kevintheradioguy
Salt
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[div class=fyuriwrapper][div class=imageheader][div class=header]introduction[/div][/div][div class=box1]
The island was making them sick. Quite literally.
Frost squeezed their throats, pierced their eyes, cold snows - so similar to sands and ashes of an eerie island - soaked their shoes, making their toes numb, and walking - hard. Solstheim was the land of opportunities, and yet, all they found was misery. No place for good mercenaries here. Not until they found her, at least, and what luck: just as they scraped enough to get back to their homeland.
A red-eyed – more red-eyed than usual – tired and pale, sick-looking dark elf stood before them on the boards of a pier, hugging herself in a thick, rough hooded shawl people of Vvardenfel used to cover their faces from constant ash- and blight-storms. “My name is Raami Ralal.” She snivelled out, the sickness taking over her body. This wasn’t cold. Not only it, anyway. A curse hung heavy over the woman, the one she wasn’t eager to bring to her homeland. Her hand outstretched, sweaty fingers holding an unsealed letter. “They didn’t see me, so they don’t know how I look. I bet you can pretend to be me quite well.” She nodded towards another dunmer in front of her. “These must be delivered to their masters.” This time, people were not indulged with a nod. Because they weren’t people. They were things. Property. A group of bestial slaves, caught once more on a distant island, hands swelling from tight glowing shackles around their wrists, eyes full of fear and resentment. A weary argonian standing on a pier, with sea salt stuck between his scales was avoiding the eyes of mercenaries he met here just a few months back. He knew what was going on, and hated it, but the old sailor knew better than to tell anything, or even show his resentment towards the slavers, or compassion – towards slaves. He knew he was too old to get shackled himself. He wouldn’t survive even a week in the mines or at plantations. This was what waited for them, wasn’t it? After their escape – even an attempt on it – none would return to work in warm kitchens or dressing their fancy mistresses. It’s hard labour from now on.
“Darathra and Llivas Thelas are the ones you’re looking for.” The slaver repeated the contents of the letter. A contract, rather. Find the slaves, bring them back, get a pretty good sum afterwards. “They live somewhere in Sadrith Mora. They’ll pay four thousand drakes for every slave delivered, if they are delivered in good condition.” She emphasized the ‘if’, making sure a group of ruffians heard her, and heard her well. “Otherwise… well, you’d be lucky to get paid for a wounded to crippled one at all.” She coughed, choking on her own saliva, bending down, her rough, guttural voice almost turning into growl as she did so. When she looked up, her cheeks were glistening from tears, eyes watery. She blinked over and over again, trying to clear them, as a small glow appeared right behind her pupils, curse mocking her. “I suggest…” She started, but soon stopped, giving her time to catch her breath. “I suggest going south from Khuul. The northern part is filled with highwaymen to the brim… and the way is pretty much blocked by one of the tribes by now. Former surely will kill you to get their hands on the cargo, latter - just kill you all.”[/div][div class=box2]
“Avoid roads.” Her piercing red glare was hypnotizing. The voice was once more steady, and with the shawl covering her mouth, it looked like she wasn’t talking, but generating thoughts in the minds of a group. “And big cities. The Empire is strong in Vvardenfel, and although most of our brethren respect ancient traditions, and will assist you the best they can, there are many people who’d give you out just to lick the Empire’s boot.” She almost spat those words out. “Were I you, I’d travel by night, and make camps near smaller towns. That, of course, is only my choice. You can try and stop in any inn for all I care… what!?” She snapped her head to the old scaled sailor, trying to get their attention for a few minutes already.
“The ship is ready, mistress.” The argonian hoarsed out. This made her glare serious. More serious than before.
“My name is Raami Ralal.” She repeated. It almost sounded as if she wasn’t trying to make sure the mercenaries remembered her – rather, she didn’t want to be forgotten as she rots away on this forsaken island. “There are twelve slaves to deliver to family Thelas in Sadrith Mora. Do this, show respect to our traditions, and be richly rewarded.”
And just like that, the group found themselves on the vessel: a dozen of beastly slaves locked up in the cargo hold, while the group of bankrupt mercenaries, trying their best to survive on Solstheim– on the deck. This would be a short trip to the village of Khuul, but from there – a much longer, dangerous path across the entire island, to get their prize.
Vvardenfel met them with unusually hard ground and warm air. The peaceful fishermen and women avoided the glares of the group of ruffians, dragging exhausted and hungry group of slaves behind them. One of them had an old, soaked map of the land he called his home, but managed to forget, struck by an unexpected cold of Solstheim's weather and people back when he first stepped on its shores in hoped of winding well-paying work. It would be quite a challenge - to cross the entire island unseen by patrols, paying off any gangs, or sliding throats to lonely farmers to use their homes as a base, and looking after a dozen animals not to try and run away once more. But the pay was worth it, oh, so worth it. Twice as much as they'd get for each of them on the market. Things might finally go well.
The volcano on the horizon rattled and hummed, the screams of cliffracers circling around it in hot airs echoing into the valleys, as if welcoming them all back, into their hot, damp, gritty homes. The last of the slaves jumped down from the ship, fumbling around and pressing their bodies into a heap in fear. Their shackles rattled, hitting each other, creating almost musical accompaniment to their trembling at a thought what masters would do to them for their attempts to get their freedom.[/div][/div]
[div class=fyuricredit]code/design by @Fyuri[/div]
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[div class=fyuriwrapper01][div class=imageheader01][div class=header01]about[/div][/div][div class=box101]
Ever got tired of saving the world and being a goody-two-shoes? Ever wanted to take a role of a bad guy, doing their evil deeds without remorse? If you didn’t, this thread is not actually for you. If you did, I welcome you to stay and have a read.
As a big fan of TES III: Morrowind, fascinated by the gritty, cold environment of the game, and wicked, weird concepts of it, I have always wanted to create a small campaign based in that specific place, the island of Vvardenfel, and in that specific era: right as the Tribunal started falling apart, and right before the Nerevarine first stepped on the shores of the island.
You will be taking a role of a group of mercenaries and brutes that had just returned from Solstheim. The group was hoping for fortune, but only found disappointed, being absolutely unprepared for both the weathers, and the ruffians that inherit it. Broke and angry, they have scraped by to get back home… and that is where they’ve met a sickly-looking slaver, who travelled there to catch escaped slaves of a Telvani family. She, however, fell prey to Hircine’s curse, and, feeling her lust for blood and transformations coming, decided not to bring this disease back to her lands, instead, giving you a chance to earn a fortune by returning twelve slaves to their masters.
Because of abolitionist activity around the Empire-influenced cities, you will have to avoid the transports, and instead go by foot across the entire island, whether through the swamps and salt lakes, or dangerously near an erupting volcano, trying to survive the harsh lands, and not lose any slaves to wild animals, ashlanders, other bandits, the law, abolitionists, the weather, or their own attempts to once more escape.
The knowledge of the game is appreciated, but unneeded.
Shoutout to people who showed interest previously:
AiDEE-c0
Coffeepot Giraffe
Karcen
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Certain “rules” for the lack of better word:
Vanilla TES races are welcome, although due to the plot, beast races aren’t allowed. The more likely situation is for you to be dunmer, or any other mer; the most unlikely is for you to be imperals or in certain cases - orcs. Your slaves would be best races (and maybe a couple of orcs).
Be prepared to write a brief character sheet for your characters. I don’t demand extreme detail, but just a summary of what you are would be really good for other players and myself. The suggested template would be posted later after a small group will be gathered.
You will be the bad guys, so I won’t hold it against you if you’d do absolutely despicable things; however, please, respect RPN rules, and if you will go into such things as torture, murder, or rape, use tasteful descriptions and end them up in a black screen instead of going for painful details.
It would be really appreciated if you’d add your character’s names and portraits into every post you make for convenience. The suggested template would be posted later after a small group will be gathered.
A discord server, or a PM group would be gathered for discussion per request.
The thread would be open unless stated otherwise for new players, and if any are to join, I shall expect others to welcome them into their nasty gang and not try to immediately kill them (suspension of disbelief at its finest).
Playing in third person, past tense (read the intro for an example if you don’t know what that is) for convenience.
Questions are welcome and shall be answered.[/div][/div]
[div class=fyuricredit]code/design by @Fyuri[/div]
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