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Vic Rattlehead
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Heres a post for a Skyrim RP I'm in on another site. I welcome any and all criticism.
Cormac, Falkreath Village of Fenn, Blood Fire Death (Bathory album for those that dont know)
The battle more like a skirmish had ended all too quickly for Cormac. Others may like to paint, farm, tend their garden, or write poetry for therapeutic benefits, he liked driving the blade of his steel long sword into people's chest. Cormac was once asked if he feels anything during bloody battle he replied with "The recoil of their weapons against my steel shield" feeling nothing else. Bodies littered the battlefield some belonging to the Stormcloaks and his comrades, but that was to be expected of war. Grabbing the cloth he kept at his side, Cormac methodically wiped his blade clean of Nord blood. While cleaning his sword, his close set blue eyes locked onto the two Nords that were talking.
While not caring what the two were talking about, the five nine and muscular Cormac strode towards the two, to be within earshot of the Nords. It was during this that he saw the Imperial cavalry as usual, were late for the party. One of the Imperials took lead and exchanged pleasantries, with the younger of the two Nords. Cormac was about to leave, the exchange was of no interest of his. He would get his septims for the bloody work of the day, turning his back on the Nords and Imperial about to walk away. However, upon hearing Markarth Cormac froze his already fair skin became a deathly white. For the first time in twenty five years the Breton was going home, having been born and raised in the Reach.
Taking a swig of his waterskin Cormac turned to face the group, the Imperial now gone with only younger and older Nords there. "Everyone!” he announced “We’ll be setting up camp here. Tomorrow we start for Markarth.” while he wanted to leave sooner, but orders were orders. Like the group of sellswords that took in a boy and that boy leaving as a man, Cormac was to understand he was in mixed company of different races. He didn't know there names and he didn't care to, it wasn’t his job to know their names. “Alright you miserable sods!” he shouted “Come and get your pay!” about bloody time Cormac had thought, he wondered how long it would take for his pay. He almost didn't notice the younger Nord had left for the tavern, how surprising a Nord going to a tavern he had thought.
Almost ripping the small coin pouch from the older Nord's hands, Cormac had left to join the two Nords and Bosmer at the tavern. Finding a seat at the other side of the group, he took off his steel horned helmet reveling his short thick black hair. Placing the helmet down on the table Cormac took his steel bracers off as well, putting them in his helmet before sitting down. Still wearing his steel boots and sleeveless chainmail shirt with a leather cuirass beneath it, Cormac notices a bottle of mead with its contents still full. Taking it to his thin and wide lips he began to guzzle it down, not putting it down until it lay empty. Having grown a tolerance to alcohol Cormac knew it would take more liquid courage, to numb the now open scar of what happened in Markarth.
Cormac, Falkreath Village of Fenn, Blood Fire Death (Bathory album for those that dont know)
The battle more like a skirmish had ended all too quickly for Cormac. Others may like to paint, farm, tend their garden, or write poetry for therapeutic benefits, he liked driving the blade of his steel long sword into people's chest. Cormac was once asked if he feels anything during bloody battle he replied with "The recoil of their weapons against my steel shield" feeling nothing else. Bodies littered the battlefield some belonging to the Stormcloaks and his comrades, but that was to be expected of war. Grabbing the cloth he kept at his side, Cormac methodically wiped his blade clean of Nord blood. While cleaning his sword, his close set blue eyes locked onto the two Nords that were talking.
While not caring what the two were talking about, the five nine and muscular Cormac strode towards the two, to be within earshot of the Nords. It was during this that he saw the Imperial cavalry as usual, were late for the party. One of the Imperials took lead and exchanged pleasantries, with the younger of the two Nords. Cormac was about to leave, the exchange was of no interest of his. He would get his septims for the bloody work of the day, turning his back on the Nords and Imperial about to walk away. However, upon hearing Markarth Cormac froze his already fair skin became a deathly white. For the first time in twenty five years the Breton was going home, having been born and raised in the Reach.
Taking a swig of his waterskin Cormac turned to face the group, the Imperial now gone with only younger and older Nords there. "Everyone!” he announced “We’ll be setting up camp here. Tomorrow we start for Markarth.” while he wanted to leave sooner, but orders were orders. Like the group of sellswords that took in a boy and that boy leaving as a man, Cormac was to understand he was in mixed company of different races. He didn't know there names and he didn't care to, it wasn’t his job to know their names. “Alright you miserable sods!” he shouted “Come and get your pay!” about bloody time Cormac had thought, he wondered how long it would take for his pay. He almost didn't notice the younger Nord had left for the tavern, how surprising a Nord going to a tavern he had thought.
Almost ripping the small coin pouch from the older Nord's hands, Cormac had left to join the two Nords and Bosmer at the tavern. Finding a seat at the other side of the group, he took off his steel horned helmet reveling his short thick black hair. Placing the helmet down on the table Cormac took his steel bracers off as well, putting them in his helmet before sitting down. Still wearing his steel boots and sleeveless chainmail shirt with a leather cuirass beneath it, Cormac notices a bottle of mead with its contents still full. Taking it to his thin and wide lips he began to guzzle it down, not putting it down until it lay empty. Having grown a tolerance to alcohol Cormac knew it would take more liquid courage, to numb the now open scar of what happened in Markarth.