» Wed Sep 01, 2010 10:18 am
It's hard to really think of a label for the type of character I play. It's primarily a shield-based warrior, typically with Block, Blade, Heavy Armor (Medium if available) as my "max out skills." However, I also like being something of a weapon master who's able to engage anyone on any level, so I take Marksman as well though I rarely max it (usually just as a handy opener or when standing out in the open isn't such a good idea). So a strong, defensive fighter with a nice heavy bow for the odd chance that I need it. By this point I resemble Boromir from LOTR.
However, I also take something of an academic interest in the arcane - particularly with alchemy. I also find appeal in Destruction, for dealing with armored opponents or some creature with a notable elemental weakness, and Conjuration - specifically deadra-focused (not undead) - for a quick distraction or helpful addition to the fight. Restoration is also used pretty frequently at the end of battles, but mostly just to restore health (aka no fortifies or absorbs).
So now it's something of a strong, intelligent warrior-philosopher with a practical familiarity with some stealth skills. The kind of man that practices with weapons by day and pours over eldritch tomes at night. A brave, brazen master of steal that looks at the world tactically, intelligently, and curiously. Not a jack of all trades, since he's primarily a fighter and maxes out those skills, but also something of a dabbler.
A room is filled with six mercenaries. I quietly approach the room via a hallway, my skill in heavy armor and sneak allowing me to get reasonably close without being detected, though not enough to get into the room itself. I take a moment to survey the surroundings. One, a breton, is sporting a staff and light robe- clearly a mage. A bosmer is clad in leather armor and has a full quiver of arrows on her back. The rest appear to be fighters. One is decked in heavy ebony armor and is wearing a shield and longsword. It's face is hidden but from its voice appears to be a redguard. Two, both nords, have lighter armor and short blades. The last is an orc sporting a massive two-handed hammer but very little armor. I knock an arrow enchanted with a powerful silence effect and let it loose on the mage. Before the group can fully realize what I'm doing, I charge in and quickly cut down the bosmer archer. The fighters engage me while the mage, badly wounded and impotent, retreats. The orc predictably charges in, swinging hard while the other three stay back, no doubt avoiding their friend's wild blows. Rather than block, I dodge the attacks, and counter with a flurry of light blows which cut deep into his exposed form. He falls shortly after. By now the mage has recovered and reenters the fray. I recall a familiar ritual from my nights of study and pull a frost astronach from the waters of Oblivion. It appears between me and the fighters, allowing me to duck behind a nearby corner. I rummage through a sash at my side until I find what I seek: a small vial I had prepared the day before. I quickly quaff the potion and immediately feel my skin warm and tingle. I step out from the corner and charge at the mage, the fighters unable to assist due to the massive frame of the astronach. As expected, the breton unleashed a cone of frost, no doubt trying to stymie my charge and devastate me from range. However, the spell slides off my frame, the frost shield from my potion rendering it largely useless. Now, at close range with the still-wounded mage, it's mere seconds before he lies dead on the floor. I turn my attention to the three remaining fighters. One nord has apparently fallen to the astronach, but the spell fades and the creature returns to whence it came. The two press in and attack in a blur of steel. I block many of the attacks but a few get through, leaving superficial wounds. Yet I am patient, and wait for the right moment. It comes when the second nord attacks hard. I block it easily, causing him to stagger, and plunge my blade into a gap of his armor. Now it is just me and the heavily armored redguard. But he is cautious and keeping his distance. No doubt he's an experienced fighter and won't be dispatched as easily as the rest. We trade blows ineffectively. Suddenly, I plant my sword into a crack in the stone floor, and reach out with my arm. Lighting arcs across my metal armor, flowing down my arm and shooting out of my hand in a loud clap of thunder. It takes my opponent completely by surprise. He half raises his shield in reflex, but the energy tears across his armor and body. I see his defenses lower from the blow. In one fluid motion I pick up my sword and plunge it deep into his neck. With the battle over, I mutter to myself, and feel a surge of renewal as my wounds and weariness are restored.
In the end, all six are dead by my sword, but it was my skills in magic and stealth that gave me the upper hand. I rummage around and take the usual spoils - my novel interest in lockpicking and spare lockpick letting me bypass one chest's defenses. Those bored hours between training lessons spent with a practice lock are paying off. I take my usual pick of the spoils, but one thing catches my eye. It's a book in the breton's possession. It has an obscure title, and a quick glance shows many diagrams and descriptions of spells unfamiliar to me. I carefully wrap up the tome and promise to read through it when I return to my home, eager to add it to my collection.
So what, exactly, would you call that class?
