Here's the Depths of Fort Hawstar RP thread: There's still one slot open (We need a support caster!), maybe two... TheUnadoringFan sounded non-commital to the RP. The misspelling in the subtitle is deliberate.

The Depths of Fort Hawkstar

Characters so far:
Athell:
High Heart

Moroni

TheUnadoringFan

You all arrive at the small town of Falcon's peak on the third of Rain's hand, the end of days of travel. The weather is seasonally unusual, as light flakes of snow fall from the overcast clouds above, though the weather's too warm for any accumulation. Despite the town's name, it's actually in a small "valley" between Daggerfall's craggy hills, with only one road in, from the south. An overlook at the entrance of the valley gives a bright view of the entire town. Clusters of houses and businesses are spread haphazardly around the town, and while the distance is still too great to make out distinct detail, the landmarks are still clearly visible: The imposing Fighter's Guild keep, surrounded by a small moat, dominates the northwestern end of the small town, while the sprawling halls of the Mages guild help mark the north-western end. The town is built around a temple to Kynareth, which sported a grassy grove buffering the seat of the Goddess of Nature's from the busy buildings surrounding it.

On the northern edge stood a building that was clearly designed by politicians: hastily constructed, but trying to look permanent, the architecture and decoration sporting the tragic aftermath of a battle between a desire to look regally opulant and pragmatically thrifty. The signs scattered throughout the town's streets indicate a handful of pawn shops, taverns, and general stores, though Falcon's Peak also manages to boast a pair of dedicated weapon and armor smiths, and an alchemist.

Your target, the ominously looming Fort Hawkstar, dominates the northern skyline... Even after untold centuries, its walls still stand, with shreddd, faded banners wavering in the wind. And while you each arrive in town on your own, it's dangerous to go alone. Gather your party and venture forth!

OOC: Feel free to check out the town before meeting up somewhere if you want, or you can go meet up somewhere such as a Tavern, or yawning gates of the fortress.

Francois breathed in the cold air. For a moment he was reminded of his old home farther north, but it was too warm and wet here. A sigh left his lips as he returned to teh task at hand; finding a corpse. The Belmont family's investigators had tracked their lost scion to this town, or more precidely the fort looming above it, and hadn't returned when they entered to find him. So now Francois was here.

The old stone walls were imposing enough, but it wasn't too different from other ruined forts he had seen. He had a feeling there would be more than a few errant wild animals wandering the halls though. For now he was tired from the trek and looked for a tavern or lodge to rest at for a little while. With any luck there would be others like himself there. it was dangerous to go alone.

OOC: This okay for length? EDIT: made the town seem a little more run down.

The icy specter of Corvus's breath hung in front of him, as small flecks of snow drifted lazily through the air. He clapped his hands in a basic attempt to get the blood flowing through his cold veins once again. His leather armor offering little protection from the heat and he could feel his extremities numbing. He followed the road north into the village of Falcon's Peak, it was an medium town with smatterings of bureaucracy however for the most part it was derelict and ruined. The fort was hard to miss, it stood imposingly to the north controlling all he could see to the north of the town. He walked through the town, wearily towards his goal he ambled, allowing his feet to carry him without much thought. It had been a long journey this far and he could see that it was nowhere near its end.

He looked into his pack attempting to judge from the amount of the food he had left and whether it would sustain him for the rest of his arduous journey. His meager rations would suffice for another day at best. I'd be stupid if I attempted to make it with this little food, if something unexpected happens I'm a dead-man . He looked around for somewhere to buy some food but nowhere presented itself readily, until he saw a dull glow of firelight down an ally. He followed the glow almost hypnotized by the promise of warmth and sanctuary from the biting cold that surrounded him and the depressing nature of the tumbled buildings around him. He stumbled into the Tavern and was temporarily blinded by the brightness, eventually his eyes became accustomed to the light. He staggered to the bar and threw himself down in a chair.

OOC: Actually, Athelle, your post tries presuming a bit too much about the environment and town layout. Also... it's not that cold.

IC: Inside the town itself, many of the houses seem derelict and abandoned, and there are few people on the streets along the southern edge. There's a run down tavern/inn there, though the sign's half-fallen, and the door is missing... no light or sound coming from within.

However, as Francois approaches the northern side of Falcon's Reach, despite the increasing presence of the fort, the town livens and cheers up notably, with townsfolk filling the streets with casual news of the day, none of it making immediate sense or relevance to an outsider. In the northern end of town across from the Temple, there are two taverns across from each other, yet dramatically different. "The Standard Crash-Matt", a simple, sturdy structure with little adornment other than iron reinforcements to the wood-and-stone exterior. The emblem on its side is a tankard of ale with crossed dinner-knives behind it... apparent parody of the fighter's guild emblem. "The Fair Maiden Tavern and Inn" across from it, in contrast, was much higher class. The walls were whitewashed and trimmed with brightly-colored paints, and its windows featured crystal-clear glass etched in intricate designs. The logo on the sign depicts a white unicorn with a gold horn serving as a steed for an eponymous "fair maiden" wearing nothing but long tresses of hair wrapped around her body, and holding a glass of wine.

Overheard Rumors:
The Temple of Kynareth is a totally groovy and far-out place to hang out.
The local Fighter's Guild Master is a Vampire
The local Fighter's Guild Master is a Werewolf
The local Fighter's Guild Master isn't afraid of getting bit by werewolves, Werewolves are afraid of getting bit by him.
The local Fighter's Guild Master is Tiber Septim
The local Fighter's Guild Master is Mehrunes Dagon
The local Fighter's Guild Master doesn't have a chin under his beard, he has another fist.
The local Fighter's Guild Master is the father of everyone ever. Including himself
Demons live at the bottom of the village well
Mr. Frasuire's little boy Timothy fell down the village well and killed all the demons before coming back out.
(Francois only)That iron-clad warrior walking by eats babies.
(Corvus Only) That shifty-looking outsider over there is a member of the Dark Brotherhood's Black Hand.

Corvus looked at the crowd in the tavern once he'd regained his senses. They looked like the type he's normally be pick-pocketing. Not really my scene . He forced his weary legs to lift him from the chair, once outside he saw the sign for another tavern, it looked like far more his normal type of dive. He place a hand on the door and pushed.

Weariness had begun to take Cedric when he reached the town of Faclon's Peak. His journey from his home in Cyrodiil had been drawn out, hard, and uneventful. The town stood in the distance like a beacon, pulling Cedric in. This was his destination afterall, the town led to the gates of a great fort, that towered to the North. This fort was rumored to hold a ancient enchanted blade, Stormstab, that had long been a family heirloom to the Antius family. Cedric being the most qualified for this quest, was sent by his elderly father to retrieve this dagger.

Upon reaching the town, he felt comfortable. The town was shabby to say the best, but to Cedric it was like his home in the Valus Mountains. Reaching the northern-most section of the town, Cedric came upon two taverns. One was crafted of wood and stone, while the other was of higher standards. He decided that the classier of the two's patrons wouldn't be so welcoming of a ranger tracking mud into their inn. He headed towards "The Standard Crash-Matt", and went inside. He studied the people in the bar and decided he had made the correct choice. He sat down and rested his tired body.

The mild-mannered, upper and middle-class patrons of "The Fair Lady" were more than happy to see Corvus leave for the tavern more suited to "his type." As he pushes open the sturdy oak door of "The Standard Crash-Matt" he's greeted with the full force of the difference between them: The patrons are noisy, wenches instead of barmaids serve the ale, the place is a lot more casual, and the patrons are far more... colorful, at least in personality and behavior, despite the brown-and-grey aesthetic of the less cultured bar. There's a cork-board on the wall to the right of the entry, with rusted daggers, broken arrows, bent darts, and crude nails holding several papers to its general vicinity on the wall. Or, at least it can be assumed there's a cork-board, but all that's visible under the mess is the frame.

The burly Breton behind the bar looked up at Corvus, and took a break from washing tankards to wave a hearty greeting. "Greetings, adventurer! I'm Matthew Mileau, and welcome to your Standard Crash Mat!" he greeted the imperial boisterously, "Come in, get a pint! First one's on me, the rest go on your tab." Well, he was certainly enthusiastic.

When Cedric arrived a moment later into the bar, he got to hear the exact same introduction from the barkeep.

Two bar tables were pressed together on the left side of the room, with a practical pile of patrons gathered around it... from the sounds of the conversation, it was at least one kind of drunken gambling session. A few of them carried small blades, but were by-and-large obviously civilians. The rougher element gathered in groups of three to five on the right side, assorted races and sixes dressed in various pieces of armor and carrying an arsenal between them all.

Some notable patrons included a rather young-looking Breton man, sitting at a table to himself himself: He was wearing a complete, aesthetically-matching suit of medium-weight mithril scales, and a distinctive adamantite helm with a gold-trimmed visor that sported sweeping wings. His successful career was likewise evident in the armory strapped to his body: an Aldmeri-style handaxe hanging on one side, opposite a silver shortsword, with a flail made from Dwarven Bronze wrapped around his waist like a belt... and with a longbow, quiver, and Ebony Claymore crossing behind his back.

The only other particularly eye-catching patron was an obviously wasted, sitting on a table surrounded by a raucously-cheering audience. Unlike the breton warrior, it wasn't her outfit that drew so much attention: it was her lack of an outfit, and drunken, caterwauling rendition of "A Rude Song"

The Standard Crash-Matt was the obvious choice for Francois. Like any good Camlorn boy he was almost raised in such establishments, and a smile broke out on his scarred face as he walked through the door. The assortment of adventurers, the drunken laughter, and especially the... rousing performance seemed almost straight out of his youth.

He shook his head at that thought. He wasn't nearly old enough to refer to that time as 'his youth.'

Amid the joyous shouts and whispered rumors of the local Fighter's Guildmaster he made his way through the crowd to the corkboard that had caught his eye, scanning the various papers stuck onto it. With any luck there would be a group heading up to the fort that he could join up with.

OOC: Welcome to the Illiac Bay

IC: The woman might have been considered attractive with enough booze, but... anyway. The cork board is overflowing with messages, employment opportunities, upcoming events, "advertisemants" for the Illiac Bay's most infamous forms of personal entertainment, and advertisemants for shops... However, it seems nobody ever takes anything down from the board, instead just waiting for the ink to fade or run into illegibility. Despite the massive pile of papers posted to the wall, there was one, large poster that all other advertisemants and notices wouldn't dare even consider covering. A scowling, impressively Nordic visage that seemed to have hints of lupine features, attached to an almost-shirtless body, with a pair of belts crossed over the chest, clasped with a Wolf-head emblem... and he was pointing right at any readers! The text practically screamed itself off the page: "The Fighter's Guild Wants YOU! Take control of your life, and kick some ass!" There's an illegible, coarse signature along the bottom... perhaps the portrait subject's autograph?

Unfortunately, in what seems to be an unofficially designated "Looking for Group" section on the board, the only one dealing with Fort Hawkstar was from last year. Apparently, the fortress hasn't been derelict as long as it seems.

Looking For Group: Reclaiming Fort Hawkstar
Mid Year 22 Last Week's quake ruptured the dungeons beneath Fortress Hawkstar, allowing a number of monsters and undead from the numerous underground tunnels into the fortress. The keep was evacuated safely. As Lord of these lands, Champion of the Fighter's Guild, and Knight of the Order of the Dragon, am requesting resourceful, able-bodied men and women to help me reclaim the fort, and secure the newly-opened catacombs.

Rewards: A suitable title and public commemoration of your service to County Hawkstar, and an equal share of recovered loot from the unearthed catacombs.

Sign name and class* here:
There seems to be no attached note referencing the meaning of "Class" - apparently, it's understood, or posted somewhere else.

The first signature was consistent with the handwriting of the letter, signed "Davian Hawkstar - Spellsword." However, there was only one signature below it, the other three lines crossed out. "Merwyn Hawkstar - Can-do-everything God of War And Everything Else and Greatest Uncle and Brother Ever" ... the handwriting on the second signature was much scratchier, signed in dark red ink, and carried an all-around sinister quality.

It seems the Barkeep forgot to offer the Spellsword a beer on the house.

"Not much help here," he muttered to himself as he read the various papers tacked onto the board. He absently wondered if the promise of a title was still valid, but he doubted it. Besides, clearing out the entire fort was much more than he was here for. All he had to do was find that Belmont corpse and get out of there, and that was already looking more difficult than had been made out to be.

He went back to muttering as he received his drink from the bartender, moving to a mostly unoccupied table to plan his next move. He definitely needed a group, and there were plenty of able-bodied adventurers here... And if that didn't work, he supposed he could check out the Fighter's Guild. Those recruits were always eager to get out and become great heroes, getting a few to come along would surely be simple enough. He'd rather have some more experienced men by his side though, and it looked like this was the place to find them.

Cedric stood up from his seat and walked to a board containing jobs. These boards always interested him, because he would often find work to do from them in Cyrodiil. He didn't expect to take any of these quests however, as most of the notices on the board were tattered and faded.

The words "Fort Hawkstar" caught his eye, and he scanned the job details.

"A number of monster and undead..." Said Cedric, repeating the words. "Just great, looks like this might be an eventful journey afterall."

Cedric had heard that the fort would be dangerous from the travellers he had met back in Cyrodiil, but it seemed that to reach the dagger now, he was going to need a party of experienced adventurers. Looking around the tavern, Cedric decided that they wouldn't be that hard to find.