POOHEAD189

Gold & Glory: AU thread

The elves looked as if they were about to explode with violence, though whether at Markus or dark elves, the Captain wasn't sure. Still, that fire was good. They would need it before long.

"We're here, we're in the belly of the beast. If you weren't prepared to do what was necessary you would have stayed on the boat, now quit fretting and let's go." Markus told Indrin and Sulandar in no uncertain terms. It wasn't exactly what they wanted to hear, but it was needed. They didn't acknowledge Markus after an initial scowl. Instead they started to walk forward, and the other followed in their way. Morek's face was grimly set, his corded muscles ready to rip apart the slim bindings he had on at a moments notice.

They passed a small jetty and an small outpost structure, though mercifully no one was at their station. The wind was harsh and the rain almost unbearable, but the fire behind them wouldn't be quenched so easily and what drucchi there were on duty flocked to the commotion even as the ship's wooden planks began to crack and the masts swayed from the wind and burn damage. Emmaline slipped and fell, hitting the smooth pavement of the dock but thankfully landing on her hands.

Morek helped her up, and Markus turned around in time to see it. He cursed.

"Dwarf!" Markus cried, eyes stabbing at the bearded one. Morek looked at Markus with a confused expression, and the Captain switched his gaze to the north at the spires above. If even one elf had seen a slave help up a plump dark elf without reprimand, or even a dark elf slipping on stone... Even in this weather, elves were graceful beyond what humans were capable of. Just to save face, Markus ran up and backhanded the dwarf. Morek's head didn't snap to the side, and honestly Markus felt like he had struck a stone statue, but the dwarf did grunt and glare at him dangerously.

"I had to," Markus whispered. Morek glared at him, but eventually stepped back and bowed his head.

"I'll get ya for that later," The dwarf said.

Markus helped Emmaline keep her feet and then hurried on to catch up to the elves, who walked as if the wind did not touch them. They were almost at the tunnel that led into the underground quay.

At The Edge of The World

The next few hours were relatively uneventful. The jungle floor skittered with small, furry creatures and huge centipedes that clung from branches and boughs and wiggled their antennae as the group passed. Large snakes curled around branches lazily, and we even passed a fresh carcass of some porcine beasts that had its stomach ripped open and excavated. Once it grew to night, we camped in a bare clearing with only a short fire that lasted long enough for us to cook what little supplies we had. I didn't want to risk a lot of smoke from the moistened wood and we needed to rise early if we wanted to make good time. The conquistadors spoke to one another in their mother tongue, and while I did not know her very well, I decided to keep close to the lady Emmaline so they did not get any funny ideas of witch burning.

After a restless sleep with no incident, we arose and continued on. Luckily we found a clear stream mid-morning and we filled our canteens, though I made sure to tell them we would need to boil the water just in case. They groaned but accepted the logic, and I made sure to cross the stream first to check for alligators. The huge beasts loved laying in wait in any water source, and even though they preferred larger ones, many used the small channels to travel from one swamp to the other. Luck was still on our side and the coast was clear, and we continued to trek across.

I found out the woman in the apron's name was Callibel, and the older merchant was Fletcher Heronmark of the Heronmark estates. Callibel didn't seem very interested in tell me why she was in this Black Delta, but Fletcher informed me it was his job to check out new prospects for his family's logging business. He wanted to go on one last trek before he passed, and insisted he used to be quite the adventurer. It was hard to see, but then again I probably wouldn't be the best judge.

Around early afternoon, after we stopped to boil some water for a bit and drank to our leisure, we heard what sounded like a bird call. The others paid no heed to it, but my blood ran cold. I recognized exactly what that was, and though I only whispered, there was an authority in my voice that gave everyone else pause.

"Stop. Stop moving," I said to them.

They wheeled on me, giving looks that ranged from annoyance to incredulity. Emmaline began to form a question, but even as she did so, there was a warning snarl from just up ahead, and then a guttural growl that threatened us to our left. The group unsheathed what weapons they had, but I didn't back away. I knew we were about to be herded. "No no, keep going forward." I urged them, and when they hesitated I marched at the head of the group and stepped just beyond the vines where the snarl had originated, axe at the ready.

Nothing.

My eyes caught alien shaped, human-sized prints and I turned back to the others. "We need to keep moving. They're trying to get us to go east into a tra-"

"Beren!" Emmaline cried. I blinked and spun, just in time to see a two-hundred pound raptor leap from its ambush spot behind the trunk of a black-barked tree. As tall as a man and twice as long, with a thick tail for balanced and razor sharp fangs and claws, it was a creature out of nightmare to most anyone. My staff spun, but I only gave the thing a glancing blow from a quick hit across the snout as it's rear leg kicked up, trying to disembowel me. I backstepped, sweat beading as it did not relent, snapping its maw at me. I lifted my staff to block and its teeth sank into the odari wood of the pole. Intelligence gleamed in its eyes as it shoved itself forward, trying to rend me with its claws as I held it at bay.

I leaped up and kicked out with my foot, striking it at the center of its powerful neck. The blow caused it to wheeze, but it was intent on the kill. I felt a white pain across my arm and a small trickle of blood bead out of the wound into the ground. I grit my teeth, knowing if I let up my guard it would rip me to pieces but not knowing what else to do. Where were the fucking mercs!?

A scream erupted from the side, and a wide brimmed hat rushed into my vision to the right of my shoulder. The raptor gave a clicking screech and staggered from some attack, and when Emmaline withdrew I saw her sword covered in blood. I couldn't see the abject panic on her face she had, so I assumed her eyes were set like any veteran of combat. I didn't waste the opportunity, withdrawing my staff from its mouth and striking it across the head as hard as I could, the beast now slower from the terrible wound. It swayed as I withdrew my axe, and a whirring cut to the side of its skull sent it to the ground, dead.

We both panted hard, and I looked at Emmaline, who by that time had regained her composure and gave me a look of satisfaction.

"You're fearless..." I marveled, suitably impressed at her quick thinking.

"Like killing orcs back home," She said with a smirk, lying through her teeth I would later find out. She looked back to the dead dinosaur, her expression now hidden again. "What now?"

The others stepped into view, and one glance at them told me they had been too scared or confused to help. The mercs tried to hide their fear with a stone-visage, and they now looked at Emmaline in envy at her apparent bravery.

"We killed one of the pack. Their plan didn't work, so they abandoned this one. But we need to keep moving." I said.

"Witch. She probably summoned the things-" The first conquistador began with an accusatory gaze. Before he even finished the thought, I didn't know whether to laugh at the ridiculous accusation or not, so I settled for punching him. Any one look at me tells you I'm a strong guy, and while I didn't knock him out, he did get some air from the sudden strike. The merc backpedaled unceremoniously and hit a tree, before slumping to the ground.

"Better being a witch than a little bitch," I said to him, and regarded his friend who did not know whether to draw his sword at me or not. "Pick him up, we still need to cover some ground."

Hesitantly, he did so. Callibel and Fletcher strayed away from the two Dre Costans, hovering closer to me and looking at the dead dinosaur like it was a slain demon. I knelt down by its corpse, and decided to make the best of the kill. Three chops, and we had the thing's tail. Dinner for later...

That night, there were three fires. This time we had found a ravine near a waterfall, where the rock wall almost acted as an awning over the group. We figured we could have the luxury of a fire, and to make three just so any watchers figured we were a much larger group that they should probably avoid. The waterfall cascaded not ten paces away, filling the air with a nice spray that reached our sensibilities but not the fires, hidden from the north and east by the stone walls towering above us.

I sat with Emmaline. Earlier it had been from obligation to keep her safe, but now I was honestly wanting to talk. Snakes were scared of her, and she had fought the murk beast and helped kill the raptor. It had only been a few days but I was thoroughly impressed, not to mention she was pretty. I might be a monk, but I had a taken in a good view of her extravagant backside throughout the trek, as much as I tried to push the thought away. I made it a point not to fraternize with customers, or any northerner. They didn't tend to stay long and that was a different world to me. Plus, she was a baroness! I was a blacksmith who moonlights as a guide for hapless travelers.

"You ever had dinosaur tail before?" I asked her, handing her a stick piercing a steaming piece of raptor steak. She took it and looked at it dubiously, before taking her hat off and shaking her long golden locks. It looked like waves of flame in the dancing firelight. She bit into it just as I did, and it felt a bit stringy, but it was juicier than one might expect. She shrugged, and then turned the stick on its side and placed it in her teeth, much like the raptor had earlier in the day. Unstrapping her baldrics and belts, she took her coat off and thrust her chest out as she said "needsh shome shaushe."

"Yeah, that's what IIIIIIIIWwwwwooooouuuhhhh-"

It was probably the dumbest, most ignominious thing I had ever done on one of these treks. When I saw her take her jacket off and reveal just what assets she had, my brain just died and my tongue went limp. I swear, that wasn't normal. But I was not expecting it at ALL, and gods forbid I could have gotten a warning. I saw her eyes look at me, and my eyes went to hers and met the gaze. My face colored and I looked away. If I was alone I would have laughed my ass off at how stupid I was, but I wasn't alone.

"Sorry," I said, clearing my throat. I stood up, guiltily. "That was uncalled for and unneeded. You don't deserve that, especially from some guy you don't know. I'll just take my dumbass and leave..."

I was fully about to walk away.

Hi 😊 I can't believe its taken me this long to think to join a RPG Forum

Welcome!

The Elder Scrolls: Endless Night

Life was full of ironies.

Even after these past years, he still marveled at how his youth had been spent fretting over Imperialist occupation of his homeland, and here he was, a Nord in the very heart of Imperial land as one of those 'foreigners.' What's more, he earnestly cared about the people of this town. The men and women who just lived their lives and tried to make a living, and it filled him with contempt and anger that someone was killing them. Something he would have done himself once, with very little thought to it to boot.

Yes, ironies and dark thoughts. He was no stranger to such musings, but they plagued him particularly poorly this day. It was a sure sign he had been working too much. It was a sign he needed a bloody drink.

Hakon stepped into the tavern, his face lined from working the bellows. He hadn't even noticed the early setting of the sun. He felt tired enough for it to be night, and it set much like when it might back in Rorikstead. The warmth of the torches felt nice, and a familiar face he saw brought a laugh to him. Down the first three steps into the common room to the left of the main body sat an Orc, Thurgred. The green, brawny Orc had scavenged a small meal at a table for four, but as usual he saw Hakon before the Nord had even announced his presence, turning around to give him a smile that showed his tusks.

"You started without me," Hakon said, patting his friend and pulling out a seat just next to him, the chairs grating along the floor.

"Do you see a drink in my hand? I wouldn't grab any grog before the prince of the north arrived." Thurgred remarked with his grating voice. The ribs he had on his plate were cleaned almost as thoroughly as if a dog had taken to them. Hakon politely called for the passing waitress to bring them two mugs of mead, and more ribs. She was a familiar face and Hakon gave her a smile in thanks as she sauntered off.

Thurgred and Hakon began to speak of their day, making the occasional joke or jibe. It wasn't obvious, but Orcs and Nords tended to get on quite well when given the chance. Both had strong work ethics, abrasive senses of humor, and both cultures prized warriors and combat very highly. Hakon was a somewhat atypical Nord, but he found he acted more like his father when around Thurgred. After their drinks arrived, they both took a hearty swig and began to speak of more serious matters.

"You've taken time off your busy day to hear about the last killing?" Thurgred inquired.

"I have." Hakon said grimly, remaining silent for a moment. "They seem random to me, but they've all been men as I am. Still, I would keep your axe close." The Nord took the moment to turn his head to survey the crowd, and he spotted a few familiar faces. He spotted the healer step through the door. Granuile? He had only seen her in passing. The old Dereno had walked past him on the road, and now he sat down alone at a table. He had always liked him. And perhaps that was Uriel at the bar with his head down...

"Strange things abroad. Something about this night bodes ill." Thurgred said as Hakon turned back to him and finished his first drink. "I don't like it, Hakon."

"Well, it's early yet." Hakon told him. He meant nothing by it, but it felt like the tightening of a noose.

At The Edge of The World

The woman with the apron had wisely leaped out of the raft, treading water toward the shoreline. One glance showed me she was going on the correct side which was good, though a small measure of comfort as the large raft began to tip, it's right side submerged and its left side sliding up into a 60 degree angle. The merchant hit the water, as did most of his supplies and merchanside. The mercenaries fired their weapons into the monster, but their wild shots only bloodied it or pierced tentacles. It gave a loud, undulating screech as it opened its maw.

"Eep!" Emmaline squeaked, and then screamed as she lost her grip on the raftboards and slid swiftly towards the monster's many-teethed mouth. Looking back, it was lucky aristocrats and adventurers both wore many belts and baldrics on their person, otherwise it would have turned out very nasty for her. My right hand holding the side of the raft that tipped upwards, I made a grab for her belt and managed to slip three fingers through the leather loop, her scream ending in a panic gasp when she felt her weight returning and her large rump was no longer sliding precariously closer to the monstrosity. A tentacle slapped at the boards just below her dangling feet but couldn't reach her, and she curled her legs up and looked up at me hanging on like an ape.

"I told you you'd be alright." I said to her with a reassuring, if strained smile. Like a dwarf, my word was my bond. I wouldn't let a thing happen to her after I said it, though that was the plan for everyone when we first set out. Unfortunately, I couldn't keep all of them alive.

The mercenaries had scrambled, one having successfully hacked off a tentacle with his sidesword before diving into the water. The other was clumsier, falling ass-first into the river but surfacing a moment later, making strong strokes toward the shore. The third conquistador was less lucky, having been caught on the center of the craft as it upturned. He slid towards the monster, and though I saw him manage to grab at a board, he was ensconced in tentacles and unceremoniously shoved into the monstrosities mouth. It was like watching a shark swallow something like a snake would.

"Eugh," Emmaline and I said unison, dangling above the maw. We looked away as the man's screams were engulfed by his form sliding down the creature's throat.

"Pull me up! Pull me up!" The lady Emmaline cried. I didn't need to be told twice, hauling her up and telling her to grab onto me with a 'hold on!' Unfortunately, she did it a bit too well, her arms wrapping around my neck as tightly as a constrictor. My neck was strong, but she had the desperate strength of survival and my eyes nearly popped out of my head. The raft began to crack, and I wheezed a 'too tight!' as I clambered up. Her grip lessened marginally, but she wrapped her legs around my waist, her buxom form pressing against my hard body. Normally I would have been hot and bothered, but I found it was probably the best thing she could do in that situation.

Desperately I raised a leg atop the raft's side, and just as the wood collapsed I made a leap like a frog. Emmaline squealed as we sailed through the air, but my aim was pretty well made. My fingers found a bough covered in moss hanging over the river, my powerful arms moving swiftly as I used my hands to move us from over the river to where dry land awaited. The monster behind us groaned, but it did not make another sound. After being so wounded, along with a stomach full of mercenary, it was likely content to stay away from the group now. The last I saw of it, the raft fell atop its mass as both sunk.

What I was curious on was why it had even been here? Those type of creatures did not go to this part of the river unless something had moved it from its den. Of course, there are always rare sightings and flukes, but it did not sit right with me. I pondered this as we swayed back and forth with the movement of my arms, and once over the hard ground of the riverside, I dropped. I bent my knees to lessen the fall, but an 'oof' escaped my lips from the added weight of another person clinging to me.

Trees crowded around us, vines and moss hanging from branches like threads to tug on. The ground was covered in dead leaves and dark soil, and to my relief I saw the rest of the group. The woman with the apron coughed out water, but in her hands she held my staff and she seemed to be relatively alright. The merchant wrung his hat out, water spilling out of it, but for a posh old man he did not seem to dispirited from almost being devoured.

"It's that bitches fault!"

The other two mercenaries were the only ones standing, drenched in river water and bleeding from various swipes from the tentacles. The lead one's mustache drooped like the moss hanging above. He still had his rifle, though the powder was no good, and both still had their swords. They glared daggers at Emmaline, who's face hung just above my shoulder. I glanced back at her and then glared at the mercenaries.

"It's no one's fault-" I started, but he cut me off.

"You're just saying that because you want her money! I should never have come on this expedition!" I saw a glint in his eye I didn't like. I also found it humorous he claimed I wanted her money when the only thing I took from her, I immediately gave it back. Then again, he didn't know that. The mercenary continued. "Where do we go from here, eh? Any advice mighty guide?"

"There's a trail a few miles north, but it doesn't end anywhere I know of." I admitted, thinking of our options. "But it does bring us closer to the outpost. We can hack our way through after it ends, if we must."

At The Edge of The World

Emmaline Von Morganstern!? I had never heard of a more haughty, illustriously lavish name in his entire life. Just hearing it made me see courts of posh aristocrats and high born popinjays flocking to one another to see who had the bigger stretch of land. I tried not to laugh, and thankfully I succeeded with a will. But a smile still played on my lips. Gods, I really did escort everyone on these journeys, didn't I? Maybe next time I'll would meet some Lord named Duke Constantius Von Hohenstaufen or something.

Still, despite the profuse name, she was a woman traveling alone and wielding weapons. He had to respect it. Hell, she even held a dwarf weapon, or so it looked like. There were very few flintlock firearms out there, after the supposed extinction of the gnomes and the dwarves halting their trade of black powder weaponry. Even with connections, I wondered how she managed to grab one. It was more advanced than the conquistador's firearms, for certain.

Once I handed her treasure back to her, she seemed to lighten up and saw fit to grace me with conversation. I couldn't hide my wry smile at her comment on how I knew the river. Maybe she wasn't used to speaking with someone as uncouth as me. I was probably practically barbaric, or the an image of the 'noble savage' I had heard from certain Andredian works.

"Well, my lady Von Morganstern..." I began, gently pushing the pole into the soft riverbed to swing us to the right. My manner was purposefully easy, but my eyes were on the trees and waters before us. "In this land there are no guarantees, but if you stick close to me, I'll give you my word you'll make it to your destination safe and sound. I was born here and made this trip many times." I finished my pledge by pushing the raft to the left, my muscles growing large from the exertion.

"I've noticed you've been avoiding going under certain trees. Why is that?" The blonde woman asked. She was sharper than I gave her credit for. I guess nobles did get expensive educations. I didn't fathom it was because she was used to her own extensive use of tricks and slights of hand.

I sighed, somewhat enjoying the answering of questions but also not wishing to start a panic. I looked up, and then to the left at a curve in the river. I redirected the raft to meander across a deeper section of river, past a decaying skeleton of a large beast even I could not recognize.

"You certain you're not imagining things?" I asked with a grin, clearly joking whilst also being extremely transparent about stalling for time. Emmaline gave me a knowing look, and I gritted his teeth and exhaled. Well, I didn't want to cause any sort of panic but... "There are these trees called Makishan Trees. They... well you don't want to be under them. They uh... they drip acid."

Silence filled the boat, save for a few gasps. I could feel their growing worry, could see it in their eyes. I took a deep breath. "It mostly just happens when it rains, but the water and the sap together fall off and can burn through clothing, skin, and maybe the raft if we're not careful. Don't worry, they aren't everywhere. They're only on this section of the journey. I just want to be safe."

"You wan- You want to be safe!?" Emmaline balked incredulously, standing to her feet and placing her hands on her shapely hips.

"And you like this land!?" The woman sporting the apron asked with disbelief from behind them.

"No wonder the old Empire could not hold here for long." A conquistador muttered, gripping his arquebas tighter.

"Sit down and don't yell," I told them, especially Emmaline.

"I say sir, I do believe we might benefit for some lunch!" The old merchant in the back exclaimed, oblivious to the current conversation. I looked back to tell him to be quiet like I told the others, but my words died on my lips when I looked back. A tentacle-like appendage had risen out of the waters, small pincers unlatching from its hide to form into a grasping protuberances. It suddenly slapped down on the old man's shoulder, gripping into his skin and flesh and yanking him into the water with unbelievable force.

"Murk beast!" I cried, dropping my pole and taking out my axe. Even now I could see a serapod-like head rise out, filled with saber teeth and malevolence in its near lifeless eyes. I had never seen one before, but I knew all about them. Many tentacled abominations, both reptilian and cephalopod and yet neither all at once. It's main body was the size of an ox and they were intensely territorial.

And perpetually hungry.

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

"I do?" Beren asked, surprised. He shook the noble's hand firmly, as all polite greetings warranted. The Baron winced at the shake and swiftly drew his hand back, and Beren tried not to show that he knew he should have been gentler. Sometimes he didn't know his own strength... The Baron's smile returned instantly, however, most likely to save face as to also be polite. Beren owed this man a lot, he would definitely let him have it.

"Yes," he said, babying his hand after he slid it behind his back. He held his head high to act as if it was merely a pose. "The delectable lady here was dreadfully worried about you. She stayed by your side throughout your affliction. I would consider myself lucky you've got such a smart, beautiful woman to care for you."

He laid it on so thick Beren's face flushed, but Jocasta used the opportunity to laugh and wave her hand dismissively. "Please, Lord Marius, Beren has saved my life more than once. Besides, he's so handsome." She said, snuggling up to Beren's arm. The monk knew she was playing a part, but he also had the distinct impression she was using the ploy additionally to toy with Beren and speak some truth. He'd get her for that, later. But he also couldn't deny he sort of enjoyed it.

"If you'll excuse us, my lord." Beren said, inclining his head. "I believe I need to borrow Jocasta for a moment."

"Of course, enjoy your evening. We'll shall speak soon," The Baron said with all the authority of his station, waving them away. It would have been rude had it been from a commoner, but from him it looked as natural as breathing. Beren and Jocasta gave a bow, and then made their way over to one of the standing tables.

"You didn't tell me you had a surprise for me," Jocasta said facetiously.

"You didn't tell me you could do magic when we first met. Surprised the hell out of me," He said with a smile.

"I like to keep you guessing," she winked. Beren couldn't tell she was trying to hide some pain, deep within herself. She could act well when she wanted to. She stepped in front of him. "Now, what would you like to tell me?"

"First, let me get some drinks and some of the free food. Stay here and hold down the fort, ok?"

Once she gave the nod, he waded across the banquet hall to the buffet. The food was steaming, well-done steak cut up into chunks wrapped in bacon accompanied by hashbrown casserole and assorted veggies, with water and red wine to wash it all down. Potato salad, creamy and rich, lay in a large bowl and lightly dressed with spices, and even more! Beren took his time, and as he did so, a signal was made.

The tall, statuesque Lord Vandenhardt stood speaking to Gloria Hawkmoore and Lord Glimburg, but his eyes had followed Beren's tracks. He pulled out a small mirror from within his jacket and fiddled with it, letting the light of the oil lamps flash across it twice, indicating now was the time. A shapely woman with red hair, spun and tied intricately, sporting a ball-gown that hugged her slim waist and full bosom, strode over to where Jocasta waited and lightly touched her arm to gain her attention.

"I'm sorry," the woman said breathily. "I was wondering... I've heard of your companion, the hunky one?" She pointed at the buffet. "I've been watching him the last half hour and I have to ask, are you two... together? Because if not, I think I'll ask him to dance. I hope you don't think I'm being boorish, but I have to ask."

The Elder Scrolls: Endless Night

Thoughtful Nord Blacksmith

Name: Hakon Ingmarsson
Race: Nord
Age: 28
Birthsign: The Tower
Family Origins: A family farm in Rorikstead

Appearance:


Personality: An old soul, Hakon is unlike most of his more fiery-hearted brethren, at least on the surface. Having seen his father killed for his words on the steps of Markarth, and what happens when you don't think before you act, his youthful impetuousness has been tempered like fine steel. A man of strong morals, he has an empathetic heart and does his best to be understanding, even to his enemies. He likes working with his hands and it gives him a down-to-earth wisdom reserved for older Nords. Still, Hakon possesses an ardent passion within him that needs only to be stoked, and he prefers not to speak or even think about politics because he knows he might say something that just brings trouble. He has a love for stories and talking, which surprises people he opens up to because generally he's fairly aloof. Just make sure you don't anger him. At heart, he still has the wrath of Atmora locked deep within him.

History: Born 10 years after the Great War, his father was a veteran of the conflict. His mother, a maid in Riverwood, bore three sons, Hakon being the middle child. Hrothgar was four years older than him, the eldest and the most like their father. His younger brother by a year was Barnjulf, who grew up athletic but found his niche in farming.

Initially they grew up in Riverwood, playing by the river and helping their father with his forge-work. One night when Hakon was twelve, his brothers and he heard a pack of wolves attacking the livestock and sneaked out to track them through the wilderness by the White River, his older brother spurring them on all night, though Hakon was excited to run across the landscape like his ancestors. They continued on, until they lost the trail and only had a few chicken feathers for their trouble. They saw Valthiem Towers in the distance, and Hrothgar's caution was thrown out by his curiosity. Large and strong, he continued forward and would not answer Hakon's questioning when confronted, telling him to be silent.

At the edge of the road, Hakon and Barnjulf waited in the brush while Hrothgar stepped out to speak to a solitary figure standing beside the abandoned ruins. To this day, Hakon believed he was trying to find some food to purchase for the journey back. They saw the stranger place their arm around Hrothgar and lead him toward the door, speaking to him as a friend, and without warning stabbed Hrothgar in the stomach time and again. Their oldest brother fell bleeding in a memory that would live with Hakon forever. They ran back to Riverwood and told their parents what had happened. Their father was furious and their mother burst into tears, and over the next day, the muster of Riverwood was summoned and moved north to purge the towers over the river. Hakon still remembers his father coming home, blood crusted on his wolfskin cloak. Only then did he cry for Hrothgar.

The next year, they traveled to Rorikstead. Their father was a native of Markarth and they wanted to become farmers. Hakon thinks they could not bear to live in their old home anymore.

Growing up, his father would teach Hakon the art of the forge in his spare time when they were not working the fields. Barnjulf grew to be a lover of things that grow, but Hakon preferred the heat of the forge and the working of steel. They lived much the same and grew happy for a time, until the Thalmor began lurking the roads and oppressing the people, and it was only a scant few years later when the Skyrim civil war erupted. His father, Ingmar, was a staunch Talos worshiper and a believer in civil liberties. He had paid the Empire with his own blood as many Nords had, and now the Thalmor were walking freely amongst a nation they had 'made peace with,' harassing the population and enforcing their laws. Meanwhile, the Forsworn had attacked Markarth and disrupted caravans, making the already Thalmor infested roads downright disastrous for trade.

When Ulfric Stormcloak and his volunteers passed through Rorikstead, Ingmar joined. Hakon was left home to tend the farm and forge, but his father returned just as he had in Riverwood, with blood and scars.

Hakon heard firsthand of Ulfric's ultimatum to the Forsworn, and was told his father witnessed the power of his Thu'um blow open the gates of the great dwarven city. The militia charged in, but I won't bore you with the details. We all know the Markarth incident, however Ingmar claimed to Hakon the slaughter in the aftermath was greatly exaggerated by the Imperial scholar Arrianus Arius, who also penned 'The Madmen of The Reach' which was a staple for Forsworn apologetics. Ulfric and his men would not have been welcome back had they slaughtered the populace within as the Imperial claimed, and Hakon did not believe his father was that cruel.

There was peace for a time, and even the Thalmor showed their faces less as the year passed. But his father told him it wasn't the end of it, and he trained Hakon in the way of the sword for months, before Markarth was pressed by the Imperials and went back on its word and denounced the terms of the treaty for Markarth. It wasn't what his father had exactly expected, but it was the next step in the conflict. They gathered themselves quickly.

His father and a few of the more ardent Skyrim loyalists took up arms for the third time in Hakon's life, and for the first time, Hakon could accompany them. He was proud to stand by his father and go to question Igmund on this betrayal. But when they saw Markarth on the horizon, the Thalmor were waiting for them, and they surrounded the small contingent of men who had come but to talk. The elves gave the men the chance to disperse, but Ingmar and a number of the men spoke up, asking what right the Altmer had in ruling Skyrim?

The elves only answer was the drawing of their arms. Hakon watched his father die by the sword, and his cloak was now covered in his own blood, and not those of his enemies. The rest of them ran, and Hakon was pulled away as he watched in shock. It was a minor skirmish, not even noteworthy for the history books, but to Hakon it defined his life.

He fled home and wept when he told his mother and brother, and he swore he would join Ulfric in his war to rid the nation of the elves and the imperial traitors. But his mother convinced him not to, told him she needed him alive. He listened to her, and the only time he raised his sword was to fight Forsworn raiders that threatened the farm of Ingmarsson. For three years he stayed home, helping his brother and mother. He saw his brother get married and was there for the birth of his nephew, but he couldn't share in his brother's happiness.

At the age of twenty one, he decided he had to leave his own. Skyrim was not what it had once been, and as much as it pained him, the most business one could find was in Cyrodiil. He also understood who to blame and who to save his ire for. The average imperial was not his enemy. They were men as he was, and he knew he would rather see a thriving land ruled by a faithless man than a land he called home losing its will to live. He couldn't stay there, and so he left and made his home in Anvil, by the sea. He had never seen the sea before and it had the ethereal quality of watching a snow-capped tundra without being reminded of his home. He became a blacksmith there, started a trade on his own and finding contentedness in his work and the people he would see everyday.

For seven years, he grew in skill and knowledge and he felt his heart growing softer. Until the current year, in the Endless Night...

Biggest Regret: Not having the strength of character to stop his brother, or stop his father, or in the silence of his heart... in not having the courage to join them.

Hakon's Goals: What Hakon wants is peace and success, and to leave his scars behind. A good woman and a fine meal would be great. Deep inside, however, he wants much what I want. What do I want for him? I want him to help people while simultaneously getting less peace and more ardent. I want his nordic side to come screaming out of him and for him to fight like his ancestors. Fight for a cause and for Talos!

Skills:

Expert: Smithing
Adept: One handed sword, Speech
Novice: Blocking, Sneak, Heavy Armor

Equipment:

• Steel Armor
• Steel Sword
• Iron Shield
• 2 Mead
• Jerky

Misc. Possessions:

• Blacksmith Hammer
• Tongs
• Necklace of Ingmar (plain silver necklace)

The Elder Scrolls: Endless Night

Normally I don't do backstories well but I'm kinda proud of this one! Hope I submitted on time, forgot you were so far ahead of me in timezones.

Thoughtful Nord Blacksmith

Name: Hakon Ingmarsson
Race: Nord
Age: 28
Birthsign: The Tower
Family Origins: A family farm in Rorikstead

Appearance:


Personality: An old soul, Hakon is unlike most of his more fiery-hearted brethren, at least on the surface. Having seen his father killed for his words on the steps of Markarth, and what happens when you don't think before you act, his youthful impetuousness has been tempered like fine steel. A man of strong morals, he has an empathetic heart and does his best to be understanding, even to his enemies. He likes working with his hands and it gives him a down-to-earth wisdom reserved for older Nords. Still, Hakon possesses an ardent passion within him that needs only to be stoked, and he prefers not to speak or even think about politics because he knows he might say something that just brings trouble. He has a love for stories and talking, which surprises people he opens up to because generally he's fairly aloof. Just make sure you don't anger him. At heart, he still has the wrath of Atmora locked deep within him.

History: Born 10 years after the Great War, his father was a veteran of the conflict. His mother, a maid in Riverwood, bore three sons, Hakon being the middle child. Hrothgar was four years older than him, the eldest and the most like their father. His younger brother by a year was Barnjulf, who grew up athletic but found his niche in farming.

Initially they grew up in Riverwood, playing by the river and helping their father with his forge-work. One night when Hakon was twelve, his brothers and he heard a pack of wolves attacking the livestock and sneaked out to track them through the wilderness by the White River, his older brother spurring them on all night, though Hakon was excited to run across the landscape like his ancestors. They continued on, until they lost the trail and only had a few chicken feathers for their trouble. They saw Valthiem Towers in the distance, and Hrothgar's caution was thrown out by his curiosity. Large and strong, he continued forward and would not answer Hakon's questioning when confronted, telling him to be silent.

At the edge of the road, Hakon and Barnjulf waited in the brush while Hrothgar stepped out to speak to a solitary figure standing beside the abandoned ruins. To this day, Hakon believed he was trying to find some food to purchase for the journey back. They saw the stranger place their arm around Hrothgar and lead him toward the door, speaking to him as a friend, and without warning stabbed Hrothgar in the stomach time and again. Their oldest brother fell bleeding in a memory that would live with Hakon forever. They ran back to Riverwood and told their parents what had happened. Their father was furious and their mother burst into tears, and over the next day, the muster of Riverwood was summoned and moved north to purge the towers over the river. Hakon still remembers his father coming home, blood crusted on his wolfskin cloak. Only then did he cry for Hrothgar.

The next year, they traveled to Rorikstead. Their father was a native of Markarth and they wanted to become farmers. Hakon thinks they could not bear to live in their old home anymore.

Growing up, his father would teach Hakon the art of the forge in his spare time when they were not working the fields. Barnjulf grew to be a lover of things that grow, but Hakon preferred the heat of the forge and the working of steel. They lived much the same and grew happy for a time, until the Thalmor began lurking the roads and oppressing the people, and it was only a scant few years later when the Skyrim civil war erupted. His father, Ingmar, was a staunch Talos worshiper and a believer in civil liberties. He had paid the Empire with his own blood as many Nords had, and now the Thalmor were walking freely amongst a nation they had 'made peace with,' harassing the population and enforcing their laws. Meanwhile, the Forsworn had attacked Markarth and disrupted caravans, making the already Thalmor infested roads downright disastrous for trade.

When Ulfric Stormcloak and his volunteers passed through Rorikstead, Ingmar joined. Hakon was left home to tend the farm and forge, but his father returned just as he had in Riverwood, with blood and scars.

Hakon heard firsthand of Ulfric's ultimatum to the Forsworn, and was told his father witnessed the power of his Thu'um blow open the gates of the great dwarven city. The militia charged in, but I won't bore you with the details. We all know the Markarth incident, however Ingmar claimed to Hakon the slaughter in the aftermath was greatly exaggerated by the Imperial scholar Arrianus Arius, who also penned 'The Madmen of The Reach' which was a staple for Forsworn apologetics. Ulfric and his men would not have been welcome back had they slaughtered the populace within as the Imperial claimed, and Hakon did not believe his father was that cruel.

There was peace for a time, and even the Thalmor showed their faces less as the year passed. But his father told him it wasn't the end of it, and he trained Hakon in the way of the sword for months, before Markarth was pressed by the Imperials and went back on its word and denounced the terms of the treaty for Markarth. It wasn't what his father had exactly expected, but it was the next step in the conflict. They gathered themselves quickly.

His father and a few of the more ardent Skyrim loyalists took up arms for the third time in Hakon's life, and for the first time, Hakon could accompany them. He was proud to stand by his father and go to question Igmund on this betrayal. But when they saw Markarth on the horizon, the Thalmor were waiting for them, and they surrounded the small contingent of men who had come but to talk. The elves gave the men the chance to disperse, but Ingmar and a number of the men spoke up, asking what right the Altmer had in ruling Skyrim?

The elves only answer was the drawing of their arms. Hakon watched his father die by the sword, and his cloak was now covered in his own blood, and not those of his enemies. The rest of them ran, and Hakon was pulled away as he watched in shock. It was a minor skirmish, not even noteworthy for the history books, but to Hakon it defined his life.

He fled home and wept when he told his mother and brother, and he swore he would join Ulfric in his war to rid the nation of the elves and the imperial traitors. But his mother convinced him not to, told him she needed him alive. He listened to her, and the only time he raised his sword was to fight Forsworn raiders that threatened the farm of Ingmarsson. For three years he stayed home, helping his brother and mother. He saw his brother get married and was there for the birth of his nephew, but he couldn't share in his brother's happiness.

At the age of twenty one, he decided he had to leave his own. Skyrim was not what it had once been, and as much as it pained him, the most business one could find was in Cyrodiil. He also understood who to blame and who to save his ire for. The average imperial was not his enemy. They were men as he was, and he knew he would rather see a thriving land ruled by a faithless man than a land he called home losing its will to live. He couldn't stay there, and so he left and made his home in Anvil, by the sea. He had never seen the sea before and it had the ethereal quality of watching a snow-capped tundra without being reminded of his home. He became a blacksmith there, started a trade on his own and finding contentedness in his work and the people he would see everyday.

For seven years, he grew in skill and knowledge and he felt his heart growing softer. Until the current year, in the Endless Night...

Biggest Regret: Not having the strength of character to stop his brother, or stop his father, or in the silence of his heart... in not having the courage to join them.

Hakon's Goals: What Hakon wants is peace and success, and to leave his scars behind. A good woman and a fine meal would be great. Deep inside, however, he wants much what I want. What do I want for him? I want him to help people while simultaneously getting less peace and more ardent. I want his nordic side to come screaming out of him and for him to fight like his ancestors. Fight for a cause and for Talos!

Skills:

Expert: Smithing
Adept: One handed sword, Speech
Novice: Blocking, Sneak, Heavy Armor

Equipment:

• Steel Armor
• Steel Sword
• Iron Shield
• 2 Mead
• Jerky

Misc. Possessions:

• Blacksmith Hammer
• Tongs
• Necklace of Ingmar (plain silver necklace)

Gold & Glory: AU thread

The gale howled intensely as the the rain batted against the deck like artillery, pelting all on board and filled the already loud wind with with the noise of battering droplets. While never pleasant even with his vast experience, Markus was used to sailing in trying conditions. He felt goosebumps on his skin as much of his body was both warm and strikingly cold at different extremities. His dark hair matted to his face, his eyes steeled and piercing the veil of wind and blackness.

"Hard to port!" a fey, elven voice cried from the front of the ship. Markus spun the wheel, turning the ship as quickly as he could. The lightning flashed overhead, and the vague shape of the land that he had perceived as mountains were suddenly illuminated into monstrous shapes out of nightmare. Huge towers of jagged spires laden with wet corpses set around temples of obsidian and blood, all built in tandem to make the countenance of a great screaming visage in the brief flash. It started Markus's heart for a moment, and if he did not know any better, he thought he might have awakened a heathen god better left undisturbed.

"Raise mast!" Markus called back over the din. Lightning flashed again, giving him a glimpse of the deck. Morek ran across toward the mainsail rope as Sulander held onto the aft lines, yanking them down for all his worth. Indrin's figure was mid-leap from the foredeck onto the main deck, and behind him, dead ahead, was the maw of the bay. The world was continuously instantaneous intervals of light and darkness and roaring weather.

Spinning the wheel, Markus felt the ship sink dangerously low before launching into the air once it slapped against an oncoming wave, holding on for dear life. He felt as if he heard Emmaline squeal below him under the deck, but he knew that was impossible due to the noise. It was the last great interval before they made it into the inlet, where the waters were rough but manageable. Thankfully, the ship was far steadier than any manling vessel would be and almost skimmed to the darkwood docks where deadly sloops were anchored.

He knew no one would be out in this storm, but he still could not but feel eyes watching him. Something older than even the elves, and he couldn't help but feel on edge as they slid somewhat roughly into a vacant area, knowing this might be the last time he would ever sail. With luck, they wouldn't find any dark elves. Just his ship and the crew...

"Sigmar willing," he said and chuckled darkly. He knew in his stomach there would be blood spilled before the night was through.