Invent a Game Character and home

[Maharg67]

Rules are simple:

 

Can use below as guideline

 

Name of Character

 

Description of Character

 

Name of Home

 

Description of Home

 

Scene or Description of character at home. Can be even a small story, a poem, or other and one can later add more posts to expand on one's character/home.

[Maharg67]

Branden Lee

 

Branden Lee is a Fallout Bard, a member of wandering musicians but one who is well armoured and armed. He has other skills. He likes to travel with the trade caravans, paying his passage with an extra gun and ballads. Being often hungry for entertainment, for distraction from their tough lives, traders will give him basic meals and water. He often has the same arrangement at various settlements. As a bard he not only entertains, he collects music to take back to the Bards' Hall. Brandon Lee is tall, slim, a little angular, has large piercing eyes. His skin is red/brown and his hair, oddly enough, is sharp red. His eyes are blue. The seeming randomness of his features comes from mutagenic influence. He wears leather armour, other leathers, denim jeans and has his horse Snorter. He uses a bango, an guitar, a mouth harmonica and a mouth harp.

 

He does have a home. The semisecret Bards' Hall hidden close to the outskirts of Canterbury Commons. Apart from there being a small general settlement inside the rocky walls of the canyon, there are the underground chambers and other spaces of the Bards' Hall itself. There the Bards live at times, plan trips, teach and learn various skills of which not all are to do with music. They also teach and learn survival, diplomacy and other skills. What started out as just a series of altered cave chambers have become very impressive over the years with good theatres, recording stuidoes and such as big colourful wall murals depicting Bard adventures. There are also three impressive music libraries complete with Prewar technologies and recordings.

 

Scene

 

Brendon stepped carefully along the concrete hallway of the Prewar music school. His shoulderbag already held some sheet music, two holotapes and even a child's flute but he was seeking to gain more on his way out of the building. A radroach moved in the distance, along the hallway, but had no evident interest in getting closer. Earlier he had been forced to shoot down a feral ghoul in self defence. It was something he did well but did not like doing because feral ghouls attacked not out of malice but profound illness. As he moved down the hallway he had the odd sensatio, for a moment, of being surrounded by the feint voices of bustling children, of children learning to play musical instruments, of adults giving instructions or support. Somehow he got the sense that the school had been a warm, friendly place which made the bleakness and danger of the ruins seem somehow all the worse. Then he was stepping into a room with many small skeletal remains and it was scattered with the remains of fine musical instruments.

 

But there was a robot, a protectron, and it turned towards Brendan. But as soon as it did, from the robot came music, came song. It had recorded the last school band even as they died of rad poisoning and other causes. The robot offered no harm. So Brendan took the robot home with him, back to the Bards' Hall.

[shadowmadnezz]

Very cool Maharg :thumbsup: I just booted up Oblivion, started playing it earlier so I decided 2 base mine offa that

 

 

The case of Lord Savitucus Arimanto Slavateus

 

 

"I am Lord Saviticus Arimanto Slavateus the III of County Chorrol. Haven't heard of me? Well where have you been? The back country your entire life? Some, forester scavenging for its next catch of vension? Sulking with those ugly Mud crabs by the Niben Bay? Living out of some cold, dark mine in the Verall mountains, communing with those barbaric Nords.. Ugh. savages.. Or - or better yet... squatting in the dank underbelly of the Imperial City sewers? Feeding off of those smelly rats? Filthy vermin, you should be ashamed of yourself! I mean really now, this is the year of our lord Akatosh, 433! Have some class - some style. Like me for example.

 

I've been living in my fathers estate - Ebonshire Hall for a year now since his late passing. It was.. of course an accident. Thee uhm.. bed posts were lose! He smothered himself in his own towering bed! That oaf- I meaan my poor dear father.. that poor decrepit.. sweet old man, how I do miss him..

 

Who's my father you wonder? Lord Saviticus Bartholim Slavateus the II. He is- I mean.. He was the owner of Slavateus Boarding - Perhaps you've heard of it? The Tavern you've on your way into Chorrol, bordering the Main gate and the Priory. A booming establishment that place. Was quite a success, so he decided to expanded. One in each major city; Cheydinhal, Bruma, Skingrad, Bravil, Leyawiin, Anvil even started preparations to build one in Kvatch. But.. we both know what happened there..

 

So as you can tell I am of wealthy backing. I dress in the finest - and only the finest garments from the Imperial City. I like my wine brewed in Skingrad - Tamika Vintage 399 is extacy to the soul. I live my life, enjoying the finer things. Drinking and partying while my fathers servant - Now MY servant.. Walks-with-out-Sight, or Simmy as we call him, manages the Boarding Houses affairs. The money goes to me, and I don't even have to lift a finger! Now if you'll excuse me I'm entertaining guests later in the evening. If you have any more questions regarding me, my father, my business or this Estate refer them to Simmy. As long as he isn't Busy."

 

Lord Savitucus Arimanto Slavateus The III

 

-----------

 

 

Ebonshire Hall

 

 

Most nights, its quiet at Ebonshire Hall. Aside from the clanging of wine glasses and the pouring of liquor, its mostly a quiet place. The estate was located outside of the Chorrol city walls. Guards were payed extra to keep their eyes on the look out from bandit raiders, and wild animals. But for the most part, the place was especially quiet. The estate was of Chaydinhall design. It was of massive stature, structured by the finest wood, and pale bricks. It had twin tower pillars that pointed into the moon that night like they always did.

 

Years of neglect have left the houses exterior sore to the eyes. Chipped paint, water stains, and a collection of vines and shrubs covered the place. The place had been left alone to the world, after its former proprietor, Lord Saviticus Bartholim's late passing. Chorrol, and a handful of aristocratic sorts mourned his loss. And his hardwork - his business, his home, his wife were passed on to his one and only son, Saviticus Arimanto Slavateus.

 

Alessa Talyn was a beautiful, fair haired woman. She was young, nearing only nineteen years. Her dark blue skin was smooth, elegant, yet quaint to the touch. She was a Dunmer woman, and he, a Colovian man. But their racial differentiation didn't fault their passion, or cause any qualms about their union. The two of them lived in the estate. Alone. Dabbling in gods know not. Delving in a world that only a Dunmer could truly appreciate and understand. The Occult. Deadra Worship. Summoning.

 

Maybe.

 

Simmy thought these things when he approached the house that night. It was raining, and he welcomed the cold shower against this scaly hide. His reptilian lips curled with a chill sensation enjoying it as if he were back home, in Black marsh, or swimming in the ocean. He tried to enjoy it as much as he could before being inside again. Inside Ebonshire Hall. Where at first he welcomed it, enjoyed it even. But now, lately, he began to dread it.

 

He walked up the small stair case that led up to the patio of the house out of the rains cover. Simmy soaked in it a moment, before shaking himself off. He looked at the door, and the surrounding area seeing how tattered and old the place had become. I'm not doing it. Hire a Maid. The Argonian thought. With the wealth Saviticus had acquired he had done just that. Hiring maids. Servants after servants. But they began disappearing. One by one. Week after week a new servant would be hired. Until they stopped applying. Simmy had worked for Savitucus Bartholim for years, and has establish himself above the other servants of the town, so such menial tasks as a house keeping were below him.

 

Simmy smiled again, thinking that as he reached for the door nob. He didn't turn it. Instead remembered the last time he had opened the door without announcing himself. So instead, the argonian removed his claw likehands from the nob. He stood himself in a presentable fashion and made sure he removed his wet boots before knocking on the door. The knock was systematic. Three in all. His signature knock that alerted Savitucus that it was in fact Simmy, and no one else. The Simmy knock. The Argonian liked to call it.

 

Simmy listened. Passed the rain showers that began to rapidly brew in the sky. He listened to see what he could hear beyond the barrier that was the door. He knocked again repeating the same trademark gesture and again heard nothing. He began to reach for the door, disregarding what the young Savitucus may do for not obeying the order. It was getting late. Simmy was tired. And had urgent news to tell the man.

 

 

Simmmy...

 

The spines on the argonians head began to quiver as he heard something. A silent voice. A ghostly whisper calling out his name. His name. Simmy turned around, looking behind him to catch glimpse of what ever specter it could be. Seeing nothing, but the blackness of night. The trees, and off into the distance the Chorrol City wall. Simmy could see the faint light from torches. Torches held by the guards, that were desperately trying to stay lit in the rain. The men weren't close enough to call out to him in a whisper. And even if it were a whisper, it would be of mortal sounding. That of an Imperial, a man of flesh, blood and soul. Not deathly. Low, ghoulish and unknown. Simmy didn't know where or who called out to him. He looked around the area as he.

 

Simmmmy.......

 

"WHAT!" The Argonian cried out like a mad man. His eyes trembled side to side as he waited, desperately for a response. Had his words dispersed the being? Or angered it? He began to reach for his dagger strapped to his side, until he heard the bolted door open up. With his dagger in hand he turned to the door with a troubled stare. Past the doorway he saw the couple. Savitucus Arimanto Slavateus and his bride Alessa Talyn.

 

"What is it Simmy?!" Savitucus asked in a demanding manner. "Have you seen a ghost??"

[myrmaad]

Since I'm in midterms, I decided to post one that I think fits the criteria, that I already wrote before.

 

Shareel liked days like this, a sky dark blue with softly brooding clouds, warm air breezily caressing her face like a moist kiss, and the rain still far to the south. If only she could stay out here, she hated the depths of the ruins, but knew mother would come tug her back into the damp musty safety beneath the walls. She imagined again her father, why hadn't he come for her, why hadn't he taken her to be schooled in the Dunmer ways of her ancestry. Shareel had ventured to speak sometimes with the friendly bandits and necromancers who worshipped in the safety of the ruins, who would sometimes bring her things like a comb for her hair, or fishysticks. They seemed fascinated by her strange appearance and the wings she inherited from her mother. Useless wings! She knew they were a disappointment to mother, ugly duckling Shareel, with wings too weak to fly. She thought again of her father, she had seen the ashlander camps with their charming warm tents, and the soothing chimes that played the song of the wind. Why couldn't he have taken her to live with them? Why didn't he love her?

 

Mother's only dream is for me to be like her. Shareel never bothered to try explain how she felt, her mother was too simple to understand anyway. The only life she was interested in, was the one she knew nesting in feral squalor in the dark safe depths. Shareel dreamed of so much more. Before he left father had taught her to read some of his strange beautiful books. He told the best stories, of gleaming cities, fortune hunters, the Chimer elves, and the Dwarven ones of long ago. He told stories of mighty battles and of the newcomers, the outlanders who brought with them the strange customs from abroad.

 

Skipping along the path near the shore, she made a game of hopping from rock to rock, her wings catching the breeze and softly dropping her to the next, further and higher she hopped and jumped, until a sudden sound startled her and she realized she was quite far from the safety of Ashalmawia, shrouded against the sky in the distance now! Starkly still she stood like a statue.

 

And then the crackle of a heavy step on the brush, and she turned and ran back, back to the safety of the daedra! Fast heavy steps pounded in her ears and she pushed her wings flat and out, flat and out in the rhythm of her skinny legs, using them to push her forward lest they assist her pursuer by catching the wind, slowing her down.

 

She could barely breathe, her heart pounded in her chest, her throat closed as hands closed around it! She opened her mouth to scream but nothing came out --

 

Her eyes flew open, and she started to laugh and cough with relief, why here she was, right here in the seeming safety of this friendly lost tavern.

 

She gave herself a few minutes to allow her heart to stop pounding. Her nerves were still on edge, her wings nervously jittering from her shoulderblades, still aching with the recent fear.

 

Shareel instinctively reached for Shard, her beloved dagger, her friend, she had neglected him since stopping here. He needed repairs, she got out her repair hammer and sharpening stone. She needed to prepare some poisons for him as well. She brushed her hair quickly and tucking Shard into the leather pouch she wore on her side, she left the room.

 

Just as she closed the door a cacophony arose from the great room below. These Nords, she thought, with a raised eyebrow, all they do is eat and drink. She stopped to get some refreshments, and as she did more travelers were introduced around the room. Family. She smiled, a little ruefully as she was made acquaintance of the newcomers. Cheerily the others continued their merriment, and she took her moment to steal away outside.

 

This was a bit north for abundance of Nightshade, but she hoped luck would be on her side. There were lots of morning glories, she'd start with them. And some blackberries over there. Fly Aminata Cap, lots. Milk thistle.. this was turning out to be a lucky day! Each time she'd get a handful of one thing, another was just ahead. Her purse was filling nicely, she smiled. As she continued to gather, she admired the beauty of each plant as she always did, silently offering a little prayer to the gods for each blessing of beauty and life gratefully harvested, remembering that plants were a blessing of safety from harm, and conspirators in the delivery of death to a foe.

 

She worried she had no mortar or pestle so she studied the landscape for suitable rocks. If all else failed she could grind them with her teeth and spit them out to cover her blade. Just then a stately purple caught her eye! Nightshade! Quickly she harvested all she could find, 7 plants!

 

At that moment there was a crackle of a footstep in the brush. Stiffening, and alert, Shareel readied her dagger, but saw nothing. A deer? No, a man, his arrow whistled past but another caught her thigh. The pain blazed through her and turned to white hot anger and she screamed her bloodcurdling rage (this too a gift from mother). A wing-swept leap and she was upon him, sinking Shard into his neck, and then into his heart, his life sighing out of him and filling her as she absorbed his health, their hearts becoming one beating, first his, louder, then softening as hers beat stronger. The gash in her leg was healing already. With a sickening yank, she ripped out the still sunken arrow and shoved it in his eye. She'd better get back.

Edited February 8, 2010 by myrmaad

[shadowmadnezz]

Thx Maharg :thanks: I dunno if imma add to that or jus leave as is, what do u think??

 

Nice story Myrmaad! :) I like Imp ladies

[Maharg67]

Excellent writing, Myrmaad!

 

Do as you feel, Shadowmadnezz. Your writings are welcome.

Edited February 8, 2010 by Maharg67