Dervish

Best way to make an in depth character

Just adding a bit of an exception for what others brought up in regards to leaving some information to the imagination or to be a surprise, if it's something major about your character, pass your ideas by the GMs first. Personally I encourage players to PM me if they have stuff they want to keep hidden from their character sheets and thus other players, but if your character is in fact a secretly ultra rich baron who knows forbidden magic while being related to the Space Emperor with a pet dragon, I rather find out about it before the game starts so I can work with you to make your ideas work or explain why they don't fit or give an unfair advantage, and I certainly don't want to find out 10 pages in a roleplay about something I wasn't privy to.

Ellri pretty much covered the gist of what I'd recommend, but a lot of it just boils down to cause and effect and making a character be consistent and grounded. What I mean is if your character has skills or talents, briefly explore how they learned them. If your character has certain fears or interests, what happened in their life to develop that? Just keep that train of thought in mind while writing a character, even if you don't write down everyhing in the bio, you should always know how a character came to be. Give them a reason for being who they are.

Which brings me to keeping things grounded. Unless you're joining a game where it's deliberately over the top or fantastical, don't be afraid to make most of their experiences mundane. I think a lot of people get it in their heads they need to have a character who is exceptional at things because they don't want their characters to lose or be at a disadvantage, and I have seen way too many traumatic childhood stories full of dead parents and torture to wonder why the cute little hobbit girl doesn't go around dressing like Reaper.

Try giving them parents, a family. Figure out a way for them to go out into the world on their own accord and learn hard lessions from choices they make. Characters can fail and mess up, as well as have typical experiences and still be compelling. The best characters are the ones who still have room to grow and develop as people and learn new skills. A character who is always stagnant and never is forced to challenge their world view is kind of boring. Always let situations in a roleplay have the potential to offer avenues for different perspectives and growth.

For example, I have a character who was trained to be an assassin to infiltrate a king's court since his youth and he spent years undercover until ordered to act. Only when he did make the move, his attempt was botched and he accidently killed his only real friend he made while undercover and nearly died after being cut down by the guards and left for dead. Since recovering, he's vowed to never take a life again and try to earn his second chance at life and honour his slain friend. However in the roleplay where he is a part of a mercenary company trying to survive an invasion, he is constantly going through extreme situations that are driving him to take drastic actions and he is struggling with his moral code since he is seeing situations where taking a life might be necessary to protect the people he cares about and innocent people who are caught up in the war. He has so far been able to follow his personal code, and he genuinely is trying to act selflessly for others, but there may come a time where he will be forced to kill and he is terrified of that and the "old him" coming back in the name of survival. A big part of his story arc is seeing if he can maintain his sense of self and morality when the entire world seems to be falling apart, and a past he's deeply ashamed of may be better suited for him to protect the attachments he never expected to form and the oaths he has sworn.

Point I'm trying to illustrate with that character is it's good to have them be challenged and struggle because of their life experiences and morality, even if they're in a situation that contradicts what they stand for. I really feel like people gravitate to dark and edgy characters who were tormented and somehow turned into remorseless killers, and it gets really tiresome to read because those characters never have anything more than superficial depth in most cases and they never really change and adapt and every conflict is met with heaps of ultra violence or otherwise over the top aggression. Tropes and cliches can be done well and convincingly, but a big part is to try and take the setting into account and ask yourself how your character feels about certain things, and try and give them a variety of opinions and experiences that make them feel like a real person.

The last thing I want to mention is to give your characters flaws and redeeming factors. Maybe they're illiterate or suffering from an old injury, maybe their warrior's code is super inflexible or they're afraid of lightning and old people. Maybe despite being a master thief or highway man, maybe they are supporting a loved one or volunteer at a soup kitchen. Maybe they're creatures of bad habits and can't help themselves, and despite noble attempts to reform, they're prone to relapse or addicion. Don't be afraid to make things hard for your character; we all have flaws and shortcomings, and it doesn't make us any less unique or interesting as people.

Tombs & Treks: A Pulp Roleplay

Throwing in for some tenative interest. I haz idears.

How to get interest in your interest checks?

You definitely need to give people enough information to know what they're in for.

Outline the setting, do some world building of sorts and answer the "who, what, where, when, why" of what the game's about, including what the player characters are supposed to be, as well as outlining generally what kind of conflict is going on, or at least what the story is going to be about. Treat it kind of like the summary of a novel, just with more game-oriented direction. Coming up with a hook should help.

You should also state what your standards are, so like casual, 2 paragraphs, whatever. Also keep in mind that zombies/ most apocalyptic RPs are pretty over-represented, so you will have to really try and sell people on why your game is different than a lot of the other ones, and having a clear goal can help a lot with that. If an RP is just about aimless survival, you probably aren't going to have a lot of retained interest; you need to have goals for people to work towards. Maybe it's something like trying to get to the coast, or a rumour of a safe haven, or even a way to stop the infection. It doesn't have to be anything substantial, but it does need to be there, otherwise you will end up with a few rounds of posts without any real progression of a story.

New RPer here

Hello all! I'm very new to forum role playing, but I'm a huge fan of D&D, and I stumbled across this place and thought I might as well join! Besides D&D I also like TES and other role playing video games.

Thanks for reading! :)

@TiredKhajiit

There's literally going to be a major TES roleplay being dropped into the world in a very short order in the Advanced section you should keep your eye out for, so good timing! Also welcome to the guild!

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

@Stormflyx I read it over again with those critiques in mind, she looks good to go! Welcome to the party, move 'er over to the character tab and post at your leisure. I'll link you the Discord ASAP!

Let's Gush!

@Stormflyx Aww shucks, this was the nicest thing to wake up to. Glad you're happy and thank you for the kind words! You're pretty fantabulous yourself, dontchaknow.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Several Rounds Later

---

_{A devious collab with the scallywags @POOHEAD189, @Greenie, @Macabrefox and I.}

The Merchants Inn, the evening of arriving in the city...

"Give up already." Brynja said, laughing through gritted teeth. Her opponent, a rather rotund drunken Redguard, struggled in vain to get her arm to budge. He had a thinning crown of white curly hair, now slick with sweat. Glistening drops slid down his temples, his eyes nearly crossed with exasperation.

"Can't - I won't lose to a woman." He grunted, a vein running through his forehead bulged at the pressure.

"You're... just going to hurt yourself, old man." She hiccupped once, then pinned his arm to the table top. His black eyes were wide in disbelief. He had lost, and to a woman at that. Brynja could feel the heat in her cheeks as she grinned, she had lost track of how many mugs of ale she consumed, how many times the pitcher had been refilled. The Redguard claimed himself, and retreated into the throng of onlookers. 

"Ay, Brynja," the familiar voice of Cassius caught her attention, wherein she turned to see him approaching her, a grin just as big plastered on his face.

"Cassius!" She said, louder than necessary.

"That was the last one for the night." He slapped her on the shoulder, "I've not seen this inn as crowded as this since the last major fight in the Arena three months ago! You've done a splendid job, come. Let's get some food in you, I've got another pitcher waiting for you at the counter." Leaving Brynja to stagger to her feet, and follow him through the crowd of people. There were patrons who elbowed each other in the ribs at her passing, she could hear their taunts amongst their companions.

"I bet you could take her!" or "Ha! She'd crush you in a heartbeat." 

Despite the words, Brynja kept her grin as she settled onto a barstool at the counter. Her entire body was flushed from the exertion, and from the copious amount of alcohol she had already consumed. What was it, seven or eight pitchers? Her eyes followed Cassius as he disappeared into the kitchen, where he emerged shortly with a plate piled full of food. Her mouth watered instantaenously at the sight alone.

"Eat up! Let me grab you a pitcher." Cassius slipped away again, leaving Brynja to dive into her plate of food. She tore into a warm bread roll, and with the other hand reached for goat leg. She alternated between the two until there was nothing left. By now, Cassius had returned with the pitcher as promised, and set it down before her. He leaned on the counter top, watching her as she filled her mug.

"I'll be damned, Brynja. You helped me bring in over five-hundred septims worth tonight. And the rest of my patrons are just as eager for tomorrow evening." 

"Good," she said before lifting the mug to her lips and taking a hearty drink, "I'll be sure to do the same as tonight."

"Hold that thought," Cassius said, he peered past her shoulder before grinning, "I've got some newcomers to attend. If you see Danica, tell her I'm looking for her." And with that, the barkeep had disappeared around the counter, and out into the throng of people behind her. Danica was the barmaid, a new girl, and not very good at her job. But Brynja only had concern for the mug in her hand. She sighed, her shoulders sagging as she cradled her chin in the palm of her hand, and her eyes drifted down to the amber liquid in the mug.

Now that she was all alone at the bar, the exhaustion settled in. She wasn't used to interacting with so many people in one night. Hell, she could barely think a clear thought, much less speak without slurring her words. Yet deep inside, she could still feel that haunting ache that gripped her heart. The guilt. A shadow that followed her every step, that whispered softly in her ear. And that's why she drank. She drank to forget, to drown her guilty conscience, to hide her feelings. She raised the mug again to her lips, emptying the contents in one final gulp.

Taking the seat next to Brynja and setting his lute in front him, taking extra care to brush any dirt- real or imagined- off of the body of it, Latro smiled at the Nord mooning into her tankard. Truth be told, Latro had an odd fondness for the big Nord, maybe that was because she was the one to heal him back in the Dwemer ruins. He set down three septims on the bartop, “Colovian Whiskey, two fingers.” He said to the barkeep before he set himself to his task.

”Hello, my friend.” He smiled to Brynja, waiting for his drink.

At the sound of Latro's voice, Brynja pulled herself from the depths of her mug, and raised her brow at the sight of him, a slow smile crawled across her lips, "L-latro," She said through slurred speech, her head bobbed as she refilled her mug. "I didn't expect *hic* to see you here." 

She washed her words down with another gulp of ale, "I hope... you're feeling better." She returned the mug to the countertop, a bit too brusquely as ale sloshed out.

Just then, Cassius returned with Latro's drink order, "Here you are." 

"I'll have another beer," a voice piped in from the other side of Brynja.

Meg had entered the inn while Brynja had been in the midst of beating all sorts of fellows. After Judena had shown her and Latro around the University and helped with familiarizing themselves with the city, she had decided to take a chance and wander about, taking in the various sites and noting them down in her mind. It had occured to her that maybe Judena was rather smart to keep writing material on her person at all times; even if Meg's writing was appaling, she could still very well draw out a map of the places she was passing and note the landmarks down. 

Before any extra spending, however, she'd wanted some food and a night's rest on a proper bed. And so she found herself in the Merchant's Inn. She couldn't have said she was surprised by the affair; in all honestly those men were stupid wasting their money once they'd seen two or three fail. But that was honour and pride she supposed... or just being a bunch of idiots. It had been quite amusing, watching from her own table and cheering her fellow Nord on. In fact... it had been somewhat lucrative as well for the younger Nord, making some money off winning bets against silly persons who decided Brynja wouldn't be able to beat the last few fellows. 

By that time Meg had finished both her meal and her second mug of beer; seeing Latro was there as well, she'd decided to go meet up with the two.

"Ya sure showed them!" she added in Brynja's direction, a grin on her face, leg twitching excitedly as she talked.

"Megana!" What a night this was turning out to be, first Latro, and now Megana had arrived out of nowhere. "W-well, someone told me I'm a bit loose... with my money. So I decided to make some until Rhea paid us." She reached out to the younger Nord, and clasped her on the shoulder.

"Besides, free beer and free board." She chuckled a bit to herself, "What are you doing out at this time of night?"

"Findin' a place for the night, and a meal." Meg decided not to mention at the moment that she might have made money off Brynja, unsure how the older Nord would take it. "I don't really have a home 'round here an' all. Besides, if you're gonna be here as well then I might as well keep it permanent 'til I gotta leave. Better to be 'round people I actually know, right?" She looked over at Latro. "Are you stayin' here as well?"

Meanwhile

Danica giggled, her face flushed as Alim whispered in her ear, his voice honeyed and sultry. The pretty young barmaid tilted her head just enough to expose her neck, and she bit her tongue as Alim leaned in closer. 

"Hey!" 

Danica's eyes went wide like saucers, and Alim was suddenly 2 feet away as if he had never even been within scandalous distance. Cassius strode up, eyeing Danica and shooting a skeptical look at Alim. The Redguard Breton bastard stood with a regal poise and a respective look on his face.

"My good woman." Alim began, his accent cultured. "I am so sorry for bumping into you. Sleep has addled my mind. I would like two pints of the finest ale please."

Danica  was not nearly as good at acting, her neck still tingling from his hot breath and her utter surprise of being discovered brought a shock to her senses. "Um uh, y-yes right away." she breathed, hurrying off to fetch the ale, her strawberry blonde hair bouncing as she did so. "Excuse me." 

Alim raised his brow and leaned back on the bar counter, his elbows resting. Cassius shook his head, and nodded over to the table with the others. "Everyone else is over there." 

Alim grinned, knowing his facade was up. "Don't blame her." He said honestly, gesturing toward where Danica went. "She really was attentative and ready to take my order. I just started a conversation and...well I cannot help myself sometimes." 

"As long as it doesn't happen again." Cassius sighed and shoo'ed him away. Alim practically hopped out of Cassius' vicinity and pulled up a chair with the others as if they had already invited him. "So, what are we discussing?"

"Oh,  Alim, didn' see you come in!" Meg turned to look his way, greeting him with a smile. It was nice to meet up with the friendlier folks of their group once more. "Nothin' in particular, drinkin' and wonderin' where the night's gonna be spent." With her new beer finally arriving, she took a large gulp, licking her lips once she set it back down.

"Alim?" Brynja teetered in her seat as she turned to look at him, "Alim!" She crowed, she slapped him hard on the back, a bit too hard perhaps.

"We are... discussing, as it would appear... in this erroneous arrangement, that the topic of home is of great importance." She hiccuped as she finished her mug of ale. Brynja refilled the wooden mug with what was left in the pitcher, and pushed it away from her to signal that she was in need of a refill.

"I... have no home. Family in Whiterun, of course, but I am damned certain that my mother is very... unhappy with my behaviour. SO. I've no intentions of returning," she lifted her mug in a cheer, "To the limits of unbound freedom!" She held out her mug for those around her to clank their mugs against.

"My Pa's in Whiterun too, but I can't go an' stay with him, he got himself a wife an' another child, a boy." Meg looked momentarily grumpy as she took another gulp. "Marne didn' like me 'round the place much- I'd stay in the inn when I was there. Pa'd go along with it an'... bah, I didn' wanna cause trouble."

"Really? Then we might have more in common than I thought." Brynja's brows raised at Meg sharing a home in Whiterun. "If you have heard, my mother is Eydis WhiteHand. Runs a small apothecary shop in town. Though, as first born daughter, she placed a lot of weight on me. Expected me to become some type of fuckin' lady or something like that. 'Course that's hard to do when your daughter is six feet at the age of four-and-ten.Ran off in the war, looking for my brother, Ivor is his name, enlisted as a field hand. Had to patch men and women up, most died. Ma didn't like that at all, eh? Only made it worse when I came back, alive, and not even months later, I found myself serving Rorik Bone-Breaker, Thane of Windhelm. And from there everything became a downward spiral, mistake after mistake. Why bother going home when your family knows you're a good for nothing lout?" She lifted her mug to Meg, "I'll drink to that, disappointed families with nowheres to go." Brynja held a lopsided grin, yet there lay a distinctive shadow in her eyes, an aching in her heart that she could not.

Meg returned the grin with one of her own before finishing off her drink in one glug. Her life didn't sound so terrible, and least not in the way that she disappointed her father. He'd always been there for her when she was young and needed him... well, most of the time. 

"I didn't know my Ma much," she continued as she stared at her now empty mug. "She died when I was small. Pa took whatever care he could of me. Him an' Ma, before I was born, they used t'do go 'round doin' the same thing I am. Well, kinda.. er... a little. They were more... uh... what's the word..." She waved her hand in a careless manner, mind a little vacant for words. "People'd pay 'em to keep 'em safe." She set her mug down before rapping on the chestplate she still had on. "This was my Ma's, and my sword too." She scratched a little at the armour before shaking her head. "More beer here!"

"Sellswords. That's what I am now." Brynja said, Cassius came back around, and this time he replaced set a fresh pitcher down in front of her. "I lost my Pa in the war. Wulfgar. And my brother, Jorrid. Both of them ran off to join the Stormcloaks. I have a little sister, Elyse, and she had a twin brother, Mige. He died before his sixth name day." She rested a heavy hand on Meg's shoulder.

"I'm sorry about your Ma, Megana. Death is a bitter thing. For some, it takes our nearest and dearest away too soon, and for others, well, we have ghosts that haunt us." Brynja poured herself another drink, before sliding the pitcher towards Meg, "Cassius will be a minute, so help yourself."

Meg's eyes brightened at the sight of the pitcher, quickly refilling her mug once more. It had been a while since she drank; at least this time it was with others around to stop her if she went overboard... or not.

"What about the rest of you? Latro? Alim? What of your families?" 

"I prefer not to think of home too much." Alim declared casually, reclining in his chair and taking generous sips of his ale. He took a deep breath through his nose after a moment however, and leaned forward. "But I suppose if I had to say, it's fairly similar to Meg's story. Only I was taken from my mother in Hammerfell, and raised as a bastard of a Breton lord. My father." 

He placed an elbow on the table, and then another. His free hand poised and his drinking hand heartily holding his mug. "I guess my life was not terrible growing up, but it wasn't what I wished for either. I left it long ago to make my own way. It's been good so far, albeit volatile." He ended the last sentence with a wink. 

"That explains it." Brynja said with a solemn nod, her eyes attempting to study Alim, attempt being key as she continued to sway. "I couldn't tell what you were. A Redguard clearly. But no wonder you make the ladies swoon over you. You're like Latro over here, eh? Got that Breton charm in your blood." 

Latro chuckled at Brynja's offhand comment about Alim and Latro's...appeal. Cassius had set down his whiskey a few moments ago but Latro took his first drink while thinking on what exactly to say to the question. The subject of home was a touchy one for him if anything past the city name were asked. It was a lie painfully stilted on half-truths. He sighed, "I was born in Camlorn to a well-off family, aristocrats, if you will. I was never close to my father, he wanted a son that was more... well, more," he gestured to his person with an awkward smirk, "But I made my way. I left home years ago, started traveling in the endeavor to find myself. I met my mentor somewhere along the roads between Wayrest and Daggerfall and he introduced me to the finest bards he knew, as well exposed me to the fount of his knowledge on dueling."

"I consider that man more of a father than my blood one. He and I parted ways in Bruma not too long before I first came to what was once our camp. The rest is history." Latro smiled and took another sip of his whiskey. "You served as a housecarl, a position in Skyrim that has no shortage of songs written about everyone who's held the title since Jorrun the Skald-King's time? No one who's done that could be a good for nothing lout." Latro smiled as best he could, "At least you had purpose in that. I've known worse folk, I can tell you that. I wouldn't hesitate to, uh, let you stand at my back so the world may not overtake us, as the Companions of Jorrvaskr say."

"Purpose is only good if you believe in what you're doing. When you lose that, what else is there?" She grumbled to herself, "Well, I'll give you my word on that. If you ever need protecting, or healing for that matter, you can count on me to be there." 

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you're stalking me, Brynja." Daro'Vasora said, having arrived at the counter, taking a seat next to Latro with a drink in hand she clearly didn't pay for. With the amount of people and unattended drinks laying around, it really was a paradise for five fingered discounts.

"Afraid not, I had my own intentions on coming here tonight." Her tone was a bit cold, an indication of her lighthearted attitude souring at the arrival of Daro'Vasora, her smile dissipating as she remembered the Khajiit's surprised expression. She had asked Vasora to give Zegol the flowers, instead of doing it herself. And Vasora made it seem as if she had decapitated a dozen kittens before her.

The Khajiit looked down the row at the others, wondering if there was an invitation that she somehow missed out on. A pang of envy and regret came and went with a heartbeat. It seemed to be a more spontaneous gathering rather than anything planned, and she wasn't exactly trying to keep in the graces of most of the people here. At least Durantel was nowhere to be seen; the Altmer probably carved Thalmor jargon on minorities to remind himself of home.

"I trust you all are enjoying all the Imperial City has to offer. What's the occasion?" she asked, skeptically eyeing a bowl of pretzels a bit out of reach. They probably had been sitting there for some time.

Alim wiped a bit of the froth off the corner of his mouth, giving an inviting smile to Daro'Vasora. He always felt somewhat comfortable and trusting with Khajiit from his time in their tropical homeland. He didn't know why that stuck out in his mind, but it had and he always felt a certain camraderie. "Just good timing and favor of the divines." Alim said to her, indicating how they all ended up here. 

"How about you? Tired of roaming about?"

"The Divines have a peculiar sense of humour." She murmoured in response, electing to shove the pretzels further away to eliminate the temptation. "And of course not, this just happens to be home. It's worth remembering you have somewhere to go back to between journeys."

Alim hesitated by how she spoke, giving a slight squint of his eyes as they twinkled with a curious amusement. "By your home, do you mean this fine establishment, or the Imperial City?" He asked, wondering what tale she would have to tell if it was the latter. 

"What, you think I'm a drunkard who spends more time in a tavern than at home?" Daro'Vasora challenged with mock indignance. 

At first Alim felt as if he'd mispoken, but he knew a jest when he heard one. He was made of those! Feigning nonchalance, he sipped his drink. "The thought crossed my mind." But after a silence, he gave a grin showing he was kidding. Placing his drink down, he slapped the table. "You never said you came from here! Or...not in my presence."

The Khajiit gestured for the barkeep to head her way, turning from Alim for the time being. "You never asked." she pointed out flatly, resting her elbows on the counter and cradling her fingers. 

Meanwhile... 

Meg was conveniently ignoring the conversation taking place, her eye on the pitcher Brynja had so generously allowed her to partake from. Her sorry ol' mug was empty yet again, the dratted thing. "Bah." Green eyes glancing about in a shifty manner, teeth biting down on her bottom lip in dire concentration, the still somewhat sneaky Nord pulled the pitcher closer to her with every word the others said, until at last it sat right before her. Grinning at her success, she brought it up to her lips and took a long, liberating swig, ignoring the beer that escaped her mouth and dripped down the sides of her chin.

Latro had been pulled from the conversation at hand by the slightest bit of movement. At first, he thought it a trick of the eye, what with all the bustling of the other patrons and the bartender attending them. Then he was sure, the pitcher moved farther away, but only a hair's breadth. He watched its journey to the end, where it sat straight before Meg and she wasted no time in enjoying the pilfered pitcher by quoffing a good amount of it. He couldn't help but chuckle with a hand over his mouth, a canine pinning his lower lip down. The display definitely endeared Meg to him. If anything, this group he chose to travel with was turning out to be quite the bunch.

"Mind sharing that?" He leaned over with that easy smile and said just loud enough for her to hear as she placed the pitcher down on the bartop. "Our secret."

For a moment Meg was in comedic shock, eyes wide and mouth wide open, unable to fathom how her sneakiness had been so easily spotted and seen through. "Sh-share wha- oh..." The words secret were something she was more than familiar with hearing, and immediately brought her grin back to her face and a sparkle to her eyes.

"Psst," she whispered back. "If ya finish it without no one knowin', we could probably get more... they're givin' Brynja for free here!" With that said, she easily handed the pitcher over to him.

Brynja, who in the depths of her drunkennes, had no inkling as to the espionage occuring behind her back. Her eyes were focused on Vasora, swaying only slightly in her chair as she squared her shoulders.

"Someone once told me... that I'm a bit loose with my money. So I made a... proposition to the innkeeper. Give me free drinks, and board for two days, and I'll make him more money than what I ingest." She raised her eyebrow as she finished speaking. Though, to be quite certain, the expression on her face, one intended to impress, or rather hint at her capability of providing for herself despite her spending habits, was an over-exaggerated look. One that might appear more suave and deft, were she sober. But she looked a fool.

"Well, let me be the first to counter that, dear friend." Latro said with a smile, then a hand covered his chuckle which masked the fact he was wiping the last vestiges of ale from his pointed chin. Just that moment, before Brynja could think of turning to face him, the barkeep replaced the pitcher. "You are a fine haggler. We've barely put a dent in this pitcher here."

To Meg's credit, there wasn't much to finish off in the last pitcher, making it easy work for Latro to gulp down the bitter gold drink in mere moments. He winked to Meg and the two shared a smile at the harmless fun. Truth be told, he was beginning to like traveling with these people. He almost didn't want to think of the time close at hand that they'd all be parting ways. He at least hoped Brynja had given any more thought to his offer of traveling with him, and that Sora would keep in contact.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

I'm sure this has absolutely nothing to do with that thingermabob the party was playing with when they were dealing with overly affectionate Falmer.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

When the Sky Falls

26th Rain’s Hand, 4E208, early afternoon…

The three days had passed, lending a sense of relief for the party as the individuals finished their affairs in anticipation of the final supper and payout at Rhea’s mansion. For some, it had been a productive and enjoyable time off that allowed them a chance to to ease off of the events in the Jerall Mountains. The pain of loss still lingered, but no longer was it so acutely felt. The rumours had spread and news had reached Imperial City of the strange light to the North, as well as the destruction of an entire mountaintop, but nothing consistent had made the rounds. People spoke of anything from rogue mages experimenting to some devious Thalmor plot, but none seemed anywhere close to the mark. Even if anyone were to say what had actually transpired, it would probably have been met with a healthy dose of skepticism. Even Rhea had a hard time coming to terms with what had happened.

The mansion was strangely empty; Rhea had the run of the place to herself. Her two brothers and father had left on some business trip to Chorrol. She had the payment lined up in tidy coin purses along the dining hall’s long oaken table, trying to decide on what parting gifts she should add along with her commission. For Daro’Vasora, it was a set of new leather-bound journals and a inkpot and pen with a watertight bag. Latro would be receiving one of the copies of the tomes that she had procured from the Bard’s College with a selection of folk songs across Tamriel and the musical notation to go with it. Megana would receive a new quiver of Redguard make that was crafted for a horse archer. For Brynja, she had managed to find a golden amulet that had a magicka enchantment that would ideally help her maintain her healing. Gaius would receive a shield from the beginning of the 3rd Era, one of the old Imperial Guard shields with the steel framework and spike protruding from the center.

It was the rest she was having an issue with; most of the gifts were things from her personal collection that she was parting with, partially out of personal guilt, but also that she wanted to keep the survivors well off and contented going forward when they parted ways. She drank from a wine goblet again, her third of the afternoon, knowing full well she was being irresponsible. Try as she might, she could not shake the sense of guilt and responsibility for the deaths of the camp. All of the deaths were on her; she had hired them to go up there for the expedition, and she made the call to activate the machine knowing full well that there was no knowing what it would do. She had simply wanted to save the lives of her companions, and in the end, she traded their lives for dozens more. It was simply disgusting arithmetic she could not abide by, and if she could trade her life for theirs, she’d do so in an instant.

The goblet was empty before she realized, and she stared at her dulled reflection in the pewter for a few lingering moments. She could not change the past, but she could do better in the future. “To the living.” she vowed, pouring her 4th glass and taking a bite out of an end slice of bread as an appeasement to her body.

Heading into the hearth, she realized that she was lacking a few of the provisions she needed for supper that night for her guests, whom she genuinely hoped stayed for a while. Well, a trip to the market, then. There’s still a few hours yet. she thought, making a executive decision to grab her coin purse and dagger and pay the vendors a quick visit. To mask her breath, she found a mint leaf from the spice cabinet, chewing it over like a grazing animal for several minutes before discarding of it in a waste receptacle, and moments later, she found herself in the entirely too bright afternoon light.

The walk was a pleasant one, a warm spring breeze gave the impression of summer and the sky was barely without a cloud, and the streets seemed lively with people in finery and light, breezy clothing acting more alive than she’d seen in months. Considering the season, it was one of the few respites without rainfall. Even the guards seemed more relaxed, Rhea even caught sight of a couple with their helms tucked under their arms or shield resting on the ground, supported by a hand to keep it from toppling. It was easy to forget the unrest of the world, and for the first time in nearly two weeks, Rhea was beginning to feel free spirited.

Time seemed to settle as she strolled along the carts and stalls that somehow managed to clear up each night, and Rhea was inspecting a selection of herbs when a shadow crept across, darkening the market. Initially, she had mentally brushed it off as a cloud passing by. That feeling of mundane comfort passed quickly when a chorus of gasps and nervous murmouring broke out around her, and a Dunmeri-accented voice shouted, “What in Oblivion is [I]that?[I]”

The Imperial looked up towards the sky, following hundreds of other stares and found her mouth agape at what she beheld. Above, dozens of inexplicable shapes were bearing down towards the city, and Rhea’s eyes widened when she realized they were ships. Her mind scrambled to make sense of it all until a nagging part of her memories recalled the designs of airships in literature and scrolls she had come across, but she’d never found anything to substantiate that from an artist’s flight of fantasy, until now.

“This is impossible.” she spoke aloud, full well aware of how many impossible things she’d seen in her travels. The airships approached swifter than her mind was capable of coming to terms with what was happening. Plenty of people in the market began to flee; she realized that they had the right idea. Nothing about this felt right, and given what she’d seen in the Jerall Mountains, Rhea was not fond of coincidences. She took flight, catching the stream of fleeing and screaming people. Soon, the entire market was in full panic; warning bells and horns sounded from the tops of the Imperial City walls and guards who had once looked complacent were now on full alert, some feebly trying to impose order against those who would have none of it. She wasn’t far from home; she just had to make it there.

Soon, the sound of propellers and steam contraptions were well audible and three of the airships descended below the city walls. Large doors on either side of the ship opened and suddenly massive hulking armour like the Centurions appeared, leaping down from the doors, several meters from the ground. Where the fall would kill or cripple most, the figures, standing over 2 meters tall in heavy Dwemer alloy smashed into the ground, pistons, springs, and gears working in perfectly calibrated concert as the armoured figures stood upright; blue energy surged through piping across the mechanized frame. In each hand was a variety of weapons. Oversized repeater crossbows, long tubes with loading assemblies, shields, arm-mounted spikes, axes, swords, and mounts for soul gems were observed, and behind caged and helm like faces leered the approximation of a mer-like face, much like had been found forged upon the Centurions and carved into walls.

They groaned, power surging through the suits, and immediately began to move, bringing their weapons down on any that were unfortunate enough to be within range. The one with the large arm-mounted tubes were aimed and with a thunderous roar and a flash of light, a trio of citizens were cut down, their backs covered in numerous bloody holes by unseen projectiles. Legionnaires and guards beared down on the armoured figures, some being cleaved by massive blades or punctured by retractable spikes, another send flying through the air several meters before landing crumpled on the ground by a shield. The arm cannons fired again and burst through the armour like it was leather trying to stop a pike; the Empire’s finest were falling like children trying to stop a Dremora lord.

The airships had all but touched down now, and out poured dozens more troops, more clad like one would expect from the Dwemer, although their armour seemed to be much more streamlined and well-crafted. Some carried swords, shields, and spears, others carried strange short staffs like crossbows. These ones took up kneeling positions around the perimeter and the staffs exploded much like the mechanized cannons, and more citizens yet fell in a volley of fire. Rhea was shocked, and she managed to get away from the scene intact, unable to comprehend what was happening.

She needed to get to her home and prepare.

All around the Imperial City, more of these airships landed, and from them came very similar compositions of forces, although some deposited the automata; the spheres and spiders took to the streets to flush out the darkest corners, and technical troopers began depositing stands with large soul gems on top that lashed out with lightning if any came within range of it without the Dwemer alloys. The city was under siege, and it seemed the guard was powerless to stop it. The massive walls and water that surrounded the city were long the city’s best defense against the land, but nothing prepared anyone for what came above. There was a slaughter in the streets, and those who weren’t immediately cut down were rounded up by sentries.

While no one could have predicted or prepared for what was happening, one thing wasn’t in dispute; somehow, after thousands of years being vanquished from Nirn, the Dwemer had returned and all anyone could do was try and escape.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

I hope ya'll like your medics with a Machiavellian twist.

@Stormflyx