Status

Recent Statuses

3 days ago
Current My entire self wants to click, "Start Private Convo with yourself," simply because it sounds ridiculous and like something I shouldn't be able to do.
9 likes
4 days ago
Hello. This is my first one of these. This place seems interesting and largely well organized, and as such I've got a bit of an appreciation for it.
11 likes

Bio

Yo, Parzivol here.

Young, in that I'm young enough that I'm not yet considered an Adult. Been doing this since I was about twelve to some capacity or another. Of course, that means I started in Minecraft and another forum. Worked my way into Discord and then here. Excited to participate.

Primary Interests:
Dark Fantasy, Sci-Fi, Historical-Medieval (Periodic style insertion stuff, a la Kingdom Come: Deliverance). My stylistic preferences are on the side of mystery, rather than open-world adventure romps or conventional murder-hoboing.

Favorite Authors:
R.A. Salvatore, H.P. Lovecraft, David Eddings, Orson S. Card

Games Of Choice:
TES: Oblivion, Darkest Dungeon, FTL: Faster Than Light, Dark Souls 1, For Honor, Divinity: OS 2 (Haven't gotten to 1 yet, though I'd like to), and Absolver.

Out of that list, my favorite in terms of storytelling methods are DS1 and Absolver, which both use the light-touch item descriptions method. Take whatever you wish from that. FTL has engaging stories, and Oblivion is a fun FPS A-RPG with the heavy lean on action. Darkest Dungeon is the monster I'm yet to slay, while DS1 is the monster I love to curl up with on cold days. Divinity: OS 2 is interesting and I enjoyed what I played, but I wasn't all that engaged in the story. Personally doesn't feel like the kind of game that should have player-made characters. Perhaps the simple fix would be to play one of their legacy heroes. I'll find out this summer, in all likelihood.

Also, Music:
Weezer, Primus, MC LARS, Beastie Boys

Most Recent Posts

Got my first post up. I feel like a good entrance was necessary to breach the already established narrative course for proper insertion, so I went a bit overboard with the hunt.

Also: Working on the Skyrim-established idea that Reachmen are basically a branch of Bretons native to the Reach and the High Rock-Skyrim border territory. It's clear based on his dress that he's a Reachman, but he also looks Breton of lineage because he's a Reachman.
With no food and no septims, self-sufficiency would be the only answer that made any sense. No, he did not have a bow. No, he did not have arrows. There were always alternatives, however, and he knew one of his favorites to be good for these such circumstances. It took him about a half hour to clean up his camp, pack his bag, fully clothe, stamp out the fire, and pray. In that particular order. The only sign that he had ever been there was a smear of clouded funnel cap paste, drawn in a circle on a stone. The sun was not yet risen.

Then, he busied himself. He needed food, and this region was sure to be plentiful and rich with food. One way or another. The goal was meat, though he'd settle for something else if he needed to. Preparation was simple: a paralysis paste on the tip of the iron short sword he carried. Not the edge. He needed the edge to open a wound on his target, and the paste to keep the thing still after forcing it to turn its neck up. Keep the bleed out quick and efficient, and keep the hunt quick. The goal was to avoid exhaustion while also managing one's stores. He didn't need much paste, which was to his benefit as he hadn't been collecting much while he was coming down South. His goal had been to escape the chaos up North, so slowing himself down made little sense.

The next step for the hunt was the right disguise, followed soon after by the right knowledge. He took some time to coat himself in snow, especially on his shoulders and head. That would enable him to hide in a snow mound and wait, while not fussing so much over details. The information that he gathered next was a trail. He found fresh tracks, which took about a half hour, and then a mound along those tracks. He burrowed into the mound with startling efficiency, then used his hands to dig a little pit out for his eyes. Now, he was obscured and could see the trail. Touch it, if he really wanted to. Then, it was waiting.

When a large male Elk came into view, he could still feel his finger tips. The creature pressed its head into the ground, and pushed away snow. It came up with grass. When it went down again, the Reachman moved. He jerked forward in a practiced manner, he had frequently taken down bandits and Forsworn with this such method, and tackled at the thing. He aimed not for where its antlers were, but for where they would be.

His calloused, fur-clad hands found grip at the bases of the antlers. The animal immediately moved Southwest, while Bruoch pulled himself up onto its back. Twice he nearly lost purchase when the thing stopped and bucked. He, perhaps through luck or his own deep reserves of energy, had managed to maintain a grip while making progress all the same.

It carried him downhill, slamming its side into the occasional passing tree in an attempt to dismount the Reachman. He maintained grip, however, and finally managed to draw out his sword. With his left hand and his thighs he tightened his grip on the creature. Leaning forward, being wary of the antlers, he pulled the blade against the animal's throat. It coughed out a howl of pain. The sun was up, now, and casting light down onto the display. Downhill through the trees rode Bruoch, on the bleeding elk. He transferred his blade to his teeth, and scooted forward on the thing's back. While it jerked its neck around he found his right hand grip once again. Once obtained, he grabbed the Elk by the lower neck with his left leg. His right leg was raised up, pressing down on the Elk's right flank for support.

With his position secured by the odd but practiced lock, he took his blade in his right hand once again. Rather than stabbing down onto the Elk, he readied to stab downwards onto its back legs. In one movement he adjusted, jerking the Deer's head back and tripping it. As the pair fell, both now thoroughly bloodied, he plunged the iron sword's tip into the creature's ass. The rigidity was nearly immediate. It spread quickly, and the Creature lost control as its muscles went tight. Bruoch pulled himself in, hugging tight to the Elk's back, as it cartwheeled about thirty feet down the snowy hill and breached the treeline.

After bouncing once, the creature toppled a headstone. Bruoch, covered in blood and fur and snow, pushed away from the paralyzed deer and scrambled for the nearest stone. He settled on one from a Nord cairn, and moved on the Elk. With three swift strikes, he bashed its head in.

Its limbs began to slowly go limp, as the paralysis wore off of the dead body.

The Reachman looked around, assessing his new environment. When his eyes rested on an Imperial man, an elf, and the Breton girl, he laughed. The energy and flowing enthusiasm left him otherwise speechless. He kicked the deer onto its side, and pulled back his headdress. The ugly Breton-looking man was smiling, and his face had managed to smear itself a bit in the blood of the animal. From his fur belt he pulled a long, thin-looking dirk, and began to cut effortlessly through the deer. His goal at the moment, regardless of the strangers, was to ensure that the meat he wanted was covered with snow and in his bag. These folk looked like they were from one of the settlements in the area, or from settlements in general, but he could never truly tell when Hircine was going to send challengers following a particularly efficient hunt.

After he had made some of the major cuts and rubbed the blood on his face, as he did so often, he pulled his headdress back up. Perhaps rubbing the blood on his face wasn't the smartest idea. His face began to lose a bit of feeling, but he worked through it. The smear was going to wear out here soon anyhow, so he wasn't worried. He'd make due if these folks insisted on conversation. Worst case scenario he was forced to defend himself and hid their bodies out in the woods and claimed no connection to the deaths. Head and fingers would have to be removed. Heart for safety purposes.

No. That was planning ahead. Certainly they'd be more startled than anything. He hadn't been aggressive towards them. Unless, perhaps, they were game-keepers. With that thought, he looked up and scowled, before continuing to open up the deer. If they were game-keepers he'd definitely have to kill them. Hircine's blessing was always upon him, as he was a man of the Reach. There would be absolutely no reason to risk rubbing up against the law and losing supplies and time.

@SoulChrysamere@Mixcoatl
I love the character synergy here. Things seem like they'll be cool.


NAME: Bruoch Horntree

RACE: Reachman

GENDER: Male

AGE: Thirty-three

BIRTHSIGN: The Atronach

HEIGHT: Five Foot, Seven Inches

APPEARANCE: Bruoch is a toadish man with a broad, ugly face, and large lips. His sunken brow suggests to most that he is almost constantly perturbed, while his narrow brown eyes suggest something snake-like and inquisitive in him. Deep creases at the corners of his mouth and on his forehead make him seem a bit older than he really is, and early-balding hair has done little to aid against the illusion. His thick black-brown beard is braided into three thick, dangling ropes of hair. They give him, despite being high-effort hair pieces, a look of lacked refinement. His hair itself is receded back to the middle of his head. What hasn't been lost, however, is long and roped. The hair on his brow is, itself, rather thorough as well. His brow hair suggests something wild in his appearance, and most aids the illusion that he's just one of the more brutal Reachman like those that associate with the Forsworn.

In terms of shape, he is broad. His shoulders and chest are fit, and his long arms and legs are defined enough in musculature to keep him in proportion. Were he any fatter or any thinner though he'd look a bit off-shape. He takes little effort in the taming of his body hair, and is understandably quite ragged as a result. Several scarified symbols are visible on his back. Most notable is a depiction of the stars in the Atronach sign. He calls this, rather lovingly, his Golem. Beyond that, he frequently paints himself in the spiral symbols commonly found in giant camps, mixed with many of the symbols and signs more conventionally used by Reachmen.

EQUIPMENT: He is a more traditional sort, but not nearly as frivolous in decoration as his kinsmen. The result is a mix of basic hides and furs meant to warm and protect mixed with the various bone amulets and decoration pieces worn by Reachmen. His headdress is the most traditional thing on him, and clumsily depicts the deer-head of Hircine with bone, antlers, and elk-hide. He cares little for exposed flesh, especially in the harsh environment common in Skyrim, the Jerals, and the edge territories of High Rock. To facilitate his warmth then, he wears plenty of layered furs. Beyond that though, he has little else. His sandals are carefully designed to aid in his traversal of the rocky terrain of the Reach, and are rather uncomfortable on flat ground. The result is a lot of complaining.

In terms of arms, he keeps light. His work as a guide in the Reach has earned him access to some higher quality materials, including enchanting materials. The resulting tools were a climbing pick, an iron shortsword, and an enchanted knife called Butcher.

His supply pack is a large satchel in which he keeps alchemy ingredients, food, and other useful necessities. He keeps about fifteen feet of hemp rope with him at any one time (though this is often kept tied around his waist and shoulders rather than in his bag), and a fire drill (bow-drill). Out of habit he keeps a handful of soul gems on him, but he does not know the soul trap spell. Finally, he keeps enough extra furs to erect a small fur tent if he must during travels.

PERSONALITY: He's a pious sort, and will often leave offerings to Hircine. He's wary of being too pious, though. Nothing would make him happier than serving Hircine, but he does not want the Wolf Curse or the Bear Curse. He sees them as beneficial but doesn't like the idea of skin-changing.

There are plenty of ways to approach defining Bruoch, but two stand out. He is kind, and passive. He does what he sees as good for the sake of being good, rather than for reward. He is stoic in his emotional inclination, and values hard work above almost all else. His reasoning for becoming a guide for foreigners in Reach land is for those exact reasons: He thinks the Forsworn are too emotional, and sees them as taking the lazy path. He wants to be good, and as such guides people around Forsworn encampments and traps as a profession.

WEAKNESSES: Nothing of any particular oddity is to be noted. Most of his weakness is visible in his attributes, where he's consistently lacking in the luck, personality, and willpower. Beyond that is his lack of magicka regeneration due to his birth season. There's the constant persecution that has to be handled as well, given that few like the Reachmen. Then there's his issue with tech. Ever since he was a small child he's been largely incapable of being around Dwemer tech without things going terribly wrong. The stuff just makes him destructively clumsy when he's near it.

SKILL REPERTOIRE: (Also Attributes)
Endurance Focus, Speed Focus
STEALTH Character
Master: N/A
Expert: Cold Weather Survival, Athletics
Journeyman: Sneak, Medium Armor, Acrobatics
Apprentice: Short Blade, Alchemy

POLITICAL AFFILIATIONS: Informally he supports the Nords in their rebellion against the Empire. His vision of Skyrim is one that's unified. That means Nords, Reachmen, Hagravens, Giants, and the various other local sentients working together. He thinks that the rebellion against the Empire is misguided, however, and that following Ulfric is going to have no long term impact. Specific to the Markarth issue, he supports the Silver-Blood family and the local Nord populations. It's his opinion that forces like Madanach's are working against the well-being of the Reachmen tribes in the area and the well-being of the Nords. His family is from a South-Western pocket that lives on the edge of the Reach and Falkreath Hold, and as such he sees the leadership of those holds and their opinions as favorable to those in other holds. He prefers Dengeir of Stuhn's reign over Siddgeir, who he sees as childish. He is content with the current Jarl of Markarth, though wish the Silver-Blood Clan would simply be given the seat so that it could rule the city with more economic efficiency in mind.

GUILD AFFILIATIONS: None, though he has been contacted at one time or the other by the Companions to act as a guide for finding particularly secluded groves with righteous game to hunt. He does not know their secret.
---------------------

BACKSTORY: Bruoch grew up in the South-West Reach with a small tribe that was mostly his extended family. They kept to themselves, and remained distant from the conflicts that preceded the war. He himself has no children, but that's in part due to his choices. While his direct kin are more moderate considering their close relations with local Nords at Falkreath and in the southern Reach, they do not quite approve of Bruoch's decision to actively aid the Nords. Indifference is one thing, help is another. He was almost thrown out when he joined Ulfric's forces in toppling Markarth's brief period of independence. The only thing keeping him with his family was his closeness to his Grandmother, a powerful Hagraven which acted as the matriarch of the family.

When Bruoch was a boy, his cousins didn't hold his attention. His elder brother was a bore, obsessed only with the hunt and politicking about the affairs of the Reachmen and the Nords. He found himself no affection for his female cousins, as he thought of them too well as sisters and so took not to the idea of keeping the family in the family. With no one else around, he tended to his Grandmother. For much of his childhood she was a simple witch, enacting rituals and providing the family magical protections against those few mercenaries or adventurers that attacked them. She was, for much of his life, his idol. When she underwent the ritual to become a Hagraven, he became a tool to her. His willingness as a teenager to prove himself to her and seek her affection was and is easily abused. During this period though, she willingly taught him bits about alchemy. When he was away though, he was sent out to hunt and survey land and track the growth of particular groves. Little did he know, he was planning out an attack against the local Spriggans. His Grandmother needed the sap and taproots of the Spriggans, and so used her Grandson to do the heavy lifting of the information collection.

When sixteen, he was sent alone to kill and collect a Spriggan for use by his grandmother. He did so, though was maimed when one of the creatures cut deep against his chest. Half-bled out, he returned to camp. His grandmother took the whole mess as an indication that he would become the family's first briarheart upon his death, a hint from Hircine that it must be so. Carefully, in an attempt to maintain her nervous grandson's loyalty, she gifted him an enchanted knife. It was unique in its ability to hack through dead flesh and bone with ridiculous efficiency. He keeps and cleans it as a memento, though he has not seen his grandmother for quite the spot.

The plans to undergo such that procedure began and would unfold over several years. He's had difficulties accepting the ritual, however, and has homesteaded at a small site just West of the Whiterun Hold-Reach border, along the main road. His little shack there has been where he's operated for the past three or four years. With rumors of dragons about and other terrifying creatures though, he goes south to the Jerals. He has no real interest in returning to family, though he knows he must one day, and has grown exhausted with his environment. Surely a different set of cold mountains will help him with that? Surely.

Following a tough night just North of this Roxey village he's heard so little about. His stomach turned a bit as he felt through his empty pack. He needed food. And septims. That was a realization that hit him with a bit of weight. He found a bit of Elves Ear near the bottom of his pack and began to chew on it, content on letting that hold him over. Surely he was Stoic enough to last, yes? Most certainly.

It's always a good morning when your first concern is feeding yourself.


Freddy ignored his surroundings rather single-mindedly, watching the machine with an intense lack of satisfaction. It was a thing, and he knew not what this thing's purpose was. "I'll make a point of finding the answer to my question through you. I want your purpose known." If it even had one (It most certainly had a purpose). The conclusion was simple, as far as Frederick was concerned: It didn't matter at the moment.

No, certainly not. Priority one was the avoidance of capture or death. The Mutes, for as long as they had lived, represented threats to those goals. So, he had given them his attention. When they had called for his getting down, he had obeyed. The Speedster had been ignored. Whether the man had a better sense for the situation than Freddy was uncertain, but at the moment our fisherman felt it best to do as he was told. It would be a simple matter to handle things afterwards. When the Mutes too had fallen to the ground, he remained, though his attention was towards the newcomer. Despite himself being of a more ancient cut of cloth, he had no extrasensory abilities at the moment. The only hinting towards the presence of a God-kith for Frederick was the speaking and the following suicides.

That was no small feat. Full biologicals were simple things, yes, but to have that much control over them was exceptional. It was no hallmark of humanity. That suggested enough for Frederick to become quickly disinterested in the situation. Nothing would disturb his old bones more than having to face something as old as himself, or older. So then, he pushed off the ground and moved with the Speedster. He caught up with a ghastly alacrity, and an off-putting speed of sprint. It was out of character for the otherwise reserved and set-back figure. Upon nearing the Speedster, Frederick extended his left hand down for the machine's offender.

"I'll take it. Focus on finding our way. He won't slow me down, with the flesh willing." The man's voice was warbley and cold, and reminded of the sound made by fish slapping against a cutting board or table, though sped up thousands of times and used to modulate something akin to a right proper voice. Perhaps it was the distance, or fear, because he had sounded fine enough only earlier. Matching his statement, he had moved to seize up the downed man by the chest. His left hand hovered about a foot over the man's chest, awaiting permission to pull the stranger up.

"And I'm Frederick. Freddy. Lead the way, yes? I've little interest in being around when more come and trounce those that remain." There it was. Normalized. Again that nondescript voice of a gentle American south-easterner.

Frederick felt again that certain draw to the machine. The idea intrigued him. He'd need to find it and toy with it given time. It had done more ill of the people in the penal colony that week through accident than most of the murderers had. With the rations closed, people would face pains not of their own wishing. What would drive something, apparently made in that clumsy human way. Perhaps it wasn't of human craft. That was always an option. The infinite horrors of the cosmos leaving a mechanical marvel in the middle of a worthless star in a worthless place.

Perhaps a hune was the answer. An escape. But this planet was so quaint wasn't it?

Interacting with @MegaOscarPwn, @Utrax, and to a lesser extent, @LordOfTheNight
I feel like the least productive way to operate a protection racket is to kill people being coerced. Freeze Frame seems impulsive.
"There's something charming about this city. Almost in spite of the circumstances, people manage to do stupid things."

Frederick nodded to himself as he waited in line. It was a mutter. Doubtful that any would hear it, but who knows.

The man was thin and dense.
He came for rations only once every other week, and he seemed to have one set of clothing. For the most part he kept to the slums, moving with relative freedom. The gang bosses had tried time and again to exploit him, but it was expensive to throw bodies at the self-proclaimed fisherman. No matter how many were sent, they disappeared.

It was logistically better to let him walk and smile his broad, goatish smile at passerby.

His attention was rarely held for long, and it was easy enough to ask him out of the way or for his spot in line.
He became a sort of favorite for those who managed to lose track of rations, as he was always more than willing to provide his own. Several weeks back, in fact, he had broken his schedule and stood two weeks in a row. Someone had asked him to, and so he had. It was no skin off his back and any man, woman, or child quaint enough to proposition him over something so readily available as food would receive it.

Today though, the cyborg had piqued his curiosity. Say it was his gut, urging him to investigate and toy and learn. That was something that he appreciated about life in general. Its ability to be curious was critical.

When the first several computers were released onto the public market, he made a point of collecting them and toying with them. They had eventually lost his interest, but he knew enough to pass as his thirty-something facade in public come the decades. Every five years or so he drove into Atlanta and bought a phone and a computer.

That didn't matter quite so much now, though.

He had a question. Computers don't do things unless they've been fed a command, or have instructions to make them run something on their own. How different could this thing really be? Even if it was self-aware and had a sense of self, everything has nature, too.

Something completely and entirely valid that was surely worth answering. No question in the world forged by this ancient, critical mind could be useless. It would be ridiculous. Beyond reason, even, to suggest that it could ask an unimportant question.

"Machine. What are you doing?"

No. It was certainly feasible for him to steal a little girl's question, though. He moved himself gently towards the front of the encircled little distortion in the line, and repeated himself for clarity.

NAME

Frederick "Freddy" R. Samson


SPECIES

Shoggoth


AGE

Ancient


HEIGHT/WEIGHT

Fifteen feet in diameter, 1 1/2 Ton (Raw Shoggoth)|(Frederick State) Six Foot Seven Inches, 1 1/2 Ton


GENDER

Whatever (Raw Shoggoth)|(Frederick State) Male


POWER

Fully Amorphous Nature

As a Shoggoth, Frederick's form is entirely malleable and is capable of reproducing, "all organs and processes". The result is a rather dangerous creature. This fully amorphous nature also finds it being incredibly difficult to slay without precise knowledge of the creature itself. It most often uses its ability to enter the form of Freddy R. Samson, the identity he's assumed for the past several hundred years. Its first few ventures into the murdering of sentient life involved its arms becoming large, toothed feelers.


WEAKNESSES

Suggestibility

While this Shoggoth has a will of its own and has proven a shrewd adversary to those that he has made combat with in the past, he is easily suggestible. His normal drive to kill and survive could easily be redirected towards a more stellar threat against the planet Earth, given the right person is behind the words.


Radiation

Its biological capabilities are most effective on the macro-scale, and it is generally a hardy monstrosity. When faced with immense amounts of radiation without time to prepare, however, it becomes easy to burn away. As a result, it often avoids radiation-high regions and is obscenely careful around open flame.


Raw Magic

As a creation of ancient science and magic, a gross combination of the two fields, parts of its essence are maintained through means easily undone through Eldritch Magic or other such fields of study. His will is particularly weak against manipulative magics, and his form is easy to undo through targeted magics and the right castings.


I N F O

This particular Shoggoth has grown accustomed to being an American fisherman. First as an ambiguous stranger to the Cherokee, then one of the first to arrive with the European settlers. It was always an easy matter for it. It developed, after some hundred thousand years of watching primitive humanity stream into his part of the content, a bit of an appreciation for the species. Their ability to manipulate their environment was endearing to the Shoggoth, who had as much control over its direct environment as it had over itself. That's how it lived for quite some time. It has no particular qualms with killing, and did so freely as he needed to with relative ease. Its only real reason for being anything comparable to a villain is the number it's murdered. Hundreds of thousands have fallen to its occasional hunger and rage. Moved now to Ireland following an incident with the invaders (who it's made a thorough point of hiding its nature from), it lives among the slums. It has taken more freely to killing than it would under normal circumstances, if only to ensure its survival. There are two things that this Shoggoth refuses: fate as a slave, or fate contained.
Saw this, was interested. Hope to get some fun out of it if you'll take Frederick here and I.

Bump.

Just kidding.

The Elder Scrolls provides a lot of good plot hooks and NPC plot tools. The Daedric Princes act as good story-starters. All of them have some anti-The World intentions save for several of the more, "I exist specifically to flesh out a pantheon," princes. Several have attempted invasions in the past, and several have all but succeeded. Almost any one of these Princes could be used as a plot hook. There's also a lot of potential in the Dwemer and in Politics, but I'm going to focus on the Daedra.

Looking At past Elder Scrolls Games:
TES: Skyrim and its DLC Dragonborn was almost exclusively about Herma Mora and dealing with the impacts of his actions. Dragonborn as a DLC is essentially a Demon-Butler contest between the Last Dragonborn and the Last Dragonborn. There's the blood collection quest, as well, in vanilla Skyrim that serves a similar enough function. This all, generally speaking, makes sense. Herma Mora is the Prince Of Knowledge, and learning Dragon Shouts is a big central mechanic in Skyrim.
TES: Oblivion is waging a war against a Daedric Prince and his cult.
TES: Morrowind is serving a Daedric Prince and getting revenge for that time your face, hands, feet, and genitals were cut off by your best friends.
Smaller adventures, such as those used in Daedric Prince side-quests in several games, can be dragged out to fill out a campaign. Boethiah's and Namira's quests come to mind as good examples. Either has twists and turns and can be dragged out to a good length for a roleplay with some changes, capitalizing on character development moments. Namira's would need some edits to make it playable and fun for those that wouldn't want to do anything but kill the cannibal in the Markarth Hall Of The Dead, but Boethiah's doesn't require much change.

Politics
Skyrim's Civil War has potential, and could be retooled to follow a squad of either Imperial or Stormcloak soldiers through their adventure war-romp. Could focus on the darker, grittier side of things here in a setting that makes sense for it. Lots of stuff along those lines would be good. Skyrim didn't execute it all well, but it gave lots of good material that could be expanded on. The Altmeri-Imperial conflict is one that could be looked at and explored pretty well. There's always the Great War to fall back on, as well, even though Elder Scrolls: Legends (A cannon source of story) has more or less fleshed that out as far as one can. Few have really explored the ES: Legends story, though, so some research and retooling could make that a good campaign with memorable NPCs and stories.

But like the other person was saying. Smaller stuff is important too. Not every mercenary is going to be the Chosen One or a hardened veteran, and some of the best stories are about peasants and low-tier blades for higher discovering themselves and their allies through adversity and trials. There's a Rat Quest for every Nerevarine.

Just some ideas. Hope it helped.
@Rockin@Rockin Strings
© 2007-2017
BBCode Cheatsheet