Chef Umaril
Active Member
The usual forum RP rules apply here;
1) NO Godmoding (Do NOT post the results of your actions
2) No Meta-gaming, unless it is run by AND accepted by me
3) Be respectful, and have fun
4) Try to be as active as possible, twice a week at least, and give warning if something comes up
4) Finally, although the label is 18+, be conservative about the amount of swearing, as well as details used. This isn't a sex-based RP, but I do believe there should be some freedom in descriptions of the carnage left behind.
Now that the ugly stuff is out of the way, let us be on with the recruitment and role playing. The CC for my character can be found here: http://skyrimforum.com/sf/entries/shallow-waters-cc.5282/
Shallow Waters had been traveling for almost four days from Markarth when he finally arrived at the village of Falkreath. A town centered around death wasn't the most welcoming, but it proved useful for laying low during the current circumstances of Skyrim. The three major factions have a been run out or killed off by the last Dragonborn about two to three years ago after his battles with Miraak and the Ebony Warrior. He became displeased with the state of the continent, and decided it was time to change things. Shallow Waters had friends who were now among the ranks of the Dragonborn's slaves, brought into a cult that now seeks to control all of Skyrim. Nobody seems to know where the Dragonborn is, but his grip is all too familiar now.
Shallow Waters walked into the Dead Man's Drink, ready to wash away the anger with a river of alcohol. "I need two flagons of Argonian Bloodwine, if you will," Waters orders as he drops a small pouch of gold on the counter. He then sits upon one of the stools as Valga begins to pour the drinks for the towering lizard. "A small price to pay for the trouble this country is in," he mutters before taking a sip from his first of many drinks for the evening. Many of the patrons at the bar were uncomfortable with his presence, even more so when added the fact he was obviously a traveling mercenary.
As he drank, Shallow Waters produced a small journal, inkwell and quill and scribbled quickly; '18 First Seed, 4E204 I've finally stopped in Falkreath for a drink, the weather is fairly calm for now, but it would seem that even the cultists following this "Dragonborn" are closing in on even the forest settlements of Skyrim. For now, it would seem things are safe.' He paused at the last sentence before closing his journal and returning the belongings to his pouch. He then took a large gulp from his first flagon before leaning back a bit in his stool and sighed heavily.
1) NO Godmoding (Do NOT post the results of your actions
2) No Meta-gaming, unless it is run by AND accepted by me
3) Be respectful, and have fun
4) Try to be as active as possible, twice a week at least, and give warning if something comes up
4) Finally, although the label is 18+, be conservative about the amount of swearing, as well as details used. This isn't a sex-based RP, but I do believe there should be some freedom in descriptions of the carnage left behind.
Now that the ugly stuff is out of the way, let us be on with the recruitment and role playing. The CC for my character can be found here: http://skyrimforum.com/sf/entries/shallow-waters-cc.5282/
Shallow Waters had been traveling for almost four days from Markarth when he finally arrived at the village of Falkreath. A town centered around death wasn't the most welcoming, but it proved useful for laying low during the current circumstances of Skyrim. The three major factions have a been run out or killed off by the last Dragonborn about two to three years ago after his battles with Miraak and the Ebony Warrior. He became displeased with the state of the continent, and decided it was time to change things. Shallow Waters had friends who were now among the ranks of the Dragonborn's slaves, brought into a cult that now seeks to control all of Skyrim. Nobody seems to know where the Dragonborn is, but his grip is all too familiar now.
Shallow Waters walked into the Dead Man's Drink, ready to wash away the anger with a river of alcohol. "I need two flagons of Argonian Bloodwine, if you will," Waters orders as he drops a small pouch of gold on the counter. He then sits upon one of the stools as Valga begins to pour the drinks for the towering lizard. "A small price to pay for the trouble this country is in," he mutters before taking a sip from his first of many drinks for the evening. Many of the patrons at the bar were uncomfortable with his presence, even more so when added the fact he was obviously a traveling mercenary.
As he drank, Shallow Waters produced a small journal, inkwell and quill and scribbled quickly; '18 First Seed, 4E204 I've finally stopped in Falkreath for a drink, the weather is fairly calm for now, but it would seem that even the cultists following this "Dragonborn" are closing in on even the forest settlements of Skyrim. For now, it would seem things are safe.' He paused at the last sentence before closing his journal and returning the belongings to his pouch. He then took a large gulp from his first flagon before leaning back a bit in his stool and sighed heavily.