Avatar of Crimson Paladin

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3 yrs ago
If you want to play both Fallout 3 and New Vegas, I'd recommend trying out A Tale of Two Wastelands.
3 likes
4 yrs ago
You're a rock star
4 yrs ago
Unless the problem is in the air.
1 like
4 yrs ago
If they at least have the decency to say that they're leaving instead of simply ghosting the RP, that's good enough to me.
7 likes

Bio

I originally got into forum roleplaying on the official Bethesda Game Studios Forums in 2007 or 2008. When the forums were replaced with Bethesda.net, I was one of several close-knit Fallout RPers who came here.

Most Recent Posts

Javal


Javal followed the doll downstairs, following their failure to find anything useful- or any other reincarnated souls- on the current floor. Wherever they were, it appeared to be long-abandoned. If there was anything resembling good news so far, it was that he wasn't hearing any noise coming from below.

The first thing he noticed when he came down was the boarded windows and barricaded doors. Someone had clearly made an effort to secure this building from whatever was outside, which meant that whatever was out there was almost certainly dangerous. Any remaining doubt as to the danger of their situation evaporated completely when the doll girl brought his attention to a corpse.

Javal followed the doll to examine the body. It appeared to be a knight, and judging by the blood adorning the wall behind him, his death was a violent one. His armor was in poor condition, certainly of no use to any of them, but the dagger might be of use to them. From the look of it, he had to have been dead for quite a while, yet was untouched by scavengers. Perhaps he received his fatal wounds before the building was boarded up, but seeing a violently slain man in this building did not inspire any confidence in Javal that this location was safe.

"Judging by this poor fellow here, I'd say we're in for some trouble," Javel stated as he grabbed the leg of an upturned table and began to pry it off to use as a makeshift weapon. Table leg in hand, he headed to the kitchen, leaving the doll to loot the knight. The kitchen, as expected, was in disarray, with scattered implements and molded remains of food. To Javal, however, this junk was far from useless. He reached down and picked up a produce sack.

This should do nicely, he thought as he eptied it of its very perished contents, then placed a knife spoon, small pot, and bottle inside. Now they had some basic survival gear.

"You find anything on that knight, Lena?" he called out.
Fleuri Jodeau


With the success of the scouting group in contacting the fae, the knights were able to progress to the fae realm and obtain an audience with the Moonlit Queen herself. Unfortunately, if there wasn't already clear enough just how precarious their situation in her realm was, it became very clear when the Moonlit Queen caused the captain's hair to rapidly grow. By the standards of the fae, it was a relatively harmless gesture, probably just a petty whim of the Moonlit Queen to make an aesthetic "improvement" to Fanilly, but it demonstrated just how powerful and impulsive she could be.

If she desired- or if an errant thought popped in her head- probably could kill most of the group without any effort.

Fleuri was not pleased to find himself in this situation- at the whims of a capricious fae in the heart of her power. He did not believe he could contribute anything here, nor would attempting to do so seem wise in light of what the fae queen did to Fanilly- best to allow Fionn, who was most familiar with fae, to do the talking.
Javal


Ah, she must also be from Earth, Javal concluded when he heard the second woman's reply. It was clear by her answer that she too had gone through the rather unpleasant experience of dying. At first glance her body looked like it had stitches, then a moment later he saw that they were joints- she appeared to be a living doll of some sort.

The elf hadn't given her answer yet, but since she was here, and just as confused as they were, her story would probably be the same. She died, and woke up here. His own body didn't thus far seem as otherworldly as theirs, but there still might be some surprises in store whenever he managed to find a reflective surface.

"Last I remember, my plane was going down in the Alaskan wilderness," he answered the elf's question. "I suppose you can call me Javal," he answered, Javal being a moniker he used in computer games. New body, new name.

The doll was right, from what he saw outside, this place probably wasn't safe. As much as he wished to stop and think, this wasn't the place or time. Judging by the corpses on the ground, the figures moving around outside probably weren't friendly. The trio needed to find someplace safe to regroup and figure out exactly what had happened and where they now were.

"I saw what looked like some weapons lying around outside," he noted. "It's risky, but if those things find us before we can find someplace safe, I'd much rather we have something to defend ourselves with."
Verius Sanctian

The Fighters Guild has certainly changed, Verius silently assessed. It wasn't really a surprise, considering how long the guild had existed. Any traces of its origin as an organization envisioned, approved, and staffed by Akaviri would have faded in the millennium-and-a-half since its inception. However, it thus far appeared to have retained its original purpose or providing reputable swords-for-hire for dealing with small-scale problems.

Since Hammerfell was no longer part of the Empire, this local chapter would no longer be constrained by its guild charter. However, they would probably still be operating under Hammerfell's laws if they wished to remain welcome in the province.

Technically speaking, Verius had already joined the Fighters Guild back in the Second Era but there was no possible way that they'd actually believe that he was an Akaviri from the Second Era.

"You need not worry, we're not outside contractors," he chimed in. "As my friend said, we all wish to join the guild, assuming there's work to be had."
Javal


As the oft-repeated saying went, if you can walk away from a landing, it's a good landing. This was not going to be a good landing. Probably not going to be a survivable landing either. Up until right before it hit the side of the hill, he wasn't thinking about his likely imminent death- he was pulling on the yoke trying to regain control of the small single-engined plane, in hopes of at least making a serviceable emergency landing. It was not to be, though.

He just hoped it'd be fast- the prospect of being badly injured and slowly bleeding out in terrible agony in the middle of the Alaskan wilderness wasn't particularly appealing.

Then, just as it hit the ground, he awoke. He didn't feel like every bone in his body was broken, so his first though was that it was just a bad dream. As he stirred, however, he realized that this was not his mattress, and why did he feel fully clothed? Had he fallen asleep without even taking off his cold weather attire? Was this perhaps just a continuation of a dream?

The pilot opened his eyes and saw that this was not his room. He sat up, confused, and even moreso when seeing the strange attire on his body. This was not his clothing, and whatever was on his head was neither his hat nor his headset. His first impulse was to pinch himself. To his bewilderment, unlike every dream he ever had, he felt pain.

What was going on? How did he end up in this cabin?

He took a closer look at the outfit he had. From the look of it, it was...armor of some kind. He removed whatever was on his head and took a look at it. A helmet, from the look of it. Looking at the shape, of it, and of the armor covering him, it almost looked...a dragoon cosplay?

Just how did he get here? And who put him in this outfit?

Thinking that he might be able to make use for it as a cup or perhaps a crude tool, he put it back on his head and stood up. What could explain this? Who could have brought him here, put him in this outfit? Had that plane crash been real? Had he died and gone to some manner of afterlife?

Beneath the armor, his body felt somehow different than he remembered it. Perhaps it would be prudent to remove his armor, see why he felt so different. For now, perhaps he could see his reflection on the window.

As he got a good look at out the window, it was clear that this was not Alaska, nor was it heaven. Skeletal bodies, medieval weapons- just what was this?

Just then, before he could get a decent look at his reflection, the pilot was startled by a girl's scream from another room. As he tentatively approached, he could hear another woman's voice speaking. The sources of the voices were a white-haired young woman and...an elf?

Between that, the scene outside, and the armor on him, it appear that wherever he was had a theme that he'd ordinarily associate with "fantasy".

"Who are you two?" he asked. "Just what is going on here?"

@VitaVitaAR@Rune_Alchemist
Verius Sanctian


It wasn't the first time Verius had been to Hammerfell. Aside from all the times he had to pass through on the way to High Rock, there was a posting at Wind Scour Temple for a few months, an undercover assignment in the Syffim for a few years, a failed diplomatic expedition to Craglorn one time. He learned a few important things from that last one- Lamias do not see Tsaesci as kin, red-on-black bands do not indicate a lack of venom, and many of the same martial techniques for fighting dragons also applied to them.

None of that really mattered now- over a thousand years had passed and the Hammerfell he once knew was not quite the Hammerfell of today. For himself, blending in should be as simple as singing up in the local fighter or mercenary guild, but this group was unusual enough that sooner or later people will notice their unusual composition. Fortunately, there were a few things in their favor. For one, Sentinel was a Forebear port town, meaning that it was normal for all manner of foreign folk to come through here, and the locals. Second, "Getting away from the Thalmor" ought to be a pretty common motivation for coming to Sentinel.

During the boat ride to Sentinel, Verius had plenty of time to collect his thoughts and take notes about the rest of the Empress' retinue. The Chantry knight seemed straightforward enough- a Breton warrior of Akatosh, wanting to serve the Dragon God in a more direct way than whatever politicking was happening in High Rock. The Vigilant was a devotee of Stendarr, belonging to a younger religious order dedicated to combating Daedra. For those two, nobody would find it unusual for them to be in Sentinel.

The Altmer mage was pretty typical for his kind, and would probably have ended up in the Thalmor had the current organization not been so extreme in its dogma and overzealous in purging dissidents. He might turn some heads and inspire some distrust, but there were enough Altmer that were on the Thalmor's bad side, and from what he had gathered while getting up to speed on the Fourth Era, Sentinel had already been the site of a major incident of the Thalmor purging Altmer dissidents. If the Blades and Empress trusted him, so too would Verius. Regarding the Dunmer, Verius knew of the Telvanni and their unapologetic "might makes right" policy all too well. Fortunately, with Sentinel on the opposite end of Skyrim from Morrowind, it was unlikely that anyone would pinpoint her as a Telvanni. As long as those two mages weren't caught raising the dead or trafficking with Daedra, they ought to be able to stay under the radar.

Lastly was the Minotaur. According to some of the myths and legends of Cyrodiil, they were believed by some to be descended from Alessia and Morihaus. Whatever the truth was, they were also considered to be bestial brutes that existed entirely outside of civilized society. Then again, the same things were considered of Orcs until Potentate Savirien-Chorak brought them into the Empire. The local authorities could probably be permitted to allow him if they assumed him to be a pet or trained beast, but it might be a good idea to not have him wandering the city.

Currently, Verius was at the table, looking over a map of this corner of Hammerfell.

"I concur, Fighters Guild, or whatever passes for a mercenary guild here, would be a good start," he replied to Colcette, looking up from his map. "Solve problems, get paid, and no unnecessary questions need to be asked. In the meantime, if anyone asks, I'm nothing more than an ex-Legion soldier-of-fortune."
Here's my shitpost of a submission.

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