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Pushing Sug


Started by Seamus
Post #33617
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Likes Given: 196
Likes Received: 109
Faction & Race:
Daggerfall Covenant
Orc
This is a thriller espionage sorta RP for at least adept RPers. It takes place in Whiterun, at the Bannered Mare inn. We'll have it set at around ESO to get our feet wet in this era. Here at the Mare, a group of sellswords are to take a cache of 'moon sugar' to Riften. The few merks involved obviously know it's gonna be processed for Skooma, and this operation is heavily illegal. All we know is we're to meet up with this crazy Khajiit upstairs, get the details, deliver, and receive a years worth of gold. I expect everybody to be seasoned, but here are the rules just to be sure.

-Do not explain what others do, just yourself (no god modeing)
-Do not double post
-Do not have tons of lengthy paragraphs (nobody will bother with them)
-Try to include in your post what others did; a reaction (flattery should be a two way road)
-Keep in Elder Scrolls lore (High Elf barbarians are ok, but not Dunmer ninjas, psionic Argonians, or jedi Bretons.)
-Try to stay IC, though OOC is ok if absolutely neccessary

Rules specific for this RP
-You can be anybody, from the Khajiit pusher to some addicted skooma fiend passerby, just play it well
-No huge backstory, just a quick jist of your character, then on with the story telling
-We're just a small group of travelers in Skyrim, so the Ebonheart Pact won't attack us (though they can be involved with the story somehow)
-Try to keep a cap on players, since its about sneaking (around 6, but not certain)

My first post will be a bit lengthy, explaining the setting. Feel free to jump in or make an appearance later.
Alright, on with the show!
This post was last modified: February 4th 2013, 05:01 AM by Seamus


"I'd rather be hated for who I am, than loved for who I am not." -Kurt Cobain
"Failure, in my book, is someone who lives in the safety of their laptop taking shots at those who actually achieved what they have been unable to do." -Eli Roth
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Post #33635
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Likes Given: 196
Likes Received: 109
Faction & Race:
Daggerfall Covenant
Orc
An orc walked into the Bannered Mare some hours after nightfall. The building was already in a ruckus, Nords drinking mead like the night would never end. He walked by the fire pit, smelling roasted mammoth, and took a chair at a corner table. He was fair looking for an orc, witch meant he was one of the ugliest individuals in the room, garnering looks of disgust from the northerners.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the serving wench hesitate to come over. He squeezed a fist showing impatience untill she reluctantly approached.

"What will m'lord be having this evening?"

Ignoring the sarcastic emphasis on his caste, the orc put down some coppers. Keeping his head down, he uttered something along the lines of "pitcher of ale." The wench cocked her head in mild curiosity to this "thirsty this evening?"

The orc looked up at her with cold, dark eyes "I'm expecting others."

Getting a sudden chill, the wench averted her eyes, picking up the coins "right away m'lord" and made haste to the bar.


***
"Be there at eleven Throbb, no later. These Khajiit are paranoid, especially with skooma in their belly's."

"Can we trust this rabid cat? He could be in the jarl's pocket, looking to get out of debt."

"I know for a fact he works for Dar'Jhad and nobody else. Them cats will sooner rot in jail then turn on Dar'Jhad. Word is the saying 'skin a cat' came from some Khajiit merchant who thought to haggle him. You got a crew for it?"

"I know some people who'll be interested in the gold. Just a quick carry right?"

"Straight to Riften, but stay north of the Throat of the World. Hagraven's are thick south of it. The season and their covens and all.
***

The server brought back a large pitcher of fine smelling ale and a handful of goblets. Filling a mug, she put on her best fake smile "anything else m'lord?"

With a deftness befitting a thief, Throbb snatched up the goblet taking a quick swallow. "No" he said in a guttural voice. With the server girl almost hopping away, he took another small swallow, waiting for the team to show up....


"I'd rather be hated for who I am, than loved for who I am not." -Kurt Cobain
"Failure, in my book, is someone who lives in the safety of their laptop taking shots at those who actually achieved what they have been unable to do." -Eli Roth
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Post #34372
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Likes Given: 1
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Daggerfall Covenant (Breton)
"By Kynareth, do these plains grow frigid with the moons!"

A blast of cold night air blew into the Bannered Mare followed by a shadowed, cloaked figure. The apt observation of Skyrim's weather was carried on a light female voice, followed by the clunk of the door shutting behind her.
A Breton face peeked out from behind a high collared cloak, followed by an arm to sweep it away from her shoulders. She was short in stature with high cropped dusty hair, and covered in cloths and skins of all manner clipped here and there to keep out the draft. At her waste, a glimmer of an axe caught the firelight. (A strange sight on an otherwise unassuming and certainly not threatening young Breton)

She took a quick look through the inn and then took a few fast steps and seated herself with an oof in a chair across from a rather menacing looking Orc.
"Mind if I sit, sir?" She asked quickly (She was of course, already seated.)

The server glanced over with raised eyebrows before reluctantly making her way to the strange pair. "Anything for m'lady?"

"Hmmm...."
There was an uncomfortably long silence.

"Yes I do think some of that meat I smell coking would be in order. One portion? Two?"
She glanced back towards to the orc with eyebrows raised.
"yes two I think. here you are," She handed the woman a patchy coin purse "that will do, then."

Before the woman could reply, she turned to the orc "So! what brings you to Whiterun this evening?"


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Post #37252
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Likes Given: 196
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Faction & Race:
Daggerfall Covenant
Orc
Throbb sat drinking his ale, contemplating how long the jobs payout would last him. With the first goblet finished, he started pouring a second one when the door burst open in an almost obnoxious manner, revealing another fish out of water. Keeping with his periphral vision, he didn't spill a drop while viewing the young Breton walk in. She was a pretty looking thing, maybe some noblemans concubine. A quick shine caught his eye, and he noticed an axe at her waist.

He leaned back, draining the contents into his mouth while hearing her walk over and take a seat. Hearing her vestigial question of if she could have a seat, he got a bit angry. When she continued sitting, Throbb was about to tell her to leave when the server approached. The Breton girl sat their, not a care in the world, taking her time. While pissing him off, he couldn't help feel something... Jealousy? Enmity? What would it be like, being a breton here in Skyrim, braving it yourself, only to come sit next to another outside.

Before he could figure out any possible reason, he heard her ordering food. Damn ale, must be stronger than I thought. Putting down his goblet, he listened to the woman speak.

"Merriment and the grace of friends." Noticing the server give him a queer look, he tried to play it off. "And hopefully visiting others later. This harshland is no harsher than the avalanches I've survived in the Dragontail Mountains." Noticing how much more inebriated the Nords were becoming, Throbb realized the hour must be coming near. Rubbing his forehead in consternation, and noticing the server walk away, he came to the realization that the crew had completely refused the offer. Had they thought he a rat? Impossible. The job a scam? Possibly.

Once alone, Throbb looked up at the girl with the meanest gaze he could do. "Interested in doing a small job?" Sink or swim he thought, right? Sink or swim...


"I'd rather be hated for who I am, than loved for who I am not." -Kurt Cobain
"Failure, in my book, is someone who lives in the safety of their laptop taking shots at those who actually achieved what they have been unable to do." -Eli Roth
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