Open Candle Hearth Hall

[Star Gazer]

OOC: well that escalated quickly...

 

[Star Gazer]

OOC: Lemme get this straight... you got in a barfight... you cut the man in half, and there lie two halves of Harrold on the ground, aaand the barkeeper doesn't throw you out. 1 point for realisticness.

 

[Hermaeus_Mora]

Ooc: He tries
Ic: Harrold parried, and tried a backhand slash.

 

[Star Gazer]

OOC: ooh. I was loling so hard. couldn't sleep at 3 in the morning so I checked the forums, and thought he cut you in half...

 

[Da Gangster]

Taking over my character Invasion? lol

Varnan awoke to the smell of fresh blood. Mmmm someone smells good he thought to himself as he reentered the main mead hall. He quickly assessed the new patrons of the inn with delight. He retook his seat in the corner and sat quietly waiting for the perfect volunteer.

 

[Giigman]

Dar'ji quickly dodged and thrust forward toward his lung.

 

[exquisitechel]

really? *chuckles*

 

[Sweetroll Knife]

He saw the cheese.
He saw the cheese, and he saw the hand reaching for it. Unaware. Unready. Unintelligentible.
He pawed at the floor.
He swished his tail.
He moved- a streak across the floorboards, setting his fangs into the hand, clenching them then down on the cheese, and running forth.
Swoosh- the broom sliced downwards - smack.
The bartender lifted it slowly, giggling slightly with that air of a person that's lost it in the brain. He seems possessed, somehow. There, beneath the old straw....nothing.
Slippery Bugger looked the same as he always had. He twitched his whiskers, and nommed down on some good old cheese.

 

[Anthony Colone]

Hello General Tullius, this is Commander Caius of the whiterun guard, We have recently captured a very strange man attempting to break some prisoners out of jail, what shall we do with him? here is his dossier.

(how the character is supposed to function)

Name: Dominus Riget (google translate latin to english)

Age: Somewhere between 32 and 50

Build: Somewhat muscular, nothing major, but not one to pick a fight with.

Personality: Sociopath, completly insane, devious, clever, extremely cunning, phycopathic. jester-like

Equipment: Weilds mehruns razor, wears Cicero's outfit. Several magic enhancing amulets.

Methods: Employs use of hired thugs to assist him in his plots (use ritual stone) He tries to attack from behind when possible, and uses drugs and potions to give himself an edge in combat, he is entirly sadistic and has no remorse for any of his followers, he has been known to simply kill his followers after the job is done to avoid paying them, he has become a mercenary, and will do things other mercs won't.

Offense(s): Robbery, over 50 counts of assult, a staggering 137 accounts of murder, guard slaughter, horse slaughter, kidnapping, vandalism, robbery, and things of the sort.

(several weeks pass and General Tullius writes back)

Hello Commander, thank you for informing me, this information checks out and he must be punished. Turn him over to the imperial watch, I will see this madman personaly executed at Helgen myself for his crimes. Thank you, and may the eight watch over whiterun.

(And now this is where the game starts, simply follow this small roleplay sequence to define your character. I reccomend doing the dark brotherhood quest line right away to get the jester gear, and the Mythic dawn quest first so you are properly equipped, if dawnguard is downloaded, you might want to use a crossbow as well, there is no specific face you need, just make him almost undead looking, becoming a vampire can help in this aspect, making your eyes glow yellow, ect. and just do mercenary work, with the army of undead made by using the ritual stone, thanks for reading!

 

[Askar]

(( Jumping in here to see what happens :3 ))

The thick tavern door opened with a creek, which ushered in a burst of cold air and snow, which swept through the tavern like an assassins arrow in the night. In the doorway, a man stood, and oddly enough, he made to effort to fully step in. He was shrouded in shadows, the lighting from the hearth and the darkness from outside silhouetting him completely, yet the faint glimmer of steel suggested he was fully armored. About his shoulders billowed a tick heavy cloak, the wind from outside cuasing it to flap to and fro, making a slight clatter under the heavy din of the bar fight within.

Askar made no move to enter the bar, it was like he was frozen in that spot, unable to move, unable to think, for the rich copper smell of blood smacked him in the face as he had opened the door. His parched throat burned in want and need, he had gone so long without feeding. "Stop it..." he scolded himself as he tried to move further into the bar, disgruntled patrons sending him angry looks from the cold he let in. "Be stronger than this curse...be stronger..." Slowly, and with great effort, he entered the tavern and closed the door.

Holding his breath and intending to hold out the smell, Askar quickly moved to the farthest table from the bar fight, and the suspected injury that filled the tavern with the smell of the miracle elixer that gave him life. As he moved to the table, he passed by the hearth, which illuminated his figured quite nicely, giving all eyes upon him a good look at what he had to wear. He was clad from head to toe in the ancient armor of the Blades, an unknown order to most, seeing as how its died out over the past five hundred years...but word of its regrowing due to the Dragons returning had gotten around, perhaps someone in the bar would recognize that armor. The armor wasn't the most striking thing he wore however, what was, was the mask that covered all of his face. It was cast from a dark material, possibly iron or maybe even steel, it was hard to tell in this lighting, and it was cut in the shape of a abstract face, with a stoic expression. Not a single feature on the mans face could be seen, which could give onlookers, especially those apt to reading facial expressions, pause and caution; masked men bare ill-intent.

Making it to the chair he had spotted from the doorway he eased himself within it, looking tense and like a coiled spring ready to launch. The aura about him gradually became darker, more sinister, and the mask lent to the over-all "creepy" feeling about him. The thought of getting up and leaving the bar struck him, but he stifled it, getting up and leaving but a few moments after entering, would arouse more suspicion that should he just stay. It took everything he had to quell the beast that shouted and raged for him to launch himself from his chair, straight at the bleeding patron, and rip into his neck with the ferocity that his kind were known for. "Stendaar give me strength..." he whispered to the Heavens, hoping for something to intervene into this fight, be it bar keep, fellow patron, or the great Stendaar himself, anything to relieve him of this torturous plight.

 

[King o' the Britains]

Slasher heard the commotion of the fight, and crept downstairs to watch the action. He knew that there was something strange about the new patron, but he didn't say anything.

 

[Askar]

Askar continued to watch the fight as it progressed, his body getting tenser and tenser as the night rolled on. He wasn't happy with this situation, he didn't like it, he wanted to run out of there but knew he couldn't, it was too suspicious.

He slowly sat back, trying to vain to relax, but found it was impossible. His fingers twitched as he tried to relax them on the armrests but his body was too high-strung, the want and smell of blood was too strong in this room. Should it be just a small cut, to a blood-starved vampire it was like a waterfall, the smell overwhelming. Someone stop this...please...he prayed to any Divine who would think to listen to him

 

[King o' the Britains]

Slasher went up to the newcomer and asked, "Are you new around here? Slasher came to meet a friend in the guard barracks." Slasher then lowered to a whisper "Be careful around here. The locals don't take kindly to your kind around here."

 

[Askar]

Askar looked at the Khajit before him and narrowed his eyes behind his mask. Not an inch of his skin was showing, nor were the color of his eyes...how did this man know his affliction? No matter, he knew, which meant Askar was in danger. With slow, deliberate motions, he gestured to the seat diagnal to his left. "Sit..." He whispered, his thick Nordic accent giving away his race.

Askar shifted in his seat when and if the cat sat, not really paying him much mind, and spoke in a quiet, deadly whisper. "Clear the air...stop this fight...I beg of you...before I loose myself..."

 

[King o' the Britains]

"I will help you my friend, for i was vampiric in nature before." said Slasher. Slasher then used a spell on the 2, calming them both down. "You are welcome, nord. Speak to falion in morthal to cleanse yourself."

 

[Loltome]

The Tavern doors open, revealing a hooded figure. The man keeps his hood on and takes a seat. the waitress comes up to him, as he asks for a bottle of Argronian Bloodwine. He places a bag of Gold coins on the table, and introduces himself to the Tavern. "Good evening, I am Murdoc Nightingale."

[OOC: Playercard]
Name: Murdoc Nightingale
Race: High Elf
Class: Mage
Age: 35
Gender: Male



Birthsign: The Lover
Looks: Drab, dirty hair, 6'7 Inches tall, Large hands, Light beard, Hazel eyes, Light Altmer skin
Gear: Master Omnipotent robes with matching hood, Enchanted Dwarven gloves, Custom built destruction staff, Leather satchel
Misc:
Ironically, Murdoc hates the Thalmor for assaulting and detaining his parents for recognizing Talos as one of the divines. At the age of 15, he took an interest in magic, and acted as an apprentice for a wizard in High Rock. As a young adult, he left for Cyrodiil to fight in the arena. he earned enough gold for admittance into the College of Winterhold

 

[King o' the Britains]

The Tavern doors open, revealing a hooded figure. The man keeps his hood on and takes a seat. the waitress comes up to him, as he asks for a bottle of Argronian Bloodwine. He places a bag of Gold coins on the table, and introduces himself to the Tavern. "Good evening, I am Murdoc Nightingale."

[OOC: Playercard]
Name: Murdoc Nightingale
Race: High Elf
Class: Mage
Age: 35
Gender: Male



Birthsign: The Lover
Looks: Drab, dirty hair, 6'7 Inches tall, Large hands, Light beard, Hazel eyes, Light Altmer skin
Gear: Master Omnipotent robes with matching hood, Enchanted Dwarven gloves, Custom built destruction staff, Leather satchel
Misc:
Ironically, Murdoc hates the Thalmor for assaulting and detaining his parents for recognizing Talos as one of the divines. At the age of 15, he took an interest in magic, and acted as an apprentice for a wizard in High Rock. As a young adult, he left for Cyrodiil to fight in the arena. he earned enough gold for admittance into the College of Winterhold

As in a nightingale of Nocturnal? Slasher has never heard of a mage nightingale.

 

[Loltome]

Of course not. Just because someones name is Nightingale, doesn't mean that he IS a Nightingale.

 

[Orthus]

Orthus walked into the Hall, dressed in his Imperial Armor, standing tall and proud as he glanced around the grimy room. He'd seen fights before, he wasn't going to bother watching the pointless fight. Resting a hand on the pommel of his sword, he took long strides toward the bar, raising an eyebrow to the Barkeep, expecting a drink to be poured for him.
"What? You think I'm scared to walk into this City?" he laughed. Orthus didn't care much for Stormcloaks, but he knew that nobody would stab him without first addressing him. And besides, what could go wrong?

 

[Loltome]

The High Elf mage stood up to sit next to the armored Imperial, and whispers "I probably shouldn't be bringing this up," Said Murdoc, "But you do realize that one of the few things Stormcloaks hate more than an elf is an Imperial?"