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College student, studying political science, planning on attending law school, she/her pronouns. I'm interested in a wide variety of roleplays, but I tend toward prefering High Fantasy and High Sci Fi settings (think Elder Scrolls or Warhammer 40k). Whether it's a Nation Roleplay (I love digging into fictional politics) something on a smaller, individual scale, or something in between, there's a good chance I might be interested! I especially enjoy fantasy setting with weird, esoteric fluff - up to and including the nonsense that happens in Elder Scrolls, or, occasionally, Age of Sigmar.

Credit for profile pic art goes to TemporalZergling. Vivec won Elder Scrolls.

Most Recent Posts

@gorgenmast I have a couple questions for you, my man.

1. You briefly mention androids in the OP - does this mean that robotics can be fairly advanced, and would these androids qualify as Strong AI?

2. In regards to alien like and avoiding "humans but slightly different" does this mean that we can expect to encounter some pretty weird shit?

<Snipped quote by Jeddaven>

<Snipped quote by Hank>

So I don't want to lay all my cards on the table right now, but I was also planning on playing a Dunmer with some association with the Tribunal Temple. I would have preferred it if the trial was not considered canon for the sake of my character's backstory, but I can work around it either way.

@Jeddaven Would it be alright if we compared a few notes privately? I am worried our two character concepts might have significantly overlapping backstories.

Sure, that's fine my me. My Dunmer concepts aren't directly involved with the temple, though, mind you - I asked about Vivec because I always found the speed with which the Dunmer abandoned their faith of the Tribunal to be a bit much, even despite, well... The apparent death of two and the revelation that they aren't gods in the literal sense, and whatnot.
<Snipped quote by Silentfeather>

Everyone is free to apply with a character when the OOC thread goes up. Keep in mind that this is the Advanced section, though. I doubt we'll be posting more than once or twice a week -- and the posts we write are big. But yes, we'll be doing it in a thread.

<Snipped quote by Jeddaven>

How would that affect your character, if I were to say yes?

That depends on what character I end up playing, as unhelpful an answer as that may be - I can say that, more generally, if I end up playing a Dunmer, it'll impact how they spiritual faith turns out, esp. how they view Vivec. In the event that the Trial is canon, however, it's probable that a Dunmer character I end up playing would likely either continue to venerate/worship Vivec in some capacity, to the exclusion of most of the Daedra now worshipped by the Dunmer, esp. Azura.

In the event that it's not canon, well... I'm not sure what'd happen, then, on account of, if I remember correctly, Vivec not really having been resolved in the canon.
I'm very interested! Dunmer fanatic, as you can guess by the profile pic - are we taking the Trial of Vivec as canon?
Southeast of Ternopil, Ukraine

Southeast of Ternopil, Ukraine. 4:30AM Local Time

Operation: Hetman Molyboga Shits Himself; A.K.A. Redshift

One hand gripping the cord above his head, the other idly pawing at his rifle's buttstock, Maksim stared unblinkingly out the window to his side and into the dark Ukranian night. He could hear scarcely little, aside from the drone of the floating coffin he stood inside and the muffled chatter of his fellow soldiers - but he was far more focused on the deadly dance about to unfold outside. Two aircraft - one painted in the colours of the Hetmanate, the other marked with the Whites and Reds of his own country - sped toward each other. The White pilot's aircraft was far more maneuverable with its two wings, dodging and weaving wildly out of the heavier plane's line of fire. Suddenly pulling upward, it...

Burst into flame as it was struck by red cannon-fire, spiralling toward the ground with a sound that Maksim imagined must've been an incredibly pathetic whimper. His shoulders slackened, the wind taken out of him - only to be abruptly shaken back to full awareness by a husky woman's voice, a gently scarred face looking back at him from over her shoulder.

"What's got your attention, comrade?" She asked. A sergeant - technically his superior - but he'd never known his commanding officers to be especially unfriendly.

"Escort fighter. One of the white biplanes, it just..." He pursed his lips, bringing his hands together only to suddenly spread his fingers in a crude imitation of a fiery explosion. "I knew the Whites were running on elbow grease, but biplanes?" He snorted.

"Too busy trying to hand themselves back to the Tsarina to make anything else, I guess. Olga, by the way." The woman shrugged, nonchalant. "British scraps are better than nothing, I guess."

"Are they?" He said, earning a slight chuckle from the woman and the handful of comrades listening in.

"Better than the nothing we used to have." She said - and then, his entire field of view changed colour as the cabin was bathed in a bright green, a stark chance from the warm yellow of before.

"Go, go, go!" Came the sound of a barking officer's voice. Moving forward with the line of men ahead of him, Maksim watched as the aircraft's open door and the grizzled officer next to it rapidly came into view. His heart pounded in his chest. His first combat jump.

Before he knew it, the Sergeant leapt out of the plane ahead of him... And at the grizzled man's signal he followed, briefly deafened by the sound of a spinning propellor before it was quickly replaced by an onrush of wind. His body jerked upwards, compelling him to gaze upwards to see his vision covered by a circular chute.

Letting out a sigh of relief, Maksim gingerly gripped the cables, slowly turning his gaze toward the burning city to the northwest.

Ternopil, was it? He couldn't exactly remember the name. The village beneath him, though, he was intimately familiar with - or at least how to capture the place named Village Seven. It seemed so small, from so high up - Maksim even swore he could see the advancing tanks far to the west from here, or even the volunteers advancing in from Belarus to the East-northeast. He couldn't, of course - the horizon stopped long before then - but he liked to imagine he could, even if the only light he had was a distant moon and a few clusters of burning buildings.

Even then, it didn't take eagle-eyes to notice how rapidly the ground was approaching. Bending his knees, Maksim pushed himself onto the balls of his feet the moment they made contact with the grassy earth - then he fell, rolling onto his side before frantically detaching his parachute. Grabbing for his rifle, he quickly pushed himself to his feet, struggling to gain his bearings until his gaze fell upon the fat, boxy shape of a landed glider and the tiny tank trundling down the ramp that was its opened nose.

Good, he thought. He landed in the right place, already rushing to rendezvous with the vehicle and the rest of his squad, gathering around the vehicle as it began to advance.

One, two, three, four, five, six... All-in-all, he counted one short of two dozen men and women scattered in loose formation about the tank and the pair of small artillery tractors following it. A handful of men had taken most of the few available spaces on the back of the tank, quietly watching the surrounding treeline. Maksim quietly joined them at the front, holding his loaded rifle across his chest - and without a word, the formation began to move down the nearby roads, into Village Seven.

If they could even be called roads, that was - to Maksim's eyes, they looked more like poorly arranged sections of packed dirt, stone, and gravel, hardly roads at all. More of note was the rail line that passed through (and briefly stopped in) Village Seven, though Maksim noticed there seemed to be fuckall else of interest, staring into the cluster of buildings ahead.

Suddenly, the column came to a stop near the edge of the village as the man in front of him held up his arm, gesturing toward a large hill to the northwest.

He could hear it too - even at this distance, the sound of old Russian artillery pieces firing in staggered succession was clearly audible.

The sound of artillery-fire was suddenly broken by the crack of a gunshot, whizzing by Maksim’s head and pinging loudly off of the tank’s frontal plate. Acting quickly, Maksim dove to his left, out of the way of the road - just as the tank opened fire, presumably stitching the building toward the town square with gunfire. Truthfully, he couldn't tell. He was far too busy frantically smashing his way through a window and into cover to pay attention to exactly where his legs were carrying him or what he was doing, as long as it took him out of the line of fire. He wouldn't be much good to his comrades dead, after all, except as fertilizer, and-

Maksim found himself staring upwards as his ears caught the noise of the ratta+tat-tat of machine gun fire above him. Unthinking, he charged up the rickety staircase, toward the source of the noise - and skidded to a halt.

A door blocked his passage. He didn't have the explosives to blow it apart quickly enough, and if he tried to bludgeon it down...

Placing a hand on the handle, he turned it, and...


Maksim sucked in a deep breath, pushing the door inward with a grunt and a shove. Bringing his rifle up to his shoulder, he briefly scanned over the room - two men, manning a Maxim gun, by the window - and opened fire, pumping a hail of bullets into their prone bodies before they even had the chance to realize what was happening. Rushing over to the window, he peered outside, just in time to catch a glimpse of the distant hill upon which the White artillery sat before it was consumed wholesale in a devastating rocket barrage, the noise soon drowned out by the droning buzz of aircraft passing overhead.


The Greatwood

Everywhere Æðelflæd looked, she swore she saw something staring back at her. Behind bushes, in between the trunks of trees, high up in their branches... Tiny feet pitter-pattered across the forest floor, too, occasionally accompanied by the startling crunch of dry leaves beneath her ragged calfskin shoes or the rustling of leaves. High above, she could narrowly sight the glowing moon high above, its pockmarked surface turned such that she could swore its vile countenance was staring down upon her, drinking in the sight of her terrified shaking with sordid glee.

Or perhaps, she thought, that was simply her paranoia. “The Greatwood is dangerous, Æðelflæd! Only a complete loggerhead would bother exploring the place!” Her parents told her. “Are you stupid? Haven’t you heard the howling that comes from there? Something’ll eat you!” Her friends echoed. Hearing so many tales was certain to stretch her nerves thin, and many were the tales of fools who’d wandered into the woods for one reason or another and were found days later with their guts strewn across the fields... And yet, she couldn’t help but think she must’ve at least been lucky. Even with the watchful eyes of crows glaring down at her, the sound of bestial predators howling nearby, she’d been assailed by... Nothing.

Suddenly, a twig snapped, the sound closer to her than ever before! She tensed up, clutching the bloodsoaked basket in her armstrong her chest and forcing her eyes shut, hoping that whatever was about to happen would be over quickly...

Crunch. Louder. Snap. Practically deafening.
Sniff. Sniff. Snort

Daring to open her eyes a miniscule distance, the girl looked down - and there was a huge, powerfully muscled canine, its thickly matted fur covered in splotched of greys and browns. It stared into her eyes, curious, but the strike she expected never came, nor did the growling, or even a warning bark. Here she was, staring down a canine so tall that it easily came up to her belly on all fours, and it seemed just as harmless and curious as any big, friendly dog. For several more seconds it did nothing but stare, before suddenly turning to trod its way down the very same path Æðelflæd was travelling.

”...Is it trying to lead me somewhere?” She wondered, staring absentmindedly into the distance. Perhaps that was why she felt as if the place was watching her, she reasoned. Perhaps it was.

With scarcely little to lose, aside from the risk of returning to her family empty-handed, she scampered off into the forest after the beast -- her guide.

How long had she been running for, Æðelflæd wondered? The moon had moved in the sky, after all, listing gently away toward the horizon, and although she was no scholar, she was at least able to make the connection between the movement of celestial bodies hanging in the firmament and the passage of time. Hours, perhaps, she thought - or had it only been minutes? It must’ve been, surely. After all, her shoes had long since been worn down to the point where the mere act of walking should’ve been painful, yet the soft detritus beneath seemed to cushion her feet so perfectly she wondered if she’d been running at all.

Or perhaps, she struggled to reason, it was simply her rising humours and the fear of angering whatever she might anger should she dawdle too long that allowed her to ignore the pain. Perhaps, once she stopped, it’d all come crashing down on her, she’d collapse, and some scavenging animal would take her corpse for food.

The thought sent a brief pang of fear coursing down her spine, though mental hesitation did little too slow her. She’d spent so much time getting here, after all, and the journey back would be just as risky, if not more so - the very least she could do was see it through; to continue chasing the dire wolf loping along ahead of her. Eventually, however, the lightly trodden path it moved along slowly became more and more so. The underbrush grew thicker, impeding her motion, the path ahead occasionally blocked by fallen logs covered in clusters of strange mushrooms of shapes and colours the girl had never seen before and which she struggled to throw herself over. The first few were a struggle to climb over, but the deeper she went, the easier it became to mount obstacles, and the less the unfamiliar thickness of the underbrush slowed her. Her hand gripped a log, brushing past a faintly glowing toadstool as she leapt bodily over one obstacle only to push aside a cluster of branches in her way mere moments after. To a peasant girl, one expected to have found a husband years ago, it was an unfamiliar challenge - but she’d long since decided to see this matter through.

It was strangely pleasant, in a way, she thought - rigorous to be sure, but here, so deep in the Greatwood, Æðelflæd could almost forget the troubles of her home; how the streets stank of shit every hour of the day, the exorbitant taxes her family had to pay on everything she produced, the guards who seemed to care far more for the chance to abuse their power or violently beat criminals than they did for enacting justice...

Best of all, of course, was the absence of the nobles that ruled Marleon from high atop their mottes and squirreled away in their stuffy castles... Or perhaps it was the haunting, primal beauty of the place, the way it seemed so free of the ravages of civilization? Maybe, in the end, it wasn't something she needed to worry herself over; most importantly, she felt far less afraid of the things watching her than before. Excited, even. Exhilarated.

Catching sight of a break in the treeline through which shown a faint greenish glow, she charged ahead, only to stumble to a halt as her animal guide faded into the aether, discorporteating in front of her very eyes. Only then did Æðelflæd notice the source of the green glow, sitting in bright, crystalline water at the center of an absolutely pristine pond. Fo describe it precisely was impossible, perhaps, as if her vision struggled to resolve the image of the thing, its and everything around it fainty blurred -- but with an grunt of effort and an involuntary twitch her vision began to clear, revealing the brightly glowing shape of a tall, well-built elven maiden smiling warmly at her.

Once again, she felt afraid. This was the 'thing' she'd heard so much about, no doubt - but she was so unlike anything Æðelflæd had ever seen. She wore no clothing just as the animals of the forest did, so alien yet so familiar even though Æðelflæd had never laid eyes upon her before. Fear quickly gave way to relief, then comfort as the distance between them closed - and finally an outpouring of emotions as the terrifying creature pulled her into a reassuring hug, leaving Æðelflæd to bawl into her shoulder.

"There, there..." The woman reassured her, patting her back with a warm hand. "It has been a long journey for you, child. Take all the time you need."

And she did, feeling strangely comfortable and safe in the elf's presence, much as she did as a young child whenever her parents consoled her. It was almost easy to forget that she was embracing a hauntingly beautiful woman that had slain dozens upon dozens upon dozens of armed men like this; but not enough for her to forget why she came here, wiping tears from her cheeks with the back of her palm as she tipped her head back to meet the elf's eyes.

"My p-parents, my family, we are... We are peasants. Cuh-common folk!" She sputtered, feverishly shaking her head. We struggle to get by, to feed ourselves, to make the coin we need, but... It seems as if his tax collectors come to shake us down more often than not. They steal from us, from our friends, they abuse us, the men-at-arms and the guard enforce the law however they please, I... Nobody will do anything about him. I-" She pleaded, only to find herself silenced utterly by a shake of the kind woman's head.

"You do not want me to simply see justice done. You would not have come here if you did. Try again. Search deep within yourself." She admonished her, and Æðelflæd felt terribly ashamed, closing her eyes in meditation as she did as bidden. No stone was left unturned - every memory was examined once, then twice. Every time she'd seen a pretty peasant girl dragged away, every time she'd seen tax collectors shake a family down and wished she could've sent the fat fools spiraling to the ground... Every single time she say the guards brutally beat a poor man to death through the windows of jail cells for some unfathomable reason too, and especially every time she wished she could have [b][i]torn the disgusting wretch responsible limb from limb for all to see[/u][/b].

The motherly maiden smiled down at her and Æðelflæd smiled back, her vision bathed in a whole new spectrum of beautiful colours.

"We will do it together, I think." She nodded.
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