I guess this thread is dead.
The Grey Dust
Member
The
Grey
STATUS:
A scantron exam, but the answer is always C. Just C. Always C. Not a single A, B, D, or E. All answers are C. The statistical improbability is diabolical!
5 days ago
- Last Seen: 2 days ago
- Joined: 12 yrs ago
- Posts: 1892 (0.44 / day)
- VMs: 8
-
Username history
- The Grey Dust 12 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
N3v3rM0r3,
RPM,
Lyric Hop,
xxjessicaxx,
Cherrytree,
vue2026,
Pascal,
ShankySpice,
Half Pint,
Ducksworth
Status
Recent Statuses
5 days ago
Current
A scantron exam, but the answer is always C. Just C. Always C. Not a single A, B, D, or E. All answers are C. The statistical improbability is diabolical!
3
likes
7 days ago
By default the Jimmy Buffet Bard is on a quest for a Salt Shaker after losing it after a black-out night of booze, sponge cake, carousing, and women with his only hint tattooed on his chest...
4
likes
8 days ago
I'm not a doctor but I do play one in RP. Got an itch to scratch? Try Hyrdocortisone 1% with aloe, vitamin E, and medicated Zinc oxide plus calamine cream..
6
likes
15 days ago
Where else would you keep a diamond-powered tactical ASSAULT super suit?
4
likes
15 days ago
Arnold Schwarzenegger stores his Mr. Freeze power suit in a salt mine so youll never catch him asking: "Honey, where is my super suit?"
2
likes
Bio
User has no bio, yet.
This is a lie.
This is a lie.
Most Recent Posts
So... Um... What happens from here? Given that we only have 4 players so far.
Tonight the streets of Whiterun would be littered with the bodies of her people. The guards who came first were easily dealt with, 18 vampires against the half dozen guards active on the streets at this hour? Dead men walking amongst the walking dead. The Borba and her crew made short work of the ill-prepared guards who had rushed out of the guard tower at the sounds of distress. These vampires however were newblood, barely a few months old as they were recruited in the forests of Falkreath by Lucan and Borba. Out of the miscreants of society, the bandits, sell-swords and mercenaries, anyone who sought to take what they thought were owed in life by force. Befitting of the blood of Borba who infected them with the dark gift. But not all vampires were made equal.
Some, like Lucan, bore the bloodline of the Volkihar, an ancient court of vampires, sourced from Lord Harkon, blessed by Molag Bal himself to take the form within them. A truly monstrous amount of power which lesser vampires were considered to be nothing more than half-breeds who were blessed by only a sliver of what a vampire was. But Lucan hated this form, the bestial essence which made them more akin to flying rodents than the cultured humanoids they were. Power at the cost of humanity, not that Lucan had not traded his for his own survival over five hundred years ago. But what humanity he had, Lucan clung to, keeping his sanity and bloodlust in balance to keep the hunger contained. They all became monsters, driven by their goals and ends. Some worshiped blood, others money, some glory, and the rest power. Lucan simply craved experiences.
Returning to the battle, the fold of destruction as the flaming arrows fell upon the vampires, one of which began to catch flame and in panic ran across towards the archers coming down from the Cloud District now alert. It was safe to say the flaming pincushion was not much of a loss for this sheer stupidity. Again proving Lucan's thoughts on vampires, how weak their wills were should they surrender to the hunger. The newblood who so willingly join the ranks of the undead thought themselves foolishly immortal. How laughable, no the best vampires are tasted in the potions of the best alchemist. The uses of vampire dust was after all quite interesting.
It had seemed the Jarl was not about to let his people die, and would rather watch them burn than possibly rise up again as a creature of the night. But this mission was not about ransacking the city, as much as Borba thought it was, for the orc was never told the true reason why she was paired with Lucan for this task. While the brute was killing off everything in her path, the men who had bravely set out into the city to join the melee amongst the guards, the beggars in the streets, or the women and children who were being pulled out of their homes by the thieves in the night and slaughtered. Lucan tutted, this was highly unprofessional of the orc, there was no glory in killing the innocent. But they did tell her to send a strong message to the city, and the killing of these was a necessary evil.
"Oculus Magnus" A whispered spell, in silent tones spoken. A call to warp Mundus to his will, as his golden eyes shimmered with the all-sight of the gods. For that which had life, the spark of the soul, would be known to him, as the universe revealed the secrets of the living before his sight. And the dead, or undying would appeared without the sparks which the living bore like blue candles in the darkness of the universe which symbolize the presence of their souls. For the undead were merely empty vessels, existing and moving from will rather than true spirit, and the ghosts were all but spirits, vampires were somewhere in between caught between separation of the spirit and rising as the mindless undead. Twice-blessed, and Thrice-cursed.
The dead were filling the streets, a bloodbath beneath him as Lucan straddled the central post of the Inn. Perched like a crow, watching the tides of battle begin, shifting as the guards and militia pushed forward only to be pushed back by the vampires. He smiled at the presence of two living sparks amidst the piles of the dead, a woman and her daughter, facedown and pretending to be expired. They would survive tonight by feigning death, not that the vampires would care to check, their orders were to reduce the population and mainly target the Graymanes. For in this political maneuvering, should Lucan fail in his task tonight, the vampires could at least glean some support from the Battleborns through intimidation, bribes and a knowing nod that it was convenient that the vampires would remove their clan enemies from the city.
They had yet to draw him out however, Lucan's target, the captain of the guard. And so he would have to watch and wait before the night was through. Though he could hear those dogs barking at the walls, encroaching upon the battle. So the Companions have come at last, Borba and her goons should have washed before walking downwind. But wait, what was this? Lucan's mystical eyes looked down between his legs to watch a figure rush out of the Bannered Mare. This one had no life, though was neither spirit nor shambling undead. One of them? Had the elders of Harkon's Court sent an observer to observe the observer? Did they not trust Lucan to seduce the Captain with his charms? In this brutal distraction, ensuring a man inside the city would allow them to take the city when they came around again. To make the Captain his thrall was crucial... So who was this?
You've perked my interest. Lucan thought to himself, as the leapt down from the rooftop and landed like a black cat, crouched on all fours before rising. He watched the stranger from behind, his movements mimiced the stalking cat, striding up and sauntering casually as if all was well. Who was this long-haired vampire? Certainly a vampire by the lack of spark appearing before Lucan's vision, but not one of their numbers. And his swords, glass swords, elegant and deadly, wickedly serrated and spectacularly transparent. A man of good taste, and perhaps of good taste as Lucan licked his upper lip. It was his attempt at eating a vampire which had made him one, although that would be another story for another time. For now, this stranger was more interesting to ponder over than to wait out for the yellow Captain.
With a slight movement of his palm, and the focus of his will into manifesting the pull, the tip of Mithias' blade would feel the sharp jerk in his hand towards the left. As if something had grabbed a hold of the end began to tug it away from his grip. A telekinetic spell, toying with the boy from a far, sitting atop the town well to perhaps make him pause for a moment from the eager pursuit of joining the battle below. The werewolves would come in soon enough, and then Borba would have to take an assault from both ends. And frankly, Lucan was unsure if the orc could handle it all without needing some backup.
Some, like Lucan, bore the bloodline of the Volkihar, an ancient court of vampires, sourced from Lord Harkon, blessed by Molag Bal himself to take the form within them. A truly monstrous amount of power which lesser vampires were considered to be nothing more than half-breeds who were blessed by only a sliver of what a vampire was. But Lucan hated this form, the bestial essence which made them more akin to flying rodents than the cultured humanoids they were. Power at the cost of humanity, not that Lucan had not traded his for his own survival over five hundred years ago. But what humanity he had, Lucan clung to, keeping his sanity and bloodlust in balance to keep the hunger contained. They all became monsters, driven by their goals and ends. Some worshiped blood, others money, some glory, and the rest power. Lucan simply craved experiences.
Returning to the battle, the fold of destruction as the flaming arrows fell upon the vampires, one of which began to catch flame and in panic ran across towards the archers coming down from the Cloud District now alert. It was safe to say the flaming pincushion was not much of a loss for this sheer stupidity. Again proving Lucan's thoughts on vampires, how weak their wills were should they surrender to the hunger. The newblood who so willingly join the ranks of the undead thought themselves foolishly immortal. How laughable, no the best vampires are tasted in the potions of the best alchemist. The uses of vampire dust was after all quite interesting.
It had seemed the Jarl was not about to let his people die, and would rather watch them burn than possibly rise up again as a creature of the night. But this mission was not about ransacking the city, as much as Borba thought it was, for the orc was never told the true reason why she was paired with Lucan for this task. While the brute was killing off everything in her path, the men who had bravely set out into the city to join the melee amongst the guards, the beggars in the streets, or the women and children who were being pulled out of their homes by the thieves in the night and slaughtered. Lucan tutted, this was highly unprofessional of the orc, there was no glory in killing the innocent. But they did tell her to send a strong message to the city, and the killing of these was a necessary evil.
"Oculus Magnus" A whispered spell, in silent tones spoken. A call to warp Mundus to his will, as his golden eyes shimmered with the all-sight of the gods. For that which had life, the spark of the soul, would be known to him, as the universe revealed the secrets of the living before his sight. And the dead, or undying would appeared without the sparks which the living bore like blue candles in the darkness of the universe which symbolize the presence of their souls. For the undead were merely empty vessels, existing and moving from will rather than true spirit, and the ghosts were all but spirits, vampires were somewhere in between caught between separation of the spirit and rising as the mindless undead. Twice-blessed, and Thrice-cursed.
The dead were filling the streets, a bloodbath beneath him as Lucan straddled the central post of the Inn. Perched like a crow, watching the tides of battle begin, shifting as the guards and militia pushed forward only to be pushed back by the vampires. He smiled at the presence of two living sparks amidst the piles of the dead, a woman and her daughter, facedown and pretending to be expired. They would survive tonight by feigning death, not that the vampires would care to check, their orders were to reduce the population and mainly target the Graymanes. For in this political maneuvering, should Lucan fail in his task tonight, the vampires could at least glean some support from the Battleborns through intimidation, bribes and a knowing nod that it was convenient that the vampires would remove their clan enemies from the city.
They had yet to draw him out however, Lucan's target, the captain of the guard. And so he would have to watch and wait before the night was through. Though he could hear those dogs barking at the walls, encroaching upon the battle. So the Companions have come at last, Borba and her goons should have washed before walking downwind. But wait, what was this? Lucan's mystical eyes looked down between his legs to watch a figure rush out of the Bannered Mare. This one had no life, though was neither spirit nor shambling undead. One of them? Had the elders of Harkon's Court sent an observer to observe the observer? Did they not trust Lucan to seduce the Captain with his charms? In this brutal distraction, ensuring a man inside the city would allow them to take the city when they came around again. To make the Captain his thrall was crucial... So who was this?
You've perked my interest. Lucan thought to himself, as the leapt down from the rooftop and landed like a black cat, crouched on all fours before rising. He watched the stranger from behind, his movements mimiced the stalking cat, striding up and sauntering casually as if all was well. Who was this long-haired vampire? Certainly a vampire by the lack of spark appearing before Lucan's vision, but not one of their numbers. And his swords, glass swords, elegant and deadly, wickedly serrated and spectacularly transparent. A man of good taste, and perhaps of good taste as Lucan licked his upper lip. It was his attempt at eating a vampire which had made him one, although that would be another story for another time. For now, this stranger was more interesting to ponder over than to wait out for the yellow Captain.
With a slight movement of his palm, and the focus of his will into manifesting the pull, the tip of Mithias' blade would feel the sharp jerk in his hand towards the left. As if something had grabbed a hold of the end began to tug it away from his grip. A telekinetic spell, toying with the boy from a far, sitting atop the town well to perhaps make him pause for a moment from the eager pursuit of joining the battle below. The werewolves would come in soon enough, and then Borba would have to take an assault from both ends. And frankly, Lucan was unsure if the orc could handle it all without needing some backup.
I'll post this evening. Although the attack has began. Feel free to describe it.
Waiting for everyone else to post up/Join up.
The Town is technically a human town, although werewolves live in it.
There probably is a good chance Mithias can stay at the Inn (the Bannered Mare) I sort of set that one up for you :P
There probably is a good chance Mithias can stay at the Inn (the Bannered Mare) I sort of set that one up for you :P
I hope my post sets the ball in motion. Hopefully. I mean being of one of the two vampires, I suppose this seems more fitting given the suggested plothook.
Also any comments the on the characterizations of Lucan and the pseudo-NPC Borba?
Also any comments the on the characterizations of Lucan and the pseudo-NPC Borba?
"The age of Dragons, comes to end,
The Dragonborn faced ol' Alduin,
The Civil war pauses in repose,
Ands woes of Skyrim, come to close.
But wait, what rumble is heard?
Atop The Throat of the World,
Wolf howl moon, Bat wings flutter,
Blood tides turn the blood broth-"
The Nightwatchman stopped his song as the group of travelers approached the gate. The sun was low, casting the long shadow of the walls of Whiterun upon them. While it was strange to have strangers approach, especially in these large numbers unannounced, it was not unusual for Whiterun to see a variety of visitors. The city was in the middle of Skyrim, neither too far north in the bracing cold, nor the deep forests of the south, nor high mountains of the west, nor the thieves of the east. It was a central place for all trade between holds crossing the land, and an important strategic location for the Empire and the Stormcloaks. But these guests, from what he could see beneath his standard issue full-face helmet, these were neither the bureaucratic Imperialists, nor the rebellious Stormcloaks. In fact, they looked more like the Dark Brotherhood, a murderous lot, dressed in their black hoods and leather cloaks. About a dozen and half of them, shady figures, especially in the hours of the coming dusk.
"Open the gates." One of them stepped forward, probably the leader amongst these pale-skinned people. He looked like a warrior of some sort, a heavy warhammer clung at her side, and by the looks of things, they were not here to trade. Mercenaries or bandits, armed with picks, clubs, maces, swords and axes, a small raiding party presented before the Nightwatchman. It was a grey-skinned orc, tusks jutting out of her mouth matched with an equally gruesome nose as she snorted out her command. She definitely looked ugly, but the guard steeled his nerves and refused her as he remarked of her appearance as he and his fellow guard came to the defense of the gate. Should they sound they the alarms for the city and these visitors, whoever they are, would face the full force of the city guard. "I will not ask again, Open the gates or I will pry the keys out of your cold lifeless ha-"
A twin flash of green light cut her threat off.
"Open the Gates, Please. You really should try and be more polite Borba." A voice followed the appearance of a pale man dressed in robes of a mage as black as night. Appearing from nowhere behind the guards, a gloved hand on each man's shoulder with an iron collar clung around his neck as the soft lights of his magicks glowed like the flutter of torchbugs in the darkening sky. A smile crept its way across his face, as those gold eyes stared at the group before him and the guards reached for their gate keys to unlock the city gates. Such was the power of the illusionist, who had slipped past the lines under the guise of invisibility and entranced the wills of the suspicious guards with a simple beguiling spell.
"Lucan, I knew I smelled your stench. Now get out of my way, you know they put me charge for this attack." The orc grunted out her reply. Her anger was evident as her nostrils flared up and her hand clutched the grip of her warhammer as the guards began to turn their keys. "This is my moment of glory, I'm not about to let some foppy mage steal it from me. Now get out or I'll be more than glad to bash that pretty face of yours in." She spat, her vampire fangs revealed as she snarled at Lucan. A rather barbaric vampire, a few decade younger than Lucan, though he himself was a rather young vampire compared to the Court Lords. That being said the only way up the ladder in this twisted society was to play the politics well. One fellow vampire's failure meant...
"It's called a bath Borba. Something I'm sure you orcs find more terrifying than my most potent fear-inducing hallucinations. Besides, I find the subtle smell of Deathbell and Nightshade to be ever so satisfying to wash the blood off one's body after a meal." With an unnerving lick of his lips, the orc shuddered a bit. She knew of his feeding habits, a fellow vampire but not one who she would ever like to associate with. After seeing him dine upon some poor unfortunate soul who was spread upon the table, taking his time with each sip and slice off the living and entranced wood elf. Those words he whispered into his prey's long elven ears, something about the Green Pact and the elf would understand. Not something she would ever like to witness twice. Never accept a dinner invitation from a former member of Namira's Coven. The older vampire snapped his fingers and the gates opened. "Welcome to Whiterun."
"Just stay out of my way." Borba the vampire orc, a rarity indeed, shoved the theatrical man aside as she walked past him with her small raiding force. It was planned to be a master stroke, to assault the city at dusk, to maximize the terror and discord of a vampire attack, wiping out the city guards and the companions under the cover of nightfall. But it was as if Lucan knew something Borba did not, or at least something the elders at the court knew that the sly mage withheld from Borba. A manipulator, a scoundrel, and all-in-all a devilish-rake, beneath that faked charming smile was something devious. What seemed like harmless fun would turn into a grave situation, Lucan was the wild card, despite the collar he wore around his neck, he seemed to be the one tugging at the chains of others. A man to be feared beyond the fear created by his spells.
"But of course, I'm just here to watch." Lucan brushed his shoulders off as he picked himself off the ground. Running his fingers through his hair as an act of vanity and habit, the whispered incantation casted the veil upon the man once more. And there, Lucan was no more, his form disappearing with a wide smile of a vanishing Cheshire cat. Unseen as he slipped into the city and climbed the rooftop of the Bannered Mare Inn, to watch as the first of the city guards fall under the assault of the Vampire Raiders. The first scream of the night, an agonized guggling cry as metal met chest and fangs met neck. What a perfect spot to view the struggle between Vampire and Werewolf.
I wonder how we will begin.
Name: Lucan Kingsley
Race: Breton Vampire.
Birthsign: The Ritual
Blood: Vampire.
Appearance:
Weapon of choice: Magic. Illusion and Alteration schools.
Personality: Charismatic and charming, soft-spoken and yet assertive. Lucan harbors a rather laidback attitude for a vampire, however beneath the exterior is a predator with a fanged smile and hungry eyes. Do not mistake his penchant for letting others do the work for him for laziness, but a token of his manipulation. You could accuse Lucan of being self-indulgent, you'd have to admit his take on life, or unlife in case, is luxurious.
Bio: (to be filled as the rp goes on)
Race: Breton Vampire.
Birthsign: The Ritual
Blood: Vampire.
Appearance:
Weapon of choice: Magic. Illusion and Alteration schools.
Personality: Charismatic and charming, soft-spoken and yet assertive. Lucan harbors a rather laidback attitude for a vampire, however beneath the exterior is a predator with a fanged smile and hungry eyes. Do not mistake his penchant for letting others do the work for him for laziness, but a token of his manipulation. You could accuse Lucan of being self-indulgent, you'd have to admit his take on life, or unlife in case, is luxurious.
Bio: (to be filled as the rp goes on)
© 2007-2026