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    1. Robeatics 10 yrs ago
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9 yrs ago
Current My Pathfinder character just hooked up with a sentient beam of light, txt it
9 yrs ago
So I'm eating creamy peanut butter instead of crunchy and it's the worst decision of my goddamn life
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Sorry, I think I might have to drop. I've got a new job and a new semester of college on the horizon, I know I won't be able to sustain this in the long run. I appreciate everyone's time.
Night, Sun's Height 25
Dawnstar

@Robeatics@Gcold



The thin air of the mountains as it swooped down into the Reach carried with it a particular chill for the season. Eirik tucked her arms underneath her cloak, though kept her hood about her shoulders to better enjoy the sun’s warmth on her face. She didn’t know quite where she was going for a while; simply followed the path in front of her, staring at the scenery as it crawled by. She was never much of an outdoorswoman in her youth; a wasted opportunity, having grown up in Skyrim. At each fork in the road, she glanced up at the signs pointing in each direction and make a random decision. Wisely, she avoided roads to Solitude at all costs. She couldn’t bear to see what the Stormcloaks and Dragonborn might have done to her city, or what the new owners were doing to her childhood home.

She tried to put such thoughts out of her head, but her journey, with no real goal, felt endless. Having no one to talk to during her long marches left her adrift in a sea of her own meandering thoughts. She marveled at the vista of the soaring tundras opening into Whiterun’s holdings, and stopped in Rorikstead for the night. All across the tundra, she trudged silently alongside a caravan--a family of bards, it seemed. They played wonderful music on the way to Whiterun, but something about their faces seemed troubled. The times being what they were, Eirik didn’t pry, and simply enjoyed their company for as long as she could.

She didn’t stay in Whiterun for long, as she found herself drawn north. Rumors abound in the city, troubling stories of the fall of Windhelm, a strange army, an even stranger crew of ruffians in the center of it--Eirik was intrigued. She hadn’t tasted real combat since her...incident, and a servant of Stendarr without purpose was as good as a whetstone without a blade.

Summer had left the land patchy and green. As she climbed north, the green thinned, until it almost seemed like she’d caught the land on the single day it wasn’t snowing. Dawnstar seemed muddier and danker than usual in the summer, and the air was thick with the stench of the sea, which assaulted her sensitive nose in unique ways with every breeze. She skirted around the Beast camp and approached the edge of the town, waving down a waiting guard.

The said guard was recently part of shift change. Two sleep-starved men gave way to two light-starved individuals; a man and woman. Late night was nobody's favorite shift, especially since the arrival of the Argonian refugees. Even the most enthusiastic night owl couldn't help but feel dread to watch the mass of slinking scales marching to sleep. When a newcomer came around, the expression caused was a frown on the female guard's face. This rather attractive woman's face stuck out conspicuously in the light of torch, creating a stark contrast to the rough and tumble men around her.

Eirik said as she drew close, “Hello there! Mara, I’ve had quite the long trip. I’ve been waiting on a nice warm bed all day.”

Without even the time to don her helmet, the guard was thrust into conversation with the perky newcomer. "Uh yes, greetings." Besides her, the male guard filed by to ensure the no Argonians violated the curfew. She spat on the roadside, silently cursing her partner for leaving her alone with a figuratively handful of a visitor, and a literal handful of torch, sword and the unworn helmet.

"Welcome to Dawnstar, daughter of Skyrim. I'm afraid the inn may be at capacity tonight." Her words came out almost like grinding gears; automatic as Skald's captain drilled into every single new recruits. Thinking about the inn prompted an yawn of the guardswoman, and when she came back from stifling it, she found the traveler was still around. "Are you staring at me?"

Eirik’s eyes quickly flickered to a random other point in the darkness, innocently glancing about as she spoke. “Hm? Oh, no, no.” She laughed once. “I’m just not used to seeing a guard in Skyrim without that helmet.” She hoped her smile would be diversion enough from the fact that she was, indeed, staring at the woman’s face. She couldn’t really blame herself for lingering a little too long. After traveling for miles on sore legs, staring at nothing but dense wilderness and the blur of faces in one town after another...

She coughed once before her imagination could get the best of her. “You mentioned the inn rooms being full? Not a problem. Any Nord could sustain herself on mead and a roaring hearth alone.” She pressed her right hand somewhat theatrically against her breastplate, leaning in conspiratorially.

"Right, well, none of us guards are too eager to put on these head buckets." The guardswoman tapped the headgear in question. "It's poorly ventilated, poor sighted and contributed to many head bumps against doorways." She sighed, barely catching Eirik's eyes flickering off. "Also, it often requires two hands to properly fit..." She implied at the torch in hand.

"Anyways, I have no doubt that you can." The guardswoman snickered. "But I don't think it's wise to do so with that cough." She leaned back slightly, grinning and shaking her head at Eirik's display. "If you ask me, I'd try to get a tent and a cot from the mercenaries. They're across the harbor and recently returned with a few men short, so they probably have spare accommodations for rent." While they talked, the guardswoman's partner started arguing with Argonians in the distance. Her grin gradually soured, and looking back and forth between the distant Argonian camp and the visitor in front of her, she suddenly found the latter to be much more preferable.

"A bedroll and a hearth can get you by, but let me tell you, sleeping on the floors of Windpeak Inn is an invitation for unwelcome pests to crawl in with you. There's also the danger of nightmare cultists; I heard they snatch up those without a locked door." The guard's grin returned; she was enjoying spooking the newcomer. "Of course, I can give you a few local tips, if you buy me a mug of ale." She winked.

Eirik’s heart dropped for a moment, and her eyebrows drew together in concern. “Cultists?” Suddenly, she was back in that dank, dead swamp, hounded by insects, armor clinging to her skin--she saw those masked cultists looming above her where she lay, sleepless...Her eyes lost focus for the briefest of moments, but she blinked it away and feigned a lighthearted smirk of disbelief.

“Sounds like an interesting rumor. Looks like I’ll have to take you up on that ale.” She glanced up at the argument beyond their conversation and propped her hands up on her belt. “Well, you must have your hands full here. I’d best get to the mercenaries about that lodging before I earn you trouble from your captain for chatting on duty.” She attempted to slip past the guardswoman, lifting a hand in farewell.

Losing focus for a second time did not pass by the guardswoman, and as she was trained to look for patterns, she thought the newcomer must have been hazy from her journey. She let the armored woman slip by her, examining her as she walked through the torchlight and admiring her finely crafted circlet (among other things). "Ah yes, I believe there will be work that requires my presence." The newcomer's words elicited a sigh from the guardswoman. "However," she held up, "you can find me at the tavern in the morning, when my watch is over."

"And don't stress yourself over the cultists, eh?" She attempted to soothe the newcomer's concern. "Most of them cleared out a couple of years ago and the town is safe enough if you keeps your wits about you." Finally, she realized that she still haven't gotten this individual's name. For reporting purposes, and maybe personal ones, she ought to give it a try. "Nice meeting you, by the way. I'm Cyneburg." She dropped her shield on the roadside and jogged towards the departing figure for a handshake.

Eirik nodded slowly to herself at Cyneburg’s reassurances, then quickly turned and took the guard’s handshake between both hands, perhaps a habit picked up from the clergy. She smiled warmly. “Cyneburg! Nice to meet you. Call me Eirik. Don’t let that shift get to you, now; you’ve got a drink waiting in the morning.” She lifted her hand in farewell again, then turned her sights on that tent and cot.

As Eirik drew closer to the harbor, the stench only got worse. Her lip curled very subtly, nose wrinkling. The Solitude harbor couldn’t have smelled this bad. But perhaps she’d been away from Skyrim for too long, and such stink was a fact of life anywhere its people lived. A misstep had her boots sink into a puddle of what she prayed was mud, and she grunted distastefully all the way to the mercenary’s setup. She waved down the first rugged-looking person she spotted. “Pardon! Hello there. I’ve traveled quite a ways to…” She drew her side dagger and began scraping mud from her boots as she spoke. “...see this mercenary band I’ve heard so much of. Might I speak to your...captain?”

The rugged-looking person was a injured wood elf man. His expressions were crestfallen and much of his battered body were covered in bandages. He looked to Eirik with an empty daze and absentmindedly pointed her to the largest tent. "We're not much of a company now, and it won't be 'we' for me anymore" He dredged on packing up archery equipment. "The captain, Ashav, is just over" With that, he started hauling his bags for the last wagon out of town.

Eirik frowned at the man’s sorry state, but followed his direction regardless. She glanced about the camp, eyeing the other men and women with that similarly downtrodden expression. For a moment, she hesitated. Perhaps she’d found the wrong mercenaries, and the ones she’d heard stories about have moved on. Or perhaps the stories were entirely false, and any mercenaries involved just happened to be remembered. Either way, she hadn’t trudged through mud for a full day off her course just to turn away in her doubt. She approached the larger tent slowly, steeling herself for whatever conversation she might have.

Inside the command tent, Ashav had just concluded meetings with Khazki and Wylendriel, and was exhausted beyond relief. His effort to find comfort in the bottom of a bottle had failed when he poured half of the alcoholic content onto fresh scars Wylendriel had just closed. Burning sensations pierced the incompletely healed scar tissues; it was not pain in the pure physical sense, but the combination of his humiliating fumbling and the overwhelming stress drove Ashav into a fury. He began roaring, cursing, throwing objects around and smashing everything he set his sight upon. In his incoherent state of enragement, the Redguard didn't seem to notice anyone coming his way.

Eirik jolted at the sounds of mayhem in the mercenary leader’s tent, and stopped dead in her tracks. Her nose scrunched at the scent of strong alcohol, and she carefully stepped over a sprinkle of broken glass on her way inside. She drew the tent flap aside and peeked in. Seeing the Redguard man in such a fury, she stepped forward through the flap and held up a hand. “Woah man! Hold your peace!” The chaos erupting from the man infected her with a strange sense of humor. She chuckled nervously. “If I knew my arrival would throw you into a frenzy, I’d have gone to Winterhold.” She removed her antlered circlet and smoothed her hair back in one easy motion.

Ashav froze abruptly. "What do you want?" He demanded.

“You’re the leader of those mercenaries I’ve heard of, correct? The ones involved in Windhelm, the invasions and such? I am Eirik Eiriksdóttir, servant of the Divines. I’ve come from Whiterun to see if the rumors are true.” She tapped her right hand against her breastplate. “It may seem odd that someone like me would be interested in joining a mercenary outfit, but these are strange times.” Her eyes studied Ashav’s face carefully.

Ashav slumped down onto his chair. He buried his face in his hands for a few seconds, and when he came out to look at Eirik again, he was no lighter shade of red. He sighed, embarrassed at being seen in such an incoherent manner and annoyed at the unending train of business to deal with. "Yeah, rumors, whatever; I already had one 'servant of the Divines' earlier." The Redguard slurred. He didn't even bother to return Eirik's look. Instead, Ashav stared up at the tent roof and shook his head. "I don't have time for 'Lord and savior' and 'holier than thou'; get out of my sight." He slapped one hand down on his table harder than he meant to, while the other pointed to the woman and then the exit.

Eirik's brow furrowed, ego wounded more than she would've liked. She put on her negotiator's tone and shrugged aside his pointing. "Perhaps I've introduced myself too formally. I'm no preacher here to lecture your men. Frankly, I would spend hours lecturing myself before anyone." She gestured behind her, to the camp beyond. "Swathes of my country are being overrun. Through the rumors I've heard, your outfit involves itself in nearly every major battle and crisis related to this chaos. That must amount to many casualties. If you're so ready to turn me away in exchange for the next farm boy with a stick who wanders in here, perhaps the rumors were false."

"Rumors? Rumors?" Ashav slurred angrily. "Forget everything you've heard, because the real 'major battles and crises' are ten times worse than what you can imagine. Er..." A belch broke Ashav's words, but it helped him to finally focus the woman talking to him. "You don't look like someone who needs to risks herself to fight the horror we fight. Seriously, you have no idea what you are signing up for."

"Let me tell you, the snow demons.." Ashav's face froze as if some invisible demon suddenly seized from behind. He grabbed for his trusty beer mug, but reluctantly pushed it away. "Damn it," he threw up his hands, "you want to be the heroine, eh? Jarl Skald's got plenty of jobs for your type, hell, he may even let you sail on that ship."

"Please go spend the next lots of hours lecturing yourself." Ashav leaned back as far as he could in his chair, aware how much his own breath stank of alcohol. However, he made no attempt to hide longing glances at where his mead reserves were. "Can you leave me alone now?"

Eirik’s eyes betrayed the indignance that boiled in her belly. Unable to help herself, she retorted, “You have no idea what horrors I’ve fought.” Her face refused to mirror Ashav’s own, though memories flooded to her mind’s surface like a breaching sea-beast...The temptation rose to continue from there, but she knew it’d be fruitless and silly to argue with him any further. She considered the ship in the harbor. Gaining passage would be a world better than loitering in the inn, waiting for the next invasion.

She gathered herself quickly, giving a dignified sniff. “You make your priorities clear, then.” While she wasn’t willing to fight him any more, she made a show of whipping about-face, sending her cloak flaring dramatically in her wake. She curtly donned her circlet and shrugged aside the tent flaps, expression soured but determined. To the Jarl she goes.

"We all fight our own horrors." Mumbled Ashav. He watched Eirik leave with a determined swagger and slumped down to the scratching embrace of the old wooden table. He remembered himself being just like her decades ago; feeling invincible, always fighting the right fight and self-pitying over every scratch big and small. Some may scoff at this state of "innocence", but Ashav had came to miss the youthful idealism and the excitement of baptism by fire like the first stroke of blood red paint splashing upon a clean canvas. That part of him was sadly beyond reach, and Eirik was fortunately too. However, his old friend, the mugful of ale, never left his side on a trying night like this. So he went to sleep clinging to the amnesia of alcohol, escaping to Vaermina's realm for a few scarce hours.

She, again, made her trudging journey down the street to the longhouse. She found an interesting dichotomy between methods of dirtying her armor: on the wet side of the street lurked inches of mud, and on the dry side, clouds of dust kicked up by passersby. She made it to the longhouse with a duller shine to her plate, and approached the guard stationed there. “Hail. I hear the Jarl has work. May I speak with the steward?”

"The court is closed." The guard grunted. "Please see the job board instead." What he referred to was a wooden board besides the longhouse entrance, where hiring notices range from "refugee camp cleaning" to "frontier garrison volunteers". One particular paper was the crew signup for the Steelhead, a war vessel belonging to Thane Alberich. On the night of 25th, one day away from sailing, one more person would be needed for ship security. This final crew member would be required to provide combat competence and their own equipment to do so. In exchange, payment inferior to similar positions in Solitude of Windhelm would be provided on top of food and accommodation. Orange torch lights dimly revealed that conditions and interviews have been replaced with "urgently required; sign and come to dock tomorrow".

Eirik grimaced at the sign. She certainly fit the bill for the security position, though the pay and clear desperation left something to be desired. She signed the paper nonetheless, and turned to survey the ship she would be boarding. Backlit by the shroud of the ocean’s horizon beyond, it loomed over the fishing dinghies neighboring it. Something about docked ships seemed ominous to Eirik. She recalled watching trade ships come and go through Solitude’s harbor from all corners of Tamriel, though never was allowed to go to the docks herself. She didn’t stand staring for long, as a gust of horribly dusty wind ushered her towards the tavern.

With the inn being full, she supposed she really wasn’t getting any rest tonight. But her aching limbs from her day of travel could at least be appeased by a few pints. Her mind drifted back to Cyneburg as she sat and drank, and she irritably willed the night to pass more quickly.
Just got my reply in. I really don't normally take so long on a collab, just a lot of traveling going on.
Hey guys, I'm on a vacation for ten days, so I'll be...about as quiet as usual in here. :p
I managed to name a Breton Gelina, which was a nonsense name for a D&D character I made when I was 12. :y


Redux! However, I couldn't find any spell lists for Solar magic specifically, so I just split Restoration into anti-undead glowy shit and healing glowy shit. Please let me know if you have a more extensive resource for me to pull from.


@Dervish,@gcold, I'll get right on that! I appreciate the feedback. One concern of mine, though. Will dropping Blade down to adept spread her skills too thin? I don't want to be a min/maxer or anything, but seeing as Eirik isn't going to be fighting undead all the time, I figured it'd be a better idea to give her Expert on a combat skill that is effective against just about every opponent. In this case, I could perhaps swap out adept Restoration with adept Solar, and just say in her backstory that she studied Sun Fire and such Solar spells exclusively.
FINALS WEEK HAS ENDED, VICTORY SCREEEEEEEECH

Here she is. Finally. Please pick her apart as you need.



EDIT: Just now read all the other CSs in detail. Looks like Sadri and Eirik go hand in hand.
@Dinh AaronMk This is a roleplay website.
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