Sutch's Woe planning/discussion thread-recruiting now! Options

[Colonel Mustard]

Word!

This is the thread for planning out the Sutch-based RP we (myself, Acadian, Uleni Athram and Darkness Eternal) have started for general discussion of the RP itself.

Also, the title is totally a placeholder one and is up for change. Whether it will be changed or not, well, we'll see.


NOTE: As of 21/01/12, with the beginning of the RP proper, we are no longer recruiting.


This post has been edited by Colonel Mustard: Jan 21 2013, 11:23 AM

[Uleni Athram]

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Full Name: Ylenno Sasalonia
Nicknames/Aliases: The Florentine Bleeder, Crowsgrin Runt
Sex: Male
Religion: Believes in he, himself and his. He survived his childhood (see below)and his adolescent years completely bereft from any guidance whatsover, divine or unholy.

Race: Bosmeri
Age: 26
Day of Birth: 12th of Evening Star, 3E 406
Birthsign: The Thief

Birthplace: A little village called Meriadoc south of Silvenar.
Occupation: Former smuggler and thug. Currently a sellsword.

Major Skills: Axe, Medium, Mercantile, Block, Athletics, Unarmed
Minor Skills: Alteration, Blade, Sneak

Gear:
He normally wears a padded leather jerkin and the additional protection here and there during his 'civillian' time, but he wears the complete set when out adventuring or just moving from place to place. The set consists of a cheap iron chain-mail shirt underneath the jerkin, and some hardy boots to reinforce his footing against the ground. He keeps a tattered grey scar around his face to conceal his identity and for protection against weather.

He has the heirloom of the clan Sasalonia; a golden necklace from which an ivory dove, outstretching its wings and revealing a flawless sapphire gem embedded in its chest, hangs. Around the perimeter of the large sapphire are chips of small emerald, surrounding it in a circle. This is the most valuable thing in his possession. Not even the Axe can compare itself in pure sentimental value. To deter thieves, he onced paid an exorbitant amount to enchant it; a curse to the wearer of those who do not have the Sasalonian blood.

Weapons:
The Swan's Bite, an heirloom of the clan Sasalonia. It is quite the sight: the whole haft is made of durable ivory steel, etched with intricate designs of leaves and fruits, and it shines with a glow. The axblade begins below the beak of an outstretched swan at the end of the haft, and many nicks scars its smooth edge. In any case he is disarmed, he will resort to a backup bowie knife. For defense, he uses a worn buckler made of yew.

Family: Father, Unknown. Diseased.
Mother, Unknown, Diseased.
Sister. Diseased.

Appearance: He stands several inches taller than the average Bosmer, standing at 6'3, and keeps his sun-dryed body in shape. Not quite muscular or wiry than your average 'grim-faced, battle-weary bearded warrior of the grim, grim North', but he has enough muscle in him to at least end an arm-wrestling match with a Nord quite gracefully. That, and he has enough power in those muscles to use his axe with the quiet flair of someone nearing complete mastery. And for a member of a race that excels in the arts of the bow, that says quite a lot. But as he considers himself a classic roguish scoundrel rather than a full-pledged warrior, so too did he inherit their debonair maintenance for their beauty.

The one thing he never, EVER, go lax upon is his hair. The white-gold mane is shaved completely bald on the left side of his head and tattooed with tribal markings. The rest on the right defies gravity and hangs suspended (OOC: the Punk'd hair in FO). He uses a special ointment, plus a little bit of Alteration magick, to keep it shiny and erect as it is, until he washes off the ointment and dispels the magick on it. He keeps his eyebrows razor thin and its imperious arch gives his volpine face a rather mischievous feel.

He has roughneck green eyes that antes up his level of crooked charm, and his caesarian nose speaks of several bone resets, whether to give it a roguish feel or just to fix it after a brawl. His moist, red lips is quirks in a smirk real easy, and is never far from a sneering smile. To top it all off, he pierces his left ear with six earrings descending from top to bottom.

(A true rogue if you ever saw one.)

Personality:

Things that happened to him in his life has left quite ... distanced from any form of authority, to put it mildly. He has an extreme disdain on those who put restrictions on people, just because they have high ranks or coin. Those who abuse their powers over others need to be wary around him.

He values no lords or masters, just himself and his axe. Born in the streets, he has what you may call 'gutter-wisdom'. It has served him quite well in sojourns. He's quick to point out anything he perceives as wrong, and will not hesitate to call out others on their actions. It borders on hypocrisy though, as he himself is no saint and in no position to judge others, and he is well aware of that fact. He is also a believer in the survival of the fittest; the streets of Bravil are unforgiving on those who are weak. Lone wolves that think themselves superior to the pack are laughed at before being devoured. And although he raised himself in this hard way, it never tarnished his lighthearted, and at times childlike whimsical, personality. Yes, he believes in strength. But he is not addicted to it. What he truly believes in is companionship, loyalty, and devotion. Without these positive things, power would become a meaningless fire, a strong fire, but in the end it will always burn out, alone and miserable after it consumed everything.

Because of that, he takes serious things light, and is amused by those who set themselves in a deadly grim manner. Life, for him, is a one-time only drug. Better enjoy the high while it lasts. Even the lows too need to be cherished, for it makes it all the more sweeter.


History:

Ylenno himself doesn't remember much about his past. The furthest reach his memory can give him are a clouded bits and pieces of a quaint little village, burning to mere cinders. Tall, golden monsters wearing the faces of imperious elves butchering people he didn't even know. The rest of his memory can give him are those of his days in the orphanage at Bravil. The place was good enough, he guessed. If the caretakers there weren't skooma addicts that beat them regularly when they couldn't get their precious poison. Worse yet, they took some of the older orphans to their bed. The thing that gave the children strength to endure was each other. Their days were fraught with misery, yes, but they cheered each other up and remained bright throughout. Ylenno was the youngest amongst the orphans, but he was the most brave and resistant, and for this, he was also the most physically abused. He would stand up to the bullies, speak what he thinks bluntly, and was generally the budding hero that the other kids looked up to. It was during this time of rebellion that he became best friends with another Bosmeri, a girl by the name of Caelefensil. They were both opposites in terms of personality, but between them there was an undeniable bond of compaionship. During their days in the orphanage, Ylenno was the bull-headed aggressor, while Caelefensil acted as his voice of reason and calmness. Where Ylenno in his childishness brought trouble, Caelefensil solved it with a maturity beyond her elven years. With the duo around the orphanage, things lightened up considerably. No more did the children fear their abusive caretakers; one by one, they stood up, and brought up the inner hatred they have kept burning inside.

But their glorious retaliation was but one brief moment of ecstasy and release; the caretakers brutally brought the children back in line, and they seperated the duo apart so such an event wouldn't happen again, as they know that one is nothing without the other. They did this in the most apprehensible way possible.

They sold Ylenno to the then-fledgeling Orum Gang in Cheydinhal, while keeping Caelefensil in Bravil for vile reasons. They fought as one when the day came for them to be kept apart, and when they were subdued, they made a promise to each other that no matter what, they will meet again. To seal that promise, Ylenno gave Caelefensil his most valued treasure; his necklace of a swan. Caelefensil gave hers; a key made in ivory and rubies. They swore their oath, and they were ripped away from each other.

Ylenno's life in the Orum was much more brutal than he could have ever imagined. They kept him caged in a small room devoid of anything, save for the basic furnitures, and fed him like an unworthy beast. In addition to this, the Orcs in the Gang used his natural tendency for violence to its maximum effect; they trained him as an underground pit-fighter. Ylenno at first resisted as he always did, but the Orcs' beating were harsher and they didn't pull their blows. Out of fear, and overwhelming despair and loneliness, Ylenno gave in. He defeated his first opponent, a hulking Nord, at the age of thirteen with nary a scratch.

For this tumultous victory, he was titled the 'Crowsgrin Runt' for his size and the broken smile he sports. For several more years he fought more and more, until he became renowned in the underworld. When he turned 18, Ylenno was made a member of the Orum Gang's smuggling operation, acting as a bodyguard and footsoldier against the law and other rival gangs. His name became a headline in the Courier when he participated in the Florentine Wars, a major conflict between the syndicates in Cheydinhal about who can form an alliance with the Camonna Tong in Morrowind. At the head of the Orum Gang was Ylenno, and he cut a swathe through the ranks of other gangs swiftly and bloodily, where he was titled the 'Florentine Bleeder' as a result. The War ended with the Orum's as the obvious victors, but since the majority of the other gangs had been annihilated or assimilated, the eyes of the Law remained focus on them and them only as a result. The Orums withdrew from the public view, and they maintained silence. Ylenno took this as a chance and he managed to escape, away from Cheydinhal and the life he lived there.

He headed back to Bravil, hoping to fulfill a promse that he made all those years ago.

When he arrived, he found that Caelefensil was dead. The other orphans, now grown adolescents themselves, told him that she died by a disease; a result from her work as a courtesan. They gave him her last wish; his necklace, well-taken care of after all of these years, a map pointing to a small hamlet south of the Bosmeri city of Silvenar, and her last testament before she succumbed to death. Ylenno took this, and in his grief, he stayed in Bravil a while longer, savoring the familiar sights he used to enjoy with his best companion. His experiences from his former occupation served him well in the time he spent in Bravil. When he finally mustered the courage to make sense of Caelefensil's last gifts, he did so with a bang.

He tracked down the caretakers that forced Caelefensil to her untimely death, and mercilessly executed street-justice upon them, one by one.

When he found the place that marked the spot in the map, it was nothing but a clearing with several patches of ground bare and lifeless. It was an alien sight to him, but his oul ached with an oversurge of dreadful familiarity. The trees here sang for him mournfully. The wind appeased him with the scent of what once was and what could have been. The ground cries for the tragedy that doesn't reveal itself to him. Even the sun dimmed to a grieving gray in this place of alien twilight.

And when he scooped up a handful of soil, and devoured its homely scent.... His surroundings spoke to him, and he was brought to his knees by the sudden rush of truth.

This place..... was his birthplace. Images of strangers.... His family. A blurred concept of safety and peace and warmth.... His home. Golden monsters with faces of elves marching in blindling light.... the destruction of his family and his memory. The intimacies of the soil grasped in his hand spoke to him that all of this should be familiar, and that he should REMEMBER.....

But he can't.

The scent of the soil spoke again, and this time, it told him of Caelefensil. A young bosmeri girl, skinny, hair matted to her head, eyes underneath star-shining. Looking at him. Holding his hand.

Saying the words 'Brother' to him. Before disappearing.

This was the truth that brought Ylenno to his knees. That he had a sister, and that sister was Caelefensil all along. He was possibly the only left in his bloodline, but he didn't wept for this place or its memories. He wept for Caelefensil, but not in sorrow, but in happiness. At least he was blessed to spend his childhood with her. That's when he realized he still had a mystery to solve, and poked around the site and eventually uncovered an old, old chest. He used the key given to him, and the contents therein were the last heirlooms of a destroyed family. An immaculate axe, and a leather-covered grimoire containing the history of his family; the Sasalonians.

He thanked his sister for giving him his identity back, and resolved to honor her memory by moving on with his life.
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Good enough, I suppose. So. Should we wait for LL or should we start right away? I know some of you are excited to start, I am too actually. But still.

Oh, and the Duck Duck Goose. I was thinking of people posting in the order when they submitted their Character Forms. So KoB will be the first to post in the Playground, and either me, LL, or another who joins late will be the last. Of course, if there are any objections, we could always compromise.