Cairomaru said
i'll shoot him a message via ps3 when i get back home tonight
Hey, when did you want to collab?
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Hey, when did you want to collab?
Psyker Landshark said
Oh god I keep spelling ork instead of orc in my post. This is what happens when you've been playing a shitton of Deathwatch with buddies.
"WAAAAGH!!!!" Cub said.
Cairomaru said
Well, I finally found a perfect part 3 to the fanfic. Do you guys want to be spoiled about what it will be or no?
I'd rather find out what its about as I read the thing in full.
This sounds pretty sick and twisted...I'm lurking. Thinking of characters and I have my screamy metal going through my headphones to try to mull over a character concept.
Oooooooh, a Burkswallow post. I enjoyed it.
Hmmmm, perhaps. The alloy of the Dwemer might be pretty light, perhaps as light as titanium. Titanium is pretty light from what I can remember. And expensive...but that's a different story.,,
Hmmmm, perhaps. The alloy of the Dwemer might be pretty light, perhaps as light as titanium. Titanium is pretty light from what I can remember. And expensive...but that's a different story.,,
Voltaire said
I was actually taking the possible mass variables into account when making my estimates. I figure the alternate materials can't be that much heavier than steel otherwise they wouldn't make very good weapons. What's the point of having an ultra sharp weapon if the wielder has to be TEH AHNOLD to use it effectively?And I'm going to say no on the balance thing, or that it has minimal effect. Mainly because I'm fairly certain that lizards don't rely on their tails for balance as much as swimming. When comparing a lizard's tail to a cat's or dog's or most other tailed animals for that matter, it's not nearly as... pliable? Maneuverable? It pretty much just moves from side to side unlike mammal tails which move all different directions. Plus, he still has most of it. Just the tip is gone. And thank you! I do love my extravagant action scenes. No I haven't heard of those techniques. I just started digging deeper into the history of martial combat recently. But I'll look them up. I actually watched a few videos on scimitar techniques to get an idea of how the Alikir might be fighting as well.
You said you needed techniques? Well, for any Yurop-style weapon in the hands of a fighter, they'll fight like Europeans, of course, and here's how Europeans fought:
Sword and Buckler
Notice how the buckler is always held far away to let the wielder more time to parry with it as the point needs to travel a farther distance from the edge of the buckler to reach the wielder.
Roland Warzecha is a goddamned KING when it comes to this stuff and he's where I pulled Vendel's fighting style from.
A pretty good seminar on leverage and how viking shields and shields like them were used. Most TES shields that are round like the iron shield and the steel shield have only a handle, meaning that they very well may be used like the shields in this video...but they're so fucking small ingame. You can just jump around the video if you don't fancy all the talking about finer points of swordsmanship.
Longsword. Not quite the big greatsword, but they're very similar and could be used the same way. The Nordic greatsword is more like a Zweihander and those were used to chop the head off of pikes and halberds, so they're in a league of their own when it comes to this.
Talwar. This is the closest thing I've come to to figuring out how Redguards might fight. Of course, it is a Punjabi system of combat but it's the only thing I could find. My main gripe about this guy though is that every time he's like, "Oh, he think's he has me. BUT WAIT, I CAN ALSO STOP TIME AND DO THIS."
Voltaire said
Well first off, ditch the in game weight because that is ludicrous. Even if a person could swing a 20 pound weapon effectively, it would be a complete waste of energy. A more realistic estimate for the greatswords us midgets are using would be no more than 8-9 lbs, if we're feeling generous. A Scottish claymore for example, was typically just 6-7 lbs. Taking Cub's unique stature into account, a more realistic weight for his hammer would be no more than 15 lbs. But to answer the question, yes, Vendel and Blade likely could use Cub's weapon and still be effective with it. But it would be highly inefficient and they would burn through energy a lot faster, especially considering the inherent balance problems with club weapons. If they absolutely had no other choice but to use Cub's hammer, their best strategy would be to pulp the first guy they see and then take that dude's weapon.
This.
Pretty much right. Bethesda's way of doing things in-game is weird sometimes, and there has probably never been a sword that weighed fifteen pounds in the history of history, at least probably one that wasn't ceremonial or something. With a weight of fifteen pounds as Volt said, no one in their right mind could use Cub's warhammer for more than a few swings if they weren't Cub, as swinging around even normal sized weapons tires people out, much less fifteen pounds.
Then again there's the thing about "what's the mass of ebony? How heavy is it compared to steel or iron?" and "what makes up the material dwarven things are made out of? What is its mass compared to other metals and alloys?" but let's not get into that, dohohoho.
I think Vendel and Blade would be able to wield Cub's hammer, although, it'd definitely be hard for the two of them.
Edit: Christ, eight feet. I often forget how monstrous Cub is. And good job on that last Cub post, bee-tee-dubs. Very chilling. And good action scene, Volt. My only question is, will Blade have trouble with his balance without his a good chunk of his tail?
Edit II: Electric Boogaloo: I also appreciate your research into the characteristics of medieval weaponry, Volt. Have you ever seen HEMA techniques and whatnot?
Assembly Room, Direnni Tower, Isle of Balfiera, High Rock
23rd of Mid Year
Election of the High King
Prince Narcisse Septim-Vincens, Ruler of the Principality of Camlorn and Overlord of the Sorcerocrats sat flanked by his three sorcerer-nobles. The four of them were clad in the white robes, gold-trimmed and shimmering like the wings of an insect when hit with the sunlight but looking quite ordinary inside the assembly hall, nothing but torches to light the happenings around the hall. The droning hubbub of a hundred voices of petty lords and powerful merchant-princes and barons permeated the echoing hall. Prince Narcisse had already made up his vote, no matter how much his Sorcerocrats wanted him to vote for King Frithjolf Broken-Shield. No, as much as he despised the man, he’d vote for Bellemont. He’d been at the head of Daggerfall’s successes for years now, and he trusted that he could do the same for High Rock.
Divines knew they needed a united realm, one central authority to answer to and to represent them. All of High Rock united, nothing the likes of which had been seen since the Interregnum. Narcisse laughed a bit at his own musings. He had once entertained the thought of independence for his Principality when he was but a young man, the crown foisted upon him with dead parents still warm. Their son was barely a teenager, much less a man to rule. He’d kept the Principality together though, and that is what mattered. He remembered fond days with the other royalty, Ferrand’s twenty year old Knight that Narcisse looked up so much to. Frithjolf’s boys and he still remembered the way his young heart fluttered at King Jean Valois’s daughter and playing with their sons, even Everard. But that was before Ambrose. Before the Sacking…before the murders…and what Ambrose’s men did to the women…
He remembered his Regent crying at the death of his distant cousin Jean’s murder. He remembered Beralt telling him that he planned bloody slaughter of that usurper Ambrose when he finally came of age. How Frithjolf’s boys, Antoinne and Hrolfr said their father stayed up late at night looking at his sword and banner near the fireplace. At the time, he knew Frithjolf’s boys didn’t understand why his father did such things. But now, Narcisse knew, and he was sure Frithjolf’s boys did as well. The same things on Narcisse’s mind raced through Frithjolf’s, the urge for blood, to raise the levies and go to war for the slaying of Jean Valois, a dear friend to everyone. The urge for justice. The urge for murder like they made to his dear friends, just as Narcisse does now. The only one who never shed a tear was Ferrand and Narcisse is as angry at the bastard now as he was then, not a childish anger anymore- no, a pure, burning hatred.
His look went sour after that. He couldn’t bear to think of it anymore, looking at his sweaty palms and feeling his quickened heartbeats thunder in his chest like horse hooves in a charge. The herald stood at the head of the table on the right hand of the Head-Elector and surveyed the Noble-Electors before speaking, “It is time to cast votes! Starting with Earl Hawkwood of Farrun and moving along to the noble on his left side, moving in such a manner before coming to the man sitting opposite of Earl Hawkwood.”
Narcisse looked at Earl Hawkwood, sitting across from him and nodded. The nod was reciprocated, “ My vote goes to King Frithjolf of Jehanna.”
All along the line it continued, Beralt held nearly a score more votes than Ambrose but even then it never made a difference as Ferrand and Frithjolf were shoulder-to-shoulder in votes and two-fold what votes Beralt had to his name. Even so, as the last voice to vote would be his, Narcisse looked around the room, that familiar burning hatred, that shame of looking at all these faces that had taken no action when Jean and his daughter and sons were murdered. His knuckles turned white as his fist grew tighter and resisting the urge to slam it down on the hard wood, he splayed his hand out on the table, not trusting his voice not to yell, he lowered his head before looking back at the others. He looked to his Sorcerocrats, “Ferrand!” one of them whispered sharply.
It was true, Narcisse couldn’t deny it. Ferrand was the only man in High Rock who most felt could bring the petty squabbles to a close and bring all the families together as one High Rock like in the days of old. Frithjolf was too concerned with honor and his own people, Beralt was not an experienced enough man and Ambrose…well, opinion of him was not high. Even so, as eye upon eye set its gaze upon the young Prince caught between his musings on lost friends and his duty to the realm, the young man cleared his throat to speak and all grew quiet, “The Prince of Camlorn,” he started before biting his lip, “The Prince of Camlorn’s vote goes to King Frithjolf of Jehanna.”
He held his breath, savoring the quiet that filled the void where the echoes of his voice stopped and smiled that shit-eating grin of his, content that he stood for friends lost and deprived that bastard Ferrand of his vote. It might just have been a drop of water in the ocean of votes, but it meant the world to him, and at least he felt worthy of the trickle of Septim blood in him and knew that the Valois dynasty might now have a chance to get their justice that they so deserved.
“It is decided! King Ferrand Bellemont will take the High Throne in the Palace here at Balfiera, but will be reserved the right to hold office in his own ancestral holding of Daggerfall! You may now return to your realms with the rewards granted to you for voting and bringing peace to High Rock. Divines smile upon ye who cast their votes, whether or not they went as planned.” The herald smiled.
Narcisse’s Sorcerocrats stared daggers into him from behind their masks and Narcisse found that he could only smile as he sat in his given seat at the grand table.
Everard III Wayrest
22nd of Mid Year
Castle Moonhall, Stormhold, Black Marsh
“Hurry the fuck up, Montyard.” Everard hissed in a whisper as Mathieu leaned into the latrines with a worried face, thrusting a thumb over his shoulder at the hallway, whose floors were currently being walked on by Orcs. Only Orcs could walk that loud.
Everard sword underneath his breath, “Just piss! What do you think those Orcs will think we’re plotting just up and leaving without a reason.” He hissed.
“I can’t do it with you watching, you bastard! Why don’t you fecking try, you Whore’s Rash having-” Montyard retorted, trying his best to get something to start streaming into the basin carved into the floor.
“That was only once! By Daegon, I swear, if you do not-”
“Everard, come out!” Mathieu whispered sharply, trying his best to act inconspicuous.
Everard gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes, stepping out, trying to look as purposeful as a commander of the guard should be as he stepped out into the hallway and turned to face the Orcs whose footsteps had stopped beyond the intersection of the latrine hallway with the one that led to the meeting hall.
“I demand you to state your business or have us draw steel in defense of ourselves.” Everard warned.
High King Ferrand Bellemont of the Grand Royaume of Greater High Rock
23rd of Mid Year
Castle Daggerfall, City of Daggerfall
The message had come on the small pack of a messenger hawk, flying many miles for many hours to Ferrand’s own castle, far from Balfiera. Still, he held it in his hand, though he’d had to sit to keep himself from falling over. He never expected his plan to go into action so quickly, and never expected it to turn to his favor so easily. Every plan of contingency could likely be scrapped. No more worries, besides those of a High King of course. Ferrand’s lips curled into a tight smile, then white teeth showed as he put the message aside, his shoulders beginning to quake as his laughs resounded throughout the chambers.
“Peace! Now, peace is assured, we are whole.” High King Ferrand spoke, grabbing the messenger boy and patting him on the shoulder.
The messenger boy had no clue how to respond and only tried to hold back a smile, only failing somewhat, “Fetch me my scribe, boy. Go, go.” And the boy was off running again.
Ferrand clasped his hands behind his back and walked over to a small table, two chairs placed beside it, one being taken up by Ferrand’s son, now thirty years in age and Lord-Marshal of Greater High Rock. A board of chess laid out in front of the two, pieces strewn about already in maneuver.
“If only there was a Prince piece, for you.” A moving of Ferrand’s white pawn, then a black one, White pawn took that one, after some several seconds of maneuvering by father and son, Ferrand picked up the King, “The King piece will serve the same purpose well enough.” Black King lifted away, White in its place.
At the Black King’s downfall, Ferrand smiled softly, “Either way, I will see it true soon enough.”
He looked into the eyes of his son, "Send word that levies are to be raised, my son."
24th of Mid Year
Greater High Rock
O Brothers, Where Art Thou? Part I
Prince Narcisse would be the first to be awakened by a clattering on the stone walls of his chambers. An arrow, a scroll wrapped tightly about its shaft. When opened, he would find the seal of Wayrest, a white ship, three masts, yellow mainsails on a blue field, reading,
In the different Kingdoms of Wayrest: Shornhelm, Camlorn, Jehanna, Northpoint. The rulers and sons who remembered the warmth with which they celebrated each day spent together between quarrels they did not understand would share in their wrath, in their fury, and a storm would brew for the Pirates of Wayrest.
==========
Actions:
-High King of High Rock chosen, King Ferrand Bellemont of Daggerfall to rule.
-Everard makes contact with his Orcish tails while on his way to find someone to negotiate on behalf of the Dominion with him. This unexpected contact with the Orcs could be useful to him...
-Grand Army of Greater High Rock is forming.
-Heirs to the Thrones of Greater High Rock's Kingdoms ready themselves to ride for Shornhelm
23rd of Mid Year
Election of the High King
Prince Narcisse Septim-Vincens, Ruler of the Principality of Camlorn and Overlord of the Sorcerocrats sat flanked by his three sorcerer-nobles. The four of them were clad in the white robes, gold-trimmed and shimmering like the wings of an insect when hit with the sunlight but looking quite ordinary inside the assembly hall, nothing but torches to light the happenings around the hall. The droning hubbub of a hundred voices of petty lords and powerful merchant-princes and barons permeated the echoing hall. Prince Narcisse had already made up his vote, no matter how much his Sorcerocrats wanted him to vote for King Frithjolf Broken-Shield. No, as much as he despised the man, he’d vote for Bellemont. He’d been at the head of Daggerfall’s successes for years now, and he trusted that he could do the same for High Rock.
Divines knew they needed a united realm, one central authority to answer to and to represent them. All of High Rock united, nothing the likes of which had been seen since the Interregnum. Narcisse laughed a bit at his own musings. He had once entertained the thought of independence for his Principality when he was but a young man, the crown foisted upon him with dead parents still warm. Their son was barely a teenager, much less a man to rule. He’d kept the Principality together though, and that is what mattered. He remembered fond days with the other royalty, Ferrand’s twenty year old Knight that Narcisse looked up so much to. Frithjolf’s boys and he still remembered the way his young heart fluttered at King Jean Valois’s daughter and playing with their sons, even Everard. But that was before Ambrose. Before the Sacking…before the murders…and what Ambrose’s men did to the women…
He remembered his Regent crying at the death of his distant cousin Jean’s murder. He remembered Beralt telling him that he planned bloody slaughter of that usurper Ambrose when he finally came of age. How Frithjolf’s boys, Antoinne and Hrolfr said their father stayed up late at night looking at his sword and banner near the fireplace. At the time, he knew Frithjolf’s boys didn’t understand why his father did such things. But now, Narcisse knew, and he was sure Frithjolf’s boys did as well. The same things on Narcisse’s mind raced through Frithjolf’s, the urge for blood, to raise the levies and go to war for the slaying of Jean Valois, a dear friend to everyone. The urge for justice. The urge for murder like they made to his dear friends, just as Narcisse does now. The only one who never shed a tear was Ferrand and Narcisse is as angry at the bastard now as he was then, not a childish anger anymore- no, a pure, burning hatred.
His look went sour after that. He couldn’t bear to think of it anymore, looking at his sweaty palms and feeling his quickened heartbeats thunder in his chest like horse hooves in a charge. The herald stood at the head of the table on the right hand of the Head-Elector and surveyed the Noble-Electors before speaking, “It is time to cast votes! Starting with Earl Hawkwood of Farrun and moving along to the noble on his left side, moving in such a manner before coming to the man sitting opposite of Earl Hawkwood.”
Narcisse looked at Earl Hawkwood, sitting across from him and nodded. The nod was reciprocated, “ My vote goes to King Frithjolf of Jehanna.”
All along the line it continued, Beralt held nearly a score more votes than Ambrose but even then it never made a difference as Ferrand and Frithjolf were shoulder-to-shoulder in votes and two-fold what votes Beralt had to his name. Even so, as the last voice to vote would be his, Narcisse looked around the room, that familiar burning hatred, that shame of looking at all these faces that had taken no action when Jean and his daughter and sons were murdered. His knuckles turned white as his fist grew tighter and resisting the urge to slam it down on the hard wood, he splayed his hand out on the table, not trusting his voice not to yell, he lowered his head before looking back at the others. He looked to his Sorcerocrats, “Ferrand!” one of them whispered sharply.
It was true, Narcisse couldn’t deny it. Ferrand was the only man in High Rock who most felt could bring the petty squabbles to a close and bring all the families together as one High Rock like in the days of old. Frithjolf was too concerned with honor and his own people, Beralt was not an experienced enough man and Ambrose…well, opinion of him was not high. Even so, as eye upon eye set its gaze upon the young Prince caught between his musings on lost friends and his duty to the realm, the young man cleared his throat to speak and all grew quiet, “The Prince of Camlorn,” he started before biting his lip, “The Prince of Camlorn’s vote goes to King Frithjolf of Jehanna.”
He held his breath, savoring the quiet that filled the void where the echoes of his voice stopped and smiled that shit-eating grin of his, content that he stood for friends lost and deprived that bastard Ferrand of his vote. It might just have been a drop of water in the ocean of votes, but it meant the world to him, and at least he felt worthy of the trickle of Septim blood in him and knew that the Valois dynasty might now have a chance to get their justice that they so deserved.
“It is decided! King Ferrand Bellemont will take the High Throne in the Palace here at Balfiera, but will be reserved the right to hold office in his own ancestral holding of Daggerfall! You may now return to your realms with the rewards granted to you for voting and bringing peace to High Rock. Divines smile upon ye who cast their votes, whether or not they went as planned.” The herald smiled.
Narcisse’s Sorcerocrats stared daggers into him from behind their masks and Narcisse found that he could only smile as he sat in his given seat at the grand table.
Everard III Wayrest
22nd of Mid Year
Castle Moonhall, Stormhold, Black Marsh
“Hurry the fuck up, Montyard.” Everard hissed in a whisper as Mathieu leaned into the latrines with a worried face, thrusting a thumb over his shoulder at the hallway, whose floors were currently being walked on by Orcs. Only Orcs could walk that loud.
Everard sword underneath his breath, “Just piss! What do you think those Orcs will think we’re plotting just up and leaving without a reason.” He hissed.
“I can’t do it with you watching, you bastard! Why don’t you fecking try, you Whore’s Rash having-” Montyard retorted, trying his best to get something to start streaming into the basin carved into the floor.
“That was only once! By Daegon, I swear, if you do not-”
“Everard, come out!” Mathieu whispered sharply, trying his best to act inconspicuous.
Everard gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes, stepping out, trying to look as purposeful as a commander of the guard should be as he stepped out into the hallway and turned to face the Orcs whose footsteps had stopped beyond the intersection of the latrine hallway with the one that led to the meeting hall.
“I demand you to state your business or have us draw steel in defense of ourselves.” Everard warned.
High King Ferrand Bellemont of the Grand Royaume of Greater High Rock
23rd of Mid Year
Castle Daggerfall, City of Daggerfall
The message had come on the small pack of a messenger hawk, flying many miles for many hours to Ferrand’s own castle, far from Balfiera. Still, he held it in his hand, though he’d had to sit to keep himself from falling over. He never expected his plan to go into action so quickly, and never expected it to turn to his favor so easily. Every plan of contingency could likely be scrapped. No more worries, besides those of a High King of course. Ferrand’s lips curled into a tight smile, then white teeth showed as he put the message aside, his shoulders beginning to quake as his laughs resounded throughout the chambers.
“Peace! Now, peace is assured, we are whole.” High King Ferrand spoke, grabbing the messenger boy and patting him on the shoulder.
The messenger boy had no clue how to respond and only tried to hold back a smile, only failing somewhat, “Fetch me my scribe, boy. Go, go.” And the boy was off running again.
Ferrand clasped his hands behind his back and walked over to a small table, two chairs placed beside it, one being taken up by Ferrand’s son, now thirty years in age and Lord-Marshal of Greater High Rock. A board of chess laid out in front of the two, pieces strewn about already in maneuver.
“If only there was a Prince piece, for you.” A moving of Ferrand’s white pawn, then a black one, White pawn took that one, after some several seconds of maneuvering by father and son, Ferrand picked up the King, “The King piece will serve the same purpose well enough.” Black King lifted away, White in its place.
At the Black King’s downfall, Ferrand smiled softly, “Either way, I will see it true soon enough.”
He looked into the eyes of his son, "Send word that levies are to be raised, my son."
24th of Mid Year
Greater High Rock
O Brothers, Where Art Thou? Part I
Prince Narcisse would be the first to be awakened by a clattering on the stone walls of his chambers. An arrow, a scroll wrapped tightly about its shaft. When opened, he would find the seal of Wayrest, a white ship, three masts, yellow mainsails on a blue field, reading,
In the different Kingdoms of Wayrest: Shornhelm, Camlorn, Jehanna, Northpoint. The rulers and sons who remembered the warmth with which they celebrated each day spent together between quarrels they did not understand would share in their wrath, in their fury, and a storm would brew for the Pirates of Wayrest.
==========
Actions:
-High King of High Rock chosen, King Ferrand Bellemont of Daggerfall to rule.
-Everard makes contact with his Orcish tails while on his way to find someone to negotiate on behalf of the Dominion with him. This unexpected contact with the Orcs could be useful to him...
-Grand Army of Greater High Rock is forming.
-Heirs to the Thrones of Greater High Rock's Kingdoms ready themselves to ride for Shornhelm
WittyReference said
Friend :D
Cub and Vendel meet for the first time.
Alternate:
Cairomaru said
Dem boobahs broski
They'll get'cha. And with my last post, I'm wondering what your groups' reactions to a 6'8" Nord with a warhammer coming out of nowhere to bash the shit out of the crab you guys are fighting will be. And with my most recent post, Francis will sorely be needing Qara'Sion's healing, giving Francis a chance to finally meet the Heroes like he's wanted to since Rihad.
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