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.
5
likes
6 yrs ago
Nothing makes me happier than seeing a sub notification.
1
like
6 yrs 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.
6 yrs 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.
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
Parz1vol’s Monster — “Smog Ghost” — Quick Reference Information
A black magic organism inside of clothing, or in this case a diving suit. It moves by manipulating air pressure in gas pockets in its body, and so is limited and disabled only when limbs are severed. Its decentralized nervous system sees to it that it is no weaker at its head than it is anywhere else, though its eyes can be wounded and its vision hampered.
Traits: Jerky Movements, Decentralized Nervous System, Major Strength, Low-Light Vision, Bioluminescent, Weakness to severing Skills: Jury Rigging, Unarmed Combat, Precision Agility Personality: Programmed to seek and destroy Alphonso Tallo, instinct-driven to defend self and convert humanoids into Smog Ghosts.
[Reference Image WIP]
Gas Traits: The thick gas produced by Smog Ghosts is fine particulate from the magical realm that the Smog Ghost is conjured from. It is a dull orange color, and clings to clothes and skin. It causes stinging and internal bleeding when breathed in.
Omira City, Capital Of The Confederacy Of Freehold
The Banking District, Quarantined
21:30
Omira City. The gleaming jewel in the crown of the Confederacy Of Freehold. Its head of state, Alphonso Tallo, was elected by the Council Of Kings. A representative from each of the 19 states in the Confederacy voted for him to take on the role of Dictator. The position is absolute, but the Dictator can be removed from office by a simple majority in the Council Of Kings. The High Lord Morlat is the head of the military. Both of these men are native to Omira. They are popular with the people, and are considered loyal to the Council Of Kings as a whole, rather than to any individual state. Briah, the northernmost state, is unhappy with recent policy changes. They are known as the Witch State, and terrorists from Briah have begun to strike at Omira City to punish Morlat and Alphonso for recent decisions in the federal government.
The Banking District Quarantine was rather small. By the time the Briah Beast had been conjured there the walls had been put up to keep the creature in. Eighty feet up into the air rose the steel, wood, and bronze that had been built by the Omira Teamwork Corp., a manual-labor organization operated by the state.
The outer Banking District was outside the wall, and contained smaller private banks.
The state bank was trapped inside the walls, with two other mercantile buildings. An inn with foreign lettering, the Northwest structure. It was two stories. The first story had a door facing East, into the main street. That same floor had two East facing windows. The first floor had a front desk by the door, to the left of which was a staircase leading upwards. To the right of the front desk were several tables with chairs. Under the stairs was a kitchen. The second floor had three East facing windows that looked down on the street. Walking up the stairs on the first floor took you to the second floor, which opened up into a hallway to the right. Three doors for three small rooms with a bed, a bucket, a desk, and a window each could be found.
The Northeast structure was an identical floor plan. The three rooms on the third floor were a bedroom, a surgery room, and a cold room. Our bottom floor was a space dedicated to boxing and exercise, with a raised square in the center. The bedroom and the stairs and the front of the building were torn open by rubble, with a horseless-carriage burning at the bottom of the gash in the building. It looked as though it had been thrown through the building. Its driver’s seat was shredded, and the leather torn open. The inside of the vehicle dripped red with blood, and many of the jagged metal bits had flesh still hooked onto it. The corpse was carefully butterflied open with its guts strewn out. The skeleton was kept in place in such a manner that the red flesh and innards seemed to have been carefully removed and picked away without actually disrupting the corpse from where it had landed. This single body painted most of the stone on the street red.
The actual banking facility in the southern section of the quarantine had a large staircase leading up to it from the road. Nine horseless carriages were parked to the side of the staircase, six to the left and three to the right. They were recent, pricey models. Their doors were torn open and each had a carefully vivisected body like the crashed vehicle just across the cul de sac. At the top of the steps were four trees, carved from marble. They were each ten feet apart. Between the center two were iron doors, smashed open, leading into the bank. It was a tall building with a tiled roof, but the building itself had only one floor. The center room was round, and a fractal design was printed onto the floor. There was a locked, steel door directly across from the entrance. To its left was a desk, locked down and closed up, and to its right was another desk similarly locked with a sliding steel plate. Bank notes are still scattered across the slick floor.
The terrorists from Briah had been working as a collective referred to as the New Briah Liberation Movement, which had a public office with NBLM painted on the front. This office burnt down a month prior when several of the proto-terrorists thought it clever to construct one of their monstrosities there. These creatures, which had since began to spread throughout the city as independent witches began to conjure them, and the original threats spread from the slums district, had become to be called Smog Ghosts.
Any individual Smog Ghost was a threat due to the nature of its sturdy physiology and its adaptability. It was when they were allowed to congregate and the thick gas that they produced as a byproduct began to develop into sheets of bad air that things worsened. It was a heavy gas, and the steel walls were all that was needed to keep it out, but it was still a rather substantial threat. It caked onto walls, weapons, and the skin in a suffocating manner. When breathed in it caused tumors, swelling, and internal bleeding that spread quickly throughout the body. It was a truly dangerous material. The danger was then amplified with the fact that the Smog Ghosts were smart enough to move around quietly through the understreets, and to congregate in larger numbers while laying traps in their territory.
The slums had been claimed too thoroughly for a recovery mission. A lone terrorist had constructed this particular Smog Ghost using an old diving suit stolen a week ago from Omira’s port docks. The only reason the threat had been secured so quickly was due to scrying efforts on the part of the magistrate, as well as a disruptive pulse of magic that had been laid over the central Banking District to ensure that the Smog Ghost was too confused to replicate.
As the elevator on the quarantine edge was lowered, its inhabitant (@A Man Is No One), could see the Smog Ghost rather clearly. The thick diving suit stood at about six feet tall, and was a mix of bronzework and leatherwork with some additional imported materials. The helmet of the suit had two lenses over where a human wearer’s eyes would be. The lenses let off an eerie orange glow that matched the coloration of the thick fog that was peeling out of the suit’s ventilation points. The fog, as it was in fact orange, could be seen pulling into and being pushed out of the suit as the monster breathed. In its left hand it held the large bloody kitchen knife that was likely used to disembowel the citizens that had been unlucky enough to be caught in the zone when the summoning occurred.
From within its casque all it could feel for the moment was a chaotic confusion. It understood its purpose, and it was prepared to seek it. Every time it turned to orient itself and understand its environment, however, it was left lost. It was being interfered with. It was being disrupted. The best it could do was wait for the confusion to pass, and defend itself until it could pursue its goal.
That screeching of the elevator was unnerving though, and in the dim orange night through its own smoke it saw the individual on the elevator and was made greedy. It needed to remember, to force itself to recall, all that it could be.
As the confusion began to dissipate, the smog thickened. It saw a singular image in the back of its head. A primordial calling. It had wasted bodies by killing the people in the streets and by flipping the car as it had. Perhaps this new humanoid would grant it the opportunity it sought. This wall could be scaled with help. It understood with a clarity in that single moment that striking down this other creature and making it, as it should be, kin would be what enabled its escape from the enclosure. Its thoughts developed along a rather predatory progression.
It retreated to the steps of the federal bank, South, and stooped to an athletic position with its knife held in its left hand. The smog followed it, but remained thin at its position.
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?
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.
Appearance For most of his life Reman Caro was seen as something of an impressive man, although he was almost boringly Imperial in his form and mannerisms. His bloodline tied him both to Chorrol's county and Leyawiin's county, tracking his family back through to the counts of the time. That is to say then that he was rather generically Imperial. His medium-length brown hair worn below the nape of his neck, his round and and square jaw, and his chiseled nose. All of it distinctly oozing nobility and a well pruned family tree.
At all times though, he was distant from seizing the Counties he wanted so dearly. Generally by several other heirs in his way. And so he frowned.
Nowadays, however, he is a much happier man. Ever since achieving Lichdom he has learned to smile once again. His hair, falling out. His nose and ears slipping off of his head. His skin sloughing off of his body in hunks. His eyelids rotted away. His fingers and toes having lost their flesh. And yet he still finds it in himself to smile. Especially within the past two years. He is, afterall, the immortal heredity heir presumptive of Chorrol.
He stands 6'4, 177 lbs.
Background Reyman Caro was born of the Caro-Valga hereditary line, fifth in line to seize either Chorrol County or Leyawiin County at the time of his birth. He was raised among the courts and nobility of Tiber II's Empire, adjusting his lifestyle and perspectives to those of the Noble Imperials.
He took on Knightly magics as his pursuit, growing early into an apt worshipper of Julianos and an excellent Battlemage to be. He joined the Synod early, before the start of the Great War.
Following his father's death in his arms at the Battle Of The Red Ring, a conflict at which he was present, he became thoroughly concerned with his own mortality. Long ago he had settled it in himself to be happy with his lack of a county or title proper, but the death of his father had resurrected a great fear of the unknown in him.
As he was a member of the Synod, he had access to great vaults of information that the College Of Whispers wanted. He went to them, trading information for rank and necromantic knowledge. This knowledge and the research aid of a rival ultimately got him close to his target. While the Dragon Crisis began he turned to Hermaous Mora for the final pieces of information necessary.
The black abyss that appeared to him in his first Black Book granted him the path he wanted. He pursued Lichdom and achieved it the very same evening that Miraak died. As Hermaeus Mora claimed the Dragonborn, he also claimed an Imperial Lich. Honoring their pact, Reyman Caro swore himself to the Deadric Prince and awaited his command.
Reyman, when the time came, repaired and improved Fort Ontus and made it his home, Southwest of Chorrol. He offered this fort, along with a small Undead batallion with his Black Book to the Dragonborn Emperor as a sign of loyalty.
Once this was done he worked at gathering the popularity of his people. He revealed to the population that he had been using bandits and violent criminals as the souls to enable his Lichdom. He proceeded then to make some rather sizable donations to reinforce the city and rearm the citizens for the war to come.
And now, nearly in position of the County he seeks so dearly, he was arrested.
Personality: Reyman has, for most of his life, been of the calmer sort. He learned early to cope with dissappointment, considering that his youth went from wealthy noble child of two Imperial bloodlines to the mandatory recognition that he would never achieve what power he had wanted. During his service with the Syond as a Battlemage and during the Great War he developed a detestment of death and violence. Night terrors and violent auditory halucinations also developed during this time, and as such he has made a consistent point to avoid much violence ever since becoming a Lich. Sleep, as well, has been avoided to a major extent. He has a tendency to keep himself busy, and to invent new hobbies for himself specifically to avoid ever being board enough to sleep. In conversation he often enjoys getting to the important facts and problem solving, though he has been without a team or consistently living allies for some time. He knows that, while people may act as though they like him, he understands that his strength over others made him a great danger to the Empire. A Lich taking control of a County would be the death knell of the Empire. With that in mind he carries himself carefully, and has made very few public appearances. It would be belittling to say that caution is important to the man.
Reyman is an absolute believer in the rule of law. He greatly prizes loyalty. He does not care about family one way or the other. He finds friendship burdensome. He sees power over others as something to strive for. He values honesty. He greatly respects the shrewd and guileful. He believes that artful speech and eloquent expression are of the highest ideals. He respects fair-dealing and fair-play. He greatly respects those that observe decorum and maintain their dignity. He finds the following of tradition foolish and limiting. He doesn't care about art one way or another. He values cooperation. He values independence. He sees introspection to be a waste of time. He doesn't particularly value self-control. He values tranquility and a peaceful day. He values a harmonious existence. He doesn't really value merrymaking. He has a great deal of respect for worthy craftsmanship. He believes that the mastery of a skill is one of the highest pursuits. He believes that hard work is one of the highest ideals and a key to the good life. He values sacrifice. He views competition as a crucial driving force in the world. He believes that perseverance is one of the greatest qualities somebody can have. He finds leisure time wasteful. He is somewhat put off by trade and commerce. He doesn't care one way or the other about romance. He doesn't care about nature one way or another. He believes that peace is always preferable to war. He finds the quest for knowledge to be of the very highest value.
Typical Equipment
A blue robe with Chorrol's heraldry on the back, and a golden leaf-shaped clasp. This robe is enchanted to protect weakly against raw magical impacts. His arms, legs, and torso are wrapped in white linen from the ankles to the forearm in a singular wrapped piece. This wrapping is enchanted to absorb half of the magicka in any ranged magics.
He wears armor made of Imperial-styled steel, with gold accents. Specifically he wears a helm enchanted with detect living, a left shoulder cop, a right shoulder pauldron enchanted to create a weak defensive ward when he turns left, and steel boots enchanted with levitation.
He carries an antique oak staff with a gnarled, rooty head. It can bind raised or conjured undead to a permanent duration until the creature or the staff is destroyed. It was made briefly after the Umbriel Crisis and was meant to mimic the threat-levels of the Undead hordes fought by the College Of Whispers at the time.
A satchel large enough to fit a large ham, filled with about 5 Black soul gems, 30 Lesser soul gems, and 20 petty soul gems.
Why you were left to rot in the Imperial Prison (this will be changed later, when players who join in later get involved) Reyman was technically arrested for tax evasion and for illegally seizing an Imperial property and distributing it without proper legal domain. This, of course, refering to Fort Ontus. It is his belief, however, that he wasn't truly arrested for the Fort itself, but instead arrested because of the social and cultural climate regarding necromancers.
Skillset As a Battlemage with the Synod and during the Great War he learned many skills. While with the Synod he learned the practices of the most basic branches of Restoration, while studying more advanced Alteration and Enchanting as his primary foci.
He understands basic combat medication, and how to manage a small combat force. The battlefield was also where he first began to practice Necromancy, as he raised his father's corpse from death in an attempt to resurrect his father.
The result from this was a man that is a rather skilled heavy combatant with a varried magical toolset.
An enemy turned ally at the College Of Whispers, which he joined after the end of the Great War, aided him in the study of Necromancy and was ultimately helpful in organizing the bandit kidnappings that were necessary for his lawful transformation into a Lich. The great experiment was organized, recorded, and published under this man's writing pseudonym.
In the end he is difficult to kill, has many utility abilities, and has prepared himself against magical threats rather thoroughly.
Raise Target — Generalized high power Necromancy magic. Target corpse is raised temporarily for 10 minutes, or permanently when a soul gem is embedded into their center mass.
Command Undead
Frosttouch
Frostwave — A force of cold starting at touch distance bursts ten meters forward, push those caught in the target zone back and freezing them.
Frostcone — A twenty meter cone originating at touch distance, with greater intensity the closer one is to the point of origin. It can be channeled, and leaves behind increasingly thick and stable snow and a lingering cold.
Appearance For most of his life Reman Caro was seen as something of an impressive man, although he was almost boringly Imperial in his form and mannerisms. His bloodline tied him both to Chorrol's county and Leyawiin's county, tracking his family back through to the counts of the time. That is to say then that he was rather generically Imperial. His medium-length brown hair worn below the nape of his neck, his round and and square jaw, and his chiseled nose. All of it distinctly oozing nobility and a well pruned family tree.
At all times though, he was distant from seizing the Counties he wanted so dearly. Generally by several other heirs in his way. And so he frowned.
Nowadays, however, he is a much happier man. Ever since achieving Lichdom he has learned to smile once again. His hair, falling out. His nose and ears slipping off of his head. His skin sloughing off of his body in hunks. His eyelids rotted away. His fingers and toes having lost their flesh. And yet he still finds it in himself to smile. Especially within the past two years. He is, afterall, the immortal heredity heir presumptive of Chorrol.
He stands 6'4, 177 lbs.
Background Reyman Caro was born of the Caro-Valga hereditary line, fifth in line to seize either Chorrol County or Leyawiin County at the time of his birth. He was raised among the courts and nobility of Tiber II's Empire, adjusting his lifestyle and perspectives to those of the Noble Imperials.
He took on Knightly magics as his pursuit, growing early into an apt worshipper of Julianos and an excellent Battlemage to be. He joined the Synod early, before the start of the Great War.
Following his father's death in his arms at the Battle Of The Red Ring, a conflict at which he was present, he became thoroughly concerned with his own mortality. Long ago he had settled it in himself to be happy with his lack of a county or title proper, but the death of his father had resurrected a great fear of the unknown in him.
As he was a member of the Synod, he had access to great vaults of information that the College Of Whispers wanted. He went to them, trading information for rank and necromantic knowledge. This knowledge and the research aid of a rival ultimately got him close to his target. While the Dragon Crisis began he turned to Hermaous Mora for the final pieces of information necessary.
The black abyss that appeared to him in his first Black Book granted him the path he wanted. He pursued Lichdom and achieved it the very same evening that Miraak died. As Hermaeus Mora claimed the Dragonborn, he also claimed an Imperial Lich. Honoring their pact, Reyman Caro swore himself to the Deadric Prince and awaited his command.
Reyman, when the time came, repaired and improved Fort Ontus and made it his home, Southwest of Chorrol. He offered this fort, along with a small Undead batallion with his Black Book to the Dragonborn Emperor as a sign of loyalty.
Once this was done he worked at gathering the popularity of his people. He revealed to the population that he had been using bandits and violent criminals as the souls to enable his Lichdom. He proceeded then to make some rather sizable donations to reinforce the city and rearm the citizens for the war to come.
And now, nearly in position of the County he seeks so dearly, he was arrested.
Personality: Reyman has, for most of his life, been of the calmer sort. He learned early to cope with dissappointment, considering that his youth went from wealthy noble child of two Imperial bloodlines to the mandatory recognition that he would never achieve what power he had wanted. During his service with the Syond as a Battlemage and during the Great War he developed a detestment of death and violence. Night terrors and violent auditory halucinations also developed during this time, and as such he has made a consistent point to avoid much violence ever since becoming a Lich. Sleep, as well, has been avoided to a major extent. He has a tendency to keep himself busy, and to invent new hobbies for himself specifically to avoid ever being board enough to sleep. In conversation he often enjoys getting to the important facts and problem solving, though he has been without a team or consistently living allies for some time. He knows that, while people may act as though they like him, he understands that his strength over others made him a great danger to the Empire. A Lich taking control of a County would be the death knell of the Empire. With that in mind he carries himself carefully, and has made very few public appearances. It would be belittling to say that caution is important to the man.
Reyman is an absolute believer in the rule of law. He greatly prizes loyalty. He does not care about family one way or the other. He finds friendship burdensome. He sees power over others as something to strive for. He values honesty. He greatly respects the shrewd and guileful. He believes that artful speech and eloquent expression are of the highest ideals. He respects fair-dealing and fair-play. He greatly respects those that observe decorum and maintain their dignity. He finds the following of tradition foolish and limiting. He doesn't care about art one way or another. He values cooperation. He values independence. He sees introspection to be a waste of time. He doesn't particularly value self-control. He values tranquility and a peaceful day. He values a harmonious existence. He doesn't really value merrymaking. He has a great deal of respect for worthy craftsmanship. He believes that the mastery of a skill is one of the highest pursuits. He believes that hard work is one of the highest ideals and a key to the good life. He values sacrifice. He views competition as a crucial driving force in the world. He believes that perseverance is one of the greatest qualities somebody can have. He finds leisure time wasteful. He is somewhat put off by trade and commerce. He doesn't care one way or the other about romance. He doesn't care about nature one way or another. He believes that peace is always preferable to war. He finds the quest for knowledge to be of the very highest value.
Typical Equipment
A blue robe with Chorrol's heraldry on the back, and a golden leaf-shaped clasp. This robe is enchanted to protect weakly against raw magical impacts. His arms, legs, and torso are wrapped in white linen from the ankles to the forearm in a singular wrapped piece. This wrapping is enchanted to absorb half of the magicka in any ranged magics.
He wears armor made of Imperial-styled steel, with gold accents. Specifically he wears a helm enchanted with detect living, a left shoulder cop, a right shoulder pauldron enchanted to create a weak defensive ward when he turns left, and steel boots enchanted with levitation.
He carries an antique oak staff with a gnarled, rooty head. It can bind raised or conjured undead to a permanent duration until the creature or the staff is destroyed. It was made briefly after the Umbriel Crisis and was meant to mimic the threat-levels of the Undead hordes fought by the College Of Whispers at the time.
A satchel large enough to fit a large ham, filled with about 5 Black soul gems, 30 Lesser soul gems, and 20 petty soul gems.
Why you were left to rot in the Imperial Prison (this will be changed later, when players who join in later get involved) Reyman was technically arrested for tax evasion and for illegally seizing an Imperial property and distributing it without proper legal domain. This, of course, refering to Fort Ontus. It is his belief, however, that he wasn't truly arrested for the Fort itself, but instead arrested because of the social and cultural climate regarding necromancers.
Skillset As a Battlemage with the Synod and during the Great War he learned many skills. While with the Synod he learned the practices of the most basic branches of Restoration, while studying more advanced Alteration and Enchanting as his primary foci.
He understands basic combat medication, and how to manage a small combat force. The battlefield was also where he first began to practice Necromancy, as he raised his father's corpse from death in an attempt to resurrect his father.
The result from this was a man that is a rather skilled heavy combatant with a varried magical toolset.
An enemy turned ally at the College Of Whispers, which he joined after the end of the Great War, aided him in the study of Necromancy and was ultimately helpful in organizing the bandit kidnappings that were necessary for his lawful transformation into a Lich. The great experiment was organized, recorded, and published under this man's writing pseudonym.
In the end he is difficult to kill, has many utility abilities, and has prepared himself against magical threats rather thoroughly.
Raise Target — Generalized high power Necromancy magic. Target corpse is raised temporarily for 10 minutes, or permanently when a soul gem is embedded into their center mass.
Command Undead
Frosttouch
Frostwave — A force of cold starting at touch distance bursts ten meters forward, push those caught in the target zone back and freezing them.
Frostcone — A twenty meter cone originating at touch distance, with greater intensity the closer one is to the point of origin. It can be channeled, and leaves behind increasingly thick and stable snow and a lingering cold.
As far as old Nords go, the seventy-or-so year old is rather unassuming. A long snow-white beard, braided and jutting from under his mask. Thick eyebrows and a large nose decorate a wrinkled, skeletal facade. A certain amount of charisma might have been present in his face were he so decrepit looking. Rather than possessing the eternal placidity of some elderly folk, he has an unending self satisfaction that is only occassionally breached by his battle rage, his night terrors, or his general disgruntlement at an inability solve a new problem. His physical form has degraded over the past thirty years as his voice has grown with strength and his wisdom has been amplified. His arms are long and skinny. His legs are stocky and strong, but whithered. Background When the Dragon Crisis began so long ago, Floki was among the few wild, unimperialized denizens of Skyrim. He and his family worshipped Alduin as the Eater of Worlds, and told the stories of yore. He and his siblings, the only remaining kin he had when he came to be thirty, scampered across the countryside practicing their old magics and slaying foreigners to eek out a meager living. No grand banditry, just simple survival in the harsh everwinter.
Through his youth his understanding of the world was shaped by the realities of Skyrim. These realities, he had decided, were three.
Firstly, Skyrim is cold, as are its people.
Secondly, Magic brings warmth, and eternal life when used as the ancestors used it.
Thirdly, the Draugr and their priests are immortal. The cold does not touch them as it touches us. They are the goal.
These three truths were altogether disconnected from Skyrim's reality, save perhaps the first. Floki then was not a grand intelligence, but he had the aptitude to study. So he studied from his mother's notes and became a witch and a corpse tender.
When, during their migrations, they found Bleak Falls Barrow to be empty, they decided that it was an omen from Alduin. The Draugr were dead and the dragon's wall was left untended. So from it they read, studying independently from their wellspring of knowledge.
It was the third month that they realized that they had no way to understand the words beyond the syllables. The words became their battlecry when they flash-froze their foes and they continued their living.
It was at night when they would all think of the futility of the cold. The darkness that it brought them. The force with which they struck their foes was not their guardian. They were temporary, and Skyrim was eternal. As they fell to sleep they, unwittingly, entered a meditatve rage that brought them closer to the words that thrummed in their minds like drums.
It would not be until twenty years later when the battle cry, "Rahgol Vulom Fus," yielded results. Floki's voice carried loudest over his three siblings and the six teenaged children that they had all born at some point or another. The merchant they had been accosting was forced to the ground as he twitched and shuddered. His body contorted in a violent rage, while he sunk into an unknowable horror. A fear of himself. He died quickly, and Floki sung that night in the Dragon's tongue for his siblings and his younger kin.
The pale dragon, ten years later, convinced them of a new life. A life in which one could become something more. Floki took on a new name, and with his siblings became one of the first New Age Dragonpriests.
His dedication to the peaceful path in the Way Of The Voice became pure. His inspiration, however, came from the grand images of the Old Way. Great Dragonpriests worshipped by the living and the dead as vessels for the Dragons. His thirst for power mingled with the peaceful message of the Way Of The Voice.
Over ten years he began building his following. He taught his followers all that he knew, a limited vocabulary. This limited vocabulary, however, was evangelical in a manner. It taught a simplicity, and made life understandable to the people that followed him.
When it came time for him to enact his plan in full, the College Of Winterhold intervened. A Mage's Guild representative was sent to Meyz, and informed him of the legal uncertainty of conspiring to become a Lich. His followers dispersed into the wilderness, prepared to answer his call. Personality:
Through the difficulties of growing up a young man in Skyrim's wilderness, disconnected from the Imperialized settlements, he has developed a sturdiness. A hardiness of spirit centered around his experiences. He isn't particularly vulnerable to stress or anxiety, though his survival instincts are sharp so he heeds both feelings well. He is a poor problem solver but has an excellent memory and recall that gratifies him when it succeeds and dissapoints him into a rage when it fails him. Floki's view of Elves and Beastfolk is reductionary, and he often finds them lacking after assessment of their personal abilities. It may be said that he holds them to a higher standard based on their race. When he does enter a rage, which he is prone to doing, he tends to do so violently. Breaking things, conjuring and killing a creature, and so forth. The one thing he has avoided doing in a rage, however, is shouting. This is a point of pride for him, and beyond that he has little alternative pride. He sees the Way Of The Voice as a personal code of conduct rather than some government's legal system or law of any kind, and if it were one he would likely reject it. He sees the Dragonpriests of yore as respectable figures and seeks in his life to immitate the legendary men that they were.
Floki doesn't feel strongly about the law. He has the highest regard for loyalty. He values family greatly. He thinks friendship is important. He believes that the acquisition of power over others is the ideal goal in life and worthy of the highest respect. He does not particularly value the truth. He greatly respects the shrewd and guileful. He values eloquence. He sees life as unfair and doesn't mind it that way. He doesn't care very much about decorum. He holds the maintenance of tradition as one of the highest ideals. He doesn't care about art one way or another. He values cooperation. He finds the ideas of independence and freedom somewhat foolish. He sees introspection to be a waste of time. He doesn't particularly value self-control. He values tranquility and a peaceful day. He values a harmonious existence. He doesn't really value merrymaking. He has a great deal of respect for worthy craftsmanship. He respects the development of skills. He values hard work. He finds sacrifice to be the height of folly. He views competition as a crucial driving force in the world. He believes that perseverance is one of the greatest qualities somebody can have. He finds leisure time wasteful. He is somewhat put off by trade and commerce. He doesn't care one way or the other about romance. He has a deep dislike of the natural world. He believes that peace is always preferable to war. He views the pursuit of knowledge as deeply important.
Typical Equipment
Thick furs and thick linens make up the primary weather-defensive aspects of his clothing. One might even suspect him a broad, strong old man. This is an illusion maintained by his clothing, which he has further enchanted to defend against the cold and against getting wet.
An old, oak staff made in the style of the old Dragonpriests. When activated its enchantment casts a directed ray of Dinsintigrate Armor, and a large goute of magically enhanced Coldharbour Coldfire.
A boning knife, constructed with ebony and dragon bone. It is about seven inches long, and was made long before the Dragon Crisis by one of Floki's ancestors. He has enchanted it in recent years, so that when activated it creates a Bound Spear.
His mask and shawl are the key elements of his gearset. The greatest number and strength of enchantments are found here. His mask, constructed from the same stone that the ancient Nord ruins dotting Skyrim are carved from, is the actual vessel for the enchantments. The shawl simply acts to cover his neck, shoulders, and the back of his head while counterbalancing the weight of the mask and creating for him an imposing form.
Levitate
Circle Of Command Undead
"Massive" Fortify Magicka
Why you were left to rot in the Imperial Prison (this will be changed later, when players who join in later get involved)
Upon his arrival at the Imperial city with his mage's guild traveling companion, he was indeed arrested for conspiring to become a Lich. Among his charges was intent to raise a rebellion, intent to reject the Emperor as Talos reborn, and a plethura of other magical, religious, and military legal codes. Despite his movement being small, the ability of him and his followers to shout made them a legitimate threat. City-destroying threats, under the wrong circumstances. So their leader was removed from the equation. The cult, expectedly, dissolved to the shadows.
Skillset
Meyz is a mockery of a Dragonpriest, but a rather firm mockery of them. He maintains a robust magical toolkit, with several Words Of Power commited to usability. It would be accurate to call him a conjurer, but that is a small-scale view of his abilities. Most of his spells are common, though his family does have a few calling-card Alteration and Destruction spells. In his age his strength has faded, and so too has his agility. He plans for them to return with his Lichdom, but that endeavor has been put on hold due to his acquisition by the Empire. By nature of his upbringing, enchanting and alteration are also rather key magics for the man.
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)?
Yo, Parzivol here.
Young, in that I'm young enough that I'm not yet considered an [i][b]Adult[/b][/i]. 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:
[i]Dark Fantasy, Sci-Fi, Historical-Medieval (Periodic style insertion stuff, a la Kingdom Come: Deliverance).[/i] 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 [i]should[/i] 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
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">Yo, Parzivol here.<br><br>Young, in that I'm young enough that I'm not yet considered an <span class="bb-i"><span class="bb-b">Adult</span></span>. 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. <br><br>Primary Interests:<br><span class="bb-i">Dark Fantasy, Sci-Fi, Historical-Medieval (Periodic style insertion stuff, a la Kingdom Come: Deliverance).</span> My stylistic preferences are on the side of mystery, rather than open-world adventure romps or conventional murder-hoboing. <br><br>Favorite Authors:<br>R.A. Salvatore, H.P. Lovecraft, David Eddings, Orson S. Card<br><br>Games Of Choice: <br>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.<br><br>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 <span class="bb-i">should</span> 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.<br><br>Also, Music:<br>Weezer, Primus, MC LARS, Beastie Boys</div>
