Fandom Honor Among Thieves | An Elder Scrolls Search

[Graverobber141]

Oh, no, another Skyrim port! I'm just waiting for the mobile version at this point.

Anyways, Hi. I'm Grave.

I've been craving to play my dirty thief--I mean, acquirer of questionable objects of questionable origins. Totally a legitimate businessman. I've been clocking in some hours into Skyrim once more, and I never tire of the Thieves Guild. Riften is by far my favorite city in layout, design, and political dynamics.

So, some laundry to get out of the way before moving on to the good stuff. A bit about me as a writer, and what I'm looking for in return:

Spoiler: The Boring Stuff

• DETAIL: First and foremost, I love detail in a post. My average post probably sits anywhere around 300-500 words, but I’ve been known to go around 1000+, depending on the scene and how many characters are involved. I’m not going to say I want someone who matches my length, as I firmly believe quality is greater than quantity, but I would prefer to write with someone who loves taking their time with a post and pouring thought into it.
  • I’ll provide a sample of my writing, so you can see if our styles match, and I would appreciate if you did the same.
• CHARACTERS AND WORLD-BUILDING: What’s that saying? Every story has already been told, but it’s the characters that make each one unique. I’m into character-driven roleplays. I love writing with complex, deep, individual characters, and development is a must for me in a roleplay. While I mainly play male main characters, I will play a small zoo of NPCs of both genders from a variety of backgrounds and give them just as much thought. I love a world that seems alive within a roleplay and will do all I can to make that the case for ours.
  • I also enjoy world-building. If we want to make our own setting together, I will spend an extraordinary amount of time coming up with lore. It’s something I enjoy doing. However, I’m not against playing in pre-established worlds: either fandoms, mine, or yours.
• ROMANCE: I enjoy romance and relationships between characters, yet it’s something that must develop naturally, and I will never force it. As stated above, I usually roleplay as male characters, and what gender I’m willing to play against will be determined by the orientation of the character I’m writing.
• COMMUNICATION: I’m perfectly fine with, even enjoy, OOC chatter. Also, as with all human interactions, I believe communication is needed for smooth sailing. Not having fun? Did something make you uncomfortable? Did you not understand something in my post, or did I accidentally misunderstand yours? Got an interesting idea to add to the story? Let me know! I’ll always more than willing to work things out.
• ACTIVITY: To be honest, my activity can be sporadic. I can promise around two posts a week but will try for more. Anything less than a post a week, I tend to lose interest. I understand that real life comes first, and if you need to take a break, let me know. I’ll do the same for you.

• Skoll | Quick Introduction
• Plot Bunnies
• Sample Starters

• 
  
  
  
  The Gray Wolf
  
  

  
  
  Name: Skoll
  Age: 32
  Race: Nord
  Occupation: Master Thief of the Thieves Guild. Former Companion and Traveling Mercenary
  Sexuality: Pansexual
  
  Height: 6'3"
  Build: Athletic/Lean Muscle
  Eye Color: Pale Blue
  Hair Color: Dirty Blonde
  
  Family Relationships:
  -Fenris: Elder Brother (Alive, current Harbringer of the Companions)
  -Hati: Younger Sister (Deceased)
  
  Born in the city of Whiterun, Skoll was raised as a Companion alongside his two siblings. He left to seek his fortune elsewhere, and eventually found himself within the Thieves Guild. Now, years later, he has become known as The Gray Wolf, a play on the name of the legendary former leader of the organization: a mantle he now is a footstep away from bearing. With cleverness and a silver tongue, Skoll is once more making the Guild a force to be feared, tactfully bringing Riften under his hidden control by offering his friends silver, and his enemies steel.
  
  Notes About the Character:
  
  • Is opened to both MxF and MxM relationships. While Skoll is a natural flirt, meaningful romance will most likely be a slowburn.
  • Being a former Companion, I usually write Skoll as a werewolf. However, if my partner prefers that element not to be included, I'm perfectly fine with scratching it out.
  • The character can be tweaked to be written anywhere in Tamriel; the roleplay does not have to take place in Skyrim.
  • The character has more backstory that I'd prefer to reveal through natural interaction during the roleplay, but can be provided upon request.
• 
  
  All of the following are merely the ideas I had floating in my head. Please feel free to come to me with your own ideas for the character! Completely new plots are absolutely welcomed, and so are changes to any of my listed ones.
  
  Silver Tongues:
  A plot involving the OC child of Maven Blackbriar would be fun. Perhaps the child wishes to overthrow their mother, seize control of the family finances, and plots with Skoll to achieve this? Or an attempted coup of the Jarl. I'm just really interested in the political workings of the Guild, particularly the relationship with the Blackbriar family; I'm opened to roleplaying with an original family of the same nature and would be more than willing to write a zoo of side characters.
  
  Dungeon Delving:
  A job has Skoll, along with your character, diving into an ancient Dwemer ruin in search for an artifact believed to be little more than legend. Upon their descent into the dangerous dark, they find a lot more than they prepared for, and getting out is going to be just as hard as getting in:
  
  • Perhaps a lost city, guarded by ancient, sentient automations?
  • A vampire's nest, which our characters end up awakening a particularly old and vile one?
  • Some portal into a Daedric realm, which now has the creatures crawling out of it?
  Possible Ideas For Your Character:
  
  • A College Mage, hiring the Guild for escort into this ruins, in search of the artifact or for research?
  • A fellow member of the Thieves Guild?
  • A Dawnguard/Dark Brotherhood/Companions/ect. member in search of a relic of their order?
  
  The Heist of the Century:
  Long ago, the last Gray Fox, upon his retirement, returned the Gray Cowl to Nocturnal, forming the symbiotic relationship the Guild has with the Night Mistress today...Until a certain dashing rogue decides to one-up his predecessor. But stealing from a Daedra is no small feat, and he'll have to travel across all of Tamriel to gather the materials, expertise, and knowledge needed to pull off this heist.
  Ideas for Your Character:
  
  • A Nightingale sent to spy and report on Skoll's progress.
  • A College Mage, researcher and expert on the Daedra, hired to help Skoll in his endeavor.
  • A fellow member of the Thieves Guild.
  
  The Heir to the Throne
  Truth be told, Skoll's luck is often a double-edged blade; when something good happens to him, it's often followed by a storm. Hired to lift the crown from Skyrim's High Queen in the middle of the night, he should've known something was amiss when he found a surprising lack of guards in the palace. And then came the ransacking of Stormcloak soldiers. As the city of Solitude falls, Skoll finds himself caught by the Captain of the Guard and the Queen herself. In exchange for his life and freedom, he's given the duty of smuggling High King Torygg's one and only heir (your character) out of the city. With a promise of gold later, how can he refuse?
  
  Can be set in any of Tamriel's provinces, re-worked to fit a multitude of different scenarios.​
  • Variant: The setting is Riften, and your character is the bastard child of the Guild's leader, Roland Crowe, raised as Riften's heir by their mother, Jarl Laila Law-Giver. Feeling obliged to save his boss's spawn, Skoll smuggles them out, while Riften falls to Maven Blackbriar and an Imperial rule.
  
  
• 
  
  The following are starters for the fellow that never went anywhere. Feel free to send me an in-character response, and we can shape a story from there:
  
  
  Spoiler: A Meeting

  The Rusty Axe Inn, appropriately named for the aged weapon lodged over the hearth warming the small, central room, was hardly a blot on anyone's map. Located near Bruma, off the beaten path and feeding into a road leading toward the Imperial City, travelers passed by that worn, almost invisible stretch of dirt without a second thought; there were other, more convenient places to rest one's head, after all, along the Imperial Highway. And why would someone make the climb up that winding path, which blowed snow from the mountains bordering on Skyrim, freezing their ass off, when just a short ride down the main road, there was a established, fancier tavern ready to offer warm food and a soft bed?
  
  Well, the discrete fence wearing the Thieves Guild colors and serving as one of their contacts was quite the compelling reason for just the right sort of person. That was the intent of the inn's construction: no one went there unless they meant to go there.
  
  Riding slowly up the rocky path to save his horse, Skoll's pale blue eyes remained dully focused on the outline of the Jerall Mountains in the distance, beyond which was Skyrim. He hated making this journey, and it wasn't because of the cold wind that whipped at his cloak, bit sharp fangs into his fair skin. His obvious Nord heritage--he was tall and muscular, though lean instead of bulky, his dirty blonde hair kept trimmed just enough to avoid giving anyone easy access to grip his head--meant he was used to endless snow and an unforgiving, frozen climate, but being this close back home, where that range rose out of the ground like a dragon's teeth, making him feel small no matter how high he sat on his horse, was too perfect of a metaphor than he could stand, and left a bitter, metallic taste in his mouth. One he swallowed with practice.
  
  The inn itself sat on the top of a hill, overlooking a small, frozen lake that rested at its bottom; built with stone, the Rusty Axe was meant to withstand time itself, but Skoll suspected it had survived the war relatively untouched mostly due to it location more than anything else.
  
  Sliding off his blue roan, Skoll led his horse to the stables, where a dark-skinned, scarred Orc who towered even over himself was standing as if he had been waiting. Skoll couldn't actually ask if the Orc had been expecting him--Blackmaw's jaw was burnt thoroughly and he was missing a tongue, which meant he couldn't speak--but with the information the inn's owner kept on hand, he wouldn't be surprised. Handing off his mare without a word, Skoll stepped inside the fire-warmed Rusty Axe with a relieved sigh, brushing snow out of his short, usually well-kept beard.
  
  "No wonder this place is barren," he drawled with a smirk tugging at the edge of his lips. "I believe your dog scares off all your business."
  
  From behind the counter came the harsh laughter of the innkeeper; the one-eyed, greying Nord named Viveka grinned. "At least he's smart enough not to talk, to stay out of personal affairs. I heard you were caught teaching Roland's bastard daughter how to shoot a bow."
  
  Shrugging off his cloak and shaking out the lingering snow, Skoll hung up the article of clothing to dry, before brushing off his dark, leather armor. "In my defense, I'm not that good at it, and our glorious Guildmaster is always pissed off about something."
  
  "Never come between a parent and their spawn. Here I thought you knew better."
  
  In fact, he did know better. His mentor and leader had made it clear he wanted his daughter kept away from his business as much as possible. Even if Skoll's personal thoughts conflicted with that--the girl was clever enough to determine her nobleman 'father' wasn't actually her father, and proceed to track down her blood without getting caught, an amazing feat at her age--he only stepped in others' lives when he was particularly bored, and never in such a manner that would rain Oblivion down on him. But Roland's protege, Reine, reminded Skoll so much of his own sister, he hadn't been able to say no. He supposed they all had their weaknesses.
  
  "And as a childless, old woman, you would know all about that?" He countered in such a pleasant tone with his well-known, charming smirk, it would have been easy to miss the insult.
  
  It only made Viveka laugh once more. "Ha! And did that sharp tongue save your from being assigned to babysit while prancing through dank ruins?"
  
  "You forgot the part about the madman mage," Skoll added lazily, fingers tapping against the pommel of his Skyforged steel longsword, the decorated, aged leather scabbard hanging from his right side, "who changes laboratories every few years because of his tendency to blow them up. I suppose she's yet to arrive?"
  
  The innkeep grunted. "I'll prepare a stew. Perhaps by the time it's ready, she'll be here."
  
  He answered only in a nod, and as he was left alone in the room, took a seat by the fire, one leg slung across the other. While he was sure this artifact the Guild's employer had spoken about didn't even exist, he was grateful for the chance to get out of town, away from civilization. He sometimes missed the hunt, and when he remained still for too long, his beastblood became restless, stirring in him like embers of a fire ready to spark anew. This little adventure, hopeless or not, would be good for him.
  
  
  Spoiler: An Offering

  Legends were as malleable as heated, burning steel in the belly of a forge, and when they were tempered by the right hand, could form a weapon just as sharp as any blade. Slipping easily by the drunken, slumbering guards outside the Jarl's castle gates, Skoll's pale eyes lifted from underneath his hood to catch a look at the towering effigy of his story ascended above his own skin, and felt his lips tug upwards into a prideful, wolfish smirk. His fingers made the bright gem, stolen from the Jarl's crown as an almost playful--if it didn't hold such an obvious threat--challenge, dance around his thumb, before the treasure was slipped into one of the pockets that adorned the harness buckled across the chest of his dark leather armor.
  
  Years before he stepped into this town, that statute had taken the form of a fox, as homage to the legendary thief that had dared to steal the Cowl of Nocturne. Now he, as Guildmaster of the Thieves Guild, had inherited that tale, shaped it into his own. Things had changed in Riften, the Guild itself had changed, and Skoll's ego would allow no one else to take the credit he was due. People once more respect the Shadowmarks because of what he had built from blood and sweat. The Gray Wolf held the true power within Riften, and the title was, by all hard-earned rights, distinctively his.
  
  To think it had started as a joke, in the way that his mentor had been known for joking. Skoll distinctively remembered the stone-edged, gruff voice that had once barked at him, 'A Nord who thinks he's the Gray fucking Fox, hm? Well, Gray Wolf, you've stumbled into my town.' Tied to a chair in the back of a shady inn just outside of the city's walls, Skoll had looked up at the one-eyed Breton, smiled with bloody teeth, and dared to say, 'Not much of a town, is it?' It had earned him another punch to the face, but the Breton, Roland, had been impressed--perhaps entertained--enough to let the young mercenary who had encroached upon Guild territory to work off his debt, and a few months later, Skoll had made his home within the belly of Riften's beast.
  
  And now, years later, he ruled the city from the shadows, and had memorized every corner, every street, and every building of its layout. He slipped around easily, unnoticeable, even if his armor brazenly declared him to be a member of the Guild (why hide during their Holiday? It was easy to blend among the sea of masks). Taking a long route around for the sake of arriving on the scene from a different angle than he had approached, Skoll slipped by the celebrators, lowered his hood, and found another member of his guild leaned against the circular half-wall in the center of the city.
  
  "I trust you had no trouble?" The long -haired Orc asked, not taking his eyes off the wolf sculpture as the Guildmaster hopped upon the wall to take a seat.
  
  Skoll smiled, a small huff of air that was just short of being a scoff escaping his lips, at the suggestion. Reaching out to take a coin- shaped treat from a passerby with a tray, the Nord quirked a brow at his advisor. "Was there ever any doubt?"
  
  "I can understand the need to continue the tradition for appearances," Skorm muttered in response. "But doing it yourself is an unnecessary risk."
  
  The tradition, of course, was to break into the Jarl's palace, taking something of immense value that would be obvious if it disappeared. Roland had always delegated this task to one of his subordinates, while Skoll took pleasure in performing it himself. He had even added a little bit of flourish, always leaving behind a parchment with the print of a wolf's paw, so no other could falsely claim the feat.
  
  "This is a festival celebrating a man who dared to steal from a god," Skoll countered.
  
  "Which is exactly something you would do to simply see if you could. Right."
  
  Chuckling, Skoll bit into his pastry, took a moment to come up with a retort as he chewed. But the clever line never left his tongue. The flash of fire that rose before him stole his attention. The wolf was burning, filling the air with the stench of smoke that now pillared above the effigy. The crowd erupted in chatter, yet Skoll's eyes were glued on the cloaked woman that now requested his attention.
  
  "Curious." Skorm spoke Skoll's condensed thought, and tilted his head toward his boss, discreetly asking for direction.
  
  It could be a trap, Skoll mused, but only a fool would try to lay one for him within these walls. They had ears, after all; little went on in Riften without his knowledge. Besides, while the bold act irked him, it also certainly piqued his interest, and that interest was only deepened as he watch the elven womanly--clearly not an Altmer by her height, and seemingly not a Bosmer or Dunmer by the color of her skin--placed her offering within the ashes. He wasn't worried about collecting the valuable earrings immediately: he had eyes on the street, and he doubted many would dare to steal from the Guild.
  
  Clicking his tongue to the roof of his mouth, the Gray Wolf turned his eyes onto the Orc, ran his palm along his bearded jaw, and stated his decision, "Keep an eye on her, stay out of sight, and wait for my order."
  
  Skorm nodded, before disappearing into the crowd. Skoll made no effort to follow, instead turning his attention toward finishing the treat in his hand. He'd let the elf wait for a bit, sweat about if the Guild would actually show. He wasted time by wandering through the streets, stopping to take part in the occasional festivity, and at the end of the night, found another thief to hand the Jarl's jewel off to. Just before the brink of dawn, he was back in the city center, now barren of its former inhabitants.
  
  With orange beginning to streak across the still darkened sky, the thief stepped into the pile of ash, coins clicking across stone as they were spread apart by his steel-lined boot, and crouched down. His bare fingers picked up the earrings left behind, examining them curiously, brushed off the grit that clung to the jewelry, and slipped them inside a pocket of his harness. Straightening his back, he finished his journey by making his way to the temple.
  
  Skorm was leaned against the inner wall, flipping a dagger around in his hand. Skoll gave a simple nod to the Orc in acknowledgment, before walking up the stairs. His right palm rested calmly against the wolf-shaped pommel of the sword at his hip, its hilt etched with runes and grip wrapped in aged leather. With a shove of his shoulder against the door, he stepped inside the temple.
  
  It was the air that invaded inside, the sound of the door slipping back into its frame, that made the thief, his step silent as if he were walking on shadows. He stopped by the pew accompanied by the elf, and leaned against the one across the aisle from it, not bothering to take a seat.
  
  "Quite new at this, I take it," he observed simply. Flicking his eyes to examine her expression, his own remained neutral. "Asking for protection, while making your--request, let's call it--a spectacle. If you are being tailed, you just alerted your followers to your location. And leaving full payment, I assume, instead of withholding half? Now you're relying on the integrity of a band of thieves to not just take it and run."
  
  He paused for but a moment, tilting his head just so, and smiling devilishly. "I'm giving you one chance to catch my attention, love. Don't waste it."
  
  
  Spoiler: An Adventure

  Standing upon a snow-covered rock in the far reaches of Skyrim, nothing but the occasional howl of a lone wolf to break the serene silence of the blanketed hills, Skoll found himself stricken for a moment, mistaking himself for the last soul on Nirn. With moonlight streaking across his fair face, and his bright blue eyes scanning the massive stone structure before him, the Nord smiled. It wasn't an expression he often wore genuinely, but the quiet within the wilderness was a welcome reprieve from the rustle underneath Riften. He loved the city, the band of miscreants he called family, the work he did, yet a man sometimes needed to feel the burning cold chill of a breeze against his exposed skin, breathe in air that was fresh and smelled of ice.
  
  Running a finger across his bearded jaw, the thief dropped his hand to rest against the pommel of the sword sheathed at his hip; the coolness of the metal seeped through his gloves, causing his fingers to move to grip the leather-bound grip. With an exhalation that formed mist, he began his ascension, keeping his footsteps soft as to not disturb the quiet surrounding him. The stairs he climbed were massive and gilded, leading him upward toward a gray tower, decorated with the bronze-colored bits of gears and pipes known only to these Dwemer ruins, that jutted out of the mountainside.
  
  It had taken him a handful of days to travel from his home to Winterhold. He had left his mare within the splotch that could barely be called a town, and made the rest of the journey southwest on foot; it had been arduous and long, a constant battle against the elements. Once or twice he had slipped against ice hidden beneath snow, and had to quickly catch himself before he tumbled down the slope of the mountain. Even with the protection the dull black leather his Guild's armor provided him, layered over additional warm clothing, and his blood's natural resistance to the harshness of his homeland's climate, the cold rattled his bones, threatening to claim him.
  
  The hefty amount of gold paid up front for the retrieval of whatever artifact residing within these ruins now made sense. The stout and grizzled Imperial had been a middleman; Skoll had known not because his client had stated so, but because he appeared disinterested in the conversation, his face set sternly as if it had been carved. The cloaked man had given Skoll a location, a promise of enough septims to make even the nobles in Cyrodiil bulk, and that payment that made the thief's brow quirk. After hashing out a few more details about where to meet after the job was done and price negotiations (for the fun of it), the nameless Imperial had taken his leave with as much enthusiasm as he had shown during the meeting.
  
  And now Skoll was here, standing before the entrance of a lost city hidden within the mountainside. Usually he gave these sort of fetch jobs to one of his underlings; they required extended time away from Riften, which meant limited contact with the Guild. But the circle of thieves that helped run operations were competent, and this was a special case. Besides, the Nord was simply curious.
  
  He thought about taking time to rest outside, and delve in when dawn broke, but the chill at his back drove him forward. He had spent too much time in the cold, and while the inside was sure to be guarded by remnant machinery, he was confident in his skills. He could clear out a spot to take a rest, and it would be warmer than if he made camp on the mountain. The metal door was heavy, but gave easily with a shove of his shoulder; as it closed behind him, the thief was cloaked in darkness. Pulling back his hood, Skoll ran his palms through his light brown hair, freeing the strands of the wet snow that clung to them.
  
  It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but when they did, he carefully moved forward, trying to discern any noise from the sound of releasing steam and clanging metal around him.

If interested, please shot me a PM! Thanks for your time.

~Your Friendly Neighborhood Graverobber

 

[Graverobber141]

Walk in the shadows.