PM me if I didn't add your character to the list towards the bottom!

Ambrose I added yours

Character Sheet:
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Name: (First and last, unless you have some weird reason for not having a last which should be explained)
Nick Name: (Not at all necessary, but OK if you want it)
Age:
Race:
six: (No "Yes Please!")

Appearance: (Face etc.)
Misc. Appearance: (Tattoos etc.)
Hight: (I don't really have to know anything)
Apparel Worn Most Often: (You're traveling attire, it might be armor)
Armor: (This may be your apparel)
Other Apparel: (Maybe you have lots of clothes, who knows?)

Eye Color:
Hair Style:
Hair Color:

Skills: (Don't need to be from the games)

Weapons:
Equipment Sack: (Like back-pack, or whatever you use to carry stuff around. No Fanny-pack that carries your 7 battle axes!)
Miscellaneous: (Damn, spelling that word out just seems... special, you know?)

The Heroes or the Dissenters?: (Which faction, you can be an evil person working with the good guys for whatever reason)

Rank?: (Dissenters only. Agents will have a more adventure play style, lords more political, and Commandant's inbetween)

Why are you there?: (Optional)
Background Information: (Always nice, I want to say optional but I don't want any "Mysterious Past"ers unless your a bad guy!)



The Idea:

Evil: You work independently or together to cause unrest and crumble the empire, as well as assailing and antagonizing The League of Righteousness.

Good: Run around as a group, working together to keep chaos from ensuing, saving innocents, and having a jolly good time while you're at it.

Note: Changing sides is totally possible, but please don't make it dreadfully obvious in your bio or anything like that. If you want to be a turncoat and you're sure of that from the start just PM me about it and we'll work it out.

The Story:

So,

The Champion of Cyrodiil has gone to investigate a mysterious gate near Bravil. He is the stalwart hero of the land, advising the Council and smiting the evils. His most recent exploit having been closing shut the jaws of Oblivion.

But it is said many go through the gate in the lake, and never come back. After only a month, opinion was wide spread the hero would not return. The council runs the empire as best they can, but it's obvious that the Legion is under garrisoned, the taxes were recently raised a little to tight in the border provinces, and the Nords are quite peeved with the general goings on. Well, them and every other province.

The houses of Morrowind, the scheming little bunch, are taking more and more steps towards independence. Recently, the overruled the new law prohibiting slavery. Saying that it was, "unfairly imposed upon them," and that "it was not why the Dunmer had entered their agreement." With Ocato dead-set on showing them who was the "agreement" maker, the Nords struck at Solstheim en mass.

While the fate of the island is yet to be decided, unrest brews across the land. Seeing their chance, an alliance formed. This group of people was out to cease power, for many different reasons. Some may believe wretched means justify the ends of a stronger Empire. Others are quite simply evil.

This alliance is so strong, and the empire soweek, all would be lost...

Were it not for an old and crotchety Imperial man named Archibold Cambridge the First. Inheritor of a nice sized estate and butler, Jeeves, he is quite well off. He embroils himself in world affairs from his arm chair in the Colovian West.

But thanks to a tale his mother told him, a tale of fantasy, which when put together with events makes perfect sense. Though only he can see it, he must prove himself correct, and gain the trust of the council so they might steal themselves for the ensuing chaos The Dissenters promise to reap.

The Dissenters would rather he didn't.

Hysteria and Adventure ensue.

A League of Righteousness is formed.

The Dissenters:

Some have armies, some have great wealth, others have both. Some are assassins or marauders, some bandit lords or real nobility.

No matter their background, they have all taken a route of evil. They were called together because they were like-minded in their goals and sufficiently intent on deposing the Empire's Council. The man who called them together merely signs his letters ~B, and all any have seen of him is his letters. He clearly has connections, for he issues vast amounts of wealth and mercenaries to The Dissenters.

There are three levels of membership to The Dissenters:

Lord of Shadow: Generally Nobility themselves, that or someone who commands a force of some size size (25,000+) for another reason. They could also be Dissenters whom have proved their worth through various tasks. They are normally given providence over a certain City in the Imperial Province, as well as command of general affairs in a province. They must work to cause chaos throughout the region, indirectly or directly, lest they face the punishment for sloth.

Commandant: Though they are not given command in one specific area, this is sometimes preferred. They wander, finding spots ripe for the assailing. Though Lords of Shadow may also do this, they must divert at least some of their forces to their own task. Commandants will be more likely to interact, perhaps indirectly, with and hazard the other players than Lords of Shadow.

Agent: The merit member status. You are in, but you probably bring only yourself and more than likely a meager amount of gold. You, unlike Commandant's and Shadow Lords, are tasked with various missions, generally in Cyrodiil. As it happens, your first mission will bring your paths to cross with the good players. In the future, the same will happen. But not by accident. This is good if you want direct confrontation with the heroes.




The League of Righteousness:

Archibold Cambridge the First sent out a flier, by couriers, to every city in Cyrodiil. He and Jeeves have now convened at the inn in Weye, just on the other side of the bridge from the Imperial City.

It is here he will impart The League with the "True Story" about what's going on in the world. After his explanation (which may be hard for most sane people to swallow), he will give his startlingly accurate hypothesis that The Dissenters plan to strike at Skingrad. The reason for this, according to Archibold, would be because the count refused to join The Dissenters (is logic on that one's a bit sketchy).

How they will play: You're the 'heroes' of an epic tale, with no promises everything is going to turn out alright. Archibold will initially give the group direction, and Jeeves will be there to add some sanity. But you should soon expect to be independent. While Archibold's idea is that the whole group will be equal, it's doubtless that by the end, some natural leaders will have arisen from the ranks of the League. After some stunts and exploits, you'll actually begin to become well known. Kind of like a TV show where you're the cast expect you wander around talking to people. The longer the show goes on it will become popular. Some kids will say stuff like "Oi! Look it's the stupid one!" and other amusing anecdotes, as well.

The Dissenters will be on you 24/7, while you have to work to undermine them. Eventually you will have to solicit support from leaders. They may be from other countries, and they may be counts. Maybe even council members.

This RP will be very unique in the respect that the group, and the leader(s) of the group who have arisen will play a very big part in how the RP goes.

Missions:

These will generally be tasks you set yourselves, from kidnapping to rescuing to shutting down criminal organizations either to gain renown or foil The Dissenters plans.



Unrest:

Each province and major city in Cyrodiil will have an "Unrest" rating. There will be various deeds both groups will be able to do to change this number.

For instance:
A member of The Dissenters will approach one of the organizations "Eyes and Ears", a spy amongst the people who gathers rumors, who will tell them that a group of brigands in Hammerfell are in need of escape, and that by transplanting them via a pirate ship into the Anvil region could help create unrest. You would either pay for this with your own money or petition The Dissenters coffers. You can petition as much as you like, but fail to much and you'll eventually be cut off, and wasting money generally does not go unpunished.

The League will hear rumors a group of well-armed Redguards have been marauding about the Colovian West, and taking down small Imperial patrols and merchant caravans. They would have the option of going there and dealing with them. If they decided to do something else, it would give The Dissenters room to bring in even more of the Redguards buddies and before you know it they'll have taken up residency in one or two of the old forts.

If they were slain or otherwise dealt with very quickly, before creating any or much unrest at all, The Dissenters would probably punish that member, forcing him to do some menial ground work or personal assault the league.

Cool stuff that can (and will) happen:

Captured: A player character is captured by the opposite party and dragged off to be tortured. They must be rescued by their companions. This would probably be because they were either found to be alone and vulnerable or had very valuable information.

Battles: Maybe people decide to head on up to Solsthiem and join one of the two sides, for personal reasons or non-personal reasons.

Splits: Differences in beliefs, methods (perhaps someone started torturing, ey?), or necessity may lead to either The League splitting up (temporarily) or two Dissenters parting ways for a time.

NPCs: Perhaps Archibold or Jeeves is kidnapped, and must be rescued? Perhaps a count requests your aide in exchange for a favor? Who knows.




Before you read this, just remember this is happening in the background. There will be adventuring and questing and dungeon delving, but this is the political side of the RP. This is NOT a political RP though. Unless you're a Dark Lord...

Unrest and Resilience:



Unrest is how rebellious or riotous a region/city and surrounding region is.

Resilience is how hard it is to change that number.

-Get the number to 100 and rebellion and chaos reign.

-Ocato will be working round-the-clock to use his legion reserves to fix unrest.

-Ocato will more than likely attempt to bolster his numbers with recruitment campaigns and marches, which can be foiled.

Seeing as we start in Cyrodiil, I'll post the unrest of every place and it's resilience.

Bruma-
Unrest: 25
Resilience: 25
*Special: Is effected by unrest in Skyrim

Anvil-
Unrest: 10
Resilience: 50
*Special: Port city, slightly effected by news brought from sea, as well as disease

Kvatch-
Unrest: 0
Resilience: 75
*Special: With the most battle-hardened and ready guards, not to mention new-found pride at being the first city to 'fight' the invasion from Oblivion, Unrest here will go down quickly unless it is consistent.

Skingrad-
Unrest: 15
Resilience: 75
*Special: The count adds 25 resilience, killing him would generate approx. 50 Unrest...

Chorrol-
Unrest: 0
Resilience: 50
*Special: They have great pride in their city, a pride which could be used to create distrust of others...

Bravil-
Unrest: 50
Resilience: 15 *+50=65
*Special: Ocato has placed an army of 15,000 inside the city, creating 50 resilience and quickly dropping unrest.

Cheydinhal-
Unrest: 45
Resilience: 50
*Special: Ocato will be visiting Cheydinhal on his way back from Morrowind, and Morrowind's unrest effect Cheydinhal's

Leyawiin-
Unrest: 25
Resilience: 25
*Special: Though Elsweyr's unrest doesn't effect it directly, Khajiit rebels (who exist whether Elsweyr's unrest is 100 or not) can create problems, and the higher Elsweyr's unrest the worse it gets

Imperial City-
Unrest: 25
Resilience: 75
*Special: Resilience is 100 when Ocato is present in the capitol






The Heroes:

Long John
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Name: Panthar Ghasta


Age: 19
Race: Khajiit
six: Male


Appearance: He has the typical khajjit shape, he's tall and slim. But is still muscular and strong, for his race.
Panthar has dark brown fur and black stripes. He has no mane, just fur on his head and long pointy ears. On both his left and right ears he has three golden earrings. His eyes are both brown but sometimes appear to be green.
He has few scars on his body and the one he does have would be too small to be seen under his fur.


Misc. Appearance: No tattoos.
Hight: 6' 7''
Apparel Worn Most Often: A leather vest with chain mail underneath and and leather pants with leather boots.
Armor: Just chain mail under his vest.
Other Apparel: None.


Eye Color: Brown but sometimes appear to be green
Hair Style: None. Just fur on his head.
Hair Color: He has brown fur with black stripes.


Skills:
He's fairly skilled with a long sword can fight in hand-to-hand if he really needs to. But is most comfortable with blade in hand. Panthar always trys to get the first (and hopefully, last) strike by sneaking up on his enemies.


Weapons: A steel long sword and his fists
Equipment Sack: He has no pack as he prefers to carry as little as possible.
Miscellaneous: None.


The Heroes or the Dissenters?: Hero


Bio: Panthar was born and raised in elswyr by a middle class family then when his parents and siblings were murdere (By unknown an unkown person) he inherited all there savings. Which was surprisingly more then he expected. With his money he moved to Anvil and joined the fighters guild and made his living from that?


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Madalex123
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Name: Wariel Sarel
Age: 37
Race: Imperial
six: Male

Appearance: Appearence similar to most Imperials, arrow wounds can be seen on arms
Hight: '6:1'
Apparel Worn Most Often: Full suit of leather armor minus helm
Armor: See above
Other Apparel: Wears greenish robe when relaxing

Eye Color: Brown
Hair Style: Short
Hair Color: Black

Skills: Blades, Destruction, Conjuration, Geography, Light Armor, Armorer, Restoration

Weapons: Silver Longsword (Dagger occasionally)
Equipment Sack: Blades, Repair Hammers, Books, Food
Miscellaneous: Carries several torches

The Heroes or the Dissenters?: Heroes

Why are you there?: In search of the vampires that killed his family and freinds
Background Information: Was part of a traveling merchant group, but everyone was brutally killed by a mysterious vampire clan. He decided to take up hunting them down-even if it means taking them with him.


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Mr. Boom
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Name: Felix Merenor
Nick Name:
Age:26
Race:Imperial
six: Male
Appearance: Scarless face, brown short hair, blue eyes.
Misc. Appearance:
Hight: 6'2
Apparel Worn Most Often: Black leather with a green cloak for when it rains.


Eye Color:Blue eyes
Hair Style:Short
Hair Color:Brown

Skills: Longblade, a good traveller and speaker.

Weapons:One long sword and his fist.
Equipment Sack: Mainly food and water with a map of Cyrodil
Miscellaneous: A dead rabbit! No not really...

The Heroes or the Dissenters?: Hero
Rank?:

Why are you there?: To investigate the source of some unease he has noticed lately, and see if he can lend a hand.

Background Information: Felix was born in High Rock. For years he grew up as a adventurous child in a small village, until one day he decided to take up the sword and aid in the Oblivion Crisis.

By the time he arrived in Cyrodil, the crisis had already ended. He did what he could to aid in reconstruction, taking care of cultist, golbin threats, and what not.

He now seeks to find out what exactly the Dissenters are.

----


Argonian Pimp
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Name: Artinus the Last
Nick Name: The Darkened Hermit
Age: Unknown
Race: Chimer
six: Male

Appearance: Noble, ashlander complexion, long white beard and hair gathered at back. Incredibly athletic, his grip has been known to break hands.
Misc. Appearance: Heavily tattooed(think Māori style), they flow from the back of his neck down his arms and body to his feet.
Hight: 6"1
Apparel Worn Most Often: Monk's robes worn over leather dressings, reinforced with volcanic glass plates underneath.
Armor: Typical leather armor, but cunningly reinforced with Volcanic Glass between the layers of leather, making it virtually sword-proof, but keeping an unassuming appearance.
Other Apparel: Has a necklace, hidden underneath his armor, that holds a rock, rumored to have enchantments that would stop even the greatest of attacks, and gives his hands a crippling power.

Eye Color:Grey
Hair Style: Long(to hips) Gathered(Oblivion-style gathered)
Hair Color: Shock white

Skills: He has an incredible stamina, able to run for days, reflexes fast enough to pluck the feathers off of a speeding arrow, and mastery of hand to hand combats.

Weapons: 2 hands, one left and one right. tongue.gif His long life has allowed him a great amount of time to perfect his fighting skills, easily able to defeat any earthly opponent with his bare hands.
Equipment Sack: A simple sack cloth bag the size of those preppy American Eagle string bags
Miscellaneous: He has no gloves, and fights barehanded.

The Heroes or the Dissenters?: Hero

Rank?: Hero

Why are you there?: To simply be what his culture always strived to be, an ambitionless bastion of good that can and will make a difference in troubling times.
Background Information: He was long ago in a society of Tibetan-like monk ashlanders, who had ceased living with the other tribes following arguments about Daedric worship and their warlike mentality. They struck out on their own, roaming from Skyrim to the Summerset Isles, devoting all time on simply learning what could be learned while still alive.

Sadly, on a trip back to Vvardenfell, some corrupt, blood hungry Ashlander outsourced a company of mercenaries to hunt down and kill the tribe. In the middle of the night, while Artinus was further up Red Mountain on a spiritual trek, they came in and slaughtered everyone, leaving noone but Artinus to come back to the camp and find everyone he knew burning to ashes in the remnants of the camp. He lost his emotion for a long while after that, and devoted his next long years to the slaying of every single person involved.

He was so ruthless and uncaring, when the Dark Brotherhood came in his sleep to offer him membership, he merely snapped the speakers neck, striking her down before her poisoned blade was drawn. as an old man though, after drenching his hands in the blood of his final kill, the vengeance complete, he realized that his time on this plane had been spent in bitter bitter sorrow, and resentment, the exact OPPOSITE of everything he had been taught.

Knowing he had only a few years left, he prayed to whatever gods were out there to let him redeem himself. His answer came in him as a messenger of Boethiah granted him eternal life, but to life as a loner, as an outcast, and marked him with tattoos bearing demonic power within, driving people away, but granting him the second chance he wanted.

So he spends his time trying to come to terms with what has been done, what HE has done, and how he spent all that time without an impact, without a legacy, and resolves to makes the rest of eternity a place worth living forever in.


----


Best2nd
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Name: Jonicis Onmar
Nick Name: Jony (Jon) whatever
Age: 64
Race: Breton
six: Male
Appearance: Well, he looks like Breton. Right!
Misc. Appearance: !@#$%^&*
Height: To hell whit height!!!
Apparel Worn Most Often: Dark Brown Outfit
Armor: Studded Boots

Eye Color: Brown
Hair Style: Messed
Hair Color: Gray

Skills: He's a Battlemage. He mastered the arts of Destruction, Alteration and Restoration. He is also master of Axe, and knows how to manage and command an army.

Weapons: Fine Crafted Steel Battle Axe
Equipment Sack: Small bag whit some food and few coins.
Miscellaneous:

The League of Righteousness

Why are you there?: You mean why he is here. lol. He wants to do some good before his last hour.

Background Information: He is a shady o... Ups! He was a Imperial Battlemage stationed on Fort Pelagiad in Morrowind. During Oblivion crisis, he like any other soldier was fighting Dremora. After the crisis when all this !@#$%^&* whit Dunmer Great Houses, + he was retired, he decided escaped to Imperial City only to find !@#$%^&*


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Durza
------


Name: Gerrard Benton
Nick Name: Sir Gerrard the Redeemed (knightly title)
Age: 35
Race: Breton
six: Male

Appearance: Somewhat tall and thin with a moustache and some stubble around his chin.
Misc. Appearance: Has a small scar on his forehead, but it's mostly healed over.
Height: Average
Apparel Worn Most Often: Dark shirt and trousers with a white tabard emblazoned with a silver Imperial Dragon.
Armour: Steel shoulder pads and a gorget, leather boots and chest piece with chainmaile gloves.
Other Apparel: For his formal duty, Gerrard wears a blue silk tunic and tights with a black cape.
Eye Colour: Brown
Hair Style: Medium-length hair going to the back of his neck and swept forward across his crown.
Hair Colour: Black with some grey spots.

Skills: Blade, Medium Armour, Illusion, Sneak, Block, Speechcraft, Restoration.

Weapons: He usually uses a steel hand-and-a-half sword. He does still have his daggers if necessary, though.
Equipment Sack: He keeps most of his pouches on his belt, including his old tobacco pouch. His sword is kept on a scabbard.
Miscellaneous: He's still a tobacco user, and still keeps his plugs around, though as a knight he refrains from chewing in public. If it's all right, he also has a horse.

The Heroes or the Dissenters?: Heroes

Why are you there?: To redeem himself, and as his duty as a knight to serve the Empire.
Background Information: Gerrard first served in the Imperial Legion, but was discharged for his sadistic urges. To get away from the Legion's ire, he joined the Dark Brotherhood, and served as an assassin to get money, mostly to finance his tobacco addiction. This all changed when he had heard that his mentor in the Brotherhood, Mathieu Bellamont, had been killed. Distraught, Gerrard decided that his mentor was right: the Brotherhood were evil and must be stopped. In secret, Gerrard began sabotaging his sanctuary's missions: intentionally screwing up his jobs, letting the law know about the Brotherhood's secrets, and persuading other assassins to betray the Brotherhood with him. Eventually, Gerrard managed to bring down the Cheydinhal sanctuary. For this deed, he was redeemed in the eyes of the Empire and awarded knighthood, but some remain sceptical of his true nobility. Gerrard served the League of Righteousness now, defending Tamriel against the Dissenters as his duty, and to show the world that he really has changed his ways.


----


Forest Gump
------------


Name: Fanier
Age: 65 (appears 27)
Race: Wood Elf/High Elf mix
six: Male

Appearance: Medium length brown hair that is either let loose or tied in a messy ponytail. Pretty normal muscle definition, leaning toward the muscular side. He kinda has a thin-looking head.
Misc. appearance: Nothing unusual.
Height: 6' 1"
Apparel worn most often: Simple shirt and pants, sometimes wears leather gauntlets. When it's cold, he has a nice burgundy coat.
Armor: Though he usually doesn't wear armor, he has a mithril chestplate, greaves, and boots, and the gauntlets mentioned above.
Other apparel: Always wears his late wife's golden amulet. He is very protective of it.

Eye color: Brown
Hair style: Look back up at appearance.
Hair color: Brown.

Skills: Fanier is an expert at close quarters combat. That includes hand to hand and short blade skills. He's also fair with a bow. He can cast simple restoration and fire spells when necessary.

Weapons: Just an elven shortsword. If he's wearing his burgundy coat, he'll keep it hidden inside of it.
Equipment pack: He likes to bring some bread on long trips, about thirty drakes.

Heroes or the dissenters: Heroes

Why I'm there: He's a privateer, so he does this stuff for a living. Plus he needs the money.
Backround info: 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 name 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 full fledged corprus beast. Fanier, devastated, 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.


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Faldom
--------


Name: Faldom
Age: 22
Race: Breton/ Imperial
six: Male

Appearance: His face is more in favor of his Father’s Imperial genetics, a stern militant face with symmetrical features. His body is athletic due to lifestyle and youth.
Height: 6' 2"


Apparel worn most often: A commoner’s shirt vest and pants combo, with worn leather boots.
Armor: A steel plate over his chest, steel gauntlets, and steel boots. To cover the rest he wears chainmail.
Other apparel: A ring that used to belong to a bandit lord.

Eye color: Dark brown almost black
Hair style: Cropped
Hair color: Black

Skills: Has scattered combat skills, he is all around proficient in: melee (blade preferred), marksman, and magic (mostly destruction but some skill in other schools). He is not outstanding in any of these but is still quite good when he combines his skills.


Weapons: A silver bastard sword, and a set of silver bow and arrows.


Heroes or the dissenters: Heroes


Why I'm there: He’s wants to become a hero like the ones he heard stories of.


Background info: Faldom was born an orphan, his Father had been killed in a fight during his Mothers pregnancy and his Mother died at child birth, Faldom knew nothing else of his parents. He was taken in at an orphanage but wasn’t there for long, he was adopted by an independent mage. This mage was very cruel to Faldom and forced labor upon him. Faldom did much back breaking labor for the mage during the day as he worked in his field growing magical supplies in mass so the mage could sell them. At night before Faldom slept, he entered the mages library and read books to entertain and educate himself.



Around sixteen, life had gotten worse than ever for Faldom; the mage almost ceased to feed Faldom anything, and abused Faldom using magic regularly. Faldom knew escape was a necessity, in secret Faldom had taught himself some magic for the day he escaped. Using destruction he struck down the mage and fled from the mansion, he ran and ran until he was far from the city; he knew the mage would hunt him. Eventually Faldom found himself in a bandit’s camp. Because Faldom had nowhere to go he joined the bandits.

Being the one of the few good magic-users among the bandits, Faldom quickly raise through their ranks. Until he became bandit hierarchy, he gained power, money, and he wanted none of it. Faldom hated being evil in the world’s eyes, Faldom did not want to become wicked like the man who raised him. Faldom helped the Imperial take down the largest bandit gang in Cyrodiil, personally killing the leader. Faldom finally became something of worth to the world. A hero.


----


The Dissenters:


The Black Plague
----------------


Name:Drackar Steel
Nick Name: Drack
Age: 45
Race: Impeirial
six: Male

Appearance: Slim and gruff. Sports a thin beard, and long hair.
Misc. Appearance: Question Mark
Height: 6'9
Apparel Worn Most Often: White longsleeve collared shirt, with gray vest on top. Black belt, black pants.
Armor: Heavily enchanted iron armor. Enchantment: It doesn't break
Other Apparel: Ring of strength
Eye Color: Black
Hair Style: long, straight
Hair Color: Black

Skills: Double knives, long sword, mace and bow

Weapons: twin steel knives, throwing knives, black iron mace and steel bow, all heavily enchanted with fire spells
Equipment Sack: Black belt for knives, straps mace on back, and bow on back
Miscellaneous: throwing knives kept in small sack on belt

The Heroes or the Dissenters?: Dissenters
Rank?: Agent

Why are you there?: The world treated him like trash when he was small
Background Information: Drackar was once a small poor boy that was abused by towns folks and family alike. He finally snapped, and killed off his parents and sibilings. From then on he has lived a solitary life, until he got his chance to strike back at the world.


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Vun
----


Name: Link Zilla
Age: 23
Race: Dunmer
six: Male (YES PLEASE!)

Appearance: Link has quite a slim body with long legs and muscly arms. He has a small face and is quite handsome for a Dunmer. His eyes are blood red and his skin is a medium dark blue. His hair is in the Windswept fasion and it is white.
Misc. Appearance: A scar runs from his brow to his chin and he wears dark eyeliner around his eyes. He has a large tatoo of a skull and crossbones on his back and a tatoo of a striking snake beneath it.
Height: 6'0
Apparel Worn Most Often: Leather Greaves, Leather Boots, Leather Gauntlets, Black hood, Long black trenchcoat and a long sleeved black short.
Armor: See Above.
Other Apparel: Single gold earring hangs from left ear and he has multiple eyebrow piercings.

Eye Color: Blood Red
Hair Style: Windswept
Hair Color: Snow White (and the seven dwarves lol.)

Skills: Short Blade, Marksman, Light armour, sneak, security, acrobatics, athletics, speechcraft. OUT OF GAME. Climbing (comes under acrobatics) swimming, cooking, reading, writing.

Weapons: Two Deadly steel scimitars hang on either side of his hips. He has a dagger in his left boot and a dagger in his right sleeve.
Equipment Sack: Back pack.
Miscellaneous: A torch, some craps of paper, an inkwell and a few quills.

The Heroes or the Dissenters?: THE DISSENTERS! *intense piano music*
Why are you there?: Me hate da good guys.
Rank: Commandment
Background Information: (Always nice, I want to say optional but I don't want any "Mysterious Past"ers unless your a bad guy!)
Link likes to keep his past a secret. So don't ask unless he is in a good mood. Which is rare. BWA HA HA! (mYsTeRiOuS)


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Dark Fox
--------


Name: Cyrus
Nick Name:
Age: 29
Race: Redguard
six: male

Appearance: Like most redguards he's black maybe a little more close to brown (Something like Cleveland from family guy i guess) He has a Goatee and buzz cut hair with bandanna around his head.
Misc. Appearance: god no
Hight: 6.4 feet
Apparel Worn Most Often: When sailing out on sea he likes to wear nothing but sack cloth pants
Armor: He has imperial legion armor he uses when he actually knows theres a fight goin down
Other Apparel: Also likes to walk around in a green cloth Shirt and White Linens
Eye Color: Brown
Hair Style: Military (Oblivion hair style)
Hair Color: Black

Skills: qutie tough, he has some muscles and is a good swordsman but perfers hand to hand

Weapons: Pirate Cutlass (A sword he usually spends his time making as sharp as possible)
Equipment Sack: He really just uses his pockets, other than that he doesn't like to carry alot as he hates when his equipment ways him down. All he needs is his sword everything else he leaves with his ship.
Miscellaneous: May sometimes carry around a few damage health poisons and some cash.

The Heroes or the Dissenters?: Dissenters

Rank?: commandment

Why are you there?: Cyrus really is only looking out for himself. He's given up pirating for a while and has joined the dissenters as he feels he can make more money that way. And plus what does being good get you anyways?

Background Information: Cyrus is originally a pirate from Hammerfell (And no im not trying to rip off cyrus from the game redguard). He's spent most of his life on the sea, and when he started out he had a crew of 7 men, until of course when he turned about 28 and his boat was attacked by imperial legion officers. That night he became the only one of his crew who escaped. Now a fugitive he seeks redemption in Cyrodiil with the Dissenters.


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Rachel the Breton
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Name: Edward Gershom
Nick Name: Gershom
Age: 20
Race: Imperial
six: M

Appearance: Typical Imperial face, but extremely youthful; people frequently mistake him for a young teenager
Misc. Appearance:
Height: 6’ 2”
Apparel Worn Most Often: Enchanted blue silk robes
Armor: See above
Other Apparel: Red silk robes, lacking enchantment; Elven armor, not worn frequently
Eye Color: blue
Hair Style: moderately short, loose
Hair Color: brown

Skills: moderately good sneak, moderately good at speechcraft; decent magician; not very good in hand-to-hand combat, but not bad with a bow or an enchanted staff

Weapons: enchanted staff, bow & arrow, dagger

Equipment Sack: sheath, quiver

Miscellaneous: mortar & pestle; loves to experiment with making potions, but isn’t terribly good at it

The Heroes or the Dissenters?: Dissenter, but would not be opposed to working with the good guys if the pay was right

Rank: Agent

Why are you there?: Edward is out for himself, so this is not an ideological alliance; put simply, it is easier to pursue his own interests as a dissenter. He is not opposed to assisting either side, as long as the pay is good…

Background Information: Edward is the youngest son of an ambitious, scheming, and utterly clueless nobleman. Edward was used to a fairly lavish life of ease and luxury, but, after his father and older brothers squandered the family fortune and amassed a huge debt, Edward was sent packing. As an 18 year old with no skills whatsoever, he barely managed to survive; however, thanks to his extraordinarily youthful appearance, many took pity on him, believing him to be much younger than he was, and he was able to survive. Along the way, he was able to pick up a few rudimentary skills, although nothing spectacular; he can cast a few decent spells, and even fight tolerably well, although he avoids contests of strength and skill whenever possible. Nonetheless, Edward is now able to keep food on the table and clothes on his back by living as an adventurer. Sensing the turmoil about him, Edward realizes that this is as good a time as any to make his fortune and rise to prominence never before enjoyed.


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Marn
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Ababael is basically a bandit. Don't pin his character down as a thief or assassin or anything of the like. To generalize, he is a jack-of-all-trades, but for all his subtleties he is mostly a cutthroat who will do the dirty jobs while others worry about the plan on a larger scale.

Name: Ababael Llethan
Age: 34
Race: Dunmer
Gender: Male

Appearance: Quick-witted, sharp-featured and sly, Ababael does not look the sewer rat he really is. Keen red eyes like a bleeding hawk watch passers-by with feigned interest. He tilts his sharp chin upwards to take a whiff of the ungodly air, full of filth and pestilence. Amused, he runs a long-fingered hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, wavy hair and there with flecks of silver. His narrow smile reveals a flash of bone-yellow. With long strides, his slender and sinewy legs carry him further than most people. His body moves elegantly, like a well-oiled machine covered in ashen velvet. He carries himself with confidence and careless grace, going to impetuous lengths to hide the fact that he is purely a misanthrope, a bugger who hates every other bugger.

Birthsign: The Shadow - Gifted with the Moonshadow power. Natural ability to move unseen in the darkness. May become invisible once each day.

Class: Misanthrope - A bugger who hates every other bugger. Misanthropes are defined by their base cruelty, low cunning and malignancy. Misanthropes specialize in a variety of trades and callings. Ababael has a natural affinity for causing mayhem and generally buggering everyone in town. He is a good climber, a fast runner, a strong swimmer, a high jumper. He has a talent with musical instruments which gets him by in the world, and he can do more than a little with his knife. Arrogance is his shortcoming, where he oversteps his boundaries with his own confidence. He has yet to meet a match for his small portion of low cunning, but it will not save him forever.

Faction: The Dissenters
Rank: Agent

Arms: Ababael wields a mean little steel dagger, about a foot long, all twisted and barbed. It is scarcely more than a charred piece of tin pulled out of a pathetic goblin little fire. However its cruelty and size does the trick for Ababael.
Apparel: Ababael favours dark colours. His usual attire is a pair of tight black pants, knee-high black boots, a darkly-coloured tunic held by a big-buckled silver belt, along with a light, hooded mantle.
Inventory: Ababael carries a mandolin with him from place to place, and a hand drum, which help him scraqe a living in the world. On his left hand he wears a ring on his index finger, a thin ebony band which protects him from small measures of harm and prevents pain from little cuts and scraqes. Around his next he wears an onyx stone set in a silver amulet, giving him powers of simple chameleon at will. Lastly, a silver bracelet gives him powers to open simple locks with ease.


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Name: Alnas Darnmon
Age: 93
Race: Dunmer
six: Male

Appearance: Darnmon is an rather ordinary looking Dunmer at first glance. He is of average height and weight, though it is fairly obvious from his muscles that he is quite strong. He has the typical black hair of his species, and it is gathered into a long ponytail that goes down just past his neck. His eyes seem piercing and are more than capable of making weak willed individuals cower in fear.

Clothing/Armor: He wears a single piece of armor, a silver chest plate with ornately carved crossed swords on the front, which are, in fact, two of the swords he carries. Other than that, he wears a silk, red shirt with mid length sleeves and black pants. He also wears a set of black leather boots and gloves. He wears two rings on his right hand, both gold, though one has a sapphire, while the other has a ruby. They are on his index and ring finger respectively.

Skills: Blade, Destruction, Illusion, Mysticism, Heavy Armor, Restoration, Duel-Wielding (rarely used)

Weapons: He carries three swords with him, apparently at all times, though he usually only ever uses one. On his left hip is a silver longsword with many runes and writings inscribed on the blade. The pommel contains a large ruby.

On his right hip is an identically shaped sword, though the inscriptions are different and the ruby has been replaced by a sapphire.

His third sword, the one he uses the most, is a rather strange blade, not long enough to be called a longsword, but also not short enough to be a short sword. It is straight edged, and is completely clean of any writings. Indeed, is seems to shine as if it has never been used. It has a triangular guard, made of gold that shines in the light. Strangely, it has no pommel, and the grip is wrapped in a red cloth. The sword, though bright, emanates a dark power, one that invades the mind and causes fear. It is said that if you stare at it for too long, you will begin to hear whispers in your mind.

Heroes or Dissenters: Dissenters
Rank: Commandant

Background Information: Darnmon grew up in one of the poorer districts of Mournhold, barely managing to eat and stay alive. Though he was smart and very cunning, his lack of resources and family led to an extremely difficult life. At the age of 39, he had ended up a begger and had little hope for the future.

Then, one day, he happened across the scene of a murder, and, looking to steal any of the victims belongings, happened across a sword, wrapped completely in red cloth, that had apparently either been overlooked or left behind. Darnmon quickly seized the treasure and took it back to the alley he called home. As he slept, dreams began to invade his mind, and he slowly lost his will and sanity. By the week's end, he was gone, as was the sword.


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Rules
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1. Treat your neighbor how you'd like to be treated.

2. Treat me like the undeniable hand of fate.

------
The Story so far...

-The Heroes and Dissenters have both come together, at different places, to discuss their actions. These will ultimately be to go to Skingrad, to decide the fate of the count.

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So, after much a due... Let it begin!

As a marine in the Starcraft Trailer would say. "Hell.... its about time." And original rp reference alert. ))

Felix sat inside a inn inside the Imperial City, known as the MUrky Mire. Not the best place to go for food, but the boy needed something in his stomach. In his hand was a flyer, asking for heros to come to the Inn of Weye.


Great. Felix thought to himself, Now I can get back to doing something actually counts.


He stood, finishing his water and pulling out twenty septims from his pocket and setting it down on the counter. The barman nodded to Felix, who nodded back in return.

The boy then took his leave of the inn, rain pouring down on the city of Skingrad. He pulled his hood over his head, it connected to his cloak. Felix then began to leave the city, not bothering to get a horse. As far as Felix was concerned, the horse didn't need exercise, he did.

A few minutes later, after crossing the bridge, Felix found himself entering the inn of Weye, just in time to here a man speak at the back of the inn. Felix silently moved a little closer, pressing his back to the wall and listening. A few people were noticeable at a long table.

Looks like im late.

Heroes Opening Post:

Archibold Cambridge the first addressed his assembled group of heroes at the long table in the back of the Weye inn.

"My league, My League of Righteousness! I call you all here for one very important meeting. Tomorrow, an attempt is to be made on the Count of Skingrad's life!" He slammed his fist down on the table, for emphasis. "We must ride hard, through the day, and into the night, if we are to arrive there in time. Had I any way of knowing sooner, we would not be so ill-advantaged." He pursed his lips from his spot at the head of the table.

"But for now, friends, we dine!" He gestured to a sizable feast that was before all of them. Stuffed turkey, pork, venison, all manner of foods and wines.

The Dissenters Opening Post:

The Dissenters, Commandants and Agents alike, were lined up in front of five steps

A Lord of Shadows paced on the edge of the five steps that were as wide as the room, up to the level that held two doors. One straight on following the gallant red carpet, and one to the left. He was quite a sight. A foul mask in the Daedric style adorned his face, and similar gauntlets his hands. Though one was peculiar. The third finger of the right glove was longer than all the others, and was made of silver. Aside from that, he wore much black robe, which covered his neck, shoulders, and arms, but stopped a bit higher than where his rib cage started. There, was a silver briastplate with ornate carvings on it. He wore wide black pants.

He also had a cane with a silver ball head and slender, four-sided black body leading down to a small silver stub.

"You may, or may not," he said, observing his gauntlet covered hand in front of his Daedric mask, "know why you are here."

"But I," He said, twirling on a head to face them, "will tell you ANYWAY!" He laughed manically.

"The count of Skingrad, Janus Hassildor, has been standing in the way of my plans far too long." He was, after all, the Shadow Lord of Skingrad. It was to be expected that he'd dislike the count. "So, tomorrow, when the sun first sets, I shall lose my hounds of war." He returned to pacing side to side. "All of you will be in charge of making sure he dies. There will be assassins as well, and they've been ordered to stay away from you. You'll know them by a chitin left pauldron, dyed black."

"It is obvious that he is just one man, but every precaution has been taken. The most obvious of which, is that there will be a riot in the streets!" He exclaimed that last phrase, for some reason. "Yes, with the guards distracted and night falling, it will be the perfect time! You are to approach the keep, claiming to be ambassadors from the Colovian Interests Guild. They will let you in, as they are expecting you. He won't be seeing you personally, but you'll be inside. That's all that counts." He nodded his head, he'd made about five paces back and forth by now. "In addition, there is an Altmer woman. She will be wearing a blue silk dress and a large blue diamond, set in silver. You must return her here." He chuckled, and turned to them. "Tell her Lord Dread sent you."

"Now just to make sure that you've got this right..." He walked down the steps, past the side of the group, and took his cane in both hands. He stood before a round table, with noting on it but a few chairs.

"You," he grasped the walked end of the cane, twisted forward and back, and then pushed in. There was a clicking noise, and he pulled away the black walking end to reveal a four-sided silver blade.

"Are going," he said, putting one foot up onto the table and raising it over his head,

"To kill," he pushed himself up onto the table.

"THE COUNT!" With this, he plunged the blade into the table beneath him.

"Now that we've that settled," he hopped off the table and removed the blade. "I'll be in my chambers. He's a vampire, if you're slow to believe popular rumor. So in the armory," he gestured with his free hand as he used a telekinesis spell to bring the sheath onto the blade he held with the other. "You will find an number of silver weapons. To the right is melee, and to the left is ranged. Now, I'll be in my chambers. There's some wine on the rack next to that table, and you should all be out of here within the hour." Or else, he seemed to imply. He strode through the main doors in the center, they being opened by two servants on the other side.

The one on the right tried to say something, but caught a back-handed slap and fell backwards. Though it didn't slow Dread's stride. The servants counterpart to the left blew him a raspberry, and then closed both of the doors.

And they were alone.

Jonicis Onmar

Jony looked on splendid food on the table. Mmm, it tastes delicious, still, it's not like anything he used to back in Morrowind.

He started to think about House War back home, what would be if he stayed there in Pelagiad. Probably nothing since he is ex-legionnaire. Heck, why I left in the first place! Even if something went wrong, they wouldn't be banging on some old man's door!

He started cursing all Dunmer Houses that were in his mind. Now these Descendents are on count's head, and his job was to prevent it. I'm getting too old for this! He started to look around in search for another "unhappy" person...

Fanier sighed, seated in his chair as the old man rambled on about righteousness and heroes. I can't take this guy seriously, he thought as he pulled a canteen from inside his coat. At least, not until I have a bit more scotch. Fanier took a sizeable swig from his canteen, and kept on listening. The man undeniably knew what he was talking about. Fanier just didn't like the way he talked; he made it sound like they were on some noble crusade. Such was not the case for Fanier. Archibold was in need of people with certain skills. Likewise, Fanier provided such skills; it was his job. And, frankly, he wasn't doing too well financially.

Fanier diverted his attention to a rather bosomy waitress passing by. "Excuse me," Fanier asked the waitress. "Do you know who's picking up our tab?"

The waitress smiled. "Mr. Archibold is, sir."

"Then could you order me a shepherd's pie?" Fanier shook his canteen, and decided it was getting low. "And a bottle of scotch, please."

"Yes, sir." The waitress walked toward the bar, and Fanier sat back in his chair. These next few weeks might be tough, but tonight, he would enjoy himself.

Gerrard set himself aside a meagre portion of the food, just enough to last him. "Time is of the essence, my friends!" he announced. "We must not waste time in our merriment. I shall go as soon as I am done to defend the Count. It is my duty." Gerrard had draqed his tabard over his chest, but had yet to fasten his armour. "My lord," he said, turning to Archibold, "your proceedings are generous, but I must not tarry in my revelry. Do not be offended when I refuse a full course, for I must concern myself with greater matters." The knight held his goblet in a salute to his superior.

As he continued with his small portions, Gerrard reflected on his past. His service to the Dark Brotherhood had shown him what atrocities he was capable of, but he had gained valuable knowledge. Now that he was familiar with an assassin's scheming, he could put it to use against the evils of the Dissenters.

Edward sighed. Fanatics, he thought. Can't stand fanatics. And that shadow lord was certainly a fanatic if ever he'd seen one. Edward sighed again. And I didn't hear one word about pay... he added to himself.

He shifted uncomfortably. He was in this for the money, and only the money. He didn't mind being ordered around, but he needed to be paid well for putting up with it. But, he thought, this is just the beginning. If I pull my part in this off well, we'll see where we go from there. And, anyway, I can always walk if I don't see gold.

He rose, and headed toward the weapons. A dagger... Yes, that's what he'd use. Small, easy to conceal, and ornate...

A smile crossed his lips as he lifted the weapon. He was already drawing up his plans. Colovian Interest Guild? he thought. Nah...a serving boy would be better...more access...less visibility...no one notices a servant...

His smile widened. Better yet, he thought, if I can convince one of these wierdos to play along, I can go as a servant to one of the Colovian Guild ambassadors. Same access, plus a reason that people wouldn't recognize me. With this thought in mind, he surveyed his unique assortment of quasi-comrades, looking for someone who seemed as if he'd be easy to work with.

Wariel sat motionless on the end of the table. Somehow he knew that this might benefit in his search-but how could it? Count Skingrad is not a vampire. But still, with a feeling in his gut, he knew that somehow he had to talk to the count about it. It had been months since his last meeting with the league, and he was ready. However he knew it would be foolish to ride of alone in the middle of the night. He would need time to collect the thoughts racing around in his head. One memory stood out amongs the chaos-that terrible night 20 years ago. The blood. The screams. The bodies. He had gotten away with minimal damage to his arms-arrows hit him but it did not stop him from running all the way to Chorrol. The guards found him collapsed on the side of the road. After he had recovered from the care of the church, he made a vow to destroy the heathen vampires that did this. With a shaking hand he sipped his wine and braced himself for tommorow.

For now however he decided to enjoy the fine food with his freinds and allies, for no matter what happend, he would have a long day ahead of him.

Felix let out a sigh, watching the people eat. He decided that since he had just came from a inn, he would not eat. Might as well use up all the energy he had before beginning to add more.

Felix stayed at his spot against the wall. Usually, people were busy talking to each other to notice him. But this did not seem to be the case. Still, Felix still kept his spot. It was a comfortable wall, after all.

Archibold nodded to Gerrard.

"I understand, good sir knight, and honor your choice," he said, in between gnawing on a leg of chicken. He motioned to his butler, Jeeves, who brought over a bottle of wine to refill his glass. "But for the rest of you, let us feast!" He continued to eat. At this rate, the old man would soon be done.

Faldom casually walked into the inn and showed the worker at the front desk the flier. After being directed to the backroom Faldom saw a long table full of a rather rag tag looking group seated awaiting the source of the call to action. Some appeared to be here for reward only, but a few seemed to be here out of noble cause. Faldom sat down and waited with the rest of the group.

Faldom looked around the long table, nobody seemed upset by the announcement of the Counts death besides a Breton knight, who seemed all to trusting. Faldom didn't even bother to touch the food in front of him. Faldom stood up from his seat and spoke up. "I'm sorry, but who are you exactly? And why should we trust you about the Count of Skingrads death?" Faldom waited impatiently on an answer. Faldom's excitement has begun to turn to disappointment as the promised exciting adventure began to look like a crazy man's ramblings or even a scam.

Darnmon leaned against the wall, his arms crossed as the Lord of Shadow went on a tangent. He had his eyes closed, only half-heartedly listening to the man make his speech. It was a bit over the top, in Darnmon's opinion, but then most Lords of Shadow were a bit on the strange side. To be fair though, the only reason he wasn't one already was because he enjoyed being in the thick of things. Well, not necessarily enjoy, but require.

He opened one eye as the man finished and walked away, then glanced at the weaponry he had told them to take. Darnmon made no move to get one. He had the only weapon he needed with him. He closed his eye again as the others began shuffling around. He didn't know why he even had to attend this meeting. He already knew the objective. It seemed rather pointless, and he'd be willing to bet that the new people would be more of a hindrance than a help. But then that's how Darnmon viewed most people regardless.

He got up from his leaning position and walked over to the rack where the wine was, then put it down on the table and got a glass. He poured himself a small amount and took a sip. He was not a connoisseur of wine by any means, and he wouldn't put it past the Lord of Shadow to have poisoned it, but in the situation Darnmon felt safe enough. He frowned after taking a sip, then downed the rest in one gulp. It wasn't the same as Sujamma, but it was something at least.

He poured another glass and then walked back over to where he had been before, and began leaning against the wall again, though this time his eyes remained open, scanning his "allies" as they dispersed across the room.

OOC: Will post IC here shortly.

Felix said not a word, watching the others eat. Having arrived from another tavern, he decided no food was necessary. He let out a sigh,turning and exiting the inn, finding a bench and sitting on it.

Count of Skingrad eh? he thought to himself. If one wanted him dead, it would take much planning. Furthermore, what bothered Felix the most, was how this strange man sending out flyers knew so much about a group.

Edward noticed a rather average looking Dumner seated by himself, slowly sipping a glass of wine. He watched him frown, pause as if to consider the taste, and then down the rest of the glass. Hmmm, Edward thought. There's something not quite right about him. He frowned in concentration. What is it? He wasn't sure, but it was something...something in the look of his eye...

He continued to watch the Dumner for a few moments, pondering if he should approach him with his scheme, but decided against it at last. He needed someone he could manipulate, and that Dumner certainly didn't fit the bill. No, he would have to try someone else.

Gerrard stood up from his seat and turned to the new arrival, extending his hand. "Good evening. I am Sir Gerrard Benton. Pardon my colleagues, but the matter is too urgent for me to lose myself in feasting." He straightened his tabard. "As a knight, I have sworn to protect the fair rulers of the land. My lord, Archibold, is admittedly a bit eccentric, but without him, surely we could not establish our League. The Dissenters are plotting an assassination of Count Skingrad, and it is my duty to stop them. I shall soon be going to protect him, once the feast is done. Perhaps you will come with me?"

The rumbling of his stomach forced Gerrard reluctantly back to his seat, where he continued eating his sirloin steak. After asking for a refill of his wine, he turned to Faldom and offered him his goblet.

Ababael

Its all a show... Its always a show.

Fervour is not a flaw by itself. Some men take it too far however. Some men are fervent and blind at that.

There was no time to have the whole operation ruined on the whim of some crazed fool, oh no. Speed and secrecy would bring the Count of Skingrad to his grave once and for all. Admittedly it was all a bit over Ababael's head. The plotting and intrigue of these great individuals had a larger effect on the ground work than he would have liked. Colovian Interests Guild... Bah. Already a plan was forming.

Ababael took a glass of wine and sipped it quietly, before strolling off towards the indicated armoury. From the rack he took a silver shortsword. It glimmered fiendishly in the light and its edge was keen. Ababael found two more knives after glossing over the contents of the room. A pile of rope rested in the corner which he quickly picked up and shoved into his backpack. Nobody else was in the room. He leaned back against the wall and began playing his mandolin, drawing a sorrowful minor chord from the strings.

OOC: What us my job as a Commandment in this mission? Do I do what every one else does?

Edward surveyed the rack of wine, and scoffed. None of it was very good. He searched through the bottles, finally locating a fairly decent vintage. This he slipped into his discreet travel bag.

Glancing around, he took a final look at his fellow villains, and then sighed. They'll never do, he decided. With this realization in mind, he found the nearest exit, and absconded himself.

His horse -- which is to say, a horse that he'd commandeered in the line of duty-to-self -- was tethered shortly outside of the rendezvous. He smiled as he saw the dark, powerful animal; it was a fine horse, one of the finest he had ever seen. He'd only had it a few weeks, but he'd already seen that it was capable of great speed and had great endurance.

"Gershom's back," he told the creature, referring to himself in the third person and by his nickname, as was his habit. "And he's got an interesting job ahead of him..."

Gerrard finished his steak quietly and got up once more, pushing his chair aside. "I must go, my lord. I shall ride to Skingrad in advance to serve as a warning. You may come too when you wish, but this is serious." Taking his gloves and pauldrons, Gerrard armoured himself, then exited the inn and headed for the nearby stables. Quickly but efficiently, he tacked his horse, a dapple grey gelding. The horse was a gift from Ocato, and he had received him after becoming a knight.

The Breton grabbed his horse's reigns and slung himself over its back. "Onward!" he cried, spurring the beast on, and together they galloped down the road.

OOC: For this mission, Vum. Though technically you could boss about the Agents, Dissent is encouraged in the Dissenters, and nobody likes people who get too bossy :celebration: . Later on in the RP you'll start to see the play difference, as you're contacted by Eyes & Ears and the like. You'll play a bit more of a political RP role than your agent counter-parts.

This is just to establish that The Dissenters know of the league and it's members, and puts you all in the same general region. I promise, next city we go to you'll start seeing the diff. :foodndrink:

Felix looked up from his book and watched as the horse rode off, toward Skingrad. He slowly stood, letting out a sigh and beginning to walk in the city's direction. Might as well get a head start before these so called Dissenters could assassinate the ruler of Skingrad.

The eating had gone on for not too long and not to short a time, but soon it was apparent all whom were present would be full.

Preparation in the form of transportation securing would have to take place. Archibold was probably the man to go to if anyone was unable to purchase their own mount, of which there were a ready supply in the stables. Bays and paints, both for sale a reasonable prices of 500 gold for a paint and 1,000 for a bay. Though that may well end up coming out of the individual's stipend. However, some have brought there mounts.

Edward mounted his steed, and headed off at a quick pace. After a while, he pulled his horse off the beaten path. It was easier to get to the Count's home this way than on the roads.

He enjoyed listening to the quiet sounds of evening, just the clomp-clomp of his horse's hooves, the rustle of the breeze through the leaves, the occasional forest animal scurrying away. It was peaceful...so peaceful. Quiet helped him think, and he was doing a lot of that now.

Now why would anyone want to kill old Janus Hassildor? he was wondering. Dread, or whatever that guy's name is, said he was in the way of his 'plans'...I wonder what 'plans'... His brow creased. Count Hassildor was a quiet, generally fair ruler, who was most noteworthy because of the rumors -- apparently true, if Dread's word was to be taken -- that he was a vampire. There were also rumors that he'd helped the mage's guild in their fight against necromancy. Funny, that... Edward remarked mentally. Wonder why something undead would want to prevent necromancy?

OOC: Approved by olny. I think my character sheet is up on the first page, but if not, I guess I'll ask olny to put it up.
IC: Luc groaned rather audibly as soon as the Lord Dread left. He made his contempt at the Lord's acting well known. "Urgh, that man dresses like he walked through a true noble's home and threw on anything he could find in it. And his theatrics? Just terrible. A rock could move me more." Luc moved for the exit, knowing full well he would not be punished; he was throwing most of his money towards the Dissenters. Killing him would also bring his father's wrath upon the Dissenters.

He left the base and went to the stable. Luc threw on his riding gear and a grey riding cloak. His new horse, Xavier, was waiting for him in the second stall. Luc petted the horse's mane, saying, "Hello, chap. It's time for our trip to Skingrad. You get me there quick and I'll get you some apples. Ride slow and I'll spur you straight in the heart. Got it?" And with that, he climbed on the horse's back and rode out of the town.