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The character sheets

Imperial Legion;

Captainrex:

Spoiler

Name: Brogan the Tall
Gender: Male
Age: 55 (looks around 40 though)
Race: Nord
Faction: Legion


Skills: Heavy Armour, One-handed, Speech, Alchemy, Destruction, and Restoration

General Appearance: Average height, well muscled he has short brown hair and blue eyes.

Weapons: Brogan uses an Imperial long sword, as well as spells.

Armour/Clothing: The armour on the far right, instead of the helmet he just has a hood.

Personality: Shown in RP.

Brief History: Ever since 122 the city of Winterhold has had a grudge against the nearby College; this is what Brogan grew up around. When he showed signs of being a mage the Jarl had him exiled from the city, he fled to the college. He soon became a master wizard, but his life in the College was rather dull. His grandfather was legionnaire and Brogan wanted some action, and action found him. In the guise of the Great War, he was respected by his fellows afterwards. He is one of the few battlemages in the service of the Empire. The newly appointed General has put him in charge of a new company of legionaries.

Manu:

Spoiler

Name: Fara
Gender: Female
Age: 35 (by human standards she looks in her early 20s)
Race: Bosmer
Faction: Legion


Skills – sneak, light armor, marksman, acrobatics
minor skills : survival, armorer, 1-handed blades, alchemy, tavern brawls


General Appearance: Fara is a young bosmer woman of average size, on the slim rather than voluptuous side. Her face is far from outstanding, most would describe her as nice or cute rather than pretty. Her light built is misleading, as years of hunting followed by month of legion training have muscled and toned her frame.

Weapons: bosmeri bone bow - compact but quite powerful, and immune to humidity (Valenwood is a jungle afterall), steel shortsword (with weapon grease poured in the sheath to keep the rust at bay). Quiver of thirty arrows, ten of them are silver-tipped.

Armour/Clothing: Legion leather armor, supplemented with strips and scales of hardened leather and bone along with whitish fur strips and patches for dissimulation. And an extra fur liner that cost a few wolves and rabbits their lives. Despite a shabby (and completely non-regulation) look, the armor is rather effective and silent, while reasonably comfortable This is supplemented with fur boots and greaves and a large hooded cloak of mixed furs, for both warmth and camouflage.

Other Items: small mortar and pestle, hammoc, blankets, utility dagger, folding sapper's tool, first aid kit, a flask of moonshine

A small alambic hidden in the wood she uses to brew moonshine whenever she got a leave (or sneaks out for an undeclared one).

Personality: Fara is quite a cynic – her destitute youth didn't leave her much faith in men, mers or beasts and her conscripting didn't help. As she feels having much simply means more to loose and attract trouble, she's just coasting along, fighting boredom with simple (and cheap) fun like carousing on someone else's money when off-duty. She don't cares about the war and isn't interested in becoming an officer. Watching over her own skin is already enough of a pain...

Brief History: Fara was born in a somewhat destitute bosmer family in southern Cyrodill, her parents scraping a living as hunters. She learned the way of the hunt and the bow, but didn't improve her condition much - owing to both being a bosmer after Valenwood parted from the empire and her spendthrift and lazy habits.
She was merely coasting along with that life when a night of drunken revelry suddenly changed her situation : with the fumes of alcohol dissipated, she found she had signed for joining the Legion. With a pair of firm and barely polite soldiers standing ready to enforce the contract by chaining and dragging her if needed....
Dumped in Skyrim mess after a few month of not exactly relevant training (marching in ranks, using heavy armor, a bit of siegecraft - digging, hauling siege machine parts, that sort of things...), Fara's hunting skills have kept her alive - but her definitively unmartial attitude make sure she' ll raise in rank only through a stroke of luck. But since she's as low in rank as possible and holding the most dangerous and undesirable job in the Legion, there's little she can loose beyond her life.

Kayle of Whiterun:

Spoiler

Name: Lyrial Shadowsong
Gender: Female
Age: 23
Race: Breton
Faction: Imperial Legion


Skills – 10 max – non game skills allowed:
Lyrial’s training is all relevant to her occupation. Not one for sneaking about, she prefers Heavy Armour (1) backed up with a sword (2) and a choice of Destruction magic in the other hand (3). She’s also a fairly capable healer (4) although not on the same scale as her offensive magic.
Also, in keeping with her family traditions, she has studied Conjuration and binding magic, but applies it in reverse, using it as a weapon against summoned undead and Daedra (5) (although so far the most she’s had to deal with are mouldering zombies and the odd skeleton) She is also used to placing wards on weapons and armour, and is still learning more about enchanting (6).
Finally, she is capable of looking after herself for long stints without much in the way of resources, and can cook reasonably well (7/8)

1: Heavy Armour
2: One Handed
3: Destruction
4: Restoration
5: Reverse Conjuration/Banishing
6: Enchanting
7: Survivalist
8: Cook


General Appearance:
Lyrial is pale, even for a Breton, paler even than most Nords. Her face is young but also gaunt, giving her a certain rugged ‘handsomeness’ rather than actual beauty. She tends to keep her long, jet black hair braided and curled over right shoulder to keep it out of the way, but when let down it reaches just past her shoulders.

She is also quite tall, at about 5’ 11”, and more solidly built then most women, although not unnaturally muscled. She’s simply toned and tough. Her piercing, ice blue eyes are the final point of note for her appearance.

She talks with a non-descript and precise accent (Precise text-book English to us) and usually quietly. It is not an unpleasant voice, usually soft, but also capable of taking on an edge when she is angry.

Weapons:
-Steel Legion sword
-Steel Dagger

Armour/Clothing:
-Steel Legion Heavy Armour
-Blue Mages Hood
-Steel Imperial Gauntlets
-Steel Imperial Boots

When out of armour Lyrial wears a Blue Mages robes.


Other Items:
She wears three pendants around her neck and usually under her armour;
The first is her Shadowsong emblem, a necklace made for her when she became a Battle Mage to mark her as one of the family line;
The second is an Amulet of Arkay;
The third is an Amulet of Stendarr.
All three are kept on her at all times, and she is very protective of them.


Personality:
Well aware of her somewhat odd appearance and her job in Skyrim, Lyrial tends to be quiet and somewhat self conscious.
Her almost reclusive nature should not be mistaken for cowardice, however; like all of the Shadowsong line she is more than capable of standing up for herself, and can be incredibly stubborn at times. She only remains so on personal opinion or in areas she feels she has the most knowledge, though, as she is more than happy to differ to those with superior knowledge, especially if she can learn from such experience.

Lyrial’s family life has lead to her growing a fairly thick skin, meaning she is slow to anger and finds it easier to resist barbed comments. She does, however, possess a temper as fearsome as her father when roused, and she despises the presence of undead or Daedra.

Ultimately, Lyrial does what she does because she wants people to be able to live without fear. The rebellion in Skyrim prays on her mind, as brother fighting brother is an idea abhorrent to her philosophies, as does the fact that some see her as a pawn of the likes of the Thalmor or as bad as the monsters she hunts. But she refuses to back down, and will serve the Empire and its people as best she can.


Brief History:
While the Shadowsong history is hard to fully trace, it is a fairly reliable point that they became better known after the Oblivion Crisis. As the Vigilants of Stendarr became more prevelant to combat the undead, supernatural and Daedric threats, a member of the Imperial Battlemages turned his or her (records are unclear) expertise to such threats.

Many years later, the Shadowsong family operate primarily out of the Imperial City. Lyrial’s father is relatively well know, having retired to be a Priest of Stendarr in his old age. A man known for his fiery oration and unwavering resolve, it is hardly surprising that Lyrial had her families morals and goals hammered into her from a young age. While her mother taught her skills such as survival and cooking techniques when they left the city to gather herbs and other supplies, along with building her strength by giving her heavy bags to carry, her father instilled in her the lessons of her forebears.

Joining the Imperial Mages College at the age of eighteen, Lyrial has finally completed her training five years later as a relatively competent mage. Assigned to the Battlemages of the Imperial Legion, much like many of her ancestors, Lyrial’s parting gifts from home were her father’s sword, amulets of both Arkay and Stendarr (the family’s chosen Divines) and an amulet made by her father’s own hand as a symbol of her lineage, a rare sign of affection from the old man.

And now Lyrial finds herself in the ranks of the Legion destined for Skyrim, both determined to see justice delivered to the deserving and praying that the conflict can be resolved so the Empire can face more pressing foes…

Ranry:

Spoiler

Name: áki Dagursun (Ah-kee Day-gur-son)

Gender: Male

Age: 58

Race: Nord

Faction: Legion- but with suspect loyalty


Skills – Light Armor, Tracking, One-Handed Weapons, Block, Marksmanship, Hunting, Resistance to cold, local knowledge, alchemy.

General Appearance: In his youth it was said that áki was a handsome man, but those times are long gone. He is hideously scarred, his neck and lower left face are mottled and mutilated from a mages destruction spell. His face and body are criss-crossed with disfiguring scars. His flesh is pitted with hollows that give him a gaunt, solemn look at all times. His hair is long and greasy, his face covered in a poorly-trimmed, bristly beard. His hair Is fair, like most Nords, though greying at the temples. He still appears to be lean and strong, though he is not a particularly tall man.

Weapons: A chipped steel sword called 'Ysmingir', A dented wooden targe, a simple longbow with steel arrows, a skinning dagger.

Armour/Clothing: Underclothes, covered by a linen tunic which reaches down below his knees and is fastened by a belt. Over this he wears a fur poncho, with a rabbit fur hood. His boots and thick and lined with reindeer hide. He wears no mail or heavy armour.

Other Items: A backpack containing: Flint, a tattered journal, a charcoal pencil, some rations (food and water), a single healing potion and a potion of cure disease, various alchemical ingredients, a small whetstone.

Personality: Gruff, angry and unpleasant. He is a bitter and disillusioned man, who has seen far too much suffering and bloodshed. He seems to despise the legion he serves, yet he does as he's commanded. He is taciturn around most, and looks down on all who choose a life of violence. As a Hyjaalmarcher he is very suspicious of magic, and distrustful of outsiders, particularly elves.

Brief History: áki was was only a young man when the Great War began. He served in the Legion, taking part in many of the great battles that raged across Cyrodill against the Aldmeri Dominion, something which has given him a life-long hatred of high elves. He was hideously wounded by a mage during the war, and still bares the scars today. At his prime he was perhaps one of the finest warriors in Skyrim, but his prime was long ago, and his youthful pride and taste for battle was left broken on the fields before the Imperial city.

áki wanted to stay as far away from the Civil war as possible, trying to settle down in Hyjaalmarch and work as a simple farmer. However, for reasons known only to him he volunteered to work as a scout for Imperial forces, and is allowed to go without uniform as a result. He seems to have no love for the Empire, however, and no real enmity for the Stormcloaks.

Tom

Spoiler

Name: Aerys Borne

Gender: Male

Age: 44 years

Race: Nord

Faction: Legion - sort of

Appearance: Fairly tall, at around 6'1". Ice blue eyes that almost lack colour, and pale blonde hair, curly and cut short, with a slight beard to match. His face looked weather beaten and haggard, but above all - stern. His skin also looks very pale, as though he has spent most of time out of the sunlight, though he is clearly a man of the outdoors.

Personality: Stern, practical and austere. He has a grim sense of humour, and can be very cynical. He's easy to admire and respect, but hard to like and get along with. He's a decent military strategist, mainly in the art of defence, and taciturn. Seldom does he show any sign of compassion or kindness, but is a believer of 'tough love'. He does however, possess a solemn respect of soldiers. His position is difficult; as he isn't strictly a legion officer he can't officially issue commands to troops unless Tullius has given permission (eg, Aerys is sometimes called to serve as a temporary commander in various camps and forts). That said, his reputation tends to proceed him, and it is highly advisable to carry out his orders.

Skills:
- Strategist (especially involving a defended position)
- Wilderness survival (particularly in the harsh northern climate)
- One handed (sword)
- Block (shield)
- Standard Legion Training (how to arrange camps, dig trenches, tend to wounds without magic, etc)
- Horseman
- Surprisingly good cook

Weapons, Armour and other gear:
- Steel hand-and-a-half sword
- Steel dirk
- Splintmail cuirass, pauldrons and vambraces, all made of steel, unpolished and black in appearance
- sturdy boots
- Long black cloak featuring a wolf pelt hood
- a few poultices, various wild herbs, salted meats and bread,

History:
Aerys was nineteen when the great war ended, having been a young legionnaire under the command of Targon Longstride. Twenty five years on, Aerys has long since left official service of the Legion, but still aids them on occasion, delivering messages, taking temporary command of garrisons, even helping out in a few battles. He has a hatred of the Thalmor, but age mellowed him, and now he thinks only of the soldiers who died fighting them. Once General Tullius arrived in Skyrim, Aerys went forth and introduced himself, and a strange kind of friendship grew between them, if it could be called such. Since then, if Tullius has needed a little extra hand, he has called on Aerys. Now, Tullius wishes to send a message to Fort Hraggstad, and Aerys is the man for the job.

Stormcloak;

Ant1iv3:

Spoiler

Name: Kumos Antus
Gender: Male
Race: Redguard
Age: 26
Faction: Stormcloaks
Height: 6'3
Weight: 172
Physical Description: He wears his hair in thick braids, and a beard, shaving only when he can no longer see skin. He has red war-paint masking the soar that stretches from his brow to his cheek. His eyes are auburn, and seam to glow when in the light of fire.

Personal

Skills: His clan, the Kirnbrod, taught him the philosophy of the Spaan, or "shield". He was raised to believe that the shield was a true warriors greatest weapon. Because of this he knows how to block, and even use his shield as offense(1). They trained with one-handed arms, and only touched on two-handed weapons in the case that ones Spaan was lost(2). He also makes his own weapons and armor, in he clan the only way one can train is to make what they use. (3). Being a member of the clan he was taught war tactics of how to best you opponent in battle.(4) He also has minor skill of shock destruction magic, as rudementary defense against mages (5).

Weapons: Banded Iron Shield, Glass Sword (Ithaca),

Armor: Enhanced Stormcloak Armor (Notched iron studs as well as torso and thigh plates), Banded Steel Boots and Gauntlets

Other items: Three potions of health, a map of Skyrim (as it is not his native land). He wears the claw around his neck, marking the harbinger of the scar on his neck, as well as the same beasts tooth. He also carries a couple common and petty soul gems, as he is a learning enchanter. Items not on his person is a pickaxe for mining ore used to make weapons as well as a hammer, some ingots, and leather, as well as a book on enchanting and smithing.

Personality: He was once quiet, back in the strict confines of the clan, but since his rite of passage, where for a time he consorted with the Alik'r, he opens up from time to time. He doesn't mind speaking, button the same token he doesn't speak up for fear of being an annoyance. When it comes to war he has a lot to speak of, his most common story is of his rite of passage through the Alik'r desert, which included a fight with the dreaded Rajh, a fierce, fire-breathing cat, which is how he got his war paint, as well as his scar.

Background

Brief History: Kumos Antus was born in Kirnbord, (deriving from Krin, meaning Courage, and Brod, or Clan) a clan of the Thu'um. It is located just under the Dragontail Mountains, hence the language and culture). He does not know of shouts, but nonetheless they train in dragon defense, preparing for the return of the fabled Alduin. Because of the War with the Empire and the Redguards in the fourth Era, they all carry an animosity towards the Empire, and slight prejudice against Imperials. They train under the Spaan, or the "shield". At age 20, he underwent his right of passage to the Alik'r desert. Not for becoming a man, but a true warrior. All he was given was his trusted Banded Iron Shield, and one demand: The tooth of the Rajh, the dreaded demon of the desert.

Across the desert he found the Alik'r, Redguard warriors native to the desert, which have it its name. There he made his own weapons and spoke with the locals, who were accustomed with seeing members of his clan. They also gave him a hint as to where to find the beast. It took him a year to end the rite, and he came back with the tooth, but also the beast claw, which was the bearer of his new battle scar.

He traveled to Skyrim, which was just a mountain peak away when he reached 24, in search of a new way of life. Members of the Kirnsbrod clan aren't meant to stay unless they were appointed Masters, or teachers. For a year he lived as a smith only to make money for the next travel, being a warrior, he was not made to work, but to fight. He did plenty of bounty for money and fair sport until he came upon a Stormcloak and Legion skirmish in his travels. He was not fond of the Empire, but nor did he know or care for the Stormcloaks much more than tavern talk. But as he watched he saw himself being struck by grief at how badly the resistance had been slaughtered, and the sloppy arrogant Empire went about slaying them. Even then, it wasn't until the battle reached the end that he saw how scarred the resistance was. He saw way too many young men and woman slain, and he noticed how the Empire left the bodies of their dead. It was then that he chose to head to Winterhold to help then fight against the Empire, but not before he meets their leader...

Kayle of Whiterun:

Spoiler

Name: ‘Kahn’
Gender: Male
Age: Hard to tell, looks around 30-ish
Race: Khajiit
Faction: Stormcloak Ally


Skills – 10 max – non game skills allowed:
Kahn is a dangerous rogue, and exemplifies the skills associated with his line of work. He is an expert in stealth and camouflage (1), not to mention skills such as lock-picking (2) and pick-pocketing (3).
For all the good the honest Khajiit traders do in Skyrim, Kahn is the antithesis; more than a few opponents have met their end with either an arrow (4) or a pair of razor sharp daggers in their backs (5), made even deadlier by the assassins skills as a poisoner (6). Even unarmed he’s a dangerous individual (7).
Equipped with light armour (8) and honed survival instincts (9), Kahn relishes the massive new hunting ground that is Skyrim.

1. Stealth
2. Lock-picking
3. Pick-pocketing
4. Archery
5. One Handed
6. Alchemy
7. Hand to Hand
8. Light Armour
9. Survivalist

(Other note: Unlike most Khajiit, Kahn seems to have taken quickly to the climate of Skyrim.)


General Appearance:
Even to Humans and Mer it is clear that Kahn is built like a top predator. At nearly 6’ it is entirely possible that Kahn is Cathay rather than Suthay-raht. This is up for debate, however, which most Khajiit seem unwilling to partake in while Kahn simply seems uninterested.

He is sleek and tough, with nearly all his weight coming from toned muscle mass. Thick grey fur is highlighted with patches of white on his cheeks, and shadowed with a browner tint to his nose, black on his ear tips and black stripes on his fur and tail. His eyes are yellow with an intense, sometimes unblinking stare. Unlike a number of his people, he is completely devoid of tattoos.

Kahn’s voice is a deep, almost luxurious purr. He has a habit of rolling his r’s, and doesn’t sound dissimilar to other Khajiit. To date he has never raised his voice or shouted, or even sounded angry; every word has been delivered calmly and quietly, no matter the context.

Weapons:
- Hunting Bow with Steel arrows
- Pair of Skyforged Steel Daggers (Acquired either through theft or simply murder...)
- Fine Iron Dagger sheathed in his right boot (hidden)
- Bandolier of Throwing Daggers

Armour/Clothing:
Kahn’s armour is worthy of its own description. To those who know of them, it looks similar to a black version of the equipment worn by the Thieves Guild. Kahn tends to keep the hood thrown back, but it is present. He also wears a Stormcloak blue scarf wrapped round his shoulders and neck, with the two ends of it trailing behind him to halfway down his back. His daggers are kept sheathed crosswise at the back of his belt.

Other Items:
Kahn always carries a large number of lockpicks with him, and a decent amount of coin. Other than that, he tends to carry little other than what he needs, although he will always carry a vial of Skooma with him.

Personality:
Kahn is usually quiet and not very personable. While he seems pleasant enough in direct conversation, he tends to keep himself to himself. He is often sarcastic and tends to use dry humour a lot, often taking digs at those around him. He has often been considered arrogant, although it’s rarely been said aloud; the other trait that is well known about him is his tendency to kill people he doesn’t like, or simply those he doesn’t find amusing.

He is unpredictable, a mixture of a cheery almost-hyper kleptomaniac (he will still anything not nailed down) and a ruthless assassin, all in one mix.

Brief History:
A blade or arrow hissing from the darkness. Valuables vanishing into the night. A growling chuckle and the faint hint of Skooma on the breeze.
That is the modus operandi of this particular Khajiit. The only name he answer to is ‘Kahn’, more than likely an assumed alias. Unlike the other Khajiit in Skyrim, Kahn travels with no trade caravans, and even steers clear of his own kind. He seems to relish this wide, new hunting ground, and has even become hardier to the cold.

His alliance with the Stormcloaks is a tentative one; on the one hand he seems happy enough to work for them as long as they continue to foot his bill and sometimes turn a blind eye to his theft in the holds, on the other the Stormcloaks are intensely distrustful of him.
That suits Kahn just fine. It proves he is working for people with a half functional brain.

The only driving factors behind the dark furred Khajiit are money, entertainment, the occasional shot of Skooma…and from time to time carving a bloody and terrible swathe from the shadows.

Ranry:

Spoiler

Name: Skir Arnarsun (Skeer Arr-nah-son) (Known more commonly as Pyke, Pykey Pyke, or Skir Rat-tooth)

Gender: Male

Age: 28

Race: Nord

Faction: Stormcloak


Skills – Marksmanship, Light Amour, Alchemy, One-handed weapons, Stealth, Speed, Merchantile, lockpicking.

General Appearance: Tall and lanky, short with hazel-brown hair with a widow's peak. His nose is long, sharp and aquiline. He is skinny, though he ripples with lean muscle. He sports constant stubble, and many pockmarks all over his face.

Weapons: Long-bow called 'Heimsvar', Short-sword, arrows, two daggers.

Armour/Clothing: Typical Stormcloak armour- though without any chain-mail and a white shirt worn beneath the padded leather. He wears no helmet.

Other Items: Several potions, 23 septims, some lock-picks, some rations.

Personality: Vindictive, cruel, cunning and self-interested, though with some vestiges of honour. He is rarely confrontational or offensive, and likes to present himself as something of a gentleman.

Brief History: A Nord with Imperial heritage, Skir was a famed sneak and brigand. He fancied himself as something of a romantic thief and highway man, though in truth he was far from romantic and dashing. He led a small group of bandits in Eastmarch, along the Morrowind border, for most of his life, before being hunted down and brought to justice by Ulfric's Stormcloak militia. After serving a spell in prison, Skir emerged and swore “'e was a reform'd man.”

Shortly after he joined Ulfric's Stormcloaks, in order to prove just how reformed he was, or maybe just for some legal corpse-looting.

Jonasvault101:

Spoiler

Name: Brom Bah'Alok (North Wrath Arise) His name is spoken in Draconic.

Gender: Male

Age: 49

Race: Nord

Faction: Stormcloak

Skills: Brom has lived his whole life in Skyrim, mostly as a hunter and furrier. For several years, Brom simply lived out of a cave, hunting bears and wolves throughout the winter into spring. The living was actually quite comfortable, even becoming a known resting place for weary hunters and travelers. This living has given him a knack for trapping, herbalism, archery, and even working with spears. Brom has no real preference as far as armor goes, because he's usually just made his own from the hunting he's done. However, he did learn a few tricks to working rudimentary metals into substantially better equipment. The Nordic man also trained with sword and axe ever since he could first lift one.

None of this holds a candle to Brom's greatest talent. The Thu'um. Since generations past, Brom's family have been close followers of the Way of the Voice, all of them taking on unique Draconic names given to them by the Greybeards. Brom is no master in the art, but he is by no means a novice. He has read the words written on stone tables and walls within the great Barrows, not all mind you, but a respectable share to be sure. Breathing fire, shouting a giant off a cliff, soothing wild beasts, and running as fast as the northern wind, just several of the Shouts Brom has learned from the Word Walls and Greybeards. But with this, Brom also bears in mind the meditations of the Thu'um, his families' eternal gift of being at one with the Voice and speaking in the tongues of the Dov.


General Appearance: Brom is a tall Nord, like most, standing at 6'4". He is broad and muscular, often being compared to a great ox or bear. His hair is braided into golden-brown locks that hang to his shoulder-blades, and a beard that only goes a few inches past his chin, also braided. His eyes are a deep aquamarine, flecked with green. A long scar runs down the right side of his face, almost going over the eye. On both arms, his chest, back, and the left side of his face are all covered in ancient Nordic and Draconic tattoos. He has a single small, yet ornately carved whale-bone hoop through his left ear-lobe.

Weapons: Brom carries three weapons with him-

Ahkrin (Courage)- A broadsword found in the icy tomb of Wulfrun the Hewer, a Nordic man known for his bravery by walking into the lairs of the Falmer and slaying them by the scores. The pommel is a single 2in thick azure moonstone, carved with Nordic patterns; the grip is wrapped in whale-skin and with the tusk of a sabre-cat; the blade is "Starlight" (white) moonstone and silver, formed into a 3ft gleaming blade, inlaid with old Draconic runes that spell its name. The scabbard is white oak, dyed red, and banded with Nordic bronze circlets.

Bruniik (Savage)- A spear made of whale-bone, wrapped in leather near its center and feathers hanging from the sharpened head. The spear has Nordic patterns and Draconic runes burned into it. This weapon was gifted to him by an Argonian on Solstheim.

Beyn (Scorn)- A horn-bow, made by Brom himself. The bow itself is made from Horker Tusk, and Ram Horns. The center of the bow is the white Horker Tusk, burned with runes and wrapped in leather, a small braid of beads and feathers hangs from the center. The arms of the bow are the black Ram Horns, left just as they were, with only two runes inscribed at each end. Brom carries 32 arrows, each arrowhead is the tooth of a wolf, bear, sabre-cat, or horker.

Underclothing- thick woolen pants, bearskin jerkin with wolf-hide sleeves, seal-skin gloves and boots. Bear-fur shawl and hood.

Armour- Brom fashioned a briastplate from a troll he killed, then of course set about with hammer, chisel, and hot coals. The briastplate's edges are outlined with Draconic runes, at the center is a Nordic pattern depicting a great tree, a sign of Kynareth. His gauntlets are steel and boiled wolf-hide, padded with fur. Brom also straps steel greaves to his shins when he travels. On his left shoulder is the skull of what appears to be a large wolf, inscribed with runes.

Other-Brom's pack; journal, flint, tobacco, bone pipe, scrimshaw tools, several talismans of different deities, a flask of Black-Briar mead, and five strips of horker jerky wrapped in wax-cloth.

Personality- Brom is a hardened warrior, and a true Nord, feeling at home among the wild untamed beauty of Skyrim. He usually keeps to himself, but will treat you like a long-lost brother once he's gotten some mead in his icy belly. He tries to be even-tempered, but sometimes it gets the better of him. Brom is mostly an honor-bound warrior, able to walk with Jarls and not lose the common touch. Once this burly Nord declares friendship, it is steadfast til death.

Brief History: Brom was born to a Nordic family who dwells in the Reach, in a fine mead hall called Bormah'Aak (Father Guide). This particular family built the hall on top of the ancestral barrow of the first patriarch of the clan, Hrundiin Storm-Shout. He was a Nord whom declared his everlasting praise of Kynareth. Nearing his deathbed, as it is told in the clan's songs, Kynareth came to Hrundiin as a bird, and told him to speak three words. Hrundiin did, and as he spoke the words a great storm began to mass, and lightning struck the earth. This was the spot where he was buried. From that day forth, the Sons and Daughters of Hrundiin were blessed with the Voice. Only a scant few have used it in combat however. Anyhow, Brom's early years were spent in and around Bormah'Aak. He learned to use sword, spear, and voice during his years in adolescence and his "Green Years" (teen years). At the age of 23, he was ready and able to make it in the world.

Years and years passed as Brom lead a solemn life as a practically wild Nord. He learned many things from many interesting faces, but only once has he journeyed beyond Skyrim, to her sister-province of Morrowind. Some of the Dunmer liked Brom, most others kept their distance. Among his time their, he learned much about their people and ways of life. On his way back to Skyrim, Brom found an old Barrow on the island of Solstheim, within was an entire pirate crew. Had Brom not bested the captain in single combat, the salty old lizard would never have given him Ahkrin, his prized whale-bone spear, mush less let him leave alive.

More years would pass as Brom grew into the Nord he is today, a great warrior touched by Kynareth, and a Blood-Brother to Gormlaith Golden-hilt. He has joined the Stormcloaks, already having fought alongside them in minor skirmishes near Dawnstar and the sacking of a fort near Whiterun.

Blackhand4

Spoiler

Name: Oventhias Vosachati
Gender: Male
Age: 49
Race: Redguard
Faction: Stormcloaks


Skills: Stealth, Persuasion, Short Blades, Lockpicking, Hand-to-Hand

General Appearance: Dark skin, black beard, trimmed hair, brown eyes. A brand with the symbol of Talos can be seen on his left hand.

Weapons: Two sets of daggers and a crossbow (assuming we are allowing that, as they were in Morrowind)

Armour/Clothing: Warm leather armor with a brown cloak draqed over it.

Personality: Shown in RP.

Brief History: Born into The Blades, Oventhias took after his ancestor, Darius, in the battle against those whom would bring misery to the innocent. He served in The Great War with several friends he had grown up with, many of them dying around him.

After the signing of the peace treaty, Oventhias secretly continued his war with The Thalmor, until eventually he was forced to go into hiding. He now dwells within Skyrim, keeping his ears open for any news of the one that The Blades wait for the return of, Dragonborn, while also keeping a close eye on The Imperial Legion, trying to decide where his loyalties truly lie.

Slimshoom

Spoiler

Name: Grimwald
Gender: Male
Age: 26
Race: Nord
Faction: Stormcloaks

Skills: One-Handed, Heavy Armor, Block, Smithing, Speech

General Appearance: His face shows the scars and wear of many years of war. Standing 6 feet tall and very broad-shouldered. Shoulder-length ragged black hair, and an eye blinded by a bandit's arrow.

Weapons: Steel Mace, Banded Iron Shield

Armor: Iron Armor

Personality: A man of few words, a veteran warrior who holds grudges and seeks revenge against those who have done him wrong.

History: Born in the quiet town of Falkreath, Grimwald grew up in the rolling hills and mountains of southern Skyrim, before joining the Imperial Legions at the age of 16. After 8 years serving the Empire, he had grown into a mighty warrior, renowned throughout the Legion. However, he fled the Legion after he was framed for the death of his own wife, and their daughter. Seeking to clear his name and find his family's killers, he made his way to Skyrim to join the Stormcloak rebellion to fight the Empire and finally have some closure.

Elvis

Spoiler

Name: Helvard Bolton
Race: Nord
Age: 31

Skills – 10 max – non game skills allowed: (Your skills) One-handed combat, block, speech, speed, smithing, skilled military tactician.

General Appearance: (What they look like) Helvard is of average build and height. Not particularly muscular, but not weak. He has pasty white skin and long, dark hair. One noticeable feature Helvard possesses is his pale, eerie blue eyes. He is clean-shaven and slender.

Weapons: (What weapons do they use?) Helvard wields an elegantly engraved ebony sword and shield.

Armour/Clothing: (What armour they wear) Prior to joining the Stormcloaks, Helvard attired himself in black chainmail, and often wore a pale pink cloak around his back. Since joining, he wears the standard Stormcloak Cuirass.

Other Items: (Do they have any other items, what are they?) He keeps nothing of note on him at all times. Occasionally a hidden dagger, or a piece of jewellery.

Personality: (What type of person are they?) In the land of Skyrim, where men deal with each other honestly and bluntly, and value loyalty and military prowess, Helvard Bolton is an exception. Other Nords shout and bluster, while he speaks in a voice so low it's almost a whisper. While other Nords believe in fighting honourably and bravely, Helvard hangs back, forever cautious.

Helvard, while appearing mild-mannered and courteous, is capable of great cruelty and treachery. He is cunning, and cares only for himself, seeing other individuals as mere tools. Helvard puts up a fa?ade of loyalty and nationalism, but in truth he only decided to side with the Stormcloaks as he saw them as the easiest faction to manipulate.


Brief History: (What has their life been like? What has happened to them?) Helvard grew up in Solitude, born into a wealthy clan. When he came of age, he left his home country in search of opportunity, finding his way to Cyrodiil. While in the Imperial homeland, Helvard ran a number of successful business operations. He was forced to flee back to Skyrim at the age of 24, when his ties with the Dark Brotherhood came to light.

Helvard returned to Solitude, only to find that the Bolton family's power had declined significantly. Upon outbreak of civil war after the death of the High King, Helvard retreated from Solitude to the neutral Whiterun, in order to weigh his decisions. Seeing greater personal opportunity in the Stormcloaks, Helvard set off for Windhelm to sign up.

Vincent McCool

Spoiler

Name: Svetlana Milk-Eyed
Gender: Female
Age: 24
Race: Nord
Faction: Stormcloak

Major Skills:
Axe (A lifetime's work of chopping wood in the old farm has taught Svetlana how to wield a two-handed axe well.)
Singing (Untrained, she posseses a natural singing voice, and an encyclopedic knowlege of songs native to the Reach)
Alchemy (Svetlana has a good knowledge of Skyrim's flora and their magical propeties)
Horse-Riding
Dragon (Svetlana knows a few choice words of the dragon language, and can wield their power, though this is a secret she keeps closely guarded)

Minor Skills:
Light Armour
Streetwise (being a farmgirl, Svetlana is able to easily converse with lower-class Nords)
Etiquette (Svetlana has met many a noble Nord in her lifetime, and has picked up a basic grasp of Etiquette)
Smithing
Medicine (she posseses a basic understanding of how to treat wounds)



General Appearance: Svetlana is tall and strongly built from a life of working the family farm and tending to the horses. She has a weak jawline and large, kind eyes of light blue, her features softer than that of your average Nord woman. The odd freckle dashes her faintly rosey cheeks. Her hair is fair and of medium length, cut rudely around her neck.

Weapons: Upon arrival in Skyrim's old capital, Svetlana is armed only with her simple but sturdy wood-cutting two-handed axe.

Armour/Clothing: Svetlana Wears a simple cuirass of bear and wolf pelt she fashioned herself, with boots and gloves too match. In battle or cold weather she wears a helmet of her own design, made from the head of a white wolf.

Other Items: She carries a small assortment of salves, balms and healing herbs in her pouches, and around fifty imperial drakes.

Personality: As measured and gentle a spirit as you are likely to meet in a Nord, Svetlana is simple and pleasant in her approach to people. Her sturdy heart will always belong to her homeland, the land she can sing a hundred songs in celebration of. She is quietly conservative in her religious beliefs, feeling the deep importance of the old ways irrefutable. It is this issue that has arisen the Stormcloak sentiment in gentle Svetlana Milk-Eyed.

Brief History: Hailing from a farm on the edge of Ivarstead, Svetlana enjoyed a quiet childhood. Life on the farm was tough but regular in it's trials. From an early age she developed a beautiful singing voice, and knows by heart all the folk songs of the Reach. Svetlana's household always had a spare room for any travelller up the 7000 steps to High Hrothgar, and throughout her life in Ivarstead she has met many famous Nords taking that storied path. When the Stormcloak rebellion reached Ivarstead, most of the young male nords took up axe to fight for Ulfric. Most of the town was suprised when Svetlana took the ancient road to Eastmarch. Only her dear, widowed mother understood why Svetlana choose to join the rebellion, and whenever asked, her have lips cept firm.

Neutral;


Ranry:

Spoiler

Name: Farcha Glenmaine (Far-sha Glen-mayne)

Gender: Female

Age: 19

Race: Breton- Reachman

Faction: Neutral


Skills – Intellegence, resistance to cold.

General Appearance: An unassuming looking Breton girl. Pretty in a markedly average kind of way, with curly red hair, short stature, and the slight plumpness of anybody who has to withstand such a cold and unforgiving climate. She has brown eyes.

Weapons: Knife.

Armour/Clothing: A poor-quality linen dress, blue in colour.

Other Items: A few books, a handful of septims, a potion or two.

Personality: Quiet, brooding and insecure, Farcha is paranoid, and mistrusts strangers. She rarely talks, and is happy to simply sit in silence, thinking. She is jumpy, and expects people to say cruel things of her. She becomes easily embarrassed and uncomfortable around new people, and her trust is very hard to gain. She is prone to menlancoly, and adamant in her beliefs.

Brief History: She was born in Markarth, under a regime where her people are second-class citizens, the native Reachmen working for the rich and powerful Nords. Her father is in Cidhna mine, for fleeing to become a Forsworn, and her brother's corpse was strung up as an example years ago, after he murdered a Nord merchant in a back alley. She looked after her mother for a time, who had long since gone mad from grief and senility. After she passed, Farcha left Markath, hoping to start a new life elsewhere, where she would not have to rot in poverty for being a Forsworn's daughter. In secret, she holds to her old, Daedric gods, of Hircine, the old ways, dreaming of the day that Markarth might fall back into her people's hands, and she can finally return.

Cousteau:

Spoiler

Name: Only-He-Cleans
Gender: Male
Age: Mid-thirties
Race: Argonian
Faction: Neutral


Skills – Short blade, marksman, light armor, alchemy, sneak, lockpicking, spear.

General Appearance: This Saxhleel is lean from his previous life as a slave and his new life, fighting for himself while on the lam. He stands a few inches shorter than the average Imperial, about the height of a Breton. Emerald scales adorn his body, he has faded green reptilian eyes, and maroon feathers grow from his head. Although he has the typical spikes and horns under his chin and along his jaw, he does not have any protruding from his head or brow. A single scar drags down the left side of his face, just infront of his eye.

Weapons: Hidden in his boot is an iron dagger with a small chip in it, about halfway down the blade. An iron shortsword, in much better condition, is sheathed in a simple rough leather scabbard horizontally along the small of his back. The positioning allows him to quickly reach for it and slash in a wide semi-circle if need be. Strapped to his back, he has a quiver of iron-tipped arrows with chicken feathers as fletching. Alongside the quiver is a fine wooden hunting bow with a well-worn string. He also carries a seven foot wooden spear, with a rusty leaf-shaped iron blade end, although he rarely uses it as anything other than a walking stick.

Armour/Clothing: Dislike for Skyrim's frigid temperatures and frosty disposition leaves this Argonian with only the option of trading in his higher-quality leather armor for bundling up in thick fur. A bear fur parka covers his torso, a small loin cloth and a pair of breeches are made of wolf fur. His gloves and boots are lined with soft rabbit fur. He has no jewelry.

Other Items: In his pack is flint and ample tinder; fires are necessary for survival in Skyrim. Other survival items include a bed roll, hides to make a simple tent, an extra bowstring, and a single cooking pan. In a satchel, he carries a small mortar and pestle and alchemical ingredients. He has several healing potions and empty bottles for brewing more.

Personality: Like many of his kind, Only-He-Cleans is initially very reserved and distrustful (especially of Dunmer), but he is not insulting. Although he has no friends in Skyrim, he tries to help those he can. As an Argonian, he is not permitted to live within the walls of many cities, but he will set up a campsite outside and enter the town to trade and look for work. Has an unnatural dislike of horses. This Saxhleel is both cautious and adventurous, but can be forward and blunt, even aggressive, when dealing with Men and Mer. Although by no means "weak", he does make up for a lack of brute force with stealth and guile, accuracy and speed. Likewise, he makes up for his lack of magickal ability with his knowledge of herb lore and alchemy. His previous life as a slave leaves him with an appetite for impressing any employers. Having lived his life in poverty, he is eager to make coin doing the jobs others won't do, either out of pride or fear. This means that Only-He-Cleans can either live up to his name, cleaning or doing other menial work, or sneaking in and out of Nordic barrows to get artifacts. Although he tries to uphold a deal, he is aware that Skyrim is full of cheats. This leads him to be very defensive of his earnings. He may not treat new people badly, but he has very little forgiveness for those that cross him.

Brief History: Old habits die hard. Slavery had been outlawed in Morrowind for nearly two hundred years, but a few "traditional" Dunmer fervently held on to the practice. Such was the case with Valen Sarvel, an old and mean ex-Commona Tong who lived in the northern reaches of the province. At one point, the city Tear was infamous for it's slave-pens, but after slavery was formally abolished, it's economy suffered enormously. When the Argonians invaded almost two centuries ago, it was destroyed. Sarvel was from that city. Though he could not fight against their numbers, he managed to steal a single, large egg, and decided to use the hatchling as a slave. Unfortunately for the dark elf, he didn't know anything about farming, and his saltrice crops failed. The egg hatched, and under the sign of the Shadow. The newborn Argonian cleaned the manor instead of tending to crops, and gained his name because of this. Rarely are slavemasters kindly Mer, and Only-He-Cleans was treated poorly and beaten by the bitter elf. As the Argonian passed into advlthood, the world changed.

One day, his master had to leave the manor and go to town, Only-He-Cleans suspected he was meeting with some of his old Commona Tong friends. The Argonian took this opportunity, and escaped from his chains by picking the lock with a piece of scrap metal from the rusted plow on the farm. From there, he fled south into territory that was now controlled by his kin, the Saxhleel. After learning that he was hatched under the Shadow, the Argonian conquerors passed him along their forces back to Black Marsh, to be taught the ways of the Shadowscales. At that time, however, the Dark Brotherhood had shriveled up. Whether the organization had been wholly destroyed, separated, or abandoned was unclear, but Only-He-Cleans was instead directed by the Hist to join the many other Saxhleel in keeping Dunmer out of southern Morrowind, to protect the borders of what the Hist saw as Black Marsh. Not that he minded; before he could not have known what the Hist were, but now that he was connected to them, in close proximity, he wanted to help the trees and his people. He was trained in the fighting techniques of his people: light, fast, devastating, gone. Guerilla warfare. Using native survival techniques to quickly eliminate enemies or destroy targets. The remaining Dunmer were ousted, and many of the Argonian warriors had halted their attacks. Though some Argonians had returned to the inner swamps since the invasion many years ago, others settled the land they had retaken, and Only-He-Cleans was ready to see Tamriel.

He wandered away from the Hist and from his previous life, and went to Cyrodiil; hunting in the Great Forest, cautiously slinking in and out of Ayleid ruins, and even witnessing what had become of the great capitol city of the Empire while under the thumb of the Aldmeri Dominion. Old habits die hard; Valen Sarvel used his Commona Tong connections to send bounty hunters and hitmen after the Saxhleel. When Only-He-Cleans was approached by a threatening Dunmer, he knew what was going to come out of his mouth. That tavern in Anvil saw blood that night, and Only-He-Cleans was on the road. The word was out, and the guards were after him. He could not return home to Black Marsh, security on the borders had tightened since the province seceded from the Empire, and surely he would be caught if he tried to return. Instead of crossing the border to the west and seeking refuge in Valenwood, an adaptable environment for a Saxhleel, he instead hid in the back of a horse-drawn carriage carrying wheat from the Gold Coast to Bruma, attempting to throw off their trail. Within a few weeks, he had entered the cold home of the Nords, of all Men: Skyrim. In Helgen, he traded in his rough leather armor for warm, fur clothing, and began eking out an existence by hunting or exploring, trading his goods to the Khajiit caravans or shopkeepers, and doing odd jobs where he could. Playing courier, retrieving artifacts from ruins, a little mercenary work, whatever he can get and whenever he can get it. Skyrim is a hard place to live, even for the native Nords. In between the biting cold, rabid wildlife, prejudiced populations, and ongoing conflict, seeking refuge in Skyrim may have been a mistake.

Tom:

Spoiler

Name: Ned Longstride
Gender: Male
Age: 34
Race: Nord
Faction: Neutral
Skills: Two-handed, One-handed, Horsemanship & Mounted Combat, Smithing, Speech, Heavy Armour, blocking and music.

General Appearance: Tall, at around 6’4 and broadly built, with pale blue eyes and the jaw like an anvil. His hair is dark and long, the top part tied back out of his face. He has a coat of grizzle covering his jaw. He is somewhat handsome (not as good looking as his younger brother is or older brother was), though battle weary, with a single scar under his eye. His appearance is stern and powerful, yet gentle, akin to a mammoth.

Weapons: A simple blade of steel is worn at his side, but slung over his back is a mighty greatsword, the ancient Longstride blade passed down from generation to generation, and made of Skyforged Steel. This greatsword, Sunstrike, has the ability to send forth a beam of light at the target. While this light doesn’t cause any direct damage, it has been found to be good at warding off dragons… not so good at harming them.

Armour/Clothing: Incredibly well crafted steel armour, Nordic braces and cuffed boots. When not in battle, he typically wears simple garb. Depending on the climate, he may choose to don a hooded cloak.

Personality: He has three virtues that he holds above all else; honour, duty and family. Otherwise, he is a quiet, brooding man, not truly comfortable unless he is alone or in battle. Only with his family or close circle of friends does he loosen up, but even they know him to be the grim brother of the two surviving Longstride sons. In battle, he is fearless, willing to give his life to defend his family, his honour and his precious home of Whiterun.

Brief History: While the Battle-Borns and the Grey-Manes are more famous, the Longstrides of Whiterun are a clan both honourable and great, sworn to be the hold’s greatest defenders. After the Battle of the Red Ring and the White-Gold Concordant that followed, the legions needed every able bodied man to join the depleted defences. Ned was born the year the war ended, four years behind his older brother, Jon. Once Jon came of age, he went south to join the legion, just as his father and his father’s father before him had done. A few years later, Ned did the same. For a few years, the pair fought together, fending off what little resistance remained. Ten years before the beginning of the civil war in Skyrim, Jon was slain and so, the sword Sunstrike passed to Ned. For a few years, Ned served as second in command to a strong general of the Empire. Then, mere weeks before the fateful duel that would spark civil war in Skyrim, Ned was instructed to carry out an attack on a caravan of refugees, believed by the Thalmor to be Talos worshippers. Ned confronted his commander, refusing to take part in a bloody massacre. The general told him that he was his second in command, a soldier of the legion, and would do as he said. Ned told him to find another second in command. He left that day, taking what he had on him, and made north to Skyrim. Branded a deserter (the punishment being death), Ned made his way across Cyrodiil, a long and tiresome journey, avoiding the legion and being hunted all the while. Finally, he made it through Pale Pass, and back into his beloved homeland. Now, Ned journeys North, back to his home and surviving family in Whiterun, unaware that a civil war looms on the horizon…

Spoiler

Name: Aedan Longstride
Gender: Male
Age: 28
Race: Nord
Faction: Neutral
Skills: One-handed, Archery, Light-Armour, Horsemanship, Speech, Block, Restoration, Tracking and Hunting

General Appearance: Around 6’2 in height, tall and lithe, thinner than his brother. He has light brown hair that reaches his shoulders, and a slight beard. His eyes are a light blue-grey, typical of the Longstrides. He is very handsome and very fair, not as grizzly as Ned, nor as manly looking as either of his older brothers.

Weapons and Armour: Typically, Aedan wears dark clothing (akin to the mourner’s outfit), and a dusty grey cloak. His clothing is made out of stout leather, affording him some protection in battle, alongside his leather bracers and boots. He is armed with a well forged longsword, and an exquisitely made longbow, which fires steel arrows for war, iron arrows for the hunt.

Personality: Aedan is said to resemble his older brother Jon in temperament, being a very joking man and charismatic, easy to get along with and easy to like. He has a far lighter personality than Ned. He is also renowned for his popularity with the ladies, but he has yet to make a move on any of them. Like Ned, he has a strong sense of honour and family, though he attends to them in a far lighter fashion than Ned. He also has a reputation of being able to down more alcohol than anyone in Whiterun and maintain his senses. His best friend is Vanion the Bosmer, and the two often go out hunting together across the plains of Whiterun Hold, to see who can claim the best catch. Vanion is the only person who can beat Aedan in hunting, and so friendly rivalry between the two is fierce.

History: As the youngest Longstride, Aedan had some leeway as to how he lived his life. He spent his time learning how to become a ranger, instead of the great warriors and legionnaires that his older brothers were expected to become. He loved both his brothers dearly, and the news of Jon’s death hit him hard. He looks up to Ned as much, if not more so than his own father. When the civil war began, the Longstrides took no side, and so Aedan has little opinion on the matter. However, with the civil war growing fiercer, Aedan may soon be forced to choose between Skyrim and the Empire…

Captain Rex:

Spoiler

Name: Vanion Greenleaf
Gender: Male
Age: 35 (looks 20)
Race: Bosmer
Faction: Neutral

Skills: One-handed, Archery, Light Armour, Sneak, Alchemy, Restoration
General Appearance: Very short, slim in build has a long mane of brown hair and large green eyes.
Weapons: A simple sword and his prized elven bow.
Armour/Clothing: Wears leather armour with a green cloak
Personality: Shown in RP.
Brief History: Born in Whiterun, Vanion and his family have served the Longstrides for three generations. Vanion is close friends with Aedan Longstride; the two of them always go out hunting together. Vanion respects Ned and sees him as an honorable man. Now the Civil War has struck and the Vanion’s fate is uncertain.

Spoiler

Name: Dorlas Wolf-Bane
Gender: Male
Age: 35
Race: Imperial
Faction: Neutral

Skills: One-Handed, Archery, Light Armour, Speech, Restoration
General Appearance: http://www.arwen-undomiel.com/images/faramir/Faramir_sorta_handsome.jpg
Weapons: Steel Broadsword named Grohiik-Feyn or Wolf-Bane, Steel Bow and quiver of Steel Arrows
Armour/Clothing: The armour in the picture, instead of the White Tree of Gondor its the Oak of Chorrol.
Personality: Shown in RP
Brief History: Born 5 years before the Great War, Dorlas grew up into a world of bloodshed. He and his family were the nobles of Chorrol, his father Count Aratan died in the Great War and now his mother rules as Countess. Dorlas traveled around Cyrodiil as a sword for hire, but his one and only allegiance was to Chorrol. But he also traveled into the Land of the Nords on one occasion, he stopped in the city of Whiterun and there he met a friend. They became fast friends, but Dorlas had to return to Chorrol but he swore to return some day. And that day has arrived, he has decided to travel back to Whiterun to meet a certain elf.

Quentillius

Spoiler

Name: Aldquaril Qorodai

Gender: Male

Age: Very very old. 1000+

Race: Pure blood Altmer.

Faction: Thalmor (Neutral).

Skills: His days as a great mage are drawing to a close, he is very old. Unless it is basic spell use, complex spells are very draining on him and cannot be used casually. He was however a very powerful mage once (skilled in many different fields, some even not in use anymore), and he still attains some of his old skills and very importantly, knowledge. He knows an awful lot, perhaps to the point of insanity.

General Appearance: His age shows in his appearance. His once pure bred golden skin has faded, his face is ancient, gaunt and massively winkled. His hair is wispy, white and uncut. The few areas of hair he still has growing to extraordinary length down his back in an unkempt fashion. His facial hair is the same, an extensive beard messily and freely lying down his chest. He has shrunk, and is slightly hunched over. His once golden eyes have also faded. He is a shadow of his former self, who was an ideal replica of the Thalmor idealisation of a pure bred Altmer.

Weapons: He carries no blade or any conventional weapon, just a small wooden walking staff, made of thick branches which seem to wrap around each other. This staff is unenchanted and virtually harmless, but old and treasured, and extremely resilient.

Armour/Clothing: Imagine the Thalmor Robes in Skyrim, but with the Black being Gold instead (and the gold being black), and in a much looser fit. The black jewels that adorn Thalmor gloves are encrusted in several areas of the robe. He does not wear a hood.

Other Items: Has a carriage worth of books (many written by himself), locked very securely in portable bookcases. These books follow many topics, from studies of Falmer to essays on Metaphysics. He wears many enchanted rings of various significance, and an enchanted golden ruby encrusted amulet. He carries a large quantity of gold, locked in a small golden enchanted safe.

Personality: Aldquaril is considered by most he meets to be insane. His ramblings and obsessions seem to be jibberish to most, only the most knowledgable scholars and wizards understand it. He is old and cynical, hostile to most. His hate for man and any man related ideology or deity is very very strong. He tends to avoid any contact with humankind unless necessary. He strongly supports the Thalmor cause. His intelligence however is unmatchable. When he recided in Alinor (capital of the Aldmeri Dominion in the Summerset Isles) he was a strongly respected figure, who was visited by many and all with power, who seeked to gain Aldquaril's vast wisdom, insight and knowledge.

Brief History: Aldquaril was born long ago in a Tamriel unfamiliar to most. He was once a great Altmer wizard, one of the best even. He gained great power and influence in Altmer society and politics, but soon grew weary of politics and began to remain static in his mage tower, attempting to learn the secrets of the world. He departed from his studies regularily to visit friends (such as Divath Fyr) and go on excavations and other studious activies, engaging with many Daedric princes, and meeting many prominent figures (such as Vivec and Ocato). He broke this peace when he joined the Psijic Order, and spent a few years learning and teaching there, but was kicked out for some of his radical beliefs, and now refuses to talk about it. He returned to his tower and grew old and wise, and was now starting to become the mer he is today. During the Oblivion Crisis however, he needed to summon back his skills as a wizard, and fought along with many other of his kind at Crystal Tower, slaughtering many Daedra, but unable to hold back the horde, and had to witness the collapse of Crystal Tower before being paralysed by his comrades and dragged from a hopeless fight. He went into severe depression, returning back to his tower and locking himself within it, with only his servant Buro at hand. The Thalmor began to seize power in the Summerset Isles, and Aldquaril began to hugely advocate them. He became a prominent figure, one who would be visited by any Thalmor of any significance as an act of respect, and in seeking of wisdom and knowledge. As the Thalmor began to overthrow the Imperial Rule in the Summerset Isles and created the Aldmeri Dominion soon after, Aldquaril became a very rich mer. He still however resided in his tower, rarely leaving, even during the Great War. However, with news of troubles in Skyrim and 'Dragons', Aldquaril has been sent with a mission, which is to be carried out in Skyrim. Reluctantly he left, and first by ship, and then by an escorted carriage he made his way to Whiterun.

Spoiler

COMPANION:

Name: Buro (Vassal/Slave in Aldermis/Ayleid)
Gender: Male
Age: Perhaps 350 or so. Been a servant to Aldquaril for almost all of his life.
Race: Altmer
Clothing: A simple red tunic and sandals.
Bio: He possesses no weapon or anything personally and cannot fight. He is a mere servant to Aldquaril, of no interesting personality of note. He is a mute and a eunuch.

Northen Pasta Lover

Spoiler

Name: Nikolai Swift-Arrow
Gender: Male
Age: 22 1/2
Race: Nord
Faction: Neutral (Whiterun)


Skills – 10 max – non game skills allowed: Archery, hunting, speech, sneak, smithing, wood lore, one handed (mace/hammer)

General Appearance: Short platinum blonde hair, ice blue eyes. Slender, 6’2” muscular arms, facial scar from eye to cheek, another scar from corner of his mouth to mid cheek. Smooth voice.

Weapons: Long bow of exceptional quality, reinforced with mammoth tusk for extra reach. Iron arrows, and a one handed hammer.

Armor/Clothing: Light leather cuirass,worn under a padded long-coat including a hood.
knee high fur boots, archery vambraces. two strips of leather, one each on his middle and first fingers. He also sports a part of a sabre cat’s tooth, piercing his earlobe.

Other Items: YARN,

Personality:
*quiet: From lack of company other than his younger cousin.
*charming: by nature
*persuasive: gives off a confident air, he may not use them often but he is good with his words.
*serious from a life hunting in the pale.

Brief History:
Nikolai spent a majority of his teenhood wandering the forests of the Pale. Once, he did have an older brother, however he was attacked and killed by a large, one-eyed sabre cat. The very same cat scarred Nikolai in the attack. He spent his later teen years tracking the beast, however he never killed it. The closest he came was knocking out the beast’s tooth before it disappeared, and he hasn’t been able to find it since. He was close to his brother, this has led to his self isolation despite living with his elderly grandfather, whom he never got along well with. When his grandfather died, Nikolai was left his younger cousin to care for. Despite them not being close he felt a sense of duty and obligation to care for him. He decided that Lukka would benefit from a change of scene, due to the younger archer being close to his deceased grandfather. He took his younger cousin to Rorikstead, were he earned money smithing. Unfortunately they were present when Rorikstead experienced a dragon attack. Now he and Lukka make there way to Whiterun with many other refuges.

Spoiler

Name: Lukka True-Shot
Gender: Male
Age: 18
Race: Nord
Faction: Neutral


Skills: Archery, hunting, cooking, leather work, smithing.....badly,

General Appearance: Dirty blonde hair, lilac eyes, pale complexion, one light blue facial tattoo around the eye region.

Weapons: worn Hunting bow with iron arrows, and a wood cutting axe.

Armour/Clothing: long sleeve simple blue tunic with a padded vest, knee high leather boots. Also wears a longcoat, his gear is in somewhat of a shabbier condition due to carelessness.

Other Items:

Personality: Kind natured and optimistic, slightly sheltered, charming in a sweet idiot way.

Brief History: He grew up with his father, his mother died giving birth to his sister who was stillborn a year after Lukka. His father sent Lukka to live with his grandfather due to not having enough money to support him. There he met his brooding older cousin Nikolai, the two were not close and Nikolai made sure to keep it that way for majority of Lukka’s childhood. Lukka soon became close to his cousin when Nikolai’s older brother Berwald died. After the tragic passing of both boy’s grandfather, he and his older cousin left the Pale for Rorikstead. Now as he has done for most of his life, he follows the guidance of Nikolai, leading him to Whiterun.

[Shaylee Shaw]

Ze spoilers, they do nothing

[keri seymour]

Ze spoilers, they do nothing

Tis fixed.

[Phillip Hamilton]

Ok, Rexy wanted me to put up some info on the Rank System of the Roman Army, which we might as well use for the Legion

General - Commands several Legions and goes where they are needed.

Legate (Legatus Legionis) - Commands a legion. So, if this is the case, before Tullius was sent to Skyrim, the 4th Legion (I think that's the one) was originally under Rikke's command.

Senior Tribune (Tribunes Luticlavus) - The second in command of a Legion - the Legate's lieutenant.

Prefect (Praefectus Castrorum) - The third in the regular chain of command. Their task when not leading men into battle is overseeing the building of camps and fortifications, and making sure the men are well trained and diciplined (this is the rank I imagine Targon Longstride reached).

Five other tribunes - they act as the equivalent as colonels for the Legate (or General as the case may be). Here is where Brogan fits.

Centurions - Six levels within this rank from lowest to highest; Hastatus Posterior, Hastatis Prior, Princeps Posterior, Princeps Prior, Pilus Posterior and Pilus Prior. Regardless of seniority, each centurion has his own century.

Optiones - Very junior officers, who act as the second in command for a Centurion, basically serving as their lieutenant. This is perhaps the rank that Lyrial has?

Anyway, there's the info ;P

[Add Meeh]

Hmn, I'd swap some out for the actual given ranks we get in Skyrim;

Quaestor
Prefect (got)
Tribune (above a Prefect apparently)
Legate (got)

So...I'd personally suggest;

General - aka Tullius

Legate

Tribune

Prefect

Quaestor - Brogan

Centurion

Decurion - Lyrial would technically fit in here, although she's still very junior, so perhaps only on paper.

Auxiliaries and Legionnaires

Also saves having to remember more complex latin names =P Not to mention this is Skyrim, not actual Rome; I think they are meant to be inspired by, not direct copies. Just a thought.

[Kevin Jay]

I'll desperatley try to get a post up over the weekend, but I'm going to be very busy so it'll be tough.

[Steven Hardman]

Yeah that works. We'll use the in game as most of them are accurate anyway.

the only thing that irked me while playing Skyrim as that every man and his dog had the rank of Legate... For a Roman buff like me, this was slightly irrating, but I forgave them, simply because it's Skyrim ;P haha.

I'll try to get a neutral post up, but I'm still waiting for Northern Pasta Lover (veeeeeeeeeeeh) to post. In the mean time, I guess I can make an Aerys post.

Edit: And decurion roughly means "leader of ten", so that would work out for Lyrial methinks.

[meg knight]

(Paaaaaaaasssttaaaaaaaaa! 'Gods damnit, Italy!!' )

[Stacy Hope]

I'm going to have to find a way to reference this in a post somewhere

[Wayne W]

*Watches everything grind to a halt*

...was it meant to do that?

[Kat Stewart]

I don't think so, but it feels like everyone is stuck with a bad case of real life. My own case is mild enough to let me post, but I's stuck waiting for Aery's and Brogan's reaction to Fara's questions. A 'shut up and obey orders' will convince her that her paranoid delusions aren't that delusional afterall...

[Alyna]

I'm sorry I'm really struggling to get anything up right now. I'm just too busy, and hardly have any drive to write. I'm in half a mind to drop out to make sure I dont halt the rp.

[Tina Tupou]

Eh, I know the feeling. Uni's being a swine at the moment (among other things)

[Lucky Boy]

Posting tonight

[elliot mudd]

Fara certainly has a modern vocabulary
Joking. Will post at some point today, just got a lot of studio work needs doing.

Edit: Post up. For clarification, Lyrial's expression makes it clear she's not sure how much she trusts any of the officers right now...but at least Aerys seems to have his head screwed on right, to her

[..xX Vin Xx..]

Is there to join and what is going on so far? I have a very normal khajiit character.

[I love YOu]

Is there to join and what is going on so far? I have a very normal khajiit character.

We are still accepting, the Legion is at Fort Hraagstad and are preparing to attack a Stormcloak camp after a night's rest. The Stormcloaks are doing nothing. And the neutral side is about to fight a dragon.
Look http://www.gamesas.com/topic/1309176-crimson-snow-ic-thread/ as well.

[Catharine Krupinski]

About to isn't competlely exact - there's still two day's worth of march before reaching the camp in question.

[Lory Da Costa]

What? I said the Legion is preparing I said that the neutral side is about to fight a dragon

[Multi Multi]

About to isn't competlely exact - there's still two day's worth of march before reaching the camp in question.

What? I said the Legion is preparing I said that the neutral side is about to fight a dragon

So, in summary;

Legion: Are resting up in Fort Hraggstad for now, but will march to Solitude and then eventually to Dragonbridge. Probably two days minimum (though with new supplies, a baggage train and more men, this could take longer).

Neutral: Preparing for a dragon to attack Whiterun, which will occur some time during the night (as it is sunset, this isn't far off).

Stormcloaks: A whole lotta nothin' at the moment.

[Victoria Bartel]

Sounds like there was a misunderstanding on my side - I though the 'preparing after a night's rest' implyed an attack sson after the night's rest and missed that the preparation could very well include the two day's march to the Stormcloak camp.

[Dina Boudreau]

Quick post. A handy family trick I wonder when they'll ask her what she said.

[Ron]

Waiting for a witty Aerys reply.

[Nick Tyler]

T'be honest, we might be better consolidating things into Legion and Whiterun story lines, given the Stormcloak side of things seems to have died a death.
1) Keeps people in tighter groups, so more posts and less gaps
2) easier to keep track of
3) Legion colours fit the title better (crimson)

Can still have Stormcloak characters pop up, just maybe later? /ramble