POOHEAD189

The Witcher: Under the Shadow

To everyone who made their Witcher character's quickly, thank you for the patience. I am going to check them soon!

Sum up your week in roleplaying in just 3 words

It is time

The Witcher: Under the Shadow

Pls save me mods

@Kassarock

The Elder Scrolls: Legacy

Daixanos the Hunter

Daixanos

Male Argonian | 30 | Warrior

Profile

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§ Birthplace

Gideon, Blackmarsh

§ Appearance

Daixanos is fit and powerfully built for an argonian. His sleek form is curved with cabled muscles. Various spikes and frills frame his long snouted face. The Argonian's skin is ruddy and blood colored, giving him a fierce appearance. He wears Iron armor and iron guantlets, along with sturdy leather breeches and traveling shoes. He tends not to wear a helmet, for it feels unnatural to him and might impede his vision with his bow.

§ Personality

Dax is introverted and self sufficient. He's reserved, but when you meet him you'll realize there is a stark difference between being reserved and shy. He's confident in his abilities, and fears very little. His bravery and stoic nature comes from his idealistic view of the Hist and their wisdom. He is connected to his people and nation, and feels as if he is a representation of Black Marsh's strength in the outer world. A natural hunter, he has a dry wit, predator's cunning, and a single minded determination.

§ Background

Born within Black Marsh at the base of a Hist Tree as the rest of his kin, his family hailed from Gideon. Dax's parents were tanners, and as the Argonian grew up he would often help around the shop, learning his father's trade. By age 12, want for skins was becoming high, so his father decided to moonlight as a hunter as well, bringing his son along to learn the trade.

By age 16, it was clear that Dax was a natural at hunting, his archery and tracking skills were now surpassing those of his father. He decided to set out on his own, having never left the greater Gideon area before. He traveled northward towards Stormhold to ply his trade. Skreexil the merchant decided to hire him as one of his hunters, giving Daixanos capital for how much the items his kills provided sold for. It was a smooth business for several years until a sizeable Dunmer incursion from the north not only threatened his business but his life.

The Argonians of the North gathered around the Hist trees and drank the sap once more, receiving visions and dreams of fighting back against the invaders, boosting their morale and giving them a sense of purpose for the coming conflict. Daixanos was filled with national loyalty and pride, and together with his fellow Argonians, joined in a successful guerrilla war against the Dunmer forces, even pushing a bit into southern Morrowind before retreating. By the time the skirmishes were done, Dax was 23 years old and found himself victorious but restless.

He decided to travel north east, into the nations of the Landstriders, hunting the local fauna and taking up the occasional bounty for criminals as well. He worked his way up through northern Cyrodiil, selling pelts and catching highwaymen in Cheydinhal and Bruma, until he found himself in Skyrim. By age 25, the Stormcloak/Imperial war was at its climax. At first he did his best to stay out of the politics, hunting Elk mostly. Perhaps he'd bag a Sabrecat or Bear every once in awhile. Dax learned the hardway that such large beasts had thick hides and skeletons. He needed something big to kill them with, so he chose the battle Axe to end fights quickly. He tended to hunt traveling between Markarth and Whiterun. He often stopped to rest at Rorikstead, taking the bounties he could from Mralki.

His policy changed somewhat during an Elk hunt near Whiteshore when he found a small band of Stormcloaks being harried by a giant. With a poisoned arrow, he hit the giant in the small of its back, buying the Stormcloaks an opportunity to hack at it as the giant slowed. He put another arrow in the monster's side, and then joined the stormcloaks as it weakened, finally cleaving the things skull.

They thanked Dax, and offered to share a meal with him. He accepted, after looting the giant of any pelts and items it had on its person (offering to share, but they declined). He learned of the Stormcloak's struggles, which echoed in his own experiences of fighting off oppression. He told them up front he would stay out of the politics, but he would accept particular bounties from them and favored their cause.

As the years progressed, he found smithing his own items and brewing his own poisons was a cheap and effective way to live. He didn't lack for anything and had no problem with hard work. At age 29, he decided he needed something new once again. He descended the lands back into Imperial control, just as Skyrim lost its independence. He wished to be near his home, and approached the road to Burma before he was invited into a certain guild...

Capabilities

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§ Attributes

Major: Agility, Minor: Strength

§ Skills

• Expert: Marksman
• Adept: Two Handed (Axe)
• Adept: Athletics
• Apprentice: Sneak
• Apprentice: Smithing
• Apprentice: Alchemy
• Novice: Language (Jel)
• Novice: Heavy Armor
• Novice: Hand to Hand

§ Weaknesses

• Lack of Tact: Due to his solitary nature, and his main interactions being with his fellow introverted race, Dunmer slavers, frontier Nords, wild beasts, and hardened criminals of different races, he doesn't have much in the way of manners and will speak bluntly, or sometimes not answer at all if he doesn't feel like it.
• Fear of Chains/Bonds: Gets angry at the very idea of he or any Argonian being put into chains/being captured. Will grow increasingly angered and might be more liable to make rash decisions.
• Distrust of Magic: Gets wary and hesitates around magic, even if such spells are cast by allies. It won't hold him back in the end, but could keep him from taking a crucial opportunity due to hesitation.
• Loner: If around non-Argonians long enough (for instance, traveling with a group for days on end without going to scout ahead alone), he will leave for a small bit in order to collect his thoughts and keep his wits about him. Has made friends on his travels, but cannot remain in their company for long due to his introverted personality. Is not effected around his fellow Argonian/Hist brothers, with whom he feels unconditional kinship. If he does not get some space, he will become agitated and probably will grow unable to speak without effort.

§ Spells

...

§ Tactics

Daixanos tends to scout out the correct terrain and right vantage point to strike with his bow. He then whittles the enemy down until he can close in with his Axe. If that is not possible, he will still attempt to use his bow until forced into melee, for it was what his father taught him. If not, he won't shy away from meeting a foe head to head with the Axe or claws. In fact sometimes he prefers it if particularly irked. He simply prefers a clean kill with little to no error, and he was used to such tactics.

§ Relations & Affiliations

Family back in Black Marsh. Skreexil the Merchant in Stormhold. Argonian Guerilla fighters. Whiterun Stormcloaks, Rorikstead townsfolk, Shopkeeps of Markarth and Whiterun. Dawnstar Jarl.

§ What are your outside interests?:

Skinning, making hides, and smithing. Why are you asking so many questions?

§ Tell me how other people would describe you?:
...Deadly.

§ What was the most difficult decision you've ever had to make?:
Refusing the call of the Hist to stay with my fellow brothers in Skyrim. It was...difficult.

§ Why do you want to join this guild?:
I'm good at only a few things, and these things are less than kind. I wish to get paid for it. What is it to you?

§ What are your expectations of the guild?:
Money and a place to hunt. Men, mer, or beasts, it matters little.

§ Other

Other Capabilities:

• Argonian abilities: Racial traits of limited regeneration, disease resilience, and underwater breathing.
• Skinner: Can successfully skin a beast.
• Trap maker: Can build snares and pitfalls, if given time.
• Tracker: Can find trails of people/beasts under fine conditions.

Inventory

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§ Cash

389 Septims

§ Keys & Lockpicks

None

§ Tools & Crafting Materials

3 stalks of Nightshade
3 pounds of Venison
Fine Iron Dagger: Can be used in combat, but is mainly used for skinning.

§ Clothing & Armor

Iron Armor, Leather vest and breeches.

§ Weapon & Ammo

Hunting Bow, Steel Axe

§ Potion & Arcane Supplies

3 Healing Potions
4 Poison potions
Troll fat

§ Jewelry & Valuables

Amethyst given to him by his father.

§ Books & Documents

Bounty Ledger

§ Food/Drinks/Ingredients

3 pounds of Elk Jerky. Water flask.

§ Load Bearing Equipment

Coin Pouch, small travel bag on left hip and skins bag on right.

§ Other

...

The Elder Scrolls: Legacy

Warlock

Name: Taril
Age: 23
Race: Breton
Class: Mage/Warlock

Portrait:


Sum your life so far into a single paragraph: My parents were skilled mages and well respected, but more than anything they were loving and kind. Or so I'm told. I don't remember them very well. I was sent to live with my great great uncle, an Altmer name Thudorius. He taught me what I know of magic, and once I was of age I began to whore myself out to various rulers, to get money and supplies to fund my rituals to find the Daemons that ruined my childhood. That took my family. If I can ruin a few Daedra lives while I'm at it, then I count that as a blessing.

What was the most difficult decision you've ever had to make?: Treating my life as if my parents are dead. It's freeing but... the world is a tad less magical.

Tell me how other people would describe you?: Driven, studious, sarcastic...ardent I've been called, though I think she was trying to flirt with me. I hope one day they think of me as a hero and an accomplished mage.

What are your outside interests?:
Believe it or not, I love board games. Particularly wargames. I also enjoy cooking quite a lot. What's alchemy if not cooking with explosive results?

What are your greatest strengths?: My magic, and single minded goals. Don't get in my way, friendly advice.

What are your weaknesses?: My parent's memory, and thinking about my first girlfriend. Oh less emotionally? Generally a nice ass.

What are your aspirations for the future?: Open a portal to Oblivion and drag out the bastard that dared attack my blood.

Why do you want to join this guild?: Money and materials for the former.

What are your expectations of the guild?:
I'm hoping it will be better than serving some Lord. More cooperation and hopefully some like-minded individuals.

Skill Level	Skill
Highly Proficient	Conjuration
Moderately Proficient	Destruction, Alteration
Somewhat Proficient	Alchemy, Speech
Novice	Enchantment, Athletics

Flames, Lightning bolt, Whirlwind Cloak

Magic School	Spell
Conjuration	Conjure Boneman, Banish Daedra, Command Daedra
Destruction
Alteration	Oakflesh

Equipment Type	Item
Weapon	Staff of the Serpent
Armour	Robes of the Acolyte
Food/Provisions	Dried fruits, ash yams, kwama eggs, flin, shein
Alchemical Ingredients	Blisterwort, blue mountain flower, butterfly wing, wheat, ectoplasm, nightshade, red mountain flower, skeever tail
Miscellaneous	Father's wolfhead pendant

The Witcher: Under the Shadow

@Fetzen@Kassarock You know you both have RPed with me quite a bit. Guess that's the reason you're both here?

Out on the Rim

Cleo stepped off the Agesilaus II, fully armored with his helmet on. The grav vehicle was stationed just beside the exit, with a Bith in the front seat. One of the more peaceful aliens in the galaxy, Bith were dome headed and practically hairless, eyes as glossy and black as saucers. Cleo knew them as fine people, at least all of the ones he had ever met. The Empire might be corrupt, but they hired good help. Across the small sand covered yard, Cleomenes caught sight of someone more noteworthy approaching.

An old friend.

The Dug loped toward them, wearing a jacket worn upside down to accommodate for the Dug's strange anatomy. He walked on his hands as used his feet as his primary limbs, as most Dugs did. Still was a strange sight though. Small tendrils framing his snout gave the look of facial hair, and he spoke in his harsh language. "Toogi! Chuba! Ni chuba ni?" Cleo motioned for Leyla to push the first crate down the ramp as he turned to speak to the hanger master.

"Volpa, how long has it been?" Cleo asked. "Still the same rates?"

"Cleo?" The Dug asked as the first crate slid down. The Iridonian halted the floating crate with an impressive show of stance and strength, dragging it to the Grav vehicle to hook along it's back. They'd need to hook them in a line and drive around Mos Elry. Luckily the hanger was located on the outskirts. Vola followed Cleo with his unusual walk, grinning like a rabid dog. "Eh, che bana do mullee ra." He said, and emmited a throaty laugh. "Toe hoga wupe upee."

"Imps got to you too." The Iridonian sighed, and he turned away when he realized he couldn't bargain a better price. "Well, it can't be helped." Cleo wen to catch and continue to move the crates as Leyla shoved them. R5 slid down the ramp as the work continued, the Bith staying in the Grav vehicle listening to a catchy jingle they would likely hear in a Cantina at some point. "Keepo pa peet droid nah cho-passa! Peet droid joka shag."

"For the last time, you can't have R5, or the one shoving my crates out to me." He said, testy. "But if you keep my baby safe and I finish this job, I'll give you something extra between friends. You can buy how ever many slaves you want to with it."

The Dug waved his feet around comically, as if to mockingly worship Cleo. "Tooney! Cha porko ootman geesa!" He said with a bow, one hand taking the small cap he had off in reverence. Cleo laughed, and kicked his remaining hand out from under him so he fell on his alien ass. The Dug cursed and snarled, but Cleo didn't take it seriously. "Keep it up, Dewbacc and I might not pay you. Maybe I'll tell the Imps the shipments you've been running."

"Choy! Spateelya Zabrakki sleemo?" He cried, but with less enthusiasm. Next moment, he gave a smile that even a newcomer like Leyla knew was a sleazy one. "Aaaah, un ni joka Cleo..."

All of the crates were now hooked and ready, the Bith poking his head out of the window, indicating for Cleo and Leyla (who now approached) to sit atop the back loading port, just in front of the trailing crates. "Konchee? (Where)?" He asked, his voice sounding like gravel. Cleo patted the backside of the vehicle. "Fifteen miles out, near the Krayt skeleton! R5, guard the ship."
@Penny

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

"You know, many thieves back in Al-Hiekk will tell you that they've thought about what they do if they ever struck rich. I admit I have too, but I never did know. Perhaps I never thought I would be in a situation where it would happen. But..." he opened his eyes, and knelt on his elbow as he spoke to her. "To tell you the truth, I like the danger too much to ever give it up."

She raised her eyebrow, still with the grin. His smile bloomed, as they both know that didn't mean that he would pass up the chance for a fortune. Amal took another generous drink of the wine, setting a comfortable warmth in his blood. "Of course I'd spend the money. In fact, your idea... suits me is the word?" He said the sentence in Reikspeil. "A large house to live in when I'm not traveling."

He passed her the wine, which she took happily and drank her fill. After she let the bottle down from her lips, he thought again about how attractive she looked in the fire light, and for a brief second he saw her eyes trailing down his torso. She spoke first. "I'm chocked full of good ideas, aren't I?"

"I can admit that," He said, leaning in.

Thump.

The two immediately regained their composure, even as buzzed as they were. Emmaline grabbed her staff and Amal erected himself atop the cushions on one foot like a lookout upon a crows nest, as alert as a fox. Emmaline nudged him with the cobra staff, something he would have considered dangerous any other time. "What was that?" she whispered. He held out a hand to keep her behind him, eyes searching. He knew his big mouth had cursed him. Ah yes, more danger, he thought.

Thump Thump Thump Thump Thump

Something on the floor to the left moved. He didn't know if it was a serpent or a rat, as nothing else slunked so low to the ground. He took out his knife and stepped off the cushions toward the direction of the noise, and then saw it move again under a richly furnished carpet of vibrant colors. He slowly knelt down and curled his fingers around the carpet and suddenly tugged.

The carpet didn't move. At least in the traditional sense. Something stuck fast to the floor, but the carpet itself tugged with him! Amal fell back with superstition, eyeing the thing warily as the carpet rippled like there was a flow of air beneath it. He leaned forward after a moment, and decided to see what would happen if he undid one of the bolts. Placing his knife under it, he yanked it free, and the carpet rippled incessantly before calming, and then its fluffed 'toe' perked up curiously.

"This is a magic carpet.." Amal said in disbelief, having heard of them from tales. Only sorcerers used them, he thought. Then again the Emir was rich, perhaps it was a gift that disappointed him? Amal shook the fluffed end of it. "Very nice to meet you, my friend. I am Amal. What do they call you?"

Another thump struck their ears, but this time it wasn't from the carpet. It was from behind them, and Emmaline squeaked, the blood leaving her face when a rich voice arose from outside of the doors. "You! Liars and thieves! I know who you are, and I know what you have done to these good servants of the Illustrious Emir Latar Ibn-Revir! Give up now and we will grant you a quick death by beheading-"

Emmaline gripped her neck and curled her full lips in distaste. "-fight, and we will feed you to the Tigers of Shapur! What say you?" He called. His accent was much more polished than the servants. Perhaps he was a sage or a decorated Captain of the Guard. The two thieves paused, and Amal spoke to the carpet. "My friend, I will free you if you get us out of here. Sound good?"

The carpet fanned, and Amal took that as a yes. He placed his dagger under the next bolt, and with a grimace he yanked it free.

"Have you no honor!?" The voice cried.

"No!" Amal called through the locked door, and there was a pause as he undid the third bolt.

"...Very well. We will gut you like a dog!"

A few moments later, something nearly burst through the door. It even gave Amal pause. They had to have been using some sort of battering ram. Emmaline looked deep in thought, as if she was preparing a spell for a last stand of magic, or perhaps it was to aid in keeping the door sealed. Amal popped the last bolt, and suddenly the carpet sprang up as if in glee, before flying around Amal thrice in excitement. Amal laughed, and they moved almost in one as the thief leaped, and the carpet spun to fly below his feet.

"I think this is the beginning of a beautiful partnership. Well..." he looked at Emmaline. "Not as beautiful as this one, but close. Hey Mushkila!" He said, using the Arabyan word for 'trouble maker.' Emmaline turned to see Amal on the carpet, holding a hand out. As the door was finally rammed through, Emmaline was yanked atop thew carpet, and before the guards could assail them, they were out into the courtyard and flying into the moonlit sky. Amal keeping Emmaline steady as she squealed with a mixture of fear and delight.
@Penny

The Witcher: Under the Shadow

@Fetzen


Just kidding, of course you may join!

Men vs. Women Race to 1000: Version 2.0

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