Dervish

Any Dutch people in the forum?

Just wear a bunch of marijuana leaf covered clothing and be really loud and upfront that the only reason you're there is to smoke a shitload of pot. They won't mind, they love that the primary reason anyone wants to go to Amsterdam is because it's totally easy weed central and will happily accommodate you.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Hahaha.

Fuck, I wonder how the guy who made that piece of shit is doing now? How did he react to his greatest masterpiece going viral?

Reminds me of when the guy animated that awful Doom fanfiction.

At The Scimitar's Edge (A Golden Age of Piracy RP)

MacNichols could see the discomfort on Mabel’s face and body language as he spoke plainly of the events that were unfolding around them. He didn’t particularly care, since any plain fool would have heard the squabblings of the mutinous crew both tonight and the time in port before. The only question remained is if Brailham somehow, miraculously, had no idea of his impending fate. It was something that seemed impossible, and MacNichols simply took it as the man was at a loss of what to do. Being a captain was lonely business, it’s not as if he could consult the other men upon the ship for advice and guidance.

“Goddamn, I hate this.” He said at last, standing up from his seat and grabbing the bottle. “Come on, then. We’ll speak somewhere where word isn’t like to travel.” He said, beaconing the hard-featured woman to follow him. Instead of leading her towards the harbour, he moved further inland to the edge of town. When the crowds seemed to have dissipated enough, he decided to speak, but not before enjoying himself another swig of the bottle. “So I have you figured wrong, do I? By your standards, keeping the status quo seems rather… boring.” He said, looking Mabel in the eyes for the first time since leaving the tavern. Both sailors had found themselves on something of a hill on the outskirts of town, not quite elevated to illuminate them, but it did give a bit of a view to see if anyone were approaching. He shook the bottle in front of him. “If you wanted to be subtle and quiet, why in God’s name did you approach a man who’s been drinking? For someone with a plan, you don’t think very far ahead, do you?” he shook his head irritably, resisting the temptation to drink again. Now was the time to think.

“The only way anyone’s going to win the captain any favour is if he starts taking bounties again and keeping our pockets filled with coin. When’s the last time we struck a ship with anything more valuable than a shipment of timber or sugar? I can’t rightfully recall. Unless you have a plan for what the captain should be doing to get the lads to forgive his meekness, I can’t imagine we can do anything that would make him any less fucked in the days to come. Really, lass, I’m all ears. How do you propose Blake and MacNichols save the day and prevent a bloody mutiny?” he asked, waving his hand theatrically so the woman could take the stage.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Voltaire said
Lol, just read all the posts. Shots have been fired.

Peeww peeeewww!

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

IS UP!

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

The conversation, if it could be called that, offered Marassa a reminder of why she preferred to travel alone. Her thoughts were less chaotic, and she found herself arguing with herself far less often than this lot. This was the side of heroism that they never told in the stories, and the khajiit wondered if Tiber Septim spent his nights in his council tent arguing with his companions over trivial matters instead of decisively making decisions to move forward. She was pleased most people echoed her sentiment of moving away from the dwemer towards what she hoped was an untouched hold, it was a logical and safe choice to get supplies, information, and perhaps find a warm roof over their heads while they made their next choice. The khajiit learned long ago not to plan too far ahead, and simply focus on the matter at hand with a general goal in mind. Now it was decided they would go to Falkreath, all that mattered was getting there, which might prove impossible if the shouting match didn’t subside.

Things were going smoothly until the argonian opened his mouth, proclaiming his desire to die in a glorious bloody heap. Others, understandably, argued against this. After all, if the Insurgency in Hammerfell failed to make the impact that was hoped for, a small group of arguing misfits was going to die even more surely. At least Sion and Valsiore were thinking logistically for their own needs, and Marassa made a note to find them soul gems if possible, the stronger of the two going to the altmer mage and the weaker ones going to the khajiit and his mysterious dwemer weapon, it was a far more productive use of one’s voice than trying to drag others into getting killed. Marassa kept quiet, as others like Cub, Urzoth, and Francis more or less voiced her concerns with the argonian’s boisterous manner. The mention of her brother’s failure sat like a tightening knot in her chest, however; so damn close and yet so far, only this time there was cause for concern and Marassa was truly afraid she had lost the only family she had left, a brother she barely knew and dedicated her entire life to save from himself if for no other reason than to earn her own right to live in her parents’ eyes.

Marassa glared at Francis when he caught himself from saying Zaveed was dead. It was an abysmal opinion she would not abide, not until she saw Zaveed herself. She grasped the offered bottle from the Breton man as she stood, meeting him eye to eye. “I spent years searching for Zaveed without knowing if he were alive or dead, and this is no different. I will find him again, in one way or another. If you cared about your friend, truly, you would do the same instead of bemoaning his loss like it is a certain thing. Either he is or he isn’t, but you’ll never know unless you find him and find closure. You can stand here and mope about it, or you can do something. I chose to act.” She pulled the bottle free and drank deeply, not letting the unpleasantness of the burn show upon her face. She was not a drinker, all told.

She went over to Cub, reaching up to place a hand on his hulking shoulder. “You know that Zaveed is dearly important to me, Cub, so you know I hold him in high esteem, but Francis has the right of it; he’s one man, and he is prone to foolhardy mistakes like anyone else. If it were not, he wouldn’t have found himself captured and missing, which,” she said, turning back to stare at Francis. “We were told that Zaveed and several other prisoners went missing the night before their prison was assaulted. That accounts to his body not being discovered. If they were removed, then we need to find out who, if not the dwemer.” She returned to Cub. “Believe in your own strength, Cub. My brother is not the only compass you should follow, chiefly because he’s an idiot.” She stepped away from Cub, drinking from the bottle again before handing it off to the next person as she stood next to the fire, a podium of sorts.

“Perhaps they removed a portion of your brain when they lopped off the end of your tail, Wets-His-Blade, but the way I hear it you and many others took the fight against the dwemer directly and death and loss was all that was shown for it. It’s become starkly obvious that meeting the dwemer head-on is foolish and dying pointlessly accomplishes nothing. Patience is something you would do well to learn; all predators learn the ways of their prey before they pounce, and we are no different. We listen, we learn, and then we act. I wish to find out where my brother is, but I’m not chasing blindly after him, otherwise I wouldn’t have made this futile journey in the wrong direction, because hope is lost in Hammerfell and Skyrim may hold answers yet to be discerned. If the dwemer have a weakness, then it is our only option to discover what that is instead of wandering blindly into treachery unknown. Any idiot can swing a sword and kill, but the same idiot is accomplishing nothing if he dies with only a handful of kills to his blade. Stop and think, if you find yourself capable of it.” She said evenly, looking around at the group at large.

“And so, it appears we are in concordance. Falkreath is nothing more than a place to gain information and supply and, I hope, a new heading in our journey. We are not going to find ourselves joining some misguided band to fulfill their own purposes and goals; we only have one another. The people in this room are the only ones you can depend on, and even that’s in question if you cannot stop squabbling like kittens over a mother’s teat. Truth be told, were it not in my interest, I wouldn’t be spending what precious time I could spend looking for my brother in the company of strangers who are held together by the faintest of threads. Two of you among us I can call friends, the rest are an enigma who I rather hope aren’t ineffectual fools who want to die pointlessly because they can’t pull their heads out of their asses to do what has to be done. So, make peace with one another now so we can focus on our real foe, or find a way to die quietly because I’d rather not be caught up in your brash stupidity.” Marassa said, stepping away from the fire to return to her vigil, leaning against the wall by the window, staring at the unproven people she truly despised, save a few.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Lovin' the posts and the activity! You warmed a dying, withered soul, you lot.

Working on something nao.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Nope! Converse awaay!

At The Scimitar's Edge (A Golden Age of Piracy RP)

Always the cautious one, she was. Mabel espied her goals from a distance, only closing the gap when she was certain to get what she wanted. Right now, she must have thought she had some leverage to pry MacNichols to bend her way. He looked at her above his glass with skeptical green eyes before finishing the glass and setting it down neatly to the side. While she wasn’t exactly a homely woman, the way she carried herself and seemed to be honed down to a razor’s edge from whatever steel there was before was more than a little biting. Even her eyes were the colour of metal, something that could be used as a tool or a deadly instrument, depending on the welder’s intent. Her hunched back didn’t do her favours. The Scotsman wondered what Mabel would have looked like with a regular straight posture, if something so seemingly inconsequential would have changed everything about her and how her life played out. That food for thought would continue at the bottom of the next glass. As of now, there was a more pressing issue to resolve.

“Way I figure it, if you’re speaking of what I think you are, I wouldn’t be in a position to owe you anything if I stayed my present heading and let you scheme with a more gullible lad who might fancy a tumble with you at the expense of being your conspiratorial plaything. A man does not extend his life or fortunes by pulling the captain’s head from the headman’s rope and taking his place, hedging a bet that the headsman wouldn’t kick the block out anyways.” Grabbing the large bottle, he topped up his glass and poured a half glass for the woman at the table. “Aye, I’d be a hell of a sight better than the turnip brains who are shouting their lungs out this moment about how they’d be so fancy in captain regalia and how they plan on taking the place of the man who took them in to begin with. You don’t earn loyalty if everyone sees you as an opportunistic cunt who would drive a blade into a man’s back just to get ahead, because you do that once and everyone wonders when the next time it will be when you unsheathe the blade, and it sure as hell won’t buy you clemency from a man who aims to do the same to you. So, tell me, what exactly makes you look at me like I’m your own personal Jesus and what do you get out of this little scheme of yours?” he asked.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Robeatics said
Hmmm. I'm thinking a typical ~20s dude voice! I still remember you from your Assassin's Creed avatar so it might have a little Ezio mixed in. Minus accent. :p

That's a super broad statement haha. Also, mister Assassin was Russian.

Or Krogan's Creed.