• Welcome to Skyrim Forums! Register now to participate using the 'Sign Up' button on the right. You may now register with your Facebook or Steam account!
  • Hey there, and welcome to our roleplaying section. Please take some time to read two of these useful resources below, if you're already a roleplaying expert, then there's no need to read the following beginner's guide, but be sure to read the rules.

    Free Form Role Playing Guide for Beginners
    JavaScript is disabled. For a better experience, please enable JavaScript in your browser before proceeding.

    Thesius

    The Imperial Paladin
    Every place has dark secrets. Some, are darker than others. Such is the case in this story. In the fiefdom of Anticlere, in the Breton homeland of Highrock, there once existed a noble house, of the name of Gravus. They dwelt in a grand castle, on top of a large cliff, overlooking a small hamlet. In the old days, the village was plagued by necromancers and other foul creatures. The house Gravus responded with a force of knights and men at arms, the lords of the castle leading many assaults themselves. For centuries, the battles continued, and house Gravus continued these wars against evil, even as the rest of the Breton people fought their petty wars of succession and conquest.

    The royal house lost many of its' people, and gained itself the enmity of dozens of necromancers, liches, and other foul creatures. For every noble warrior that fell in battle, the enemy gained a mindless minion. Eventually, their foes took the upper hand, pressing the noble house again and again- to the point of breaking. However, their end came not from without, but from within. One of the Gravus sons, fascinated with the occult, and necromantic arts, became ensnared. A night of summoning, terror, and bloodshed took place, and come the dawn, house Gravus was no more.

    The village below endured though, with necromancers and cultists using the peasant population for their dark rituals. The castle on the cliff became known among the commoners as Château de désespoir. As the decades passed the village and its castle became largely forgotten, and a forest sprang up around the castle and village. This is no normal forest, however, but a blighted place, filled with darkness, and foul, mutated beings, that prey on foolish hunters or merchants. The village has become a place under siege, with palisades and high wooden walls. The castle above became a cursed place, where screams of agony and mad cackling can be heard on moonless nights.

    Shortly after the end of the civil war, a Breton lord, naming himself as the lost descendant of the Gravus family appeared. He waits in the city of Crossmore, south of the village, and has sent out an announcement: Any who help him reclaim his ancient home and purge the surrounding lands of evil will be rich beyond their dreams.

    This is a grand opportunity for the brave, foolish, greedy,and desperate. However, there is no guarantee these mercenaries, adventurers, and 'heroes' will be able to overcome what lurks in the woods, and the villagers have become less and less trusting of outsiders, due to their years of bitter strife.
     

    Thesius

    The Imperial Paladin
    Pyrus Vanius, sitting on bench of the wagon they'd hired to take them to the Breton town of Crossmore, grunted as the wheel struck a rut in the road, and sent the impact up through the floor. Across from him, his younger sister, Jysella Vanius, glanced out at the driver. It was the fifth day of their journey that had started at the Paladins' headquarters in Cyrodiil. The journey had been uneventful, mostly. A few random bandit attacks, of course, but that was to be expected.

    The war had just ended a few months ago, and hundreds of soldiers had come home from Skyrim. Most simply returned home and reunited with their family and friends and lived their lives. Not everyone was like that, however. Some men, once they'd started fighting and killing, they were unable to do anything else. Or worse, they found they enjoyed killing, and decided to continue doing so,along with robbery and rape. Neither Pyrus nor Jysella had hesitated in giving the latter type of men their just rewards.

    "How much longer, driver?" Jysella piped up from her seat. Her fingers tapped rapidly against her thigh. The tapping was a dead giveaway that his sister was excited to be done with the trip. He sighed, but couldn't help but grin at her. Despite the fact they were probably going into a dangerous situation, she was more than ready. Honestly, so was Pyrus. He'd never been one to quietly sit by when innocents were in need. Or when someone was ready and willing to take the fight to the forces of evil. "Not very long, ma'am. A few more minutes, maybe."

    The man didn't lie. Perhaps ten minutes after he'd given his response, the wagon rolled into the town of Crossmore. Pyrus dropped a large sack of coins in the drivers hand as Jysella grabbed their packs and stepped out of the carriage. He stepped into the street, and noticed Jysella coolly taking in the sights of Crossmore. Due to its close proximity to the coast, Crossmore had plenty of fishermen, and the air smelled of sea water and fish. Which didn't terribly bother Pyrus. Both he and his sister had smelt much worse.

    "Where are we supposed to meet lord Gravus?" Pyrus asked his sister. She glanced at the letter in her hand. "Near one of the taverns...the restless goblin." Pyrus grunted his understanding and the pair of paladins made their way down the street. After a short time, it became obvious where Gravus had set himself up. The market square of the town had been commandeered by what looked like hundreds of people. A large tent, guarded by a dozen heavily armed men drew their attention.

    The pair approached the tent and its guard, announced themselves, and waited as one of the men went inside and spoke to its' inhabitants. A minute later, the two paladins were waved inside. The tent was spacious enough to hold half a dozen chairs, a medium sized wooden table in the center of the tent, and three Breton men. One, short man, with a large gut, and receding hairline. He wore clothes that spoke of wealth and high standing. His fingers were bedecked with rings. The other man was more gnarled; his face was scarred and his eyes, pale blue, were haunted. He was also taller, with a thin beard, and long dark hair, going grey at the ends.He wore no jewelry, but his right hand clutched a plain staff.

    The third man, standing between the two, glanced up from table, where a map of the region was spread. He was clearly the youngest of the two, with a clean shaven face, short blonde hair, and dark green eyes. He was not as thin as the robed man, but he was a far cry short of fat. He was perhaps just under six feet in height. He wore a black tunic, and a single ring that had a crest unfamiliar to Pyrus or his sister. The man glanced from brother to sister, and a grin split his face. "Welcome!" He exclaimed. "You must be the paladins I was promised. I must say, you certainly look capable enough." He bowed, and when he straightened he announced; "I, am lord Jonathan Gravus. Last of my line. This, " he gestured to the balding, pudgy man on his left, "is my master of coin, Gavin Feller. He's making sure this little expedition of mine is properly supplied and financed." The man smiled, his beady eyes flicking from one paladin to the other. There was something in those eyes that Pyrus immediately disliked. "A pleasure, noble paladins." The man said, inclining his head, his voice silky smooth.

    Lord Gravus turned to his right, to the robed man. "And this, is my good friend, Tollis Thraen.He's...gotten me through a lot of nasty situations." The man gave them a thin lipped smile, and inclined his head. " On behalf of the order of paladins of Arkay, we offer our services in reclaiming your home." Jysella said, bowing herself. Pyrus followed her lead. Gravus smiled. "And gladly, I accept. While we wait for the others to arrive, please, help yourself to some food and drink. I look forward to working with you." The paladins bowed again, before leaving the tent. Pyrus worried about the others. He doubted solely those of pure intent would be arriving to join the expedition.
     

    haafingar hell

    New Member
    This is a mission of convenience, Cyredalf kept telling himself as he rode toward Crossmore. It was a little fishing town, he had been told, and a place with an opportunity for an ample windfall of gold. Tell the elf that and the latter half of the sentence was more than enough to cancel out the first half. He loathed fishing communities, and fish as a whole. It wasn't difficult for him to turn his nose up at fisherman either, their stench of fish permeating the air and surely never leaving them be. Eugh. And yet, he found himself riding a borrowed horse into a fishing town in High Rock. Oh, the things he would do for gold.

    He walked into town with an aura of pride about him, back arched and posture impeccable as he made his way through town, stopping once to ask a local for directions to the tavern and immediately taking notice of what had been made to dominate the little market square. Raking his eyes over the sight in front of him- the magnificent creation of a tent, the armed guards, the sheer amount of disruption the thing's presence was successfully causing- two paladins exiting the structure caught his eye almost immediately. And without another thought, he directed himself toward them, adopting a friendly smile and removing his helmet.

    "Excuse me," he'd say, voice light and tone pleasant. He'd tuck his helmet under his arm before moving his other hand to fiddle with his ring. "Could one of you direct me to Lord Gavus? Let him know Fort Dawnguard sent a man to help."
     

    Andre Marek

    You can run, but you'll only die tired...
    The drumming of hooves echoed softly up and down the trail, accompanied by the clink of chainmail as the lone horse and its rider made their way towards the small town of Crossmore on the coast of High Rock. The rider, clad in a mixture of chain and plate armor from head to toe and wearing a surcoat of dark red over white, eyed the forest on either side of him through the narrow slit of his helmets faceplate. So far on his journey to the small fishing village he had twice had to deal with bandits who had thought a lone man on horseback would make for an easy mark. Both times he had proven them wrong.

    By now Derek was nearing Crossmore, judging by the thin trails of smoke rising above the the trees further ahead of him. Sure enough, the town came into view through breaks in the trees before he rode into the town proper at a leisurely trot, ignoring the looks he got from the villagers. It probably wasn't common for folks here to receive knights but he was accustomed to life on the road now and the feeling of anonymity. Locals usually knew what he was if not who. However, as he rode further into Crossmore it became apparent that he wasn't the only one visiting the small town. The market square was dominated by a large pavilion that was obviously not a permanent feature.

    Armed men in armor moved about the square and several stood near the entrance to the pavilion protecting whoever was inside. Derek smiled under his helmet. This wasn't quite what he had been expecting when he had read the notice from Lord Gravus. He had been prepared for a small contingent of men at arms but it seemed that Gravus had brought his entire retinue with him. Derek wasn't concerned, in fact he was quite happy that he would have aid of the good Lords own men. The thought of doing all the work with only the help of whomever else answered the notice; he didn't have high hopes about the types of people who might be drawn by the promise of coin.

    Approaching the tent, Derek got off his horse, tying her to a nearby hitching post and walked towards the pavilions entrance. As he neared, the guards held up their arms, asking what his business was. Reaching up, Derek lifted the visor of his helm up, exposing his face, "Ser Derek the Warden. I am here to offer my aid to Lord Gravus in retaking his home." As he spoke he procured the parchment with the notice written on it and held it out to the man. After a quick glance the man nodded and waved him inside.

    Upon entering the tent, Derek was confronted by five people. Three Bretons, a short, pot-bellied man, a tall thin man and one who was slightly shorter than the tall man but not nearly as fat as the short one were crowded around the end of a table strewn with maps and other papers. Derek judged one of them to be Lord Gravus as the other two people in the tent were obviously not of the group. In fact, the man and woman who stood in front of Derek looked rather like paladins of the Divines out of Cyrodiil. Their armor was finely made, as were their weapons but Derek did not think they were of noble blood judging by their bearing; they held themselves unlike the men he had grown up with. If indeed they were Paladins then he was glad to have them along as he was confident they would be of an honorable sort.

    "Ser Derek the Warden, at your service m'Lord," Derek wasn't much for formality but he always made a habit of observing tradition when dealing with nobles he hadn't met yet, "I come to offer my aid in retaking your lands." With a slight nod of his head in the direction of the two paladins, Derek waited to see which of the three Bretons was Lord Gravus.
     
    Last edited:

    haafingar hell

    New Member
    The fact tat Brand had chosen carriage as his means of transportation back into the land of High Rock was no surprise to anyone with any degree of knowledge about the proper and well-mannered Redguard man perched in the back of the horse-drawn vehicle and polishing his scimitar carefully with a cloth napkin. However, he was not so sucked in by this activity that he was entirely missing the world around him.

    In many ways, returning to High Rock after living in Markarth for so long had him feeling rejuvenated like never before. Though he had never set foot in Crossmore, he felt more comfortable and at home already, inhaling deeply the salt water and relaxing back into his seat as the carriage pulled itself to a stop at the stables outside of the little town. Sheathing his sword as everything pulled to a stop, the dark-skinned man couldn't help but smile softly to himself as he stepped down. After all, High Rock felt like home to him in ways that Skyrim and even Hammerfell would never have a chance to. However, he was quick to rein himself in. After all, he wasn't here for a pleasure visit and he couldn't afford to forget that.

    His priorities, though, couldn't stop him from enjoying the sights and sounds. He took his time making his way through the town, walking at a leisurely pace as he learned the layout of the settlement. He was lucky, he quickly decided, the that the place was so tiny or he may very well forget the expedition entirely.

    Despite his leisurely attitude, he seemed to find the meeting location quickly. He stood at a distance for a moment, admiring the heavily clad guardsmen with their swords at their hips, close in on the entrance of the tent. He spotted the elf with his helmet tucked under his arm, two paladins were in his sight, and was that a knight he saw entering the tent? The expedition seemed to have accumulated quite a party, and the mere idea of it had him tugging at his sleeves and digging his nails into his palms.

    Breathe, Brand, he thought to himself, letting his eyes slip closed as he practiced a careful pattern of deep breathing. He felt his muscles relax a bit before his concentration was broken by someone brushing past him just a little too hard.

    "My apologies," said a decidedly feminine voice coming from under a newly refined leather helmet, the accompanying shoulders of this figure broad and a warhammer slung across the individual's back. "You weren't the most visible back there in the corner. But, do you know if I've found the marketplace?" The more she talked, the easier it was to tell that she was clearly a Nord, and not one from west Skyrim.

    "Yes, you have. I happened to be looking too," he informed her, opening his eyes entirely and straightening himself up a bit. Both individuals standing straight, she was just a couple inches taller than him. "You don't happen to be out here to aid Lord Gavus, do you?"

    "Aye, I am actually," she'd answer, puffing out her chest and standing proud by the Redguard. "Svana Hearth-Heart, hailing from Ivarstead. Pleased to make your acquaintance." Though she was cordial, she didn't offer a customary handshake.

    "Brand, hailing from Sentinel. Though Daggerfall was more of a home to me." He was clearly wringing his hands together as he spoke. "We shouldn't keep the Lord waiting."

    "Agreed." From there, Svana began taking careful steps toward the tent, head held high and Brand at her tail. He was formulating hos own show of confidence as the two walked, his nervous expression melting into a warm and kind smile as they entered the tent, the both of them making the decision to stand behind the knight as he made his introduction.
     

    Madrar

    The Shadow in the Dark.
    Aiden Cassius surveilled his surroundings as he stepped out of the carriage that had brought him to the small fishing town of Crossmore.The witchhunter drew his heavy leather coat around himself, concealing the dagger on his belt. his sword, however, he left visible in the scabbard at his hip. The blade seemed to be of steel, and indeed it was, but it had a singular advantage against the undead- silver had been worked into the steel, making it more than a little efficient against the undead.

    Those who met the witch hunters icy gaze, found themselves unable to hold it. With the air of one used to controlling any situation he found himself in, the Imperial made his way towards the main market square. It was where his orders told him he'd find a lord by the name of Jonathan Gravus. Not much else was known about the man, somethin that irked Aiden greatly. Upon reaching the square, he noticed a large pavilion had been set up, and was surrounded by guards. A pair of paladins of Arkay marched out as he watched, one male, one female, though there was a slight familial resemblance about them, the Imperial noted.

    "Greetings." Aiden said, once within earshot. Though his voice was neutral, he was already suspicious. In his line of work, trust got you killed, more often than not. But if those two really were paladins, as their armour declared, they would make mighty allies. "I presume you've met with this lord Gravus already?" He nodded towards the tent entrance, aware of a man in plate armour making his way inside. "What is he like?"
     

    Madrar

    The Shadow in the Dark.
    Nurian the Masked strode into the city with purpose. The mage, for that, if nothing else about him, was obvious, took in the streets and people of the small fishing town of Crossmore with idle curiosity. Most of the townsfolk, and all of the guards watched him with some suspicion, some with fear.

    He could hardly blame them. His all black apparel, complete with the sinister mask upon his face, would instill all but the hardiest of men with more than a little fear. But the mage knew better. Should he removed his mask, it would more than likely have the guards running him out of town. Or trying to, anyways. The only things not covered by the dark mask, were his eyes, silver in colouration. Unique, even among his people.

    His preliminary observations complete, the robed elf made his way deeper into the town, one hand dipping into his robes to retrieve a worn piece of parchment. On it was a notice-or perhaps and advertisement, calling for able bodies to assist a noble reclaim his ancestral home.

    Though, to be honest, that wasn't the entire reason Nurian had abandoned his comfortable tower. There was a...pull..coming from the area. A promise of ancient knowledge. Something that the mage had always sought. An opportunity like this was too much to pass up. Reaching the market square, he noticed a large pavillion, surely not native to the area, and many men at arms, all on alert.

    There were others as well, doubtless the mercenaries and knights that had come seeking fortunes and glory. Providing the parchment for the guards inspection, he was admitted into the tent, where a small group waited. One one side of the table, stood a young man, his clothing not quite as elaborate as he'd expect for a young noble. A man holding a plain staff stood to one side, and another man, far from starving, and bedecked with jewelery on his other. "My lord. I am Nurian the masked. Responding to your call."
     

    Thesius

    The Imperial Paladin
    After the pair of paladins had departed, they were followed up by a knight, adorned in full armour, who announced himself as Derek the Warden, and offered his aid in reclaiming his ancestral lands. "And, gladly, I accept your offer, sir knight. For now, though, please take your rest and gather your strength." He gestured to the tent exit. "One of my men will alert you once we are ready to get on the road."

    Another pair stood in the tent behind him, one redguard, and a nordic woman. "Greetings" the young lord said. "I assume you're here to join our, ah, expedition. As I said to our knightly friend, please feel free to help yourself to some food and drink at the nearby inn." Even as he finished speaking with the pair, a most curious figure stepped into the tent.

    He, or at least te young lord guessed it was male, judging by his build. Only a pair of unique, silver eyes stared from beyond an ebony mask. He announced himself as Nurian the masked, a fitting name, the lord thought. "Welcome. You seem a magely type. I'm sure your skills will be quite useful"
     

    Recent chat visitors

    Latest posts

Top