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  • 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
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    The dragons are vanquished. The Dragonborn, last of his name, went to Sovngarde itself to vanquish the World Eater, Alduin. After that, he defeated the returned first Dragonborn, Miraak, on the isle of Solstheim. Finally, he defeated the vampire lord Harkon of the Volkihar clan, and ended the prophecy known as the Tyranny of the Sun with the help of Harkons' daughter and the Dawnguard. Then the hero of Skyrim vanished. Some say that he died. Some, that he became a monk and joined the Greybeards at High Hrothgar. Others still hinted that he set out for long lost Atmora.

    However, not all is well in the contested land of Skyrim. The civil war still rages, with brother killing brother, and hundreds dying on either side. In the dark, something wicked stirs. Dawnguard patrols have been slaughtered on the sides of the road. The garrison at castle Volkihar has gone silent. The reformed Vigilants of Stendarr are concerned by the deaths of their brethren, and have become much more militant in the past months. Everyday, captured 'witches' and 'daedra worshipers' are burned alive by order of High Keeper Struhn, an old friend of Israns'.

    However, the killings continue and both the Dawnguard and the Vigilant are desperate. A call has gone out for warriors and heros to investigate the silent castle. What they find there may well uncover secrets that had best been left in the dark, and enemies that will test even the strongest of fighters will be hard pressed to overcome. Lord Harkon may be vanquished, but there are things in the dark that are scheming to end the world of mortals, and rule over a gloombound world.

    Rules

    1- No godmodding. Super powers, weapons, armors, etc.

    2- Please attempt to have at least one paragraph for your intro.

    3- Try to have proper grammar and spelling. Typos happen, but be vigilant.

    4-Diversify your characters. We don't need five nords and only one imperial. Having a mixed cast is fun and unique.

    5-No fighting in the OOC. Keep racial slurs in character to a minimum.

    6- This is an 18+ rated story, so of course, expect gore, cursing, and possibly sexual situations.

    7-Please keep to one character. If we don't gather enough interest, I will allow dual characters.

    8-NPC dialogue will be the usual white. Important NPC dialogue will be salmon-pink.

    9- Please make your character cards as in depth as possible.

    CC Template
    (You don't have to follow this strictly, but I would appreciate it if you filled out most of the fields.)
    Name:

    Race:

    Gender:

    Age:

    Class:

    Appearance:

    Armor:

    Weapons:

    Personality:

    Likes:

    Dislikes:

    History:


     
    Last edited:

    Drahkma

    Dashing Imperial Officer.
    Interested. How many characters were you thinking?
     

    Drahkma

    Dashing Imperial Officer.
    Name: Landron Bareaux

    Race: Breton

    Gender: Male

    Age: 34

    Class: Knight

    Appearance: Landron stands at six feet exactly, with dark, wavy brown hair, pale blue eyes, and fair skin. His eyes seem to hold a great weariness, as if he is truly much older than his thirty four years. He wears no warpaint, jewelry, or tattoos, seeing them as pointless and vulgar displays. Years of combat have seen him collect perhaps more than his fair share of scars, many of them on his chest, stomach, and a good few on all of his limbs as well.

    Armor:Steel plate, with an armet helm, complete with a gorget. Under this, he wears the chainmail, and a thin layer of leather to cushion blows/minimize discomfort. Over his armour, he wears a sky blue tabard, with a depiction of a hawk or some other bird of prey centred on it. Over this, he wears a dark, hooded cloak, tattered and dusty from near constant travel. Usually strapped to his left arm is an heater shield, painted the same sky blue, with the spread wings of his bird of prey sigil touching each corner, the body dominating the center.

    Weapons:A steel longsword, named Lament, with a round pommel, and the usual leather wrapped hilt. The blade was a gift from the family of duchess Annabelle Carconne, given to Landron after he took his knightly vows, and was assigned as duchess Carconnes' protector.

    Personality:As a knight, he has sworn to uphold his code, protect innocents, and honour his word, should he give it...practical experience, however, has taught him just how little that is worth. Traumatized by his personal failings, he is a broken, bitter husk of the man he once was. While he will never go back on his word once it is given, or abandon an ally to their death, he constantly expects the worst of people, and will act accordingly.


    Likes:Traveling the road, protecting innocents, and honourable folk.


    Dislikes:Naievity, thieves, liars, undead.

    History: Born to a noble family in the freezing north of High Rock, Jelhanna, Landron always wanted to be hero. A knight, specifically. His father, proud of his sons aspirations, hired the best tutors and sword instructors that gold could buy. At the age of ten, he left his home to join the order of saint Pelin, in evermore. For the next decade, he trained under sir Merric Ardoine, a famed knight of the order. He learned the chivalric code, cared for his mentors' horse and gear, and helping him dress in his armour.

    Shortly after his twentieth birthday, Landron took his knightly vows, did his vigil, and rose a knight. Shortly after this, he was contacted by an old friend of the family, duke Armand Carconne, who wished the service of the order to defend his daughter, on a diplomatic voyage to Evermore, to wed the heir to the throne. The roads had grown dangerous in recent years, bandits and creatures were reported to attack travelers and merchants who weren't under heavy guard.

    Landron was glad of this opportunity for two reasons; the first being that it was his opportunity to perform his duties in the field as a true knight, and the second, to see his childhood friend, Annabelle, once more. He, sir Ardoine, and two other knights rode to Landrons' home and to the estate of duke Armand. There, Landron was bestowed a sword that the duke had commissioned to congradulate the young man on taking his vows. After some fond words, the groups parted, the four knights accompanying the wagon that held duchess Annabelle and her handmaidens.

    It was during a passage along a narrow road, with a steep drop to the left, and a sheer cliff face to the right that everything went wrong. Bandits, having somehow heard of the knights plans to take this particular road, had set up an ambush, high above. Large boulders had been shifted into position, and hidden paths had been made ready. As the group came into view, the first of the boulders was released. Sir Merric and his companion, riding ahead of the duchess' carriage, were struck and killed instantly, their armour doing little against the weight and momentum of the huge rock.

    Perhaps by luck or poor timing on the part of the bandits, the second boulder missed Landron and his companion, sir Norvald, by barely a metre. Still, they were not safe. Knowing they could not take the duchess until the knights were dealt with, the bandits, a dozen in total, rushed down their hidden pathways to engage. Many brandished long spears, forcing the knights off their horses.

    Norvald and Landron fought brilliantly, ferociously, both to avenge their fallen comrades and to protect the duchess. But a dozen to two are bad odds, even for a pair of knights. Worse, when the enemy rely on range. Sir Norvald fell, a lucky shot punching through his gorget, into his throat. Alone against the five remaining bandits, Landron was outmatched. He managed to kill two more, but bolts that had felled Norvald, exhaustion, and numbers, won out. The bandits shoved the badly wounded Landron off the road, leaving him to die of his injuries.

    Nearly a day later, a group of traveling priests happened upon the massacre. Landron still lived, barely. The sympathetic clergymen took him to their temple, and nursed him back to health. When he was well enough, Landron asked after his companions and friends. The priests sadly informed him that their was no sign of the duchess or her carriage, and he'd been the only one breathing at the sight of the battle.
    Something broke in the young knight then. Without a word, he donned his armour, took his sword, and strode out of the temple. The blade, which he had sworn only to name once his quest was complete, he named Lament. For his dead comrades and his friend. Believed dead by his family and knightly brothers, and without the courage to return to them, Landron took to the road, a wandering, forlorn knight.

    Dialogue: Orange
     
    Last edited:

    Thesius

    The Imperial Paladin
    Hmm. I'll probably be joining this, I think. Give me a few hours. Also, @Drahkma Landron of what?
     

    Thesius

    The Imperial Paladin
    Name: Tyresius Vonn

    Race: Imperial

    Gender: Male

    Age: 49

    Class: Witch Hunter

    Appearance: Around six feet, with black hair,bound together by a leather strap. He also sports a full beard, which, like his hair, is going grey at the roots. His eyes are a piercing pale blue, and often unnerve even those who consider themselves his allies. Even though he's an older man, his body is in good shape. Old scars mark his torso and face, but they only add to his fiercesome appearance, rather than making him appear weak.

    Armor: His breastplate is made of well crafted steel, etched with the symbol of Arkay in the centre. He wears a longcoat in along with heavy shoulder armour, greaves, and gauntlets. The rest of his attire is generally heavy leather, to protect against slashing attacks, and some magical assaults.

    Weapons: Justice, a great sword that's edged with silver,making it especially effective against the undead and werewolves. Over the years, many priests have bestowed blessings upon it, making it deadly against lesser undead, such as draugr and zombies.
    Vigilance, a heavy crossbow, that fires oak bolts, with silver tips.


    Personality: While maybe not as zealous as his paladin brethren, Tyresius has spent his life hunting evil, and is fully aware that men are just as capable of evil as the monsters they fear. This has made him a cynical and suspicious man, and he is sure to keep a close eye on his companions. His experiences have taught him that not everything is black and white, but rather shades of grey. He is willing to look the other way in certain situations.

    Likes:His armour and weapons. Men of faith. Honesty. Protecting innocents.

    Dislikes: Evil men and monsters. Liars, assassins.



    History: Born in the city of Cheydinhal, Tyresius saw his parents murdered by a vampire when he was sixteen years old, the young man developed a great hatred for all things unnatural. He trained for years becoming a paladin, recognizing the signs of the vampire and the lycanthrope. After a decade, he left the temple, and began his career, hunting vampires, lycans, and necromancers.

    He became known as a hard, cold man, shunning the company of others, in order to complete his quest to rid Tamriel of all manner of unnatural, evil creatures and men. Upon hearing of the mysterious and sinister events in Skyrim, Tyresius was immediately suspicious. Assigned to assist the Dawnguard in Skyrim, Tyresius heads out with his trusty weapons and faith in Arkay.

    Dialogue: Gold
     

    TheShadedOne

    The Angry One
    Hmmm....Before I get anything up, how often would you be expecting posts? Once,twice a week?
     

    TheShadedOne

    The Angry One
    Name: Ahkari Shar

    Race: Khajiit

    Gender: Female

    Age:29

    Class: Bounty Hunter/ Assassin

    Appearance: Ahkari is not a tall or particularly intimidating speciment. She stands at 5'5", and is rather thin and not overly curvy. Her fur is a pale, ash like grey, and dark stripes run from just past her ears, down her neck and to the base of her tale. She has yellow eyes and a scar almost centered on her nose.

    Armor: She favours movement and stealth over outright combat. To reflect this she wears flexible leather that is dark grey, almost black over most of her body. Light steel plates are on her shoulders, forearms and shins.

    Weapons: A pair of short sickle-swords. Ideal for disarming and slashing attacks.

    Personality: Ahkari is a very confident young woman, just shy of being arrogant. But she also knows when it's better to turn and run from a hopeless situation. She'll work with others, so long as she comes out on top.

    Likes: Getting paid, tracking, stealth.

    Dislikes: Outright combat, loud,obnoxious people, misers.

    History: Born into a traveling clan of khajiiti mercenaries, Ahkari quickly learned the ways of the blade. However, she was never one to participate in direct combat if she could help it. By the time she was an adult and ready to head out on her own, she was a master of both stealth and hunting.

    She quickly took on the profession of a bounty hunter, less for the gold as the thrill of the hunt. She hunted everything from fugitives from justice to dangerous monsters. Very few, if any escaped her once she was hired to track them down.

    Recently, she has grown tired of hunting bandits and creatures. The notice posted by the Dawnguard and Vigilants of Stendarr have drawn her interest.

    Text: My usual.
     

    Drahkma

    Dashing Imperial Officer.

    Signus

    Well-Known Member
    Name: Dareth Cauldrus

    Race: Dunmer

    Gender: Male

    Age: 78, looks about early twenties.

    Class: Warrior/fighter (sword/shield)

    Appearance: Dareth is about as scarred and rugged as can be expected for someone who's lead a life of fighting. The tip of his right ear is missing, a long scar traces his left jaw and his torso is marked with all manner of past injuries. His skin is a dark grey, and his eyes are the normal ruby red of his people. He has long dark hair, pulled back in a short pony tail.

    Armor: A mixed bag of legion heavy armour, chainmail, and leather. His upper torso is legion plate, while his lower torso, legs and arms are covered in chainmail and leather.

    Weapons: A steel mace and rectangular shield.

    Personality: A dour and cynical individual, Dareth has experienced the horrors of combat first hand, and knows that there's no such things as heroes in war. He'll be the first to point out the flaws in a plan. However, he's also not against using his military expertise to help his comrades.

    Likes: Gold, having the odds in his favour.

    Dislikes: Being told what to do, the Empire, Stormcloaks

    History: Born to refugee parents fleeing the Red Mountain, Dareth was raised in the Grey quarters of Windhelm, and quickly grew to resent the local nords treating him like vermin. After years of putting up with their abuse, Dareth snapped and murdered a drunk nord who'd taken to scrawling obscenities on doorways and throwing filth at any Dunmer unlucky enough to catch his attention.

    The guards were unaware of who had slain the man, but began questioning the locals closely. Not wanting to put his friends and family in danger, Dareth fled the city. He would have been pursued, but days later, the civil war broke out.

    Seeing an opportunity to strike back at the nords who'd tormented his people, he joined the legion in Solitude several weeks after fleeing Windhelm. He was assigned to a unit stationed in Dragonsbridge. His commander, an imperial who had been appointed to the position solely because of his father, who was some rich, influential noble, had no real idea of how to lead a unit.

    However the man thought to claim some glory, and when news of Storcloaks scouts across the bridge reached him, he lead the unit in force. The commander neglected to send out scouts of his own, and so failed understand that what he thought to be a dozen or so lightly armed and armoured scouts, were actually a war camp of at least fifty rebels.

    Caught in the open with no prior warning, Dareths' unit was slaughtered, with their glorious 'commander' being the first to flee. Only Dareth and three others survived that fateful day. They were instructed to train up a fresh batch of recruits from Cyrodiil while their commander was given a promotion for 'bravery in the field'.

    Thoroughly disgusted by the man, Dareth deserted, keeping some of his imperial gear more out of practicality, rather than sentimentality. Over the months that followed, he became a warrior of fortune, willing to risk his life for the promise of treasure.

    Text: Red.
     

    TheArgonianDrell

    Well-Known Member
    Name: Zarek Haskel

    Race:Argonian

    Gender: Male

    Age: 33

    Class: Warrior (two handed)

    Appearance: Zarek is a tall, broad shouldered male and fair tall as well. His scales are a deep blue, almost black, marking him as unique among his fellow argonians. His eyes are the colour of liquid gold, and hold an almost disturbing intensity. His head sports a pair of long, draconic horns, and a small thicket of smaller spikes between them.

    Armor: Heavy steel breast and backplates offer excellent protection against most forms of attack. Leather armour, thickened over the shoulder and upper legs, offers maneuverability and a little protection against slashes and light attacks.

    Weapons: A pair of long daggers, one on each thigh. However, his main weapon is a steel axe, with the usual blade on one side, and a long, slightly curving spike on the other.

    Personality: Friendly, but somewhat guarded. He is generally quiet, and can be kind once he gets to know someone. Very rarely, he will offer some hints to his past, but he values his privacy. He appreciates honesty and will reciprocate.

    Likes: Quiet, meditation, secrecy

    Dislikes: Obnoxious people, prying people, trolls.

    History:...(I'll reveal this as the story progresses.)

    For text, I'll have my usual. This
     

    The Seraph

    When the Dawn Breaks, I shall be there
    Would anybody quite mind if I joined? I have an interesting idea.
     

    The Seraph

    When the Dawn Breaks, I shall be there
    Alright, here we go.

    Name: Brynja Torsdottir

    Race: Nord

    Gender: Female

    Age: 39

    Class: Necromantic witch hunter. I know we already have a witch hunter, but it is the closest class for her and I feel she is different enough from Thesius' chracter.

    Appearance: Standing at 5 feet 4 inches, Brynja is not particularly intimidating. It is not helped by her constant hunch or rather frail gait. She has a rectangular body shape with little curves. Her limbs are of a slightly long nature for her body size. Her face is oval shapes with sharp and angular features. She has the hint of age gracing her face, with dust worn into the grooves of her wrinkles. Her eyes hold a sharp and quick nature though, with a fierceness peeking out of their ice blue irises. Her auburn and grey hair is long and frizzy, kept in a ponytail that dips to her midback. Brynja possesses tremendous bodily strength, able to hold more than her own weight and remain lithe. This is, unfortunately, tested by the perpetually preserved corpse of her mentor and lover, Erarnil, that she carries bundled up in fetal position and in a small coffin on her back.

    Armor: Brynja feels disdain for armour, feeling it to be too constricting. She instead wears a simple forest green tunic with brown hems and a brown ochre pair of pants. Over that, she wears a grey and blue shawl.

    Weapons: Brynja's most treasured weapon is her bow. Hewn out of birch wood, intricately craved in resplendent patterns with dragon heads at the string notches and colored a brilliant red ochre with crocus yellow within all the grooves. At least, it was. Decades of wear had filled the colors and softened all the features. It is still cared for and tended after. Aside from that, Brynja has knowledge of all the adept level and below Conjuration spells, making heaviest use of the bound sword and dagger.

    Personality: Brynja is a quiet person, preferring to remain back and analysis the situation and its people. She is not the best conversationalist but can be rather snarky and bold if one prys into her. She is also quite noble, believing always in helping the less fortunate and bringing harsh justice to those who harm the weak. While Brynja takes long to warm up to people, she is fiercely, unwaveringly committed to her friends. She has a similar attitude to her goals and combat. She is relentless and determined beyond reason, often leading to the disregard of herself or others around her. When her actions do bring harm onto somebody though, Brynja is filled with not only deep remorse but also the desire to make up for it, even at the cost to herself.

    Likes: Moths, spiders, clear mornings, salt, a warm fire and forgiving people.

    Dislikes: Eagles, pointless war, extreme weather, rot and decay, forests and cruel people.

    History: Brynja was born to an unknown mother, who journeyed out into the depths of the Rift and subsequently succumbed to the environment. She was found by a man named Tor Hjorksson, a local hunter who had found her. He's raised her as his own and taught her the ways of the forest. She spent her childhood leading a pleasant existence as a hunting companion to her father. It was soon left a lot more empty though. Her father had spotted a bright white eagle and went off into the mountains to find it. A blizzard swept through and he was never heard from again.

    Years later, when Brynja was just breaking into her twenties, she encountered an Altmer being hassled by a group of bandits. After valiantly coming to his rescue, she offered him stay at her hut. He graciously accepted and introduced himself as Erarnil. Later that night, she encountered a book of his, entitled Mannimarco, King of Worms. She read it quickly while he was washing up and was entranced. She consulted him on it, and asked his opinion of Mannimarco, for it seemed that he had simply been in the wrong side of history. Erarnil, sending that the woman was less judging than most, immediately revealed he was a necromancer. While Brynja was shocked and horrified, she was much more curious. As she spent the night listening to the Altmer ramble on with passion in his voice, she saw that he was truly a good person, save for his practices. She asked if him to teach her his arts.

    Brynja was a quick and voracious learner, having soon become proficient in the basic preservation practices and embalming. Erarnil adored her bright mind and loved her relentless ambition, which soon turned to love and adoration of her. She too became enamoured with him, the tall, graceful mer who wielded life and death as tools and weapons. They fell deep into each other, finding comfort in each others company. She introduced him to the wonders of the forest, to the grace of the elk, the subtlety of the nightshade, the might of the troll. He introduced her to gods alien to her Nine, to Namira, the patron of the shunned, to Hermaeus Mora, keeper of all knowledge, and to the God of Worms, the antithesis to her own Arkay. They decided to forge a world of theirs and paved the way to a life of happiness together with an endless sea of bandit, poacher and highway man blood. It would not be this way forever.

    Nearly 15 years later, the war in Skyrim raged on. Brynja had warned Erarnil against wandering alone, but he insisted upon doing so. It would be his fatal error. After he failed to come home, she picked up her bow and lept off to look for him. She found him at a Stormcloak camp, tied to a post and cut down to bone. Two dozen quick arrows later, she freed him. Diligently, Brynja tried to nurse him back to health, but alas! While his body recovered, his will gave out. She refused to accept his death though. She magically preserved his body and trapped his soul in a special soul gem, unconnected to the Soul Cairn and set to work, reading and scouring his endless tomes for a hint of what to do. At last, she found two possible solution; the first would be to lessen the impact of divine and Aetheric force in this world so she could more easily transfer his back to his body; the second would be to infect him with vampirism to make transferring his soul easier. Either way, the key to both of the solutions would be Castle Volkihar. Brynja bundled up Erarnil, sealed their house in the Rift and set off on a mission.

    Dialogue Color: Forgot about this! Middle Cyan.
     
    Last edited:

    TheShadedOne

    The Angry One
    So,how do you plan to kick this off? Do we all start at fort Dawnguard, or someplace else?
     

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