Dervish Member
Let's get volatile
STATUS: Remember, nobody actually enjoys roleplaying if there isn't at least five shameful fetishes uncovered by the 2nd page. 5 yrs ago
- Last Seen: 1 yr ago
- Old Guild Username: Dervish
- Joined: 12 yrs ago
- Posts: 5991 (1.32 / day)
- VMs: 8
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Username history
- Dervish 12 yrs ago
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Nyxella,
TokyoPewPew,
Tlaloc
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Recent Statuses
5 yrs ago
Current
Remember, nobody actually enjoys roleplaying if there isn't at least five shameful fetishes uncovered by the 2nd page.
5
likes
7 yrs ago
Somebody stole my mood ring. I don't know how to feel about it.
14
likes
7 yrs ago
Let's be honest, it's far more satisfying and challenging to actually imagine what a character looks like than paste a hundred gifs of a celebrity and call it good.
4
likes
7 yrs ago
So, a team of players who are good at playing as a team in a team-based game are individually bad players. Seems kind of silly when you put it like that, no?
8
likes
7 yrs ago
My goal these days is to have an RP that can actually finish, or the very least, last a few years. I see way too many die on page one to take chances
4
likes
Bio
Lowering the site's value since January 2012.
Most Recent Posts
OTP is a term that needs to burn in hell along with hashtag.
Naw. She's not into leather-skinned things that have more teeth than her and can breathe underwater. Never trust something that doesn't need to come up for air.
MacNichols watched Mabel follow Jackham and his goons up the stairwell discretely with silent horror; what the bloody hell was that woman doing?! He turned his attention to his two compatriots, listening absent-mindedly as they spoke in hushed, excited tones about what could be, fortunately in a tone suggesting something other than lynching Brailham. He tried to keep his composure but he grew impatient, uncertain if Mabel was marching up to her death – or worse. He bounced his knee up and down and drank entirely too fast to be smart as he waited for a sign. The fact no skirmish was heard from above was a sign that things weren’t amiss.
Or so he hoped.
When the three suspicious Trident crewmembers sauntered down the stairs once more sometime later, MacNichols took their lack of change in disposition as a good sign Mabel wasn’t caught snooping. They came to the tavern with the intention of gauging the crew’s intent and swaying it, something the Scotsman figured had been accomplished enough for one night. When he didn’t see her come downstairs, he silently prayed she snuck out a window instead of…
No, best not to think of that. he chided himself. He finished his drink and bid his companions farewell, and their response to his leaving was much warmer than when he first approached. At least that was accomplished well. He felt the alcohol taking hold, his steps were less even and his head was spinning somewhat. Looking around, he decided to try his luck at the meeting spot by the hill. With luck, Mabel would be waiting there with a juicy piece of news. He had to hope that; otherwise, was it his fault if she met a horrid fate? No. That would be on her. He couldn’t control Mabel’s actions any more than a man could stop a hurricane from rolling in. He set up the streets, shrouded in darkness, and headed to the outskirts of town.
Arriving at the hill once more, MacNichols didn’t sight Mabel, which in itself wasn’t unexpected but it was still a bit disconcerting. Suddenly, the need to take a piss took hold, the drinks of the evening having run their course. Hurrying over to a tree, he unfastened his trousers to release himself and enjoyed the immediate relief as he pissed on the trunk with a relieved sigh. He was definitely too drunk for this subterfuge business, he decided.
Or so he hoped.
When the three suspicious Trident crewmembers sauntered down the stairs once more sometime later, MacNichols took their lack of change in disposition as a good sign Mabel wasn’t caught snooping. They came to the tavern with the intention of gauging the crew’s intent and swaying it, something the Scotsman figured had been accomplished enough for one night. When he didn’t see her come downstairs, he silently prayed she snuck out a window instead of…
No, best not to think of that. he chided himself. He finished his drink and bid his companions farewell, and their response to his leaving was much warmer than when he first approached. At least that was accomplished well. He felt the alcohol taking hold, his steps were less even and his head was spinning somewhat. Looking around, he decided to try his luck at the meeting spot by the hill. With luck, Mabel would be waiting there with a juicy piece of news. He had to hope that; otherwise, was it his fault if she met a horrid fate? No. That would be on her. He couldn’t control Mabel’s actions any more than a man could stop a hurricane from rolling in. He set up the streets, shrouded in darkness, and headed to the outskirts of town.
Arriving at the hill once more, MacNichols didn’t sight Mabel, which in itself wasn’t unexpected but it was still a bit disconcerting. Suddenly, the need to take a piss took hold, the drinks of the evening having run their course. Hurrying over to a tree, he unfastened his trousers to release himself and enjoyed the immediate relief as he pissed on the trunk with a relieved sigh. He was definitely too drunk for this subterfuge business, he decided.
Voltaire said
You know, I think Marassa and Blade would make great friends. You know, if she wasn't such a bitch I mean.:p
She was a total bitch to Sevari when they first met, and she ended up falling in love with him. ;D
Once she gets to know people and they prove to be more than idiots, she can be quite agreeable.
Oh! Post is up!
Posted without comment.
As Urzoth reluctantly removed her armour with Marassa’s help, the khajiit listened to her justifications for her actions. She let the orc finish the final steps as she began work on her face, her hands glowing with a healing aura as Marassa concentrated on the restoration spells that had saved her own life on more than a few occasions in the past. The swelling and lacerations on Urzoth’s face began to fade as the spell augmented the orc’s own natural healing process, accelerating it remarkably. “Nobody plans to die.” Marassa said, focusing on a large gash under the orc’s eye. The bleeding stopped shortly after. “They just end up doing it regardless when they don’t plan ahead.” When Urzoth bade the argonian her version of a compliment, Marassa snorted. “I make a point of not being pummeled by people, especially when they are particularly inclined to stab me. And I don’t presume to know what goes through any stranger’s mind; it’s harder to be surprised that way. I should point out that he was walking away to calm himself; you should know, anger makes people have outbursts and exposes glimpses of themselves through their defenses. It’s how I determined Sevari was more than just a typical assassin, it’s how I’ll find out if Coin Purse is going to be an effective alley or a disposable berserker. Given his reputation, I’m rather surprised he harbours any loyalty to people, especially when he barely knows them.” She said, finishing up with the face before working on the wounds on the orc’s torso. It was her way of keeping a distance from people, and by tripping them up verbally, she could figure out if she needed to be concerned about companions. If they couldn’t handle a few verbal barbs, then what’s to say they could handle prolonged emotional turmoil? By causing reactions, she learned bits and pieces about strangers that could mean everything or nothing at all. It was not something that engendered her to having friends, but she didn’t need friends. She needed to know who she could depend on to make decisions based on logic and long-term foresight, not emotional impulses.
“Look, we’re in uncertain territory without a leader and most of the people here have little motivation to push on, or to follow their own agendas. Two years ago, the lot of you that followed Zaveed had a common cause and someone who gave you a conduit to pour your anger. We don’t have that right now, and the only thing these people have in common is my brother convinced them to get involved in something very stupid. He’s gone now, and we’re starting to see the ropes of this union fraying. You, Cub, and myself need to be able to support one another while figuring out how to engender some form of union with these people. I’m no leader, Urzoth; people don’t listen to me unless I force them to. You’ve commanded your own people for long enough to know how to force loyalty. Use that. If nobody steps up to the mantle of leadership, it might fall to you if you like it or not. That means don’t try to beat people down because I provoke them, instead try to guide that anger towards something useful. None of us are Zaveed, and that’s a good thing; we’re not going to try to pull these people to an early death because it seems like the glorious thing to do.” She said, observing her handiwork over the orc’s rough and scarred flesh. “I’m going to find a stream to collect some water to clean off the blood.” She said, rising to her feet and returning to the keep for a moment, finding an old bucket and some old tattered clothes in a chest before heading out into the rain again.
Following her sensitive ears and smell, it wasn’t long before she found a stream of water cascading over some rocks. Slipping the bucket under the stream, she looked around, sensing something off. Dagger in hand, Marassa walked carefully down the bank, searching for… what, exactly? She caught sight of it shortly after, drawing a low hiss from the khajiit when she realized it was a body slumped against a tree. It smelled wrong, somehow. Carefully approaching, Marassa looked around before crouching next to the cavader, who unnervingly was dressed in similar Alik’r armour as the men they had travelled with to Skyrim. Investigating the corpse in the low light, she felt the warmth drain from her body as her eyes widened in surprise and fear.
A pair of circular bite marks in the jugular. Vampires.
People went missing unexpectedly over the flight from Hammerfell, their bodies never found and no sign of battle or struggle was ever apparent. There was a lingering feeling of being hunted the entire way, and while few voiced their concerns given the ultimate fear of the dwemer, there was certainly something unnerving going on. The body was left here as a calling card, Marassa was certain of it. A scrap of paper was evident in the Redguard man’s breast pocket. The khajiit gingerly pulled it out and read the note, written crudely in what was either ink or, as its faint iron scent implied, dried blood.
Darkness falls tonight.
Marassa fled from the corpse, note in hand, as she raced back to the camp. Looking at the others, she held the note out. “We need to leave. Now.” She said.
“Look, we’re in uncertain territory without a leader and most of the people here have little motivation to push on, or to follow their own agendas. Two years ago, the lot of you that followed Zaveed had a common cause and someone who gave you a conduit to pour your anger. We don’t have that right now, and the only thing these people have in common is my brother convinced them to get involved in something very stupid. He’s gone now, and we’re starting to see the ropes of this union fraying. You, Cub, and myself need to be able to support one another while figuring out how to engender some form of union with these people. I’m no leader, Urzoth; people don’t listen to me unless I force them to. You’ve commanded your own people for long enough to know how to force loyalty. Use that. If nobody steps up to the mantle of leadership, it might fall to you if you like it or not. That means don’t try to beat people down because I provoke them, instead try to guide that anger towards something useful. None of us are Zaveed, and that’s a good thing; we’re not going to try to pull these people to an early death because it seems like the glorious thing to do.” She said, observing her handiwork over the orc’s rough and scarred flesh. “I’m going to find a stream to collect some water to clean off the blood.” She said, rising to her feet and returning to the keep for a moment, finding an old bucket and some old tattered clothes in a chest before heading out into the rain again.
Following her sensitive ears and smell, it wasn’t long before she found a stream of water cascading over some rocks. Slipping the bucket under the stream, she looked around, sensing something off. Dagger in hand, Marassa walked carefully down the bank, searching for… what, exactly? She caught sight of it shortly after, drawing a low hiss from the khajiit when she realized it was a body slumped against a tree. It smelled wrong, somehow. Carefully approaching, Marassa looked around before crouching next to the cavader, who unnervingly was dressed in similar Alik’r armour as the men they had travelled with to Skyrim. Investigating the corpse in the low light, she felt the warmth drain from her body as her eyes widened in surprise and fear.
A pair of circular bite marks in the jugular. Vampires.
People went missing unexpectedly over the flight from Hammerfell, their bodies never found and no sign of battle or struggle was ever apparent. There was a lingering feeling of being hunted the entire way, and while few voiced their concerns given the ultimate fear of the dwemer, there was certainly something unnerving going on. The body was left here as a calling card, Marassa was certain of it. A scrap of paper was evident in the Redguard man’s breast pocket. The khajiit gingerly pulled it out and read the note, written crudely in what was either ink or, as its faint iron scent implied, dried blood.
Darkness falls tonight.
Marassa fled from the corpse, note in hand, as she raced back to the camp. Looking at the others, she held the note out. “We need to leave. Now.” She said.
I love these things! :D Also, I'm going to get working on a post tonight. Probably won't be long, but I do feel like I need to make myself known again. Been slackin'.
Marassa:
1. Your character has come upon an incredibly powerful weapon/wearable item that seems like it was tailored specifically for them. However, before finding it, they found a notice from a poor family claiming the item as a lost family heirloom. They could offer no reward other than gratitude and a sizable portion of the gold they'd made from selling their harvest, maybe 50 Septims. The heirloom itself is well worth much more.
I'm not about to go out of my way to return a trinket to people who should have held closer vigil on something they claim was so important. They cannot seriously expect people to act with good intentions when this is not a world with heroes. Everyone serves their own interests, it's just the way things are. The item has no real value to me, but it may prove useful. Better it be in the hands of someone it can help than collecting dust on a bookshelf.
2. Your character has been hired, or picked up a bounty, to clear out a den of bandits and show the Jarl/Count the chief's distinctive ring for reward. Upon entering the den, you discover that the chief has convinced teenagers and children, orphans, to fight for him, and they are fanatical but very weak fighters. They could easily slow you down enough to let the chief escape into hiding if you do not mow them down, and if you sprint past them to go for the chief there is a chance they could flank you while you fight him.
Anyone who doesn't believe youth are capable of making their own choices are naive. If any hinder me, I will dispatch any that come between me and my goal. It is a measure of mercy, killing these fanatics who accost me. Being used by a bandit group is a quick way to an early death, or worse. There's no difference between a child and a man who wields a sword, save for how strong he can swing it. Never hesitate if you must act.
3. Your character is wandering down the streets of Windhelm at night when a drunkard stumbles out of a nearby tavern, clearly smashed. He collides headfirst into you, and spills his ale all over your clothing. He barely acknowledges you, does not apologize, and prepares to continue lumbering on with his chortling, obnoxious drinking companions in tow.
An irritation, but the man is out of his wits and clearly not being malevolent. A night of merriment should not end in violence, especially since Windhelm is not a place that is welcoming for outsiders such as myself. It is best to keep a low profile and not draw attention to myself. Clothes can be cleaned, risking being beaten senseless in the street and carted off to jail is not worth a lapse of judgement.
4. A very noisy beggar in the Imperial City has been sitting in the Market District the past few days, crying out to any passerby about his aching leg or starving wife. A guard has been stationed in the same area as him, keeping a watchful eye for the opportunity to drag him off and cease his begging. Your character is browsing the Market District when you come upon the beggar, who resumes his usual moaning, and finally the guard approaches you, whether or not you have given money to the beggar, and whispers, "That man has been here for days, but I can't arrest him because all he's doing is making noise. I'll give you the gold he's made today if you give me an excuse to drag him off, say he hit you or something. You'll be doing the public a favor."
It is not my concern, either way. I would find the guard detestable for his corruption, and the beggar is simply doing what he must to be noticed. There are better ways to get coin that do not require worthlessly moping in the streets.
Marassa:
1. Your character has come upon an incredibly powerful weapon/wearable item that seems like it was tailored specifically for them. However, before finding it, they found a notice from a poor family claiming the item as a lost family heirloom. They could offer no reward other than gratitude and a sizable portion of the gold they'd made from selling their harvest, maybe 50 Septims. The heirloom itself is well worth much more.
I'm not about to go out of my way to return a trinket to people who should have held closer vigil on something they claim was so important. They cannot seriously expect people to act with good intentions when this is not a world with heroes. Everyone serves their own interests, it's just the way things are. The item has no real value to me, but it may prove useful. Better it be in the hands of someone it can help than collecting dust on a bookshelf.
2. Your character has been hired, or picked up a bounty, to clear out a den of bandits and show the Jarl/Count the chief's distinctive ring for reward. Upon entering the den, you discover that the chief has convinced teenagers and children, orphans, to fight for him, and they are fanatical but very weak fighters. They could easily slow you down enough to let the chief escape into hiding if you do not mow them down, and if you sprint past them to go for the chief there is a chance they could flank you while you fight him.
Anyone who doesn't believe youth are capable of making their own choices are naive. If any hinder me, I will dispatch any that come between me and my goal. It is a measure of mercy, killing these fanatics who accost me. Being used by a bandit group is a quick way to an early death, or worse. There's no difference between a child and a man who wields a sword, save for how strong he can swing it. Never hesitate if you must act.
3. Your character is wandering down the streets of Windhelm at night when a drunkard stumbles out of a nearby tavern, clearly smashed. He collides headfirst into you, and spills his ale all over your clothing. He barely acknowledges you, does not apologize, and prepares to continue lumbering on with his chortling, obnoxious drinking companions in tow.
An irritation, but the man is out of his wits and clearly not being malevolent. A night of merriment should not end in violence, especially since Windhelm is not a place that is welcoming for outsiders such as myself. It is best to keep a low profile and not draw attention to myself. Clothes can be cleaned, risking being beaten senseless in the street and carted off to jail is not worth a lapse of judgement.
4. A very noisy beggar in the Imperial City has been sitting in the Market District the past few days, crying out to any passerby about his aching leg or starving wife. A guard has been stationed in the same area as him, keeping a watchful eye for the opportunity to drag him off and cease his begging. Your character is browsing the Market District when you come upon the beggar, who resumes his usual moaning, and finally the guard approaches you, whether or not you have given money to the beggar, and whispers, "That man has been here for days, but I can't arrest him because all he's doing is making noise. I'll give you the gold he's made today if you give me an excuse to drag him off, say he hit you or something. You'll be doing the public a favor."
It is not my concern, either way. I would find the guard detestable for his corruption, and the beggar is simply doing what he must to be noticed. There are better ways to get coin that do not require worthlessly moping in the streets.
I haven't started a post, mainly because I wanted to see if anyone else had something coming up, but I suppose we can start getting this taco stand on the road. If you two have plots, feel free to take lead! Far be it from me to stifle creativity.
Nyxie's proposed route looks fine, although I don't particularly think it was that big of a deal. We're hardly going to write about each step of the way to Falkreath.
Also, ideas involving characters, eh? Shoot me a line. I'm darn curious.
Nyxie's proposed route looks fine, although I don't particularly think it was that big of a deal. We're hardly going to write about each step of the way to Falkreath.
Also, ideas involving characters, eh? Shoot me a line. I'm darn curious.
Hooray! There they all are! :D
Off to the front page with them!
Off to the front page with them!
WittyReference said
I may not show it all the time but I'm thankful for you guys. I guess now is as good a time as any, I've spoken to Dervs and Cairo a bit as to keeping in sporadic contact but I'll be away for longer than I expected. I'm moving somewhere for a while without internet (don't worry it's not prison :p) but library's are a thing and Cairo can text me if you guys need to use Cub as a plot device or kill him off permanently; they now how I want Cub to go out ;pSo I'll do my best to pop around here and there but if I don't see you for a while know I'm very thankful for our time together. Even 'Sion though I'll never admit it again.
Fare thee well, my friend. It's been a pleasure and I'll miss your esteemed company and participation in this here shindig. Do try to say hi when you can, and I do regret that you won't be able to carry on this journey with us... you're a gentleman and a scholar. May your roads lead you to warm sands.
That bitch is the bane of my existence. :[
By the way, Egypt is a beast at Smash Bros. Beating him the few rounds I did was a better feeling than finding long lost money in a coat pocket, I tell you.
By the way, Egypt is a beast at Smash Bros. Beating him the few rounds I did was a better feeling than finding long lost money in a coat pocket, I tell you.
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