Recent Statuses

1 yr ago
I forgot how bad colds were.
1 yr ago
When he says work at it, he means work at it. Hard. It's definitely not a problem that'll ever really go away. You'll just learn to keep it quiet, or force through it.
1 yr ago
Nothing makes me happier than seeing a sub notification.
1 like
1 yr ago
Fallout 4 was certainly terrible in many ways, but some stuff like the fridge-kid can be overlooked through the less-than-serious attitude of the entire series. Yknow. Pistols exploding entire bodies.
1 yr ago
Gimp drains the lifeforce of those that download it. Be wary. If your soul is plentiful and grand, then surely you'll face not the gatekeeper of Gimp and be able to freely use the program.


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

I'm a taker. Setting, Age, Weapon Tier, etc necessary for me to settle on a character. We will go the picture-only route, but I do request that we list our gear for material and toolset details. Indicate something as hidden but just note that there is something there, to maintain fairness and a layer of unknowability, yes? Thoughts?
"I know where I sit. Heavy black depths."

The air was an ichor. Thick with devilry and dust that hung in the air like heaps of meat in all too little broth. The ring had, as it fell through the air, tumbled. Drifted. Carved through the muck and moisture. When it landed, it did so against the soft sand near the front most third of the cell. The stone bricks were kept. Maintained. Cleaned. Stained still in old black blood at the edges and between the cracks. Old blood, from ages past. The bed in the cell's corner was a stone thing with sand piled up on it. Spilling out. Softened. The sand-covered floor was equally soft, and fine. Powdery. Most of the dust in the low air was from this sand, which drifted as the wind came through the iron-bar window behind the cell's sleeper.

Rings of iron bound up the corpse in the center of the room. Around the wrists forced behind its back. Around the ankles on which it sat upright. Thick linen sheets covered the squirming husk as it heaved, shifted, and cracked against the stoney hush. It was obscured by the linens from head to ankles. The oblivion runes Bedt, Hekem, Koht were burnt onto the head of the linens. Between the runes, which were arranged in a triangle, was a black soul gem that held the entire magical contraption together with the chains that held it against the subjet's face. The runes burnt a low amber, and the soulgem pulsed a dull magicka blue on occassion.

Everyone on this level of the prison could smell the raw excess magicka peeling out of the cell, despite the warding over the linens that peeled away at the corpse's reserves. It probed. It felt. It extended itself outwards. It didn't come in wafts. Instead thick tendrils that hazed at the edges, that could be physically tracked along their length by the smell.

As soon as the ring struck the sand in front of the heaving, covered figure, the smell retracted. Like a flinch. It squirmed. It returned so quickly that it flickered like the whip that was being visualized to force it homeward. When the magicka settled behind the linens, a singled clawed hand came up from beneath the layers of thick fabric. It was still bound, and its partner hid just behind the fabrics' excess.

The back of the figure seemed to writhe and worn about. Two loud snaps occurred, and the bent elbows returned to their positions on the knees of the squatting figure. His posture, corrected now, enabled his hands to burn their own gold light. In front of him. As the golden glow of restoration magic danced from his hands, his arms audibly snapped. A snap and a crunch as his shoulders corrected themselves. With his arms in front of him now, he felt comfortable reaching out and grasping the ring.

He traced its shape. The runes. He did not wear it. Instead he felt at the elements of it. The decorative. The magic it carried. Its foreign essence. That wasn't Deadric, was it? No it wasn't. The Daedric alphabet was written with a stylus. This script wasn't meant for creatures with hands. No more than a specific number of strikes in each.

He paused to pick sand out from his own nails.

"Is it... ehn—chaant—ed? Currrs—ed?"

The whole of the corpse was dried. Desicated by the soft sand. Its skin peeled away, at the edges. One could track the peeling by the blackness. That skin that was blackened by slow rot peeled first. Unending discomfort. The question was punctuated by a heave as the lungs of the old body and the larynx all struggled with the air that contested with the condition of the being. He'd have projected his voice, one might think, were he not so constrained.
Final clarification questions so that I can make sure all my character concepts are effectively tied to the BBEG and the plot of the story we'll be telling as a team:

1) Hafvyg is definitely the Dragonborn, correct?
2) Is the Volkihar vampire clan a powerful force in Skyrim or have they been driven to extinction (How did this Dragonborn's Dawnguard campaign end)?
3) Paarthurnax. How pissed/deceased is he knowing that the Dragonborn couldn't control his conqueror's urges?
4) Is Ulfric alive?
5) Is Miraak alive?
6) How many dragons have evaded being conquered and enslaved by the Dragonborn? How many still follow Paarthurnax's Way Of The Voice? How many Greybeards were killed/has a new generation of Greybeards taken their place? Or are the same ones alive still because hella dragon vocal talents?
7) How do things look in the court of the King Of The Thalmor? Are they still the primary political power of the High Elves?
8) What is the fighters guild's stance on the Emperor?
9) What is the mages guild's stance on the Emperor?
10) Are the Daedra staying out of events and just betting right now? Or are they starting to interfere at the realization that the Dragonborn is in Herma Mora's pocket (assuming that 4 states Miraak is dead and the Dragonborn is Herma Mora's new servant)?
I'm hooked. I expect good things from this.

Question though: When you say ALL hist trees, do you mean ALL hist trees? Did the hist trees not have some populations moved into the impassable zones of the Black Marsh? Or did the Imperials surpass the impassability of those Black Marsh regions?
Kapti Van Ken

"Wai wai wait. I'll com with yu to thuh Lord. Can' just be doomin' worker-folk to behcuhm bag-head-things like that. Bridge ought to be a checkpoin whereuhn pikemen form a wall an execute targehts hated by thuh dogs or whutever wretched magicks yu need. Thehs town was meant to take siege. Et can handle this." He finished that with a flourish at the head being displayed to him. He had seen his fair share of wretched fetishes and idols, so this squirming dollish thing made little impact on the charcoal burner. In fact it intrigued him. He wanted to make an idol to the forest of it. That could wait, however.

"An thuh people can figh too." Kapti slid his splitting maul over his shoulder into its sling and rested a hand on one of the heads of his tomahawks. He planted his feet and puffed out his chest, making a rather firm display of gesturing townwards and churchwards. "We're of Kensfort, and we're stronger for it. Stronger than this squirming deadman." His accent faded just momentarily before picking back up. "We cuhn hahndol thehs if we work smart. Means doomehn no-on."

Kapti Van Ken

Kapti took a long moment to nod, "Fel like when yur climbbd up tuh the top of a tree an yu get that split second where yu want to jump, but yu don because that's foolish. Suicidal. Whispurs at me thuh grave did, said it needed me. That et'd be fine down in et." The call to the void as described by Kapti was certainly specific, if nothing else. Perhaps the feeling, the urge to call upon one's lesser decision making faculties and do something terrible was familiar, perhaps it was not. Either way, that description was what was provided. "The bag, though. What's en it?"

Kapti Van Ken

He held his ground as she approached, and broke when the smell hit him. First a scoff and a choke, before he quickly dropped his left hand from his weapon and used it to pull his own nose tight and closed. He wheezed, before slipping out, "Point pruven she-folk. G'till thuh Smithy at thuh keep t-put yur arms an armor cleanin on the Van Ken tab, if yur gonn have that handled proper-like. Poor soul. Nounder yur mood is all up an tweested like hells whores." He let his eyes meet hers, before turning his attention back now to the others.

"What ani-mal is in thee bag? Mole?" He enunciated carefully, perhaps over doing it. He gestured now with the head of his maul loosely, still remaining out of the way but dropping his stance.

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