Bit of a short one, but I think it's serviceable. I can flesh it out a bit if requested.
hahaha holy shit
"Jorwen! You're 6'8" and built like a fucking bear!... help her up while I remain struggling with this ladder, pls."
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The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)
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11 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
hahaha holy shit
"Jorwen! You're 6'8" and built like a fucking bear!... help her up while I remain struggling with this ladder, pls."
In
The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)
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11 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Waiting for anyone to post before I get mine up.
In
The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)
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11 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
I hope everyone knows that making your character charge beyond your shieldwall of comrades to be a hero will instead make them a martyr, if you know what I mean. There's three or four dead from doing just that.
In
The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)
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11 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
I guess Chrono can stay. He's alright. Kinda. Eh.
In
The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)
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11 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Sevine is much too polite to engage in unwarranted violence
I'm gonna throw my interest in here as well, if you don't mind.
In
The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)
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11 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Gave Keegan a mug on his sheet, also changed Farid's hometown to Dragon Gate.
Look at those dirty, dirty criminals in that list too.
In
The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)
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11 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
“So, what’s the problem?” Jorwen asked while they made their way to Ashav's tent.
“A magelight. Not many reasons for something like that other than a signal.” Farid looked sidelong at him and he looked back, “It isn’t good.”
“This whole plan wasn’t good.” Jorwen shook his head. He let White-Eye and Thrice-Pierced go to the front without him. But what could he do, one man? Let them know they wouldn’t be dying by themselves? They stopped a few strides out from Ashav’s tent.
“He’s sore about it, you know. Don’t let him catch you saying things like that, it’d eat at him more coming from the oldguard like you and White-Eye’s type.” He shrugged, “He got his orders and gave his own. I’m sure you know how that turns out.”
He frowned and nodded, couldn’t argue with that, “Aye.”
They nodded to each other and resumed their pace towards the tent. Farid pinched the flap and threw it aside before disappearing through. Jorwen took one last look and thought about his last conversation with Sevine and Roze, made it seem like he barely cared and they were the ones out there in the mud. He thought of Thrice-Pierced, White-Eye and Cleftjaw. He shook his head and ducked through the mouth of Ashav’s tent where they’d put themselves in a circle around the map. He was of a mind with Daelin. “It’s obvious that they know now. That party we found that had Caileach was in the middle of interrogating the poor bastard.” He folded his thick arms around his big chest and shook his head, a low growl escaping him, “The boy’s no traitor, but they knew we were coming somehow. The Reachmen are no idiots, same as us. They knew we were going to do this one day. I’m choosing to bring our men back and I’m ready to hike my old arse out there myself to do it.”
Ashav frowned and nodded slow as slow but didn’t say anything either way. Took his moment to consider, just how Aelfgar used to do, just how he used to do back when he was Second in Aelfgar’s band. Farid piped in, “I’ll go with the Red-Bear. Give us the order.” He said, his face the portrait of grim eagerness for the first time that night.
“A magelight. Not many reasons for something like that other than a signal.” Farid looked sidelong at him and he looked back, “It isn’t good.”
“This whole plan wasn’t good.” Jorwen shook his head. He let White-Eye and Thrice-Pierced go to the front without him. But what could he do, one man? Let them know they wouldn’t be dying by themselves? They stopped a few strides out from Ashav’s tent.
“He’s sore about it, you know. Don’t let him catch you saying things like that, it’d eat at him more coming from the oldguard like you and White-Eye’s type.” He shrugged, “He got his orders and gave his own. I’m sure you know how that turns out.”
He frowned and nodded, couldn’t argue with that, “Aye.”
They nodded to each other and resumed their pace towards the tent. Farid pinched the flap and threw it aside before disappearing through. Jorwen took one last look and thought about his last conversation with Sevine and Roze, made it seem like he barely cared and they were the ones out there in the mud. He thought of Thrice-Pierced, White-Eye and Cleftjaw. He shook his head and ducked through the mouth of Ashav’s tent where they’d put themselves in a circle around the map. He was of a mind with Daelin. “It’s obvious that they know now. That party we found that had Caileach was in the middle of interrogating the poor bastard.” He folded his thick arms around his big chest and shook his head, a low growl escaping him, “The boy’s no traitor, but they knew we were coming somehow. The Reachmen are no idiots, same as us. They knew we were going to do this one day. I’m choosing to bring our men back and I’m ready to hike my old arse out there myself to do it.”
Ashav frowned and nodded slow as slow but didn’t say anything either way. Took his moment to consider, just how Aelfgar used to do, just how he used to do back when he was Second in Aelfgar’s band. Farid piped in, “I’ll go with the Red-Bear. Give us the order.” He said, his face the portrait of grim eagerness for the first time that night.
In
The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)
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11 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
<Snipped quote by gcold>
@gcold Places man. Like, i've seen some shit. Haha
I went about 6 months without a compy, just my smartphone, and once I got a lappy I forgot about this place. Idk how I could forget such a magical place, but like I said, i've seen some shit. Messes with your mind.
Tijuana, man.
In
The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 1 (Completed)
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11 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
"Well," Farid said, grinning softly to Jorwen and Keegan. "At least nobody died, yet."
Jorwen cracked a grin and shook his head, “Oh, the night’s still young, little lad. I’ll be in my tent.”
Jorwen strode off through the night, the whipping wind playing hell with his hair. He’d finally got back to his tent in time to sit and watch some of the others scramble to muster into their two groups. He didn’t fancy being in their place and it felt shameful to say that he felt relief from not being them. He’d spilled enough blood tonight though, enough blood in all his years, even. He felt like he’d earned the right to be able to just sit down every once in a while and give some other young, brash, newbeard charge off to spill blood for no other reason than that’s how men were made in Skyrim. Too much stock put in a man’s swordarm and not in his brains. Dough-Boy arrived just in time to break Jorwen’s brooding and he was thankful for that. “Any mail? Letters, trinkets, anything?”
“No, none.” He shook his head and reminded himself to write back to his wife soon. She deserved to know what was happening in the camp just as much as he deserved to know how her and their daughter were coming along. “How did you get that name? Dough-Boy?”
“I was apprenticed to a baker ‘fore this. Man said I should get out there and experience something before coming back, do some fighting, bed some girls.” He said, shrugging his shoulders.
“You done any of that?” Jorwen asked, looking up at the boy while spinning his ring round and round on the leather cord he wore it on.
“No.” He shook his head, “I thought it’d be all glory and combat. All I do is bake here and collect mail for the couriers. Figures I come out here to make something of the world and all I get to do is the same old thing I was doing back home.”
“Is it?” Jorwen grunted.
“It is. Thought I’d use this more.” And he patted the rusty cleaver on his belt.
“Picked the wrong company to sign up with for that. Good for you, though, the life I lived isn’t for everyone. Figured the world would be a better place if this business of war was a thing of the past.” Jorwen shook his head and looked at his hands, remembered killing that man tonight, even though he couldn’t defend himself. Maybe they should’ve untied him, maybe he should’ve said sorry, but he wondered if they’d switched places if the man would untie him or say sorry and he found that to be a slim chance. “You go back home after this business is all over and you stay there. Never pick up a weapon again if you can help it.”
“If you say so.” The lad looked like he was anything but convinced as he turned and went back to his business of collecting mail. He sighed and let himself fall back onto his bedroll, taking the leather cord off of his neck letting the ring dangle above his face. Couldn’t afford an amulet of Mara when he was young and just coming back from the war, so they made due with the help of a friend long gone now. That’s what they always did, him and Halla. They were strong, and if you asked Jorwen, Halla was even stronger than him. Strong with the mind, quick with the wit, and that’s where strength really counts. He missed Halla, missed his daughter, Solveig.
He’d drifted off to sleep, it seemed. Farid’s smiling face was hovering above his and he flinched, almost wrapped his hands around Farid’s head and cracked his nose with his forehead before he recognized the bastard. “Ashav wants us.”
“How long was I out?”
“Not long. D’you see that light?” Farid asked.
“What light?” Jorwen asked, cocking his brow.
“That’s what Ashav wants to talk about.” The smile didn’t disappear from his face, “Seemed urgent.”
Jorwen sighed and rolled back onto his arse, where he clutched his chest and let out a long, gravelly cough. His eyes were screwed shut and he shook his head before opening it, hacking again to clear his throat and spitting a gob of phlegm into the dirt. “That cough. Doesn’t sound good.”
“When’s a cough good?” He got to his feet and dusted his pants off. He rolled his shoulders and shook his head. Back to business, then. He walked back to Ashav’s tent with Farid in tow as he tied the leather cord back around his neck. It’d be a while before he saw his family again.
Jorwen cracked a grin and shook his head, “Oh, the night’s still young, little lad. I’ll be in my tent.”
Jorwen strode off through the night, the whipping wind playing hell with his hair. He’d finally got back to his tent in time to sit and watch some of the others scramble to muster into their two groups. He didn’t fancy being in their place and it felt shameful to say that he felt relief from not being them. He’d spilled enough blood tonight though, enough blood in all his years, even. He felt like he’d earned the right to be able to just sit down every once in a while and give some other young, brash, newbeard charge off to spill blood for no other reason than that’s how men were made in Skyrim. Too much stock put in a man’s swordarm and not in his brains. Dough-Boy arrived just in time to break Jorwen’s brooding and he was thankful for that. “Any mail? Letters, trinkets, anything?”
“No, none.” He shook his head and reminded himself to write back to his wife soon. She deserved to know what was happening in the camp just as much as he deserved to know how her and their daughter were coming along. “How did you get that name? Dough-Boy?”
“I was apprenticed to a baker ‘fore this. Man said I should get out there and experience something before coming back, do some fighting, bed some girls.” He said, shrugging his shoulders.
“You done any of that?” Jorwen asked, looking up at the boy while spinning his ring round and round on the leather cord he wore it on.
“No.” He shook his head, “I thought it’d be all glory and combat. All I do is bake here and collect mail for the couriers. Figures I come out here to make something of the world and all I get to do is the same old thing I was doing back home.”
“Is it?” Jorwen grunted.
“It is. Thought I’d use this more.” And he patted the rusty cleaver on his belt.
“Picked the wrong company to sign up with for that. Good for you, though, the life I lived isn’t for everyone. Figured the world would be a better place if this business of war was a thing of the past.” Jorwen shook his head and looked at his hands, remembered killing that man tonight, even though he couldn’t defend himself. Maybe they should’ve untied him, maybe he should’ve said sorry, but he wondered if they’d switched places if the man would untie him or say sorry and he found that to be a slim chance. “You go back home after this business is all over and you stay there. Never pick up a weapon again if you can help it.”
“If you say so.” The lad looked like he was anything but convinced as he turned and went back to his business of collecting mail. He sighed and let himself fall back onto his bedroll, taking the leather cord off of his neck letting the ring dangle above his face. Couldn’t afford an amulet of Mara when he was young and just coming back from the war, so they made due with the help of a friend long gone now. That’s what they always did, him and Halla. They were strong, and if you asked Jorwen, Halla was even stronger than him. Strong with the mind, quick with the wit, and that’s where strength really counts. He missed Halla, missed his daughter, Solveig.
He’d drifted off to sleep, it seemed. Farid’s smiling face was hovering above his and he flinched, almost wrapped his hands around Farid’s head and cracked his nose with his forehead before he recognized the bastard. “Ashav wants us.”
“How long was I out?”
“Not long. D’you see that light?” Farid asked.
“What light?” Jorwen asked, cocking his brow.
“That’s what Ashav wants to talk about.” The smile didn’t disappear from his face, “Seemed urgent.”
Jorwen sighed and rolled back onto his arse, where he clutched his chest and let out a long, gravelly cough. His eyes were screwed shut and he shook his head before opening it, hacking again to clear his throat and spitting a gob of phlegm into the dirt. “That cough. Doesn’t sound good.”
“When’s a cough good?” He got to his feet and dusted his pants off. He rolled his shoulders and shook his head. Back to business, then. He walked back to Ashav’s tent with Farid in tow as he tied the leather cord back around his neck. It’d be a while before he saw his family again.
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