» Thu Sep 27, 2012 6:11 am They stood and watched reverently as he disappeared into the city, quickly losing track of him as he disappeared beyond the veritable throng of workers hurrying to and fro. Even at this time of night, Winterhold was alive and moving, artisans such as stonecutters and carpenters working to construct new buildings. Younger men and women who had no such trade worked to dismantle the ruined buildings at the edge of the cliff, making large piles of material that even more people were searching through, deciding what wooden planking could be implemented into the newer homes, and pulling out the old rusted nails and hinges to be melted down and reforged. It was chaos to be sure, but for the guards who had called the city home all of their lives, it was a beautiful sight. The younger guards were snapped out of their individual thoughts as the captain yelled back down to them, “What are you two standing around for? Close the damn gate before you invite a bandit raid!”
The elderly Argonian continued on towards the bridge to the College, and stopped in front of a tall high elf who simply said, “Welcome back, Archmage.”
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It has been twenty years since the now legendary war that the Dragonborn waged upon Alduin and his ilk, driving nearly all of the dragons from Skyrim, and Tamriel. The city of Winterhold has been in the process of rebuilding with the aid of the Imperials, and has been to attracting citizens from around Skyrim and the rest of Tamriel. This population boom has greatly aided the College of Winterhold as well, as some of the new citizens have become extremely interested in the college, and some displayed enough magical talent to gain entrance. The new citizens have also been useful in removing some of the stigma associated with the college, as many of them are from areas of Tamriel where magic is more widely accepted, and as such the members have been able to walk around the city more openly.
Most of this has only had a minor effect on the college though, the lives of it’s members go on, and studies and experimentation continues. The Archmage has returned from a recent journey bringing with him word of an as of yet unexplored Dwemer ruin that could possibly hold items of interest for the college…
The two Co-GMs are http://www.gamesas.com/user/482896-asapp5/, and http://www.gamesas.com/user/694898-yes-man-ftw/.
The CS
Spoiler
Name:
Age:
six:
Race:
Level of experience: (Novice or Apprentice [student], Adept or Expert [higher ranked mage], or Master [teacher])
Appearance:
Skills and Abilities: (Magical and otherwise)
Weapons: (If enchanted it has to go under the enchanted items section as well as here)
Armor / clothing:
Enchanted Items: (Students may start with two, higher ranked mages may start with three, and teachers may start with five)
Background:
Age:
six:
Race:
Level of experience: (Novice or Apprentice [student], Adept or Expert [higher ranked mage], or Master [teacher])
Appearance:
Skills and Abilities: (Magical and otherwise)
Weapons: (If enchanted it has to go under the enchanted items section as well as here)
Armor / clothing:
Enchanted Items: (Students may start with two, higher ranked mages may start with three, and teachers may start with five)
Background:
Accepted Character Sheets:
Spoiler
Teachers:
Higher Ranked Mages:
Students:
Spoiler
aSaPp!5@ [Co-GM]
Vincent McCool
Person from Anticlere
Spoiler
Name: Rithe Veloryn
Age: Born 3E 169 (468 years as of 4E 204, appears in early to mid 40’s)
Race: Dunmer, of the Telvanni Bloodlines
Gender: Male
Height: 6'0"
Birthsign: The Mage
Appearance: Rithe is in extremely good physical condition for his age. His body is lean and slender, yet well toned, a result of his rigorous years of training. He works to maintain his physique regularly. He stands at roughly 6’0” and weighs in at about 180lbs. His cheek bones and jaw line are hard giving him a harsh look. His black hair falls down to his shoulders, but is tied back to keep it out of his deep crimson eyes. (http://i865.photobucket.com/albums/ab216/asapp152/TESV2012-03-1822-06-04-43.jpg)
Experience: Master of Destruction, Alteration, and Illusion.
Skills: Rithe was an arcane prodigy, therefore from an early age he was tutored in the arcane arts as well as the trade of the Morag Tong. Due to his extreme arcane potential the Morag Tong tutored him to the best of their abilities. After years of tutoring, sparring, and training Rithe was finally inducted into the Morag Tong as a full member and began his own extensive research into the arcane arts. He is one of the very few living beings that can truly claim a complete mastery of the school of Illusion. Never has he met someone of equal talent in the art of deception, except Mephala herself. Adding to his knowledge of the arcane Rithe has also mastered the schools of Destruction and Alteration. While they do not compare to his prowess in the school of Illusion he has found very few who can match his talents in either school. Rithe is also quite adept at the schools of Mysticism and Conjuration; however nowhere near the level of mastery he boasts in the other schools. Rithe knows little of the school of Restoration and has only studied it briefly.
Adding to his immense arcane abilities is his mastery of the blade. The Tong had no finer swordsman than Rithe Veloryn. Rithe prefers to wield Dunmeri katanas and does so with deadly efficiency. Centuries of training and honing his skills have shaped him into a mer who makes even the hardiest warriors and most powerful wizards think twice.
Weapons: Since his rise to the rank of Master in the Morag Tong Rithe Veloryn has carried only one weapon. An elegant curving Dunmeri katana forged from the finest ebony. The blade is honed to a razor sharp edge that can easily cut through the flesh of anyone who finds themselves unlucky enough to be on the wrong side of it. The cross-guard and pommel are made of tempered adamantium. The tang of the blade is flanked with two pieces of fire tempered hardwood and wrapped with netch leather in a cross pattern. When it was first forged the blade was brilliant and its well polished surface shone brightly. However many centuries have passed and the once vibrant brilliance of the blade has dulled. The hardwood and leather handle has been weathered and worn. The adamantium has been dulled to a satin finish, and the black blade scarred by many encounters. However it still holds an edge as it did centuries before when it was forged in Morrowind, before the fall of the Ministry, and before the invasion. Though now it rests within a locked chest in his quarters, along with the other remnants of his past.
Armor: Before his time with the College Rithe wore the armor given to Masters of the Morag Tong. The netch leather armor is unique in appearance, as is all Dunmeri armor. In Morrowind no two sets of armor were the same, except for those that were imported by the East Empire Company from the other provinces. The leather armor itself is earthy brown in color and is accented by the deep maroons of the Dunmeri scarves that accompany it. One is wrapped around the waist and draqes down near the tops of his knees while another is wrapped loosely around his neck and shoulders. The one thing that is most unique about the armor, however, is the insignia branded on the leather of the left upper arm. http://media.steampowered.com/steamcommunity/public/images/avatars/72/7299d5873a30ab8412d5bd97a4b478577bb073c2_full.jpg was beginning to get worn down, yet one could still clearly make out the insignia. However it is an entirely different matter when it comes to recognizing it. The Tong, along with most of Morrowind, was almost entirely eradicated during the Red Year and the invasion of the Argonians. Rithe is probably one of the last few surviving members; most likely the only surviving member born before the 4th century of the 3rd era. Though now that he is part of the College of Winterhold, Rithe wears Dunmeri styled robes of various earthen colors.
Enchanted Items: A signet ring of recall bearing the seal of the Morag Tong, locked away with the other remnants of his past.
Personality: Rithe's personality is a hard thing to put in words. Depending on the situation his moods can vary slightly, altering his attitude towards others. However Rithe maintains a calculating, anolytical, and philosophical sage-like aura. He is not aggressive or abrasive,and he rarely shows any emotional extremes. Rithe instead hovers in the middle of the spectrum. He is neither overly friendly nor unfriendly, nor harsh nor soft. He maintains a calm demeanor almost all the time, as if he has reaches some sort of inner calmness and is in-sync with the world around him. This is most likely a result of his training. A calculating, anolytical mind untouched by strong emotion was a necessary trait for any Morag Tong assassin. When it comes down to matters of importance or things Rithe has set his mind on he will execute them with ruthless efficiency. Though, during his time as a thrall of Mephala his mind and personality was broken to such a degree that he no longer resembled himself. Prone to outbursts of rage and anger as well as debilitating moments of depression and anxiety. While under contract with Mephala his mind and being was the polar opposite of it's real state.
Rithe also holds to the philosophy that any action one takes in the world gives off ripples, and that it is better to strike one man and cause a tsunami than strike a thousand for the same result. He does only what is necessary and no more, he believes the smaller the wound the smaller the scar left behind. This greatly affects the way he interacts with others and with the world around him.
Background: Rithe was born to a Telvanni Mage-Lord in the grand city of Sadrith Mora. Being an illegitimate child his father cast him away and refused to recognize him as his son in fear of slight upon his reputation as one of the Telvanni's foremost mages. The young babe was taken in by the Morag Tong, as was custom for orphans at the time. They raised him and ensured that he was well fed and educated through his early childhood. When he came of an age where he could begin learning the trade of the Morag Tong he was tutored and trained by the Guild-master at Sadrith Mora. It was not long into his tutoring that his talent was recognized. Rithe, even at an extremely young age, was capable of manipulating the arcane better than the trainees that were ten and fifteen years his elder. After his talent was discovered Eno Hlaalu himself paid for the best tutors and mages to train Rithe in the ways of the arcane. Eno envisioned a new breed of Morag Tong, one that pulled on the arts of the arcane as much as the traditional arts. Rithe was to be the first of his kind.
Many years passed, and Rithe’s abilities quickly grew. At the age of 15 he was inducted as a full member in the Morag Tong; over ten years earlier than most recruits were inducted. At the age of 28 he was promoted to the rank of Knower, the youngest to ever achieve such standing in the guilds history. Over the next 40 years Rithe continued his training and became one of the guild’s most lethal and efficient assassins. At the age of 78 he had surpassed all his mentors and teachers in the ways of the arcane arts and took up his own studies and research to further his abilities. After the death of the Sadrith Mora Guild-Master Rithe was given the title of Master of the Morag Tong, a title only 6 others in the Tong held.
Rithe managed the Sadrith Mora Guildhall and its members with great efficiency. It was no surprise that the Grandmaster favored him over the other ranking members of the guild. Rithe completed his writs with cold and calculating efficiency, never making a fault or failing to complete an assignment. He did as he was commanded and never thought twice about it. The guild was his life, all he had known, all he had cared for. That is until Rayden Andrethi came into the world.
Rayden was the son of two of Rithe’s most loyal and committed assassins, Adren Verethi and Elmera Farandyl. As was expected the boy was raised in the ways of the Tong and Rithe grew rather attached to him. Even though he would not admit it openly, even to himself, he had grown to see the young mer as a son. This, however, would lead to his eventual downfall and spiral him into a series of events that would forever change his life and the lives of many others.
Five years before the Oblivion Crisis Rayden’s parents were killed while completing a writ in the northern wastes of Vvardenfell. It sent the young mer in a fury of rage followed by a sadistic and numb inner fury that sparked the fire that would lead to his exile. Rayden, emotionally and mentally broken after the death of his parents, faulted two writs. The first was pardoned. However his fate was sealed after the massacre of Rethan Manor, a writ taken to the extreme. The next day Eno Hlaalu issued a writ of execution for Rayden Andrethi. Master Rithe Veloryn was tasked personally with its completion.
Rithe, after many weeks of tracking, finally cornered his apprentice in the town of Balmora. He had Rayden pinned in an alleyway with five of the Tong’s best mer at his back. However he faltered, his emotions taking hold of him for the first time, and in a quick flurry he slew his five brothers leaving Rayden alive. After refusing to leave, Rithe knocked Rayden unconscious and took him captive. They travelled south to Vivec, the last place Eno Hlaalu would expect Rayden to go. Rithe proposed that they go into hiding, yet Rayden in his headstrong youth refused and set off to take revenge on the Tong.
Five years passed and Rithe remained in hiding as his apprentice carried on his reckless vendetta against the Morag Tong, against the order he had sworn to serve for life. Time and time again he advised his apprentice to stop his foolish search for closure, but Rayden's mind was set.
When the gates of Oblivion opened and the Daedra poured out onto Vvardenfell Rithe became trapped. During the invasion there was no way to leave the island, and fearing that if he died there would be no one to keep Rayden in check, he contacted the patron deity of his order, Mephala.
Rithe asked for safe transport for himself and Rayden, Mephala obliged. However Rayden would not follow his master to safety and instead decided to remain on the island in hopes that he could finally vanquish the last of the Morag Tong. Rithe cursed him as a fool and continued on without him, yet he was truly the fool for trusting a Daedric prince. Mephala was angered at Rithe’s betrayal of the order and exacted her cruel vengeance on him as he prayed at her alter.
Rithe was enveloped in the void of her realm and upon his face her symbol was branded. Mephala had deceived him and claimed his soul as payment for his life. From that point on Rithe reluctantly served Mephala as her champion and thrall, seeking out her enemies and smiting them. Over the years she finally began to break the mental barriers he had spent so long building, and he collapsed into a shadow of his former self, a broken and tortured shell of what he used to be.
Yet his enslavement did not last forever. With the help of Arethan Andas, a former Hand of Almalexia, Rithe managed to track down the Telvanni magister Aryon in Hammerfell. After a large conflict with a local Pirate Queen, Rithe was left in a shattered state of mind. Mephala once again had his conscious in her grasp as he struggled to regain control of his soul. It is at this point that Rayden Verethi tracked down his former master and helped Arethan bring him to Aryon.
Rithe was in possession of a gem, a token of his enslavement to Mephala and a way for her to torment his mind. Inside where the souls of every man and women he had killed in Mephala’s name, each one haunted his every dream. This gem was used by Arethan and Aryon to kill Rithe’s mortal body and capture his fleeing soul. Since the compact with Mephala stated that only death could release him from service Rithe was now free. However his soul still remained outside his body. Using the remaining power in the gem Aryon, through a long and laborious process, managed to rejoin Rithe’s body and soul and repay in full Rithe for his services from many years before.
Rithe was once again himself, his mind whole and his own again. After this he parted ways with Arethan and traveled off into the Alik'r. It was not until many years later that Rithe resurfaced, this time as a mentor and teacher of the arcane arts at the College of Winterhold. It is here that he has spent the last half century of his life, tutoring and instructing students in all manners of the arcane.
Age: Born 3E 169 (468 years as of 4E 204, appears in early to mid 40’s)
Race: Dunmer, of the Telvanni Bloodlines
Gender: Male
Height: 6'0"
Birthsign: The Mage
Appearance: Rithe is in extremely good physical condition for his age. His body is lean and slender, yet well toned, a result of his rigorous years of training. He works to maintain his physique regularly. He stands at roughly 6’0” and weighs in at about 180lbs. His cheek bones and jaw line are hard giving him a harsh look. His black hair falls down to his shoulders, but is tied back to keep it out of his deep crimson eyes. (http://i865.photobucket.com/albums/ab216/asapp152/TESV2012-03-1822-06-04-43.jpg)
Experience: Master of Destruction, Alteration, and Illusion.
Skills: Rithe was an arcane prodigy, therefore from an early age he was tutored in the arcane arts as well as the trade of the Morag Tong. Due to his extreme arcane potential the Morag Tong tutored him to the best of their abilities. After years of tutoring, sparring, and training Rithe was finally inducted into the Morag Tong as a full member and began his own extensive research into the arcane arts. He is one of the very few living beings that can truly claim a complete mastery of the school of Illusion. Never has he met someone of equal talent in the art of deception, except Mephala herself. Adding to his knowledge of the arcane Rithe has also mastered the schools of Destruction and Alteration. While they do not compare to his prowess in the school of Illusion he has found very few who can match his talents in either school. Rithe is also quite adept at the schools of Mysticism and Conjuration; however nowhere near the level of mastery he boasts in the other schools. Rithe knows little of the school of Restoration and has only studied it briefly.
Adding to his immense arcane abilities is his mastery of the blade. The Tong had no finer swordsman than Rithe Veloryn. Rithe prefers to wield Dunmeri katanas and does so with deadly efficiency. Centuries of training and honing his skills have shaped him into a mer who makes even the hardiest warriors and most powerful wizards think twice.
Weapons: Since his rise to the rank of Master in the Morag Tong Rithe Veloryn has carried only one weapon. An elegant curving Dunmeri katana forged from the finest ebony. The blade is honed to a razor sharp edge that can easily cut through the flesh of anyone who finds themselves unlucky enough to be on the wrong side of it. The cross-guard and pommel are made of tempered adamantium. The tang of the blade is flanked with two pieces of fire tempered hardwood and wrapped with netch leather in a cross pattern. When it was first forged the blade was brilliant and its well polished surface shone brightly. However many centuries have passed and the once vibrant brilliance of the blade has dulled. The hardwood and leather handle has been weathered and worn. The adamantium has been dulled to a satin finish, and the black blade scarred by many encounters. However it still holds an edge as it did centuries before when it was forged in Morrowind, before the fall of the Ministry, and before the invasion. Though now it rests within a locked chest in his quarters, along with the other remnants of his past.
Armor: Before his time with the College Rithe wore the armor given to Masters of the Morag Tong. The netch leather armor is unique in appearance, as is all Dunmeri armor. In Morrowind no two sets of armor were the same, except for those that were imported by the East Empire Company from the other provinces. The leather armor itself is earthy brown in color and is accented by the deep maroons of the Dunmeri scarves that accompany it. One is wrapped around the waist and draqes down near the tops of his knees while another is wrapped loosely around his neck and shoulders. The one thing that is most unique about the armor, however, is the insignia branded on the leather of the left upper arm. http://media.steampowered.com/steamcommunity/public/images/avatars/72/7299d5873a30ab8412d5bd97a4b478577bb073c2_full.jpg was beginning to get worn down, yet one could still clearly make out the insignia. However it is an entirely different matter when it comes to recognizing it. The Tong, along with most of Morrowind, was almost entirely eradicated during the Red Year and the invasion of the Argonians. Rithe is probably one of the last few surviving members; most likely the only surviving member born before the 4th century of the 3rd era. Though now that he is part of the College of Winterhold, Rithe wears Dunmeri styled robes of various earthen colors.
Enchanted Items: A signet ring of recall bearing the seal of the Morag Tong, locked away with the other remnants of his past.
Personality: Rithe's personality is a hard thing to put in words. Depending on the situation his moods can vary slightly, altering his attitude towards others. However Rithe maintains a calculating, anolytical, and philosophical sage-like aura. He is not aggressive or abrasive,and he rarely shows any emotional extremes. Rithe instead hovers in the middle of the spectrum. He is neither overly friendly nor unfriendly, nor harsh nor soft. He maintains a calm demeanor almost all the time, as if he has reaches some sort of inner calmness and is in-sync with the world around him. This is most likely a result of his training. A calculating, anolytical mind untouched by strong emotion was a necessary trait for any Morag Tong assassin. When it comes down to matters of importance or things Rithe has set his mind on he will execute them with ruthless efficiency. Though, during his time as a thrall of Mephala his mind and personality was broken to such a degree that he no longer resembled himself. Prone to outbursts of rage and anger as well as debilitating moments of depression and anxiety. While under contract with Mephala his mind and being was the polar opposite of it's real state.
Rithe also holds to the philosophy that any action one takes in the world gives off ripples, and that it is better to strike one man and cause a tsunami than strike a thousand for the same result. He does only what is necessary and no more, he believes the smaller the wound the smaller the scar left behind. This greatly affects the way he interacts with others and with the world around him.
Background: Rithe was born to a Telvanni Mage-Lord in the grand city of Sadrith Mora. Being an illegitimate child his father cast him away and refused to recognize him as his son in fear of slight upon his reputation as one of the Telvanni's foremost mages. The young babe was taken in by the Morag Tong, as was custom for orphans at the time. They raised him and ensured that he was well fed and educated through his early childhood. When he came of an age where he could begin learning the trade of the Morag Tong he was tutored and trained by the Guild-master at Sadrith Mora. It was not long into his tutoring that his talent was recognized. Rithe, even at an extremely young age, was capable of manipulating the arcane better than the trainees that were ten and fifteen years his elder. After his talent was discovered Eno Hlaalu himself paid for the best tutors and mages to train Rithe in the ways of the arcane. Eno envisioned a new breed of Morag Tong, one that pulled on the arts of the arcane as much as the traditional arts. Rithe was to be the first of his kind.
Many years passed, and Rithe’s abilities quickly grew. At the age of 15 he was inducted as a full member in the Morag Tong; over ten years earlier than most recruits were inducted. At the age of 28 he was promoted to the rank of Knower, the youngest to ever achieve such standing in the guilds history. Over the next 40 years Rithe continued his training and became one of the guild’s most lethal and efficient assassins. At the age of 78 he had surpassed all his mentors and teachers in the ways of the arcane arts and took up his own studies and research to further his abilities. After the death of the Sadrith Mora Guild-Master Rithe was given the title of Master of the Morag Tong, a title only 6 others in the Tong held.
Rithe managed the Sadrith Mora Guildhall and its members with great efficiency. It was no surprise that the Grandmaster favored him over the other ranking members of the guild. Rithe completed his writs with cold and calculating efficiency, never making a fault or failing to complete an assignment. He did as he was commanded and never thought twice about it. The guild was his life, all he had known, all he had cared for. That is until Rayden Andrethi came into the world.
Rayden was the son of two of Rithe’s most loyal and committed assassins, Adren Verethi and Elmera Farandyl. As was expected the boy was raised in the ways of the Tong and Rithe grew rather attached to him. Even though he would not admit it openly, even to himself, he had grown to see the young mer as a son. This, however, would lead to his eventual downfall and spiral him into a series of events that would forever change his life and the lives of many others.
Five years before the Oblivion Crisis Rayden’s parents were killed while completing a writ in the northern wastes of Vvardenfell. It sent the young mer in a fury of rage followed by a sadistic and numb inner fury that sparked the fire that would lead to his exile. Rayden, emotionally and mentally broken after the death of his parents, faulted two writs. The first was pardoned. However his fate was sealed after the massacre of Rethan Manor, a writ taken to the extreme. The next day Eno Hlaalu issued a writ of execution for Rayden Andrethi. Master Rithe Veloryn was tasked personally with its completion.
Rithe, after many weeks of tracking, finally cornered his apprentice in the town of Balmora. He had Rayden pinned in an alleyway with five of the Tong’s best mer at his back. However he faltered, his emotions taking hold of him for the first time, and in a quick flurry he slew his five brothers leaving Rayden alive. After refusing to leave, Rithe knocked Rayden unconscious and took him captive. They travelled south to Vivec, the last place Eno Hlaalu would expect Rayden to go. Rithe proposed that they go into hiding, yet Rayden in his headstrong youth refused and set off to take revenge on the Tong.
Five years passed and Rithe remained in hiding as his apprentice carried on his reckless vendetta against the Morag Tong, against the order he had sworn to serve for life. Time and time again he advised his apprentice to stop his foolish search for closure, but Rayden's mind was set.
When the gates of Oblivion opened and the Daedra poured out onto Vvardenfell Rithe became trapped. During the invasion there was no way to leave the island, and fearing that if he died there would be no one to keep Rayden in check, he contacted the patron deity of his order, Mephala.
Rithe asked for safe transport for himself and Rayden, Mephala obliged. However Rayden would not follow his master to safety and instead decided to remain on the island in hopes that he could finally vanquish the last of the Morag Tong. Rithe cursed him as a fool and continued on without him, yet he was truly the fool for trusting a Daedric prince. Mephala was angered at Rithe’s betrayal of the order and exacted her cruel vengeance on him as he prayed at her alter.
Rithe was enveloped in the void of her realm and upon his face her symbol was branded. Mephala had deceived him and claimed his soul as payment for his life. From that point on Rithe reluctantly served Mephala as her champion and thrall, seeking out her enemies and smiting them. Over the years she finally began to break the mental barriers he had spent so long building, and he collapsed into a shadow of his former self, a broken and tortured shell of what he used to be.
Yet his enslavement did not last forever. With the help of Arethan Andas, a former Hand of Almalexia, Rithe managed to track down the Telvanni magister Aryon in Hammerfell. After a large conflict with a local Pirate Queen, Rithe was left in a shattered state of mind. Mephala once again had his conscious in her grasp as he struggled to regain control of his soul. It is at this point that Rayden Verethi tracked down his former master and helped Arethan bring him to Aryon.
Rithe was in possession of a gem, a token of his enslavement to Mephala and a way for her to torment his mind. Inside where the souls of every man and women he had killed in Mephala’s name, each one haunted his every dream. This gem was used by Arethan and Aryon to kill Rithe’s mortal body and capture his fleeing soul. Since the compact with Mephala stated that only death could release him from service Rithe was now free. However his soul still remained outside his body. Using the remaining power in the gem Aryon, through a long and laborious process, managed to rejoin Rithe’s body and soul and repay in full Rithe for his services from many years before.
Rithe was once again himself, his mind whole and his own again. After this he parted ways with Arethan and traveled off into the Alik'r. It was not until many years later that Rithe resurfaced, this time as a mentor and teacher of the arcane arts at the College of Winterhold. It is here that he has spent the last half century of his life, tutoring and instructing students in all manners of the arcane.
Vincent McCool
Spoiler
Name: J'ffar
Age: At least a century. Asking J'ffar only prompts a chuckle
six: Male
Race: Khajiit
Level of experience: A Master of Enchantment, with expertise in Illusion and the forgotten arts of Mysticism/Moon Gazing. J'ffar is also at least adequate in most other areas of magic.
Appearance: A very short, fat, ginger Khajiit with fading yellow eyes and a whimsical smile, J'ffar is a cat well advanced in his years, and is seen to move around the College at a rather leisurely pace.
Skills and Abilities: J'ffar is well known around the College to be a Master Enchanter and an expert in Illusion and the Mystic arts of the Khajiit. Besides his abilities in the arcane arts, it is unclear if there is anything that J'ffar can really do.
Weapons: None
Armor / clothing: An assortment of thick, comfy robes befitting of a master wizard, his favourite being a subdued green - slightly stained from alchemical experiments down the years, but in good condition.
Enchanted Items: Being a Master Enchanter himself, J'ffar has little need to horde magical items, seeing as he is capable of producing his own at will. One item J'ffar is particularly fond of is a magic amulet of defeaning, which he uses to nap while the other members of the College are being noisey, and a magic hat that allows one to store and revisit one's dreams.
Background: No-one is quite sure when J'ffar first turned up in Winterhold. The short, fat Khajiit's presence has been a matter of fact for the College for as long as most can remember. The pitter-patter of his flat back paws on the cobblestone simply part of the College's ambience. J'ffar has long been responsible of the production and study of enchanted items at the COllege for many decades now. Even J'ffar is foggy as to when he originally started taking students. It seemed only natural that as no-one in the College had as deep a knowledge of magical miscellany as he, that J'ffar should teach the younglings.
Age: At least a century. Asking J'ffar only prompts a chuckle
six: Male
Race: Khajiit
Level of experience: A Master of Enchantment, with expertise in Illusion and the forgotten arts of Mysticism/Moon Gazing. J'ffar is also at least adequate in most other areas of magic.
Appearance: A very short, fat, ginger Khajiit with fading yellow eyes and a whimsical smile, J'ffar is a cat well advanced in his years, and is seen to move around the College at a rather leisurely pace.
Skills and Abilities: J'ffar is well known around the College to be a Master Enchanter and an expert in Illusion and the Mystic arts of the Khajiit. Besides his abilities in the arcane arts, it is unclear if there is anything that J'ffar can really do.
Weapons: None
Armor / clothing: An assortment of thick, comfy robes befitting of a master wizard, his favourite being a subdued green - slightly stained from alchemical experiments down the years, but in good condition.
Enchanted Items: Being a Master Enchanter himself, J'ffar has little need to horde magical items, seeing as he is capable of producing his own at will. One item J'ffar is particularly fond of is a magic amulet of defeaning, which he uses to nap while the other members of the College are being noisey, and a magic hat that allows one to store and revisit one's dreams.
Background: No-one is quite sure when J'ffar first turned up in Winterhold. The short, fat Khajiit's presence has been a matter of fact for the College for as long as most can remember. The pitter-patter of his flat back paws on the cobblestone simply part of the College's ambience. J'ffar has long been responsible of the production and study of enchanted items at the COllege for many decades now. Even J'ffar is foggy as to when he originally started taking students. It seemed only natural that as no-one in the College had as deep a knowledge of magical miscellany as he, that J'ffar should teach the younglings.
Person from Anticlere
Spoiler
Name: Lyssa Raege
Age: 33
six: Female
Race: Imperial (Nibenese)
Appearance: Just under five feet seven in height, Lyssa is not an overly imposing woman where her build is concerned; while she does not look frail or flimsy, the strength left in her by her Legion years has more to do with mentality than excessive musculature. However, one should not underestimate her solely because she doesn’t look like much – when push comes to shove, she is still an ex-battlemage and thus likely quite a bit more nimble and capable than most of her spellcasting peers.
She is not unattractive – or at least, wasn’t unattractive at some point; were it not for the old scar running across the very middle of her face (from just above her right eye to the left tip of her thin lips), the ex-battlemage could still be considered good-looking. Her gaunt face is framed by messy dark red hair that used to be kept shorter, but has evidently been allowed to grow of late; beneath the thin and completely straight eyebrows of the same colour sit piercing eyes of a cold, dark green. Lyssa’s cheekbones are rather pronounced and her nose is somewhat on the small side.
Level of experience: Master
Skills and Abilities: As a former battlemage, Lyssa’s skills are overwhelmingly practical and geared towards warfare – she would sooner eat a sword than engage in debates over the theory of magic or dabble in such ill-defined branches of the arcane as mystical arts. Capable with a shortsword, well-versed in the destructive facets of magic as well as the alteration of the fabric of the world, her true skills undeniably lie in conjuration; thanks to long years of practice, she has few equals when it comes to forcing Daedra out of Oblivion and to her side, and is particularly familiar with the raising of undead.
Weapons: She still has a standard-issue Imperial shortsword hanging at her side.
Armour / Clothing: Lyssa’s clothing is simple and fails to change no matter the occasion – she is not one to keep an extensive wardrobe, being entirely satisfied with hiding underneath a plain dark grey cloak most of the time, relying on it to keep her warm. Underneath, the ex-battlemage wears a brown tunic, over which is a steel cuirass – which she never, ever takes off in public. Baggy pants with a steel plate strapped to her left knee and nearly knee-high boots of tough leather complete the outfit, which bears the signs of a bit of wear and tear, oftentimes being dusty, the cloth showing signs of fixing in a few places and still being slightly torn in others, while the steel of what armour she wears is dented in a spot or two.
Enchanted Items: A worn golden ring that makes her less susceptible to flames.
Background: There is not much to say about Lyssa’s life; the early parts of it, spent in an orphanage in Bravil, she doesn’t like to talk about, while talking about her years in the Legion tends to make everyone else uncomfortable. Picked out for service due to her obvious talent for the arcane, she was taught as a battlemage since turning seventeen; after three years of being tutored in the best ways to turn the tide of whole battles through skilful application of magic, the young legionnaire was sent off north into Skyrim, where she would spend the next thirteen years accruing fame for her bravery and infamy for her ‘any means to an end’ attitude alike. Finally, three months ago, the ‘unorthodox’ handling of a freeholder in Windhelm suspected of helping troublemakers hide from Imperial law proved to be the proverbial twig that broke the mule’s back; barely avoiding an execution, she was dishonourably discharged. Now, the ex-battlemage finds herself at the gates of the College of Winterhold, where she intends to become a teacher of Conjuration.
Age: 33
six: Female
Race: Imperial (Nibenese)
Appearance: Just under five feet seven in height, Lyssa is not an overly imposing woman where her build is concerned; while she does not look frail or flimsy, the strength left in her by her Legion years has more to do with mentality than excessive musculature. However, one should not underestimate her solely because she doesn’t look like much – when push comes to shove, she is still an ex-battlemage and thus likely quite a bit more nimble and capable than most of her spellcasting peers.
She is not unattractive – or at least, wasn’t unattractive at some point; were it not for the old scar running across the very middle of her face (from just above her right eye to the left tip of her thin lips), the ex-battlemage could still be considered good-looking. Her gaunt face is framed by messy dark red hair that used to be kept shorter, but has evidently been allowed to grow of late; beneath the thin and completely straight eyebrows of the same colour sit piercing eyes of a cold, dark green. Lyssa’s cheekbones are rather pronounced and her nose is somewhat on the small side.
Level of experience: Master
Skills and Abilities: As a former battlemage, Lyssa’s skills are overwhelmingly practical and geared towards warfare – she would sooner eat a sword than engage in debates over the theory of magic or dabble in such ill-defined branches of the arcane as mystical arts. Capable with a shortsword, well-versed in the destructive facets of magic as well as the alteration of the fabric of the world, her true skills undeniably lie in conjuration; thanks to long years of practice, she has few equals when it comes to forcing Daedra out of Oblivion and to her side, and is particularly familiar with the raising of undead.
Weapons: She still has a standard-issue Imperial shortsword hanging at her side.
Armour / Clothing: Lyssa’s clothing is simple and fails to change no matter the occasion – she is not one to keep an extensive wardrobe, being entirely satisfied with hiding underneath a plain dark grey cloak most of the time, relying on it to keep her warm. Underneath, the ex-battlemage wears a brown tunic, over which is a steel cuirass – which she never, ever takes off in public. Baggy pants with a steel plate strapped to her left knee and nearly knee-high boots of tough leather complete the outfit, which bears the signs of a bit of wear and tear, oftentimes being dusty, the cloth showing signs of fixing in a few places and still being slightly torn in others, while the steel of what armour she wears is dented in a spot or two.
Enchanted Items: A worn golden ring that makes her less susceptible to flames.
Background: There is not much to say about Lyssa’s life; the early parts of it, spent in an orphanage in Bravil, she doesn’t like to talk about, while talking about her years in the Legion tends to make everyone else uncomfortable. Picked out for service due to her obvious talent for the arcane, she was taught as a battlemage since turning seventeen; after three years of being tutored in the best ways to turn the tide of whole battles through skilful application of magic, the young legionnaire was sent off north into Skyrim, where she would spend the next thirteen years accruing fame for her bravery and infamy for her ‘any means to an end’ attitude alike. Finally, three months ago, the ‘unorthodox’ handling of a freeholder in Windhelm suspected of helping troublemakers hide from Imperial law proved to be the proverbial twig that broke the mule’s back; barely avoiding an execution, she was dishonourably discharged. Now, the ex-battlemage finds herself at the gates of the College of Winterhold, where she intends to become a teacher of Conjuration.
Higher Ranked Mages:
Spoiler
Yes Man FTW [Co-GM]
Spoiler
Name: Sylch
Gender: Male
Race: Dark Elf
Height: 5ft 7in
Age: 214 (about 28 in Dunmer aging)
Birthsign: The Mage
Moral Alignment: Neutral
Appearance: He has long dark grey hair stopping at about where the neck reaches the shoulder, his face is pale for a Dunmer, and he has a tattoo of the Great Houses on his forearm
Class: Scholar
Non-Combat Skills: He is well versed in enchanting and knows how to smith with ebony (just ebony) he also speaks rather fluently
Combat: He is a decent swordsman and has immense training in dodging things
Magic: His magic prowess lies in Alteration and the application of artifacts and enchantments, but he has taken a knack to Illusion as of late.
Stealth: His reasons for doing things are often considered sneaky… but other than that he doesn’t have any sneaking capabilities, other than being a decent liar of course
Clothing/Armor: His robes are made of leather with a few bits of chainmail on the inside, in terms of shape they resemble Thalmor robes but they don’t have the Thalmor’s signature style, they have the great houses of Morrowind’s insignias imbued into the shoulder and the overall color is a dark grey.
Weapons/Equipment: He carries an old Akaviri Katana he has kept in good condition; it is highly enchanted (see below.)
Enchanted Gear: He has enchanted an amulet forming the shape of all the Great Houses’ Seals to lessen the amount of effort he has to put in to use his spells. His sword is imbued with two enchantments, one takes away the opponents energy and feeds it to Sylch, causing him to not tire as often and to drain them of their Magicka reserves.
Weaknesses: He is often too curious about various applications of magic and while he is knowledgeable in ancient artifacts he often will care about only them and little of the actual people he is with on these descents.
History: Sylch was placed in the Orphanage at the age of 8 after he displayed magic talent; his family had considered mages too dangerous and sent him away. He was adopted by a Wood Elf named Revranill who renamed the child Sylch and trained him in the arts of magic. His childhood was a strange, but happy one as he learned from a mage how to use the arts. Sylch left to go study Dwemer and Akaviri artifacts throughout Tamriel long before his homeland was ravaged by war and catastrophe. However when it did occur he found himself in the homeland of the Nords, he took to studying at the College and became a high level mage, but not quite a teacher he hopes that soon he will reach the level of teacher and has become particularly partial to Rithe…
Gender: Male
Race: Dark Elf
Height: 5ft 7in
Age: 214 (about 28 in Dunmer aging)
Birthsign: The Mage
Moral Alignment: Neutral
Appearance: He has long dark grey hair stopping at about where the neck reaches the shoulder, his face is pale for a Dunmer, and he has a tattoo of the Great Houses on his forearm
Class: Scholar
Non-Combat Skills: He is well versed in enchanting and knows how to smith with ebony (just ebony) he also speaks rather fluently
Combat: He is a decent swordsman and has immense training in dodging things
Magic: His magic prowess lies in Alteration and the application of artifacts and enchantments, but he has taken a knack to Illusion as of late.
Stealth: His reasons for doing things are often considered sneaky… but other than that he doesn’t have any sneaking capabilities, other than being a decent liar of course
Clothing/Armor: His robes are made of leather with a few bits of chainmail on the inside, in terms of shape they resemble Thalmor robes but they don’t have the Thalmor’s signature style, they have the great houses of Morrowind’s insignias imbued into the shoulder and the overall color is a dark grey.
Weapons/Equipment: He carries an old Akaviri Katana he has kept in good condition; it is highly enchanted (see below.)
Enchanted Gear: He has enchanted an amulet forming the shape of all the Great Houses’ Seals to lessen the amount of effort he has to put in to use his spells. His sword is imbued with two enchantments, one takes away the opponents energy and feeds it to Sylch, causing him to not tire as often and to drain them of their Magicka reserves.
Weaknesses: He is often too curious about various applications of magic and while he is knowledgeable in ancient artifacts he often will care about only them and little of the actual people he is with on these descents.
History: Sylch was placed in the Orphanage at the age of 8 after he displayed magic talent; his family had considered mages too dangerous and sent him away. He was adopted by a Wood Elf named Revranill who renamed the child Sylch and trained him in the arts of magic. His childhood was a strange, but happy one as he learned from a mage how to use the arts. Sylch left to go study Dwemer and Akaviri artifacts throughout Tamriel long before his homeland was ravaged by war and catastrophe. However when it did occur he found himself in the homeland of the Nords, he took to studying at the College and became a high level mage, but not quite a teacher he hopes that soon he will reach the level of teacher and has become particularly partial to Rithe…
Students:
Spoiler
Uriel Septim VII [GM]
Magus the Red
Kalamari
The Ascended Sleeper
Tinimun
Disturbing
Vincent McCool
Sch
Spoiler
Name: Ashur Mulakh
Age: 28
six: Male
Race: Orc
Level of experience: Novice
Appearance: He is an average size for an Orc, standing at around 6’3”, and possesses wide shoulders. He has fairly large toned muscles, oddly his facial features are very soft for an Orc, to the point where they are almost Nordic. He has almond shaped blue eyes and his skin is mint green. His hair is a grey-brown and cut extremely close to his head, he also sports a light beard. As his stronghold was fairly isolated, and only within distance of other Orc strongholds, he has a tribal tendency to paint his nails black all the time as well as wear skull themed war paint in battle. He looks like this http://i96.photobucket.com/albums/l171/pardon_me_miss/2012-09-12_20-43-04_209.jpg.
Skills and Abilities: As an Orc who grew up in a stronghold, he is trained in melee combat, and can handle numerous weapon types. He is also trained in the use of heavy armor. As with all Orcs he is capable of going into a berserk mode. He has very little experience with the arcane arts as of the start of the RP. He can barely even produce a small flame or a little ice in fact, but Ashur seeks to learn as much as can be taught to him.
Weapons: A steel mace hangs from his left hip, and an iron axe is held on his right hip (it is used exclusively for throwing). He has a shield which is visually identical to a banded iron shield, but it is made of steel.
Armor / clothing: In the college he wears purple hooded robes with black trim (the robes are tattered at the bottom which only reaches his knees, and the sleeves are very loose and they cover his hands), black pants with a dark brown leather belt, dark brown leather boots, a dark brown leather fingerless glove on his left hand, and two rings on his right hand. When going on an excavation with the college a steel cuirass and pauldrons are worn above his normal outfit.
Enchanted Items: A plain mithril band worn on his right thumb that fortifies his strength, and an ebony ring set with a ruby on his right middle finger with an enchantment that allows the owner to release a firebolt from the ring (a la Morrowind).
Background: Ashur was the last son born to the Orc chieftain of a minor stronghold in the mountains south east of Helgen. In addition to being the youngest of his brothers and sisters, he was the weakest as a child, and least likely to become the new chieftain. He always trained as hard as he could though, and always did whatever he was able to in order to prove himself to the stronghold. Whenever he went hunting he would always search for the largest elk he could, and when bandits attacked the stronghold, he’d single out one larger than himself and make a show of cutting him down. It was symbolic that he’d always be willing to take his elder brothers on in a fight, and they realized it quickly, deferring to him in most things, not wanting to test him, lest they direct his ire towards themselves.
His father, the chieftain took two of his elder brothers and entered a dwemer ruin a day’s walk to the south to search for dwemer weapons and tools. It took a full week before one of his brothers literally crawled back to the stronghold, on the verge of death. Within the ruins the chieftain and the eldest brother met a bloody end at the hands of the falmer, and after relaying this news the wounded brother died. Ashur set out with four more of his brothers and three of his sisters and gathered Orcs from two nearby strongholds, securing their aid by beating the chiefs in single combat.
Ashur lead the group of thirty warriors into the depths of the ruins, furiously annihilating every falmer the group encountered. While exploring the he found an ornate dwemer box which contained two rings, which he took for himself and immediately adorned. Upon wearing the one on his thumb he felt a surge of strength, and guessed it to be enchanted, though the other seemed plain, giving him no odd sensation when he put it on his middle finger. Further into the ruins the group of Orcs came across an area where the careful dwemer architecture opened into a natural cavern. There the main group of falmer attacked, and an epic skirmish was waged.
During the battle Ashur noticed a small flame appear on his right hand, emanating from the ring, and without realizing how he had done it, he shot a ball of fire striking one of the falmer down. When the battle was finished, the Orcs looked upon Ashur with both awe of his physical prowess, and mistrust of his sudden magical ability. None, however, were able to deny his leadership and number of kills, giving him the title of warlord. When the Orcs had returned from the dwemer ruins, they attempted to make Ashur the new chieftain, and Ashur did consider it. After all women, respect and power were things any Orc in the prime of his life would desire, but Ashur had a taste of magic, and it’s siren call beckoned him away from the stronghold, and so he decided to travel to the famed College of Winterhold.
Age: 28
six: Male
Race: Orc
Level of experience: Novice
Appearance: He is an average size for an Orc, standing at around 6’3”, and possesses wide shoulders. He has fairly large toned muscles, oddly his facial features are very soft for an Orc, to the point where they are almost Nordic. He has almond shaped blue eyes and his skin is mint green. His hair is a grey-brown and cut extremely close to his head, he also sports a light beard. As his stronghold was fairly isolated, and only within distance of other Orc strongholds, he has a tribal tendency to paint his nails black all the time as well as wear skull themed war paint in battle. He looks like this http://i96.photobucket.com/albums/l171/pardon_me_miss/2012-09-12_20-43-04_209.jpg.
Skills and Abilities: As an Orc who grew up in a stronghold, he is trained in melee combat, and can handle numerous weapon types. He is also trained in the use of heavy armor. As with all Orcs he is capable of going into a berserk mode. He has very little experience with the arcane arts as of the start of the RP. He can barely even produce a small flame or a little ice in fact, but Ashur seeks to learn as much as can be taught to him.
Weapons: A steel mace hangs from his left hip, and an iron axe is held on his right hip (it is used exclusively for throwing). He has a shield which is visually identical to a banded iron shield, but it is made of steel.
Armor / clothing: In the college he wears purple hooded robes with black trim (the robes are tattered at the bottom which only reaches his knees, and the sleeves are very loose and they cover his hands), black pants with a dark brown leather belt, dark brown leather boots, a dark brown leather fingerless glove on his left hand, and two rings on his right hand. When going on an excavation with the college a steel cuirass and pauldrons are worn above his normal outfit.
Enchanted Items: A plain mithril band worn on his right thumb that fortifies his strength, and an ebony ring set with a ruby on his right middle finger with an enchantment that allows the owner to release a firebolt from the ring (a la Morrowind).
Background: Ashur was the last son born to the Orc chieftain of a minor stronghold in the mountains south east of Helgen. In addition to being the youngest of his brothers and sisters, he was the weakest as a child, and least likely to become the new chieftain. He always trained as hard as he could though, and always did whatever he was able to in order to prove himself to the stronghold. Whenever he went hunting he would always search for the largest elk he could, and when bandits attacked the stronghold, he’d single out one larger than himself and make a show of cutting him down. It was symbolic that he’d always be willing to take his elder brothers on in a fight, and they realized it quickly, deferring to him in most things, not wanting to test him, lest they direct his ire towards themselves.
His father, the chieftain took two of his elder brothers and entered a dwemer ruin a day’s walk to the south to search for dwemer weapons and tools. It took a full week before one of his brothers literally crawled back to the stronghold, on the verge of death. Within the ruins the chieftain and the eldest brother met a bloody end at the hands of the falmer, and after relaying this news the wounded brother died. Ashur set out with four more of his brothers and three of his sisters and gathered Orcs from two nearby strongholds, securing their aid by beating the chiefs in single combat.
Ashur lead the group of thirty warriors into the depths of the ruins, furiously annihilating every falmer the group encountered. While exploring the he found an ornate dwemer box which contained two rings, which he took for himself and immediately adorned. Upon wearing the one on his thumb he felt a surge of strength, and guessed it to be enchanted, though the other seemed plain, giving him no odd sensation when he put it on his middle finger. Further into the ruins the group of Orcs came across an area where the careful dwemer architecture opened into a natural cavern. There the main group of falmer attacked, and an epic skirmish was waged.
During the battle Ashur noticed a small flame appear on his right hand, emanating from the ring, and without realizing how he had done it, he shot a ball of fire striking one of the falmer down. When the battle was finished, the Orcs looked upon Ashur with both awe of his physical prowess, and mistrust of his sudden magical ability. None, however, were able to deny his leadership and number of kills, giving him the title of warlord. When the Orcs had returned from the dwemer ruins, they attempted to make Ashur the new chieftain, and Ashur did consider it. After all women, respect and power were things any Orc in the prime of his life would desire, but Ashur had a taste of magic, and it’s siren call beckoned him away from the stronghold, and so he decided to travel to the famed College of Winterhold.
Magus the Red
Spoiler
Name: Alecor Valterayn
Age:517
six: Male
Race: Altmer
Level of experience: Expert in conjuration however trailing in apprentice with all the other skills, most notably enchanting which he is still a novice in.
Appearance: A high Elf, he has pure white hair and purple eyes, sometimes appearing horrified, however a shake should snap him out of his troubled past, after a trip to skyrim with a justicar team, he slipped away, pretending to have fell of a slippery cliff, in reality, he jumped, however this has come at the cost of the leg he landed on, it troubles him greatly, but stubornly he refuses assistance, he is rather wrinkled, giving him a grandfatherly look, he stands at 6ft 2inches, he has a white beard,slightly trimmed so as to give it a pointed outlook, he has the skin tone of a regular high elf, he is however rather wrinkled, high elves his age often appear in the prime of their lives, whereas he appears around his early 60s by human appearance.
Skills and Abilities: A theorist, he prefers to read over papers than actually study magic, however, ask him on the properties of Ritual Summoning and you'll never hear the end of it, ask him to cast a destruction spell he'll say "Are you mad, the books might burn", refering to his collection, however one can see fear prevalent in his eyes when a mage is practicing on a manequin.
Weapons: He does have an elven longsword on the wall, referring to his old days as a conjurer for the thalmor, a topic he would not rather relive through discussions, summoning creatures for torture, his skills misused, he still awakens with nightmares from it, also giving him a fear of illusion, destruction and alteration, having seen torturists at work whilst travelling to the summoning chambers.
Armor / clothing:Old thalmor robes(Non-hooded, unenchanted), he now wears Expert Robes of conjuration, without a hood.
Enchanted Items: He utilises a staff to help walk, his leg playing up usually, the staff is however a magic staff of Expulsion, to help anyone who summon something out of their league, other than his robes and staff the only thing of interest is his thalmor signet ring, enchanted so as to give a boost to destrution, he has sworn to never wear it again, but still keeps it to remind him that power can be misused.
Background: Born in the summerset Isles, he was as a child inducted into the alinor nobility as an esquire, by which means a servant to the mages of the court, he has some memories of marking out runes, collecting ingredients, he then decided after he became a mage to study in peace and quiet, finding a nice cottage near the sea, he was to devote his life pondering the walls of aetherius, that changed, after a few hundred years of practicing the arts of conjuration to a suitable level, he returned to alinor one day to purchase whatever books came across his fancy, only for the oblivion crisis to occur, he and the other conjurists of alinor were all looked and scorned upon, alecor to regain his honour joined the vocal thalmor, he was however set aside, until 4E28 with the aldmeri dominion being created, in which he was thrown into the war between the thalmor and those who opposed them, a few brief words could be entailed from this mainly "The spilling of so much elven blood" then a refusal to talk about it, he has dark memories, his skills pushed to summon creatures of torture, so as to root out the enemies of the thalmor, during the great war, he was utilised in the siege of hammerfell, he was withdrawn shortly before the battle of red-ring to assist in a particualar summoning, of a daedric prince, to say the least, he realised the thalmor was now more evil than he could turn a blind eye too, he volunteered for a justicar position in skyrim and as quickly as possible feigned his death, hiding his robes, he lived in a cave as a hermit, until he remembered winterhold, arriving as quickly as possible, he passed the gatekeeper, with great effort and entered, putting his skills to use, he wishes to simply aid in the rituals of conjuration, but mainly wishes to live out how many years he has left doing the things he loves most, conjuring.
Age:517
six: Male
Race: Altmer
Level of experience: Expert in conjuration however trailing in apprentice with all the other skills, most notably enchanting which he is still a novice in.
Appearance: A high Elf, he has pure white hair and purple eyes, sometimes appearing horrified, however a shake should snap him out of his troubled past, after a trip to skyrim with a justicar team, he slipped away, pretending to have fell of a slippery cliff, in reality, he jumped, however this has come at the cost of the leg he landed on, it troubles him greatly, but stubornly he refuses assistance, he is rather wrinkled, giving him a grandfatherly look, he stands at 6ft 2inches, he has a white beard,slightly trimmed so as to give it a pointed outlook, he has the skin tone of a regular high elf, he is however rather wrinkled, high elves his age often appear in the prime of their lives, whereas he appears around his early 60s by human appearance.
Skills and Abilities: A theorist, he prefers to read over papers than actually study magic, however, ask him on the properties of Ritual Summoning and you'll never hear the end of it, ask him to cast a destruction spell he'll say "Are you mad, the books might burn", refering to his collection, however one can see fear prevalent in his eyes when a mage is practicing on a manequin.
Weapons: He does have an elven longsword on the wall, referring to his old days as a conjurer for the thalmor, a topic he would not rather relive through discussions, summoning creatures for torture, his skills misused, he still awakens with nightmares from it, also giving him a fear of illusion, destruction and alteration, having seen torturists at work whilst travelling to the summoning chambers.
Armor / clothing:Old thalmor robes(Non-hooded, unenchanted), he now wears Expert Robes of conjuration, without a hood.
Enchanted Items: He utilises a staff to help walk, his leg playing up usually, the staff is however a magic staff of Expulsion, to help anyone who summon something out of their league, other than his robes and staff the only thing of interest is his thalmor signet ring, enchanted so as to give a boost to destrution, he has sworn to never wear it again, but still keeps it to remind him that power can be misused.
Background: Born in the summerset Isles, he was as a child inducted into the alinor nobility as an esquire, by which means a servant to the mages of the court, he has some memories of marking out runes, collecting ingredients, he then decided after he became a mage to study in peace and quiet, finding a nice cottage near the sea, he was to devote his life pondering the walls of aetherius, that changed, after a few hundred years of practicing the arts of conjuration to a suitable level, he returned to alinor one day to purchase whatever books came across his fancy, only for the oblivion crisis to occur, he and the other conjurists of alinor were all looked and scorned upon, alecor to regain his honour joined the vocal thalmor, he was however set aside, until 4E28 with the aldmeri dominion being created, in which he was thrown into the war between the thalmor and those who opposed them, a few brief words could be entailed from this mainly "The spilling of so much elven blood" then a refusal to talk about it, he has dark memories, his skills pushed to summon creatures of torture, so as to root out the enemies of the thalmor, during the great war, he was utilised in the siege of hammerfell, he was withdrawn shortly before the battle of red-ring to assist in a particualar summoning, of a daedric prince, to say the least, he realised the thalmor was now more evil than he could turn a blind eye too, he volunteered for a justicar position in skyrim and as quickly as possible feigned his death, hiding his robes, he lived in a cave as a hermit, until he remembered winterhold, arriving as quickly as possible, he passed the gatekeeper, with great effort and entered, putting his skills to use, he wishes to simply aid in the rituals of conjuration, but mainly wishes to live out how many years he has left doing the things he loves most, conjuring.
Kalamari
Spoiler
Name: San-Reesh
Age: 30
Gender: Male
Race: Argonian
Height: 5'8
Level of Experience: Apprentice in Destruction, Novice in Restoration.
Appearance: San-Reesh has light green scales, with several spikes on his fore-brow, acting as "Eyebrows" of sorts. His snout is longer than most, with two above-average sized nostril holes. Below it being his thin lips, commonly curved into a scowl. The Argonian has blue eyes with thin, snake like pupils. While the Lizard's legs are strong and thick, his torso is lacking in that same muscle, and his long arms seem stringy and weak.
Skills and Abilities: San-Reesh puts the focus of his studies into the school of destruction. Preferring to use the element of Frost in place of other avenues of the school, the Argonian can focus his Magicka into a constant spray of lower intensity frost, a touch of blood chilling cold, or a vaguely spear shaped mass of ice to launch forward at high speeds. He also is able to create a low intensity spell to heal himself, as well as create a small shield to absorb parts of a blow. On the more mundane side of matters, constant running and fleeing has made his legs strong and fit, and given birth to a deeper pool of stamina within him. His step's are rather light and difficult to hear, allowing for the misuse of that into snooping and sneaking about.
Weapons: The only physical weapon that San-Reesh owns is a Dagger forged of Steel, used as a last resort when his inner pool of Magicka runs dry.
Armor/Clothing: San-Reesh wears a poorly stitched together "dress" of fur that covers his lower body. This kilt of sorts is made of a mish-mash of Wolf and Elk hide. While lacking any sort of clothing to protect his torso, he does keep a Fox's pelt cape tied around his neck, to provide warmth for his back. To cover his scaled feet, San wears simple moccasins, forged from many a Skeever.
Background: San-Reesh was born on the coasts of High Rock, in a small fishing village near the kingdom of Daggerfall. Unlike his parents, San was never interested in the ocean, nor the life it held. He was always focused on the power of magic, always lusting after it's potential for carnage. When he was grown, he left for the city of Daggerfall, hoping to learn from the powerful mage's there. While he was able to find multiple teachers over the course of two years, each was the same as the last. Far too conservative with magic, each warning the dangers of abusing magic. The power hungry lizard could not understand why these old fools refused to use the power at their hands to take what they wanted.
Enchanted Items: A locket forged of Silver, whose enchantment protects one from chill, whether it be natural or magical.
Disillusioned by the tight leash the Mage's of Daggerfall held over their own power, San turned to the criminal underbelly of Daggerfall. His magical prowess made him a effective, if unorthodox, enforcer. At the age of 27, he left with some of the more violent outlaws to start a Bandit clan. Over the years, many leaders had come and gone, but San has remained the Hedge-Wizard of the clan. Recently, they attempted to move from Daggerfall to Markarth. However, the journey, beasts of the Reach, and geography of the area lead to many deaths within the clan. With a lack of men and women to aid him during combat, San-Reesh decided to run off, and find his own fortune with what loot he had assembled during his time with the Clan. Word of mouth introduced him to College of Winterhold, and it's lack of regulation matched perfectly with the Argonian's view on magic.
Age: 30
Gender: Male
Race: Argonian
Height: 5'8
Level of Experience: Apprentice in Destruction, Novice in Restoration.
Appearance: San-Reesh has light green scales, with several spikes on his fore-brow, acting as "Eyebrows" of sorts. His snout is longer than most, with two above-average sized nostril holes. Below it being his thin lips, commonly curved into a scowl. The Argonian has blue eyes with thin, snake like pupils. While the Lizard's legs are strong and thick, his torso is lacking in that same muscle, and his long arms seem stringy and weak.
Skills and Abilities: San-Reesh puts the focus of his studies into the school of destruction. Preferring to use the element of Frost in place of other avenues of the school, the Argonian can focus his Magicka into a constant spray of lower intensity frost, a touch of blood chilling cold, or a vaguely spear shaped mass of ice to launch forward at high speeds. He also is able to create a low intensity spell to heal himself, as well as create a small shield to absorb parts of a blow. On the more mundane side of matters, constant running and fleeing has made his legs strong and fit, and given birth to a deeper pool of stamina within him. His step's are rather light and difficult to hear, allowing for the misuse of that into snooping and sneaking about.
Weapons: The only physical weapon that San-Reesh owns is a Dagger forged of Steel, used as a last resort when his inner pool of Magicka runs dry.
Armor/Clothing: San-Reesh wears a poorly stitched together "dress" of fur that covers his lower body. This kilt of sorts is made of a mish-mash of Wolf and Elk hide. While lacking any sort of clothing to protect his torso, he does keep a Fox's pelt cape tied around his neck, to provide warmth for his back. To cover his scaled feet, San wears simple moccasins, forged from many a Skeever.
Background: San-Reesh was born on the coasts of High Rock, in a small fishing village near the kingdom of Daggerfall. Unlike his parents, San was never interested in the ocean, nor the life it held. He was always focused on the power of magic, always lusting after it's potential for carnage. When he was grown, he left for the city of Daggerfall, hoping to learn from the powerful mage's there. While he was able to find multiple teachers over the course of two years, each was the same as the last. Far too conservative with magic, each warning the dangers of abusing magic. The power hungry lizard could not understand why these old fools refused to use the power at their hands to take what they wanted.
Enchanted Items: A locket forged of Silver, whose enchantment protects one from chill, whether it be natural or magical.
Disillusioned by the tight leash the Mage's of Daggerfall held over their own power, San turned to the criminal underbelly of Daggerfall. His magical prowess made him a effective, if unorthodox, enforcer. At the age of 27, he left with some of the more violent outlaws to start a Bandit clan. Over the years, many leaders had come and gone, but San has remained the Hedge-Wizard of the clan. Recently, they attempted to move from Daggerfall to Markarth. However, the journey, beasts of the Reach, and geography of the area lead to many deaths within the clan. With a lack of men and women to aid him during combat, San-Reesh decided to run off, and find his own fortune with what loot he had assembled during his time with the Clan. Word of mouth introduced him to College of Winterhold, and it's lack of regulation matched perfectly with the Argonian's view on magic.
The Ascended Sleeper
Spoiler
Name: Varon Omyan
Age: 19
six: Male
Race: Dunmer
Level of experience: Apprentice
Appearance: Black hair, high cheek bones, and a boyish face that looks younger than it truly is- Varon is the splitting image of a boy who is transitioning from innocent youth to manhood. His dark hair hangs unkept from his skull, and his eyes glow a crimson red like most Dunmer, though his ashen flesh is of a lighter shade due to his time under Skyrim’s nearly sunless skies.
Skills and Abilities: Varon is not a newcomer to the realm of magic, though some would argue that he is relatively “green” in any school that is not Conjuration or Enchanting. Hailing from the city of Necrom, Morrowind, Varon is not squeamish around the dead (animated or otherwise), and was taught from a young age how to disassemble, reassemble, repair, and maintain all variety of corpses by powerful Necromancer. This same necromancer was also teaching Varon the art of Conjuration, as well as a few other useful schools of magic, Illusion, Destruction, Alchemy, and Enchanting be the primary ones. Varon has a natural aptitude for Alchemy and Enchanting, though talent only extended so far, and was always quite lacking when it came to the destructive arts. This previous education, however, has left Varon somewhat inept when it comes to social interaction, and sometimes finds himself unable to read the expressions of others.
Weapons: Varon carries only a dagger of Dwemeri Origin.
Armor / clothing: Varon, not being a skilled warrior or legionnaire, has no use for armor, but instead sticks to his sets of common robes and cloaks, most of which are thick enough to handle Winterhold’s harsh climate. In addition, Varon also owns a leather duster full of many pockets that he is quite partial to, its thick surface providing some meager protection.
Enchanted Items: The only enchanted item that Varon carries is a relic from his shadowy past- an enchanted ring that was once owned by his Master. Created form articulately carved volcanic rock, the ring is enchanted to drain the life and stamina from targets- a very potent weapon when Varon is willing to use it.
Personality: To most people who meet Varon, the boy seems to be a niave, innocent Mer on the verge of manhood, who possesses a sharp intellect (which he is). Very few who meet and interact with him, however, notice the underlying remnants of terrible past, one filled with pain, death, and deception. When the situation calls for it, Varon can conjure up a virtually unbreakable will, the instinct to survive ruling over all. On his average day, Varon is quite simply a quirky, awkward teenager who, despite his lack of social skills, is not afraid to socialize.
Background: Varon’s earliest memories are unclear, though he knows that he was an orphan in the city of Necrom. At the age of four, young Varon found himself, surprisingly, adopted. Instead of finding himself in the loving arms of a traditional Dunmer family, their hearth warm with a blazing fire, the young Mer found himself face to face with a dark robed and hooded stranger, his crimson eyes holding a glint of wicked determination.
The stranger, it turned out, was a powerful sorcerer, a necromancer who had abandoned the failing Order of the Worm and was starting his own cult based on a master and apprentice hierarchy. Varon quickly found himself the apprentice to an ambitious necromancer, and received an informal education at his hands in the depths of Necrom’s undercity.
Varon and his master developed a strange relationship- the young Dunmer loving his mentor for his caring attitude, and the power he was sharing, but nothing more. When a member of Necrom’s priesthood sought out fifteen year old Varon with an almost irrefutable proposal, his faith towards his master was tested. The priest, who had been hunting for Varon’s master for the past several years, offered the boy a deal: if Varon would reveal the location of the Order’s hideout, then he would allow the Dunmer safe passage out of the city.
In short, Varon accepted the deal, and revealed his hideout’s location to the priest. It is said that it took over three hordes of angry townsfolk and soldiers to breach the crypt and slay Varon’s master, but the Dunmer apprentice never discovered his master’s fate, for he was out of the city by dawn, his heart heavy with guilt, his mind wary of deception. From there, Varon traveled around Morrowind, taking odd jobs, particularly ones that involved the maintaining of Dunmer Ancestral Tombs, though the boy was forced to flee the province when he was caught meddling with the remains of an old Indoril noble.
He fled to Skyrim, where his race and necromantic practices caused him nothing but trouble. Varon was considering joining a Necromancer Cult or a bandit clan, but could never bring himself to betray himself again in such a way, the memories of betraying his master constantly boring down on him. It wasn’t until he had traveled to the famed College of Winterhold that Varon finally found peace.
Age: 19
six: Male
Race: Dunmer
Level of experience: Apprentice
Appearance: Black hair, high cheek bones, and a boyish face that looks younger than it truly is- Varon is the splitting image of a boy who is transitioning from innocent youth to manhood. His dark hair hangs unkept from his skull, and his eyes glow a crimson red like most Dunmer, though his ashen flesh is of a lighter shade due to his time under Skyrim’s nearly sunless skies.
Skills and Abilities: Varon is not a newcomer to the realm of magic, though some would argue that he is relatively “green” in any school that is not Conjuration or Enchanting. Hailing from the city of Necrom, Morrowind, Varon is not squeamish around the dead (animated or otherwise), and was taught from a young age how to disassemble, reassemble, repair, and maintain all variety of corpses by powerful Necromancer. This same necromancer was also teaching Varon the art of Conjuration, as well as a few other useful schools of magic, Illusion, Destruction, Alchemy, and Enchanting be the primary ones. Varon has a natural aptitude for Alchemy and Enchanting, though talent only extended so far, and was always quite lacking when it came to the destructive arts. This previous education, however, has left Varon somewhat inept when it comes to social interaction, and sometimes finds himself unable to read the expressions of others.
Weapons: Varon carries only a dagger of Dwemeri Origin.
Armor / clothing: Varon, not being a skilled warrior or legionnaire, has no use for armor, but instead sticks to his sets of common robes and cloaks, most of which are thick enough to handle Winterhold’s harsh climate. In addition, Varon also owns a leather duster full of many pockets that he is quite partial to, its thick surface providing some meager protection.
Enchanted Items: The only enchanted item that Varon carries is a relic from his shadowy past- an enchanted ring that was once owned by his Master. Created form articulately carved volcanic rock, the ring is enchanted to drain the life and stamina from targets- a very potent weapon when Varon is willing to use it.
Personality: To most people who meet Varon, the boy seems to be a niave, innocent Mer on the verge of manhood, who possesses a sharp intellect (which he is). Very few who meet and interact with him, however, notice the underlying remnants of terrible past, one filled with pain, death, and deception. When the situation calls for it, Varon can conjure up a virtually unbreakable will, the instinct to survive ruling over all. On his average day, Varon is quite simply a quirky, awkward teenager who, despite his lack of social skills, is not afraid to socialize.
Background: Varon’s earliest memories are unclear, though he knows that he was an orphan in the city of Necrom. At the age of four, young Varon found himself, surprisingly, adopted. Instead of finding himself in the loving arms of a traditional Dunmer family, their hearth warm with a blazing fire, the young Mer found himself face to face with a dark robed and hooded stranger, his crimson eyes holding a glint of wicked determination.
The stranger, it turned out, was a powerful sorcerer, a necromancer who had abandoned the failing Order of the Worm and was starting his own cult based on a master and apprentice hierarchy. Varon quickly found himself the apprentice to an ambitious necromancer, and received an informal education at his hands in the depths of Necrom’s undercity.
Varon and his master developed a strange relationship- the young Dunmer loving his mentor for his caring attitude, and the power he was sharing, but nothing more. When a member of Necrom’s priesthood sought out fifteen year old Varon with an almost irrefutable proposal, his faith towards his master was tested. The priest, who had been hunting for Varon’s master for the past several years, offered the boy a deal: if Varon would reveal the location of the Order’s hideout, then he would allow the Dunmer safe passage out of the city.
In short, Varon accepted the deal, and revealed his hideout’s location to the priest. It is said that it took over three hordes of angry townsfolk and soldiers to breach the crypt and slay Varon’s master, but the Dunmer apprentice never discovered his master’s fate, for he was out of the city by dawn, his heart heavy with guilt, his mind wary of deception. From there, Varon traveled around Morrowind, taking odd jobs, particularly ones that involved the maintaining of Dunmer Ancestral Tombs, though the boy was forced to flee the province when he was caught meddling with the remains of an old Indoril noble.
He fled to Skyrim, where his race and necromantic practices caused him nothing but trouble. Varon was considering joining a Necromancer Cult or a bandit clan, but could never bring himself to betray himself again in such a way, the memories of betraying his master constantly boring down on him. It wasn’t until he had traveled to the famed College of Winterhold that Varon finally found peace.
Tinimun
Spoiler
Name: Alarice Svensdottir
Age: 21
six: Female
Race: Nord
Level of experience: Apprentice
Appearance: Messy, dark blonde hair cut almost boyishly short, with strong cheekbones and an angular face that give her a predator-like visage. Her piercing golden eyes sit beneath thick eyebrows, and her skin is fair at best, palid at worst. She has an average build, but her muscles are lithe and sinewy, making her a bit stronger than she would otherwise appear to be.
Skills and Abilities: Alarice is a relative newcomer to magic, not having much formal training before coming to Winterhold. She mostly got in on her skill in Conjuration, for which she has a natural talent. However, she has devoted most of her studying to the schools of Alteration and Restoration. She can perform little better than parlor tricks with Destruction and Illusion, and she has almost no Enchanting skills to speak of. Before coming to Winterhold she also received some basic training in swordplay, though she relies more on her natural strength and speed than any real skill in that field.
Weapons: Carries nothing save perhaps a simple steel dagger, but is more than capable of summoning a bound weapon.
Armor / clothing: Her clothing mostly consists of messy, unkempt College robes. She has a number of more mundane outfits as well, all of them just as untidy. She wears an amulet of Talos out of reverence.
Enchanted Items: A simple ring that buffs her reserves of Magicka. A useful item, but not terribly rare or exotic.
Personality: Alarice craves close companionship, but her grouchy, aggressive nature often gets in the way of making friends. She will often seek the dominant role in interactions, but will shy away from people or encounters she feels she can’t handle alone. It takes some time for her to trust anybody, but once that trust is gained she will be unflinchingly loyal. In many ways she is still the emotional child she grew up as, simply burying herself deep down to protect herself and pursue her goals.
Background: Alarice was born and raised in Falkreath, on the other side of Skyrim. The grimness of the town seemed to be ineffective against the bright, sunny child. Her father, Sven, followed a strict martial tradition, and quickly became frustrated at Alarice’s seeming ineptitude with the blade. Over time, the young girl developed a friendship with the court wizard, who would often pass by her home while gathering herbs and reagents. At first he would simply show her tricks, but when she started replicating them he realized she must have some magickal talent. When Alarice was 16, after she had been quietly tutored by the wizard for some time, the man approached her father about receiving formal training.
Sven was furious, throwing the wizard out and forbidding them from meeting. He then returned her to her martial practices, her anger channeling into some degree of success. The grim atmosphere of Falkreath finally started to get to her as the months wore on, then the years.
Everything changed when a stranger came into town. He seemed harmless enough, even if the town was loathe to abide such a decrepit, uncouth beggar. Alarice had the misfortune of passing by him one night as the moons rose over the mountains, light from the twin orbs falling over the man as he began to change into a werewolf.
She barely survived the attack, largely only through the combined efforts of her father and her old friend, the wizard. The werewolf was killed, but everybody knew the legend. The wizard confirmed it – Alarice had been infected by the werewolf. They tried to keep it quiet, but the news spread quickly around Falkreath. While Alarice found herself getting stronger and faster, the villagers began clamoring for her execution or exile. It was the wizard who thought of sending her to Winterhold, far away from Falkreath, and likely the only place she might find help with her curse.
She has been studying at the College ever since, hoping to find a way to cure or control the beast inside her. She keeps her condition a secret, but remains ever suspicious of her fellow students and her teachers. The brightest minds in Skyrim are likely to notice her slipping out during the full moons.
Age: 21
six: Female
Race: Nord
Level of experience: Apprentice
Appearance: Messy, dark blonde hair cut almost boyishly short, with strong cheekbones and an angular face that give her a predator-like visage. Her piercing golden eyes sit beneath thick eyebrows, and her skin is fair at best, palid at worst. She has an average build, but her muscles are lithe and sinewy, making her a bit stronger than she would otherwise appear to be.
Skills and Abilities: Alarice is a relative newcomer to magic, not having much formal training before coming to Winterhold. She mostly got in on her skill in Conjuration, for which she has a natural talent. However, she has devoted most of her studying to the schools of Alteration and Restoration. She can perform little better than parlor tricks with Destruction and Illusion, and she has almost no Enchanting skills to speak of. Before coming to Winterhold she also received some basic training in swordplay, though she relies more on her natural strength and speed than any real skill in that field.
Weapons: Carries nothing save perhaps a simple steel dagger, but is more than capable of summoning a bound weapon.
Armor / clothing: Her clothing mostly consists of messy, unkempt College robes. She has a number of more mundane outfits as well, all of them just as untidy. She wears an amulet of Talos out of reverence.
Enchanted Items: A simple ring that buffs her reserves of Magicka. A useful item, but not terribly rare or exotic.
Personality: Alarice craves close companionship, but her grouchy, aggressive nature often gets in the way of making friends. She will often seek the dominant role in interactions, but will shy away from people or encounters she feels she can’t handle alone. It takes some time for her to trust anybody, but once that trust is gained she will be unflinchingly loyal. In many ways she is still the emotional child she grew up as, simply burying herself deep down to protect herself and pursue her goals.
Background: Alarice was born and raised in Falkreath, on the other side of Skyrim. The grimness of the town seemed to be ineffective against the bright, sunny child. Her father, Sven, followed a strict martial tradition, and quickly became frustrated at Alarice’s seeming ineptitude with the blade. Over time, the young girl developed a friendship with the court wizard, who would often pass by her home while gathering herbs and reagents. At first he would simply show her tricks, but when she started replicating them he realized she must have some magickal talent. When Alarice was 16, after she had been quietly tutored by the wizard for some time, the man approached her father about receiving formal training.
Sven was furious, throwing the wizard out and forbidding them from meeting. He then returned her to her martial practices, her anger channeling into some degree of success. The grim atmosphere of Falkreath finally started to get to her as the months wore on, then the years.
Everything changed when a stranger came into town. He seemed harmless enough, even if the town was loathe to abide such a decrepit, uncouth beggar. Alarice had the misfortune of passing by him one night as the moons rose over the mountains, light from the twin orbs falling over the man as he began to change into a werewolf.
She barely survived the attack, largely only through the combined efforts of her father and her old friend, the wizard. The werewolf was killed, but everybody knew the legend. The wizard confirmed it – Alarice had been infected by the werewolf. They tried to keep it quiet, but the news spread quickly around Falkreath. While Alarice found herself getting stronger and faster, the villagers began clamoring for her execution or exile. It was the wizard who thought of sending her to Winterhold, far away from Falkreath, and likely the only place she might find help with her curse.
She has been studying at the College ever since, hoping to find a way to cure or control the beast inside her. She keeps her condition a secret, but remains ever suspicious of her fellow students and her teachers. The brightest minds in Skyrim are likely to notice her slipping out during the full moons.
Disturbing
Spoiler
Name: Icurus Cracy
six: Male
Race: Imperial
Age: 18
Skill level: Novice
Clothing/armor: Novice robes
Weapons: silver dagger
Skills: Icurus excels in the school of Alteration but is rather weak in the other schools of Magicka. He can wield telekinesis with expert precision and walk on water with ease, but has a hard time casting a simple fire spell.
Appearance: Icurus stands at roughly 5'11 and is lightly built. He has dark gray hair and blue eyes as well as a pale complexion. His body is not very impressive, but his face is rather handsome and he has a charming smile. He usually has a bored, aloof expression on his face and he tends to slouch. He limits his facial hair to a trimmed soul patch.
Background: Icurus was born and raised in Whiterun. His parents were both successful merchants who run a a caravan company that transports good all throughout Tamriel. Icurus was taught from a young age how to run a business, but the boy showed little or no interest in inheriting the family company. Instead he would spend countless hours reading of the heroes of old or admiring nature. Eventually, Icurus came to find out that he had some gifts in the Magickal arts, particularly the school of Alteration. His favorite trick was to move objects around without touching them. A skill he later learned to be called telekinesis. His talents unerved the local Nords and Icurus was granted the title of "Witch Child" by the locals.
Realizing that their strange son was a threat to their business, Icurus's parents shipped him off to the College at the age of 16. Two years have passed and Icurus has just about mastered the school of Alteration. He is now focusing on widening his magickal abilities and branching off into the other schools
six: Male
Race: Imperial
Age: 18
Skill level: Novice
Clothing/armor: Novice robes
Weapons: silver dagger
Skills: Icurus excels in the school of Alteration but is rather weak in the other schools of Magicka. He can wield telekinesis with expert precision and walk on water with ease, but has a hard time casting a simple fire spell.
Appearance: Icurus stands at roughly 5'11 and is lightly built. He has dark gray hair and blue eyes as well as a pale complexion. His body is not very impressive, but his face is rather handsome and he has a charming smile. He usually has a bored, aloof expression on his face and he tends to slouch. He limits his facial hair to a trimmed soul patch.
Background: Icurus was born and raised in Whiterun. His parents were both successful merchants who run a a caravan company that transports good all throughout Tamriel. Icurus was taught from a young age how to run a business, but the boy showed little or no interest in inheriting the family company. Instead he would spend countless hours reading of the heroes of old or admiring nature. Eventually, Icurus came to find out that he had some gifts in the Magickal arts, particularly the school of Alteration. His favorite trick was to move objects around without touching them. A skill he later learned to be called telekinesis. His talents unerved the local Nords and Icurus was granted the title of "Witch Child" by the locals.
Realizing that their strange son was a threat to their business, Icurus's parents shipped him off to the College at the age of 16. Two years have passed and Icurus has just about mastered the school of Alteration. He is now focusing on widening his magickal abilities and branching off into the other schools
Vincent McCool
Spoiler
Name: Fiona Barrow-Heart
Age: 23
six: Female
Race: Reachwoman (A mongrel race of Nord/Breton and plenty of Elvish)
Level of experience: Naturally gifted in Illusion to the point of expertise, but only in a pratictal and not theoretical capacity. Likewise, Fiona has a somewhat worrying wealth of experience with the dealings with daedra and other dark spirits, and make rituals of hedge wizardly banned in most academic circles. In all serious magics, Fiona is a beginner at best.
Appearance: A tall, lithe young woman with pale hair and an unruly mess of short, wild ginger hair that seems to have been hacked off with a crude blade somewhere around the neck level. Her hair contains numerous twigs and what appears to be feathers, and her face is adorned with a black facepaint around each eye, and a single mark on one cheek, her full lips an unearthly grey. On a more well-cept woman, Fiona's soft features would undoubtably be attractive, but her overall appearace is something of a wild woman, her bright hazel eyes exhuming energy and dangerous intent.
Skills and Abilities: Fiona is percular in her magical ability for one with no formal training, having been nursed and educated by Hagravens. She has lived much of her life in the wilds, and is fully capable of capturing and skinning animals, the different properties of all magical and non magical flora native to Skyrim. She is also well versed in the rites and customes of the Reachmen, and of Spriggans. She can also apparently talk to animals.
Weapons: None
Armor / clothing: What at one point in the distant past, must have been a green dress, and now is a threadbare bit of tatters that barely serves its function.
Enchanted Items: None
Background: Brought up in the wild Reach of West Skyrim, Fiona was picked by the local Hagraven Covern at a young age for her exceptional talent in Illusion (Fiona has been able to disapear since she could walk). Life with the Hagravens was a brutal affair, but Fiona was a quick learner. At the age of 19 Fiona was selected to undergo the unholy ceremony to become a Hagraven herself (an incredible honour). However, Fiona fled the covern at this age, and went into the wilds. For a time she floated from Daedric Cult to Daedric Cult, spending a good few years as a worshipper of Mephala. After falling out with the Daedric cults, Fiona has lived in the wilds, at times with the Spriggans, at times alone. She has picked up what magic she could from rouge Hagravens and witches, but a thirst for greater knowledge has driven her to the College of Winterhold, to delve deeper into Tamriel's mysteries.
Age: 23
six: Female
Race: Reachwoman (A mongrel race of Nord/Breton and plenty of Elvish)
Level of experience: Naturally gifted in Illusion to the point of expertise, but only in a pratictal and not theoretical capacity. Likewise, Fiona has a somewhat worrying wealth of experience with the dealings with daedra and other dark spirits, and make rituals of hedge wizardly banned in most academic circles. In all serious magics, Fiona is a beginner at best.
Appearance: A tall, lithe young woman with pale hair and an unruly mess of short, wild ginger hair that seems to have been hacked off with a crude blade somewhere around the neck level. Her hair contains numerous twigs and what appears to be feathers, and her face is adorned with a black facepaint around each eye, and a single mark on one cheek, her full lips an unearthly grey. On a more well-cept woman, Fiona's soft features would undoubtably be attractive, but her overall appearace is something of a wild woman, her bright hazel eyes exhuming energy and dangerous intent.
Skills and Abilities: Fiona is percular in her magical ability for one with no formal training, having been nursed and educated by Hagravens. She has lived much of her life in the wilds, and is fully capable of capturing and skinning animals, the different properties of all magical and non magical flora native to Skyrim. She is also well versed in the rites and customes of the Reachmen, and of Spriggans. She can also apparently talk to animals.
Weapons: None
Armor / clothing: What at one point in the distant past, must have been a green dress, and now is a threadbare bit of tatters that barely serves its function.
Enchanted Items: None
Background: Brought up in the wild Reach of West Skyrim, Fiona was picked by the local Hagraven Covern at a young age for her exceptional talent in Illusion (Fiona has been able to disapear since she could walk). Life with the Hagravens was a brutal affair, but Fiona was a quick learner. At the age of 19 Fiona was selected to undergo the unholy ceremony to become a Hagraven herself (an incredible honour). However, Fiona fled the covern at this age, and went into the wilds. For a time she floated from Daedric Cult to Daedric Cult, spending a good few years as a worshipper of Mephala. After falling out with the Daedric cults, Fiona has lived in the wilds, at times with the Spriggans, at times alone. She has picked up what magic she could from rouge Hagravens and witches, but a thirst for greater knowledge has driven her to the College of Winterhold, to delve deeper into Tamriel's mysteries.
Sch
Spoiler
Name: Arille
Age: 24
six: Male
Race: Altmer, but a mongrel due to generations of Ayleid and Bosmer intermingling in his family tree, which is common for pocket groups of Altmer living in Valenwood. Important only because he looks slightly off, doesn't have as high a pool of magic or as much magical aptitude as regular Altmer, and is quicker and more agile. He'll refer to himself as an Altmer, has many of the same cultural beliefs, and mostly looks the part.
Level of experience: Apprentice level of knowledge, but not currently in the College. <--- see that sweet rhyme? More of that to come.
Appearance: He seems like a young High Elf of fairly stereotypical build; a tall, gaunt-faced golden mer with willowy limbs and angular bones. Shaved head, often tired looking; his skin is quite dark, and his eyes are a solid black varnish on a dark red core. A bruised-peach-skinned scarecrow with wine stains for eyes.
Skills and Abilities: Alchemy, alchemy, and more alchemy! His focus is on building a base in this more craft-like skill, because following instructions properly leads to safe, controlled experiences of the effects of spell-casting. Once he knows how they should feel from drinking a potion, he assumes it will be easier to achieve the results with magic. Of course, this hasn't exactly panned out as expected, leaving him to depend on throwing and drinking personal concoctions for offense and defense, respectively. He knows some conjuration and a simple healing spell. He reads voraciously, and can use a bow with confidence.
Weapons: Short bow and some iron arrows. Explotions and acid cocktails.
Armor / clothing: A cared-for but worn-down old robe that has a few extra pockets sewn into it, boots, a common satchel, some gloves.
Enchanted Items: He has a ring that raises a ward. Not being very skilled with enchanted items, it yields a minimal result, but the item itself seems capable of more.
Background: Arille was born in Valenwood in 4E197, many years after the Thalmor takeover of that province, quite a few years after most of the disappearances and political murders that took place in the aftermath, and about thirty years after his parents were conscripted to fight in The Great War. They left Valenwood after hearing about the Stormcloak rebellion, figuring that living in a Skyrim controlled by Ulfric would spare their son from the horrors of military experience, or at least allow him to live without the constant inspection of the Justiciars.
Arille grew up in a small shack in Riverwood, helping his family make clothes, potions and food out of the things they hunted together. When Winterhold began its restoration in earnest, he left home, built a hut near the college's bridge, and tried to eek out a position as an alchemist. So far he's only secured a deal to supply Birna's Oddments with the same things he was making for his parents. He read about how to ressurect dead creatures so that he didn't have to carry as much, and learned to heal so that his coats and cuts of meat do not appear damaged by his bow. Lately his interest has been piqued by his growing conjuration abilities. The sense of control and danger appeals to this young mer who, briast-fed on the stories of war, and plucked from his home without apparent reason, sometimes feels that he is powerless and his life is boring.
Age: 24
six: Male
Race: Altmer, but a mongrel due to generations of Ayleid and Bosmer intermingling in his family tree, which is common for pocket groups of Altmer living in Valenwood. Important only because he looks slightly off, doesn't have as high a pool of magic or as much magical aptitude as regular Altmer, and is quicker and more agile. He'll refer to himself as an Altmer, has many of the same cultural beliefs, and mostly looks the part.
Level of experience: Apprentice level of knowledge, but not currently in the College. <--- see that sweet rhyme? More of that to come.
Appearance: He seems like a young High Elf of fairly stereotypical build; a tall, gaunt-faced golden mer with willowy limbs and angular bones. Shaved head, often tired looking; his skin is quite dark, and his eyes are a solid black varnish on a dark red core. A bruised-peach-skinned scarecrow with wine stains for eyes.
Skills and Abilities: Alchemy, alchemy, and more alchemy! His focus is on building a base in this more craft-like skill, because following instructions properly leads to safe, controlled experiences of the effects of spell-casting. Once he knows how they should feel from drinking a potion, he assumes it will be easier to achieve the results with magic. Of course, this hasn't exactly panned out as expected, leaving him to depend on throwing and drinking personal concoctions for offense and defense, respectively. He knows some conjuration and a simple healing spell. He reads voraciously, and can use a bow with confidence.
Weapons: Short bow and some iron arrows. Explotions and acid cocktails.
Armor / clothing: A cared-for but worn-down old robe that has a few extra pockets sewn into it, boots, a common satchel, some gloves.
Enchanted Items: He has a ring that raises a ward. Not being very skilled with enchanted items, it yields a minimal result, but the item itself seems capable of more.
Background: Arille was born in Valenwood in 4E197, many years after the Thalmor takeover of that province, quite a few years after most of the disappearances and political murders that took place in the aftermath, and about thirty years after his parents were conscripted to fight in The Great War. They left Valenwood after hearing about the Stormcloak rebellion, figuring that living in a Skyrim controlled by Ulfric would spare their son from the horrors of military experience, or at least allow him to live without the constant inspection of the Justiciars.
Arille grew up in a small shack in Riverwood, helping his family make clothes, potions and food out of the things they hunted together. When Winterhold began its restoration in earnest, he left home, built a hut near the college's bridge, and tried to eek out a position as an alchemist. So far he's only secured a deal to supply Birna's Oddments with the same things he was making for his parents. He read about how to ressurect dead creatures so that he didn't have to carry as much, and learned to heal so that his coats and cuts of meat do not appear damaged by his bow. Lately his interest has been piqued by his growing conjuration abilities. The sense of control and danger appeals to this young mer who, briast-fed on the stories of war, and plucked from his home without apparent reason, sometimes feels that he is powerless and his life is boring.
