» Wed Mar 11, 2015 12:02 am Auxiliary: The RP
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Setting
It is mid-summer, the year 4E 172. Cyrodiil is feeling the full effects of the conflict that will come to be called “The Great War”, with many cities already beyond the Empire’s control. Leyawiin was lost the year prior, Bravil early in the spring, and Anvil – the most recent Dominion capture – fell soon after. Only a month ago, the siege of Kvatch was broken, and remains in the Empire’s hands, but it is only a matter of time before it too, along with Skingrad, falls into Dominion hands. All across the Cyrodiilic theatre of war, the Empire’s legions are being felled, slaughtered by the relative flexibility of the Dominion’s armies. Legion victories are few and far between; only the recent breaking of the siege of Kvatch suggests that the Empire is slowly coming to terms with their new opponent and that the playing field is levelling.
But it is not happening fast enough.
In response to these events, the upper echelons of the Legion decide that a new breed of soldier is required, one that can support the standard heavily armoured infantryman. A jack of all trades that can fight on foot or horseback, fulfil the role of line infantry, scout, shock cavalry and anything else in between. A soldier that can effectively counter anything that the Dominion can throw at them. In the end, General Jonna is the one who takes up the initiative to find the resources for the creation of this new soldier, and decides to train them in Skyrim, as High Rock is too far for their needs and Hammerfell and Cyrodiil are too engulfed by the war.
It is agreed that instead of trying to convert existing legionnaires away from the habits of a lifetime that they will start with fresh recruits, allowing them to mould the recruits into a new tactical doctrine and keeping already existing legionnaires in the fight, rather than diverting them when they are needed most. It is also agreed that they will be trained in Whiterun Hold, as it is one of the few places in Skyrim that is ideal to train cavalry and has a variety of different terrains. So it is that the call is made; horses are bought, supplies requisitioned, weapons and armours smithed.
Now, in mid-summer, around a thousand recruits have been found; farmers, stable hands, woodsmen, apprentices, but few of them warriors. A few bring horses of their own, but most have their steeds provided for them. Fewer still bring any weapons or armour, and for the majority that do it is inferior to the chainmail and leather armour and a standard sword or axe and shield they are soon supplied with. Yet, while they appear to be nothing impressive, they are all of them destined for greatness, for within each of them is the potential to be heroes. And so, with the man tasked with training and leading the newly created 1st Auxilary less than a few hours ride away, their training can begin in earnest.
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Premise
“Auxiliary: The RP” will focus on a group of legionnaires that have been drafted into the same unit and follow their journey from fresh, untrained recruits at the start of their training, to the grizzled veterans they will be at the end of the Great War. This RP will span 172-175 of the Fourth Era, so most of the Great War, set in both Cyrodiil and Skyrim, and will feature time skips of up to a couple of months in order to keep the story moving. It will focus on a mix of character interaction and battle sequences. Looking for around eight to twelve members. So, if you’re looking for something that has a little bit of everything, I hope you’ll give it a go.
Rules
Most of these should be obvious by now, but for the sake of propriety, I’ll stick them here anyway.
1) No God-moding or uber characters. I’ll hit this point home later on.
2) No controlling other people’s characters without permission.
3) Romance is completely fine, but keep it tasteful.
4) Listen to the word of the GMs. At this point, it’s me and Captainrex.
5) If for any reason you have to leave the RP let us know. There will be times when motivation leaves you or you hit writer’s block.
6) Most important than all the rest, HAVE FUN. This is why we are here after all.
A Note on Characters
I’ve seen a lot of RP’s in a legion style setting, but they were usually featuring a bunch of grizzled veterans or at the very least, people who were already pretty good at their jobs. For this RP, I want to turn this idea on its head.
The idea is basically, the character you play here doesn’t start off as a hero – as few heroes do – but starts off as the most regular person imaginable. They aren’t a great warrior or a renowned war hero, not at the start. But as they progress through the RP, they will grow with skill and develop in character, they will essentially be heroes in the end, the leads of this story, if you will.
This does limit some of the characters you can create. For example, if you prefer RPing as characters that are badass assassins, this probably isn’t the RP for you. Basically, the more ordinary, fearful and flawed, the better. For examples of character sheets, consult the list below. You don’t have to follow this format exactly, so long as all the details are there. A note on my characters: the first character - Targon - is obviously not the ordinary, untrained character I've spoken of, for obvious reasons. However the second character - Gwen - is an example of what I'm talking about. However, while your characters should be fairly ordinary (at least in terms of martial prowess), that does not mean that they cannot be interesting 
So, I’ve talked long enough, I can’t wait to see what happens and I hope we have a fun time.
Character List
Tom
Character Summary: Targon Longstride (Nord, 38) is a recently promoted Legate in the Imperial Legion, current Thane of Whiterun and Patriarch of Clan Longstride. As with so many of his line, he is a stern and honourable man, loyal to the legion, his home and his family. He has been placed with the duty of training the 1st Auxiliary, getting then ready for combat and then leading them against the Dominion in war. Appearance: Weapons, Attire, Misc: As Patriarch of Clan Longstride, he carries the family ancestral weapon – a giant of a greatsword made of Sky-forged steel – named Sunstrike. However, Targon’s preferred weapon of choice is a longsword of exquisite craft, featuring hints of Nordic and elven design. As a backup, Targon also carries a curved elven dagger – a prize of battle. He owns a strong heavy white warhorse named Praetorian. Skills: Aside from his mundane skills, Targon had the rare privilege of studying under the Greybeards of High Hrothgar for a short time, who kindled his affinity with the Thu’um. As a result, he has access to a full strength “Unrelenting Force” shout, as well as the first words of “Kyne’s Peace” and “Dismay”. Personality: History: Targon was born in 4E 135, the first born son of Stafford Longstride, and the grandson of Thane Aedan Longstride. His younger brothers, Falhof and Bjorn, were born two and five years later respectively. As he grew older, it became apparent that Targon had an aptitude to learn the Voice, and so at the age of fourteen he was sent to High Hrothgar, where the Greybeards agreed to nurture his gift, an honour reserved for very few. In the same year, Thane Aedan passed away, and Stafford Longstride took up the mantle as Thane. However, fate took a twist for the worst in 4E 155 when Stafford Longstride died in battle, defending Whiterun against a bandit uprising. Targon, now aged twenty, was visited by Falhof who beseeched him to return to Whiterun to take up his rightful place as Thane and Patriarch. Targon was counselled by the Greybeards that if he left High Hrothgar, he could never again resume his training. Targon accepted this fate, and left to become Thane of Whiterun. However, he did not remain in Whiterun for very long, and he left to serve in the legion as all the other patriarchs had done before him. With him went Valorin, a Bosmer of thirty eight winters, joining with him and acting as his lieutenant. Valorin had served the Longstrides ever since his own father, Valahil, had died in Thane Aedan’s service the same year as Targon’s birth. The title of Protector of the Hold was passed to Stafford’s Housecarl, Ragnar Barrowblade. Targon rose through the ranks quickly over the next three years of his service. By 4E 158 he was one of the garrison commanders in Falkreath, responsible for a fifth of the hold’s legionnaires. In the same year, he met Freya Riverdane, the seventeen year old shieldmaiden who was daughter to one of Falkreath’s most powerful farm-holders. The two quickly became quite friendly with each other. Meanwhile, Falhof had taken up the mantle of Protector of the Hold in Targon’s absence, while Ragnar retired to a quieter life in Solitude. But as was so often the case, the gods gave with one hand and took away with the other. Two years later, whilst on a hunting trip, Falhof was killed when they camped too close to a Cave Bear’s den. Though Bjorn was able to avenge him by killing the beast, it was too late for Falhof. Targon chose to break the family tradition and had Falhof buried in the Longstride crypt despite not being a patriarch. In his grief, Freya tried to comfort Targon, and their relationship quickly changed into a shaky romance lasting two years until he finally asked for Freya’s hand in marriage in 4E 162. Initially, Freya refused seeing as she was still relatively young (21) and not quite ready to settle down, hoping for many more years of adventure before having any children and being wed. However, in the same year she nearly met her end at the hands of a Draugr while exploring an old Nordic ruin. While she survived the ordeal, the harrowing experience made her re-evaluate her life and put her off adventuring. In the end, she agreed to marry Targon and they are wed later that year. With the birth of his son Jon in 4E 63, Targon resigned from the Legion with the rank of Praefect – only outranked by those carrying the rank of Tribune, Legate or General – and returned to Whiterun to live with his family and take up the mantle of Protector of the Hold. Bjorn having already earned much experience serving among the Jarl’s garrison joins the Legion, eventually attaining the rank of a garrison commander. The next year, Targon witnessed the birth of his second son Ned. By 4E 171 and the outbreak of the Great War, Targon had earned an honourable reputation both in and outside of the legion. So much so that he was recalled by the Legions to fight in Cyrodiilic theatre of war, who needed all the experienced officers they could get. Leaving a heavily pregnant Freya and his two young sons, Targon rejoined the legion with his rank of Praefect and along with Bjorn and Valorin, was stationed in Colovia. Freya would give birth to Targon’s third son, Aedan, no more than a month later. As 4E 172 began and winter ended, the forces of the Dominion – which had halted for the winter after taking Leyawiin and surrounding Bravil – began the task of completely occupying Cyrodiil. After taking Bravil, a second force took Anvil, allowing for direct resupply by sea. The two forces slowly started pushing northwards into Colovia. Targon was stationed with the Ninth legion in the Colovian Highlands. As praefect he was overall fourth in command, standing behind Legate Marius, Tribune Romulus and Tribune Attius. Kvatch was besieged, and the ninth legion was dispatched to lift it at any cost. Hearing of the threat to the north, a large part of the dominion army was sent to meet the Legion army. The Ninth legion set up basic trenches and palisades near the Ayleid ruins of Talwinque and waited for the Dominion forces to arrive. Tribune Attius left with a group of men to scout for Dominion activity further west near County Skingrad to ensure the Ninth wouldn’t be flanked. A few days later, word reached the Ninth of a group of soldiers from Northern county Kvatch that were coming to join the Legion in battle, less than a day away, and so Legate Marius and Tribune Romulus rode out to meet them with their guards. However, the message was false – a trick engineered by the Thalmor, who ambushed the Legate and Tribune. Only one rider escaped the ambush to deliver the news to the remaining officers. With all the highest ranking officers of the Ninth either dead or absent and a Dominion army just hours away, the command of the Ninth fell to Targon. Despite the odds, Targon managed to lead the ninth legion to victory over the Dominion army, simultaneously breaking the siege of Kvatch in the process, as the remaining Dominion forces retreated back to Anvil. It didn’t take long for Targon’s success to reach the brass, and for his valour in the field and for rising to the occasion of leading an entire legion, he was promoted to Legate. For a time, he remained with the ninth in Colovia, but he was recalled to Skyrim by none other than General Jonna herself. As someone who had managed to win one of few victories in the Cyrodiilic theatre of war at that point and a local of Skyrim, he was considered the best candidate to train and lead an entirely new kind of fighting force to fight the Dominion. So it was that Targon finds himself back in his home hold of Whiterun and on route to a muster field with little more than a year to get the 1st Auxiliary ready for combat.
Standing in at a truely massive 6’6”, Targon towers over most men. Though he is not overly broad he still possesses a warrior’s body, even as he starts to exit his prime. His body is covered with scars from a lifetime of violence, each one earned in battle. Targon has relatively long face which features a heavily bearded jaw that matches his lengthy hair, both of brown and flecked with grey. Underneath a strong brow are grey eyes that have seen much death in their time. Overall, he is strong and authoritative looking.
Targon’s armour is the heavy steel plate and mail favoured by officers and heavy assault troops of the Legion, although the gauntlets and greaves are of a more Nordic design. His helmet however is of Imperial design, featuring a tall red horsehair plume that along with his red cloak, act as symbols of his rank. He also has a heavier grey cloak with a fur mantle for colder weather. He wears well-made leathers, furs and tunics when not wearing his armour. He also wears a silver signet ring on his right index finger, while on his left ring finger sits a simple gold band – his wedding ring.
As a Legate, Targon has all the necessary skills to lead men in battle – both at the head and from the rear – as well as composing strategies for when battle is joined. For years, he has trained in the use of heavy armour, bladed weapons of one or two hands and mounted combat. He also has skills in politics and bureaucracy.
An incredibly stern and no-nonsense individual, Targon is renowned for his honour and sense of duty. His temper is also renowned, formidable when roused, but most of the time it is kept in check behind an air of stern disappointment. He is very calm under pressure, and not prone to losing his composure. He always makes his expectations clear to those under his command, and has little sympathy for those who cannot meet them. However, he is also very committed to the lives of those he charged with commanding and protecting, and will do everything in his power to get them home safe. He is brave and honourable to a fault, never shirking from his duty to his men, his family or his home. To the few he counts as friend, he reveals a much softer side, not just the warrior, but the father, the brother, the man. His friendship and trust - once earned - are for life.
The Longstrides have been Thanes in Whiterun since the end of the third era, and long before that they were still one of the greatest noble families in the hold, rivalling the great clans Grey-Mane and Battle-Born. For as long as anyone can remember, they have served both in the Imperial Legion and acted as Protector of the Hold – the man in charge of the military aspects of a Jarl’s realm. Targon is no exception.
Character Summary: Appearance: Weapons, Attire, Misc: Skills: Personality: History: Gwen often dreamed of a life of adventure, though she knew that it was unlikely she would ever have the opportunity to live such a life, resigning herself to the idea of a quiet life, likely not far from the village where she’d been born. Though Gwen was close to all of her siblings, it was with Faolan that she most related to, the pair being similar in humour and temperament. The pair were practically inseparable. This would soon change. Four years her elder, Faolan left when to join the Legion as soon as he was able, and was stationed in Cyrodiil near Leyawiin. And as a result, he was killed in the outbreak of the Great War. The loss of her brother hit Gwendoline hard, close as she was to him, but convinced herself that he died a hero. And so when the opportunity came to honour his memory, she grasped it. Being close to the border of Whiterun, she heard of the muster taking place, and felt duty bound to enlist. Despite her family forbidding it, she took her horse and rode out to join the 1st Auxiliary
Gwendoline Braddach (Breton, 19), affectionately known as “Gwen” is a young Reachwoman, one of many people who have joined the 1st Auxiliary. She has never fought a day in her life, but she has volunteered nonetheless, following in the footsteps of her older brother. Inexperienced, but full of quiet hope, she believes that her freedom is worth fighting for.
Bright green eyes and long jet black hair contrast with pale white skin. She is very slender in build and fairly short at 5’4”. She isn’t overwhelmingly beautiful, people would more likely describe her as cute or pretty. Her hands are already fairly calloused from a life of farming. She isn’t frail but clearly not overly strong, but still fairly fit. As is tradition among many Reachfolk, she has tattoos; thorned vines of blue snake up her back, over her shoulders and then to her upper chest, in a symmetrical pattern. She has a single scar on her left hip from when she took a fall from her horse.
Having been up until now a simple farmer, Gwen is unused to the chain hauberk and leather splint armour she has recently been given upon recruitment, nor the simple broadsword, dagger and round shield. She is marginally better with her hunting bow and arrows. She owns some plain tunics, one of legion red, as well as sturdy boots. She often wears a simple pendant around her neck of smooth mammoth ivory; a gift from her brother. She owns a simple bay horse, Epona.
Gwendoline has next to no combat experience, although she is able to ride a horse fairly well. Most of her skills have laid in farming and to some extent hunting. However, long hours on the plough have made her somewhat used to manual labour and physical exertion, though not to the extent that she will have to become used to in the near future. Aside from this, she has some talent in singing and storytelling, and isn't too bad at capturing people's likenesses with charcoal and parchment.
Gwen is a usually quiet individual, but this changes in the face of perceived injustice. She is firm believer of fairness and sharing the load, and is quick to anger when someone doesn’t pull their weight. While not exactly an optimist, she does try to remain positive. She is someone who is utterly loyal and dutiful, though not one to blindly follow orders without consulting her moral compass. She has a deep love for her family, and ultimately it is this love for her family that sees her signing up to join the 1st Auxiliary.
Gwendoline was born to a pair of farmers, the second eldest child after her brother, Faolan. Her family was always at odds with someone; because their clan didn’t push for Reach Independence as so many of their kinsmen did, they were often ostracised by certain clans. And because they were somewhat successful Reachfolk, they were regarded with suspicion by the local Nords. However, seeing as they lived on the borders of the Reach, they were not as heavily embroiled with the racial turmoil occurring in Markarth.
The Epic Scroll 97
Summary: Gulag-Gro-Bugaamahk (A 17 year old male Orsimer) is young orc who had left his stronghold, little known and isolated, just to make a name for himself for the glory of Malacath. He would find this glory in the Imperial Legion. But while most Orcs that joined the legion (And there are many that do.) ends up as mere shock troopers, Gulag is different. While strong in his own right, he is deemed weak to the standards of his stronghold yet still has great ferocity and potential as a warrior. Being seen as useless as a shock trooper, he would then be sent to the First Auxiliary Legion, where his physical traits and skills could be more suited and appreciated.
Appearence: Gulag, from the perspective of non orcs, is not a pleasant thing to look at. While barely fighting anyone other than other orcs, those same orcs already gave him a good deal of scars. The most notable is a huge slash across his face, that cut was close to cutting his left eye out. His skin is dark green, His eyes seemingly black. And his teeth, like his fellow kind, his comparable to the husk of a boar. And hair, other than a dark black goatee, is seen on his body. And the harsh life of an stronghold-orc gives him a well fit body. Therefore, he is strong and even athletic. For otherwise, he would be dead as a child. However, he stands at 5'10. Which is short for his race.
Equipment: Compared to the other recruits, he is well supplied. Along with the food, money, and general miscellaneous items he may or may not have forcibly taken from others, he wears a fur armor from the hides of a bear. And is equipped with a orcish sword. ugly and efficient in all its glory.
Skills: To be sent to the First Auxiliary, Gulag had to have a little knowledge of many different skills, though not a master at neither. His brief time between leaving his Stronghold to joining the Legion he had learned to hunt and stalk. And his time growing up he had to fight other orcs, both lethal and non lethal. And so he does have experience at combat. Of course, he has shows no potential in magic.
Personality: As you can expect an orc that grew up in a stronghold and worships Malacath, Gulag has been hardened by his lifestyle. And his general mistreatment and resentment from his father has made him extremely bitter. Combine this you have an orc with a very hot temper and eager to show himself, to both Malacath, and other beings, that he is strong and worthy. Also noted, he knew little of the common tongue when he left his home. And while he learned much of it during his time away form home, he is still not a fluent speaker.
History: Gulag-Gro-Bugaamahk grew in a Stronghold known as Bugaamahk. His father was the chieftain, as is all males in his tribe. Few were strong enough to survive the conditions of his home. And those who did have not yet impress Malacath. While Gulag would be seen as capable to most, his size was seen as a liability. And so he was the odd man out most of his life. Even though he could stand up by himself. In summary, he was barely tolerated by his people. He would be exiled at the age of 14, but by his own choice.
For three years, he traveled across Skyrim. Living out in the wilderness of Skyrim, he hunted and fought much of the fauna. Trying to prove himself to Malacath, is not his father, that he is worthy. Soon animals would not be enough. He needed to fight people of his own level or even better. While he could become a bandit and pillage traveling merchants or even raid villages in the hope of finding someone worthy enough to fight him, there were better choices. He has heard of a great war in the far away land of Cyrodiil. And the Imperial Legion have recruiting posts in the nearby city of Whiterun. To fight war would be a great honor. He enlisted the legion for the hopes of glory for Malacath, glory of combat. And most of all, to spite his father and all those in his former home.
AyumiFan
Character Summary: Dum (Nord/?, barely 16 years old) is a young lad hailing from a small farming community in the mountains of Whiterun Hold. This is his first time ever leaving home, where he was raised and treated as the village simpleton. His name (pronounced like the word ‘dumb’) is just one of many cruel gifts from his mother.
Appearance: Dum is a very frail and miserable looking young man. His eyes are a steely gray, but most people do not notice as Dum tends to avoid looking anyone in the eyes. While not unnaturally short, Dum is shorter than most boys of his age due to malnourishment during his upbringing. He is skinny and while he worked all day long at the farm he never developed any large muscles, this too thanks to the lack of food.
Dum's hair is chestnut brown. It is filthy and reaches to just past his ears. It is cut quite carelessly, adding to his overall miserable visage. His left ear has a half-inch notch cut out of it, possibly from an accident while getting his hair cut.
He wears a pair of old brown linen trousers, patched and repaired more often than Dum can remember. They reach down to a few inches below his kneecaps, where they are beginning to fray at the edges. His torso is drowning in a long sleeved gray tunic. He wears a simple sheepskin over the tunic along with a plain leather belt. In rainy weather he wears a simple olive cowl. Dum does not wear shoes. His body is covered in scars, some faded and barely visible and some barely healed. These scars are mostly hidden underneath his clothes so they are not easily noticeable.
Weapons, attire, misc: Dum carries an old potato sack containing all of his belongings. He is bringing with him a pair of poorly knitted socks to wear to bed, an old blanket, a small ball of yarn, an old knife in a simple leather sheath with a loop to hang on the belt, and another smaller bag of trinkets that he has collected.
Skills: Dum grew up on a large and successful farm that kept sheep and horses, along with growing an assortment of crops. He is a natural at handling livestock and caring for them, but he was never allowed to ride a horse. He can repair leaky roofs, put up fences, tend crops and generally all kinds of things a farm boy should know. Dum does not have any fighting skills at all, but he is a very fast runner and thanks to his small frame he finds it easy to slip away and hide from people.
Personality: Dum is a nervous and skittish young boy. He keeps his head down and his shoulders slumped as if he tries to take up as little space as possible. He dislikes looking people in the eyes and will do his best not to hold anyone's gaze unless specifically ordered to. When he walks he will step aside to let people walk by unhindered. His vocabulary and ability to speak is very underdeveloped for someone his age.
History: Dum’s unfortunate life came to be in a little farming community in the mountains near North Brittleshin Pass in the south of Whiterun Hold. One day as the master of the farm was off on a long journey selling his product in the city of Whiterun his wife took a travelling man into her marital bed as she often did when the opportunity presented itself. When her husband returned and he discovered she was with child she desperately pleaded that the traveler had forced himself upon her before fleeing and she was too ashamed to admit it. Her husband chose to forgive her but never believed her story. And so later in the year a baby boy was born. His father hated the child because it was not of his blood. Its mother hated it because she got caught.
From day one Dum was treated like an animal. He had many brothers and sisters but they all kept their distance. He would have his own little cot in the barn where he slept alongside the livestock. He was never seen as a member of the family and the rest of the community were told to not interact with him. They were led to believe that while he may have mastered the common tongue his mental state was no greater than the sheep he shared a roof with. The truth was that Dum was a perfectly healthy child, but his parents purposely refused him the basic human skills like reading and social interaction. Perhaps they believed that by taking out their anger on Dum they could salvage whatever was left of their crumbling marriage.
Dum’s father saw the Legion’s recruiting as a godsend. He brought Dum along on his next trip bringing goods to Whiterun, taking a detour to drop him off near the training grounds and be rid of the boy for good.
Lebiro
Character Summary: Jesan Valus (Colovian Imperial, 19) grew up as a servant to a Skingrad noble. Showing a little promise as a healer’s assistant, and with a sense of grandiose responsibility, he departed for Whiterun to join the 1st Auxiliary.
Appearance: Slim and lanky, but with a definite sense of Colovian swarthiness and distinction to his angled face, with his chest puffed out he looks quite handsome in the corner of a room. He keeps his dark hair swept back behind his ears in what he considers to be a very elegant fashion – it has yet to cross his mind that the Auxiliaries might demand a proper haircut.
Weapons, Attire, Misc.: Jesan’s erstwhile employer granted him a cheap, sturdy blade as a leaving gift and blessing. He hasn’t a clue what do with it, unfortunately, but he is very proud of the craftsmanship. The leather and mail thrown on his back by the Auxiliaries is less appealing to him, shabby and functional as it is. When unarmoured he dresses like a house servant, in simple but tidy clothes – waistcoats and felt - and is a great fan of neatness and proper dress. His possessions are few but he is very proud of them – a few nice tomes, a physician’s notebook, and his father’s wooden pipe.
Skills: Widely noted in his home village as “a sharp lad”, Jesan is well-read for a servant, and prides himself on his grasp of history, literature, and the theoretical arcane. Household work of all kinds comes easily to him, though as a boy he was no more than a helping hand in most jobs. His particular responsibility was with His Lordship’s physician. The sickly old lord and his bustling little manor kept the old healer busy, and Jesan was trained as his assistant in a full range of basic skills. Complemented by a handful of restoration spells, Jesan can bleed and suture, bind and set with the best of them. His talents await testing on the battlefield.
Personality: Jesan is smart, quick-witted, and caring. He takes pleasure in seeing to the needs of others or, better still, of a great system, and goes about his work with a combination of intellectual and emotional investment. He is no saint, however. His several fine qualities are tempered by a rather irritating belief in his own abilities and his own grasp of propriety. It has never occurred to him that he might fail in anything, or that the world might ever prove too big.
History: Jesan was born in a wine-producing village in the West Weald. His family were particular favourites of the local landholder, who was happy to employ the young boy in his manor, though the small household was full almost to capacity. He found particular employment as the physician’s assistant, a job that would have been quite unnecessary had the old physician himself not had such shaky hands. The boy found the work stimulating and rewarding, and took to it very quickly. By the outbreak of the Great War, he was already convinced he had a role to play as a fine young healer. His Lordship was sorry to lose the boy, and to entrust his hunting accidents to the old man. But what are a few wonky stitches after all? The fine young Valus lad was going to win Cyrodiil the war!
josephb94
Appearance:
Fendryn stands around 6 foot with un-kept charcoal black hair that comes to his neck. The shade of his skin is dark blue. His nose is larger than average Dunmers, which is bent from the few times he’s broken it, but he is still good looking for a Dunmer. He has red eyes like all Dunmers. Fendryn has ten black gems pierced through his left ear in a row, for no other reason than he likes the look of them, they don't do anything. He is physically fit and well-toned from doing manual labour from a young age.
Weapons, attire, misc:
Fendryn has a little more items than some of the recruits, but they aren’t really effective for a large scale battle. He has a hatchet style axe and a detailed steel short sword that are tucked into his belt. Iron arrows can be seen coming out of his massive olive green hooded cloak at the back of his right shoulder. He always keeps a hold of his hunting bow. Fendryn only wears a plain brown shirt and pants. His black boots are close to falling apart and covered in mud. His father gave him 20 gold pieces before he left his village.
Skills:
Fendryn is naturally gifted with the bow, learning this from when he used to go hunting with a few of his friends. His father trained him a little with most close combat weapons, but he usually picked a short sword and a small axe, it might not be what he’s best with, but Fendryn just thought heroes in story books would use weapons like that. He loves to read and would like to spend more time writing stories, really wanting to write stories about the deeds he’ll end up doing in his life. He’s never rode a horse in his life. Fendryn has been building houses since he a young age.
Personality:
Fendryn day dreams a lot. He spends most of his time thinking about massive battles were he’s the hero saving everyone from some evil villain. Apart from that he’s just a very sarcastic average male, he ends up becoming very loud and confident once he’s drunk, but that’s like most people, and it doesn’t take much for him to get drunk. He isn’t as serious and isn’t bothered about other races as most other Dunmer’s are but he takes honour and loyalty very seriously, especially his own families honour.
History:
Fendryn has never really done anything with the 20 years he’s been alive. He’s lived in a little village in Skyrim, just outside of Riften all of his life. Four families who fled from Mournhold with nothing, shortly before the sack of it including Fendryns parents, set up a little village there next to a lake. He was born a year later. They mainly earned their money to live off by fishing and selling it in Riften.
He has two sisters, one older and one younger, there is ten years difference between both his sisters. His Father, Dralas, spent a lot of time with him in his life being his only boy. He used to train him in combat, showed him how to fish and build houses. A little in crafting weapons and armour, when they went into Riften to see the blacksmith, who Dralas was good friends with, admiring his craftsmanship. When they went out night fishing together, Dralas used to tell Fendryn of his ancestors and how the name Omaren was well known throughout Mournhold from the great deeds his family had done ones who’d been famous warriors, architects, craftsmen, writers and mages. This is when Fendryn really started to fantasize about doing something great with his life, sat listening about his ancestors as a child. He wanted to become a great soldier who people made songs up about his life and to bring glory and honour to his house. His mother on the other hand, taught him how to read and write. Fendryn made his intentions clear to his parents since he was a child, that one day he would join the army, which disappointed his mother who was against war and violence and wanted Fendryn to stay in the village and have a peaceful life.
One day when in Riften he saw a poster advertising the 1st Auxiliary and told his family and friends about joining the army, there were mixed reactions. Two weeks later when he was leaving for Whiterun his father gave him a short sword, which had been specially crafted by the blacksmith in Riften and had a tribal pattern chiseled into it, it had a green leather strap (green being Fendryn’s favourite colour). Dralas had been saving up some money for a while to pay for a sword for Fendryn.
Sch
Appearance: Tall and willowy, Alessia looks like her thin, yellow body is supported by birds’ bones. She has soft brown hair past her shoulders, which she usually just ties behind her head. She has wide, amber eyes above high, rounded cheek bones, thin brows and very white, animal-like teeth. Her ears are clipped short, like human ears. She occasionally shows dark circles under her eyes, if she has been staying up late reading. She cut part of her left index finger off when she was younger, slicing a leek, and it hasn't grown back all the way.
Equipment: A few modest rings with various simple enchantments (one to help her recover from fatigue, one to help her heal small wounds, and one to partially blind would-be attackers). A simple green and white frock. An amulet of Mara. A few cheap soul gems. She had a staff, but left it in Elinhir.
Skills: Able to sweep efficiently. Can carry a tune, play the flute, lute or drums. Shows an affinity for magic, especially coaxing a little extra out of enchanted items, but only knows what she has read in books. Can cook well and hike for long periods of time (as long as she doesn't have to carry anything!). Is generally nimble and acrobatic, if a little frail and occasionally careless. Capable with a staff, as far as sparring goes. Totally incapable with heavy weapons and armour.
Personality: Alessia is somewhat aloof, carefree and naive. She is not shy, but does not like to argue. Because of her rootless upbringing she is relatively detached, but not in an ironic or cold way. She is willing to give anything a chance, and tries to view things in a positive light. She is kind and humble, but also meek and passive. She is unsure about her life in general, and prefers to avoid conflict.
History: Alessia’s parents were members of The Beautiful, an iconoclastic faction on Summerset that denounced the royalty and welcomed integration with Imperial society. They were not tolerated when the Thalmor took over, so they fled to Valenwood, and then Anvil once Valenwood was taken over. Alessia was born somewhere between Anvil and Kvatch while her parents were fleeing Thalmor agents, who at the time were trying to assassinate whatever refugees they could locate. One series of murders after another saw her parents moving them across the southern coast of Hammerfell and finally ending up in Elinhir, near the Skyrim border, where they at last felt safe from revenge. Alessia was largely unaware of the reasons for moving.
By the time war broke out, Alessia’s parents had gained ownership of a small inn. She would entertain guests with her voice or an instrument, sometimes surprising visiting Nords with her very human repertoire. She also cooked and cleaned. In her spare time, she would sometimes spar with the Redguards and Imperials her age, or, most of the time, practice music by herself.
The family clipped their ears to show their allegiance to the Empire and to decrease their chances of being ostracised (or worse). They raised her to have an almost secular appreciation for the diplomacy inherent in the Imperial religion. She is not very pious but, like her parents, she is at least devoted to the ideals of Mara, and believes that peace can be achieved through compromise.
When her parents heard of the recruitment calls for the 1st Auxiliary, they signed her up immediately. She agreed to go because not agreeing would have made things difficult.
Schmuty Buncis
Appearance: Standing at a height of 5’6” with a slender build, she has little in the way of muscle. Her hair is thick and dark – something she hates. As a result, she likes to keep it in a ponytail. She has balanced features, and looks the average girl. Perhaps her most distinguishing feature is that she has hazel eyes. As with most Imperials, Ida has a swarthy complexion.
Equipment: Dark green trousers and a simple beige tunic, with a fur coat thrown over top. The most ‘expensive’ thing on her body are her leather boots.
Skills: Numbers, figures, equations and coin always made sense to her. Just as well, she enjoys dealing with them. Coming from merchants, she is used to handling such things, as well as appealing to (potential) customers. Her time with the Auxiliary will be the first time she’s holding a weapon, let alone using one.
Personality: Slow to trust and slow to call a person ‘friend’, Ida can appear resistant and distant. Yet, on the exterior she remains polite, if even courteous to others. However, once she trusts an individual, and calls them friend, she means it, and intends to keep it that way. Comfortable living in a hierarchy, she is obedient in the face of authority. Quick to anger, but also quick to forgive unless she has reasons not to, Ida has little patience and does not like making people wait, or waiting for others. She is a superficial joker when dealing with stressful situations. At times, she will develop the odd habit of counting to deal with heavy situations.
History: The youngest of two children, Ida was born to merchants, Janus and Estella. She has only one sibling, an older brother, Agrippa ten years her senior. Although he was set to take over the family business, Agrippa decided to join the city watch at 16, something he felt suited him better. Naturally, Ida would have then taken over the family business in place of Agrippa, when she was older. After all, it seemed that sort of life would fit with her. Ida lived a relatively quiet and sheltered life in Leyawiin, and often helped her parents in the shop.
The age-gap between her and Agrippa meant they weren’t particularly close, as they didn’t grow up together. However, this didn’t mean they never got along. Instead of spending time with her brother, she spent them with her friends and cousins, sometimes leaving the city walls to explore.
By the time she was 17, the war broke out. The Voudantas family stayed in Leyawiin partly hoping that it would be over soon, and not wanting to abandon Agrippa (despite his protests against their decision) who was unable to leave as he was part of the watch. However, shortly before Leyawiin fell, Ida’s parents gathered just enough money to get one person out of the city. Choosing their own daughter, they paid a man who (quietly) claimed he could do the job, and get her to safety. The man aided her escape and one other boy her age, named Jason.
When they were well away from Leyawiin, Jason, who had family in Bruma, offered her board to which she agreed. She lived with Jason and his cousins for many months, cooking, cleaning and helping where she could out of immense gratitude. Due to the ongoing war, both Jason and Ida never knew what happened to their parents and siblings back in Leyawiin. When she heard of the Legion recruiting for the 1st Auxiliary, Ida was quietly desperate to join, but a part of her was afraid after all Jason’s family had done for her. But it seemed he had the same idea, and the pair of them enlisted together. Ida sees her reason and motivation of joining the Legion as one out of anger, perhaps even revenge. However, beneath these reasons, she hopes to see her family again – or at least, have some form of closure as to their status.
NobleArchangel
Appearance: Akamon stands at 5'11'' supported by a sturdy athletic build normal for most Redguards. With a strong jaw, pronounced and high set cheekbones, and dazzling silver eyes, Akamon catches eye of most females. Akamon sports a finely trimmed goatee and thick, luscious dreadlocks pulled back and tied in a thick ponytail. Finally Akamon has a gold earring on his left ear.
Equipment: Akamon wears dark blue silk and silver trimmed trousers and shirt, with gold trimmed shoes. Has a pouch of 200 gold and his father's silver longsword. Upon recruitment, Akamon received the legion's medium armor, a chainmail tunic under a leather cuirass embroided with the Legion's red cloth. Also sporting leather gauntlets and boots, with a Legion medium shield.
Skills: Even though a Redguard, Akamon was never really interested in learning warrior skills. Despite this, he does have some form of sword training, but not enough to make him a formidable opponent. Akamon spent most of his time at house parties hosted by his father and spending time with friends at local high end taverns and bars. Through these experiences, Akamon is known to have a silver tongue. He is very adept at persuasion and coercing, especially with the ladies. He also learned a bit of Alchemy from one of his father's servants, a Bosmer woman named Elenya.
Personality: Akamon is very flamboyant and outgoing. He always has a way to make people laugh and have a good time. Since he is a noble, Akamon loves anything that is of high quality, whether it be drinks, food or women. He is also somewhat of a womanizer, though not necessarily in the negative definition, he just loves the company of women. Being a noble and growing up with the best education his father could afford, Akamon looks down on some of the races who are not known for their intelligence, especially Nords and Orcs.
History: Akamon Leki was born into the house of statesman and well respected member of the Crowns, Daron Leki. Growing up in the life of privilege, Akamon took everything he had for granted, the clothes on his back, the food he ate, his father's money he spent, and the friends he hung out with. When Akamon was 12 years of age, Daron hired a well respected Ra'gada warrior to his son the way of the sword. Akamon halfheartedly agreed to be trained, but didn't really put much effort into it. Akamon thought that since he was a noble, he would have no use or a need for the warrior skills taught to him.
Through much of his teenage years, Akamon decided to neglect his training in favor of hanging out with his friends who were also children of wealthy statesmen and Crowns. He would spend his time after his schooling, at the local bar taverns, and would would listen to bard tales of epic Yokudan warriors especially the First Era Ansei or Sword Saints. While at the taverns he would usually been seen around a group of young barmaids and wenches, flaunting his father's wealth lavishly.
Back at his father's estate up in the Noble quarter of Sentinel, Daron Leki would host lavish parties, inviting all of the notable politicians and statesmen of Hammerfell. While at these parties, Akamon would disgrace his father by flirting with the other Noble's wives. Daron grew increasingly angered over the course of his sons teenage years. The boy did nothing to contribute to the Leki household and further embarrassed and disgraced his father's good name.
Finally gave enough Doran thought of a way to teach his son a lesson. With hostilities between the Empire and Aldmeri Dominion escalating, Legion recruiters were always looking for new recruits. Then his father heard about the 1st Auxiliary , and they were hiring inexperienced peoples. Seeing this as an opportunity, Doran signed his son up and gave his son his silver longsword and gold for his journey to the training grounds, hoping that through theses experiences, Akamon might become a formidable warrior and bring his family honor.
Fiore1300
Appearance: An able and young Nordic man, Torbar has disheveled blonde hair and fierce, hazel eyes. At 17 years of age, he stands at about 5'10'' (1.8m) tall with a heavily freckled complexion over his otherwise fair skin. He's fairly sinewy and lean, with calloused hands and feet and semi-permanent scowl etched across his face. Missing a few toes due to frostbite.
Equipment: Arriving with little but the itchy woolen clothes on his back, he enthusiastically takes up the legionary equipment assigned to him of a leather cuirass and pauldrons atop a chainmail tunic and linen undergarments. He was also given a pair of standard issue legionary leather boots, given that he didn't have any shoes, as well as a standard issue legionary short sword.
Skills: Torbar doesn't have much in the way of skills that might be useful for service in the Legion. He has a good grasp of sailors knots and is decent at fishing with a rod and line. He's can brawl with the toughest Nordic and Argonian dock boys of his age, but doesn't possess any particular finesse. Torbar is also fairly good at climbing across rigging and is an excellent swimmer. He also assumes the mantle of leadership quite naturally. Maybe too naturally.
Personality: Hot-headed, aggressive, and sometimes cruel, Torbar shows little compassion to his peers and expects none in return. Life for the young Nord has often felt as one long continuous struggle, and he isn't about to give up fighting for the lot in life that he thinks he deserves. Torbar sees everything as a strict pecking order, and his interaction with others is very much based on whether he judges them to be his superior, his inferior, or his equal. However, this fierce personality belies Torbar's own deep insecurities and fears about his place in the world.
History: Born 4E 155 on the twenty-fourth of Last Seed to a young Nordic girl and a transient sailor, Torbar never met his father to his own knowledge. Raised by a mother who didn't have a lot of time or money to spend on him, his memories range from beatings from his mother to scrounging around the docks looking for work. Eventually, as he got older, he spent a lot of time roaming with various Nordic boy gangs down at the docks, eventually leading his own group of boys after some of the older boys left to fight in the war or serve on sea-going vessels. Eventually, as Torbar came of age, he too left to join the war effort and serve as a soldier. His tired mother seeing him off with a mug of Nordic mead and a half-septim for his journey to Whiterun Hold.
Captainrex
Appearance: Being quite tall for a Bosmer, Valorin is 5’ 8”. However he is built like most Bosmer, slim and wiry. He has long brown hair, and has adopted a Nordic braid representing the friendship he has with Targon. He has brown eyes and they are often full of interest and truly show off his age.
Weapons, Attire, Misc.: Valorin wears the studded leather and chain armour of a legionary. He wears a green cloak with a silver clasp in the shape of a leaf (the sigil of the Greenleaf family). He carries into battle with him an elven longbow (gifted to him from his father), a pair of elven daggers and a steel longsword. He also has a locket with his wife’s picture inside. He rides into battle upon a grey mare, called Mischa, one of his oldest and dearest friends.
Skills: Like so many of his kind Valorin is skilled with the bow; he also can handle himself in the melee, though the bow is his best weapon. He is a natural hunter and can easily track the most elusive of prey. He is also a great horseman, and knows how to calm most distressed animals.
Personality: Valorin is a quiet person, only amongst Targon and Bjorn, does he speak at any great length. He prefers to keep his own council and is often seen wandering the walls of Whiterun, often in sadness as he goes to war against his own kin. But to those who he cares for he is fiercely loyal and can be counted upon in a tough situation.
History: Valorin was born in 4E 117. His father, Valahil, escaped from the Dominion in 78, eventually finding himself in Whiterun. There he came into the service of Thane Jon Longstride, followed by his son Erik, and then his son Aedan afterwards. Valahil served loyally for fifty-seven years before dying in battle defending his Thane in 135. Valorin was only eighteen but he took up his father’s role as the Thane’s Second.
Serving under Thane Aedan and then his son Stafford, the young Bosmer had ample time to hone his skills as a warrior. However, even his skills weren’t enough to prevent the death of his liege. In the year 155 Thane Stafford fell in battle against staggering odds, resulting in his eldest son – Targon – returning to take up the mantle of Thane. However, it was not long before he left to join the Legion. Out of duty – and partially his own peace of mind - Valorin joined as well to keep an eye on his latest charge.
While it was Targon who was mostly in the spotlight during these early years, Valorin’s duty and service did not go unnoticed, and he too found himself rising in the ranks along with his liege lord; when he resigned in 163, he held the rank of Quaestor. On multiple occasions, Valorin would give wise counsel to Targon, keeping his more volatile side in check, and the two quickly grew to be fast friends, a bond further cemented on the battlefield.
While dealing with a large bandit hideout in 159, Valorin met a young Bosmer surgeon named Lialya, tending to the wounded legionnaires following the assault. The two became quite close to each other in the following years, and the pair eventually wed in 160. Much to the chagrin of his superiors, Lialya lived with Valorin on base and followed him everywhere during his deployment. However, attitudes quickly changed within less than a month, and Valorin found that their situation was now being politely ignored (a turn of events that Targon – even to this very day – still insists he had nothing to do with).
While the two were happily married in that time it was until the autumn of 163 that they were given a son. Having since left the Legion when Targon did, Valorin was now preparing himself for the idea of raising a child. However, the gods proved fickle that day. Lialya gave her life in order to birth the child, something that broke Valorin’s heart and changed him forever, becoming more distant and solitary. In keeping with his wife’s wishes, he named the child Vanion.
The next few years saw him quietly serving the Longstride Household until 171 with the beginning of the Great War. Valorin reenlisted, once again serving alongside his lord and friend, Targon Longstride. They are stationed in Colovia with the Ninth Legion. A year later would see them as heroes, as Targon led the Ninth to victory, breaking the Siege of Kvatch. For his own efforts, Valorin was promoted to the rank of Commander. Now, Targon has called back to his home hold of Whiterun in order to train the First Auxiliary – an army composed of a new kind of legion soldier. Valorin of course follows as he ever does, although at this stage he is more strongly motivated by friendship rather than duty.
Mazeltoph
Appearance: Jasava stands at 5’ 8” and has a very lanky appearance. His whole body reeks of malnourishment, from his near toothpick arms to his skinny legs. A few small scars dot his back, but are nearly invisible through his fur. His face is soft, like a new born kittens, but it always carries a look of tiredness, as if he never had a full night’s rest. Sunken eyes and an abnormally light colored nose scar what would be an otherwise adorable face. His fur is a brown, with patches of lighter red fur in small circles all around his body. Most of it is on his chest, stomach, and inner thighs, so it is rarely seen. There is one patch behind his left ear though.
His clothes are all too small for him, leaving tufts of fur poking out of them. He constantly battles this, trying to tuck them back under his garments. He was raised that openly displaying body fur was rude.
Weapons, Attire, Misc: Jasava carries no weapons, and he carries nothing on him (usually). He has no keepsakes to speak of, all his goods temporary things that disappeared quickly. All he has are a few pairs of clothes. Small tweed jacks and worn breeches, a pair of decent leather hunting boots. These have many holes on them, some have been obviously sewn over, but many remain. When he joins the legion, he does have a small pouch of moonsugar tucked inside his pants.
Skills: Jasava simply has no real skills. He’s bartered a few times, but couldn’t sell anything better then the next Khajiit. He can sprint for short periods but will be left gasping and it will take him a few minutes to recuperate from that thirty second sprint. He forgets common courtesies often and speaks with a stutter if put in uncomfortable environments. He’s never been in a true battle, just small scuffles, and besides his claws he’s never used a weapon. He does have an able mind, but it’s never had the chance to grow, and is therefore weak. Jasava is however multilingual, knowing common as his first language and enough of Ta’agra to sound coherent.
Personality: Jasava isn’t a shy person, but he’s grown to be distrustful of complete strangers. Because of this he might come off as an introvert. If you can get him started he’ll talk anyone up though, oblivious to if it’s appropriate or not. He laughs easily (though whether or not he was actually amused is a 50/50 chance) and rarely gets serious about something. Not because he doesn’t think there’s any reason to be serious, but because the gravity of situations just flies right over him.
He’s often self-aware though, and constantly thinks others who he values are looking down on him. Judging him constantly and mercilessly. He’ll do things just to see if they approve, and try and hide that which he finds shameful about himself.
History: Jasava was born in the Niben valley under the Atronach sign. He traveled around with the Khajiit caravan he was born into, just another kitten in a litter of twelve. Near all were very rowdy as they traveled, causing mischief and annoying more than one town guard every time they entered a city so their parents could sell their wares. Jasava was by no means the leader of the group, just another one of eleven (the last kitten was a shy child, who just read for most of the time).
They journeyed north, never getting to close to the border of Morrowind. "That is bad land my cubs; do not go there." The parents would say. Jasava saw the volcanoes from a distance, and nothing intrigued him or scared him more. Dreams of falling ash, burnt fur, and dark, cruel elves covered his dreams. He never played a role in any of these images, for that’s all they were to him. It was a frozen world that terrified him, but he loved to journey through it in his sleep.
He was eight when he first started to recall the dreams, and he told the twelfth child all about them. The Khajiit sat silently as Jasava retold his dreams, recording them as they were told. The dreams were told without embellishment, Jasava thought they were the most exciting thing and that they needed no hyperbole to be worthy of telling.
Now, as with nearly all of the Khajiiti people, the caravan Jasava was a part of fed moonsugar constantly to the cubs. The children experienced their fits and, like all Khajiit, they eventually faded as their bodies adapted. A few of the twelve could have as much as they want and never feel a thing well before the rest. It was in this period were their young bodies were adjusting to the drug, that they entered the Jerall mountains.
Getting lost in a frightening blizzard the caravan was stranded. Their supplies went low and they all huddled together to try and escape the cold. Jasava only remembers trying to think of the warm ash of the volcanoes to the east, of the bright warmth of the liquid fire he envisioned as he shivered and shook in the blistering cold.
It was a few months before the caravan was out of the mountains and had fully recuperated from the ordeal, staying around the city of Bruma. Now it was that Jasava once against tasted moonsugar, and it rocked him. He fell into a sugar induced fit for days, and went on a spree of devouring the drug when he awoke. He never fully grew accustomed to what the Khajiit regarded as part of their gods, falling into fits whenever the family gave him a large amount in an attempt to adapt him to it.
The caravan regarded him oddly and he began to grow more and more distant. They traveled north to Skyrim and eventually the parents had had enough. They threw Jasava out, telling him that if he wanted to waste his time eating himself to death he could earn the gold to do so himself. He left silently during the day, his brothers and sisters sighing or silently cheering. The twelfth child sat on the ground, the journal in hand, writing slowly.
So, in 4 E 172, with a small pouch of sugar, the last that was ever handed to him, Jasava wandered around the planes of Whiterun hold and eventually stumbled upon the legion. He signed up, a small fire of determination burning through him, and headed into the camp of the First Auxiliary.
Aussie-made
Einar Calder (Nord, 17) is a local fisherman’s boy from the city of Windhelm. His family are traditional Nords who worship Talos daily with his mother coming from a line of known and famous warriors, while his father is a well-known fisherman. Einar is an ambitious young man with dreams of glory and bravery swelling in his heart.
Appearance:
Short for his age and a Nord he stands at 5’8, the regular height of an imperial man. His mother claims that all the men in her family grew into tall large warriors in their early twenties and he is yet to hit his peak.
Apart from that Einar has light brown hair of which he shaves the side of his head while growing his hair on top into a short pony tail. The young man has little to know facial hair and an average build with a wiry strength in his forearms from days spent hauling fish with his father.
Weapons, Attire, Misc:
Einar has a small pack with him which contains a small statue of Talos, of whom he prays to, some letters from his mother and brother, small meals and some coins. Before receiving his legionnaire gear he only had rough tunics and his pack.
Skills:
Due to his father being a skilled fisherman, Einar has quite some skill in catching, gutting and cooking fish, apart from that he only has his personality.
Personality:
Einar possesses the bravery of Talos and believes in fighting for the noble cause of the Empire against the evil Elves, or at least that is his simplistic view of the world. He means well and his filled with dreams of glory, making his family and province proud. With a heart of gold Einar does all he can to help those around him but as majority of all Nords are, he is suspicious of any elves.
History:
It was the wedding that shocked Windhelm, Asta Asger, the famous woman Nord warrior, was to marry the average fisherman Halvor Calder. She was to give up everything, inclusive of her surname, to have a regular life in Windhelm. At the time the couple were the talk of the town and even as war loomed, Asta fought the judgemental eyes of those around her to be with the man she loved. Some admired while others abandoned, either way she gave birth to two beautiful children, both boys with the eldest being Einar.
As the eldest the responsibility of taking on the family trade fell upon Einar; his father sought to teach him his families trade and did all he could to steer Einar away from his mother’s past. Halvor did not agree with violence and believed that war only destroyed the world they lived in, angering the Gods. This, however, did nothing to affect the families’ devotion to Talos.
Just as the Empire fell on hard times the family did too, Halvor was badly injured in a storm and although Einar was a skilled fisherman, he was just too young to bring in the haul his father could. Asta was forced to sell family heirlooms, including her famous long sword to make ends meet. The money only lasted so long and just as Einar turned 17, his family once again was not able to feed themselves.
Failing to fill his father’s shoes and filled with heroics from his mother’s past, Einar set out to join the Legion. His family would receive enough coin to get by and he may be able to restore his families’ once revered name. Upon finding out, Halvor flew into a rage and told Einar that he would no longer be welcome back to the family house in Windhelm if he was to join the legion. He didn’t want any son of his to become a blood lusting warmonger.
Einar believed in the bigger picture and one way or another he would provide for his family, whether they loved him or not he set off to Whiterun to join the Legion.
Innocuous
Alexius Leventis is a nineteen year old Colovian-Imperial, born in Anvil; though raised during his adolescence in Hammerfell. Alexius expected to join the fourteenth legion, under his father's command – where he also expected to serve alongside his brother and sister – but to his dismay, was assigned to the first auxiliary.
Appearance:
The child of a military commander and with two elder siblings, Alexius grew up rambunctious and active, regularly bruised as a result of wherever he had climbed or if his sister or brother caught him with a training. As he grew, he matured into a healthy young man, at 5'11” with olive skin, summer kissed dirty blonde hair that tightens into unmanageable curls when left to grow. (Something he avoids, thus, keeping it short cut). And dark, somewhat innocent and naive like, brown eyes with a brow that cocks an inquisitively curious stare with each question he acts or baffling action he witnesses. His nose is long and sharp and mouth shapes into a youthful half-cocked smile whenever he grins – betraying that there is still the child inside of him that would once explore Stros M'kai. Despite his internal insisting that he needs to look firm and authoritative.
Not particularly brawny, Alex does maintain rather fine stamina and agility, in a lithe, but mildly muscular, physique.
Weapons, attire, etc:
Alexius is kitted to already march into a division of legionaries. Of course, he expected to march into a legion based in Hammerfell, trained and outfitted for arid conditions. Not an auxiliary unit based a thousand miles away in the North. Studded leather briast protection, with additional linked chain beneath, dark red undergarments, iron gauntlets and matching boots. A uniform for what should have been, not for where he is.
Beyond what miscellaneous official items he has been handed by his military cohort, Alexius brought little from home.
Skill:
A life spent raised outside of Cyrodiil (primary spending most of his life in Hammerfell) Alexius is rather intelligent able to speak and translate some Elven and more obscure human tongues, back into Cyrodilic. At one point, during his youth in a land unknown to him, he had desired to become an historian and adventurer, which fuelled his education in these aspects to learn, translate, speak and survive.
He has never been in a real fight, nor has he ever truly witnessed real military conflict. His closest experiences are fisticuffs and training sessions with his elder brother and sister – which often would become out of hand, leading to a bruising here and there or a bust lip – But he maintains some adept skill with a shield and sword and nor is he afraid to play dirty. He did have elder siblings after all and when you're the runt of the litter, sometimes you've got to be sneaky to win. Which aided his rather fine – if questionable – habit of being a proper bastard at winning card games, board games and other gambling party games. Is he cheating? Hard to say, he's never been caught so far.
Personality:
Alexius is, or rather, was, is what certain circles within the military communities would refer to as a military brat. A child who has spent as much time within among the legion as their parents would have, never knowing a true home. Growing up around soldiers and generals and being the son of Tribune Marcus Leventis, Alex comes with slight military privilege, believing his current station is not where he is needed, in an almost borderline arrogance that he is the only true soldier amongst the recruits of the first auxiliary. However, his perspective of what makes a soldier and what is war is as much from an outsider perceptive as much as a farmer who overhears rumours and tales. Though he may be used to military life, he has never truly lived it.
An intelligent young man, honourable and diligent (If not a little bit of a rake underneath his skin that sometimes comes to the surface when it needs too). He carries a grand sense of duty set by his father, though he does not enjoy his position within the first, he will respect it and it's leaders. Of what of Alexius is not Alexius the legionary is a rather humble spirit, with a keen love for history and reading, he isn't one to usually rush first into a fight unless provoked and keeps most negative opinions of others to himself, unless, once more, provoked. Masking his insults under wry humour and sarcasm. He's particularly good with the wry humour and sarcasm.
History:
Youngest child of three to Marcus Leventis, tribune of the fourteenth legion (Once served as commander of the fourth), Alexius spent his early youth travelling throughout most of Tamriel as the balance of power between the Elves of the Summerset Isles and the Mede Empire began to cause ripples which would eventually form the waves of the war. Soon, his life came to halt in Hammerfell as the Fourteenth legion took upon a semi-permanent station within the country.
His life in Hammerfell was fairly uneventful, quiet and happy; he would watch the soldiers train and march he would explore the lands (within the boundaries he had been handed, of course). He would stare off hard off into the distance, trying to deceiver a clear picture of the Dwarven relics of the past that he spied upon the horizon, the glint of bronze machineries off out into the deserts and a demon like desire whispering for him to go in and take a peek, but his discipline paid off and the ruins simply remained an image beyond his reach. His brother would hand him a hardy punch upon the arm, just because he could. He would have his first kiss, shy and timid but all the worth it as the other military brats watched on with silent insistence within the oasis bushes. His life was fairly ordinary.
Once he reached the zenith of adolescence and about to cross over and become a man, the war began. His desire to join the legion had never been greater and when news reached them that the Dominion had invaded Hammerfell, his father presented to him a letter, he was to be outfitted, he was be handed a sword and shield and he was to be escorted north, to Skyrim. Where he would join the newly founded first auxiliary and serve under the command of Targon Longstride and his family would march south to meet the invading armies of the Aldmeri Dominion.
Alex's heart sank as he watched the dust clouds kicked up by the fourteenth, and the horns and drums, slowly diminish as the sand gave way for snow.
Ovan
Thandel Hearthfeld II (Breton, 19) comes from a wealthier family located in the west of High Rock, specifically Camlorn. The path Thandel's father set up for him was supposed to be that of one of the honored battlemages of the Arcane University, but as war does, plans for Thandel were changed quite drastically. While his training for this was supposed to start at the age of twenty, and therefore he got absolutely none, he did manage to study magic on his personal time. At this point having taught himself some of the very most basic spells involving fire, and nothing else. He's unremarkable in any other way aside from having the aptitude for magic and his upbringing. After the death of his father he quickly signed up for the legion instead of continuing his training any further, feeling his training would take too long and he would be useless during the duration of the war as a result.
Appearance:
Thandel is approximately 5'10, he has a bit of an athletic build, however it's nothing too amazing. His eyes are a dull grey, a very unremarkable feature on him, and the rest of his face goes the same, very unremarkable and mundane almost to an extreme. Despite the rather boring features, his eyes do show something constantly in him, a spark if you will. Just by the way the Breton carries himself, it's quite apparent that he has a lot of vigor. Standing tall most of the time with his facial expression usually one of happiness, he generally radiates a certain aura of confidence. He has absolutely no tattoos, piercings, or scars on him.
Equipment:
Walking in well adorned red robes, with two bags on his back and gold trimmed shoes, one can safely assume Thandel is of high birth. The robes that Thandel has are of golden trim all around and come with a hood of the same color and same golden trim. The two bags that he carries with him are both brown and silk. They are made extremely well and of the finest silk one could find. The first, and smallest one, contains various food items and other provisions for Thandel. The second one is in fact enchanted with a feather enchantment, and is only used for various books and spell tomes. The enchantment on it makes it lighter, it can be thought of as a feather enchantment only to make it easier to haul a bunch of books around, seeing as Thandel is not very strong. Thandel also comes with an elven shortsword, and stock Legion heavy armor. The sword and armor are both in nearly perfect condition, but the armor being heavy and Thandel not being very strong, makes him move quite slowly when worn. Finally, Thandel does come with a white horse, this is his own personal horse. Not necessarily bred for war it is still able to take a lot, despite being smaller than most Legion warhorses.
Skills:
Having no real sword skills, or any other combat skills aside from riding a horse and using a slight bit of destruction magic, Thandel has a long way to go. Despite being inept with swords and any other real combat skills, Thandel is incredibly intelligent, to a point where it's almost scary. This intelligence shouldn't be paired with wisdom however, as intelligent as he is, he is far from being wise. Thandel's true skills do come in when it comes to more conventional forms of magic. Of course, able to use some destruction and conjuration magic, he's a lot more skilled with alteration or mysticism. Having studied these magics for most of his life he's got quite a large magicka supply as well. It's no wonder he was destined to be a battlemage, as he shows much potential for destruction magic. He's also got quite the talent for writing and painting, allowing his creative side to show itself is not abnormal for the young Breton.
Personality:
It'd be safe to describe Thandel as gregarious in some ways, yet inversely at the same time he is a bit of a shut-in. In fact, it'd be quite difficult to label him with any permanent traits to his personality, as he seems to eccentric and sporadic with his emotions it's hard to really tell much about him in the first place. So, the best way to describe him would really be eccentric. He is a most peculiar young man indeed, many find him unusual, yet at the same time many find him quite the likable person. He is certainly sociable.
History:
The name Hearthfeld has long been known throughout High Rock, and specifically Camlorn for ages. Ever since The Interregnum in the Second Era, the Hearthfelds have lived as one of the many noble families of High Rock's quarreling kingdoms. Now, come through the Warp of the West, and into the fourth era, the remaining five kingdoms stay in peace, even through the Great War. With this also came a decline to the name Hearthfeld, the name holding only four in it's dynasty to date. The first and most powerful comes Thandel Hearthfeld, court wizard for the King of Camlorn and Lord of Orvault Castle, the name Thandel has been passed throughout the Hearthfelds for generations. The second is Verar Hearthfeld, a petty noble in court for Daggerfall, he owns some land but is mostly nothing notable. Then there is Belon, owner of a massive farm around Northpoint, notably a rich man. Finally, comes Malnis Hearthfeld, a Envoker for the The Synod, a wise man, Malnis is rarely seen away from the Guild anymore. Only four left in the long line of Hearthfelds, soon under the sign of the Mage, born 2nd of Rain's Hand would come Thandel Hearthfeld II the fifth of the Hearthfelds.
Born on the 2nd of Rain's hand, under Lord Hearthfeld of Orvault, much was to be expected of young Thandel II. First of all, he was destined to become a battlemage for The Synod and more specifically the Arcane University. From an early age Thandel was given plenty of books to read, set in his own quarters in Castle Orvault he was expected to study magic most of the day with only short breaks, many considered this quite harsh. Surprisingly, however, Thandel did not mind this regiment in anyway, as he grew to love books around him, and loved to practice magic. The only thing the young boy disliked was being forced to learn conjuration and destruction. Thandel sought out magic for more practical purposes, rather than purposes of war. Actively defying his father, he would rather read old tomes on schools of alteration, restoration, and mysticism. Ignoring those such that he knew would bring harm to others. As result by the time he was ten, his father did catch on, and removed any tomes involving the former. He was forced to study destruction and conjuration, as to which he did.
At the age of twelve it was time for some new lessons, Thandel was taught how to properly equip and maintain heavy armors, was gifted his own set of legion armor and an elven shortblade. The two of which he valued greatly at this young age and maintained as if they were his own children, keeping them spotless, yet never using them for practice as his father had intended. Lord Hearthfeld was aware of his son's inaction, while not angry at him, he was slightly upset at the unwillingness to learn about war. In High Rock, knowing war was everything, even in times of peace.
Even as he was pushed to work harder and given little time to rest, Thandel did not resent his father in anyway. In fact, he loved his father greatly for pushing him so hard, knowing that this would result in him being a better person. Also knowing that underneath his father was a very kind man from the stories he had been told, he refused to allow himself to think negatively of the man that tried to hard to make him something he did not wish to be. On this note, by the age of fifteen, Thandel decided to adopt a new philosophy of war. For the first time he learned a destruction spell, fully. It was one of casting flames, a minor one at most, but it made his father most proud. At the same time he took to reading books such as Mixed Unit Tactics, and The Mirror, in order to learn of actual combat on the field.
Trouble appeared in the Hearthfeld line around the end of the year, Thandel still at the age of fifteen was second to hear the news of Malnis' demise. On an expedition to Valenwood for The Synod it was told to both Thandel I and Thandel II that in the month of Hearthfire Malnis was slain by a group of bandits who resided in the trees. Although young Thandel had never meet Malnis, he had heard of the wisdom that the man contained, it was quite saddening for both him and his father. As Malnis was the brother to Lord Hearthfeld, the news hit him the hardest. For some time he went into a period of sadness, residing in Orvault for sometime until the next year of young Thandel's birthday.
A set of red and well ordained robes with a magical pack having a feather enchantment on it. The gift Thandel got from his father on his birthday was unusual indeed, but he recognized the robes. They were a symbol for the Hearthfeld family. One that a boy was becoming a man, and could hereby be fully honored as a member of the family.
Come the year 171 4E, the breakout of the Great War. Turmoil was soon to hit High Rock, as many scrambled for protection in fear of the war hitting the Kingdom. Thandel's father now particularly began to push his growing son in the direction of that of a battlemage. He told him at the age of twenty Thandel would have to leave to the Imperial City to learn of magic in higher forms, from real teachers. War was on High Rock's horizon, Cyrodiil was caught in turmoil. It was apparent that all was collapsing. Of course, the war never hit High Rock. Nothing ever hit High Rock, and a supposed peace still remained despite much fear. A few days after the outbreak of the war, Lord Hearthfeld, Thandel's father, was assassinated. Thandel would then after much grief decide to join the Imperial Legion rather than the Arcane University.
Blak'ika
Appearance: He stands about average height at 5’9” and weighs approximately 180 pounds with very little fat. He wears his pitch black hair long and pulled back, with wisps framing his olive-skinned, chiseled features. Stubble marks his face and his body is free from scarring.
Equipment: The only military equipment of his own is a well-made bastard sword that has been kept in his family for generations. The blade is well-maintained but is without ornamentation or finery; a blade made for combative use and not much else. He wears Imperial issue chainmail and metal helmet, but he finds the legionary boots not to his liking, replacing them with a sturdy pair of tall, black boots. He keeps his issued shield slung on his back, and wears the issued Imperial short sword at his side next to his family blade. When not in his armor, he wears fall or earthy colors: Black, rust, olive, etc.
Skills: He has trained with the sword for some time now, but has never truly fought someone with it, only sparring with his teacher or other students. He has technique, but no experience. He has a knack for moving silently and if he concentrates, he is often able to move unseen as well. He is familiar with riding and shooting a bow, but anticipates learning these skills to a greater degree of proficiency in the Auxiliary. In his reading, he has grown familiar with tactical theory and has some grasp of strategy. He can navigate well enough using charts and nature, but has very few survival skills other than hunting and fire-building.
Personality: He is confident and secure, but making friends is not his strong point. Small-talk bores him, but he very easily gets into conversations of great depth. He prefers a book over goofing off around the campfire. Many people would find him standoffish and rude, but he is rather ignorant of the way he comes off to people. He is decisive, but often impulsive in doing so. He is very caring, but has difficulty letting people get close enough for them to see that. He has a desire to be more of a people person and seeks to push himself in getting to know his fellow Auxiliaries.
History: Titus was born to the MacLeon house, a lower-ranking noble family that had been present in the Highlands longer than the Empire had. He was raised to manage a household, gaining a familiarity with inter-house politics and the martial skills. He can ride and shoot, but only well-enough to hunt or travel. His true skill (at least, he likes to think so), is that of the blade. He studied harder in this than any other discipline, martial or academic. He had little respect for magic, considering wizards to be dishonorable warriors for seeking “outside” help in battle.
He was tutored privately at the MacLeon manor until the age of 14, at which time he was sent to a travelling school that wandered the civilized Empire, training the students through practical experience with the world from the mountains of Skyrim to the jungles of Elsewyr and all places in between. When the war broke out, the students were sent home, as travel was unsafe for Imperial citizens.
His family received him well and celebrated his return for a short while, but soon, his father, always hungry for more influence, heard about the 1st Auxiliary and urged Titus to sign on.
Maybe they should write books on parenting and get their own reality show on TLC.
