Frizan

B!tchfest: a healthy release for our non-roleplay annoyances.

I hate how the word queue is spelled. An entire half of the word is redundant!

B!tchfest: a healthy release for our non-roleplay annoyances.

Jesus Christ Almighty you're fucking worse than Gowi. At least Gowi can sound like they're being rational when moralizing.

Furor Titanicus

Merasmus the Wizened, has COME for your BOOKS!

FEAR the TERROR...of BOOKS!!!

Furor Titanicus

Night had fallen once more upon Galorand, the moon parting the clouds with a gentle red glow, a sight not quite befitting the peaceful kingdom. The only entities still roaming the streets below were late-working dockhands and the odd stray animal; all others had scurried inside, wishing to remain covered from the rain that smacked the brick walkways with considerable force. Porch sconces were extinguished, and lantern-carrying guards were far and few between at that hour; the only light came from the heavens above. Suddenly, a third-story window in the west wing of what could be called a small manor lit up with a sparking rainbow of colors as smoke billowed out steadily. The sounds of thunder punctuated the explosions echoing out of the vine-covered home, and a crazed cackle followed by a booming yell of triumph rang out...

"Ahahahaaa! Alive! It's ALIIIIIIIIIIIIVE! HAHAHAHA!"

With a satisfied smile, Merasmus spun around and put his precious potted springleaf stalk back on its shelf next to its blooming brothers and sisters, fully recovered from its formerly-withered state. He was absolutely delighted: His revival serum actually worked, and only with minor-severe damage to his equipment! Take THAT, Professor Garmesworth! One CAN fully restore withered vegetation without the use of coal dust! No more shall the good people of Galorand be forced to cure their vegetables that they grew with that quack, Machosky's, coal-based growth injections! Grabbing his journal, Merasmus hastily recorded the success of his experiment, and the alchemical composition of his serum. This was a most happy day indeed! He would need to celebrate...TO THE BRANDY CABINET!

After grabbing the best-aged bottle in his reserves, Merasmus strode with pride to his parlor, stoked the fires until they roared excellently, and sat down with his latest book in hand. Merasmus liked this one quite a bit. It was about a large group of mercenaries traveling all around a snowy land, battling it out with witchmen, hulking frost giants, and of course, their own hearts. "Such a lovely tale..." thought Merasmus. "...and such adventure! Perhaps one day I, too, shall find myself exploring frozen landscapes and encountering strange, new creatures!" Merasmus wondered about the lands outside of Galorand. Not that he didn't know what land was where, of course, he read all about the surrounding kingdoms, but he had never been to any of them himself. One cannot experience a thing by just reading about it, even Merasmus realized this. A book does not let you hear the accents of the native people, or taste of their cuisine, or explore their architecture. But Merasmus was so busy with his university work, how would he ever find the time to get out and travel? Perhaps he would just have to take a temporary leave. His colleagues would understand, surely, and besides, he has definitely earned some time off! But he would need to leave such thoughts for another time, as the hours grew later and later as he read...or perhaps it was the brandy. Either way, it was off to bed with Merasmus.

In his sleep, Merasmus dreamed of a figure. They spoke to Merasmus, calling him their champion. Ah yes, Rennigan, of course. Yes yes, ruling the earth, bring glory and such other things. Merasmus also felt a strange power coursing through him. An all too familiar presence, the same that he felt during that debate all those years ago. He already knew how to use his powers of suggestion; perhaps now that he was an "official" champion, they were being amplified by Rennigan? Yes, of course, that was the only logical conclusion. What? Dream? No, this is no dream! Merasmus does not DREAM, for he is beyond such childish happenings! No, this was obviously a once-thought-long-dead supernatural entity speaking to Merasmus. What!? CRAZY!? Do you know of whom you speak to!? I am MERASMUS, scholar and man of science! Quit multiplying, you are loud enough as it is!

Merasmus jolted upright, eyes half-open, and still rambling drearily at the quintuplets that were making fun of his nose. Rubbing his eyes clear so he could get a better look at the scoundrels, Merasmus was met only with the silence of his bedroom, being broken infrequently by the faint laughter of small children and the inaudible words of the local gossips drifting in from the open window to his right. Looking up at his Chill clock, Merasmus deciphered that it was nearly noon! Good thing the next Committee meeting wasn't until tomorrow! That would have been embarrassing indeed, for an academic heavy such as himself to be late for a Committee meeting. "Hm, perhaps it would be good to get some fresh air after spending all of last night experimenting." thought Merasmus out loud. "Yes, definitely, staying cooped up for so long gives me headaches! I am no tower-dwelling wizard!" With that, Merasmus grabbed his bag of books, alchemical satchel, general goods bag, and his weathered but trusty staff and headed out the door of his home into the misty streets of Galorand, with no objective on his mind other than strolling about the city.

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

<Snipped quote by MiddleEarthRoze>



I think it all depends on how much you like seafood.

@Dervish

If worse come to worse we could always just put him under the sea.

Furor Titanicus

Appearance: This brilliant(self-proclaimed) yet clearly senile wizard(Merasmus despises this descriptor) stands at a nice and symmetrical six feet tall, which pleases Merasmus greatly; inches waste time, and meters waste space. Age obviously has not agreed with the man, as he has well-defined laugh lines along his pale face, and his bony hands and long fingers are wrinkling. This does NOT please Merasmus, but he grits and bears his less-than-youthful appearance; at least he hasn't started yelling about "youngsters". Under his dirty, alchemical soot-covered brow lie a pair of large, sunken-in emerald eyes. Below those darkened rings is a big, crooked nose which has brought Merasmus much ridicule; in fact, it's where he gets his nickname, "The Wizened", as such a feature is prominent in old children's fables describing wizards. Adorning his rigid jawline are very thick sideburns, reaching up to his scalp which is covered with very long black hair that he keeps tucked behind his robe's collar. From his narrow shoulders, Merasmus' lanky arms dangle loosely by his sides, draped by the oversized sleeves of his robes. His legs are rarely visible, as they are also covered by the heavy hem of the cloak, which drags along the ground and as such is very very dirty.

---

Name: Merasmus the Wizened

---

Age: 437

---

Titan: Rennigan

---

Origins: Merasmus knows he was actually born at the Verity Institute, but he grew up and currently lives in Galorand.

---

Personality: Merasmus may look the old-wizard-in-a-tower type, but he is actually quite a loud and direct individual, always asking around for the latest rumor, bit of news, or just some book recommendations. Being the know-it-all that he is, Merasmus is quick to correct people on everything, even if his "corrections" are clearly inaccurate to even a casually-educated person; he usually comes back with the ACTUAL correct information though, even though he seldom admits he was ever wrong. He thinks highly of himself due to his academic success and his own perceived intelligence, and would logically assume himself to be the "intellectual powerhouse" of any group.

---

Likes:
Reading;
Experimenting with alchemical materials;
Postulating;
Theorizing;
Conversating.

---

Dislikes:
Mistreatment of books;
Wasting herbs and other supplies;
People telling him to "quiet down";
Being called a wizard
Cinnamon buns.

---

Backstory:
Merasmus was an unexpected birth in the Verity Institute many moons ago. Decided to have been an unfit guest in an Institute, his parents sent him to live with a friend of the family by the name of Ghi Rahim the Coot, an esteemed but eccentric master of alchemy that lived in Galorand. Ghi taught Merasmus all about alchemy, praising him both with his successes and with his explosive failures, which instilled a bit of an "all mighty" complex in Merasmus concerning alchemical works. When Ghi was not tutoring the boy, Merasmus would sneak into the Coot's library and pour over any book he could get his hands on. Biographies, instruction manuals, musical sheets, even children's tales; he read every last thing. When Rahim eventually found out, he immediately let Merasmus know that certain sections of the library were strictly forbidden. This only brought these specific books to the apprentice's attention.

He began reading these forbidden texts in their entirety; he just couldn't contain himself. Whenever he finished one book, he simply had to move on to the next; sometimes he didn't even wait to finish one before setting it down to see to another. He learned many powerful spells, the secrets of the universe and life itself…or rather, he learned OF many powerful spells and had no actual skill in the magical arts required to perform them, and of all the secrets he learned of, none remained in Merasmus' head for more than a few seconds as he simply tore through texts too fast to hold on to them, not to mention many of these "secrets" seemed oddly subjectively interpreted.

His immense knowledge deemed Merasmus an insufferable know-it-all by even his most academically inclined peers; it didn't help that he was often wrong at first, and would not admit to his factual inaccuracies, instead coming back the next day to spout his updated knowledge of a subject as if the previous day's events never happened. Needless to say, Merasmus was, and is, a very frustrating man to deal with, and when he joined the staff of the local university after the untimely death-by-rabid-plant of Ghi Rahim, was delegated to the back rooms of libraries and other out-of-the-way locations, never once being allowed to actually teach. Rarely, though, he would be allowed to participate in the universities' Committee of World Theories, which is where Merasmus showed his worth as an academic. When he focused himself on a single subject, Merasmus could piece together theories and simulations that left even the most senior professors scribbling hastily on their notepads; for once, there were actually sounds to be heard other than Merasmus' voice when the man spoke. Some would describe his ramblings as word-salad, being little more than big words strung together with a faux-graceful speech pattern, but even sworn enemies of the aging wizard admit that his theories have led to many, if minor, advancements in the research of many academic subjects.

Merasmus first felt the presence of Rennigan during a very heated Committee debate with an academic adversary. This particular professor took umbrage at the fact that one of Merasmus' new theories rendered her own obsolete, which would reasonably miff any academic, and she wasn't about to let some rambling old man overshadow her own meticulously-researched hypotheses. He argued with the woman in good faith for quite a while, but eventually grew tired of it. He began making long, exhaustive arguments against her theory, and it seemed that the longer he spoke, his colleague became more and more complacent, before calmly conceding to Merasmus' new theory. Merasmus wasn't going to complain, but he was certainly confused by the professors sudden surrender; it simply wasn't like her. He felt a strange power hover over himself, a presence that refused to be ignored.

He spent weeks studying the different proposed supernatural and godlike entities of the world, and eventually came across very old texts offering conjecture on beings referred to as "Titans". Those texts didn't offer great detail about these beings, but one such entity, Rennigan, seemed to fit what Merasmus had experienced during the Committee. A supposed power of those chosen by Rennigan involved subtly influencing others to side with the Champion. This was no doubt what happened to the opposing professor; she was by all means fiery and stubborn, yet by the end of Merasmus' speech, she had fallen nearly silent and went along with what he said. At their core, though, Rennigan was an eternal seeker of knowledge, and such a power was simply a means that could be employed to gain knowledge. If there was anything Merasmus enjoyed the most, it was learning, and so Rennigan seemed like the perfect being to follow. His extended lifespan was quite a large boon as well, of course; more time for reading! It was the closest thing to following a god that Merasmus would allow for himself.

Merasmus spent most of the past few hundred years in the library of his master's old home which the old man kindly gave to his apprentice in his will, continuing to tear through books he hasn't had the pleasure of reading yet, and using his paltry pay from working at the university to buy even more books, all the while using his powers of suggestion to squeeze those last juicy bits of info out of a person and writing them down in one of several journals in his library.

---

Skills & Talents:

Alchemical expert: Capable of brewing just about any mixture, albeit of varying potency.

Text repair: Merasmus has had his share of rainy nights dousing some of his books, and many he buys have torn pages or flimsy spines. Over time he has learned how to effectively refurbish any book, within reason.

Wiz-Fu: A fighting style involving his staff. It is little more than flashy spins and twirls that may or may not distract an opponent before smacking them in the knee.

Walking encyclopedia: Name a subject, and Merasmus more than likely has at least a rudimentary understanding of it. If not, or he can't recall, then he can easily pull a related book from his bag and skim the important bits.

Very organized: Self explanatory, no?

---

Equipment/weaponry:

Heavy, oversized black cloak;
Plain leather belt;
Purple cloth trousers and button-up long-sleeve shirt;
Limited Edition Galorand Alchemathon gardner's gloves;
Light studded leather boots;
Non-magical staff/walking stick;
Bag o' Books - Can hold a seemingly infinite amount of books…and ONLY books. All other items simply disappear;
Large alchemist's satchel;
Open-top bag that holds book refurbishing supplies, an ink well, a large bundle of paper and several spare quills.

---

Magical abilities: N/A

---

Reason for picking Titan/Branded:Merasmus has decided to join Rennigan in their eternal search for knowledge because their goal resonates so much with his own. Learning and experimenting is all he knows and, arguably, is in his blood if his parents being a part of an Institute have anything to do with it.

Furor Titanicus

Currently waiting for Jhett to evaluate my CS.

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

Sagax slept very well for the first time since fleeing Windhelm, being out cold straight until the next morning. His position in the dark corner near the door to the inn ensured he was ignored, as most patrons were either too drunk or too tired to take note of the human-shaped dark mass snoozing quietly and resting against the back wall. He was only roused from his slumber by the clanking of platters and the murmuring of his compatriots as they shuffled into Windpeak, heavy bags still under the eyes of many. Looking up, he could see daylight peeking through the openings at the very top of the inn, and from the aroma and the smoke rising from a few cauldrons, Sagax guessed it was time for breakfast. Getting to his feet slowly and looking around for familiar faces, he saw several friends but unfortunately there were no open spots near any of them. There was one open table with just a few people in the back, and decided to take a seat with them. Halfway through eating the last bit of the bread still in his pack, Sagax was greeted with an all-too familiar voice.

"That's all? You ought to eat more, Sneak." Looking over, Sagax once more met eyes with the Windhelm guard that came to his aid time and time again. The poor man's uniform was filthy and in complete disrepair, and his helmet was no where to be found.

"Well, hello again. I didn't realize you made it out, friend."

The ex-guard shrugged and bit into a small sweetcake. "It was chaos, hard to tell who made it out and who didn't. Besides, you seemed too busy sleeping to say hi to anyone, eh?" Almost as an after-thought, he swallowed and waved his arm at the two people opposite. "These two are my mates; we serve...served, as city guards together. The one right across from you is Vori, and the other is Alarik."

Vori and Alarik were Nords all right. Vori's coarse black hair was slap-dashedly tied into a bun, with hard green eyes and shallow cheeks with a rigid jawline, much like Alarik. Even while sporting a more lean and athletic build than her compatriots, she was still clearly far, far stronger than Sagax, that much was clear when they two shook hands; it felt like she nearly took his arm off. Alarik reminded Sagax of Jorwen, if he were clean-shaven and wore his hair short. The hulking warrior was taller than both Sagax and Vori, and had more than plenty of muscle to spare. Scars were etched on both of his cheeks, and three big ones drug themselves across his left eye, which was pale in contrast to his right eye which bore a dark brown irid.

"This here's the Sneak I've told you about. Although it might be time to go passed that, yeah? Since I went and introduced my mates here, it's only common courtesy to introduce myself. The name's Frald."

"Sagax. A pleasure to meet you all." He rose to, finally, shake hands with the mystery guard that helped him several times back in Windhelm. Not knowing the man's name had started to bug him a bit, and he wasn't exactly sad to lose his nickname.

Downing her apparently third tankard of mead, Vori snorted facetiously. "This is the Sneak, huh? The guy that hopped the wall to get, what, his bag?" She looked at Sagax with one eyebrow raised and a coy smile. Alarik scanned Sagax harshly, but eventually nodded and uncorked his own mead. "You can never judge a book by its cover, Vori. He looks like a slippery one...no wonder the Kamal kept missing him. Probably as small as a tick from their distance."

"What was it you were trying to get specifically? A book, you said?" Interjected Frald.

"A manuscript a comrade wrote. Before he passed, he asked me to get it published. I wasn't about to let him down."

Alarik nodded again. "Good man. Your brother in arms is damn lucky to have a man of his principles like you honoring him." The giant was clearly the honorable sort. He spoke nobly and with a calm tone. His hulking physique betrayed his inner wisdom.

"Yeah, that's all well and good, and that was pretty fucking crazy of you, but the person I wanna meet the most is the mad bomber that charged down that Kamal ship! I could feel the ground quake from atop the wall!" Unlike Alarik, as anyone that was paying even an inkling of attention to the sounds around them could tell, Vori was loud and brash, and her low voice carried surprisingly well.

"Well Vori, today's your lucky day, 'cause here he is." Frald said, clapping Sagax's shoulders with a smile. "Saw it with my own eyes, him running down that pier with a little disk in hand. That was the explosive, right?"

Sagax felt odd being in the spotlight all of a sudden, and Vori didn't help with how she looked at him. "Ooooh...is that so?" She smiled daintily with a faint hint of a smirk, and she held steady eye contact with the Imperial. Nudging Sagax, Frald laughed. "Watch yourself. Vori here? LOVES crazy." Alarik rubbed his eyes and sighed. "Yes, Vori's a bit of a wild-card herself."

"Crazy's good, but crazies don't usually live very long; this one here's a different breed, obviously. No, I like a man who knows his strengths, and does something with'em." Finishing with a wink at him, Sagax began to sorely wished his hood was still intact.

In an attempt to divert even a little bit of attention away from himself, Sagax corrected Frald's retelling. "Actually...it wasn't just me. I had some help, a Breton woman, Rozalia. In fact, without her I don't think I would have-"

"Oh don't be so modest!" Interrupted Vori loudly. "You would have been just fine, I'm sure of it! Come on, don't be so afraid of taking credit!" Fourth tankard. She could really hammer those things down! It was almost frightening...

Alarik rubbed his chin in thought, as if he were trying to remember something. "A Breton woman...and if she were to help you charge down that pier, she would have needed to be like you, right? Stringy, and fast. I might've seen her before. She seemed the...unsavory type." Well, he wouldn't be wrong, speaking from the perspective of most people.

"She's a good person at heart, and I'm glad to call her my friend. You wouldn't need to worry about anything around her." Well, as long as you're her friend, but they didn't need to know the intricacies, right? "Besides, she did what she did to try and keep the people of Windhelm safe." Alright, even with Sagax's positive bias towards Roze, even he knew that was an outright lie. She helped him bomb the Kamal ship to get some of those giants off of her back. The knock-on effect was that there were less Kamal to raid the pier, but ultimately she operated in self-interest, not that Sagax could blame her for it. You do what you need to do to survive, right?

Frald looked as if he were about to say something, but Ashav's voice rang out first. "We can talk more later, looks like your boss is making an announcement." Getting up from the table, the Nord man beckoned to his friends. "We'll be around; need to prepare for our journey to Solitude. See you soon, Sagax." As Frald left, Alarik and Vori follow suit, Vori giving Sagax the same coy look as she left. First that angel thing with Roze, and now this Nord's giving him looks. At times like this Sagax wished he could just disappear for a while…

Getting up and moving from his table to hear Ashav better, Sagax listened intently. They would be going to Winterhold, or what was left of it, apparently. A bunch of sailors were going to perform rescue efforts for the College there, and they all would be joining. Didn't seem like it would be too horrible of a job; nearly anything would be better than fighting those snow demons. He was surprised that not only did nobody take Ashav's offer to leave, more were joining with the company; though perhaps it wasn't so strange, as most in the company most likely didn't have anywhere else to go; they certainly weren't about to go marching back to Windhelm.

Having no questions to ask of Ashav, Sagax sat back down and brought out his writing tools. He had yet to send out a letter of his well-being due to the Kamal siege, and could only imagine how worried his family must be. Scratching at the parchment with his quill, the Imperial detailed his current situation and where he was going next, and didn't spend long talking about the siege. Why spend so much time on that nasty subject, anyway? Folding up the letter and writing down the address for it to be sent to, Sagax slipped the paper and his writing utensils back into his bag to give to Edith or whoever would be sending off to Solitude later, when Ashav was done talking. He also needed to give them Felix's manuscript and axe. Perhaps they could find a nice place in the Bard's College to hang it up?

The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)

<Snipped quote by MacabreFox>

Like certain other things.

---

@Frizan@Mortarion@MiddleEarthRoze

@gcold

Finishing up mine right at this moment, brah.

And donzo.

The Guild Mods are unfriendly to hobbits.

Halflings sullying your land?



Just dial 1-800-OVERLORD! Hobbits be gone!