Macman253

Raj stood back as Bragol ended the dragons life. He smiled wickedly as he put his weight on the axe head. After the dead was done he returned to the Jazeera and took his place at the helm. They lifted off the earth and back into the sky, flying about fifty feet above the treeline with the wind at their backs. He stood with one hand on the wheel and another wrapped around a bottle of Stros M'kai rum which he drank idly, making course corrections as they went. He wiped his lips with his sleeve and spoke, the first words he spoke since they had departed. "Riften may be easier ta' traverse if we go by the Ratway... We can set down in ta' lake, on the far side of da' island to hide our landing an' sail our way in. I have friends in ta' Thieve's Guild." He said as he latched the wheel and walked down the steps from the pilothouse and onto the wider deck. Bragol came up from below decks with a variety of tools and some scrap dwemer metal. He began to replace the damaged parts on the ballista, grumbling as he did so. Raj placed his freehand on the pommel of his scimitar, "Walkin' round ta' city dressed up like some tavern maid ain't gonna get us nowhere, our best bet is ta' stick low to 'ta ground, get our bearings and make our move, the Ratway is better." He added, speaking to Sivari.

Uhtred hated the Imperial City, he hated the scent of it, the stench. He hated watching the common people stamped on by the highborn. But he did not care enough to fight for them. The large Skaal looked at the help wanted poster as he walked through the city streets towards the waterfront, It was there that he spotted the ship that was hiring. Uhtred slid Gorefather up to shift the great-axe's weight as he walked towards the gathering group. "You the one's that put out the notice for hired help?" He said in a gruff tone.

Raj roared with anger and bellowed obscenities at the dragon as he scorched his ship. "By TallPapa's balls!" He roared as he spun the pilots wheel in frustration, this lizard was not going down without a fight. He uncorked a bottle of dark liquid and stuck it to his lips and taking a deep drink before tossing it onto a fire to snuff it out. The alcohol steadied his nerves. "Grella! Load up the 'eart-piercer!" He commanded as he lined up on the dragon ahead of them. Grella finished loading in the wickedly barbed bolt dubbed Heart-Piercer by the crew. The bolts finish was as black as the ships deck and had nearly half a dozen tally marks along it's shaft. "Loaded and ready Captain!" She shouted back while she prepared to shoot. Raj smirked as he saw the dragon climb up in front of their bow, his back exposed to the ballista. "Fire!" He roared, Grella responded, the large bolt burst through the dragons hide and out of his chest. The beast gave off an ear piercing roar and went slack, plummeting to the ground and striking with a wet smack. Raj laughed and took them down slowly, bringing the Jazeera alongside the dragons crashsite. A thicket of trees not far from Shor's Stone. Grella dropped the rope ladder over the side while Raj grabbed a large boarding axe, propped up next to his pilot's wheel, six marks along it's haft he kissed the blade softly and climbed to earth. The dragon lay in a slump on the earth, the thick bolt still protruding from it's stomach. It hissed at him wickedly. "This fight isn't over yet!" He said to the others as the now flightless dragon readied itself for the upcoming battle. "Grella on the ballista! Load in the net!" He ordered, the nord woman responded without question.

Name: Uhtred Wild-Bear Race: Skaal/Werebear Gender: Male Age: 42 Association: Noone Personality: Gruff, abrasive, has a deep respect for innocent life and will protect it dutifully, seeks an honorable death for reasons unknown. Strengths: Physically strong, able to change into a Man-Bear at will, adept with his two-handed axe "Gore-Father" Weaknesses: His death wish, silver and the New Moon forces him to become a savage hostile bear. Background: Uhtred was born into the last of the Bear Skaals, a clan of reclusive Skaal that were cursed with Sanies Ursius, most have succumbed to the disease and become mindless beasts, the disease changes the afflicted from man to bear slowly, forcing him to eventually attack those around him with wild abandon. Uhtred left his clan when he was told he possessed this curse and fled into the wilds of Solstheim, eventually traveling to Skyrim where he learned the ways of battle under Ulfric Stormcloak, there he harnessed his ability to transform at will and helped Ulfric on his early campaigns, after Ulfric began the Stormcloak Rebellion he departed the ranks of their army for a mercenary life, Ulfric in honor of his friend took the bear tattoo on Uhtred's body as his symbol. Uhtred wandered Tamriel for the next several years, becoming one of it's most well known mercenaries, pursuing a life of battle and eventually an honorable death to end his curse.

Raj roared with laughter, "Battlestations!" He shouted as he pulled a large wooden lever, the control wings extended, giving the already agile Airship even greater control. "Grella! On the ballista!" He shouted as he wheeled hard to port, the Jazeera responded with khajiit-like grace and she titlted, bringing the large ballista at her bow to bear on the dragon. Grella hurried down the length of the ship and kicked the lever that opened the hatch where the ballista was concealed. It was a glistening bronze, carved with intricate dwarvish runes, the nord woman grabbed the controls and levered back the string. The weapon was primed. "Loaded and ready Captain!" She shouted as he drew a bead on the circling dragon. Raj smiled a wicked smile. "Fire!" He yelled, and gave a solemn promise to TallPapa that he would bring down this dragon. Grella nodded and fired, the ballista hurled a wickedly barbed bolt with a thick rope tied to it at the dragon. The recoil of the weapon was so strong the Airship rocked slightly. Raj lets out an ear piercing whistle, Bragol comes up from below decks and tosses a handful of crossbows on the deck. "Take one and keep shooting!" Shouted the Orc has he heaved up a barrel of bolts from below decks.

Sounds like a lot of fun, cannot wait to try it out.

Grella looked to Raj for confirmation. Raj payed no attention as he piloted the Jazeera. With a keen eye Grella watched the Ningheim for a long moment. "Fine, let us know what stuff you need to prepare meals, breakfast is just after wake up call, be up two hours early to prepare." She said coldly before folding her arms across her chest and standing next to the pilot's wheel. Raj checked his map, making slight alterations to their course, just to their left was the Throat Of The World, the mountain-top was clouded under a near permanent cloud cover. "That is unusual." Grella pointed out, Raj nodded. In all his long years of air-sailing he had never seen the clouds form around a mountain's top for a lengthy period of time. "Yes, the wind usually pushes them past." He said as he watched the clouds, he watched the cloud circle around the peak. "Whatever they are... they are not natural, something or someone does not want anyone to know what is up there." He added before steering the Jazeera away from the mountain. Raj looked to the armored warrior and slapped his thigh in laughter, "Sure lad, Bragol will need a shoveler fer' coal." He replied as he leveled out the wheel and slowly made course alterations to bank around the mountain. (Grella and Bragol are dedicated crew, they do not depart the ship unless Raj tells them too.)

Raj smiled, revealing several gold capped teeth. He took a final drink of his cup and drained it of it's amber liquid, with a powerful slam that shook the table he crushed the metal mug and roared in happiness. He paid his bill and left for the Jazeera. Onboard and high above Skyrim Raj stood at the helm. The large wheel was intricately carved with naked women and sea monsters, likely stolen from a ship. The railings along the side of the Jazeera were carved with similar marks, Steam vented from the lower decks as the large steam engine that powered them forward and produced the hot hair that fueled the dirrigible. Raj had one hand on the wheel and a half chewed and smoked cigar in his lips. He noted his crews wide eyed look, none of them had flown before. He had seen such a face on countless people in his career. "If your askin' yourself if Dragons see like this then yes... they do." Raj joked. A voice came from a long pipe next to the pilot's wheel. Raj put his clefted ear to it and listened then after a long second pulled the reciever up and spoke into it. "Alright, I'll take us down." He said before stowing the reciever that lead into the engine room below decks. He pushed the altitude lever down with his foot as he let the wheel spin uncontrolled. The Jazeera responded immediately, she banked hard to port (left) and went down quickly. They came out of the clouds at breakneck speed, seemingly as if she was falling to earth, intent on her own destruction. But after a long moment Raj pulled her out of her dive just above the treetops. Raj roared with laughter as they flew along the trees, taking tops off with the rudder-sail's hard dwemer steel beam. A voice came from below decks as the hatch opened. A feminine voice. "Captain... are you done playing with the new crew?" said the tall Nordic woman, her dark hair tied back behind her head into a tail and over her left eye was a black eye patch. Hooked to her belt were twin long-knives. She was followed shortly by a tall Orc with white hair and countless burn scars, his skin was blackened from the soot and coals of the engine room. Raj smiled and hooked the leather strap that held their course and stepped down from the pilots wheel. "Yes, but it was very entertaining. Bragol, how do we fare on fuel?" He asked the Orc. The burly Orc stepped forward as he was addressed. "We have enough for the time being but the repairs we had to make to the engine means she eats twice as much wood and coal to burn. We are going to need to stock up on both soon." Raj nodded, he cared nothing for loot or gold anymore. He only wanted to kill the great black dragon now, and he was willing to pay any price to see his promise to his last crew kept. Raj turned to face the new crew and spoke. "Crew, these two are the only two besides myself that survived. They have been with me as long as I have Captained the Jazeera." He motioned to the one-eyed woman. "This is Grella, she is my first mate." Raj smiled and pointed at the large Orc. " The Orc is Bragol, best engineer in the world. Knows more about dwemer technology then anyone today, he was the one that outfitted the Jazeera with her weapons and engine. He is the Chief Engineer and our Cook." Raj turned to Bragol and smirked. "Sorry to spring it on you mate but I cannot cook and I am not going to ask Grella to do it." Bragol remained quiet but he nodded despite his dislike of cooking. "Sorry lad but I am more afraid of her then you." Raj said with a chuckle. Grella smiled, "Would the reason you chose him be because our last cook was eaten by a dragon?" She asked rhetorically. Raj smiled in response and returned to the wheel. Raj turned to Sivari and spoke. "We need a heading... or should we fly around until we find a dragon?" Raj asked her as he raised the Jazeera to fifty feet above the treeline, standard cruising altitude.

Thank you! Merry Christmas. Your a far better artist then I. I screw up stick figures... But give me a M4A1 with reflex scope and a target and I can draw your name in 5.56 rounds :cool:

(I think it is Fennec's go, not sure)

(Teresse wants Talos, why not swap amulets since she had Kyne. Raj isn't one for the deities but Tall Papa, also known as Ruptga is their patron deity. It's the Yokudan version of Akatosh basically. He is a father to many of the Yokudan pantheon and their leader, he gave the Yokudan's the ability to survive in their harsh homeland and many see him as an all loving but strict father, much like the captain of a ship.)

(I have been thinking about it and I cannot come up with a suitable paragon for Raj, he is a pirate and a redguard but all the Redguard deities are just not applicable. The only thing that drives him is his pure hatred of dragons at this point)

Raj smiled a wicked smile, many of his teeth were capped in gold. He struck a tinder on the wall and lit a sweet smelling cigarillo clenched between his teeth. The prospect of hunting down the King of Dragons intrigued him immensely. He thought for a long moment before sliding the contract before the khajiit woman. "Make yer' mark, but remember. The Jazeera is my ship... you try an' take her from me I'll cast you over the side an' its'a long way down." Raj growled, he tolerated no mutineers and in his long career as a corsair he had encountered more then a few. His one good eye moved to the Argonian that spoke up, he raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Room enough fer' you Argonian." He said as he offered him a contract and a cup of rum.

Yes he would have, something is indeed wrong.

Yes but it seems others are not present very much. I'll give it another day and if no one replies I will reply and hopefully further the story.

Raj sat in the corner chair of the Bannered Mare, his hand wrapped around a tall steel flagon of rum, his scimitar resting on the wall behind him. The grizzled pirate looked up as the female khajiit approached and nodded in response to her question. Raj waved for her to take the seat next to him and took a drink of his rum. "I am, you 'ere to join my crew?" He asked as he took the fat bottle of Stros M'kai rum and poured her a cup and slid it to her. Raj was not tall for his race, most Redguards were known for their tall stature but instead Raj was fairly lean, he looked more like a man that spent his life aboard a ship then a warrior. Even under the leather great-coat he appeared to be rather fit. Tucked into a leather holster on his belt was a hand-bow, a hand held crossbow that appeared to be of Dwemer origin. "Well, tell me why you 'tink that you are fit to join my crew?" Raj asked the Khajiit as he eyed her, sizing her up. "It's no easy task.. gotta be fair with a rope, sure footed and quick cause Dragons move faster anything else out there." (twenty, the Jazeera is close to the size of a sloop, it isn't very big but it is fast. It wasn't built to slug it out with other skyships, it was designed for a small crew compliment with long distance travel and moderate firepower)

The recently liberated city of Whiterun had its keep filled with joyous laughter and celebration at the overthrow of Hevnoraak at the hands of a group of adventurers. During the night though a small sky-ship had moored itself next to the city gates. The ships Captain, an imposing Redguard walked down the gangplank and into the city itself. His long leather greatcoat swaying behind him as he moved along the nearly abandoned streets. He made his way to the keep itself. When he appeared at the top of the steps, daylight had broken and the citizens had begun to stagger home from the nights revelry. Many of the locals stopped to watch as the stranger approached. He was not much taller then most men, his hair was black as night and formed into long tendrils that were tied back behind his head. He wore a tricorner hat and had a bandolier across his torso of pockets and vials filled with red liquid. Peeking out of his coat was the hilt of a wicked curved scimitar. The Redguard pushed passed the Commoners and into the keep itself, he ignored the guards and celebrators as he removed a roll of paper from the insides of his coat and slammed it with a flat palm against the feasting table in front of the Jarl himself, he drew a knife and sunk it into the wooden table, pinning the parchment in place. The Redguard turned without a word and left. The poster read as follows. Captain of Skyship 'Jazeera' seeks willing crew to track and slay dragons. Death very likely, experienced adventurers only need apply. Limited positions available. Chef and Machinist present, must sign contract upon application. Apply at the Bannered Mare, bring your own swords, arrow and bows. Food will be supplied, payment in gold for every confirmed dragon capture and kill. Must have, change of clothes, personal armor and burial expenses present at the time of application. Signed, Captain Raj Shazir.

(lol I'm Raj, Ominous is Tordin. Raj and the Jazeera are currently on Lake Honrich, which is in the Rift. but I can move him to Falkreath if the group decides to go there.)

Username: Macman253 Name: Captain Raj Shazir Gender: Male Race: Redguard Age: 33 Equipment: His scimitar, Scourge. A knife, throwing knives. Bottle of Firebrand Wine, Alto Wine Bombs. Personality: Roguish, loves stealing from authority figures, hates Thalmor and Dragons. Strengths: Adept at piloting his skyship, expert swordsmen. Extensive knowledge of alchemy and explosives. Weaknesses: Brash, will engage Thalmor and Dragons without thought of his own life. Appearance: History: Raj started his career of thieving on the streets of Stros M'kai, picking pockets kept him fed and his fists kept him alive. When Raj was 13 the Khajiit pirate known as Razir encountered the young redguard, the boy had cut his purse. Razir ordered his crewmen to capture the child and when they inevitably did capture him Razir took the boy in. Raj soon became First Mate aboard the Skyship, Sky-Cat. After several years of piracy around Tamriel, Razir retired and the ship fell to Raj's hands. While on a trading mission to Skyrim Alduin resurfaced, a dragon attacked his ship, it's fire breath sweeping the deck of the Jazeera, killing most his crew. Shazir was able to kill the dragon with a dwemer ballista he had looted and extinguish the flames aboard his ship, it's sails in shambles and leaking air Raj was forced to set the airship down in Lake Honrich outside of Riften. He personally salvaged wood from the ships at the bottom of the lake and coated them in black tar, making them resistant to fire. Using deer hide he was able to patch the sails, with the oil and coal he traded all his loot for he was able to bring the Jazeera into fighting shape but she would never again be able to fly above the clouds or to the tallest peaks. Faction: Thieves Guild (Formerly) Black Hand Pirates (Currently) Other: His Skyship, Jazeera. Capable of being crewed by one but only five are needed. Hardened wood to make it resistant to fire, bares a massive dwarven ballista that is used to snare unexpecting ships, or dragons. Makes no noise during flight, perfect for sneaking up on cities or attacking Dragons.

He has a personal beef with all dragons. One of them wiped out his crew... and that alone is more then enough reasons to refit his ship and hunt each and everyone of them.

Here is a picture of the Jazeera. http://gamer-mods.ru/_ld/9/59098238.jpg She requires Coal to heat the furnaces to warm the air to keep her aloft. But her thruster engines to help her rundown dragons in midair require Dwarven Oil, otherwise her sails and the wind guide her. On her bow is a salvaged dwarven ballista, it is used to latch the ship onto Dragons and launch nets at them to bring them down. The Dragon skeleton on her bow is the very same skeleton of the dragon that charbroiled Shazir's crew. He was able to kill it and salvage his ship so he mounted it's skeleton to its bow.

Tordin left Dragonsreach, he did not care to feast he wanted to see if the forge he once worked was still in use. As he walked the streets and through the crowd of villagers cheering at the defeat of Hevnoraak, his wounds pained him greatly but they were minor, in a few days they would be healed and he would be back to fighting condition. As he entered the square he noticed the Gildergreen tree had nearly died, the last time he had laid eyes upon it, it was flourishing. Tordin sighed and continued on. He climbed the steps to Jorrvaskr and looked upon the mead hall with a slight smile. He remembered when Ysgramor and his Five Hundred Companions fought, in Sovngarde he and Ysgramor often battled one another, the old warrior had taught him countless things and in many ways made his time in Sovngarde more tolerable, despite Tordin's differences with Shor, Ysgramor seemed to possess more wisdom them the belligerent divinity. He climbed the steps to the Skyforge, the place where he forged Sahrot Strun Tu countless centuries ago. The forge he once worked so dutifully when Whiterun was just a simple village based around Jorrvaskr. He knelt down by the still glowing embers and lovingly patted the anvil, imbedded into the ancient metal was the symbol he had carved there in his youth. It was then that he heard the slight shuffling behind him. Tordin whipped around and raised his hammer to meet the assassin but instead of a shadow with a dagger he was met by a spirit in the form of a shrouded woman, she was transparent and when she moved she took vague form. After a long moment he recognized her and dropped to a knee, he bowed his head. "Lady Kyne..." He said with a slight smile. Kynareth smiled and motioned for him to stand. Tordin did so but kept his eyes to the ground. 'Tordin, I come before you now to bring you some advice.' Lady Kyne spoke, Tordin raised an eyebrow but remained quiet. 'I sense that you are conflicted, you dwell too heavily on the past my Thunderer.' She added as she took a step forward and lowered her hood. Her form as a wise old woman seemed to shift into that of a beautiful maiden, she became a solid form and placed a hand on Tordin's shoulder. Tordin finally found his words and spoke. "I am not... adjusting well. The land I left had changed, Alduin rules and I cannot help but feel my death was in vain." Kyne smiled and raised his head with a finger to his chin. 'Tordin, your sacrifice couldn't have been more necessary. You gave your life to give mortal's a greater future.' Kyne replied, Tordin turned away and rubbed the stubble on his chin with his rough, calloused hand. He had to admit she was right, if he did not die then Alduin would have ruled for the last several centuries, he sighed and somewhere inside he let go of what he once was. He was the Thunderer then and now he was just Tordin. He picked up his hammer and turned, Kyne stood there with three black and blue ingots, they were Aetherium ingots. The same ingots he used to make his hammer. 'Perhaps, you could use these... mortal kind needs it's Thunderer again, be the shield... not the hammer.' She spoke as she gave him the ingots. Tordin ran his hand along the smooth and perfect metal. He smiled and realized what he had to do, he looked up to thank Kyne but when he did so she had vanished. Tordin turned back to the forge and unclasped his cloak, he slid the ingots into the melting pots, he stoked the fire with the bellows, the Skyforge was built to build a blade in a single day instead of the vast amounts of time it would take normally. After awhile the aetherium ingots had melted, he poured the molten metal onto the shield mold, it quickly cooled as he dipped it in the ice cold water, steam bellowed and hissed as ice and fire met. He grabbed it with a pair of massive tongs and placed the shield on the anvil, he raised his hammer high and as he brought it down a bolt of lightning struck it. He shaped the shield with hard repetitive strikes, turning the shield between each hit. He felt the centuries of animosity towards Shor and the gods shedding off of him between each strike. After a grueling several hours, daylight began to break across the sky and Tordin was coated in soot from the charcoal and sweat from the exertion, but when he was done he removed the freshly made shield from the once cold water to wash the metal shavings away. The shield itself was carved with a series of intricate carvings, depicting the Worlds Tree, the trunk made of a mortal man and woman embraced with the branches and leaves flowering above them, the roots interwoven into the intricate edge of the shield, the carvings along it's edge depicted the Dragon Wars, from the first arrival of Alduin to his death at the hands of Tordin. "You shall be the Aegis Of Man." He said with a slight smile as he strapped the shield across his back with a strap of leather, he left the Skyforge behind and made for the Keep, the feast would likely be over but he knew the battle had just begun.

(Storm Call is largely Tordin's Shout, for obvious reasons. He focuses more on the combat oriented shouts. But as to the feast, I would readily agree, would be nice.)

( Easily rectified, sorry my client is very busy and I am tired, today is one of the few days I have off.)

Tordin nodded, the healing spell replenished his stores of energy, He hefted up his hammer and took off at a charge, his wounds not healed but merely sealed, soon they will be scars on his flesh. He ignored the pain for the thrill of slaying a dragon filled him to the brim with excitement, killing Dragon Priests and Draugr to him were merely a part of his life's mission, slaying Dovah was his true heart's desire. Tordin followed the crashing noise to find the dragon locked in battle with Edwin. Tordin growled and dropped his hammer. He began to roar as he called with all his might to the storms, lightning began to crack through the sky around the dragon. Then, as if from the gods themselves a massive bolt struck the beast, it cried out in extreme pain and fell to the balcony, charred and smoldering. Tordin fell flat onto his back in exhaustion. "I need some mead..." He said to himself as he slowly and painfully pulled himself up to his feet. With a sudden wave of energy like a kick to the head the dragons soul vaporized it's flesh and entered Tordin's body, leaving only bleached white bones behind. Tordin stumbled back from the rush, it had been many, many years since he had taken a Dragon's Soul. The rush of images and knowledge flashed through his mind, stopping on a wall of Dragon Language, he could read them now, a wall he had sought out once in his life. "Qu Strun Tu" He spoke, a bolt of lightning struck his hammer, charging it with the godly element. Tordin sliced at the air, the heavy hammer felt like it was no more then one of his old wooden practice swords. After a few minutes it died away and his hammer returned to normal. The Dragon's Soul had given him greater command over the storms once again.