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Showing content with the highest reputation since 01/21/2018 in all areas

  1. 4 points
  2. 3 points
    The tavern door banged open in a wash of wind and rain. Fiska leaned on the polished wood of the bar for a better look as a dark figure staggered quickly inside and threw the door closed again. The newcomer was a lithe khajiit female dressed in leathers and some sort of fur at her shoulders, a bow slung across the quiver on her back, and a heavy pack she thumped to the floor by the door and left. Fiska scowled at the sopping footprints the khajiit woman trailed across her clean floor and she raised a hand. “No. No. Dry off by the door first or I’ll be mopping up after you for a week!” She stared down the khajiit female’s cool, blue eyes, noting the wide scar across her nose, and leaned back when one feline brow clearly quirked up at her. “Khajiit is wet and annoyed and must be dry.” Fiska’s own brows rose. “I’m Fiska and this is my tavern. Do you have a name, cat?” “This one is P’urza.” P’urza gave the orc a toothy smile. She set her bow and quiver on the bar and crouched. “No. Oh, no.” Fiska waved her hands. “Don’t you da…” Fiska’s voice trailed off as P’urza vigorously shook her entire body. Water droplets flew in a rain around her. When she finally stopped, the Khajiit’s fur stood up all over her body as though she had been struck by lightning. Fiska wiped her hands over her face, taking the water with them, and smoothed them back through her dark hair while she took a deep breath, calming herself. “Was that necessary?” P’urza let out a rolling chuckle and began smoothing her fur back down fastidiously. “If you have mop, P’urza will gladly clean for you.” She looked carefully around the taproom, taking in the spacious area, the dark wood, worn tables, and homey fire in the hearth. She stared a moment at the rather large Nord and his sparkling eyes before he looked away with a smile. P’urza ran her claws deftly up her ears, flicking the white tufts at their tips into place, and sat gracefully on one of the tall stools. “The red one told P’urza of this place. She said it is good place of hiding for those who do not want to be found.” “The red one?” Fiska asked. She went to the back of the bar and pulled out a mop, stalking around to the front and the khajiit. “What’s a red one?” “Red is her hair.” P’urza frowned. “Or maybe her skin. Bah. You shaveskins all seem the same to Khajiit.” P’urza shrugged. “Could have been her name. P’urza needs place to not be seen; red one says this is place of not-seeing so P’urza comes.” She stood back up and plucked the mop from Fiska’s hands with another smile. “Do you have… something sweet to drink? Sugary perhaps?” Fiska shook her head distastefully, knowing the khajiit meant moonsugar. “I’ll have none of that in this tavern.” She left P’urza to clean up her own mess and went back behind the bar. “I have a sweet, mulled cider.” She poured a mug from the cask and set it on the bar in front of her. “It’s alcoholic but should be sugary enough for you.” P’urza finished mopping the water from the floor, set the mop aside, and took her seat again. She picked up the mug with a nod of thanks and took a long drink. She closed her eyes and savored the sweet flavor on her tongue before the bite of the alcohol warmed her throat. She opened her eyes and flicked her claws at Fiska with a smile. “Blessings of the moons upon you for this! It is perfect. Thank you, short tail.” “Fiska.” Fiska sniffed, though she appreciated the khajiit’s pleasure in the cider. “Not ‘short tail’.” “This one meant no offense.” P’urza smiled and sipped her cider, looking around the tavern again. “P’urza has been this way through the Bitter Coast but never does she recall this place. How is it Khajiit is not seeing this tavern before?” Fiska gave a shrug of her own and a smile. “Only just found it myself.” She wiped the last few droplets of water from the bar. “It just sort of appeared here.” She gave a wondering shake of her head. “And it seems to like me.” “Hmm.” P’urza turned on her stool to look more closely at the interior. “Curious.” She lifted her nose, sniffing the air and tasted many scents; dog and nord, orc, the acrid tang of the murmuring fire, and another, crisper scent underneath it all that both gave her pause and made her feel safe. “Powerful magicks in this place, P’urza thinks.” She turned back to Fiska, ignoring the huffed laugh she heard from the Nord man behind her. “This one would like a room, please.”
  3. 3 points
    About Tavern Tales: Morrowind Information, Rules, and Guidelines for the Morrowind Edition of TESA's Long Running RP Writing Game, Tavern Tales What are the Tavern Tales Morrowind? The Tavern Tales started as a jovial introduction thread by TESA Team member Grond, but over time, evolved into a full RP Writing Game. Tavern Tales Morrowind, is the latest incarnation of that series. It is an evolving adventure story centered around a mysterious inn/tavern situated in the wilds of Solstheim/Vvardenfel in an unmapped location. The characters are driven by the members who participate, each person assuming their own character/s and writing their portion of the continuing tales in turn. Who can participate? Anyone is welcome to create a character for the Tavern Tales: Morrowind and begin telling their part of the story. Even beginners are welcome to join in the fun!! You may maneuver other characters in your telling, but your character MUST be included. Do not simply maneuver characters that are already in play. You must use your head to add yourself to the happenings! What is my character? Anything you like as long as it can be feasibly added to the world of the Elder Scrolls. Please no space men, time travelers from the modern world, anime caricatures, grandiose godmode beings, etc. No talking animals real or magical, as main characters, the exception is humanimals like Argonians. [*See Rule #10 for more on child characters...] Your character may have a small animal companion and a steed, but please avoid unusual pets and mounts that would not likely fit in the Tavern setting (ie no Clannfear pets, or Mammoth mounts, etc) How many characters can I play as? Experienced Tavern players may have multiple characters in play, however, you must be able to manage and maneuver them all efficiently otherwise you will have characters taking up dead weight in the Tales, and that we can't allow. The maximum feasible for most players will be around 3 characters, and typically not all in play at once. It's often better to retire a character if you tire of them by writing them out of the story altogether before starting someone new. If you are new to the Tales, it's easiest to begin with one character until you are comfortable with the game. How do I add my passage? Passages are added as replies to the ongoing pinned story thread. Be sure that you are adding something to the story as it is playing out, don't post a passage simply to make your presence known! What are the rules? The rules are simple and you can find them here: CLICKY ----Useful Tavern Information---- Tavern Tales Morrowind takes place several decades after the Red Mountain disaster, post Alduin in Skyrim, after the main land in Vvardenfel has recovered significantly from the destruction. The Tavern is located north of Raven Rock in Solstheim AND on a small pitch of land off the swampy Bitter Coast in Vvardenfel. There are two doors within the Tavern's main hall, each one leading to a different exterior. There are additional stable hands and maids and various other folks who care for the tavern, its grounds, peoples and horses but they have no name and don't need them really. They're just there, like background noise The Tavern is a magical place that is always well stocked, well staffed, and can house as many people as needed. It does not appear on any map and the road leading to it is often only found by those who need it. Besides the Tavern itself there is a stable and training yard out back, river flowing nearby, gardens, and a few small out buildings for storage and housing staff. If you have questions regarding the Tavern Tales: Morrowind, please post them in the current Tavern Tales Morrowind OOC Thread or PM them to a staff member! Happy Role Playing!
  4. 3 points
    You can also give cookies?
  5. 3 points
  6. 3 points
    Well, I found a cool design for a ring for Theo.
  7. 2 points
    Tavern Tales: Morrowind Volume One Please keep your adds to the Tales to 1,000 words or less! | Say Hello in the OOC thread to join the upcoming game! Near the Bitter Coast in Vvardenfel... In a flash, the normal rhythm of night in the swamp fed wilds erupted with a wash of light and a cracking like thunder under a cloudless sky. A nervous group of Orsimer hunters took to their feet and palmed their weapons; keen eyes searching the sky. To the west of their encampment, small traces of light were drifting to the ground like a million tiny stars falling from heaven. The hunters exchanged uncertain glances, but their leader, a hunter of many seasons and scars called Rutek, motioned them forward. “Come,” he said quietly, but steadfast as he led his wavering band on toward where the light had been. Several clicks away the trees parted in the swamp revealing a pitch of dry earth, and a structure that seemed of human build, though none of them who hunted here often, had ever seen it’s like before. Rutek steppes cautiously onto the sodden path leading to the door of the structure, reaching a hand out to touch the lights still floating lazily upon them like ash, vanishing as they connected with his weathered palm. “Rutek,” one of the younger hunters hissed at him from where the other hunters remained under the cover of the trees, “there’s a odd wind,” he warned, “we should not enter.” The older Orsimer snorted with a nod, “Aye,” he took a step back, “we should collect the Wise Woman, she can tell us what magic this is.” The hunters agreed and headed back into the woods, happy to put the mysterious place behind them for now. The wise woman was an exile named Rolfiska living alone in the wilds where she dabbled in herbology and alchemical arts. Very few travelers ever approached her modest hut least of all those of her own race who knew her as an exile, so she was surprised to be awoken in the night by a band of nervous orcs rambling quickly about mystic lights and a strange house in the swamp. Intrigued, Fiska slipped her satchel over her head and palmed her staff before motioning for them to show her what they’d found. When the wise woman finally stepped onto the path before the mysterious structure, only Rutek fell in step behind her. The two approached slowly and Fiska tilted her head curiously. The thatch roof, dormered windows, and imperial craft were just as her kinsmen had described, but it shimmered ethereally as if it was only a mirage. Rutek reached out a hand to touch one of the posts and it passed through the structure like mist. “Tis illusion,” Rutek muttered, “only air.” Fiska tilted her head to one side then the next noting the way the vision seemed to be floating a few inches off the ground, “Not an illusion,” she corrected, “something crossing the way.” “What way?” the hunter grunted doubtfully. “The way between this and that,” she answered as she sized up the structure, “I believe we simply have to…knock,” she tapped the door with her staff, stunned that it seemed to meet with a solid form. Suddenly the illusion was made whole, the structure settled into the sod with a whumph, firelight sprang up in the windows, torches around them lit, and Rutek stumbled backward away through the wooden yard fence, his courage spent. Suddenly a dark elf woman appeared in the yard chopping kindling on a block and a Nordic man came around the corner of the yard leading a sorrel mare by a rope lead. “Evening miss,” he greeted her as though nothing of magical or extraordinary significance was unfolding, barely acknowledging the hunter retreating back to his brothers in the swamp, “Welcome to the Tavern, need a room? Nip to drink? Head on inside,” he suggested, taking the horse toward a stable Fiska hadn’t even noticed. Fiska opened the door bravely, too curious to fall back despite the warnings in her mind. The room beyond the door was wide and inviting, wooden tables and chairs were placed around the room in corners both dark and lit. There was a sizable carved bar counter in the center surrounded by food stores and barrels containing a variety of brews. There was no one manning the bar, the tavern seemed empty in fact save for another burly Nord sleeping in a comfortable high-backed chair by the large central fireplace. His snores were deep as though he’d been there for some time, the mug dangling loosely in his hand drained dry, and two large seemingly grey dogs, perhaps mastiffs, were curled around his feet. As Fiska neared, one of the dogs raised an eyelid and growled a warning that turned her away from the Nord and over to the bar. The wise woman stepped behind the bar and instantly felt a strange sense of homecoming. She took up a rag and started wiping down the smooth walnut bar top, taking stock of everything behind the bar. “Ale if ye please,” the big Nord was suddenly awake and setting his mug on the counter with a thud; dropping a few coins beside it. Fiska hesitated, “What is this place?” “The Tavern of course,” the Nord chuckled, “I’m called Grond, this Tavern and I go way back.” “I’m Fiska,” the wise woman offered as she refilled his drink, seeming to just know what barrel to draw from. Grond had a twinkle in his eyes over his broad grin, “Looks like the Tavern means for ye to be her new keeper. Sometimes ye find yer tavern and sometimes yer tavern finds ye eh?” She did understand, "What happens now?" "Where are we?" he sniffed the air like a hound, "smells like the Bitter Coast," he snorted, starting back toward his chair, "So now we just wait. Sooner or later, those who have need will find their way here to moor," he said cryptically, setting himself down before the fire to enjoy a fresh brew.
  8. 2 points
    My Aetherium crown picks up the best in sports, news, talk and music from 236 planets, and at least four different timelines!
  9. 2 points
    Just a pic of my character for Who!
  10. 2 points
    I'd totally expect to find the odd dragon vacationing on the island; nice volcano to sauna in and all.
  11. 2 points
  12. 2 points
    So I cant find Sett's full sheet and it feels traitory to rewrite him so working on a new character, probably similar to my Skyrim character.
  13. 2 points
    Update: Things are going pretty well with the overhaul still have a couple features to add and switch around, permissions to set, etc. We have a bit of important info though. We will be moving to a more stable server and closing our mod hosting section to general uploads. We are carrying a metric ton of mod weight for files that are rarely downloaded and paying a monthly premium for that privilege. Bigger hosting sites are struggling for traffic and our traffic has been significantly reduced to where it just doesn't seem worth the money we're putting up. The downloads section will now consist of three sections, Exclusives for mods we host that cant be downloaded anywhere else, Showcase for our most popular mods that still get decent traffic, and In Development where our students and project leaders developing mods within our community can host their work If you are a Project Leader or a Student (past or present qualify) please move your mods to the appropriate sub category in this new section: http://tesalliance.org/forums/index.php?/files/category/229-in-development/ Thanks!
  14. 2 points
    I see this page could use some love soo.... Here`s a place i found online for great cheeses ... got a few shipments with no problem.... Grondo ... search beer kaese ... heheh. http://www.igourmet.com/shoppe/cheese.asp?top=top
  15. 2 points
    Oh, if only I could downvote on mobile... They do exist! You just gotta read the book to learn about them!
  16. 2 points
    The Heroes of High Rock By Soran de Tulune, Cleric of the School of Julianos Unlike the heroes of Skyrim and Cyrodiil, High Rock’s legendary figures are not widely known, and many are totally unknown outside their ancestral home. It is a shame, for like the other provinces of the Empire, High Rock boasts an impressive array of individuals whose exploits shaped the course of history. This book, then, serves as a guide to the most famous Breton heroes, in the hopes that their names might become more widely known, and that a new generation of Bretons will come to understand the mark our people have left on history, and be inspired to make their own marks as well. The oldest Breton hero, Voernet the Sage, is one who little is known about, and most of what we do know comes from secondhand reports. His history and lineage is lost to us, and only a few of his exploits have made it down through recorded history. What is known is that, in 1E 20, he visited the isle Artaeum, home of the Psijic Order. They invited him into their ranks, and his book on the Psijics offered the first, and arguably best, look at the mysterious order and the “Elder Way” that they follow. Though unconfirmed by any source, oral history states Voernet was a member of a mysterious group himself, the Druids of Galen, also followers of the “Old Ways,” and the knowledge shared between he and the Psijics allowed him access few since have achieved. Tales also say the Psijics gifted him a staff as a parting gift, and though rumors appear every so often of someone wielding this Staff of the Sage, it has never come to the attention of High Rock’s scholarly bodies. Arguably the most well known Breton hero is Sir Eleidon, the pinnacle of Breton chivalry and knighthood. Though like Voernet, little personal information has made it through the tides of time. We do know that he was contemporary with the Alessian Order and the Direnni Hegemony, and various tales tell of him fighting against one side or the other, but there is no consensus on what battles he might have participated in. Given his chivalrous nature, it is entirely possible he fought against both groups. We do know that he was a holy knight, probably of Stendarr, and undertook many a heroic quest. His most famous exploit was to free a kidnapped baron’s daughter from a murderous warlord. Some speculate he rescued the maiden from Warlord Thulgeg, who led an army of Orcs and goblins against the Bangkorai Garrison in 1E 874, but given the number of tales of his fighting for or against the Direnni and Alessians, most scholars place his life closer to 1E 480. For rescuing the maiden Sir Eleidon was awarded a large tower shield known as Eleidon’s Ward, an artifact last seen in Morrowind in 3E 427 that heals wounds almost as soon as they appear. Captain Yric Flowdys was a grand adventurer, explorer, and sailor who mapped the inlets and bays of High Rock’s northern coastline and founded the city of Northpoint in 1E 800. Eventually, he took the name Dorell in honor of the Dore Elard heights on which he built a keep, as he settled in his newly founded city and became one of the first merchant princes in High Rock. Within his lifetime, the enterprising captain saw Northpoint go from a few docks to the bustling port it is today, all under his wise and steady hand. He is also thought to have seen the far shores of what is left of Yokuda and visited the Coral Kingdoms of Thras and the continent of Pyandonea, home of the Maormer. Though it is thought to be impossible to sail to Pyandonea due to a magical protective mist, legend says Captain Flowdys possessed an enchanted spyglass, and only the future was ever obscured to him. Saint Pelin was a humble beadle of Stendarr at the Bangkorai Garrison when, in 1E 1029, King Styriche’s Gray Host of vampires and werewolves sought to invade High Rock. First he prayed to Stendarr for aid, and then he tended the wounded soldiers. Finally, when hope seemed lost and the gates of the garrison were about to give way, he threw himself from the battlements and into the hungry maws of the vampires. The bloodsuckers halted their assault to drink the seemingly never ending blood of the martyr, allowing Breton forces enough time to reinforce the gates and hold back the foul forces. He is one of the great saints of Stendarr, and the most selfless of High Rock’s heroes. When the Bangkorai Garrison still stood, Baroness Falinne Guimard defended it against the Alessian Empire in 1E 2305. That victory over the Alessian Empire is still celebrated to this day as ‘Sovereignty Day’ in High Rock. A member of the now defunct but then thriving Guimard family, Baroness Falinne was a fierce warrior, an inspiring leader, and a skillful commander. In 1E 2321, when the War of Righteousness broke out and the Alessian Order tried to retake High Rock, she commanded Evermor’s armies, until finally the Alessian Order was dissolved in 1E 2331. She wielded the Hammer of Bangkorai, inspiring fear in her enemies and destroying the vilest of foes with ease. Though traditionally only those who were commanding the Bangkorai Garrison used the weapon, she took it up once again to face the Alessian Order during the war. Though she lived almost a thousand years after Baroness Falinne, comparatively little is know about the bard Asirel. For a time, there was even some dispute about whether or not Asirel was a man or a woman, though most scholars have now come to believe it was her penchant for illusions and disguises that caused this confusion. However, Asirel is not a complete mystery, as we know she was one of the founding members of the Scenarist Guild in 2E 381, and that she composed songs and ballads still performed to this day, such as “The Three Lovers” and “The Willow Tree.” We also now believe she was the author of the famous King Edward series of books. It is rumored that she even came to possess the legendary Horn of Summoning, which rallied together the Breton people and ended Nordic control of High Rock. Though the stories we have of Asirel using the horn generally involve charming fierce beasts and causing brutish sellswords to flee. Arch Paladin Helese Jeanard was not so playful a figure. Following the tumultuous Sixth Century of the Second Era, then Dame Jeanard sought to rid High Rock of pernicious influences. She rid the land of unbound daedra and daedra worshippers, slaughtered vampire clans, hunted werewolves, and purged witch covens. She gained a sizable following of likeminded adventurers, but rather than start a mercenary company to extract pay for doing good deeds as many others would have, in 2E 658 she instead established the Knights Mentor, the martial arm of the School of Julianos. She continued to seek out and destroy evil while also promoting knowledge and driving out ignorance wherever she went. Legend has it that Julianos himself was so impressed that he gifted her a pair of gauntlets, the Hands of Julianos, which allowed her to master Destruction magic and further her goal of wiping out evil in High Rock. Giraud Callyn is a controversial figure in Breton history, for more than one reason. Either famous or infamous, he was nonetheless a master nightblade and assassin who killed, among many others, Admiral Vasi Hadrach, Tiber Septim’s trusted naval commander, in 2E 859. Then, in 2E 866, Callyn proceeded to assassinate the Provisional Governor of the Western Reach Titus Alorius. Those two assassinations led many to believe he was the man responsible for King Cuhlecain’s assassination in 2E 854, though there is no confirmation of that. Possibly the most controversial aspect of the man is his heritage. The Empire claims, as do many Reachmen, that Giraud Callyn was Goiridh Caellein, a worshipper of Mehrunes Dagon who wielded a dagger made from an ebony shard, cursed (from the Empire’s point of view) or enchanted (from the Reachmen’s) by Hagravens, so that the wounds it caused resisted restorative magics. Most Bretons see these tales as nothing more than Imperial propaganda that seeks to slander a freedom fighter and true Breton. Reliana Moret is a much less controversial figure, and in many ways the opposite of Callyn. Rather than sowing discord between people, she sought to bridge it, by traveling throughout High Rock and recording the languages of Centaurs, Spriggans, Nymphs, Harpies, the Giants of High Rock (who speak a slightly different dialect than their Nordic brethren), and Imps. She also produced translated guides for those languages, along with Old Bretic and Old Orcish. She wrote that she was inspired by the publishing of the Encyclopedia Tamrielica in 3E 12 when she was young, and after that spent the rest of her life traveling High Rock and documenting all she could on the various races within, seeing it as a chance to bring some peace and kindness to the land. She was helped in that endeavor when the Centaurs presented her with a cloak spun from the silk of the Gauvadon caterpillars, which she claims protected her from the elements and elemental magics. She called it her Refuge, and many claimed that once she had it, spells could not touch her. And so I come to the end of this book, hoping that now High Rock’s heroes will take their place alongside those from Skyrim and Cyrodiil in the pantheon of great men and women. This is, of course, not an exhaustive list, and I would be remiss if I did not mention such figures as King Emeric, leader of the Daggerfall Covenant, Baron Othrok, who commanded the navy that threw back Camoran Usurper’s forces, or Baron-Captain Olsein Guy Mard, who led the Breton detachment of the All Flags Navy. And I might be turned into a toad if I did not also mention the witch Nulfaga, the most recent figure and a venerated saint among the various witch covens in High Rock. I have heard some claim her cursing of the sorceress Medora Direnni is one of the great feats of witchery. If true, it is indeed a great feat, considering Medora Direnni’s lineage and her own skill, evidenced many times over when she served as King Lysandus’s court sorceress. But I hesitate to mention a witch among these hallowed Breton figures, especially when rumors say her dragon familiar Skakmat was, in fact, an aspect of Peryite. All of these heroic figures, from Voernet in the First Era to Reliana in the Third, spent their lives serving High Rock and its people. We see their influence to this very day when we travel to a city they founded, listen to a ballad they wrote, or believe in the ideals the embodied. For the heroes of High Rock were noble and remarkable figures, and they should not be forgotten when so much of our history hinged on the choices they made and the lives they changed.
  17. 2 points
    Well I guess I now got a measuring stick for how much people dislike my criticism.
  18. 2 points
    Accidentally? Bitch, I was serious.
  19. 2 points
    Armies can't maneuver as quickly so it's easier for them to get caught. I've got a hawk necklace from Irish Archaelogy shop, sadly they don't have it any longer so I can't show a link but it's similar to this one. https://www.amazon.com/Stainless-Steel-Plated-Pendant-Necklace/dp/B01C5PBC18?th=1
  20. 2 points
    They’re safe. We’ve still got links to them on the old site if we really need them.
  21. 2 points
    Like Colonel said, they’re implenetjng some changes, so I think certain things are being upgraded in stages so it doesn’t look quite right at the moment. At least, that’s my assumption
  22. 2 points
    Ragnar looked at the witch with curiosity. He had expected someone more monstrous and tyrannical from the man that had demanded power and obedience from having slain the Prince. But the man was instead mostly quiet and reserved, staring at scribbled makeshift maps on the ground. Apparently Yornar was his name. Not a common name but still rather unremarkable. Then suddenly Yornar looked up and saw Ragnar looking at him, locking eye contact with curious, inquisitive steel grey eyes. Both looked at each other like it was a battle over who would look away first. Ragnar refused to look down like some kind of slave or servant averting his eyes from his master. Yornar however kept looking at Ragnar like he was expecting him to speak. "You don't seem that disturbed at losing your Prince," said the witch after a long moment of silence. The memory of the Prince's twitching body impaled on that spike of ice was a bit too much to think of and Ragnar found himself unwittingly looking away. When he realized what he had just done he felt a sense of defeat and cowardice before returning his gaze to Yornar. "He wasn't my Prince. He was a bastard that had no right to the throne." At seeing Yornar looking even more curious Ragnar drew a small sigh. "The Queen went to bed with other men." "And the King didn't know?" "The Queen has turned him into a fool that everyone laughs at and has him twisted around her little finger," said Ragnar with unrestrained spite. "But I doubt even he'd stand for having a bastard not of his blood as heir." Yornar didn't say anything for another moment and only looked back at his map before returning to Ragnar. "And you're fine with me taking your King's army?" "If your words are true and you only intend to use the army against the elves, I don't think anyone will mind. I think even the King wouldn't mind too much as long as his kingdom is protected." Ragnar didn't believe those words. All he wanted was for Yornar to not try to march on the King, as well help defeat the elves. While he was in a sense grateful for being rid of the nuisance that had been the Prince, he had no real belief this witch would be that much better leader in the face of the elven invaders. Not that he could do anything about it. Despite all his skill in combat he didn't believe he could take on Yornar's magic in a duel. Running away was an option but a too cowardly and dishonorably one at that. At least the witch had shown some promise in that he had been able to survive against the elves for so long. But Ragnar figured he would have to fight Yornar at some point, provided they both survived the fight against the elves. Over the next few weeks they began to clash with the elves. Ragnar wanted to march on the invaders with an unbreakable shield wall in a surprise attack. Yornar however decided that their strategy would be to organize the army into small units for overly complicated and coordinated night raids. Not even using all of their forces at any given time. It was a slow strategy that didn't bring much in the way of glory or wealth. It felt more like stalling than winning. Then there were the witches. They ran into battle with hoods up, faces masked in darkness and a spell that made a loud screeching sound that stunned everyone else around them. A wicked scare tactic, that according to a rumor, the witch Yornar had come up with after an encounter with a wraith in a haunted cottage. Sounded like superstitious nonsense. But how the witches managed to walk in and out of combat seemingly unscathed time and time again could be nothing less than witchcraft. With time it all really began to vex Ragnar. To the point where he considered leaving and heading back to the capital to seek reconciliation with the King and gather the other Thanes and drive out the invaders properly. But then one day a man came riding into the camp they had set up atop a forested hill with steep cliffs on the southern side. It was clear from the colors and crest that he was a warrior of another Thane from the west. Though Ragnar couldn't quite place the crest as he had never bothered much with the western lands. "I seek Thane Ragnar!" he declared loudly. Ragnar stood up and walked towards the man. "I am Thane Ragnar." "I've come with a message." The man looked around with wary eyes that lingered quite a bit on the small group of witches nearby playing with magic in their hands. He got so distracted by that that he didn't continue. "Well then spit it out," said Ragnar impatiently. The man snapped back to Ragnar. "The King has gathered the Thanes in an army and sent them to deal with the invaders and the witch that slew his son. Despite you having joined the murderer in treason, the King wishes to offer you a chance at redemption; slay the witch that murdered the Prince and deliver his head to Thane Varg, at our camp to the northwest within two days." "Thane Varg? Isn't the King leading his own army?" "No. He sent his brother-in-law to lead in his stead." That little bitch, thought Ragnar. No doubt in his mind that the Queen was behind this. "Go back and tell Thane Varg that if he wants something then he will have to come here and ask for it himself." "I don't think-" "Just do it!" barked Ragnar at the man. "As you wish." The man looked a bit insulted but also afraid enough to not say anything more. Then he left the camp quietly. Ragnar tried to pretend that nothing had happened and went back to where he had sat. Soon enough the rest of the camp went back to whatever they had been doing before the messenger had arrived as well. No one said anything to Ragnar and he said nothing to anyone. Not even Yornar came forward to say anything about it all. Which bother Ragnar more than anything. That night he made sure to sleep a bit away from Yornar and his witches. Luckily the night passed quietly and without any ruckus. At morning though Ragnar found out why; Yornar, his witches and nearly all the men he had forced into service had left during the night. The ones he had left behind seemed to only have stayed because Yornar had either forgotten about them or mistaken them for Ragnar's men during the departure. A couple of them told Ragnar that Yornar had said he was heading southeast towards the root of the eastern mountains. Which probably meant Yornar would try to find a way around the elves for some reason. A journey that would take at least a couple of days. Then it dawned on Ragnar that it meant he would not be able to catch up with Yornar and get back to Thane Varg within the required time. If he were to go after Yornar he was essentially throwing in his lot with the witch. Which was probably Yornar's plan. The other option was to approach Thane Varg empty handed and hope he would listen to reason, which being of the Queen's ilk would be unlikely. Ragnar ordered the remaining forces to pack up. They would follow Yornar southeast. Maybe Ragnar would get lucky again and the witch would kill another of the Queen's kin.
  23. 1 point
    Red ducked her head and tugged her hood down further against the steady drizzle of rain. She felt P’urza give herself a shake behind her and chuckled as water droplets went flying. “You’re going to be a puff ball by the time we reach Balmora if you keep doing that. I offered you a cloak.” P’urza growled and shifted her grip around Red’s waist, careful to keep her claws in with Savior's swaying gait. “This one does not mind the rain, only that it is so wet.” Fin chuckled at P’urza’s observation from where he rode alongside them. “How long will it take us to reach Balmora?” “A half-day’s ride.” Red nudged her hood back and looked over to the wood elf. “Unless we cut through the Foyada Mamaea. We could be there in three, perhaps four hours.” She looked up as the drizzle became a true rainfall and sighed. “We’ll pass Pelagiad on the way. We could stay the night if this gets worse.” Fin quirked a brow at her. “You want to cut across a lava river?” Red laughed, letting her hood slip back on her head. “It’s long hardened.” She shrugged. “It does stay uncomfortably warm in the foyadas though.” “And?” Fin asked, catching the expression that flitted across her face before she could hide it. “And there’s a daedric ruin not far off from where this trail intersects with it.” Red smiled. “It’s probably empty.” P’urza caught the top of Red’s hood in her claws and slipped it back over the thief’s head and into her face. “P’urza thinks you are hoping the ruin is not so empty.” Red snorted a laugh and pushed the khajiit’s hand from her head. “Knock it off. I don’t think…” her voice trailed off as the howling of animals sounded on the air, muffled by the rainfall and the light mist that had sprung up. “Nix hounds,” she said softly. “We’re definitely going through the foyada now. The hounds won’t follow there.” Fin peered through the mist into the heavy growth of the marshlands. “How many?” “They travel in packs.” Red nudged Savior right at a crossroads. “There may only be a few.” “Or thirty.” Fin nodded and followed the painted gelding up a gentle slope. “The foyada it is.”
  24. 1 point
    The next morning, the sun was shining in wide bands that broke through islands of dark clouds overhead yet all around the Tavern, raindrops pattered lazily on the broad leathery leaves of the coastal trees. Fin stepped out of the Tavern and into Vvardenfel, stretching his back before slipping his bow across his frame. It was a stark contrast to the cold forests of Solstheim he had left the night before. Behind the Tavern he found a stable exactly like the one hundreds of miles away in the north, and despite the impossibility, there he found Rabbit waiting for him, tossing her head happily as she munched on a pile of hay the stable hand must have given her. In the stall beside her, Red’s mount Savior was trying to get her attention, running his snout over the high wall between them and grunting in earnest. Rabbit stopped eating and whinnied sweetly when she saw her Fin, dancing happily in place when he reached over the gate to pet her. Savior bumped the back of Fin’s shoulder in annoyance and the wood elf chuckled as he pushed the gelding’s nose away. “Hey now,” he chided lightly, “don’t give up so soon, she’s particular.” “Aren’t we all?” Red chuckled as she walked in on their exchange. “All what?” P’urza asked curiously, not understanding what her Red friend was talking about. Fin opened the stall gate and stepped inside with Rabbit to brush her out and saddle her up himself. He noted the lady thief seemed set on doing the same with her horse, stable hands be damned, appreciating their bond. “This one hopes Balmora will have something sweet,” P’urza mused as she draped herself over the end wall of Savior’s stall to watch Red work. The thief laughed, “The half dozen sweet rolls you had for breakfast are wearing off already?” P’urza shrugged, “There are sweeter things than rolls.” Finished, the ranger led Rabbit out of her stall by her reins, “I’ve haven’t been to Balmora since it was rebuilt, but I’ve heard tales.” Red nodded, “Then you know to watch your back.”
  25. 1 point
    We’re planning to move to a cheaper server, but we have to raise $200 to do this as the cheaper server bills annually not monthly. But that $200 will keep TESA up for a whole year! So if you can kick in, we would really appreciate if! You can pledge through our sister site here: http://www.druidgameworks.com/forums/index.php?/donate/make-donation/ Just select the TESA server from the goal list before pledging!
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  27. 1 point
    *Getting back on the horse* Ok, Savior. Let's ride, boy.
  28. 1 point
    Red stared around her in surprise, her eyes wide, letting her pack fall to the floor with a thump. “But this…” Her voice trailed off when a familiar khajiiti female came down the stairs into the taproom. “P’urza?” P’urza’s muzzle split in a wide grin. She went to the thief and bobbed her head, wrapping her tail around Red’s left wrist in a show of affection. “Thank you for telling P’urza of this place. It is most comfortable.” “But…” Red shook her head. “What is it?” Fin asked and rested a hand on Red’s shoulder as she seemed to sway for a moment. “This is…” Red gently unwrapped P’urza’s tail from her arm and strode across the taproom to another set of doors. She flicked a glance to the orc woman behind the bar and away before she reached the them. “You’re tracking snow over my floors, you know.” Fiska said in a long-suffering tone. Red ignored her for the moment and pulled the doors open. The comforting, damp heat of the Bitter Coast salt marshes met her as she stepped outside and felt her knees threaten to go out from under her. There was the same stable where she had just left her horse, tucked beneath the massive fronds of a great, weeping tree while the deep, bass trumpet of a silt strider carried on the air. She saw the gentle, blue glow of a betty netch bobbing up in the trees beyond the stable, heard the rhythmic huffing of her mate somewhere close by, the lapping of water at the dock she could just spy off to her left, and Savior’s whinny from inside the stable. Red staggered back inside letting the doors fall closed behind her. Fiska chuckled at the expression on the red-headed woman’s face and slid a mug onto the bar, filled with the dark ale she had the sudden knowledge the woman would prefer. “You’ll be wanting rooms then?” Fin was but a few feet behind Red and still staring at the closed doors as if they would somehow explain opening half a world away from where they had come in. “That… was Vvardenfel. Yes?” Red nodded numbly. “Yes.” She went to the bar and picked up the mug Fiska had left her. She took a long drink, set it back down, and began to laugh. “I spent a week on that thrice-blasted supply ship and heaved my guts through that storm, for nothing!” She dropped onto a bar stool and scrubbed a hand over her face. “And all I had to do was cross the damn bar two weeks ago and open the door to get to Solstheim. By the gods…” Fin took the stool beside hers while his mind reeled with the impossibility. “I don’t understand.” “Here, Bosmer.” Fiska slid a mug of warm, honeyed meade to him. “Drink before you fall off your stool.” “Does it go other places?” Fin asked abruptly though his hands curled around the mug, warmth seeping into his fingers from it. Fiska gave a growling chuckle and shook her head. “Not at the moment.” She gestured vaguely toward the back of the tavern. “There’s other doors back there but they don’t work. I don’t think they’re safe right now.” She shrugged. “Don’t ask me how I know.” P’urza’s tail curled up so she could catch the tip in her hand. She fluffed it with her claws while she looked at Red. “This one does not understand. You told P’urza to seek this place. Why is Red surprised at it?” Red chuckled. She took her mug and swallowed the rest of the ale in a rush, letting it warm its way down her throat before she thumped it back onto the bar. “I suppose I shouldn’t be.” She pushed her bright hair out of her face with another laugh and pushed her mug toward Fiska for a refill. “She’s never been exactly normal, this tavern with no name.” Fin sipped his meade and smiled at the pleasant taste while he took in the warm interior. “This is most interesting.” He took another sip and met Fiska’s steady gaze. “That this place should appear in our moment of need.” “Don’t look at me.” Fiska harrumphed and rolled her eyes while she slid Red a fresh mug. “I’m going to find the cooks. You’ll be wanting food.” She waved a green hand toward the wide stairs to the upper floor. “You can find your own rooms, I’m sure.” Red turned on her stool and leaned back against the bar, sipping her ale. “Getting back to Balmora just got a whole lot easier.” “Your stolen merchandise?” Fin asked and quirked an elegant brow when Red laughed at him. “Borrowed. I’m returning it after all.” Red took another long drink of the ale, savoring the rich flavor. “Just not to the same person I borrowed it from.” Fin let out an amused snort at that and Red smiled. “So, Bosmer ranger who chases thieves but does not bring them in,” she said with a smirk. “Care to visit rebuilt Balmora with me? It’s worth seeing.”
  29. 1 point
    Without further hesitation Fin loosed his first arrow, the daedric steel boring deep into the troll’s hide near its neck and knocking it back a step but not arresting its charge. The beast roared leaning into its massive forearms to speed up. Red braced herself and called over her shoulder, “That’s no good.” “I see,” Fin muttered as he nocked two arrows together and loosed them after the charging beast landing them deep in the beast’s chest. He nocked two more and loosed them, driving them right into the beast’s skull. This time it stumbled but it reached out to take Red down with it. The lady thief waited until the last moment before ducking under its reaching claws and sliced her blade upward across its exposed belly as she moved aside. The troll finally fell, groaned and exhaled its last snoring breath as it came to a rest in the snow. Blood seeped out from around the body and Red returned her blade to its sheathe before tucking a stray hair back behind her ear. “Well that was dramatic,” she sighed as the ranger approached to retrieve his arrows, “I suppose this is the part where I have to fight you for my freedom?” Fin shook his head with a shrug as he slipped his bow back over his shoulder, “I was paid to find you, I did my part. Your freedom is up to the Legion and…” he looked around, “they don’t seem to be here.” She nodded, “Fair enough….thanks.” she sized up the snow piled around them, “Now how do we get out of here?” The wood elf looked around for a moment as the horses returned to their sides, “There, we can cut through the wood over that ridge, it should be low enough for the horses to climb.” Red pulled herself up into Savior’s saddle, “Let’s pray this snowfall doesn’t get any worse.” --- Escaping the ridge lined goat path proved easy but the woods were overgrown and there was no clear road to follow. As the hours flew by the sky was growing darker and there was no sign nor marker to lead the pair out of the wilderness. Though the sun must have still been hanging on the horizon, the snow was falling so heavily it was like being shrouded in a premature nightfall. Rabbit’s breaths were coming in heavy snorts and her footing was slowed by the fresh snow slipping under her hooves. The Ayleid lantern on her saddle surrounded them in a blue green glow that seemed to be holding back the darkness that would otherwise swallow them. He looked over his shoulder, immediately sorry as his face was turned into the wind and snow quickly gathered in his hood, but his companion had grown quiet. Behind them Savior was following steadfastly, so close Fin could almost reach out and touch him, but Red was slumped over in the saddle motionlessly. Her cloak was drawn up over her head, her face buried against her mount, and her back was covered with heavy snow. They would be buried if they didn’t find shelter. In times of crisis, the wilderness had often come to his aid in unexpected ways, and as Fin turned his attention forward again he said a silent prayer his ancestors would send help to bring them safely out of the cold. Suddenly an eerie golden light appeared in the trees, cutting through the snow, it blinked out then reappeared a moment later lower to the ground, then again appearing closer to Rabbit’s face where it hung for a moment swirling and ebbing, causing the mare the whinny shortly in surprise. “A wisp,” Fin smiled, using his gift to connect to the creature, “we need shelter. Do you know the way?” The wisp rose and flashed a few times quickly as if answering and then flew ahead leaving a golden spray of sparks trailing behind it. Finn nudged Rabbit to follow, the little mare speeding up to an awkward canter on such unsteady ground. Following the wisp it cut through the trees along a path long buried in the snow they never would have seen, but after traveling a mile or so more lights appeared in the trees ahead. These were fire lights and as they drew closer the wisp disappeared and Fin broke through the woods and into a clearing where a heavily carved Nordling inn was standing stoically against the storm. The yard was lined with lanterns on posts which lit the way to a large stable just behind the main building. Fin slid from his saddle, grabbing the reins of both horses and dragged them into the shelter of the outbuilding. The temperature immediately climbed twenty degrees and Red groaned as she came to life under her cloak. Fin unclipped the cloak from her neck and drew it off of her, knocking several pounds of snow onto the ground. Red raised her head, feeling a welcome warmth radiating off a nearby lantern, “Did we die?” Fin nodded earnestly with a grin, “Yes, come see.” She chortled, sitting up in the saddle and watched as the wood elf led Rabbit into one of the empty stalls and started to remove her tack and his gear. They were in the middle of the high woods, she had never seen a place like this in these wilds before and part of her was reserved. But after seeing Fin’s ease and trusting his instincts she soon climbed down and settled Savior in a neighboring stall, slipping him some sugar cubes from her pocket in gratitude. When the horses were settled the two companions collected their gear and made their way back into the snow toward the inn’s heavy wooden door. It was slightly frozen in the joints and it yawned with a crack as they pushed it opened together, warmth and light enveloping them and drawing them in. As the doors closed behind them it was as though they had been teleported into a dream. A hearty fire was crackling, the aromas of various brews, stews, and pies filled their senses and the terrible winter cold was left behind them. “So…” Red ventured, “we DID die out there?”
  30. 1 point
    In the high north of Solstheim… Finwëdwyn Caranthir crouched low to the snow and passed his palm over the ever shifting surface, watching the subtle changes in light as his shadow drifted over unseen traces of footprints left in the ice. This mark was more clever than most, her footfalls light, crossing on stone where she could to avoid leaving tracks. Only a few feet ahead he picked up her trail again. She’d had a mount waiting for her among the trees, the horse’s heavy steps would be easier to follow. “Come on now, Elf,” the Legion Captain Eron barked from his saddle, “bloody snow. I’m freezing to death. I thought you said this ranger knew how to track,” he grumbled to the sergeant beside him. Sergeant Macen shrugged, “The men say he can find anything, anywhere, even trails long dead.” The captain snorted doubtfully, “This had better be worth the gold we paid is all I can say. If we don’t retrieve the package that devil woman snitched we’ll all hang for it.” Fin sighed listening to them argue as he drew Rabbit closer by the reins held in his hand. The little mare nudged his shoulder and he brushed the lightly falling snow from her face before pulling himself back up in the saddle. “What say you Fin? We have a target?” Macen called, pulling his own horse’s head up. The wood elf nodded once, “There is a trail, this way, we should move quickly,” he said, pushing Rabbit into a swift canter. He leaned low over her neck, keeping his eye on the tracks and any traces in the underbrush the other horse may have left as they made their way into thicker woods. There was no way to overtake their quarry quietly, the legionnaires thundered behind him like a coming storm. Suddenly a form darted onto the path just ahead of them in a spray of loose snow. It was a cloaked woman, set atop a black and white dappled gelding, red hair flying in the wind like a flag. She must have been camping nearby and heard their approach, like a bird flushed from its hiding place. Her mount was galloping at speed to save his rider from the enemy and Fin pushed Rabbit to pick up the pace, hearing the soldiers drawing swords and kicking their horses into the fray. The woman was deft in her saddle, weaving between the trees effortlessly. After only a mile, Fin glanced over his shoulder and saw their path and pace had separated several of the soldiers off the chase. By her surety, the woman knew the terrain well, and Fin started to sense she was leading them somewhere. She turned her horse sharply down into the ravine of a river long dried, filled with snow and rock. As she passed under a fallen tree she reached out with a small knife and cut a line. A branch swung just over his head, but Fin was sitting so low to Rabbit it passed over him and struck the first two soldiers following him. Once he cleared the log, he drove Rabbit up out of the ravine to ride alongside, keeping pace with the red haired woman from above. Another of the soldiers lost his balance and fell from his mount attempting to follow Fin, but the three remaining managed to escape the ravine and any other traps the thief had laying in wait on that course. “Gods they have a ranger with them,” the woman hissed to her mount, “come on boy, let’s see how they do with heights,” she turned him up out the other side of the ravine and up a narrow goat pass which led into the tree lined hills. The snow picked up, growing thicker and falling faster. She hated the cold, but in the moment her adrenaline was keeping her warm enough. As she reached the top of the first hill she could see the elven ranger still leading the Legion riders, a distinctly Ayleid lantern on his saddle glowed with the iridescent light of a welkynd stone, giving them a guide through the heavy snow. She sighed, she had hoped the brewing blizzard would have scared them off, but these seemed more determined than imperial soldiers she’d encountered before. She pressed further up the goat pass, “Time to disappear, Savior.” At the top of the next rise the path ended on a cliff face and the only way forward was a narrow wooden bridge the Nords had suspended for herding goats across to the other meadow. It was the sort of crossing that would give most horses pause, but the little gelding and his lithe rider trotted across in a practiced ballet; Savior’s hooves almost tapping out a cadence. On the other side, the path resumed and the red haired woman laughed, her mount tossing his head playfully, both certain the chase was over as they vanished into the snowfall. As they reached the height of the path the soldiers had overtaken Fin, charging in for the arrest, and as the two lead horses reached the bridge they reared up in terror, haphazardly leapt in the air as if trying against their own nature to obey but falling back against the snow. One crushed his rider, scrambled to his feet, bucking and screaming as he ran passed Fin heading down the path. The other knocked his rider out cold against a tree before wandering and bucking into the safety of a clearing; Macen was slumped over in his saddle limply. Only Captain Eron managed to pull his horse to a stop in time to avoid being thrown. “You go over first Elf,” he growled at Fin as if the ranger were to blame for their foul luck. Fin eyed the bridge for a moment, patted Rabbit’s neck, then slid out of the saddle, taking her by the reins and leading her onto the pass. The mare snorted nervously as she stumbled a bit to meet hoof to wood, her ears pricked to and fro, but she followed her Fin across the narrow bridge bravely. When they reached the other side, Eron dismounted and led his horse across in turn, the heavy bay seemed encouraged by Rabbit’s successful crossing. Back in the saddle they resumed their pursuit, riding hard to make up lost time, and heading back down into the valley. As they caught up to the thief at the bottom of the hill, rocky crags around them on all sides of a path that was only slightly wider than before, she was waiting, still seated on her horse but facing them. Eron pulled his horse to a stop suspiciously. “What is she waiting for?” “Us,” Fin answered simply, but his attention wasn’t on the thief. He scanned their surroundings and patted Rabbit again when she whinnied softly. Her feet danced beneath him even though he had brought her to a stop; something was making her nervous. Fin took a deep breath, the cold biting his lungs, but he caught the scent of death on the wind, “we must not linger here.” Eron frowned, “That witch has brought down or scattered all of my men, I’m not riding into another one of her bloody traps. You go on then if you’re so sure.” Before Fin could respond the legion captain and his mount both cried out, their voices smothered by the roaring of an ice troll as they were thrown off the trail. Rabbit reared up, almost throwing Fin, and forcing him to stand in the stirrups to stay with her. “RIDE!” the woman shouted as Fin turned his mare’s head and kicked her into a gallop toward the waiting thief.
  31. 1 point
    50 years works for me I think we could encounter the odd dragon. They're obviously not rampaging now that Alduin is defeated but I'd say they could easily exist in Morrowind.
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  33. 1 point
    I found the frame image I used when making my framed character images for my sheets so if anyone wants to use it, you're welcome to! TitleFrame.psd
  34. 1 point
    Type: Main Player Character Character Name: Jaxius Age: 20 (275) Race: Breton (Vampire Lord) Occupation: Relic Hunter, Scholar Guardian Stone: The Shadow Alignment: Chaotic good Mount: Dire Wolf Physical Attributes: Jaxius is a tall and lean Breton with a scar running down the left side of his face, he has the normal gold and red eyes of a vampire lord and pale skin, his hair is black along with his beard which he keeps nice and short. Jaxius wears the red and black armor of clan Volkihar along with vampire gauntlets and boots, he also wears a hood to cover his head and a black cloak. Weapons: He carries a sword of Alyeid origin and has several throwing knives on him, he also uses blood magic whenever the situation becomes dire. Spells: Vampiric Drain - This spell is unique to vampires and allows them to drain the life of an enemy. Muffle - This spell quiets ones footsteps, perfect for a natural hunter. Backstory: Ever since he was a child Jaxius would explore, when he was 16 he struck out on his own to uncover a tomb and fortune that would make him richer beyond his wildest dreams. Unfortunatly, while searching what he believed to be a Barrow containing an ancient treasure in Skyrim. He found out it was a cyrpt to an ancient vampire who had been asleep for thousands of years, and he was hungry when he woke up. Jaxius awoke with the vampire standing over him, and power unlike anything he had felt before. Jaxius then dedicated the rest of his undead life to finding the secrets of his power along with searching for any vampire artifacts to increase his power. Personality: Jaxius has been around for a very long time, he has seen tamriel at it's best and at it's worst. he usually perfers to stay hidden, believing he would be killled for what he is. But he always enjoys a good story and a good pint (Altmer for it's richness) he enjoys good comedy and finding new relics. he will however not be pleased if someone he cares about is threatened or is someone is misusing an ancient artifact. Special Powers/Weaknesses: He despises the sun. It makes him weak and his blood feels like it's on fire, it also weakens his vampiric power, wearing a hood helps, but not by much. Besides all the power of a Vampire Lord (Including the form) Jaxius uncovered a scroll of ancient knowledge written by the first vampire, this scroll gives him the ability to turn into a flight of bats for 20 seconds. Jaxius also learned the ability to tame the rare Direwolf and uses them as a mount.
  35. 1 point
    Great entrance for P’urza! Especially liked the poofy fur
  36. 1 point
    See, Grond being in the taproom makes me want to dust Red off and bring her back too. Dammit. *grumbling* Two thieves. I can totally run two thieves at once. Done it before.
  37. 1 point
    Okay then! Please dear Sir, could you move the rest of my mods to the "Exclusive" section of Morrowind, Oblivion and Skyrim? Thank you!
  38. 1 point
    Finished reading the post BT, since you mentioned the 'book' will tie into the Rp I'm guessing one of the artifacts are going to surface?
  39. 1 point
    I’ve been avoiding being a snitch this entire time.... and I finally had to snitch, and in front of the chick I’m trying to bang that is trying to super friend zone me Got in a situation where we just couldn’t badass our way out of it. Got fucked up on all sides. But luckily it was just on a blue lizard dude, so who cares. edit Tijhan’s been letting me handle dialogue since I’m focusing on persuasion a bit for my Baldur character.
  40. 1 point

    Version 1.21 FINAL

    23,182 downloads

    Name: Insanity's Improved Armoury Compilation Version: 1.21 FINAL Date: 03/27/2012 Category: Armor Author: InsanitySorrow Source: TES Alliance ================= Requirements: ================= Oblivion 1.2.416 ================= Description: ================= InsanitySorrow has created a large number of high-resolution texture and normal map replacers for stock armor and weapons, compiled two ways for your convenience. The first package is a scripted OMOD that will allow you to install all the textures or choose only specific ones to install. This .omod can only be used or extracted by Oblivion Mod Manager (OBMM). The second package is a .7zip archive that contains the full compilation in one parent folder, so you can manually install the whole thing in the usual drag-and-drop-and-overwrite fashion. The alternate Elven and Glass textures are offered as well, in separate folders. This package is BAIN-friendly. Both packages include all of InsanitySorrow's high-rez armor and weapon retextures to date: Improved Armoury - Amelion Armor Improved Armoury - Arena Champion Improved Armoury - Ayleid Crown Improved Armoury - Blackwater Cuirass Improved Armoury - Blackwater Blade Improved Armoury - Blackwood Improved Armoury - Blades Improved Armoury - Bloodworm Helm Improved Armoury - Chainmail Armor Improved Armoury - Chillrend Improved Armoury - City Guards Improved Armoury - Daedric Armor Improved Armoury - Daedric Bracers Improved Armoury - Daedric Weapons Improved Armoury - Dark Brotherhood Improved Armoury - Debaser Improved Armoury - Dwarven Improved Armoury - Ebony Armor Improved Armoury - Elven Armor Improved Armoury - Golden Elven Improved Armoury - Fur Armor Improved Armoury - Glass Improved Armoury - Dark Green Glass Improved Armoury - Darker Green Glass Improved Armoury - Gray Fox Cowl Improved Armoury - Imperial Dragon Improved Armoury - Imperial Palace Cuirass Improved Armoury - Imperial Watch Improved Armoury - Iron Improved Armoury - Leather Improved Armoury - Legion Improved Armoury - Legion Horseman Helm Improved Armoury - Mithril Armor Improved Armoury - Mythic Dawn Improved Armoury - Orcish Armor Improved Armoury - Pit Leather Improved Armoury - Savior's Hide Improved Armoury - Shield of the Thorn Improved Armoury - Silver Weapons Improved Armoury - Spellbreaker Improved Armoury - Staff of Indarys Improved Armoury - Steel Improved Armoury - Thorn Blade Improved Armoury - Witsplinter Enhanced Normal Maps - Daedric Enhanced Normal Maps - Daedric Artifacts Enhanced Normal Maps - Dwarven Enhanced Normal Maps - Ebony Enhanced Normal Maps - Elven Enhanced Normal Maps - Glass Enhanced Normal Maps - Madness Enhanced Normal Maps - Spellbreaker ================= Installation: ================= BAIN (using the 7zip archive) 1) Move or copy the downloaded archive to your Bash Installers folder, no need to extract first. 2) From the Wyre Bash installers tab, select the archive on the left. Check the boxes on the right for Core Files and any alternate colors you wish to install. 3) Right-click on the archive on the left, and choose Install from the context menu. OMOD (using the .omod) 1) Double-click the .omod file from within Windows Explorer. This will open OBMM and automatically add the .omod to OBMM. 2) Double-click the .omod from within OBMM to begin installation. Follow the prompts to select which content you want to install. Manual (using the 7zip archive) 1) Extract the archive you downloaded to a temporary location. 2) Copy the contents of the "Core Files" folder to your ..Oblivion\Data folder. Click "Yes" to overwrite, if prompted. 3) Repeat step 2 for any of the alternate folders, if desired. Wrye Bash and OBMM both handle ArchiveInvalidation for you, which is required for texture replacers such as this to take effect in-game. If you don't have either of those applications, please consult your internet search engine of choice for other solutions. ================= Un-Installation: ================= BAIN Right-click the archive from the Installers tab and choose Uninstall from the context menu. OMOD Double-click the .omod from within OBMM to de-activate it. Manual Delete the files/folders associated with the mod. ================= Contact: ================= Please contact InsanitySorrow @ TESAlliance with any inquiries. ================= Credits: ================= Thanks to Bethesda for creating Oblivion. ================= Tools Used: ================= Insanity's ReadMe Generator Photoshop
  41. 1 point
    It really depends on where we're talking about, honestly. Elsweyr's northern half isn't heavily forested and is described as dry plains and harsh badlands, while this map from Oblivion shows plains or grassland around Arenthia and Silvenar. This raises a good question, actually. What's the end game, of all this? Occupy all the cities in Elsweyr and Valenwood? Control the kingdoms? Force the Thalmor to agree to terms of surrender? I imagine different people will have different views, but I am curious what Baldur would have told the assembled leaders at the moot, if he would have. Or, possibly, what he plans on telling them.
  42. 1 point
    If Theo was my character, I’d buy that.
  43. 1 point
    For a few minutes there I couldn’t even open the comment box.
  44. 1 point
    I haven't read the whole debate, but I'd say one thing to keep in mind is that despite what we've shown and what they depict in movies, sea battles like the sinking of the Spanish Armada are very rare. Navies are the most expensive military piece a country owns, and too valuable for supply lines and troop transport. They're not just going to throw them at one another unless they are trying to accomplish something big- landing an army, picking an army up, etc. Plus ships have the adavantage that they can run away. So who has the advantage in a pitched battle should not be a big issue. Though I will say that the Nord navy will also be at a disadvantage from operating in tropical waters and not knowing the southern coasts as well.
  45. 1 point
  46. 1 point
    I respect that, you weren’t the only one. I however think the rp hasn’t been elder scrolls enough so to me it fits perfectly and adds a layer to my story for anyone that looks close enough to see it.
  47. 1 point
  48. 1 point
    Like we said, we're not discussing the possibility of this happening in the rp. People missed the point of what was said.
  49. 1 point
    This is way off topic... but that candy cane font is fantastic.
  50. 1 point
    A tall, young woman, flame of hair and eyes like wet moss on a cloudy day slides into the tavern. Unnoticed, as she wishes for the moment, she makes her way behind Darkrider. With the deft skill of the consummate thief, she lifts a few septims from his purse. Slapping him on the back, she tosses the coins to the barkeep. "Poor me a Root Beer and one for my friend here!" Heads turn and she gives Darkrider a mischievous wink. "I'm the Guru and pleased to stand you to a drink. To what shall we sing?"
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