*apologies on the name, i havnt decided yet*


Trials
&
Trails


It's the end of the Third Era, and if it was not for the one called the "Champion of Cyrodiil," the empire would be in ruins. After Martin's sacrifice banished Mehrunes Dagon, Ocato tried to take control. However, he soon tried to change the empire drastically and caused many under his rule to rebel and deny his right to rule. Even the Champion of Cyrodiil severed all ties to the empire--even he despised Ocato, after being ordered around like a lapdog.

By the end of the era each of the guilds had changed hands, appointing new leaders. The rash of inexperienced leadership led the guilds in general to be weak and unorganised. They were kept in check by the Champion of Cyrodiil, who would occasionally converse with each of the leaders--even the Gray Fox and the Dark Brotherhood Listener.

Everyone still revered the Champion as their saviour. As long as he was around, Cyrodiil felt safe.

However, the Champion eventually disappeared, leaving nothing but the memory of his title. Oddly, everyone in Cyrodiil remembered and honoured his great achievements, yet no-one could remember who he was. It was as if he had never existed, beyond the records of his accomplishments.

With the Champion out of the picture, a massive flux of rebels felt free to emerge out of the shadows to move against the beheaded Empire. However, their disorganized attempts always ended with lots of innocent blood spilt and a long hike back into hiding.

The guilds also suffered at the loss of a unified Leader, without the emperor, Ocato or the Champion; they began fighting amongst themselves, they still functioned in the way they once did but they had forgotten why their guilds were founded in the beginning. They had become greedy, focusing on skill, power and money, right and wrong. They hadn't forgotten the morals they were once taught.

Rumours began to spread about a Khajiit travelling the land in search of people who wanted fairness and equality back, with the promise of rewards and a brighter future for all. Though many believe it to be nonsense and hearsay; some believe it to be true and have gone in search of this Khajiit in hopes of joining his cause. Others however seek to put him down.

Whispers also tell of many guild related incidents such as theft and kidnapping but also counts of murder, little is known about the cause of such violence but many can't help but assume it is related to the Khajiit rumoured to be the new saviour.

Recent Happenings

To be added

Summary

You play one of many people that have heard the rumours or are soon to hear of them and seek out the answers, whatever your personal reason is whether it for the future, the rewards or just plain curiousity.

This RP is for anyone. Many characters will have been people who were exiled from society or rejected by the guilds. However, it is more than acceptable for a character to join even if they are just normal person or go-lucky adventurer.

This RP takes place after every mission in the Oblivion Game has been completed. If you've completed the game, you'll be aware of how it ended up.

This RP will be story driven; however, it will not be overrun with orders to "go here and do this, then go there and do that." It will be about building your characters up and developing their own side-stories, and about character interaction. You are encouraged to develop your own storylines, but with moderation. You may include other players in your side-story, but don't distract everyone from the main quest for too long or I might do something drastic.


Rules

-First and foremost, roleplay sensibly and keep your character consistent.
-No weird typing of any kind! Use normal plain English, and try to spell to the best of your ability. I won't have a go at you for simple mistakes.
-No character control. Be respectful and courteous to other role players, and don't do anything that would affect their characters without discussing with them through PM first.
-No random armies appearing at our doorstep without confirmation from me first.
-Be realistic if and when you might acquire loot during a mission: most of your best equipment should be awarded to you or bought, this also means you cant start as some rich noble with 1,000,000 septims as that would be unfair.
-This will be more fun if your character has his/her own personal goal/story... but will be ruined if you focus on it too much. Just use moderation.
-I will work on a nearly no-tolerance system. I expect everyone who joins this to know how to RP. So if I am disobeyed, I will give one warning. If it happens again, your character will be killed.
-Last but not least... HAVE FUN. You know all the rest.


Character sheet template (for those of you who don't have your own)

Name:
Nickname:
Gender:
Race:
Age:
Birthsign:

Height:
Build:
Eye Colour:
Hair Style:
Skin Colour:

Class:
Focus:
Skills:

General Appearance:
Tattoos/Scars:

Clothing:
Accessories:

Armor:
Weapon:

Pack/Pockets:

Magic:

Mentality:

Misc:

History:

[APOLOGIES IF I MISSED ANYONE]


1
Korroded-Korpse (me)
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Name: Narkiorrou (NAR-key-are-Roo)
Nickname: Korro
Gender: Male
Race: Khajiit (Imperial Father)
Age: 26
Birthsign: The Warrior

Height: 5 ft 9
Build: Quite muscular but not overly bulky.
Eye Colour: Yellow
Hair Style: Medium length mane up in spikes. (see pic)
Fur Colour: Yellow/Orange with brown stripes. (see pic)

Image: http://i162.photobucket.com/albums/t244/klown-korpse/My%20Art/Narkiourru.jpg

Class: Thief, Smuggler and just plain good for nothing.
Focus: Stealth with aspects of combat.
Skills: Dual Blade fighting, Sneak, Security, Acrobatics, Athletics, Mercantile.

General Appearance: His face and torso could easily be Imperial, yet his ears and claws are definably that of a khajiit, let alone all the fur. His stance shows his arrogance yet his expression shows his kind-heart.
Tattoos/Scars: N/A

Clothing: (See Pic)

Armor: None
Weapon: Two Massive Combat Knives.

Pack/Pockets: Has a Large shoulder sack that usually contains Moonsugar, Skooma, Telvanni Bug Musk and various Dwemer objects. His pockets usually have a few Coins, Picks and Probes jingling about.

Magic: N/A

Mentality: Cool, Calm and Collected sums him up. Never heard of the word 'Consequences' as he is always doing things he is sure to get into big trouble for, but because he goes about it so casually he is hardly ever caught. He has been known to frequently taunt armed guards just so they will chase him for a bit. He sees life as a game.

Misc:
-: Although he can fight with two blades, he isn’t very skilled and so can’t pull off any amazing moves. He fights with very simple yet effective attacks and never rushes in headstrong.
-: His shield is his sense of humour, any threats aimed at him will go unnoticed and he will usually come back with something witty.
-: Had a hard life to begin with due to his father, until he ran away and now he takes it all in his stride without letting anything get to his head.

History:
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2
Emperor Jim
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Name: Aryon Sarethi
Nickname: Aryon
Gender: Male
Race: Dunmer
Age: Unknown
Birthsign: The Mage

Height: 6ft 1
Build: Not very muscular. Average build, not too skinny or too fat.
Eye Colour: Red
Hair Style: Long black hair reaching down behind his shoulders
Skin Colour: Dunmer gray

Image: http://img520.imageshack.us/img520/6610/55166333.png

Class: Wizard
Focus: Purely all arts of magic with main emphasis on Destruction and Conjuration
Skills: All of the schools of magic

General Appearance: He has a long sharp face, showing the signs of years of worldly experience. He stands like that of an arrogant man, one who would rather trust himself to do something than another.
Tattoos/Scars: N/A

Clothing: Dunmer Armun-An Bonemold Armor, excluding the helmet. http://www.uesp.net/wiki/File:MW_Armor_BonemoldArmun-AnM.jpg

Armor: Armun-An Bonemold armor
Weapon: None, he needs no weapon.

Pack/Pockets: Small sack of coins attatched to his armors hip plate.

Magic: Many different spells learned over his long life though he is most fond of destruction and conjuration spells which he is most skilled in.

Mentality: An extremely calm and centred man, always thinking first about the consequences of every action. His wise mind has helped him much in the past in every situation. His arrogance on the other hand has often got the better of him. However his patience does have a limit when around people he deems as fools, not that he would burst into anger over it though. He would see it as a waste of his time.

History: He has had a long history and even he has forgotten some of his most earliest memories. He does not care much for his youth years as he saw himself as a fool back then and headstrong, never thinking of his actions and what consequences it could of, and had brought about. His life is not nearing its end yet, a Dunmer lives long and there are many years to go yet for Aryon. However he himself thinks there is little else to see in the world.
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3
Perapsam
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Name: Arnand Erelue
Nickname: Arnand
Gender: Male
Race: Breton
Age: 31
Birthsign: The Mage

Height: 5 feet, 8.7 inches. I used the average height of French people for this one.
Build: Skinny, with hardly any strong muscles at all, but he is generally a healthy person.
Eye Colour: Blue
Hair Style: Oiled
Hair Colour: Golden Blonde
Skin Colour: White

Class: Mage
Focus: Magic - Chronomancy
Skills: All standard Magic (Alchemy, Destruction, Restoration, Conjuration, Alteration, Mysticism and Illusion), as well as a few dabblings in Daedric magic and Necromancy, but not on the same level as ordinary schools. He also studies Chronomancy, the alteration of time.

General Appearance: Quite lean and skinny, he has very pale skin. His hair is Golden Blonde. He is quite weak, relying on his summons or magical fortifications for physical challenges.
Tattoos/Scars: None

Clothing: Blue Silk Shirt, Blue Silks (pants), White Mage's Shoes, and Wrist Irons - All are enchanted.
Accesories: A Mundane Ring, a Ring of Perfection, and the Necromancer's Amulet (Read history as for why)

Armor: None, unless you count summoned.
Weapon: Silver Dagger, Mages Staff of Paralysis.

Pack/Pockets: A small blue satchel, a little bigger than a hand, which is clipped to his Robe belt. Inside it is a Strong Potion of Restore Health, a Strong Potion of Sorcery, an empty Grand Soul Gem, a Mages Guild Key and a folded up Mage's Hood which is enchanted with both Night-Eye and Detect Life which he wears in caves, at night etc. There are also many coins in the satchel strewn around the rest of the items.

Magic: A Master level in Conjuration, Alchemy, Mysticism and Illusion, whilst an Expert level in Alteration, Destruction and Restoration, and he also knows a thing or two about Daedric magic and Necromancy. His most favourite magic is the unique Chronomancy, the alteration of time, of which only two practicers are known of including Arnand.

Mentality: In general, Arnand is a nice, neat and intelligent person. He takes magic and learning seriously and sometimes spends days researching topics, especially magical ones. He sometimes comes across as fairly ecstatic and exitable at times. Having grown up with Elves, Arnand has inherited a lot of their calm, condescending attitude but not on a large scale. Arnand uses very good language and is a large fan of reading, having an enormous collection of books at his home in Frostcrag Spire.

Misc: Arnand was a Master Wizard in the Mages Guild before he left, and at his home in Frostcrag Spire he had several Imp guardians and a faithful Storm Atronach.

History: Arnand was born in High Rock with an intricate disease that was rare but fatal. His parents tried all sorts of cures, but not even the Church altars could save him. Desperate, they sought the help of the Daedric Prince of knowledge, Hermaeus Mora, hoping that his vast library would include a secret remedy. Hermaeus Mora knew of the cure, but in return he wanted the souls of Arnand's parents. They reluctantly agreed, and Arnand was left to be raised by a family of Altmer on Summerset Isle who had been close friends of the Erelues. Arnand was raised to be a powerful Mage, skilled in Alchemy, Destruction, Restoration, Illusion, Mysticism, Conjuration, and Alteration. At age 18, he moved to Cyrodiil, joined the Mages Guild, and obtained his reccomendations with surprising ease. At 21, after acheiving the rank of Warlock, he became quite adventurous and went on many explorations. Five years later, he acheived the rank of Master Wizard and became the fifth member of the Council. At age 29, he inherited Frostcrag Spire from a long-lost relative of his. After it was retrieved, Arnand learned of the Necromancer's Amulet, and borrowed it to 'study' at his Spire. After the third Era ended, with Mehrunes Dagon defeated and Mannimarco dead, guild regulations became much more restricting as the Empire fell to it's knees. It was unfortunate that at this time Arnand had been researching and practicing the darker magicks. Furious at the guild's arrogant reaction and seeing nothing wrong with a bit of 'Harmless research', he stole the Necromancer's Amulet and left the guild, convinced the entire Empire had gone mad and wondering if anybody would ever do something about it...
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4
Cirith
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Name:Jack Vedeos
Gender: Male
Race: Breton
Age: 29
Birthsign: The Ritual

Class: Grave Cleanser
Focus: combat with aspects of magic
Skills: Destruction, Blunt weapons, Bladed weapons, Restoration, Illusion, Block, Heavy Armour
Class description: Grave robbers are strong treasure hunters not afraid to disturb the dead or to get their hands dirty, capable of batteling the undead with spell and axe and able to survive long with their healing abilities

Height: 6 ft 1
Build: tall and a slender build but still with quite muscled arms due to heavy labour and training in heavy armour
Eye Colour: brown
Hair Style: dark brown hair of average length
skin colour: a bit pale in the face but otherwise normal
Image: work in progress

Clothing: sturdy black trousers, a brown shirt, black vest and a grey coat and dark green cloak and hood

Armour: iron armguards, shinguard and kneecaps
Weapon: an enchanted metal shovel capable of blinding anyone struck by it for several seconds and a special ring called Sealbreak, which gives Jack a very powerful dispell power which can sever the magical link between undead or daedra and the mortal realm (very effective against Necromancers)

Pack/Pockets: some supplies and rations and a lot of potions to restore his strength because he doesn't get much sleep

Magic: he specializes in the use of firespells and knows a variety of effective spells, he tends to use illusion magic to incite fear in his enemies through blinding spells and demoralizing spells

Mentality: Jack is a kind person, very friendly to people, but still it takes a while for him to fully trust someone. Although he appears quite open and social he often meeps some details about himself unmentiones, such as the power of his ring or the fact that he is a skilled magician in the schools of Restoration, Destruction and Illusion.

Short History:
-born in a poor breton family in Sentinel
-was able to travel with family to Cyrodiil and got home in Waterfront District
-during Oblivion Crisis Jack, his father and his older brother helped defending the waterfront district in the final attack of Mehrunes Dagon in the Temple
district
-he was part of the fighters guild for a while but jumped out the business when Blackwood Company showed up, he didn't however join Blackwood company because they did not have need of his magical abilities
-became a worshipper of Meridia and was sent out on a mission to cleanse the burial sites of Cyrodiil
-nowadays he is free to go his own way and sees himself as a paladin of sorts, he travels across Cyrodiil from city to city to worship the nine and in search of job or necromancers to vanquish for his mistress Meridia.
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5
Olny
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Name: Larth Stryker
Nickname: Larth
Gender: Male
Race: Nord
Age: 26
Birthsign: The Tower
Height: 6'1"
Build: Muscular, square shouldered and stout.
Eye Color: Blue
Hair Style: It runs half-way down his neck with no sign of ever being kept neat.


Class: A mercenary who came to find wealth in Cyrodil. He got stiffed.
Focus: Hack, slashing, a bit more hacking, and perhaps a jab just to keep you guessing. He also shoots people but it's markedly less fun.
Skills: Athletics, Hand-To-Hand, Axe (or blunt, however you're working it), Marksmanship, Blade, Medium Armor, and Hunting/Foraging.

General Appearance: Tall, blond and scary.
Tattoos/Scars: The left side of his face is dominated by faded blue Nordic war paint in an design.

Clothing: A huntsman's jacket over a white cotton shirt. White satin pants with a brown sash, and fur boots.

Armor: Chain mail
Weapon: A Nordic battle axe and yew long bow on his back.

Pack/Pockets: A quiver of 25 chittin arrows, 50 septims in his pocket, and a cask of Mead tied to his sash.

Magic: Unlock (Birthsign ability), Cold Hands (Racial ability)

Mentality: While slightly a brute, he's calmed down since his youth. He doesn't kick down doors and bang heads, but he's a slumbering dragon awaiting a foolish midget to dare to take his gold.

Misc:
-: His berserk assault is generally only used when he expects it to route his enemy. He likes to get a solid shot or three in with his bow and know whose where before dashing into a melee.
-: He dislikes elves in general, but if he had to list them Dunmer would be his favorite, because they don't presume as much superiority as the Altmer, aren't as fruity as the Bosmer, and have one his respect during some of his escapades.


History:
After spending three years working in western Skyrim, doing work in Hammerfall and working for anyone with gold, his path took him across his nation in a trek he will never forget. He ended up in Solstheim, in a gorilla war against the Imperial fort there. After a particularly remarkable Dark Elf continued to hack at his shins to defend his fleeing comrades, he began to rethink what he was doing.

He returned to his homeland to realize he had no money. What he had amassed he gave to his kin, who were in dire need. He stayed with them for a time, learning to hunt and forage to help them survive. But the time came when he realized there was simply no room for them in their little corner of Skyrim.

In search of money and a new home, he set off alone for Cyrodil with dreams of one day bringing his family with him.
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6
Crimson Paladin
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Name: Tucharon
Nickname: None
Gender: Male
Race: Altmer
Age: 84
Birthsign: The Atronach

Height: 6'6"
Build: Slightly more muscular than most other Altmer (although that isn't saying much); otherwise, average for an Altmer.
Eye Colour: Green
Hair Style: Brown
Skin Colour: Gold (or whatever that typical Altmer skin tone is called)

Class: Spellsword
Focus: Enchanting
Skills: Tucharon possesses the skills typical for a Spellsword; Blade, Alteration, Block, Destruction, Illusion, Heavy Armor, and Restoration. Because of his birthsign, he has given particular focus to the swordplay aspect of his profession.

He specializes in Dwemer engineering and enchanting, and possesses intimate knowledge of Dwemer Animunculi. In addition, he also has a lesser degree knowledge on other elven enchanted devices, such as Propylon Chambers and Dark Welkynd stones. However, he has almost no knowledge on the Daedric devices at this time, although he's figured his lifespan should allow him to get around to it provided he doesn't get in anything over his head.

General Appearance: He appears to be just any Altmer, unless he's in his armor. Only the Mages Guild members know that he's more than just any Altmer.

Tattoos/Scars: Although he's been wounded many times in many places, he has used his skill in Restoration to ensure that he remains scar-free.

Clothing: He wears a Mournhold-style shirt and pants, as well as gold-trimmed shoes, when not in his armor. More often than not, his clothes are stained with oil and dirt from all the tinkering he does.

Accesories: He carries various tools, as well as alchemy apparatus, in a satchel.

Armor: Ebony armor custom-crafted for him by the Mournhold craftsman Bols Indalen, including specially ordered gloves instead of bracers (Given the risks of a Spellsword and the importance of his hands to his specialization, he felt the extra protection warranted the extra cost), topped off with a Morrowind-style Ebony Shield.

Weapon: Ebony Longsword (he's wanted to enchant it, but he hasn't been able to decide on what to enchant it with).

Pack/Pockets: He has a satchel that he uses to carry things.

Magic: He possesses various spells of all schools, although most are Destruction or Alteration spells.

Mentality: He's a bit of a mad scientist and a bit of a crackpot who's always tinkering with something and always thinking of something new. He puts almost no value in money, and spent away a fortune for his gear and knowledge. He prefers to remain indoors and tinker, unless he's off doing field research. Aside from his eccentricities, he is reserved and mild-mannered.

Misc: He isn't much of a lockpicker, but his knowledge make him an expert in magic-based security. He can build guardians, magical traps, and even teleporters.. Unfortunately, his track record shows that most of the things he has built are dangerous or unreliable, but it's given him ample time to iron out almost all of the hiccups.

History: Tucharon was the only child born to a wealthy couple in Summerset. He was tutored in magic and swordplay at a young age, due to his parents' fear of their lineage being lost. This fear proved founded when his parents were both poisoned by an unknown assassin, likely working for a rival family.

Tucharon, only 26 at the time, took all of his wealth to a place where the assassination business was regulated; Vvardenfell. While there, he joined the Mages Guild and took part into their Dwemer research efforts for a very long time. When the Dwemer ruins beneach Mournhold opened, he relocated there, at great expense, to study the new devices and centurions that were there. Given the increased danger, he invested the rest of his wealth into acquiring his ebony armor and weapon (between buying enough raw ebony, ordering the armor, and getting through the red tape, it was pretty expensive). It was around this time that he unveiled a rebuilt Centurion Archer at the Almalexia Mages Guild. Unfortunately, he had made a mistake rebuilding it and it attacked, killing three Mages Guild members. He was expelled from the Mages Guild after that, with no chance of rejoining.

Tucharon moved to Cyrodiil to engage in research in Ayleid enchanting, as well as move to a place where he wasn't seen as a mad scientist. He drifted from place to place, researching Ayleid ruins when he could, even during the Oblivion Crisis.

When the post-crisis problems started, Tucharon became worried he'd have to leave Cyrodiil. When he heart, however, of a Khajiit gathering other outcasts, he decided that he will no longer let the rest of the world push him from province to province any more.
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7
Manu
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Name : Elissandre
Race : Breton
Gender : female
Age : 25

Class : healer - sort of
Skills : Illusion, restoration, blade, speechcraft, alchemy, alteration, light armor
minor skills : a bit of practice at sneaking, acrobatics and hand-to-hand fighting from her years of hiding

Spells
Restoration : assorted healing spells (self and others), fortify stats spells, absorb health, absorb fatigue
Alteration : Ondusis’s open door, Timur’s hoptoad, lock, burden, first to third barriers spells
Illusion : night eye, calm humanoid, calm creature,invisibility, silence, paralyze, demoralize
Mysticism : soultrap, soul vision, dispelling
Destruction : enough knwoledge to light a campfire, electrocute a stray dog into running away or put a bit of ice in a water cup and that's about it.

Equipment :

dwemer vampire blade (dwemer shortsword, cast on strike absorb health and fatigue, not very powerful nor many charges)
leather cuirass and boots worn over a linen skirt and tunic.
Cadra signet ring : enchanted with a low-level constant restore health and fatigue effect. Not enough to alter the outcome of a combat, but handy for long travels and quick recovery. The original gold and ruby ring is disguised to appear as a cheap copper signet ring.
traveller's robes over the armor - an ample brownish robe of sturdy fabric. An oiled linen hooded cloak for rainy days and a pair of somewhat worn walking boots.
linen skirt and tunic under the armor
a thin bronze chain enchanted with a low level frost or fire damage enchantment - just the thing to wrap around a glass to keep it cool or dump into into to warm it.

Several restoration potion (fatigue, health and magicka, 3 of each), one fire shield potion
Some basic alchemy equipment (apprentice mortar and pestle)
two petty, lesser and common soulgems (empty)

Background : Elissandre is the daughter of the now-defunct baron of Cadra, a minor breton domain and therefore the proud heiress to a smoking ruin, since the domain was invaded by a neighboring baron, most of her family getting killed in the process.

She ran away from Highrock and ended up moving around Cyrodill, peoples being more concerned with the Oblivion crisis and it's sequels than the feuds of some minor Breton lordling. With thugs on the lord of Arsange's payroll nosing around for her, she went into hiding into less than reputable places along with less than reputable peoples. There she earned a living by selling her magical skills, improving her mastery of illusion and alteration with unguilded mages - the Mage guild didn't want anything to do with a gal of unknown parentage and equally unknwon masters. Which means she's selling her skills or a pittance, with the ever-present risk of the Thieve's guild racket or the mage's displeasure. As she heard about an odd khajiit looking to gather various misfits and outcasts to built a better future for themselves, she jumped at the occasion. Even longs odds for sucess seemed better than the dead-end she's currently living in.

Appearance : Elissandre is a rather short but good looking redhead, though not much of it shows up from under the ample brownish robe she's wearing. One dwemer shortsword is sheated at her belt.

Personnality : rather easygoing and with a bit of a lazy streak, Elissandre prefers calming issues or finding ways around them than open confrontation. Though definitively not overly worried about the law, she draws a strong line at what she deems bad. Her usual concern about a questionable action would be 'is that only illegal or is it nasty' - the second options meaning 'without me'.
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8
Lord Veneficus
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Name: Acerbus Occisor
Race: Imperial/Vampire
Age: 382, but looks like he is in his early sixties
Gender: Male
Birthsign: The Thief

Focus: Stealth
Main skills: Hand-to-hand, Short Blades, Light Armor, Speechcraft
Class: Martial Artist
Class Description: Calm well-spoken people and masters of martial arts. Flexibility is key to success in martial arts, being able to contort your body to dodge an incoming attack.

General appearance: He is of medium build, muscular arms and legs. His flesh is pale and his face is gaunt due to his 'condition'.
Hair: Natural. Shoulder length, jet black
Eye Colour: Bright Red
Height: 6'0"
Tattoos/Scars: A long scar that runs diagonally down his back

Primary weapon: Hands and feet
Secondary weapon: Silver shortsword
Clothing/Armor: A sapphire blue cape and hood which is constantly covering his face and a full suit of tight black leather armor; no helmet.

Inventory: Map, Compass, Small pouch full of gold, Quill and Ink , and a Lute

Misc:
-- Acerbus began practicing with a lute several years ago and has become quite good at it.
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9
Person from Anticlere
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Name: Heinrich Plauen
Gender: Male
Race: Breton (Wayrestian)
Age: 30
Birthsign: The Ritual

Height: 5’5
Build: Rather stocky; a good amount of muscle on his hands due to the amount of work he has to do.
Eye Colour: Dark green
Hair: Dark brown, tied into a ponytail that reaches slightly past his shoulders.
Skin Colour: Rather pale, due to his race more than anything as he spends a good amount of his time under the sun.

Class: Yeoman
Focus: Archery
Skills: In the way of combat, Heinrich is very skilled with a longbow or a staff, also being quite a wrestler, although he lacks technique. He also knows how to work in and manage a farm, having been a quite wealthy yeoman back in High Rock and thus having the luxury of hiring helping hands.

General appearance: Heinrich’s looks correspond to his personality and place in society – he looks like the kind of ‘jolly farmer’ you would expect to find somewhere in the farms of Cyrodiil, although being a Breton, he’s paler than one would expect from a man who spends nearly the whole day outdoors. Rather short and stocky, he has a good deal of physical strength, particularly in his arms. He’s not much of a runner, though.

Heinrich’s face is nothing special. His eyebrows are lush, rather protracted; there’s not much of a gap between them and his dark green, medium sized eyes. His nose is big and slightly snub, lips are quite fat and wide, usually smiling. A short but lush beard is his only facial hair, as the yeoman chose not to grow a moustache.

Tattoos/Scars: Some bruises and several small scars, mostly on his left hand.

Clothing: http://www.dkimages.com/discover/previews/932/55080545.JPG

Weapon: Heinrich’s primary weapon is a yew longbow slung over his back, where can also be found a simple leather quiver with 30 iron-tipped arrows. In his hand he usually carries a long staff, usually acting as a walking cane (even though he doesn’t have much need for it), which can quickly double as a weapon for close combat.

Pack/Pockets: In his pack Heinrich carries a couple of apples, two loaves of bread and a flask of water.

History: Born not too far away from the city of Wayrest in High Rock, Heinrich inherited his father’s farm, where he had worked for the majority of his childhood, and along with it the rank of a yeoman, a free farmer. He lived and worked in the farm for most of his life, until being forced to sell it to a noble by a corrupt Imperial officer, who was bribed to force him out of there. Why exactly was he forced out Heinrich didn’t know, nor care; he suspected the noble wanted to build himself another manor or something of the sort. What the yeoman knew, however, was that he hated Empire the way it was right now, and that there would be no life for him in High Rock. So, for the money he got from the farm’s ‘selling’ he bought passage to Cyrodiil via a ship, where he was forced to turn to banditry after failing to find a place for himself.
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10
Long John
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Name: John
Nickname: John
Gender: Male
Race: Imperial
Age: 24
Birthsign: The Warrior
Height: 6' 6''
Weight: 210 lbs
Build: Averagely muscular for his race.
Eye Colour: Green
Hair Style: Long messy hair going past his shoulders
Skin color: Pale white skin

Class: Barbarian
Focus: Stealth with aspects of combat.
Skills: Dual Blade fighting, Sneak, Security, Acrobatics, Athletics, Mercantile.

General Appearance: A tall scruffy looking imperil with messy long blond hair and a thin beard. He's dirty and smells of alcohol and sweat.

Height: 6' 6''
Tattoos/Scars: N/A

Clothing: Black plants with a black shirt.

Armor: None
Weapon: A long silver long sword.

Pack/Pockets: Just pockets on his pants.
Magic: N/A

Mentality: Is calm but can be easily angered.

History: Was borne in the imperil city his parents were rich and his father was a shop owner who sold jewelry He had one older brother who his father favored. John was always told to be more like him: a gentlemen who followed the laws and the nine. John eventually grew tired of being reminded of how much better a person his brother was John left his family for a life of crime as a skooma dealer and bandit. He lives in the roxy iin in cydrodil.
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11
JDKilla
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Name: Alkhillion (pronounced All-kill-yun)
Nickname: Alkhil (pronounced all-kill)
Gender: Male
Race: Imperial
Age: 25
Birthsign: The Thief

Height: 5'6
Build: Lean, not very muscular, but the muscles he does have are very defined and are quite powerful for their size.
Eye Colour: Grey-ish blue
Hair Style: Rogue knot
Skin Colour: Darker than most of his race, but no where near as dark as a Redguard.

Image: (N/A)

Class: Assassin
Focus: Close-up assassination missions and Infiltration
Skills: Short Blade, Marksman, Light Armor, Security, Sneak, Illusion, Alteration, Hand-to-Hand

General Appearance: Alkhil stands about five feet and six inches, which is more on the shorter side of average for the height of the Imperial Race. However, his body isn't stocky, like many of the shorter Imperials, for he has kept his musculature lean, yet strong. Atop this body sits a head that is always calculating, yet rarely seen, as it's usually covered by a cowl, but on the rare occasion that it's not, the light brown hair is pulled back and tied in a knot, which is known as a Rogue Knot. Below the hair sits a pair of eyes that have enraptured many people before they were killed. They have a peculiar, grey-ish blue color, but when they are looked directly into, the irises seem to be swirling, as if a massive hurricane raged within each. However, when Alkhil walks among the public, he slips on a small ring which is enchanted with a small, illusion enchantment, which hides these unique eyes and show's the general public just a regular set of blue eyes.
Tattoos/Scars: A long tattoo, which resembles a thorny vine, twists around his left arm and disapates at the wrist, so not many see it. It is one of the only reminders he has of where he came from and the family which thrust him onto a path he had no intention or want of following.

Clothing: Under a dark red robe and cowl, Alkhil hides a cuirass of Mithril and a matched pair of greaves to go along with it. On his feet, he usually wears a pair of black moccasins.

Armor: Mithril Cuirass, Mithril Greaves
Weapon: An Elven dagger, which he uses for every assassination mission, other various fine steel daggers, a Black Bow(if allowed), and twenty(20) Silver arrows in a quiver on his hip.

Pack/Pockets: Multiple potions of healing, several poisons of varying strengths, a flask of water, and approximately twenty feet of rope.

Magic: Particularly skilled in the schools of Illusion and Alteration, but knows a few particular Destruction spells and can use them very effectively.

Mentality: Is disgusted by what the Empire has become, and see's it as his duty as an Imperial to do whatever is possible within his power to restore an Emperor, chosen by the Nine, to the throne and have a peaceful Tamriel once again.

History: Alkhillion was born as Varrus Mercurius and to a family that was well-known for producing legendary Knights of the Imperial Legion. As soon as he was born, the duty was placed upon him to follow in his family's footsteps and take up the mantle of the Imperial Legion. He never liked it, but he was forced to train to be the best soldier to ever walk the face of Nirn, just as his father, his father's brothers, and every male-child of the Mercurius family before him had. Alkhil hated this with a passion, but did it anyway, to please his mother, who was one of the only people to ever understand why he disliked what he did. He even joined the Legion itself, and served in three outposts, the final one near the Valenwood. It was there that he learned of his mother's death. She had been the one thing keeping him in the Legion, so when she was gone, he shocked his whole family and every person living he had ever known, and he deserted into the Valenwood, where he was captured by a roving patrol of Bosmer. At this time, he had only seen about nineteen(19) years pass, so he was fairly young by human standards, and almost a baby by Mer standards. Having shed himself of the trappings of the Imperial Legion upon desertion, he was clad only in a few simple garments when he was picked up by the patrol, which was probably a good thing, considering the dislike of the Legion by the local Bosmer, who were subject to much verbal abuse by the soldiers. After two(2) full years in captivation, he was released by the Bosmer who held him, and upon his release, he was taken in by a Bosmer who was almost old enough to be considered an elder and had been a well-known thief and assassin during his days. The Bosmer gave him the name Alkhillion, and taught Alkhil almost every thing he knows pertaining to stealth and the skills that fall into that category. Less than half a year ago, the old Bosmer was assassinated while he slept. Alkhil and most of the Bosmer's associates have placed blame upon the Dark Brotherhood, but the actual assassin has never been found, due to the total chaos in Tamriel, and it sticks like a thorn in the back of Alkhil's mind, as he wanders the country-side, attempting to find a way to save Cyrodiil from itself and to find the killer of his master and true friend, who had bequeathed to him not only most of his material possessions, such as the Mithril cuirass and greaves, and the Elven dagger, but many immaterial things, such as memories, skills, and even principles, which he follows to the utmost, even now.
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12
Grave Falcon
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Name: Gurn gro Bok
Gender: Male
Race: Orc
Age: 19
Birthsign: The Lady

Height: 6 ft 3
Build: Muscular but not overly so.
Eye Colour: Blue
Hair Style: Bald
Skin color: Dark green, almost grey

Image: Don't have one

Class: Adventurer
Focus: Combat with a pinch of stealth/bush survival
Skills: Battle axes, medium armor, cooking, marksman, armorer, speechcraft.

General Appearance: Being an orc, Gra-Bok has harsh features and a big build
Tattoos/Scars: Has scars placed here and there all over his body.

Clothing: Wears old pants and a sleeveless shirt that have been turned very soft by wear under his armor, with the dual purpose of having a layer between his armor and his skin as well as having something underneath when he wants to take off his armor, either for repairs or because he is in town.

Armor: Orcish boots, greaves and cuirass. Keeps his head and arms uncovered, for both fighting and light travel purposes.
Weapon: A short bow, silver arrows and a steel battle axe.

Pack/Pockets: Carries a small pouch with the little gold he owns on his belt, keeps his weapons on his back and has a small pack hanging from his shoulders in which he keeps food and a hammer for minor repairs to his armor.

Magic: N/A

Mentality: Slightly misanthropist, Gra-Bok is not fond of other people and would rather keep to himself than live in a city. However, he has crossed other travelers with whom he got along and was saddened at having to part ways. Due to his birthsign, Gurn is very good around people, hence his fast bonding with the travelers he has given time to. To someone meeting him for the first time this would be seen as a "je-ne-sais-quoi" that makes people want to be around him.

History: Gra-Bok was the child of two traveling traders who made their living through operating a caravan. It was by moving from place to place that he got used to not getting attached to other people. His father was a blacksmith and his mother was an alchemist. His uncle, his father’s younger brother, also travelled with them, he was a hunter and caught most of the food they ate, leaving only seasoning and vegetables to be bought. Taking into consideration their nomadic lifestyle, they had access to quite a bit of luxury, even buying a skin of fine wine once a month. It was from his father and uncle that Gra-Bok learned his skills. It was on a rainy night as a young Gra-Bok was relieving himself in the woods that it happened. Brigands attacked the caravan and took as much as they could carry off with them. His father and uncle were slaughtered, his mother was left barely alive, the sixist men did not see the potential of women as orcs did. Gra-Bok tried to help her but she died before sunrise. Since then he has been wandering the wilderness, looking for a reason to carry on.
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13
Jonasvault101
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Name: Varar Rendas
Nickname: Rend
Gender: Male
Race: Dunmer
Age: Unknown but possibly over 100
Birthsign: The Steed

Height: 5'8"
Build: Very defined muscle, bigger than most dunmer.
Eye Colour: Red
Hair Style: Long grayish-black hair in dreadlocks reaching just past his shoulders. And a long braid of a goatee.
Skin Colour: Dunmer gray

Class: Dunmer Pirate and Mercernary
Focus: Combat
Skills: Heavy/Medium Armor, Marksman, Spears, Blades of all kinds.

General Appearance: Has a weathered looking face, but something mysterious and dark about it, and yet there is hope in it.
Tattoos/Scars: The Tribunal Hand covers the right side of his face, his body is adorned with many native Dunmer tattoos as well. Varar also has many Daedric runes that were branded into his skin, to show his devotion to them.

Clothing: http://www.uesp.net/morrow/preview/redoran.jpg Underneath is a fine robe and Expensive pants and shoes.
Accessories: 2 gold earings in his left ear, a Ring of Strength, and an Amulet of Telekinesis. Also carries a large satchel on his back.

Armor: see above picture
Weapon: A native Dunmer scimitar with Daedric runes adorning it. (see above picture, its in the scabbard) As well as a Bonemold Longbow and 30 Bonewold Arrows.

Pack/Pockets: In his pack he carries Flin, Matze, Bread, Scrib Jerky, and 2 cure disease potions.

Magic: Destruction, mainly fire and lightning spells of a higher power. But hardly used as Varar prefers close combat, but when fighting a Daedra or some paranormal being, he resorts to Magic

Mentality: Adamantly patriotic to Morrowind. Very calm in harsh situations. Friendly to those he knows well, and to his enemies he has a hatred for like no other.

Misc:

-Was an ex-Telvanni guard turned pirate.
-Hired by House Hlaalu as a Privateer to raid Black Marsh and bring slaves to Vvardenfell.
-Trained by an ex-Blade in the arts of combat as well as diplomacy.
-Skilled in sailing, ship combat and boarding, guerrilla warfare, and open combat.

History: Grew up as an Ashlander of the Urshilaku tribe. He learned how to live off the land as the others did, but one day a group of Nordic slavers raided the camp. With nearly the entire tribe dead, Varar was sold to the Telvanni in Sadrith Mora and given a Telvanni name. He grew up in a life of servitude, at only the tender age of 10. He tried escaping, but the Telvanni had puts spells on him and soon he was taken again.

The Telvanni mages kept him in a constant drugged state for years, yet still able to function, Varar never knew exactly how long. After the mages took him off the drugs and spells, Varar was finally taken under the wing of the Archmage, and became a High Guard of the Archmage in Sadrith Mora. But Varar hated his new "Father" so he killed him in the middle of the night, took all his possessions, rallied some of the other guards, and stole a ship.

From then on he led a life of piracy, slave trade, guerrilla warfare, smuggling, and privateering. When the Empire fell and rumors of a new "champion" roaming the lands reached Morrowind, Varar and his men saw a chance. They weren't bad men, just desperate. After all, they had been slaves, and they freed themselves.

So they go now in search of the lone Khajiit.
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14
Chriso123
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Name: Dandel Milar
Nickname: Doesn't have one
Gender: Male
Race: Dunmer
Age: 79 (young for a Dunmer)
Birthsign: The Tower

Height: 5'11''
Build: Is thin due to lack of food seeing as he is poor and can barely afford anything, has quite defined muscles on his body from lots of exercise over years, even if he doesn't have much fat.
Eye Colour: Red
Hair Style: Quite short, tries to keep ot neat but doesn't really work very well. It is mild brown.
Skin Colour: Typical Dunmer, ashen but slightly darker.

Class: Hunter
Focus: Stealth
Skills: Marksman (Bows and throwing stars), daggers and being moody and aggressive.

General Appearance: Always seems to have a frown on his face, tries to look tough but it's mainly all an act, has large eyes that are quite noticable, has a normal sized nose but is a bit crooked.
Tattoos/Scars: Scars on his back from being wipped.

Clothing: Brown T-shirt under armour, long baggy pants and heavy boots. When in the wilderness he wears gloves.
Accessories: None

Armor: Only a leather cuirass, everything else is his normal clothes.
Weapon: Iron bow, throwing stars and a crude dagger.

Pack/Pockets: In his pack has an apple and five septims.

Magic: Was never taught how to cast spells, but can brew an average poison.

Mentality: Very aggressive and doesn't trust anyone (will be explained in history). Has the tendancy to snap at people who doesn't deserve it. Nonetheless if you can become his friend, he is loyal and will change it to a more calm man, but this is rare as like I said he rarely ever trusts anyone.

Misc: Swears frequently due to always being in a bad mood. Has a raspy voice but not to the extent of Vvardenfell Dunmer.

History: Grew up normally, no problems what so ever, just like any other boy. However once at the age of 7 he and his friend Delryn were waiting in the castle (his father was the cook there). They were waiting in the great hall, it was late and no-one was around, not even any guards, Dandel spotted an amazingly crafted dagger in an unlocked display case (rather strange). With him being so young he didn't think of his actions and took it and ran back to the house his Delryn. It was the next day that word had gotten around the entire city of Bravil that the dagger had been stolen. The punishment was a life sentance in the prison, and there was an enormous reward for anyone who found the dagger and the theif. Dandel and Delryn burried the dagger deep outside the city walls and swore that they would never rat each other out.

Later on in life when everyone was suffering in Bravil with poverty, Delryn had enough of being poor and ratted out Dandel to the Count. Dandel was thrown into the prison and Delryn offered rich's and prizes, he moved to the Imperial city (this was what caused Dandel to never trust anyone). After many years in prison of being beated, whipped, starved and totured, his father made enough money to release Dandel. Normally money wouldn't matter but with the current state it was muchly needed. Dandel and his father lived horribley, 1 meal a day and only small things to eat between it. When his father died Dandel felt his life was pointless, and was close to commiting suicide, but didn't have the mental strength. He settled to smoke skooma whenever he could, which was easy in Bravil, you didn't even have to pay much for it. But he also tried to keep himself physically fit, just as there was nothing to do. It was until one day that rumours were spead about a Khajit helping people who were poor and needed help. Dandel saw no reason not to follow these rumours to Fort Blueblood, he didn't have much to live for and it was something to do. But more importantly.... hope.
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15
Aulakauss
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Name: Ra'Veldas Odeen Omathu
Nicknames: Ved
Gender: Male
Race: Khajiit
Age: 18

Class: Trickster
Major Skills: Illusion, Hand to Hand, Long Blade, Acrobatics, Speechcraft
Minor Skills: Destruction, Sneak, Athletics, Unarmored, Short Blade
Birthsign: The Lover

Eyes: Dunmeri Red
Hair: Blood Red
Skin/Fur Color: Light blue skin obscured by thick white fur. Fur is striped with black all down the torso and legs with a large V-shape at the collar and a single stripe around the end of the tail.
Height: 6'
Weight: 180lbs
Build: Athletic

General Body Description: Since he was young, Ra'Veldas has always been tall and thin for his age. He has changed little in this respect since he became a teenager. His arms and legs are long and lanky, his hips, spine and ribs are all very prominent beneath his flesh and his arms, while of moderate strength, are rather thin. Overall he has a very athletic, if somewhat effeminate build, acquired from a youth spent picking fights and climbing buildings.

Beyond his body, his colors and markings are very much his mother's: His soft fur is a lusterless white, punctuated with black stripes all along his body. His hair is of a crimson tint and he prefers to wear it long so that it falls just below his shoulders. His face is, interestingly considering his breeding, more Khajiiti than his feline parent and bears a cattish nose with a black end as well as a more angular chin. His red eyes bear a constant sparkle of mischief in them and his face is rarely without a smirk of some sort.

General Clothing Description: Ra'Veldas can usually be seen wearing a comfortable forest green wool shirt and similar loose pants tucked into a pair of knee-high leather boots. Over this is often a long coat, too thin to offer much warmth, but good for keeping the elements off of you. Dark blue and enchanted to be self-regenerating, it hugs his slim body whether buttoned or not. Occasionally, he will also don with this odd outfit a black cloth hat with holes in the top to allow his ears to move freely. In addition, Ved rarely goes anywhere without the crystal ring his mother gave him for his fifteenth birthday, infused with a very minor shield spell to keep rain off of him.

Tattoo/Scars/Piercings: Ears are each pierced once with a steel ring at the base and his body sports a sparse assortment of scars from various scuffles and accidents. As of yet, he has no tattoos.

Armor: Generally, Ra'Veldas doesn't wear armor, but in the rare occasions he does, he favors a light chainmail vest and some sort of heavy gauntlets.

Inventory: Nothing much at the moment, just some gold, a small pipe and some tobacco.

Weapons: Silver Longsword strapped to his hip and a Steel Tanto attached to his belt near his backside.
Magic: Charm, Light, Calm, Silence and Paralysis spells of varying strengths, powerful Fortify Strength and Fortify Acrobatics spells (though they both only last a second), assorted low-to-mid level Destruction spells and one weak Telekinesis spell.

Brief History: Ra'Veldas grew up a slightly spoiled child, being an only child for most of his youth. His parents were unable to buy him much most of his life, but for the most part he could get away with anything he pleased. Despite being given all but free reign over the house he lived in, he was still expected to do a great number of chores and both his parents saw to it that he met with each of them at least twice a week for training. Though the lessons were meant mostly to instill discipline in the young Khajiit, he applied his learned talents to impress his friends and pick fights for his own amusemant.

At the age of fifteen, he had developed a habit of sneaking out at night to cause trouble, get drunk and, on occasion, get tossed in jail. This did not go over well with his parents. After one such night, his folks finally refused to bail him out of the Imperial jail again and figured that he should face the consequences of his actions. Since then, he has gradually settled down, though he is still far from being considered responsible.

Personality: Ra'Veldas could easily be called charming and witty, albeit arrogant and headstrong. Since he was but a kitten, he was told to always fight for what he believed was right and finish what he started, but he has taken his following of this advice to an extreme; he rarely backs down from anything and will happily come to blows to accomplish what he feels he needs to. Oddly considering this, he is mostly mild-tempered and has a great amount of patience with people (though that patience does no spread to much else; he is antsy and impatient in regards to most other things).

In spite of his recklessness and irresponsibility, he is a courageous, chivalrous man with a good heart and a healthy, if slanted, sense of humor. Ra'Veldas is a good friend to all who call him friend. Though he may be young and inexperienced in life-or-death combat, his resourcefulness makes him a formidable opponent.

Other Traits/Oddities:
- Horribly afraid of the undead.
- Extremely defensive of females.
- Is ambidextrous.
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16
Firenze
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Name: Firenze
Nickname: Fir (say: Fur)
Gender: Male
Race:Ka Po'Tun
Age: 27
Birthsign: The Steed

Height: Average 5 ' 10
Build: Slight but muscular, good abs and chest muscles, and strong in the arms.
Eye Colour: Yellow, cats pupils
Hair Style: White, rather messy, http://tbn0.google.com/images?q=tbn%3a%44t8Um-NX0x0rDM:http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g212/lilgujugurl2120/zac_efron.jpg
Skin Colour: Average white mans skin, quite tanned.

Class: Captain, Fighter and Marksman.
Focus: Stealthy combat.
Skills: Long blades, short blades, bows (preferably crossbows) athletics, acrobatics, climbing, light armour.

General Appearance: An attractive man who tends to care about his appearance more than most men in Cyrodiil. He has a light stubble around his chin and under his nose. His yellow eyes seem to glow in the dark.
Tattoos/Scars: One scar that's 1cm below his heart. A dark blue three layered pyramid tattoo on his right cheek.

Clothing: A black pair of coarse linen trousers with leather boots and a grey collared shirt.
Accessories: One silver ring with a blue jem embedded in it, and a silver necklace with a blue jem in it.

Armor: A hooded black travelling cloak and pure black mithril armour, no fingers on the gauntlets, with red F’s emblazoned lots on the back of the gloves, the chest, shoulders and feet.

Weapons: A double-sided black silver long blade and a hand crafted black silver crossbow with 50 silver bolts in a waist quiver.


Pack/Pockets: Many healing potions, an old map, antique compass, a glass dagger and 200 Septims all carried in a brown frayed satchel bag that is hidden under is cloak.

Magic: A toggled night-eye ability that is a ratial trait.

Mentality: Strong, bold and pure of heart, he occasionnaly goes too far and needs companions to stop him.

Misc: N/A

History: Works as an apprentice smith in The March Rider, but by night he has another job. He belongs to the Dark Brotherhood and is at the rank of Executioner. He served in the Brotherhood after him and his companion Jyrath left each other for a while. Firenze joined a month after the Purification and rose through the ranks quickly, showing a lot of prowess. He doesn’t know much about his past, just that his mother was killed by bandits and his father was a drunkard. He left home when he was 13 and learnt to fend for himself.

The trail leads here…

For a while now the tales of a rogue freedom fighter has spread far and wide, stories of rallying people together to correct the recent mistakes of the empire, rumours of misdeeds being covered up in the places he had visited. For one reason or another you have been following clues in hopes you will find the Khajiit and conclude the mission you set yourself upon.

Your latest tip-off came all of a sudden, a meeting near Fort , deep in the swamps and woods that lay west of Leyawiin. You heard it was being called to setup a team that would track down the Khajiit you’ve been searching for.

Your not sure what their intentions are once they find him or why you were told of the meeting, but you are sure of your own intentions and you know that whatever happens this will only benefit your search and hopefully give you more details on who this Khajiit really is and what his true goals are.

The trail leads here…. Blueblood…



Ooc: after this post you may begin, and bare in mind you should gather outside then await me, i shall post shortly but would like to give you time to interact with eachother breifly before we begin. back in 30 mins

EDIT: woops i forgot to edit the location of blueblood... done now >.<

OOC: By the way I'm in the UK and it's about 9:45pm here so I won't be on all night. If you could try and not progress the story too far without me then that would be nice

IC: Tips and rumours never were always reliable. Anyone could create one for many different reasons such as to be misleading or mearly cruel. Aryon knew this, yet also knew that if you had nothing else to go on then at the least investigating a rumour was better than fumbling around in the dark. It was something to go by.

Fort Blueblood was located near Leyawin in Cyrodiil, far away from the wizards native homeland of Morrowind where he has spent much of his life living in and very rarely leaving its borders for anything other than expeditions and studies. If this was where the trail that Aryon has been following leads to then it better be worth it he thought. He had been on the road from the town of Leyawin for a good few hours with nothing but a sack of coins and his armor. While he was in the swamp town he noticed many strange looks from the natives, most likely based upon his appearance as he was dressed in Bonemold armor. These ignorant people would never have seen such traditional Dunmer armor Aryon had thought to himself as he ignored the curious glances. Many of the natives were also wary of his native Dunmer accent as they would have been most used to Dunmer who were born outside of Morrowind and whose voices were much 'lighter' than his.

Being deep in thought was something that the Dunmer wizard found useful as time would often pass by quickly and the roads of Cyrodiil were generaly much safer than those of Morrowind, even in such dark times. He found very few people on the roads and those he met would often give only a travellers nod and pass by, not even speaking a word. It wasn't long before he saw his target looming ominously before him. Coming all the way out here had better be worth it he threatened to no one in particular as he climbed up a small slope and walked towards the ruined fort, being sure to scan the area around him for hidden threats or adversarys who could ambush him.

Heinrich

Heinrich couldn't complain - travelling through this Blackwood, a forest (well, more of a swamp, actually) many seemed to despise for some reason, proved to be not so difficult. Maybe it was because of his experiences in the past year more than anything, but the Breton found himself evading the more treacherous parts of the woods and finding the dry(-ish) spots most of the time. He did wish the road was an option, but it wasn't for two reasons - first of all, the fort was located in the forest, supposedly deep enough not to be seen from the road, and secondly, he was an outlaw now, and he couldn't risk a scrap with an Imperial Legion patrol. Even if there weren't that many of these nowadays, what with the state of the Empire and all, he presumed that Leyawiin's count maintained at least some sort of a militia that kept the lands around Leyawiin relatively safe, or at least that's what the case was back in Wayrest.

Even if he found crossing the forest easy, though, the yeoman was glad to finally see his destination through the trees - Fort Blueblood. Although the fort was far from what it must've looked back in its days of glory, Heinrich had to admit that it looked better than he anticipated. Having been forced to repair his barn and roof a couple of times, the farmer knew how hard it was to build something that'd last many hundreds of years; he had to give the Empire credit, they sure as hell knew how to build things like that. If only they were as succesful in maintaining themselves. Frowning, he leaned against his staff, staring at the fort. He had no idea why exactly did he follow these rumors; how could a single yeoman help change an empire that spanned over the whole of Tamriel was beyond him.

I have to try, though. For the sake of any children I may or may not have one day; I'd rather leave them a farm than an outlaw's camp.

Tucharon pushed through the Nibenean underbrush. It was almost funny the way his life turned out; he was once the son of nobles, then a longstanding scholar, then a mad scientist, and eventually, little more than an eccentric mercenary. His fortune was gone; poured into acquiring knowledge and the equipment that had gotten him through so many tough scraqes. His title was utterly destroyed, and his reputation was forever tarnished.

Even his Dwemer artifacts had been lost in shipping; it was his fault for hiring the lowest bidder, but he didn't have the finances to go through the official channels and get someone who wasn't above breaking the law to ship the artifacts. And even the things that went his way always backfired; his experiments with Dwemer Animunculi got him thrown out of the Mages Guild. He got work in designing Dwemer technology to create a flying ship; it went missing on its first flight. He worked on a mechanical tree sap harvesting device for the Blackwood Company; it became a fatal scandal for the group. If Dwemer technology was always this unlucky, then it was no mystery why they're all gone, he thought.

And here he was, trudging through this damp forest for a very weak lead. He wouldn't be surprised if this was a trap, but his life had spiraled downward so much, it didn't matter at this point. In the very least there were plenty of Ayleid ruins nearby if the opportunity came up to do some research.

The Altmer finally came within sight of the fort; not the most glorious structure, but he couldn't be picky.

"kiryaaaahhhh!!!!!"


The voice rang throughout the trees with a moist tone, bouncing mushy resonance off the surfaces of the surround bogs. Narkiorrou strode childishly between the drier patches of earth as he shouted with joy, i little overacted perhaps but he was having fun so what did it matter. His two paw like feet sploshed down into a shallow slop as he came to a halt, closing in one his destination. He was giddy with excitement about possibly finding out what it was all about and hopefully making a pretty septim at the same time. It dawned on him that his loud escapades might draw attention despite heading to a secret meeting. He paused and sniggered at his own foolishness before letting out a rather convincing "AWRRWOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" and laughing once more.

*sigh*

He huffed as he briefly checked to make sure his bag hadnt leaked valuable goods all over the forest floor, thinking not on the possiblility of leaving a trail but more on losing the chance of a sale. As he began to pace onward at a more reasonable volume he mused on the possible people he would meet when he got there and the amusing nicknames he might give them. He trod closer to the fort coming in from the north, obviously he would have to go the long way.

Acerbus was nearing his destination, Fort Blueblood. The rumors of this meeting were very intriguing and Acerbus had to come see for himself what this person hoped to achieve. He had heard it was to unite those who had heard of the Khajiit that spoke of equality, justice, and peace.

The Khajiit was rumored to be behind the random disappearances and murders of members in the guilds. Even the Dark Brotherhood had been speculated of being infiltrated. Acerbus knew things like that were to happen if people ever hoped of peace.

He had finally reached the fort, noticing a few people already standing outside of its doors. They obviously were here for the meeting and, being the friendly sort that he was, Acerbus said, "Hello."

Heinrich

"Well, hullo yourself, mister." Heinrich responded, his thick High Rock accent when speaking Colovian making itself quite obvious. However, his accent was nothing compared to this new fellow; the way he dressed seemed, at very least, odd to the yeoman who hadn't seen many adventurers in his life, nor placed a lot of trust in them to get things done right. People who made a living off of scavenging things out of caves and such were ought to be wrong in the head according to him; the Breton himself couldn't be dragged into doing such things even if his life hung in the balance, explaining why he became a highwayman instead of an adventurer when money got short. And this fellow seemed to be just that - an adventurer; as with the other people that had come out of the woods, like the Altmer (who the hell walks around with a treasury like that on his back? Sell it and lead a normal life!) or the Dunmer (and I thought knights were bad with their armor...).

"Might I guess ye have been drawn to this place by the rumors of the Khajiit and 'im blasted preaching, then?" Although the man could've formed the oppinion of the farmer being unhappy about the whole of this, it wasn't the case; Heinrich swore when he was excited, in fact. The more exciting things got, the worse his swears went, and the yeoman certainly had a wide arsenal of these to draw upon. He had displayed his skill in this 'fine art' during his first ambush of a merchant, when the man being robbed managed to convince himself Heinrich was going to kill him, what with all the curses making him seem rather angry. He got away with a fist to the head, though; even if he was forced to become an outlaw, Heinrich still wasn't a killer.

Acerbus immediately thought of how upset the man sounded. If he did not wish to be here, then why is he here? He asked himself. He straightened up and said, "Why, yes I have. Forgive me for not introducing myself first, friend. I am Acerbus Occisor and you are?"

He looked at the man's clothing, concluding that he must be a farmer and his accent quite obviously showed that he was from High Rock. I wonder why a farmer would be here? Probably for money, I would imagine. Acerbus thought to himself once again. But something told him that there was more to this "farmer" than meets the eye.

OOC: phew im glad i got it up there today, fraid today's brain power along with the heat englands experiencing (or at least my town) has worn me out so will have to say g'night for now but shall be back to make a post in the morning... in 8 -12 hours


keep it up tis looking grand

Heinrich

"Heinrich Plauen. Yeoman; victim of stuck-up not-worth-my-donkey's-crap noble; outlaw." Heinrich responded, stretching out his hand. Probably it wasn't the cleanest hand this Acerbus had seen in his life; even if he was a yeoman, it didn't mean the Breton concerned himself with such things as regular baths, and even though he didn't smell, given that he would dive into some pond every now and then, random swims weren't enough to wash away all the dirt of a farmer, as even with his new occupation as a highwayman, he didn't abbandon his old line of work completely, having fought back a small patch of land from the forests around Chorrol, using it as something to back him up in worse years. At least, that was the plan, when the seeds would grow into wheat and he could sell them to some villagers or some such.

"'T least, outlaw according to the lads over at the big city. Basically means I don't have a big bag o money to pay them ridiculous taxes wid."

Through the brush, Larth pushed. He had to admit it wasn't much at all like Skyrim compared to Bruma. But then again, he had suspected Bruma was as close to being in Skyrim as one could get without being within the nation proper, both in culture and Mead recopies. If there was a difference. Through the brush he pushed. Coming here may have been a mistake, he thought, but if I'm looking for a righteous war, I suppose this Cat can't have a worse cause than minor Hammerfell nobles. Blue Blood, an interesting name. Imperial's were certainly better than Redguard's at naming. He'd heard tell they literally named a fort "Stone Keep" once.

Hark, what was that? The sounds of an introduction, though one of the voices sounded familiar. No, not the voice. As he listened, he could discern an accent from the one of them. Though he couldn't place it at the moment, it reminded him of a Breton he'd known near the northern border Hammerfell.

Well, they seemed to be in the way of his path, so he followed the voices. He came out from behind a bush to see a Breton extending a hand to another, taller fellow.

"Well met, the both of you," offered Larth, "quite a day for stroll, t'isn't it?" Could they be headed to fort Blue Blood? Even if they were, they're motives were unknown to him. Best to keep his destination secret until he discerned their purposes. The both of them.

Tucharon removed his helmet and introduced himself.

"I am Tucharon, Spellsword, enchanter, and expert on Dwemer technology, at your service." He looked about at the others who were apparently here the same reason that he was. They were quite a diverse group, but Tucharon wasn't going to trust anyone yet. Even so, it was good to know that this mysterious khajiit had succeeded in summoning a few others. It will be interesting to see what happens next, he thought.

"Greetings, Spellsword," Larth gave a nod of the head, "What brings you out this way, if I might venture?" He asked, raising his left eyebrow. An Altmer, he'd never been all to fond of the race, but as the Dunmer had taught him, you should never judge an elf by their face nor flatulence.

John travailed on horseback to the fort. He didn't believe that the rumors were true but he didn't want to spend the remainders of his days drinking all day at the roxy iin scamming and selling skooma to travelers. He wanted adventure, something he has been deprived of all his life. After hours of hard-riding the fort came into view...
When he got there he noticed a group of people who already arrived, ''Hi. My name is John.'', was all he said. He didn't like long conversations.

Tucharon noticed the newcomer, but soon turned towards the Nord that had spoken to him to reply.

"I am a mer who traded everything away for knowledge and the means to gain more knowledge. I hope for a chance to make the trade worth it, I wish to use those things to help mend this broken land I found refuge in." Indeed, until now his knowledge hadn't exactly helped him, in fact, the only successes he had were small and irrelevant, as opposed to his screwups, which always seemed costly to him and to others. "And if I'm not mistaken, this many strangers gathering at the site of a crumbling ruin at the same time can only signify that we were all following the same lead."

"I hope you all don't mind if I play my lute," Acerbus said, pulling the lute from his back and beginning to strum its strings. "I'm sure some music will entertain us while we wait."

He found a nearby tree stump and sat down, all the while playing the lute. He looked around, noticing a few new faces. One of the Nord who had just walked up. He was a tall Nord, at that. An Altmer wearing a full suit of ebony armor strolled up as well and introduced himself. And the yellow Khajiit came running up, yelling and whatnot.

What a strange, if not talented, group of people.

Larth nodded,

"So I suspected," he glanced at the newcomer and the other two, "We'll see how things.. unfold." After a small pause, Larth continued, "Did anyone else hear a strange yelp earlier? Sounded like it came from one of those blasted Cat men." Larth pursed his lips and sniffed the air audibly, as if they trying to smell the man of which he spoke. "Perhaps our friend of mutual interest, out there hopping around. Playing tricks."

He turned to the man playing the lute, he never quite understood the art of music, but found it strangly interesting. Perhaps not a musicians appreciation, but he liked to think he could pick the better medleys from the worse.

EDIT: OOC: Sorry Veneficus, your post wasn't up originally sorry. Added mention of you.

OOC:So, what time is it?

It happened when Gurn gro Bok had been traveling for two days, he had been headed for a swamp where he liked to harvest mushrooms. His last temporary home had lasted too long, he was starting to run out of food. If he was to survive into his twenties he would have to be more careful, settling down for a day or two was acceptable if he made proper plans but this time he had reached three days of idleness, which was completely mad. Perhaps buying that flin hadn't been a good idea, his father had always warned him against the dangers of drinks, they made men brave, sluggish, clumsy and lethargic as well as tying them to their bedrolls the next day. Now he was nearing one of the best mushroom gathering areas of the swamp. However, something else caught his eye. There was a small crowd gathering in front of an abandoned fort, this was something worth looking into.

As he neared, he started hearing voices, nothing discernible yet, but a faint whisper in the distance. Eventually he started making words out. Apparently introductions were being made, so the individuals making up the crowd were probably meeting for the first time. Deciding to play it safe, he chose to watch from a distance.

Elissandre outside of fort Blueblood

As she almost stumbled on some rotten lof hidden under the vegetations once again Elissandre cursed under her breath. Despite her years of wandering she remained a townswoman. Let's just hope this lead won't prove as empty as the rest. But give it credit where it's due, it at least got me out of Bravil. I came way to close to give up and drown myself in sugar and skooma... With an effort of will she stomped that train of thoughts, using anger at the swampy woods general unpleasantness to keep from straying.

She wasn't sure for how long she had stumbled through the damp undergrowth, but finally she spotted some encouraging signs she might come close to her destination. But seemingly not the only one as her limited experience let her spot at least one trail headed for her destination. Of course, I'm not the only one to have picked up those leads.

Elissandre slowed her pace, wanting to have a better look at who was around before showing up ? for all she knew, it could be bandits. Soon she could notice broken masonry standing amongst the trees, and hear some indistinct shreds of conversation, along with notes from a lute. Who's bringing a lute in those damn damp woods ? But let's not get carried over, I need a better look at who's there...

Stopping behind a large tree Elissandre started quietly whispered some incantations, calling forth the strand of magic, wrapping them around herself to avert unwanted eyes and dampen th sounds of her walk. Approaching under an invisibility spell might not be very friendly, but I'd rather be safe than sorry.

Now shielded from observation she stepped closer, getting a better look at the ruins ? and the rather odd group gathered there. Certainly not an organized group, but not bandit either. Too much disparity in equipment, it ranges from farmer's clothes up to ebony armor. A custom job to boot from the way it fits. Moving behind another tree, Elissandre dropped her spell before stepping into sight. Not exactly an imposing sight, water-stained robe and worn boots spoke rather eloquently of a tightly pinched purse...

"Greeting to everyone. It seems I'm not the only one interested in chasing rumors." She smiled around, making clear her greeting included everyone, before continuing "I'm Elissandre ? healer by trade, pennyless by Guild decision, here by curiosity."

Arnand Erelue

Blackwood. Bordering what was probably the furthest place from High Rock, Arnand's once-home. But that place carried terrible memories for him. A sickly green portal, a great, sluggish monster, his parents screaming as their souls were ripped from their chests...

No, Arnand thought to himself. Not now. Finally, I'm going to meet people who want to help. People like me. I'm not going to screw it up thinking about that awful Prince and screaming in my sleep.

It wasn't too difficult not to. Blackwood's marshes were among the most dangerous places in Cyrodiil. And it wasn't just the quicksand-like swamps you had to be wary of - Trolls loved the humid air and were swarming all over the place. Not that Arnand couldn't handle a Troll, of course - He just didn't want to go into combat and have to go the rest of the journey all tired and sweaty. Therefore, utmost precaution should be taken and full concentration.

Somewhere in the distance, what sounded like Werewolf howls were echoing on through the trees. Arnand was now fairly scared, but kept going regardless. If there was a Werewolf, is he moved quick he could get to his destination before it got to him. His thoughts were broken shortly, however, because just over the hill Arnand could see the tallest battlements of Fort Blueblood.

Arnand strode cheerily inside the damaged fort, to see a rather varied group huddled around the walls.

"Greetings! I'm Arnand Erelue, outcast of the Mage's Guild and sworn enemy of them."

Yes... thought Arnand, as he fondled the emerald amulet wrapped around his neck. Sworn enemy...

John looked up at the Breton women , ''Hi. I guess the cat should be here soon. We're just waiting here.''
John then turned to the new comers, ''Haha! cast out of the Mages guild, eh? What'd you do play with zombies?.. Like necromancy or whatever they call that?'' John said to Arand Erelue taking interest in a fellow outcast, ''I don't like those antsy Mages either...''

OOC: Just to note i'll be putting things into motion soon so if you havnt gotten your character to the fort i suggest doing so soon.


IC: Narkiorrou hopped gleefully down the smushy slope before springing up and onto a short fallen stone pillar that lead straight toward a slowly growing gathering. He took on a slighlty more mature stance as he strolled down the horizontal column before plopping down onto the soft earth beside them, making a very soft sound due to his almost bare feet. Two steps further to join the group and he had to pinch his ear to halt himself from sayiing Boo!, knowing that it would likely be lost humour on them. He looked around at the ever so varied bunch of travellers and vagabonds, and although none resembled the ones he had pictured not 10 minutes ago, he still went about in his head choosing fitting nicknames for them all.

Without saying a word he closed his eyes and smiled before diverting off toward a large single stone slab and sat down. Rifling within his satchel he produced an apple and sharply went about cutting it into slices with a small knife, still maintaining his closed eyes, semi-grin and bowed head. Something in his mind was ever so amusing and must have made more than one of the fellow gatherers curious.

Acerbus Occisor

Acerbus put his lute away and stood as the newcomers arrived. The Khajiit he had heard earlier was now there, with an all too human face. Mixed-breeds are so intriguing. I didn't see many of them earlier in my life. A new trend I would suppose. The Breton healer was a pretty young sort. She had red hair and a brown, dirty looking robe.

"Greetings goes to the both of you. Acerbus Occisor, vampire-hunter, and you two are?" He asked, bowing to the healer and extending an arm to the Khajiit, who had made himself comfortable rather quickly.