OOC The Calling (18+) (Recruiting here!)

[Dabiene Caristiana]

Not looking too good...

 

[The Phantom]

Anyone know who we can recruit?

 

[Kaelbu]

If this is still open, I'll apply!
Most RPs seem to make it through the introduction and then fizzle out. I've never lost interest in one, but never been able to complete one either.

 

[The Phantom]

Sure, post your CC and I'll definitely give it a look

 

[Kaelbu]

BASIC
Name: Fleur Baudin

Alias: Little Viper

Class: Rogue archer

Alignment: Chaotic Good.

Occupation: Respected member of the Thieves Guild.

Birth sign: The Steed

Currently resides: The Ragged Flagon, Riften.

Hometown: Markarth

Age: 28

Race: Breton

Gender: Female

Factions: The Thieves Guild

Worships: The Nine

APPEARANCE
Height: 5'2"

Weight: 105 lbs.

Eyes: Dark brown, almost black.

Hair: Chopped short, wispy, and chocolate brown.

Skin: Fair with olive undertones.@

Scars: Plenty, dating from very recently, all the way back to her childhood. All out of view.



ARMOR
Description:
Fleur proudly dons The Theives Guild armor. Of its variations, she's chosen the one without sleeves; the fewer things inhibiting her drawing speed the better.


PERSONALITY
Laterality: Right-handed

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Marital status: Single

Description:
Fleur is outspoken, clever, and fears little. While not particularly educated, she makes up for her lack of knowledge with common sense. In fact, she prides herself on her "street smarts," readily admitting she has much to learn. She's been called jolly in a tavern, vicious with a bow, and exceedingly loyal to her friends.

FIGHTING STYLE
Weapons: Two simple daggers sheathed in her belt reserved for close combat; rarely used.
A sturdy dwarven bow she found as a girl. "Cunning," as she calls it. Although it looks the same as any other, Fleur believes it is unique. It's gotten her through many a prickly situation, and has become dear to her.
She uses any arrow she can get her tiny fingers on, but she silently names each of them before they leave her grasp.

Fleur prefers to fight her opponents from afar, raining arrows down-- or up, it doesn't matter to her-- on their heads. Her reputation professes her shot to be accurate nearly all the time. In addition, it's been said that her arrows hit harder than most. They sort of... burrow deeper. Is that possible? It doesn't matter. She likes to coat them in poison at random. If one arrow doesn't draw enough blood, the next might taint the whole blood supply.

BIOGRAPHY
Fleur Baudin was born to Edmond and Bonne Baudin of Markarth. Being some of the wealthier Bretons there, they did their fair share of catering to the Silver-Bloods' demands (and ego) just to maintain their position. As a young child, Fleur was taught to read and write, along with some other basic academics, all funded by her parents' wealth. What they didn't realize was in how they dealt with their Nord peers, they were teaching their daughter a great deal about the machinations of the world. The less powerful relying on the more powerful to show mercy, the more powerful exploiting those under them, etc. She learned quickly that a library full of books and a purse full of coin did little to ensure happiness... or survival. They didn't help her parents when a common thug broke into their home in the night. He only meant to steal, Fleur thought, but the Baudins resisted him, and in the scuffle, he killed them. Her parents finally put up a fight for their dignity, and it cost them their lives.

Alone and angry, a 7-year-old Fleur was forced to think on her feet. She slept in The Warrens, begged for food, and managed to keep herself alive with her wit and agility. It didn't take long for her to realize her strength did not lie in subterfuge. She couldn't sneak to save her life, being detected easily any time she tried to be stealthy. In such an event, she'd have to dart out of reach and run until she was safe. Speed and cunning would be her best friends. In fact, she-- very creatively-- named her bow "Cunning", and her arrows "Speed".

As a young adult, Fleur frequented taverns looking for work-- and drink. However, being a petite woman with a youthful face made it difficult for her to be taken seriously.

It took a while before jobs came to her-- after all, even now she can pass for a teenager-- but she finally procured her first job from a rickety old man showing her pity. He sent her to steal a safe key back from his spiteful son, unaware that said son was practicing necromancy with his friends in the old family home. When Fleur unwittingly interrupted a ritual, the mages attacked her, truly testing her abilities for the first time. With only her bow and dexterity, she managed to walk away unscathed, the safe key tucked away in her pocket.

The old man was elated to not only be granted access to his safe, but to have his entire home back. He bragged about Fleur's success at every opportunity, and jobs started pouring in. Her reputation for getting results was spreading like wild fire. From mouth to mouth, tavern to tavern, she found herself being recognized by the shadier crowd all over Skyrim. Eventually, word of her accomplishments reached the ears of Delvin Mallory. An agent of the Guild met with her one day in The Silver-Blood Inn, offering her a bed at the Flagon, if she could find it. The decision to leave for Riften was made instantly. Fleur had only ever worked in the west, but she was confident she'd thrive anywhere. And thrive she did.

Fleur quickly became a valued member of the Thieves Guild. Her can-do attitude and efficient workmanship had even Vex (begrudgingly) warmed up to her. She was their pint-sized, poison-spitting, quick-as-a-whip weapon. Their Little Viper.
After a few years, she'd climbed what ranks the Guild had and started giving orders to the less ambitious members. She was content in her role as a major player in the Guild, but when word of a grand tournament reached her, she just couldn't resist...

At the time of the tourney, Fleur is being considered for the Guild Master title, although she has yet to possess it. Her motivations for competing are fairly straightforward:
She thinks she can win.


(Edited to flesh out biography and for grammar, though I might've missed some things.)

 

[Seanu Reaves]

Hmmm. This is very different from most RPs. Must say it is an excellent concept.

 

[The Phantom]

Kaelbu, you are hereby accepted into the thread. I look forward to working with you.
Well, Skies, you are welcome to apply or merely observe at your leisure.

 

[Seanu Reaves]

Alright. Sounds good I will let you know.

 

[Holbrook613]

Name- Nelkir Holbrook
Alias- Scarhead
Race- Male Wood Elf
Class- Hunter/Skirmisher
Major Skills- Archery, Light Armor, Smithing
Minor Skills- Sneak, One Handed, Alchemy

Appearance:
Height- 5'6
Weight- 145 lbs
Eye Color- Goldish, with a hint of Red
Hair- Classic Bosmer-Style Mohawk, with a thin beard. Standard Brown Color
Quirks- Scar on his left temple where an Imperial Sword grazed him, goes from his left temple to about 3 inches into his hairline.

Occupation- Deer and Mammoth Hunter, also works for WarMaiden's smithery on high end Weapons and Armor (Elven, Glass, and Ebony sorts of stuff)
Laterality- Right Handed
Sexuality- Straight
Birthsign- The Thief
Currently Resides- Breezehome in Whiterun
Hometown- Small village in Valenwood
Beliefs/Religious Alignment- He prays to Zenithar mostly, but is also a strong supporter of Talos' principles.

Personality-
Generally a humble and quiet man, Nelkir knows when to keep his nose out of things. Despite that, he will stand up for, and sometimes fight for what he believes in, if he feels in his heart it is right. Despite his young age, he has seen a lot, and is always willing to help out someone who is in a similar situation that he has been in. Prefers to not have a family, as he has made quite a few enemies in the Imperial Legion, and doesn't want to risk someone else being hurt for his doing.
He is known to also have random violent spells, and will lash out at anyone who even looks at him funny. These can last anywhere from a few seconds to a few hours, and start and end very suddenly. Nelkir, once out of the "trance", has no recollection of whatever he has done, and hates that it happens

Biography-
Nelkir wasn't born in Skyrim, as most Bosmer that reside in the icy Nordland usually aren't. Him and his brother, Silgorn, were captured on a hunting expedition in Valenwood by a Cyrodillic Slaver, and were sold to a woman named Gilfre, who owns a mill in Southeastern Skyrim, called Mixwater Mill.
There, they, and a few other slaves, mostly Dunmer, worked the mill for three long years. Gilfre quickly learned of Nelkir's expert understanding of Smithing, and immediately put him to work making the simplest of things: axes, pitchforks, hoes, and other things he called, "Child's Play"
Eventually, Nelkir and the others became fed up with Gilfre's cruel treatment, and plotted to kill her. Although it was hard, mostly because of the half dozen Imperial Auxiliaries stationed at the mill at Gilfre's demanding, they managed to overpower the soldiers and kill the "Crazy Whore" (pardon my Nord).
Unfortunately, Silgorn, as well as most of the other slaves were captured and executed very quickly by Imperial patrols, and after only a few days, Nelkir was the only one left.
Luckily, Nelkir had crafted himself some Imperial style Leather Armor, without the red trim, as well as some Bracers and Boots. Nelkir set off into Skyrim, choosing to remain in the icy North, as Nelkir had grown accustomed, and dont tell him I told you this, fond of Skyrim's people and culture.
It has been 5 years since the days of being a fugitive. Now, Nelkir is known throughout Skyrim as one of the lands greatest hunters. He now wields a bow imported from his homeland of Valenwood, and wears a Modified version of standard Elvish Armor, crafted to look almost as dark as old steel, and is cut down a bit, to be more lightweight breathable.
When Nelkir heard word of the tournament that would be held in the Dragonborn's name, he knew he must enter. His brother, Silgorn, would often speak of the feats of the Dragonborn, and said if he ever had a chance, he would shake the man's hand. Nelkir thinks it is only honorable to follow his brothers wish.

Please let me know if I need to add anything to this CC, as I really want to be a part of it. I wrote most of this off of a Kindle, so hopefully it didn't mess with the format at all

 

[The Phantom]

Holbrook, I see you are new to the forums and I welcome you. For now, I will have to decline your CC for it is rather short and I am unsure of your RP experience. If I may ask, how much experience do you have with RPs? I'm asking because you're new and I can't just look through your old posts to get a feel for your style and experience. You also lack a description of your fighting style and finally, I do not believe that your character entirely suits the thread. The reason I believe this is due to the fact that your character seems to have only moderate fighting ability and would most likely die in the tourney fairly early on. Additionally, upon facing greater foes such as Lord Harkon or Miraak, an inexperienced fighter would almost certainly be murdered with ease. Although, there is little wrong with your actual writing style and as you are new to the forums I would recommend garnering more experience with some other RPs. I would prefer that this thread be filled with primarily detailed and experienced writers, so, if you do reapply remember to take into account what I have said (And I do hope that I have not come across as rude to you) and if your CC is up to our standards then I shall indeed allow you into the thread. However, I would recommend trying your hand at some smaller scale and more open threads in order to gain more experience with roleplaying here on the forums. I do hope that I have not offended and I wish you luck in all your future endeavours here.

 

[Dabiene Caristiana]

So, do we have enough? When are we getting started? Unless the ones that have joined disappeared..

 

[Seanu Reaves]

General

Name: Merce Wickhart

Race: Breton

Alias: Priest, Mercy of the Eight

Age: 29

Class: Templar/ Assassin

Alignment: Neutral to Evil, tries his hardest to be good.

Occupation: ex-Purifier, rumored Indentured servant to the Dark Brotherhood.

Birth Sign: The Tower

Currently Resides: Takes shelter at various religious sites and temples.

Hometown: Imperial City, Cyrrodiil

Gender: Male

Factions: Clergy of the Eight, Penitus Occulatus, rumored Dark Brotherhood

Laterality: Ambidextrious

Sexuality: Bisexual

Marital Status: Single


Appearance

Height: 5’ 10”

Weight: 145 lbs.

Eye Color: Icy blue

Hair: Short black hair, no facial hair.

Scars: A horizontal one across his nose.

Facial Markings: None

Armor: A mix of hardened leather and robes, from a distance it looks like he is wearing no armor. But his gauntlets give his punches extra power by design, the armor is spread apart so that while the vitals and his fore arms and shins are covered there is a lot of area of just heavy cloth robes.

Description: Though not imposing for a Nord or an Orc, Wickhart is tall for a Breton. His frame is muscular even if he appears to be on the slender side. He has a strong jaw and jawline, pronounced cheekbones that can make his glare even more withering. He tries to stay as unassuming as possible so the only real outstanding details of his appearance is his scar across the bridge of his nose and his eyes. He has slightly tanned skin and otherwise looks gaunt. His armor is modified priest robes under some scattered pieces of armor. Besides the breastplate, gauntlets, and greaves he has no extra protection. The robes are a muddy reddish brown, to contrast with the black of his armor. The robe is modified to allow more movement, the biggest change is that it is split down the middle so that it trails behind him in a small long coat like manor.


Personality

Description: Haunted and grim. He is nice to nearly everyone and anyone though he likes to keep to himself. He is quite and holds onto his words dearly. This wasn’t always the case as sometimes you can see him watching some seemingly minor event and see the longing. He doesn’t talk about his past much, but there is obviously some regret and tragedy at least in his eyes.


Fighting Style

Weapons: Magic- Merce is gifted at magic and it is his key weapon in any conflict, though he doesn’t use it to throw fireballs or anything so direct. A master at Alteration magic, he favors clever use of telekinesis, flesh spells, and paralyze in combat. He is also a practitioner of Restoration, meaning he can heal as well as use wards. This is used in tandem with conjuration of weapons and an adapted form of Khajiit unarmed techniques to make Merce a unique opponent.

Unarmed- Merce is one of the few humans who focuses on fighting without a weapon. Using weapon techniques with an empty hand as well as some forms usually only Khajiits are familiar with, this lead to his nickname. As going unarmed seemed like only something a priest would do.

Bound Weapons- Though not his strong suit, with some practice Merce was able to summon bound daggers in combat.

Favored Technique: Crumbling Tower- Even without magic, Merce likes to strike at weak spots on his opponent’s body. By striking any open pressure points, Merce can weaken his opponents to the point of if he is feeling cruel crippling

Description: Merce fights with a mix of unarmed, knife work, and mage craft. Though he has no real means of ranged offense besides throwing his bound daggers, he is still a credible threat with his hand to hand mastery. Using speed and precision, his style seems to have more power than his size would indicate. Though his special gauntlets might be a part of that. Without much weight on his person, Merce strikes around his opponents, often times the only contact being Merce’s fist in his opponents openings. If he has to sneak into the fight, Merce is more than willing to. Honor is a lie for men to justify evil, and as such has no place in a battle.

Biography

Merce was born in the Imperial City, to a pair of Breton Battlemages. When he turned twelve best be described as an underground training ground for the Penitus Occulatus. He was trained to fight, but it was secondary to his training as a battlemage. But Merce simply was not talented at combat magic like destruction, or breaking someone’s mind torturing with illusion. His talents seemed capable at defending himself with alteration and restoration, even being able to heal himself as he got injured as to not slow his progress. He performed better at martial and stealth challenges, leaving his overseers in an awkward position. As they watched him excel at hand to hand, they assumed he would take to weapons as well. But it proved useless as they soon learned Merce took to unarmed because he saw the ability to subdue but not kill an opponent. Eventually they realized there was nothing they could do with the boy’s peaceful nature, even when they tried to rewrite his brain with illusion, they found he could not embrace any killer instinct beyond the effects of the spell. After eight years of this, it was time for a change.

They sent him off to a priory that survived the Great War, and he learned of peace and found himself happy. His youth meant he could perform more tasks than most of the other monks, leading to years of hard physical, but pleasing spiritual growth. Within five years, he was as tranquil as the forest around the priory. That is when the Thalmor visited, and it was revealed it was still acting as a sanctuary for the Order of Talos and other Talos worshipers. Though he was not a member, Merce was forced to make a choice: Run or Fight. He simply could not walk away so he fought, enraged that even with the war over he could have no peace. The three High Elves didn’t know what hit them as he began to break their bones with his bare hands. He wanted to let them live, but realized he wouldn’t be able to stay at the priory. So he let the fires continue to burn, taking the paralyzed elves and throwing them into the flames they started.

Turns out, the Penitus Occulatus were not the only ones interested in Merce. He was approached by a strange robed figure saying that they knew what he had done. If he didn’t want any Imperial or Thalmor authorities to know he would have to work for them. He knew that meant more killing, but he couldn’t bring himself to have to face the Empire or the Dominion. So he was entered into an indentured servitude, forced to work for an employer that only cared about how he could take life. Waking up worn out and confused he realized he was in Skyrim. As time went on he came to accept his lot in life, learning to summon up a weapon, simple bound daggers, and shift from using his martial training as meditation to ruthless means of murder. He hadn’t heard from his blackmailer in a while, so he has taken this time to wander the land. Hearing of the tournament, Merce hopes to finally be free of his servitude, by becoming a respected, influential and well known man. Or simply being to powerful to be held down anymore.

 

[The Phantom]

Skies, you are hereby accepted in the thread. I shall invite you to the private chat I made and I believe we can get started soon. Also, Dabiene, would you prefer we not have a group chat? The forum didn't seem to want to let me invite you.

 

[Dabiene Caristiana]

No idea why it wouldn't let me. Must be the forum acting up again. :/

 

[Dabiene Caristiana]

Figured out the problem. Send me an invite, it'll work now.

 

[Mighty Pecan Pie]

*lurks*

Being sneaky are we?

 

[The Phantom]

Okay, awesome; I've invited you and Skies to the conversation now. I think we can get this started soon.
To clarify, is Sid the only non-Dragonborn/tourney member?

 

[The Phantom]

Also, sorry for the double-post, but can Kaelbu and Skies please claim a colour? All the taken ones are shown in the first post.

 

[Kaelbu]

This one?

 

[The Phantom]

Sure. Done