Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-26446054-20170912201340

OOC - Rules, Characters and Discussion It is well known that it is wise to hire strong, angry men to fight, as they will seek fighting more than respect from their highers.

The submission of Skyrim led to a stagnation in the once great Empire. It is too wounded to move forward in taking land for more wealth, yet unable to turn away from watching the Summerset Isles. It is unable to please the thirst of fighters who were prepared to march on rebels and weak groups of those ready to fall to the Imperial boot.

So, forty years after the White-Gold Concordat, the successor to Titus Mede II is but a face. The Elder Council scramble to collectively control the Empire, while individually wishing to gain wealth and power.

When you cannot call upon the honour of men who believe in a cause, you must call upon the masters of those who do not. This appeared to be true when guilds and orders started seeing serious activity, with adventurers and lower class footmen alike signing onto something that would earn them gold.



This is happening outside Cyrodiil. Hammerfell is a land of feuding, independent trade lords, openly buying pirates to prey on each other. High Rock sells mages, the fleeing Orcs seek redemption through mercenary life.

Even the pietous man cannot truly escape this new culture, as chantries allow themselves to be bought should a heretic or daedra need vanquishing.

The sinews of war are gold, and gold is found in good soldiers.

--

The date is 4E 215, and the weather is a bitter banner of clouds off the coast of Leyawiin. Argonians in common clothes announce their presence with jeers about elves, silenced by a gruff yell.

"Talos of Atmora wouldn't trust you pitiful sons-of-whores to run a ship!"

His vessel in question is a sizeable galley, with clear living quarters and large sails. It is fairly insignificant in comparison to some larger ships belonging to successful captains. A white dragon on a black diamond flutters in the wind above.

"You are all recruits. I seriously doubt a competent captain could be whipped out of any of you, so you'll have to do as I order and fight like enraged Daedra when I order. Onto the ship!"

A column constructs itself, as the new crew begins to board, knocking on the firm wood with their chorus of feet.

-

All signs of time are indistinguishable within the murk of the Feed Bag, a popular spectacle for those who cannot gamble on the official Arena- merriment, oral combat, and refreshments.

<p style="font-weight:normal;">In a particular corner, surrounded by flickering candle light, a hooded but not entirely hidden figure sits drinking a pint of ale. He is old, and his cloak patched. He has, however, the expectant face of any figure in his position; a circle avoids him, choosing to pretend his existence is as mythic as that of dragons.

<p style="font-weight:normal;">And as instructed by a recruiter of similar mysterious yet dull disposition, he is to await an even darker figure to approach. <ac_metadata title="Wayward Warriors | In Character"> </ac_metadata>