The Warp in the West

"Four hundred years after Tiber Septim's reign, the beginning will meet the end, and the bloody circle will close in the Empire of Tamriel. The unworthy heirs of the Septim Dynasty have allowed the bonds of the Empire to weaken and crack. Uriel Septim the Seventh cannot repair what his ancestors ignored. The provinces fight among themselves like neglected children, drunk with rebellion, and one indomitable power hides itself, but not forever."

Yamnir of Dawnstar was not surprised that the Emperor summoned him to the audience chamber after midnight. He accustomed to seeing the Emperor at unusual hours. To the Emperor, the Nord was an unusually crafted weapon to be drawn in secrecy, away from the inquisitive eyes of the official court. A trusted guard escorted him down the gilded marble halls of the Imperial Palace to the Emperor's chamber. Along the way, you passed ancient tapestries and sculpture acquired by Tiber Septim or one of his equally avaricious descendants.

Uriel Septim greeted Yamnir formally, in utter darkness, as Ocato lit a single candle, emanating the barest illumination. This was an unusually surreptitious meeting, even for the cautious Uriel Septim.

"Please excuse the gloom, but none may know of our meeting. The nature of my trouble is darker still. Its subject is King Lysandus of Daggerfall, a man who died over a year ago, honorably, on the field of battle."

The nord started to respond, but was silenced. It was peculiar of the Emperor not to allow him any questions or comments. He almost seemed to be afraid of too much inquiry into this particular affair.

Without pause, the Emperor continued.

"He was as great and loyal a subject, ally, and friend to me as you are. I did grieve for him ... but I now hear his spirit will not rest. It haunts his former kingdom crying for revenge. I do not know why such a good and loyal man would be so cursed, but perhaps you could find the reason. You could close the marble jaws of Oblivion and put his soul to peace. I ask this of you as your Emperor, and also as your friend."


"I have one other lesser request. Several years ago, I sent a letter to Lysandus' Queen Mynisera. She now informs me that she never received it. The message was of a ... sentimental and personal nature. If you would find the letter, and destroy it, I would be most relieved."

The letter is more important than that, Yamnir instinctively thought. But again, he was not given leave to ask any questions. The Emperor's dismissal was friendly, but absolute: "Now, my champion, rest well tonight, for tomorrow you sail for the kingdom of Daggerfall."

At dawn the next day, Yamnir inconspicuously boarded a passenger galley destined for Daggerfall.

The next day at noon, everyone were on-board the ship heading towards the Iliac bay. Waves splashed against the wooden frame of the Imperial galley as it made its way through the Abecean Sea. Yanmir leaned back in his chair in the cabin. This is ridiculous. Being sent to High Rock to recover some stupid letter and investigate the death of some king. I'm not some errant boy, damn it! Oh well, we better get this done quickly so that we may go home... The trip had been boring and eventless so far. It was driving him crazy. Back in the old days, menial tasks like this were given to the younger and inexperienced operatives. The emperor must be desperate to retrieve that letter. He had to be, else he wouldn't send one of his best agents accompanied by a gang of mercenaries and lower ranked Blades.

He rose from his chair and went outside to get some fresh air. When he stepped out of the cabin, he noticed dark clouds up in the distance. A storm was brewing. Strong gusts pushed the ship from the sides, sea water washing over the deck as the waves got taller and stronger. Lightning struck the first mast, incinerating the sails and splitting the wood. This just isn't happening.. It's not normal. There's no way a storm like this could happen so quickly... Yanmir rushed to the hatch leading to the levels below deck.

"Wake up! Get your asses up on deck, we've entered a storm. Hurry up, if you don't want to swim with the fish!" his voice boomed.

--------------------------

All right, here's how it goes. The RP itself will begin as soon as enough people (5+) have joined.

The Rules:
1. Generic forum rules apply. Don't involve explicit sixual scenes. Romancing is OK, porm stories are not.
2. NO god-moding, mind reading or "all-knowing characters."
3. Be as descriptive as possible, use proper paragraphs.
4. You may have as many characters as you please, but be sure you'll be able to role-play them all, even if they're not in the same place.
5. Use common sense.
6. I, Asgrahim, am the GM. What I say goes.
7. Send me your character sheet for approval before you post. You will know you have been approved if I post your character in the thread.
8. It'd be preferable if you do not make any vampire or lycanthrope characters, unless you can role-play them well.
9. Last but not least, have fun!


Character Sheet

Name:
Age:
Gender:
Race:
Birthsign:

Class:
Skills:

Height:
Weight:
Eye Colour:
Hair Colour:
General Appearance:

Weapon(s):
Apparel:

Background History: (optional)


My character:

Name: Yanmir of Dawnstar
Age: 43
Gender: Male
Race: Nord
Birthsign: The Serpent

Class: Knight
Primary Skills: Long Blade, Etiquette, Blunt Weapon
Major Skills: Axe, Archery, Short Blade
Minor Skills: Medical, Dodging, Hand-to-Hand, Jumping, Swimming, Climbing

Height: 6'4"
Weight: 230 lbs
Eye Colour: Red
Hair Colour: Grey
General Appearance: Average middle-aged Nord with a goatee and long, grey hair that hangs down his back, slightly below the shoulders. Has a small scar on his chin and a serpent tattoo which coils around his left arm, from the shoulder to the wrist.

Weapon(s): Steel bastard sword with a ruby in the pommel, a curved silver dagger, an ordinary steel mace.
Apparel: Casual clothing, nothing too noteworthy.


PS: Send the sheets to me in a PM. I will post all the characters when I have accepted them. If you were not accepted, you may still send me another, if you can make it better than the previous.

Scow2

Name: Davian Hawkstar
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Race: Breton

Class: Warrior
Core Skills: Axe, Blunt Weapon, Long Blade
Major Skills: Short Blade, Hand to Hand, Archery
Minor Skills: Climbing, Jumping, Dodging, Running, Swimming, Medical


Height: 5' 8" (6' in armor)
Weight: 218 lbs
Eye Colour: Blue
Hair Colour: brown
General Appearance: He has a hard, weatherbeaten face, with a nasty scar across his left eye. He is solidly built, his life of hardship and battle built into his very being.

Weapon(s): He has a walking arsenal: A steel war axe on his left thigh, an elven flail on his right, An iron long bow across his back, and steel claymore crossing the bow, with a quiver of twenty arrows.
Apparel: Davian wears a chainmail cuirass, steel-plated greaves, solid steel boots, chain pauldrons, and steel gauntlets, with chainmail over the knuckles instead of nested plates. Over his chainmail tunic he wears a bright crimson tabard emblazoned with his Heraldic Badge.

Background History: Davian's a mercenary, allied with the Fighter's guild, and has been following where the money leads him. He recently got aboard a ship bound for Daggerfall, in hopes of making a fortune from the brewing conflict.


Faldom

Name: Kiel
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Race: Redguard
Birthsign: The Steed

Class: Ranger
Skills: (Mostly DF) Long Blade, Short Blade, Marksmen, Alchemy, Climbing, Running, Jumping, Spriggan, Light Armor, and Sneak
Non TES Skills: Crafting, Sailing, Tracking, Survival, etc.

Height: 6'2"
Weight: 204
Eye Colour: Black
Hair Colour: Black
General Appearance: Has shorts frizzy hair and a small goatee. Has a golden piercing in his left ear.

Weapon(s): Elven Cutlass, Elven dagger, and a set of an Elven Bow and arrows
Apparel: Hard black leather boots and vest, over dark brown pants, a lighter brown shirt, and draqed in a green cloak.

Background History: Kiel was born to a couple of Redgaurd 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 Ranger named Delaeon.

Delaeon was harsh to Kiel at first, disciplining him strictly for the rude child he was. But eventually he grew found of Kiel, teaching him more and more about being a Ranger. At 18, Delaeon kicked Kiel out on his ass, with nothing but a crappy bow, 80 iron arrows, and an iron shortsword, knowing that would be best for him. Kiel has spent his seven years of freelance adventuring, making quite a name for himself, doing various quest, looting dungeons, and even doing some services to the Emporer. He eventually built up some good money and bought more equiptment, that got better as time went on.

Recently he has been called back to the Emperor's service, to help recover a letter.


HK-47

Name: Garum Bayl
Age: 219
Gender: Male
Race: Altmer
Birthsign: The Tower

Class: Imperial Battlemage
Class Description: The Imperial Battlemages serve as the magickal supplument to the Imperial Legion. Skilled in the arts of Mysticism and Destruction, as well as blades and in the use of armor, Battlemages compliment the Legion while simultaneously filling a unique role in the heirarchy of the Imperial army. In addition to front line magick-equipped warriors, Battlemages are also trained in two specialized spells unique to Imperial armies; those of Telecommunication and Farsight. Telecommunication is used by the Battlemages to speak to one another over long distances; it was used to maintain contact with the Empire when the Legion attacked Akavir at Necrom. Farsight allows Battlemages to study a map and use an advanced form of life detection to discover any enemies hidden along the route who are not magickally hidden.

Skills: Garum is well trained in the use of his katana, and supplements it with destruction spells. He is capable of maintaining his armor and moving swiftly and agile in it, if need be, but prefers to engage in melee combat only when necessary, as his skill with Destruction and Mysticism outweighs his swordsmanship.

Height: 6'1"
Weight: 193lbs
Eye Colour: Sulfur
Hair Colour: Silver
General Appearance: Garum is an older Altmer, though his appearance doesn't reflect his age, like many elves. His face bears runic tattoos born of enchanted ink, enhancing his vitality, but causing minor side effects, such as his unusual eye hue. An arcane sigil graces his forehead, the mark of a curse preventing him from ever setting foot on the Summerset Isles again. Considered to be handsome by most, Garum bears himself with confidence and sureness, and it is reflected in his gait and stance. His voice is not as high pitched as most Altmer, but has a deeper smooth richness to it. (Click here for image)

Weapon(s): Garum prefers to use magick as his primary weapon, but if necessary he uses an Akaviri katana.
Armor: Garum wears a set of Akaviri-styled armor that, while not too heavy and restricting of his movement, is protective enough to wear on the front lines of battle. Some would call it 'Medium Armor'. The left bracer of his armor is equipped with a buckler.
Apparel: When out of armor, Garum wears deep blue or maroon clothing, cutting a sharp image. Although not too rich, Garum is well off enough that he always wears decent clothing reflective of the upper middle class.

Brief History: Garum Bayl was born in 3E 186 in Alinor, Summerset Isle. He was born to parents who were reasonably well off in the shimmering spires of the Altmer city, and like many of his nation, he was placed in a school of magick at an early age.
Garum's youth was relatively uneventful. He moved from Alinor to Sunhold to attend the school there at the age of twenty and continued his magick training, now being supplemented by physical training as well.

At an early age, Garum had discovered his aptitude for magick; destruction and mysticism seemed to come more easily to him than other fields of magick, and he did not have the patience to study more intensified fields such as conjuration, enchantment or alchemy. While most Altmer boys in the Alinor School of Magick spent their time in the libraries or at the feet of the master wizards, Garum could be frequently found climbing branches in the fields of apple trees behind the school, or playing with teleportation spells to see how long he could stay away without getting caught.

As Garum grew, his affinity for mischief and his boyish attitude did not diminish. If anything, they increased over time, and Garum knew he did not want to travel to Firsthold when he graduated from the Alinor School of Magick. Rather than going to the Wizard's Academy of Alteration at Firsthold, Garm chose to travel to the School for Battlemages in Sunhold.

The fields of study in Sunhold were focused more on the physical aspects of magick, rather than the metaphysical. Garum found that he enjoyed the studies there much more than he had at Alinor, and though he still found time for climbing trees and playing teleportation pranks, much of his time was spent in the training of weaponry and combat applications of magick.

In Sunhold, Garum met Mixa Veln, a fellow Altmer who shared his spirit for adventure. The two became study partners and frequently walked into the forest to practice their abilities against one another. It didn't take long for their forest expeditions to focus less on magick and combat and more on each other, and within a year Garum and Mixa were sharing a room on campus. They tried to keep their relationship a secret, as the school had rules against what they called 'romantic proselytism'. Though they tried to keep it under wraps, it was no secret to anybody on campus what was going on.

It was in Garum's twenty-fourth year, near the second anniversary of his relationship with Mixa that a new Headmaster was appointed in Sunhold's School for Battlemages. Headmaster Vyran Veln did what he always did upon arriving at a new school, which he called 'cleaning house'. Over half the students were suspended for even the most trivial of reasons, including Garum. Garum was the first to go; Vyran was Mixa's father, and did not approve of their relationship.

Not only was Garum suspended, but Vyran Veln had him shipped to Anvil, Cyrodiil. Garum tried to get passage on a ship back to the Summerset Isles, not to continue his studies, but to see Mixa again. It was impossible. Vyran had set a curse on Garum. If Garum were to ever set foot in the Summerset Isles again, he would surely die. This was what the Imperial mages told Garum when he had them examine the sigil that had appeared on his forehead.

Garum resorted to writing letters to Mixa. He found work at the local Chapter Hall of the Guild of Mages, and tried to continue his studies there. Compared to the universities and schools of Summerset Isle, the Imperial Guild of Mages was deplorable. Garum found that there was almost nothing he could learn in terms of magick at the guildhall, though he was rapidly gaining experience in life outside of a school as the guild gave him one task after another. Many were menial, but as time progressed, Garum was trusted with more important assignments. Nearly all of them bored him immensely, and Garum again took to exploring the local countryside and climbing trees and cliffs.

A decade passed, and Garum's letters to Mixa were fewer and farther between as she slowly faded from his memory, replaced by his menially boring tasks for the Imperial Guild of Mages. Even so, it was a living, and his magickal talents were slowly growing again. Garum lived in a small shanty on the coast, putting most of his earnings towards ordering books from the universities in the Imperial City.

The village of Anvil grew as the years dragged by, and Garum finally earned what he worked so hard for; a letter of recommendation to enter the Imperial City Arcane University. While it didn't rival the universities in Summerset Isle, the Arcane University was easily the largest repository of magickal knowledge in all Cyrodiil, if not all of Tamriel itself. At the age of thirty-eight, Garum entered the Arcane University as a student and began his studies once again.

They didn't last long.

In those days, Altmer were renown as being the most talented wizards. When word reached the Legion Commandant that an Altmer trained in Summerset Isle had joined the Arcane University, he immediately went to speak with the Arch-Mage. It was only after a month of studies that Garum found himself kicked out and transferred, against his will, into the training program for the Imperial Battlemages.

Garum despised the transition, but relished the opportunity to learn more about his chosen fields of magick. He held the attitude until he realized what sort of 'training' the Imperial Battlemages underwent. It was childs play, for Garum. Decades of studies put him leaps and bounds ahead of many of the other Battlemages, and he found himself bored with the endless drills and repetitive combat training in the camp.

Upon graduation and entering the Imperial Battlemages, Garum was, for the first time, given more work than he could handle. He traveled from one end of Tamriel to the other, stationed from one outpost to another as orders of transfer flew around. The Empire expanded, and Garum found himself on the front lines of skirmishes against Bosmer and Dunmer and Khajiit and Argonians as bandits and revolutionaries were all summarily crushed by the Legion.

Garum began to find a niche for himself in the Legion as he was given more crucial assignments, even appointed a squad leader in charge of other battlemages after time.

Like many things, though, Garum's time in the Legion eventually came to an end. After fifty years of service, he tired of the constant fighting, patrolling and investigations. With a hefty pension, Garum resigned from the service and returned to the Arcane University again. This time, instead of as a student, Garum was given the job as a teacher in the school of destruction.

Garum's high-strung life slowly unwound as he began to enjoy teaching young pupils the tricks and spells he'd learned at Summerset Isle. His life was relatively uneventful for twenty years as a teacher. Garum had a decent apartment in the Imperial City, and he was a respected wizard in the University.

Nearly ninety years after first meeting Mixa, Garum met another woman, a new teacher at the university named Maena Raonal. Maena was an aged Dunmer native to Morrowind who also was a master of the school of destruction. Garum had worked with other female mages and had taught alongside some, but never before had he met a woman who had the high spirited, adventurous and slightly playful attitude that he still carried. The two quickly fell in love and were married on Garum's one hundred and tenth birthday.

Garum and Maena taught together at the Arcane University for sixty years. They were the sixty happiest years of Garum's life. He grew to love his two children, and then grandchildren. Garum had finally learned to settle down, even if he still enjoyed teleporting away from the university and into the forest for some exploring. Even having done it a hundred times before, Garum never grew tired of exploring the forests around Imperial City, and he soon brought Maena and their children with him.

Tragedy struck when Garum was one hundred eighty-one. A young student, particularly powerful in the arts of destruction, attempted to control a spell beyond his skill. Garum and Maena tried to stop him, but the resulting explosion destroyed the building and damaged much of the Arcane University. Many mages and students were killed in the blast, including Maena.

Garum was shocked to his core by her death. While he was attended to by healers, the only thoughts that went through his mind were Why her, and not me?
Garum continued teaching, but his life was rough for many years. His children excommunicated him, blaming Garum for their mother's death, and he struggled with self-guilt.

Time heals all wounds, they say, but after thirty years Garum still carried with him the guilt over Maena's death. Though it existed as a part of him, it no longer ruled his life, and Garum learned to enjoy life again, to an extent. As the years dragged on, and the year 3E 405 arrived, Garum was still plagued by his guilt.

A letter arrived, and in it was another change in Garum's life. The orders were from Ocato, and stated that he would be returned to the Imperial Battlemages immediately, and set to a special assignment chosen by the Emperor himself. Once more, Garum packed his things and prepared for another change in his life.

woolymammoth45

Name: Marcus Neel
Age: 21
Gender:male
Race: nord
Birthsign: warrior

Class: stealth soldier
Skills: long blade, heavy armor, sneak, security, athletics, block, alchemy

Height: 5'11
Weight:200
Eye Colour: brownhs
Hair Colour: black
General Appearance: muscular and stocky

Weapon(s): elven longsword
Apparel: orcish armor

Background History: Was raised by the Blades, and to prove himself to the order and to prove his loyalty to the emperor, must do a deed, quest for the blades, and for service to the empire, His father died before he was born, and his mother died also during childbirth, He was sent to be raised by his uncle (his mom's brother) in the blades, but shortly after he was sent, his uncle died in service of the blades, there he was, parentless, an orphan, when his uncle's best friend, john, who was also a blade, took him in as his own son, and raised him as a blade and trained him in the arts of stealth, alchemy, and combat.


Marn

Name: Loss?
Age: Middle-Aged
Gender: Male
Race: Nord
Birthsign: The Steed

Class: Sellsword
Primary Skills: Long Blade, Light Armour, Blunt Weapon
Major Skills: Running, Jumping, Swimming, Dodging
Minor Skills: Tracking, Axe, Climbing, Throwing

Height: 6'3"
Weight: 215lbs
Eye Colour: Steel-blue
Hair Colour: Dun
General Appearance: Loss? is a plain-looking Nord, his visage marked only by his piercing bright eyes. He stands broad and imposing over members of most races. His long dun ponytail hangs lazily down over his left shoulder, with stray locks flying everywhere. Though heavy-set and powerful, Loss?'s easy smiles beckon kindly.

Weapon(s): A steel flail, an Elven longsword.
Apparel: Neat fur-trimmed clothing in dark shades, suede boots. A hauberk of light black mail, a half-helm, a roundshield.


Manu

Name: Elarian Anarys
Nickname: Greymane
Gender:male
Race:dunmer
Age : 135 (appears in his late forties by humans standards)
Birth sign:The Tower

Class: Hired blade
Primary : long blades, medium armor, illusion
Major : jumping, destruction, sneak
Minor : climbing, swimming, short blades, hand to hand, dodging,

Class Description: Sword for hire, a Tamriel-born relative of Earth's condotierre, the sellsword is a sword for hire, specializing in hit-and-run tactics, on dirty tricks rather than brute force. But once they get experiences enough, there' more to to the job than killing : leading mens, plotting tactics and strategy and most important keeping a firm eye on the bottom line....

Appearance: A tall and muscular dunmer, coming in his late years but keeping in an impressive shape
Skin/fur/scale colour:dark grey
Hair colour:silvery grey
Hair style: rogue knot
Weight:160 lbs
Height: 6'5"
Eye colour:crimson

Equipment:
Primary Weapon(s): dwemer claymore
Secondary Weapon(s): glass dagger

Armour: complete mithril armor
Clothing:comfortable suede travel clothes - when socializing, dark red trousers, white silk shirt and dark red silk and gold brocade coat.
Miscellaneous items:

Mental Description : Quite a cynic, Anarys is a mercenary through and thorough, mainly concerned with keeping his pockets full to finance his taste for grand living. But he's a professionnal, having seen too many idiots destroy themselves by overindulgence, lazyness or bloodlust. He follows the mercenary's code (respect your contract, no pointless killing or destruction, an offense to your bothers in arms is an offense to you)


Biography: : Born in a merchant family in Morrowind, Anarys soon felt the desire to escape the dull life of a provincial merchant, and embraced the way of the sword. Getting embroiled in various troubles with the local authorities, he left his hometown to embrace a mercenary carreer that carried him all over Tamriel, fighting along and against about just any military force to be found there. Finding himself both iddle and in need of money he decided to move to Highrock, where a nice little war seemed to be brewing...


torikton

Name: Julia Alius
Age: 32
Gender: Female
Race: Imperial
Birthsign: The Thief

Class: Bard
Primary Skills: Streetwise, Etiquette, Pickpocket
Major Skills: Stealth, Short Blade, Hand-to-Hand
Minor Skills: Lockpicking, Illusion, Archery, Restoration, Destruction, Alteration

Height: 5'7"
Weight: 123 lbs
Eye Colour: Blue
Hair Colour: Black
General Appearance: Julia is an attractive lady with all the hallmarks of a Colovian noble – slim, athletic figure, light complexion, aristocratic bearing. Her ebon locks tend to curl, so she keeps them shoulder-length and doesn’t try to match the elaborate hairstyles of the court. She is a reserved sort (more inclined to sneer than to smile), but her eyes (the color of cornflowers) radiate warmth.

Weapon(s): An Ebony dagger, Steel long bow, Quiver w/ 30 steel arrows
Apparel: Her clothing is expensive but tasteful – mostly blue. No jewelry. In colder climes she wears a black cloak trimmed with silver wolf fur. She often is seen with a lute slung over one shoulder. She possesses a suit of leather armor, but rarely dons it.

Background: Julia is the natural born daughter of a Colovian nobleman and his low-born mistress. Though of course her father never acknowledged her, he did insure that she received the best schooling money can buy, as well as obtaining a favorable position for her at the Imperial Court. The Emperor’s agents (well at that time they worked for Tharn, but they didn’t know it) liked her looks and gave her some training in arms-bearing and magic, before setting her loose to spy on the courtiers within the Imperial City – a position she excelled at for a good six years. Now she is being set to Iliac Bay, to try to untangle some of the bizarre political strife there.


Tom Bombadil

Name: Publius Volumnius
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Race: Imperial
Birthsign: The Atronach

Class: Pilgrim
Major Skills: Blunt Weapon, Armorer, Heavy Armor, Speechcraft, Mercantile
Minor Skills: Block, Hand to Hand, Restoration, Medium Armor, Long Blade

Height: 6’1
Weight: 185lbs
Eye Colour: Green
Hair Colour: Brown (but it is shaved off)
General Appearance: Volumnius is a large, stocky man whose life as a laborer is obvious. He has heavy-set facial features, and a shaven head, and his hands are calloused from the use of a blacksmith’s hammer. His right ear has a cut on it, giving it an odd ‘ripped’ look. He often stands with his arms at his sides.

Weapon(s): An iron Morningstar.
Apparel: He wears simple clothing, including rough cotton pants, crude leather shoes, and a plain hide coat, though he carries a chain shirt which he never seems to wear.

Background History: Volumnius was born to a blacksmith in Chorrol, and thus a blacksmith’s apprentice he became. Even after his apprenticeship ended, he worked with his father. As he grew older, however, a hopeful Volumnius began to get his share of world-weariness. Less and less money began to be generated by the family business, and he began to worry for his family’s future.

All the while, he began to look at the Chorrol nobility with growing resentment. The more he saw the rich and their comfort, the more depressed he became. Gambling debts accumulated as the blacksmith tried to earn a little extra bread for the home, and his frustration deepened. “Why should the people in the castle have everything, why we, the workers, have nothing?” he once asked the local priest. “Because, my child,” the priest replied, “this is our lot in life. It is here that we are born, and there that they are born. Where we go from here, however, is our own doing.”

That conversation would have a deeper impact on Volumnius than the priest would know. Not long after that day, two monks of Zenithar passed through the town. Volumnius’ mother, a devout worshipper, offered them lodging during their stay. Volumnius, as he spoke with the monks, admired their conviction and devotion to honest labor. When they left, they blessed the smithy in Zenithar. The weeks following were the most prosperous the small business had ever seen: the legion itself sent a large order to be filled.

Volumnius attributed this prosperity to Zenithar himself. It was a drink of water in a wasteland. Not only this, but he felt a calling to a truly noble cause - a cause which he felt could do the good he so sought. With his father’s blessing, he took his leave of the smithy and headed north, to join the Knights of Iron at the Resolution of Zenithar in Daggerfall.


Aulakauss

Name: Sammensia Eldryd Ganras
Nicknames: Sam/Sammy usually, though she enjoys being given unique names by others.
Gender: Female
Race: Bosmer
Age: 36
Birthdate: 7th of Mid Year, 3E 369
Birthplace: Small clan village in central Valenwood

Class: Forest Medic
Class Focus: Among her tribe, a forest medic is one who assists and defends the wounded in combat. Agile and athletic, capable with bow, dagger and fists, as well as versed in the schools of Restoration, Mysticism and Alteration, these people are the supportive backbone of most scouting squads.
Major Skills: Acrobatics, Athletics, Marksman, Alchemy, Restoration
Minor Skills: Survival, Daggers, Mysticism, Alteration, Light Armor
Birthsign: The Steed

Eyes: Bright, acidic green.
Hair: Light, sandy blond mane of hair that seems to fluff up in the back.
Skin Color: Light tan from a life lived outdoors
Height: 4' 11"
Weight: 110 lbs
Build: Athletic

General Body Description: Like most Bosmer, Sammensia is small and wiry, but quick and agile. Petite and holding an athletic kind of grace, she looks cute, but at the same time like someone you wouldn't want to trust with your kids. A large scar runs across her body, a set of parallel lines of gray in her tan skin from a beast's claws, adding a bit of a fierce look to her otherwise unassuming form. Her face is sharp and angular with a small, pointed chin, mildly slanted eyes, high cheekbones, a small, rounded nose and pointed ears that are a tad longer than most's. Clan tattoos denoting her job as a Medic encircle her eyes, a medium sized ring of black ink that tapers to a sharp, pulled point off the corner of each.

General Clothing Description: Due to the Green Pact, none of her clothes carry plant products. A bone and leather chest piece covers her briasts and collar, tapering down to a point halfway down to her navel, a small leather brassier worn underneath to prevent discomfort. Bone chainlink hangs from the chest armor to cover her stomach, ending just before her waistline, leaving a tiny strip of exposed flesh between the armor and her skirt. A skirt of similar leather to that in the chest piece hangs from her small hips, covering her modestly from hips to ankles, a small, upside down V cut from it in front from just above the knee level to allow movement. Boots of bone and leather construction cover her feet and up to her calf, the ends pointed with bone spikes for kicking.

Tattoo/Scars/Piercings: A handful of scars litter Sam's small frame, though the only substantial one is one running from her left shoulder, across her briast and down to her right hip, a set of claw marks where a large animal nearly killed her. Has tattoos around her eyes that make her appear to be wearing black makeup. A single bone ring rests in her right ear.

Inventory: Small pack with food and sewing supplies (bone needles and sinew thread), some healing salves and homemade alchemy gear, crafted of bone as well.

Weapons: A bone bow with sinew string rests on an integrated clip in her chest armor, alongside a leather quiver of about 20 bone arrows. Three bone daggers decorate her body, one at her right hip, one in a sheath in her boot and another in a sheath down the front of her chest piece.
Magic: In the schools she is learned in, Sammensia can cast just about any spell imaginable, save for a few very high level spells. She knows enough destruction to start fires, cauterize wounds and boil water, little more. All other schools of magicka are unusable to her entirely.

Personality: Sarcastic, playful and carefree, Sammensia has enjoyed a simple life in nature most of her life. She enjoys climbing trees, playing practical jokes and snapping wit at people for a lark, her usual hobbies when she was off the job in her clan. Though a prankster, Sam is otherwise friendly to most, if not entirely trusting of them. Since coming to Cyrodiil, she has enjoyed using her strange garb and customs to confuse others, fabricating stories about her clan traditions to toy with people.

In person, Sam is eccentric, outspoken and opinionated, but without being closed to the ideas of others. Having had to obey her clan leader all her life, she is used to being ordered around and usually responds to commands in combat without much thought, knowing that a second's delay can mean the death of someone. Though her unfamiliarity with normal behavior and customs is a bit.. unsettling in places, Sammensia is a good friend to those that she comes to enjoy the company of, assuming they can stand to be around her.

History: Born in Valenwood into a small clan, Sammensia was raised in a simple environment. In early life, she was like many youngsters, climbing trees and getting into mischief, but as she aged, she never truly grew out of it. Her mother, the tribe's current medic, taught her the skills of her trade, hoping for her daughter to grow up and take her place when she was too old, but the young Bosmer never applied her studies as she was meant to. Rather than attempt to use her skills appropriately as she learned them, Sam harnessed her magickal talents by putting burden spells on people's pants to make them fall down, casting Mark on a roof and recalling up to throw rocks at others with telekinesis spells, or locking people's doors in front of them. Constantly, in trouble for something or other, Sam caused her parents a deal of grief.

Eventually, though, the rebellious young woman settled down enough to learn the combat arts she would need to inherit her mother's position. Upon the completion of her training and a field test of her abilities, the Sam became one of the youngest to hold the title of Forest Medic in her clan and was awarded the garb and markings of her rank. She served alongside her mother from the age of twenty, protecting various scouting parties and aiding them in combat, but although she was happy with it for a while, there was a part of her that started to want to get out, to see the world beyond her own little forest. She secretly trained another for the next ten years, a male slightly older than her, to take over her post.

Finally, when her apprentice was forty and she was thirty five, she gave word to her parents that she was leaving to see the rest of the world. With sadness, her mother explained she would be considered an exile if she left, never allowed to return, but allowed Sammensia to do as her heart desired. She kissed her parents goodbye and left the world she'd known behind, traveling north to the Imperial Province. She spent a year as support for a small band of mercenaries before finding out about an offer to help deliver a letter to a land known as Daggerfall. The money was good and it seemed easy enough, so, with great eagerness, she signed up.


RavenVW

Name: Banor Savel
Age: 29
Gender: Male
Race: Dunmer
Birthsign: The Thief

Class: Acrobat/Warrior - The kind of person that uses agility and endurance to their advantage. Unafraid of jumping long distances, this is for the agile burglars and second story men.
Skills: Acrobatics, Blade, Athletics, Light Armour

Height: 5'8
Weight: 150lbs
Eye Colour: Red
Hair Colour: Black

General Appearance: Short and light, Banor's scarred and oddly shaped face is both pitiful and frightening. One side of his lips lift in an almost constant smirk, while his nose is oddly bent from many breaks. Those that meet eye contact with him are met with dark, sullen eyes and thin eyebrows. His dark hair is short, oddly cut at different lengths and almost appearing burnt in several spots.

Scars: Many small ones cover his face, while one large one in particular goes all the way down the right side of his cheek, joining at one side of his lip.

Mental Description: Banor has a completely fragmented and disjointed mentality - speaking in half riddles and completely obscure memories which are neither proven to be true or not, he is almost impossible to talk to on a long level. During his calmer moments, he can almost be intelligent, but he is always plagued by an air of psychosis, that he could snap at any minute. Oddly though, he is very open to discussion, often seeking new people to talk to and to find ways to play with. When angered (either through others or at random) he is masochistic and extremely violent, seeking to smash everything in sight - his mood can be calmed quickly by the right choice of words though.

Weapon(s): Banor doesn't really use a particular weapon, he is oddly in tune with many different forms of combat, but not skilled in any particular schooling. He has a rather long steel dagger on his person at all time - which he gives many names to, but will grab any other weapon he can find as well, in combat he will dance and jump around erratically and quickly.
Apparel: Banor can't afford good clothing, as a result he wears the same clothes for long periods of time. At the moment he is adorning a shredded hooded top black leather top, with a couple of layers of fabric beneath that don't seem to be attached to anything.

Background History: Banor's past is pretty hard to figure out, as he speaks in obscure memories of people and quotes that never make sense. The only thing that crops up in his speech often is that of a woman, her name changes often, as does her appearance, but there was a woman in his life. No one has ever figured out how he entered into this endless psychosis, and it's likely none ever will.


tayroc

Name: Sigmund Boar-Blood
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Race: Nord
Birthsign: The Steed

Class: Savage
Primary Skills: Spear, Block, Finesse
Major Skills: Blade, Brawling, Light Armour
Minor Skills: Athletics, Tactics, Morale, Rage.

Height: 6'7"
Weight: 250lbs
Eye Colour: grey
Hair Colour: black
General Appearance: extremely muscular. Thick beard. many scars on face. lots of body hair. Boar tattoo on left arm.

Weapon(s): Ebon Thorn (7' Ebony Spear), Silver shortsword.
Apparel: Fur greaves and gauntlets (bearskin). Leather boots. Iron shield.

Background History: Sigmund grew up in an atmosphere of constant conflict. His village was in the wilder region of Skyrim and was always at war with neighbouring tribes. In this environment Sigmund grew to be a mighty warrior. One day when he was 18 he was on a hunt with his father when the village was overrun. The entire community was slaughtered, down to the last child. Sigmund knew there could be no revenge against such savagery without becoming a savage himself so he took up the chief's spear, Ebon Thorn, and left his father and the charred remains of the village behind him.


Sibera

Name: Tobias
Age: 29
Gender: Male
Race: Khajiit
Birthsign: Thief

Class: Assassin
Skills: Blade, Marksman, Light armour, Stealth, Security, Illusion, Acrobatics, athletics and speech craft.

Height: 6ft
Weight: 198lb (90kgs)
Eye Colour: Yellow
Hair Colour: Black
General Appearance: What you see is a large moderately built, pitch black khajiit. His body is scarred, with a large white runic lion tattoo down his right arm and shoulder with Ta’agra runes weaved into it. At a first glance you can see he is easily trustable.

Weapon(s): Silver longbow w/quiver of 20 barbed khajiiti arrows, 20 khajiit arrows. One elvin knife with silver edging on the blade attached to his boot and a Knucklebow Saber on his back http://planetelderscrolls.gamespy.com/fms/Image.php?id=44285
Apparel: Tobias wears the equivalent of shrouded armour, over it a black trench coat that goes down to his ankles. When out of armour he generally wears silk or cotton clothing of various colors giving him the look of being at the lower end of the upper class citizens.

Background History: Tobias was born in Dune of Elsweyr on Sundas of First seed 3E 376 to a middle class family. He lived a life of being well fed, well educated in school and showed promise with archery and acrobatics. When he hit age 16 Tobias joined the Royal guard of Elsweyr, however his talents weren’t exactly guard biased and was transferred to a sect of the Manes Guard known as the Tirijasnari, Spies and assassins for the Mane. He was trained by the mages guild with Illusion to help compliment the skills he was taught by the masters of the sect. During his third year in the sect Tobias fell in love with a young girl, a Suthay-raht called Shiravi. They got married and had four children but soon after divorced for unknown reasons. Tobias wasn’t allowed to see his kids at all at this point and soon left Elsweyr and the Tirijasnari behind for a different life. He hired out his skills for theft, spying and even taking out rivals.

Around the age of 27 Tobias was arrested for breaking and entering White Gold tower to gather documents on one of the Legion commanders in charge of guarding it. Instead he was given a choice Serve the Emperor and the Empire or face prison and even execution. Naturally Tobias too the latter, Serve the emperor and the Empire.


Dirk Zephyrs

Name: Jonathan Rosier
Race: Breton
Age: 42
Gender: Male

Skills: Long Blade, Acrobatics, Unarmored, Speechcraft, Mercantile, Athletics, Sneak, Security

General Description: Lively, and spry. He is not tall, by any means, and nor is he large. Rather, he is a small man who lives on the balls of his feet, always ready for what comes next.
Face: While his skin has begun to lose the tightness of youth, he still bears much of his charm from the days of his youth. His lips are rarely without a smile, and his eyes are bright and warm.
Hair: Brown, now graying. He wears it tied in a ponytail with a red ribbon.
Eyes: Emerald green, small. Very warm and happy.
Height: 5’8”
Weight: ~160 lbs.
Scars/Tattoos/Piercing: The only scar he bears is on his chest, from the first duel he ever took place in. To put it plainly, he was run through.

Armour/Clothes worn most often: A white silk fencing shirt and a pair of black breeches, with a well worn pair of leather boots. He also carries a single leather glove in his belt, which he wears while fighting.
Armour/Clothes worn least often: Dress clothes. While he doesn’t mind dancing, it’s rare that he gets the time to go to a ball with his wife.
Equipment: A silver rapier, an heirloom of his family. A rose cut out of a solid ruby is embedded at the base of the blade, and it is enchanted so that it cannot break. This does not mean, however, that he can block an orc with a warhammer, however, attempting that would be a good way to find himself on the floor.

Mentality: He is a warm and sunny person, and has been for the last fifteen years; since he eloped with the daughter of an Imperial Baron. He loves his children more than himself, and that is why he has gone to working for the Imperial Legion—to protect them.

Bio: Born into a noble house in outside Leyawiin, he lived his early years near the water. He was always headstrong and rebellious as a child, and he always visited the less-than-desireable taverns of the city rather than the Count-owned taverns in the north end. This, in the end, lead to his run in with Captain Alexander Amantius, a mediocre man in all respects. The meeting, however, steered Jonathan into his eventual profession. Piracy. After five years of serving Amantius, Jonathan staged a mutiny, winning the vote of the crew against the captain securing his own vessel. In the next seven years, he became one of the most feared pirates in the Empire, burning merchant fleets and towns as he circled from Morrowind to Anvil. Eventually, though, he moved inland, where he met the beautiful Isobelle Delitian, daughter of Baron Gergus Delitian. His infatuation, however, led to his downfall, and he was thrown in the Imperial Prison for two years before his father pulled some strings and called in many favors to bail him out. Immediately, he set out on conquering the heart of the young Isobelle, and a year later, they eloped. Two years later she bore a son, Kaleb, and three after that, a daughter, Emilia. Of course, his bailout came with a small price, and he was enlisted into the Imperial Navy for his skills and knowledge of the criminal world. Within the past eleven years, he has found a parnter in crime, an Alfiq Khajiit he calls Gawain. (He doesn't know it's birth name, since it can't actually communicate.)

OOC: Going to post the character sheet myself so that the coding and screenshot link works >_<

Name: Marcus Neel
Age: 21
Gender:male
Race: nord
Birthsign: warrior

Class: stealth soldier
Skills: long blade, heavy armor, sneak, security, athletics, block, alchemy

Height: 5'11
Weight:200
Eye Colour: brownhs
Hair Colour: black
General Appearance: muscular and stocky

Weapon(s): elven longsword
Apparel: orcish armor

Background History: Was raised by the Blades, and to prove himself to the order and to prove his loyalty to the emperor, must do a deed, quest for the blades, and for service to the empire, His father died before he was born, and his mother died also during childbirth, He was sent to be raised by his uncle (his mom's brother) in the blades, but shortly after he was sent, his uncle died in service of the blades, there he was, parentless, an orphan, when his uncle's best friend, john, who was also a blade, took him in as his own son, and raised him as a blade and trained him in the arts of stealth, alchemy, and combat.

OOC: That's nice and all but I said in the first post that I wanted the characters to be sent through a PM. Don't worry, though. I'll make an exception this one time.

oops :banghead:

OOC: We have 5 people... And my character sheet is one of the worst . But he's only supposed to be a temporary character. Anyway, I'm jumping into IC!
And you! Yes, you lurking player who has yet to commit to the RP! Send in a character sheet to the OP so you can have fun exploring the new and improved glory of Daggerfall!!!

IC: Davian snapped awake in his quarters from shouting in the corridor. It took him a moment to comprehend the message, but soon snapped to his feet. What's going on? Pirate attack? he thought, grabbing his weapons and dashing topside after the reclusive Nord dashed to awaken the others. The sight above the deck shook him to his core. It was almost too dark, the rain too heavy, to see the ship, but he felt its cracking and groaning as the huge, black waves dashed against the hull. Just as the dense rain obscured his sight, so the pounding of the rain against every surface, the ghastly howling of the wind, and crashing of the waves deafened him beyond his comprehension.

It was an enemy Davian could not fight. His armor could not protect him from the freezing rain, nor the heavy blows as each drop broke against his armor and skin like the bullet of a sling. A flash of lightning illuminated the scene long enough for him to catch a glimpse of the helmsman and other members of the crew running to the lifeboats in terror. The fools! he fumed, and attempted to call out to warn them of their folly, but his voice was lost, unable to compete over the din of the diabolical storm. Helplessly, he watched as they tried to lower the lifeboat into the water, their futile attempt at survival dashed as the ship violently careened and cast the boat and its occupants into the death-dealing ocean.

The nightmare seemed as though it would never end. Fearfully, he remembered stories of horrific monsters lurking beneath the waves, ones that could crush even mighty battleships. Even more frighteningly, he found himself wishing that one would appear, to attack the ship and its inhabitants... perhaps it was a childish belief that fighting the monster would somehow end the storm, but more importantly, it would give him a foe he could fight, something he could do to alleviate the plight of the ship. As it was, all he could do was hold on to to the rigging, unable to go inside and take shelter from the rain lest he be trapped when the ship went to its watery grave, nor head to the lifeboats to escape, as those were certain deathtraps, ones that would keel over under the pressure of these waves and doom him to his fate.

Nothing could be done... the mast and sails were gone, the ship's helm was unmanned, the ship's rudder swinging freely under the forces of the waves. Perhaps it was merely desperation, but Davian saw the wildly-spinning wheel, and made his decision. As quickly as he safely could, he climbed up the ladder to the helm deck, securing himself between each tenacious grip, to keep himself from being cast away by the careening of the ship and ferocity of the wind.

"Dang It!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The lower deck is flooding! What are we going to do? Should we clear the water out, hope the storm stops, or grab a row boat? Akatosh save us!"

OOC: Very weak post wooly...

IC:Kiel was behind the wheel of the ship, it's been awhile since he has sailed a ship, and never through weather this bad. The winds was so strong, he could hear the air ripping. And he could swear on his life that it was raining sideways. Kiel holds on to the wheel as tight as he can, and attempts to navigate through the storm, but only to have his attempts be in vain. An extrodinarily large wave crashes into the ship. Kiel falls and goes tumbling with the wave. He snacks into the railing hard, then flips over it. He can tell he's bleeding, regardless of the mass downpoar of rain. He quickly draws his dagger and sticks it into the side of the ship. It slows him down but he is still slowly dragging down the side of the ship, with the rain increasing his speed. He draws his cutlass, and sticks that into the ship. One at a time he sticks his dagger and cutlass higher on the side of the ship so he can climb back up. In a few minutes, he succesfuly pulled himself up on deck.

He stood up, exausted and looked out over the ship. He could tell almost nobody on the ship had the ability to survive. Men were helplessly trying to use the lifeboats to escape , with no avail. He spotted one Breton being smart, and doing something that appeared to be bracing himself for an impact, rather than trying to escape like the rest of the morons. He spotted a Nord doing absolutly nothing but yelling. (ooc: with excess exclamation points) How useless! I'll be damned if he survives this. Kiel decided that the best way to survive this would be to stay on deck, stay on his feet, and find a nice safe spot where he won't be crushed by anything

:shakehead: This type of post makes me die inside each time I see one... Disembodied voice, no description? <-This doesn't even come close to expressing my emotion on this happenstance.

On a less depressing note: Marn is a sellsword? Good, I could use a few extra weapons

And I really need to change my weight... made Davian way too light... dunno what I was thinking at the time... He needs an additional 50 lbs, so he weighs 218, not 168...

IC: Davian Hawkstar caught a glance of a silhouette of a man being tossed from the wheel of the ship, which he had previously believed to be unmanned. His misguided, helpless fury rose as he saw the man get tossed over the edge, to what he had every right to believe was to his grave. The spectacle shook him enough that he released his grip on the ladder, barely catching himself in time to avoid a similar fate. He'd have to ride the storm out from here, as it proved too fierce for anyone to take the wheel.

When he gathered the nerve to look around, his despair was cruelly alleviated at the sight of a shadowy form climbing its way out of the depths. Perhaps there would be something he could lash out against after all. Keeping one hand securely wrapped around the ladder's sides, he drew his axe with the intent of fighting whatever creature chose this opportunity to attack their ship. His blood was pounding, the only thing restraining him from charging the prone, vaguely humanoid form being the need to keep his grip on the secure ladder.

OOC: Oh nice play Scow... I'll bite

IC: Kiel spotted the Breton was struggling to get up the ladder and realized he was hanging for his life there. He slowly walked over to him, trying very hard not to slip. He drew his cutlass from it's sheath, and made it over to the Breton. (OOC: Insert Scows reaction here) Kiel planted his cutlass in the ships deck and griped it so he wouldn't fall off the ship. He got on one knee and slowly stuck out a hand to help the Breton up. He couldn't make out what the Breton looked like, but he could tell he was someone to trust.

The ship rocked back and forth, moreso than usual, and Garum Bayl awoke with his face planted flat on the wooden floor and an ache in his face where it hit the floorboards. Garum rolled over onto his back with a groan as the vessel lurched again.

Garum woke fully as a voice boomed down from the deck; "Wake up! Get your asses up on deck, we've entered a storm. Hurry up, if you don't want to swim with the fish!"

While Garum enjoyed a nice swim as much as anybody else, his preference was to swim in calm water rather than a stormy sea. Garum grabbed his gear and ran up on deck, blinking away groggy eyes as he beheld the dark rain lashing the deckhands. How in Oblivion did this kind of a storm start up so quickly? Garum wondered as his feet reached the deck. The icy dark rain lashed against his clothing and armor just as much as it did against anybody else on deck, and Garum quickly found himself quite drenched.

The vessel tilted wildly to the side as Garum grabbed onto the rigging. The wind howled through the air like so many screaming demons, and for a moment Garum's eyes shot around as he tried to make sense of the situation. The storm seemed to have come out of nowhere; men were still coming up from below decks. Two men struggled with the wheel, but Garum knew it would be to no avail. The mast and sail were gone, and without them the ship was nearly helpless. At the mercy of the elements, the vessel tilted the opposite direction, and Garum chose that moment to spring.

His leap carried him a few feet towards the men by the wheel, who were still struggling to bring it under control. Years of climbing brought him along the ship's rigging swiftly; Garum's calloused fingers slipped and scrambled for purchase on the wet wood and ropes, but he managed to make it to the aft of the ship.

"Forget the wheel!" Garum shouted, "The mast is gone, we have no control over the ship anyway!"


OOC: My bad, I misread, Faldom.

[Deleted]

Loss? awoke with lashings of his vomit covering most of his cabin's left wall. His snores bubbled audibly in the pooled bile. "Wha... ?" he questioned, without a sound. Fear, revulsion, and pain all gripped him at once as he was thrown from his spot on the floor, upwards, then into the spew-lacerated wall. A drop of blood trickled down his right cheek, and most of his clothes were scattered haphazardly across the floor, clutching onto chair-legs, the handles of smashed lanterns and odd knots of rope that were part of his hammock. The clothes' chest was broken asunder.

Oh, thank the gods... His drunken thoughts ran back and forward, but his eyes fell on a broad chest, full of his prized possessions: helm, armour, shield, flail, sword, boots, mandolin, silk ropes, grappling hooks, lockpicks... All the paraphernalia of his life as a wandering sword-for-hire. Incredulous at the sheer luck of finding his dear belongings unharmed, Loss?, leaning against the wall, pulled himself up by the thick, uneven slats, holding on by the scrambling of long, thick fingers.

Everything was hazy: lights dancing, shapes moving. Everything lacked certainty. Loss? forced himself along the slick, salty planks and across to his prized chest. Using all the force at his disposal, he heaved and pushed the chest across the floor. As his feet gained purchase on between the poorly-cut floorboards he moved faster, driving his chest ram-fashion into the door. The door burst from the force and the lock landed somewhere below.

Loss? looked downwards.

Below. The roiling tumult of the sea was surging into the ship before him, albeit only through a broad crack below. Above, the dark rumbling sky frowned upon the scattered passengers. "Good God," he gaped, in awe of the spectacle. The whipping sea air awakened him and he was suddenly filled with the Nordic resolve that breaks before it bends. In a corridor gradually becoming steeper on the rising waves, a chest flew upward, followed with great effort by a heaving Nord.

The deck was wrecked above as Loss? could see. There was no hope in sight. Taking a deep breath, he tightened his grip on his buoyant chest and shut his eyes, waiting for calamity as he was thrown from side to side in the tight hallway.

They had lost the mast. Whatever chance they ever had of getting out of this storm safely was gone with it. The sails of the second mast were torn away by the wind. Yanmir watched as a group of people rushed for the lifeboats, hoping to escape from the vicious storm. The very moment the small row boat hit the ocean, a large wave smashed it against the ship, reducing it to mere splinters. Fools... What the hell were they thinking? Rest of the crew were desperately holding on best they could. The breton steering the ship was hurled over the railing, hanging on to the ship with a dagger. Yanmir was about to rush to the man's aid, but noticed another man dragging him away from a certain death, so he stopped in his tracks.

Everything was in chaos. Their chances of survival were slim. It'd take a miracle to save them now. Suddenly a gargantuan wave washed across the deck. Yanmir was hurled off the ship, but in the very last second he managed to grasp the railing and pull himself back up. Why am I even trying to survive? I'm a dead man anyway... He kept holding the railing in a firm grip, waiting for the next disaster to happen.

Garum hung tightly onto what remained of the rigging. He had only been on a ship like this a scant few times of his life, and neither time had there been a storm anywhere near the ferocity of this one. As the wind and rain scorched his face like drops of fire and sheets of ice, Garum watched in horror as a life boat tried descending from the ship. While Garum had little experience with maritime practice, he was not daft enough to think that would work. If the wind is kicking us around like this in this ship, what do you think it'll do to the rowboat?!

He tried to shout to them, warding the fools away from making a mistake that could cost them their lives, but the wind carried his cries away as soon as they left his lips. The men made a valiant, if foolhardy, effort, but the moment they tried casting off from the side of the ship, the wind and the waves caught the little boat and smashed it against the hull of the ship. Garum couldn't see the collision from his angle, but he thought he heard the splintering crunch of crushed wood, and he distantly heard the men's cries that lasted all of a second before being suddenly silenced.

Volumnius was literally flung out of his cabin by the force of an even stronger wave, the feeble door flinging open as he tumbled out in a sorry heap. As his vision slowly regained focus, giving him a clear, vertical view of the floor, he haphazardly scrambled to his feet, only to be jostled again by a wave. This time he managed to get a hold of the doorpost to his flooding cabin.
Flooding.

The pilgrim swore under his breath and leaned into his cabin as far as he could without being flung to the floor again like a rag doll. The lump of cloth that had served as his pillow was soaked and on the floor, leaving what it had concealed, a large chain shirt, exposed, also on the floor. In a bold move, he rolled himself around the doorpost to the interior of the cabin, where he took a firm hold of his tattered bed. He wasn't about to get thrown back to the floor, so he began grasping at the bedsheets, pulling them towards him- along with the chain shirt. The task moved quickly and feverishly, and when Volumnius got a hold of the shirt, he wrapped it around his arm and, still clinging to the doorpost, rolled himself back to the hallway.

It too appeared to be quickly flooding. A Nord hauling a large chest was clinging to it in the hallway. Volumnius couldn't tell if he had seen the man before; he was delusional with sea-sickness, this unfortunately being his first time on a ship (and quite possibly his last, whether he survived or not).

Bracing himself on the narrow walls of the hallway, he inched forward, calling to the Nord, "Oi! Get to the deck! You'll be trapped if you're down here while the ship goes down!" His movement made slow progress, and his vision began to get distorted before he was forced to lean forward and regurgitate the contents of his stomach. Aching, he stopped for a moment, breathing heavily while trying to regain his bearings, if that was possible.

OOC: Confusion leads to TK...

IC: When Davian saw the ragged form approaching, he tried to swing as a warning to it with at it with his drawn axe. The storm and his own fear prevented him from seeing the Redguard for what he truly was, and growled, "Back off, creature!" It seemed not even the ship's wild careening would dissuade the shadowy form, as when the ship buckled and forced everyone down, the monstrous being just jammed its blade into the ground, and continued its approach. Seeing no other option, and partially relishing the chance to fight back against his predicament, he swung again, only to be thwarted by the continuous tossing of the ship. His furious assault at the unknown assailent only abetted as a bright flash of lightning illuminated everything, and stunning Davian with the revelation that the monster was not some unspeakable horror, but just another desperate survivor. It stunned him, causing him to drop his axe, watching helplessly as the storm cast it over the side of the ship. The shock was visible, because though he didn't release his grip on the ladder his body went slack, forcing him to his knees.

Just as it seemed things couldn't be getting worse for the ship, Davian caught sight of a large, dark shape materializing in front of the ship's path. He couldn't tell if it was a rock or a deeper part of the storm, but either way, it wasn't good. At this point, though, his despair turned to relief, content with the knowledge it would all be over soon. It no longer mattered which way it went.

It was sheer unluck that made Julia take a sleeping draught that night ? unluck and her uneasy stomach. She never had been much of a sailor ? absolutely dreaded these awful sea voyages. And so, after a light dinner, she had taken the draught to ease her queasy somach and weary mind. And had it worked better, it might have killed her.

Fortunately she slept uneasily, and a hideous clap of thunder woke her. The first thing she noted was the water seeping into the cabin from under the door, a sight which threatened to befuddle her drowsy brain. The ship was sinking, the ship?what was she supposed to do? She'd never been on a sinking ship before.

Escape?up on deck? Of course, of course. She didn't want to drown down here. She'd best get out. There was no time to think. She flung her heavy cloak on over her nightclothes and snatched up in one hand the leather satchel (containing her armor and weapons) and her lute in the other. Then it was out the door and into the hall, wading against the flood of seawater, her gold and her fancy clothes forgotten in the empty cabin.

A sudden vicious wave sent her reeling forward, and she stumbled straight into a young man, a laborer of some sort by the looks of him. The ship rocked again and she instinctively dropped the lute and clutched his shoulder to steady herself. There was another man in the passage ahead, a Nord clutching some type of chest. He appeared to be blocking the stairs to the upper deck.

"What in the name of Zenithar are we waiting for?" she shouted, her voice sounding harsh above the roar of the sea. "We've got to get up on deck or we'll drown in here!"

Loss? opened his eyes. Another immense wave but larger than the others swept into the ship. The crunch of something hitting the ship and the screams of dying men could be heard no matter how loud the noise on the ship was. It was well and truly horrific and it took a lot not to scream himself. There were more bangs, but closer, and Loss? craned his neck around and looked down the hall.

Two people stood behind him, shouting words that were barely audible over the tempest. Oh, Gods... I'm blocking the stair! He looked up then back at the two other passengers. He would be trapped and the potential to float on the chest would be lost completely. Giving a fast, strong shove, he drove his left shoulder hard into the box and it bumped along the planks. "Quick! Escape up on deck!" Its alright, I'll bring the chest soon enough, Loss? promised himself. Everything Loss? held dear was in that chest, and even for his life, he was not in a hurry to release his grip. If he could get off the boat with the chest and float to land using it as a buoy, he could properly pack his things into the sack in the bag, don his armour, and do all the other things he would do once landing safely.

His sea-legs completely non-existent, Volumnius nearly collapsed as something took hold of his shoulder. His pale face rounded about to see a woman shouting in his ear, followed by a lute clattering to the ground. Another voice came from the Nord, who was still trying to get that chest of his on deck, but was beckoning for them to get out of the hall.

Panic was setting in, and Volumnius' hands were trembling; rather, his whole frame was shaking violently. Without a thought as to her stability, he took hold of the woman's shoulder, pushing her forward ahead of him towards the deck. Gods forgive me, and preserve her, he thought. Hoping she had found something to hold on to once that was done, he stepped forward to the Nord and grabbed hold of the chest to which the man seemed to value so highly. Positioning himself so that he could lift the chest, he looked directly at the Nord and shouted, "Come on, let's get out of here!"

Kiel got the Breton up on deck, and saw the petrified look on his face. He looked over in the direction that he was looking, and saw what was causing the fright. He saw the large black shape, and could definetly tell it was a rock. It was not a good sign for all of the men below deck. They all would surely drown if they did not get up here quick. "Hold on for your lives men!" Kiel yelled loud enough for everyone to hear.

Julia saw the Nord who had been blocking the stairs move aside and gesture for her to pass, but before she could do so, the young man beside her had grabbed her by the shoulder and was shoving her roughly forward. And she was stumbling, falling, past the stairs, a sudden pitch of the sea making it more a descent than ascent.

And then through the door and into the rain. Her cloak was sodden at once, but it was at least keeping her somewhat warm. It was impossible to see through the dark and the rain, not that she had the time to try; she was still falling, slipping over the deck towards the precipice and the sea. And then her feet left the ground and she felt certain she was lost, certain she was in the sea and drowning? But somehow, miraculously, her hand caught the railing and she was left staring into the depths.

That was the moment she lost her dinner.

Then the sea allowed the ship to right itself, and Julia regained her feet and stood panting, her hands still clutching the rail. She tried to see, tried to determine what was happening, but she could see nothing. Until the lightning flashed and then?then the only sight which impressed itself on her mind was that of the looming black crag directly in their course.

We're done for?

Garum held on as best he could to the side of the ship. There was nothing he could do to aid the vessel now, or even before. Garum was a wizard of mysticism and destruction, not alteration where he could attempt to summon control of the wind and the waves. Hell, I can't even cast a spell to let people breathe underwater, should the ship crash.

More people were thankfully coming out from belowdecks. The lashing dark rain made it difficult to see, but he could tell that most of the expedition Ocato had put together were abovedeck. Garum struggled to move closer, but the wind combined with the slippery surfaces on the ship worked against his efforts, and he slid further towards the back. Got to get... to the middle of the ship!

The vessel rocked again, and Garum slid forward. His fingers scrabbled desperately for purchase on the wood, and he felt splinters drive into his palms, leaving small smears of blood behind. Garum slid right past the stairwell that everybody seemed to be coming up, and he tumbled down onto the main deck, landing with a grunt. Damn, just had to land directly on my pack, didn't I?

The Altmer rolled over with a groan; the pack on his back that contained his gear made the effort more difficult.

"Land ho!" A sailor shouted, barely audible over the waves. Garum blinked, scrambling to his feet as the weather seemed to quiet somewhat, making it easier to stand. His bloody hand came up to shield his eyes from the sharp rain, and he beheld a craggy black blot against the clouds, looming ominously in direct course. Obviously, the storm set them offcourse. Is that the mainland? Garum wondered, Or is it an island? I can't see- damn this rain!

"Everybody grab hold of something!" Garum shouted, running towards the door that lead belowdecks. A handful of people were standing right there, and he approached, "Brace yourselves! We're going to crash!"

Loss? tried to manage a smile and his full lips pricked up at the edges. He nodded as the Imperial before him tried to help lift the chest. As the girl bounced through the doorway, an Altmer appeared and shouted something. Everything was happening so quickly. It was like an hallucination, each thing frame-by-frame and painfully real, but when you tried to react in time, time went walkabout. "Stop!" he changed his mind and shouted at the Imperial next to him. "We'll lift it up, push it next to the rail and hold on like that! The chest will float!" With a grunt, he pulled upwards, hoping that the Imperial could bear the weight on the other end. In reality, the chest was not so heavy, but the lack of sea-legs, the intoxication and the fatigue all severely weakened Loss?.