at first, disciplining him strictly for the rude child he was. But eventually, Delaeon grew fond of Kiel, teaching him all he knew about being a Ranger. The training was hard and intense, but fortunately Kiel was a natural and became almost as good as Delaeon. At eighteen, Delaeon kicked Kiel out on his ass, giving him nothing but a bow, (in poor condition) eighty rusty iron arrows, and an iron short sword. Kiel wasn't happy, and neither was Delaeon, but it was what was best for him. He spent seven years of being a freelance adventurer making his fame and fortune. He did this through various quests, looting dungeons, and he even did some work for the emperor. He success combined with youth made him a little bit too full of himself.

At age twenty five, a horrible surprise came to him, his Father was alive. He had only been wounded in the raid. Kiel discovered this by accident; he was in the city of Sentinel with a contract to clean out a pirate ship. He scaled the side of the docked pirate ship and killed two pirates on top of the deck. He made his way down and killed off the rest. He then entered the captain's quarters, he was not there. He searched the room and found a silver medallion; it was the same one Kiel's father told him he would inherit when he became a man. At first, Kiel was filled with rage. He believed that whoever had this medallion had stolen it off of his father corpse. Kiel dropped the medallion in his pocket. Kiel heard footsteps coming down the hall way, Kiel drew his cutlass, and prepared to kill his father's murderer. The door swung open, the ship's captain entered the room. It was Kiel's father. Kiel was shocked; he turned around and ran from the ship. He kept the medallion to remember where he came from.

Since that day he lost the spirit of his youth. He was now unable to trust others fully and pushed away all kinds of relationships. As a result he found himself alone and with nothing to lose.

After the corpus struck, Kiel life was shaken at the foundation. He now only has to goals that he lives by, first and foremost, survival, second, to find his Father.

I'll make the 1st IC in a bit; having dinner first.

OOC: Short post, but we need to get rolling


Jamaal, Cheydinhall

It had been a long day, the dusk creeping upon the hillside. The clouds rolling upon the hills, traveling to wherever they would go, and then wither away in the wind, as flowers of the seasons. The city was in a beautiful state of peace. Jamaal's house was near the east gate, standing upon a hill. One part of the house could be exceptionally seen from outside the dark walls of Cheydinhall. Farwil was the count in those days, ever since his father had died years ago.

No contact from Morrowind had been reached within the last few days. The legions were spread among the border, taking even the old fort Farragut in those days. Some ventured into the darkness beyond those places, and have not returned. The Knights of the Thorn have been sent to Farragut, adding the legion.

Soon, darkness filled the remaining light, and moans, were heard. They were numerous, getting closer by the second, screams were heard in the void of the night, guards fluttered from the watch towers in panic. Soon the east gate broke, corpus draining into the city, some going among the mountains to Bruma, some going the Imperial City, and some south, into the Blackwood swaps, into the other diseases which lie there.

The watch of Cheydinhall took action quickly, against the massive armies of the cursed. Some corpus bore legion armor of sorts, some legion soldiers had come into the battle also. It just wasn't enough, soon the corpus poured into the castle, as citizens fled, some slaughtered along the way. The fighters and mages guild had joined the fight with haste, but everyone was dying, people falling, towers burning.

The horde of the cursed had come into Cyrodil, in mighty numbers. Jamaal ran to west gate at top speed, for his birthsign was mighty. The horses were in great fear, most already taken by other citizens. Jamaal hopped aboard a black one of the sort, and rode off to the Imperial City.

We must warn the council...

[Deleted on a count of restarting]

OOC: What time of day is it? From 'Woolymammoth's' post I'm going to assume it's getting late.

The day was making a close, darkness and mist started to engulf the city, you couldn't even see the hills and fort in the near distance. The gloom of the evening sky made everyone nervous, including Louis, no-one knew when the Corprus were going to attack and truthfully, it was only a matter of time. They had taken every city in Morrowind and people had no faith. It was as if the citizens of Cheydinhal were doomed to die, being so close to the Morrowind border and the thought of going out alone was terrifying, being stranded, lost and hopeless. However with that said, Louis would always think of the positive side of things. We'll be fine, the City Watch has the gate well guarded, and besides even if those beasts got through they'd be slaughtered. Those were just a few thoughts the Breton tried to make, as he walked whistling to the tavern, one of his favourite places in the city.

''Evenin' all!'' Louis exclaimed cheerfully, almost being knocked back by a man who looked half dead. From closer observation it was Ral-Kimas, the town drunk. He didn't really seem to have any friends, but everyone thought he was rather funny. However it always perplexed Louis how on Earth the man afforded a house? Heh, no point in getting all confused now, it's relaxing time! The Breton thought, shaking his head at the drunken Argonian, yet smiling at the same time. The Inn always seemed to have a drafty atmosphere, with dank and dirty walls. It would repulse a lot of the upity folk in the town, but to Louis the tavern was absoloutly fine, even if sometimes there was a vague smell of rat urnine plauging the place. A place to drink was a place to drink, and unless it was overflowing with thieves and murderers, it was acceptable. He ambled over to the front bar, Louis never liked sitting by himself in a dark corner, prefering to be around people. Although unfortunatly for him, he almost fell of his stool as he sat, the stool's short leg was not noticed and caused him to topple backwards, only staying up by holding on to the counter.

''Whoops, you should be more worried about these damn stools then those Coprus, these 'll do ya real damage!'' Louis addressed to the people nearby, making it clear he was okay, and trying to make a little joke in the process. Whether they thought it was funny or not, he liked to act hearty and there was no way he was going to stop. His joyful face was then turned to the barkeeper.

''I'll have me usual pint 'a beer good man!'' Louis ordered politely, slamming five or so gold pieces on the counter. It was a little humiliating due to a few of the septims rolled to the ground, making the barkeep pick them up. Louis blushed in shame. ''My butter fingers aye barkeep?'' The barkeeper smiled and shrugged without enthusiasm. The Breton had noticed that he in particular was rather worried about the Coprus outbreak, and had been getting more glum each passing day. He needed to be cheered up desperatly, but it appeared impossible. ''Aww lighten up mate, those freaks are mindless and stupid, hell they're about as dangerous as Kimas back there!'' Louis said patting the barkeep on the shoulder, who in response chuckled lightly.

The beer was a little warm, and seemed to be a tiny bit out of date. Although for Louis, once again he was not phased. It still made him feel happier, and was a good way to spend an afternoon. Besides complaining would only make everyone lose even more confidence and friendship within each other, something the town needed in these gruesome times. The day was getting late, and fatigue was creeping in. Louis decided to call it a night. ''Cheers barkeep, you better have a bright smile the next time I see you!'' The Breton joked, strolling out the door.

The night was like a void, only the lamps providing any source of light. To go along side the darkness, the air was almost freezing cold. Louis pulled up his hood and hugged himself as his teeth pvssyred in the process. The town of Cheydinhal was honestly beautiful, an amazing little river passed through the city and patches of grass dotted the town. Often Louis would get a book and read by the river bank, it was so peaceful and relaxing. Also when he was young, he and the other children would play joyously in the parks, having much fun. Walking past these areas always gave the Breton happy flashbacks. The houses and arcitecture were wonderfully designed, much like some Morrowind houses appearntely, big and spacious, but the insulation provided a good amount of warmth.

It was a good five or so minute walk for Louis back to his house, seeing as it was on the other side of town, a while away from the tavern. The Dilbor family house was among the largest in the city, there was a nice vegetable garden out the back, providing them food without having to buy it every week. However with meat being harder to obtain these days, because hardly anyone wanted to go outside the city walls, hunt and then sell for it, the stuff was much more expensive. Inside the house was also a special armourer's room, used by Louis to repair his own equipment without having to spend money for it, some of the public would pay money to use it but was rare since there was already another Smith in town. Due to this, Louis father, Gerad, repaired the Fighters Guild's member's armour and weapons. For a price of course. The money from this made the Dilbor's quite well off.

Louis opened the door gently, hoping not to wake up his mum and dad. However Gerad was still sitting by the fire place, reading the local news paper, obviously frustrated at what he was reading.

''Bah! City Watch increasing litter patrol? Don't they have better things to do, like say fortfiying and defending the town from zombies?'' Gerad talked to himself loudly, he threw the paper down in annoyance, wipping his eyes and yawning. He still hadn't noticed Louis walk through the door.

''I'm off to bed now pops. Night night.'' Louis spoke respectfully to his father. He always felt you should be corteous towards parents. However he was still chuckling in his head at Gerad getting angry.

''Yeah yeah, in the mornin' kido.'' It always confused Louis as to why his father still called him kido, despite being thirty years old. He just shrugged it off and laughed, walking up the steep and towering stairs. The Breton didn't even bother getting out of his clothes, he was to tired. Instead he just slumped on his bed, ready to sleep like a baby. However before he could drift off in a peaceful slumber, a terrifying scream was heard. It was like a Banshee's howl in the darkness, and could rupture a weak man's soul from his body. With that said, the scream still sounded faint. But Louis couldn't go back to sleep, the scream was haunting him and would not let him rest. He took his sword from the weapons cupboard, readying it. If I have to fight anything I'm screwed. The Breton thought, knowing he was too tired for any form of battle. Louis peered out the window, but it was futile. The fog overlaid any form of view, and nothing could be seen. Unfortunatly, he had no choice but to investigate first hand. Dilbor catiously began to step out of his room, legs shaking and ignoring the vague sound coming from the roof. This was probably the scariest moment for his life and nothing could cheer him up. It had to be the Corprus.

OOC: Hey just a suggestion, I don't think the Coprus should attack tonight. Tomorrow would be a good day for our characters to possibly get to know each and/or develop?

OOC: Sorry for the delay. I wanted to start some time before the corprus struck but it seems that others grew impatient and started already. So here's the situation: the corprus horde is advancing on the Cheydinhal gates, taking the watch by surprise. Due to the realistic size of Cheydinhal, most within the city are unaware of the corprus. It is eight o' clock in the evening, and people are just going along their daily activities...

EDIT: Chriso123, you made a pretty long post, so let's just say that you're near the outskirts of Cheydinhal, so you know about the corprus attack.


IC: "Sorry, Fanier."

"It's fine. Don't worry about it."

"There's just no contracts coming in lately." he said, shaking his head. "There's no more work for guys like us. Especially since we lost contact with the Morrowind Branch. House Hlaalu always gave us something to do."

"I'll be fine." sighed Fanier, as he took a swig of whiskey from his canteen. "I'll find something to do for money. I heard the inn down the street needed some help. Maybe I'll try that out."

"Do it tomorrow, Fanier. I'm about to get off work anyway. We'll head down to the bar and have a drink."

"You know, Markus?" Fanier said. "That doesn't sound half bad." He grabbed his coat while Markus did the same, and the two left the fighters guild into busy hours of the night, heading down the street to the bar. About half the way there, Markus spoke up.

"Oh, [censored]," he said. "I left the key to my house back in the guild." Markus turned around and started backtracking. "I'll meet you there, Fanier."

"I'll save you a seat." Fanier continued down the road. The night sky was cloudy, looking as though it might rain. It was humid outside, and a low fog hovered over the ground, concealing anything in the distance. Perfect place to get robbed, he thought, taking a sip of whiskey. Fanier walked along; one hand at his side, the other within his coat, clutching his shortsword.

And then, echoing in the distance, he heard something. It was a horribly unpleasant sound, but faint enough to be unintelligible. He didn't know what it was, but what Fanier thought, was that maybe it sounded something like a scream.

OOC: Sorry forrest...I thought we were allowed to post....

Don't worry about it. We'll just go along as we're going now.

IC:

Jamaal rode through the forrest and woods, the sky was growing dark, the shadows showing through the crawling light. Jamaal knew that they must have broke the ancient forts, but it would take him at least 2 days to get to the Imperial City. Not many citizens would survive the attack, and he was sure the corpus had reached Skyrim by this time. Perhaps there was some way of locking down the city, but they would never believe him.

The horse was growing short of breath, Cheydinhall could no longer be seen in the distance, but only hills, not yet flooded by the accursed beasts. The forest looked saddened, along with the many farms and cottages about. The Empire would never be the same, but they must find a cure. Jamaal must tell the Mages Guild of this matter, and Ocato, for the Imperial City did not have much time.

The road was rather full of bumps and hills, and it would be difficult for any horse to travel this land. A crack was heard, and Jamaal's horse fell, throwing him off. The horse was hurt badly, and without a horse, it would take a minimum of 4 days to reach the Arcane University and the Imperial Palace.

The hoof was broken, and th horse was bleeding badly, the blood mixing among the dirt. It moaned in pain, screaming to death that awaited.

A Nord had been standing outside of his old Nibenese cottage for sometime, staring at the assassin, and the horse overcome with pain.

He looked like a farming sort, braided long blond hair.

"The Corpus are coming," Jamaal walked up to the man, looking at him as death itself was among the night, "arm yourself, and board your doors."

OOC:I sent you my char sheet,I hope its okay to start now.

Silver sat atop the roof of the Dilbor family home,enjoying the cool night air.It was a nice home...worth robbing even,but that would be too much of a bother.Besides,I had plety of money left from what I had saved up from those jobs with the guilds.He had a plan,a good plan,spend all his money to hire a trustworthy bodyguard and as many supplies as he could.Then he would saddle up midnight,his horse,and ride until he reached the imperial city.If anything could keep the corprus out,it would be the legion and the mages guild.To hell with cheydinhall,all this town held for itself was the dark brotherhood,and I had cut that string a while ago.

Slowly,the khajiit gave up thinking about that.His days with the brotherhood were probably the worst of his life.There was too much danger in assasination anyway,too much of a risk.If living was free,silver probably would just sleep most of the day away,no danger in sleeping..unless you sleep in the wrong place.Something could try to eat you,or assasinate you,or something could fall on you..or some such....To much thinking,but from what I know,sleeping on this rooftop,in a fortified cityat ten at night,was NOT particularly dangerous.Sleeping here didnt sound like a very bad idea anyway.So he slept,because it meant he could quit thinking about all the ways that sleeping could kill you.

Below,he was awoken from his musings by the younger Dilbor, Louis,entering the house.Must be back from the pub.He knew their schedules,the Dilbors were good people.The older Dilbor had a way with weapons,and armor,shiny things,good things.Tomarrow he would probably have him reflash the silver on his swords,good swords are safe,bad swords kill you.As long as he has a good sword,nothing would mess with him,nothing would try to kill him.As the khajiit thought of this,he got drowsy again and fell asleep on the roof,clutching the hilt of Moonfire,because the swords would keep him safe.

OOC:I won't be able to post much, I'm on vacation and gone during the majority ofn the day.

"Great", Orange-Blade tought to himself." The day I go to Cheydinnal, theres rumors oh Morrowind being destroyed. And now it seems the gaurds are closing up the gate."He reached to his head and rubbed his rough, scaly head." I'm also sure I saw something outside the city gate." Now he just felt a bit silly thinking that and he should stop worrying and set out the next day.

Orange-Blade soon forgot and walked into the nearest inn. Completly ignoring everyone inside and walked straight up to the bar. " One room please please." Soon aft dropping some coins on the bar.

" Yea, the first one up stares." The barkeep said with little enthusiasm after collecting the coins.

"Uh, thanks." He said and walked up silently to his room. He reched is room and opended up the door. It wasn't the nicest room, but he slepted in worse. There was a single bed in a the room with nothing else. He sat down and pulled off his boots and strechted his toes and droped them on the ground. He layed down but wasn't prepared for sleep because he usualy satys up rater late. so, he started to think of the next day and soon found himself sleeping.

OOC: Well, aren't we all excited. As opposed to all your eventful introductions, I'll keep to my character and stay quiet ^_^ Sorry about the length.

IC: Durber finished weeding out the lettuce patch just as the day was drawing to a close. He saw the flickering lights within his small home and knew his father had started preparing dinner. As Durber drew closer to the house, he could tell by the smell that they were to be having beef stew.

His suspicions were confirmed as he opened the door, revealing his aging father stooped over their fireplace, wooden spoon in hand.

"Father, please. I'll take care of it."

"Now now, you've been working that dirt all day. I won't have any of that nastiness in my stew, thank you very much!" Durber's father frequently seemed mean spirited or grouchy to visitors, but Durber knew that his intentions were always good. Despite what he said, he really just meant that he was letting Durber take a rest. Of course, being the proud son he is, Durber couldn't simply let his father do such a thing.

"You know that if you burn yourself again we won't be able to afford any more potions. Last time the Mages Guild was kind enough to give us a discount, and we still ran through our savings. Please father, go lie down."

"And I insisted the whole time I didn't want their charity! And I don't want to lie down, it's not even dark yet!" Such 'arguments' were common in the Durber household; their family having never held a last name and as such they named their sons the same thing throughout the ages. Durber vaguely recalled first learning this from Grandpa Durber, then went to Papa Durber and Uncle Durber for confirmation.

"Fine, don't lie down, but at least give me the spoon. You know as well as I do that you always make tasteless stew." Durber said, a large grin splitting his face.

"Hmph, guess I can't argue with that. But you know the reason is that I always had a wife to make my stew." Father's common rebuttle to anything Durber said, mentioning his bachelor status.

"It's just not like the old days, father. When a hardworking man could seal the deal with her father with a few pigs and a share of the crop. Nowadays the choice is all up to the girl, and they all wait for a prince or noble that will fall head over heels for a common girl. And they hold onto that dream until they can hardly give a man children any longer."

"Well then I'd say you'll need to work a little harder to charm some ladies in town then, son." Now it was Durber's father's turn to smile as he handed his son the wooden spoon.

"You know I wouldn't leave you here alone, and no girl wants their man's father living with them." Durber's smile grew as a laugh threatened to ruin the whole thing.

"So you're saying you want me to kick the bucket and stop holdin' ya back, eh? Gonna do me in as soon as you meet a pretty girl?" Durber could tell his father was ready to crack as well, he knew he could win.

"Actually a nice woman stopped by today to talk. Now turn around for a moment, I have some 'spices' I can put in the stew." It was no use, Durber couldn't keep himself stoic any longer.

"Ahahaha!" Durber's father laughed heartily, admitting his loss. Durber quickly followed suite, and they both had a good time about it for a long half minute of laughter.

Durber wiped a tear from his eye as he said "I win, Father. Again. Which means that you have to go into town for groceries tommorow."

"Oh, so you're going to leave a poor old man to fend for himself in the streets of Cheydinhal? Just like you, son." His father's comment only spurred on another fit of laughter from both of them, the joyous noises echoing into the hills and forests of the countryside.

"Okay, I'll come too. Not much else to do around here, eh?"

OOC: That was fun, let me know when I can do an actual plot moving post. Probably not until Durber is alerted of the Corpus or his home is overrun
Btw, nice spelling guys :facepalm: Do you mean Louis Dilbor, Sannes? Because I know you aren't on my character's house.

OK things are getting pretty out of hand. I'm sorry to Chriso123 who wrote a nice, good, long post, but we are doing a clean restart. People who wrote posts that really had nothing to do with the corprus (ie. Darkom95, me, instantdeath59) can copy and paste their posts again. So for the LAST TIME, here's the situation:

Cyrodiil has lost contact with Morrowind. For all they know, the whole province just disappeared overnight. We start in Cheydinhal, twenty-four hours before the corprus attacks. NOBODY is aware of the looming corprus threat, excluding those who have such in their biographies. You are going abou your daily business...

IC: "Sorry, Fanier."

"It's fine. Don't worry about it."

"There's just no contracts coming in lately." he said, shaking his head. "There's no more work for guys like us. Especially since we lost contact with the Morrowind Branch. House Hlaalu always gave us something to do."

"I'll be fine." sighed Fanier, as he took a swig of whiskey from his canteen. "I'll find something to do for money. I heard the inn down the street needed some help. Maybe I'll try that out."

"Do it tomorrow, Fanier. I'm about to get off work anyway. We'll head down to the bar and have a drink."

"You know, Markus?" Fanier said. "That doesn't sound half bad." He grabbed his coat while Markus did the same, and the two left the fighters guild into busy hours of the night, heading down the street to the bar. About half the way there, Markus spoke up.

"Oh, [censored]," he said. "I left the key to my house back in the guild." Markus turned around and started backtracking. "I'll meet you there, Fanier."

"I'll save you a seat." Fanier continued down the road. The night sky was cloudy, looking as though it might rain. It was humid outside, and a low fog hovered over the ground, concealing anything in the distance. Perfect place to get robbed, he thought, taking a sip of whiskey. Fanier walked along; one hand at his side, the other within his coat, clutching his shortsword.

And then, echoing in the distance, he heard something. It was a horribly unpleasant sound, but faint enough to be unintelligible. He didn't know what it was, but what Fanier thought, was that maybe it sounded something like a scream.

Ral-Kimas, Cheydinhal

Ral-Kimas felt his whole world spin as he flipped backwards out of his chair, spilling his full bottle of mead all over his red robes, but he could care less. Kimas chuckled as an Imperial next to him laughed. "You fell over." He proclaimed. Laughter echoed through the tavern, the bartender watching, laughing. Usually he would take drinks away from the drunkards, but Kimas was one of his best customers, and good friends.

"I think I need another one, the...it disappeared, Hahahaa...." Kimas said, and he was answered with drunken laughter and another bottle of mead. He took generous gulps of it, and then got up off his back, and rebalanced himself on the bar stool. He then noticed two young Bretons in the back corner, trying to ignore the rambunctious laughter of the drunkards. He got off his stool and proceeded toward the table.

"How are you, Madams?" He said in his raspy, Argonian voice. He provided a courteous bow, the contents in his bottle spilling as a result. The ladies looked at him like a rat, and turned their backs, whilst trying to have their conversation. Ral-Kimas noticed this, and turned his head back to the bar. "I think they like me.", he shouted.

The Shenanigans continued for more hours, and Ral-Kimas decided he wanted to go home in his drunken stupor. He went to the door, and tried to push it. It was stuck, so he swung all his weight against it, and flew out the door as it was forced open. Kimas lay in the middle of a road, when a Cheydinhal watch walked by. He looked at the Argonian and said, "What are you doing on the ground?"

"Trying to go home..." Kimas said. The two stared at each other, then Kimas asked, "Can you take me to my house, young gentleman?" If Kimas was the tiniest bit sober, he would of seen that the Guard was well in his 50's. The Guard sighed, "Where do you live?"

"It has a door..." Ral-Kimas stated, pondering on what else his house had. Nothing came to mind. The Guard picked up the drunken Argonian, and finally figured out where he lived. Kimas fell asleep on him halfway there, and so the Guard dropped him on his doorstep, literally, where the Argonaian did not even wake, and continued to sleep. The Guard walked away, and all was well.

OOC: Why can't I copy and paste my post again? It had nothing to do with the Corpus, except that my character mentioned it once or twice? Oh and I mentioned something at the end about hearing a scream but I can simply delete that, and I was told to do that because I needed to know about the Corprus.

OOC: I just always believe in posting my sheet before my post so people can take a look at my character before they read my post.

" Spare some change kind sir? "

This was demeaning, begging for change like this, but anything that had to be produced at all from outside of town cost more. Meat, bread, fruits and vegetables, one could only live on rat meat and swillwater for so long, even if he could cleanse the water. He could simply pilfer from a few pantries, and just happen to snag a few valuables, but he couldn't afford to be kicked out of town right now, not with the Corprus threat looming over them.
He had actually tried to get thrown in the castle's jail, free food, an indoor bed, why not? Well the guards had gotten wise to that trick. He had tried it a few times before, albeit successful then, this most recent time he got a good beating for his troubles. Three or four guards had dragged the youth into an alleyway and kicked and hit him with their fists, one even removing his helmet to bash him in the ribs.

" Sir, won't you take pity on a poor starving boy? "

These drunks weren't as loose with their money as he hoped. I guess i'll just wait for a drunk who wouldn't know if he was robbed, or had simply dropped a few coins.
Just as this thought crossed his mind, Faric could see a drunk argonian fall onto the street. After a short conversation with a guard, the argonian was carried home and dumped on his doorstep. Faric followed him the whole way, even asking the guard for a few spare septims, earning him nothing but a silent glare before the guard walked away.

" Lets just see what this liqour lizard has in his pockets.. " he said to himself.

Faric bent over the argonian, running his hands throw his pockets. In total, he found a few pieces of fruit and about 20 septims, it was too much of a bother to count for sure right now. He had intended to take it easy, taking whatever charity was given and rationing his money, eating mostly scraps for now, but he was simply too filthy and was beginning to catch a cold. A night in the inn would do him good, but first of course he would have to go gather his belongings from the south wall. If he didn't return every night someone would steal it all. Maybe he could wash his bedding in the inn's tub aswell?
He took a deep breath of the night air as he stood up straight and walked swiftly off the doorstep, heading for the south end of town.

OOC: I figured as much. Thanks, but mine doesn't really depend on cronology, so I think people can read it up there if they really need to know something about me. It just kind of set the scene that my character was a nice, good hearted guy that lived with his dad on a farm. Nothing to do with corprus yet, and, like I said, he won't know until someone tells him or he gets hit by the Horde.

OOC: Repost for the restart . Forrest said I could keep it if you were wondering.

Louis Dilbor, Cheydinhal

The day was making a close, darkness and mist started to engulf the city, you couldn't even see the hills and fort in the near distance. The gloom of the evening sky made everyone nervous, including Louis, no-one knew when the Corprus were going to attack and truthfully, it was only a matter of time. They had taken every city in Morrowind and people had no faith. It was as if the citizens of Cheydinhal were doomed to die, being so close to the Morrowind border and the thought of going out alone was terrifying, being stranded, lost and hopeless. However with that said, Louis would always think of the positive side of things. We'll be fine, the City Watch has the gate well guarded, and besides even if those beasts got through they'd be slaughtered. Those were just a few thoughts the Breton tried to make, as he walked whistling to the tavern, one of his favourite places in the city.

''Evenin' all!'' Louis exclaimed cheerfully, almost being knocked back by a man who looked half dead. From closer observation it was Ral-Kimas, the town drunk. He didn't really seem to have any friends, but everyone thought he was rather funny. However it always perplexed Louis how on Earth the man afforded a house? Heh, no point in getting all confused now, it's relaxing time! The Breton thought, shaking his head at the drunken Argonian, yet smiling at the same time. The Inn always seemed to have a drafty atmosphere, with dank and dirty walls. It would repulse a lot of the upity folk in the town, but to Louis the tavern was absoloutly fine, even if sometimes there was a vague smell of rat urnine plauging the place. A place to drink was a place to drink, and unless it was overflowing with thieves and murderers, it was acceptable. He ambled over to the front bar, Louis never liked sitting by himself in a dark corner, prefering to be around people. Although unfortunatly for him, he almost fell of his stool as he sat, the stool's short leg was not noticed and caused him to topple backwards, only staying up by holding on to the counter.

''Whoops, you should be more worried about these damn stools then those Coprus, these 'll do ya real damage!'' Louis addressed to the people nearby, making it clear he was okay, and trying to make a little joke in the process. Whether they thought it was funny or not, he liked to act hearty and there was no way he was going to stop. His joyful face was then turned to the barkeeper.

''I'll have me usual pint 'a beer good man!'' Louis ordered politely, slamming five or so gold pieces on the counter. It was a little humiliating due to a few of the septims rolled to the ground, making the barkeep pick them up. Louis blushed in shame. ''My butter fingers aye barkeep?'' The barkeeper smiled and shrugged without enthusiasm. The Breton had noticed that he in particular was rather worried about the Coprus outbreak, and had been getting more glum each passing day. He needed to be cheered up desperatly, but it appeared impossible. ''Aww lighten up mate, those freaks are mindless and stupid, hell they're about as dangerous as Kimas back there!'' Louis said patting the barkeep on the shoulder, who in response chuckled lightly.

The beer was a little warm, and seemed to be a tiny bit out of date. Although for Louis, once again he was not phased. It still made him feel happier, and was a good way to spend an afternoon. Besides complaining would only make everyone lose even more confidence and friendship within each other, something the town needed in these gruesome times. The day was getting late, and fatigue was creeping in. Louis decided to call it a night. ''Cheers barkeep, you better have a bright smile the next time I see you!'' The Breton joked, strolling out the door.

The night was like a void, only the lamps providing any source of light. To go along side the darkness, the air was almost freezing cold. Louis pulled up his hood and hugged himself as his teeth pvssyred in the process. The town of Cheydinhal was honestly beautiful, an amazing little river passed through the city and patches of grass dotted the town. Often Louis would get a book and read by the river bank, it was so peaceful and relaxing. Also when he was young, he and the other children would play joyously in the parks, having much fun. Walking past these areas always gave the Breton happy flashbacks. The houses and arcitecture were wonderfully designed, much like some Morrowind houses appearntely, big and spacious, but the insulation provided a good amount of warmth.

It was a good five or so minute walk for Louis back to his house, seeing as it was on the other side of town, a while away from the tavern. The Dilbor family house was among the largest in the city, there was a nice vegetable garden out the back, providing them food without having to buy it every week. However with meat being harder to obtain these days, because hardly anyone wanted to go outside the city walls, hunt and then sell for it, the stuff was much more expensive. Inside the house was also a special armourer's room, used by Louis to repair his own equipment without having to spend money for it, some of the public would pay money to use it but was rare since there was already another Smith in town. Due to this, Louis father, Gerad, repaired the Fighters Guild's member's armour and weapons. For a price of course. The money from this made the Dilbor's quite well off.

Louis opened the door gently, hoping not to wake up his mum and dad. However Gerad was still sitting by the fire place, reading the local news paper, obviously frustrated at what he was reading.

''Bah! City Watch increasing litter patrol? Don't they have better things to do, like say fortfiying and defending the town from zombies?'' Gerad talked to himself loudly, he threw the paper down in annoyance, wipping his eyes and yawning. He still hadn't noticed Louis walk through the door.

''I'm off to bed now pops. Night night.'' Louis spoke respectfully to his father. He always felt you should be corteous towards parents. However he was still chuckling in his head at Gerad getting angry.

''Yeah yeah, in the mornin' kido.'' It always confused Louis as to why his father still called him kido, despite being thirty years old. He just shrugged it off and laughed, walking up the steep and towering stairs. The Breton didn't even bother getting out of his clothes, he was to tired. Instead he just slumped on his bed, ready to sleep like a baby. However before he could drift off in a peaceful slumber, a terrifying scream was heard. It was like a Banshee's howl in the darkness, and could rupture a weak man's soul from his body. With that said, the scream still sounded faint. But Louis couldn't go back to sleep, the scream was haunting him and would not let him rest. He took his sword from the weapons cupboard, readying it. If I have to fight anything I'm screwed. The Breton thought, knowing he was too tired for any form of battle. Louis peered out the window, but it was futile. The fog overlaid any form of view, and nothing could be seen. Unfortunatly, he had no choice but to investigate first hand. Dilbor catiously began to step out of his room, legs shaking and ignoring the vague sound coming from the roof. This was probably the scariest moment for his life and nothing could cheer him up. It had to be the Corprus.

Silver,with his natural khajiit hearing,sensed the boy imediately and rose from his perch.Examining the child,he could tell it was a beggar,sack cloth clothing,matted hair,horrible smell.Yep..beggar.He had little better to do,so the slim khajiit lept off the roof,landing silently and effortlessly behind the young breton and began to follow him,using his natural skills at steath and the abilities endowed to him by the stars of his birthsign to track the child,silently and invisibly.

As the child began to clow he took the chance to have a little fun and placed a clawed hand on the childs shoulder,turning him slowly.By the time the breton caught his eyes he had put on the scariest mugger face he could.The ruse only lasted until he took one look at the childs horrified face and burst out into laughter,clutching his sides.Silver loved scaring people,and he was damn good at it,but he could never stay serious about it for long.

As the slim khajiit's laughter died down,he clapped a hand down on the childs shoulder.
"So..a bit tight on money,eh?You need a place to stay,I could use some company,how about a trade?" The khajiit truly needed company,and this boy reminded him of who he would have become if the dark brotherhood had never taken him in."You can stay with me for a night,i'll even teach you a few things that would benefit your..specific needs." By that, of cousse,he meant theivery."Dont worry about the town guard,I doubt anyone will care what you steal from that drunken argonian idiot"

Silver was purposely holding a one-man conversation.He rarely talked to anyone,so when someone would listen,he would try to keep talking as much as possible. "So,are you coming?I can offer you a warm fire and a roof of sorts over your head" He was almost begging,it had been months since the khajiit had had any company besides his own fears in the nook in the wall he called his home.Sleeping on rooftops was nice,but company was better.

Durzol was walking along an old and weathered road. He had just passed through a guard outpost and told them of the news in Morrowind, they said they sent dispatch riders to the other cities, but who knew if they meant it. While he was walking, Durzol thought of all the hideous creatures; misshapen and screaming and moaning, tearing apart Mournhold. They were like zombies, only they weren't dead, yet. Durzol had lost his entire regiment of 120 men to those things, he'd pay them back the way any Orc Warchief would.

As he was walking, Durzol came up the crest of a hill, finally he saw Cheydinhal, but it was still at least 4 good miles away, he had just gotten across the Morrowind border. "By Malacath, those things won't take me this night!" yelled the Orc into the night air. Just then, he heard the patter of hooves, and soon he heard someone speaking in Nordic, "Ye there, Orc, yeh need a ride too Cheydinhal? I must bring in my harvest, you're welcome to join." It was some farmer, he was sitting in a carriage drawn by 2 beautiful black horses. Durzol raised his torch and peered into the dark forest as the farmer waited for his response. "Alright friend, I'll come with you. Thank yeh for the ride, dangerous night to be walking." And Durzol climbed into the small wagon.

Durzol arrived at the gates an hour or so later and hopped out of the carriage, thanking the farmer as the farmer road to the stables to tether his horses, "I must get in this place, I bear urgent news from Morrowind!" The gatekeeper quickly opened the enormous wooden gates and let Durzol in.

"You must speak with the Count, I will escort you to hi-" he was cut short, "Not before I get a bath and rest, I will find an inn for the night, and speak with whomever tomorrow." With that, Durzol found bed and bath at the Inn, hanging up his armor and sharpening his blades afterward. He fell asleep, having nightmares about the fight for Mournhold.

OOC: Ok I did a lot of editing. Its better now.

Louis Dilbor, Cheydinhal

Louis crept down the wooden stairs softly, however the material of them made a high pitched creak, causing Dilbor to cringe. Thankfully, Gerad was fast asleep on the sofa, snoring very audibly and drooling from the mouth. Quite a foul sight to see really. How in Oblivion? He was wide awake just a second ago. The Breton thought perplexed, it always amazed him how it seemed older people could just fall asleep so rapidly. However this was not the time to dwell on old people's sleeping habits, so Louis just shook it off, opening and closing the door silently. If there was one thing he didn't want, it was for his parents to know he was sneaking out of the house like this. Even though he was a grown man his mother, Leslie, was excessively over protective and paranoid about what her son did. And at times even tried to control him, even if it was utterly ineffectual.

Some of the houses had there windows barricaded, trying to make themselves as safe as possible from the seemingly rare case of a Coprus attack. Though a raid on the city seemed feasible now, and the horrific scream certainly reassured the chances. As Louis walked shakily through the streets of Cheydinhal, he tried to keep as close to the lamps tightly as he could, there was little to no light coming from the houses and the thick mist and fog increased the darkness causing the obscurity levels of where to go enlarge. It was now that Dilbor was severely regretting not wearing a warmer and thicker attire, the chilling freeze was forever increasing. Like walking through the bloody Wrothgarians! Louis throught as his teeth pvssyred. He had obviously never been to the mountains, but from what he had studied they must of been the coldest locations in Tamriel.

As Louis traversed the streets, still suffering from the frostiness, he caught sight of a Khajit trying to persuade and entice some young beggar in to coming back to his place. The first thoughts that popped up in Louis' head were the childish and silly ones, but even in the gloomy and dark situation, he couldn't help but smile about it in his head. However these smilies quickly vanished and were washed away when the Breton could make out the sound of moaning in zombie like fashion, along with the sound of sword swinging and battle cries. ''Noo...It can't be?'' Louis stood motionless in fear, shaking his head trying to deny himself that the beasts had arrived. But it was no use. The Coprus were here.

The sounds of combat ended suddenly, and was replaced by intense and vigorous banging, obviously on the city gates. Instinctively, Louis sprinted to the entrance with great speed hoping to get a listen in on what on Nirn just occured. After a brief exchange of words, an Orc was let in. This beast was an utter behemoth, standing at leviathan size and of enormous build. The only guy who came close to this guy in size that Louis knew was the Nord priest, Hill the Tall. But this man was definitely the largest person Dilbor ever layed eyes upon.

The Orc walked off towards the Inn, seemingly in an aggressive and angry mood. He even passed up a visit to the Count. It would be wise to leave him in peace, Louis didn't want to risk having his head ripped from his neck. Instead he turned to a guard, a defender of the fortified gate, it was actually looking pretty staunch right now.

''Are they here? Dammit was that them? Don't tell me it was them, y'know the Coprus? C'mon it can't be those beast right? What just happened?'' Louis bombarded the Imperial guard with questions, acting in a panicked mood. He was usually cheery, but as it had been seen before, when he gets scared he gets very nervous and frightened. Dilbor awaited on the puzzled guard to reply.

OOC: Forrest I'm going to assume that as the OP, you want to control all the NPC's like this guard right?

OOC: jonasvault, there is not yet ANY corprus around the city. I thought I made that clear. NO CORPRUS YET! @Chriso123: Not all the NPCs, but the ones that make a difference in the storyline. In this case, that guard is one of them.

IC: Cheydinhal Guard, West Gate

"That guy?" the guard asked. "That's just some crazy orc. He went around acting like there was something attacking him. Probably some skooma addict or something. I'd arrest him, but, er..." he paused nervously. "I'd wait for some backup first."

Ral-Kimas, Cheydinhal

Explosions rang through Ral-Kimas' ear as he awoke with two hands on his head. "Awww,", he cried, "my head hurts bad." He shook it off, he's felt worse. He looked with a pang of guilt at his half tail. He looked toward the gate, and noticed a Troll walking through the gate. Kimas began to flip out, backing up against his house, trying to figure out why they would let a Troll in. But as he passed by, he noticed it was not a Troll, just a huge Orc.

"He must of been pounding on that gate, no wonder my head hurts." , he said as he rubbed his head. He noticed a Mid-Aged Breton talking with the guard, and went inside his house. He reached into his pockets to put his money in his money-bowl, but found nothing. "Damned Thieves." He said, still rubbing his head. He looked at the stain on his robe, and went to his bedroom to get a new one.

After changing, he went down in the basemant, where he had an Archery set-up. He walked down the stairs and grabbed the quiver next to his fishing net. He looked at it a while. He didn't necessarily like fishing traditionally, but swimming and catching fish with a net is so much funner. Plus it makes me money, he thought proudly. Kimas grabbed his bow, and slung his bow around his shoulder. The affects of Alcohol were still wearing off, but they were still there. Out of a usual 2/10 bullseye ratio, he barely compensated for 1 out of his entire 30. I need to get sober. He retrieved his arrows, put his bow around his shoulder, and grabbed his sword.

He exited his house, and climbed on top of the roof. This might of been hard for a guard, but Kimas has been doing this all his life. He perched himself on top of the roof, and unsheathed his sword. He was glad it was dark, and there was nobody around to think he was weird. He didn't like being weird. After practicing a few thrusts and "spinny slices" (he liked to call them that because he spun), he sheathed his sword. He looked at the roof of the next house, If I don't make it, I'm still drunk and the landing will knock me sober. If I do make it, I'm sober. A win-win situation. He stepped back a little, and ran forward across his roof. He used all the muscle in his leg to propel himself across the gap. He waited in midair for a moment, then his feet touched roof. "Haha! I did i-", Kimas started as he was interrupted by his falling. He began to tumble off the roof, falling head over feet.

He was able to roll when he hit the ground, and take off most of the damage, but it still hurt. "Hooray, I am sober again." , he said through clenched teeth.

"Great", Orange-Blade tought to himself." The day I go to Cheydinnal, theres rumors oh Morrowind being destroyed. And now it seems the gaurds are closing up the gate."He reached to his head and rubbed his rough, scaly head." I'm also sure I saw something outside the city gate." Now he just felt a bit silly thinking that and he should stop worrying and set out the next day.

Orange-Blade soon forgot and walked into the nearest inn. Completly ignoring everyone inside and walked straight up to the bar. " One room please please." Soon aft dropping some coins on the bar.

" Yea, the first one up stares." The barkeep said with little enthusiasm after collecting the coins.

"Uh, thanks." He said and walked up silently to his room. He reched is room and opended up the door. It wasn't the nicest room, but he slepted in worse. There was a single bed in a the room with nothing else. He sat down and pulled off his boots and strechted his toes and droped them on the ground. He layed down but wasn't prepared for sleep because he usualy satys up rater late. so, he started to think of the next day and soon found himself sleeping.