» Thu May 03, 2012 12:25 pm The Dawn of the Dead
My hand trembles as I write these words which will surely be my last. I have been wounded, receiving a blow that it surely fatal in my frantic flight from the Arcane University’s besieged walls, and I’m sure that my end is near. My name is Curvias Mordane, and I am- was, a scholar at the University of Arcane in the Imperial City, the province of Cyrodiil. I was studying the recent epidemic that most common folk have heard wild rumors about- the infectious spread of undead bonewalkers.
It is no secret that bonewalkers- or zombies, a term coined by us westerners, have been spotted shambling about the countryside and even through the sewers of large cities, in massive numbers. It has been whispered that when these zombies bite a person, men, mer, and beast alike, the victim falls ill and becomes one of the ravenous bonewalkers themselves. These rumors are, unfortunately, true. The zombies- if that’s what they truly are- are basically just hosts for a certain strain of biological and magical material that flows through the blood and saliva of the zombies. At certain glances, my associates and I thought that it was a simple natural virus or bacteria, but at another glace, it seems as though the special form of parasitical life was magically created with mysticism dark as the night itself.
Whatever the cause of this strain, we could find no cure for it. The zombies became more organized, devouring entire cities and provinces, and I’m sure you, the reader, no doubt knows. I’m sure you also know that these zombies seem to feel no pain, taking ungodly amounts of damage before falling. I have witnessed a member of the City Watch dismember several walking corpses with his longsword just to escape being bitten. In addition, we have noted that some of the bonewalkers have mentally evolved, and developed the use of tools- mainly weapons and blunt objects to help bring down their prey easier.
The Empire could not stop them, especially after how weak they had become after the Oblivion crisis. Only hours ago, I witnessed the Imperial City catch fire and burn before my eyes, the legions of undead numbering well into the thousands, marching forth from the charred remains of the once greatest city on Nirn and into the Arcane University. My companions, fellow students… all dead. I teleported away as fast as I could, no specific destination intended. I was surprised I survived re-entry, but my relief was short lived, for I discovered that one of the infernal corpses managed to plant a shortsword into my stomach before I teleported.
So here I lay, bleeding out, my organs devouring themselves. Here I will die, not knowing what province or even continent I lay in. Off in the distance I see a group of people- survivors. It looks as though this town was hit by a horde of zombies as well, for many buildings are ablaze and bodies litter the streets, looters running to and fro. I just only hope this small group of survivors will be able to make their way in the world, escape, survive, and thrive where my associates and I could not. Maybe they will even be able to stop this strain of hellish parasite and save the world? It is unlikely. Maybe they will just be torn to pieces before making it out of the town? I cannot help but wonder before I go, who are they, and what is their story? It matters not, the Nine take me now.
---
Meet The Characters
The Ascended Sleeper
Spoiler
Name: Varth
Race: Dark Elf
Gender: Male
Age: 20
Physical Description: Varth is a tall man, standing at roughly 6’ 2’’, with handsome, hawk-like features and burning red eyes like others of his race. His skin is the pale ash color of other Dunmer, and his body structure is thin and wiry, with well-trained muscles hiding beneath his duster.
Mental Description: Varth is easy to get along with, and enjoys telling jokes and spreading banter. He can rather naive at times due to his age, which often gets him into trouble. Despite this, he is rather wise (at least for his age), is a natural leader, and has an insatiable hunger for power. He has a small, sarcastic ego, but is confident in his abilities nonetheless.
Equipment: Varth carries a simple iron saber as his main melee weapon (which is often used). He wears no armor except a pair of leather travel boots. Varth is often seen wearing a black leather duster jacket full of many pockets, in which he holds many useful items such as pocket knives, potions, alchemical ingredients, his purse, and other oddities.
Combat Skills: Varth was trained by a swordmaster in the land of Morrowind before beginning his pilgrimage into the world. The training was brief, but the Dunmer learned a lot, becoming an adept in swordplay and learning the technique behind many unarmed fighting styles, though he is but a novice in martial combat.
Magic Skills: Varth is highly skilled in the fields of Alteration and Conjuration. He excelled in the field of Alteration (and its sub-schools, thaumaturgy and mysticism), surpassing other’s skills within a few weeks, and figuring out new ways to use the school, such as through creating sympathetic links, and creating physical attacks through the school. Conjuration, his other favorite skill, is used to summon unique Deadra from the outer realms, as well as his powerful ethereal ancestors. Destruction and Illusion, his other two used magic schools, are rarely used, but still dangerous.
Other Skills: Varth is very skilled in alchemy and cooking, and has just begun to grasp the basics of enchanting. In addition, he is well versed in ancient history and lore.
History: Varth was born and raised in an orphanage in the city of Balmora, never knowing his parents. After ten years of surviving on scraps of food and constantly stealing to survive, Varth was discovered by the Tribunal Temple, and inducted into its ranks. His prowess in magic was quickly noted, and he soared through the ranks, being the youngest acolyte to complete the Seven Graces. It was decided my envious superiors that Varth would have to take an extended pilgrimage into the world to understand how other faiths are inferior, in a hope that he would be killed.
Name: Varth
Race: Dark Elf
Gender: Male
Age: 20
Physical Description: Varth is a tall man, standing at roughly 6’ 2’’, with handsome, hawk-like features and burning red eyes like others of his race. His skin is the pale ash color of other Dunmer, and his body structure is thin and wiry, with well-trained muscles hiding beneath his duster.
Mental Description: Varth is easy to get along with, and enjoys telling jokes and spreading banter. He can rather naive at times due to his age, which often gets him into trouble. Despite this, he is rather wise (at least for his age), is a natural leader, and has an insatiable hunger for power. He has a small, sarcastic ego, but is confident in his abilities nonetheless.
Equipment: Varth carries a simple iron saber as his main melee weapon (which is often used). He wears no armor except a pair of leather travel boots. Varth is often seen wearing a black leather duster jacket full of many pockets, in which he holds many useful items such as pocket knives, potions, alchemical ingredients, his purse, and other oddities.
Combat Skills: Varth was trained by a swordmaster in the land of Morrowind before beginning his pilgrimage into the world. The training was brief, but the Dunmer learned a lot, becoming an adept in swordplay and learning the technique behind many unarmed fighting styles, though he is but a novice in martial combat.
Magic Skills: Varth is highly skilled in the fields of Alteration and Conjuration. He excelled in the field of Alteration (and its sub-schools, thaumaturgy and mysticism), surpassing other’s skills within a few weeks, and figuring out new ways to use the school, such as through creating sympathetic links, and creating physical attacks through the school. Conjuration, his other favorite skill, is used to summon unique Deadra from the outer realms, as well as his powerful ethereal ancestors. Destruction and Illusion, his other two used magic schools, are rarely used, but still dangerous.
Other Skills: Varth is very skilled in alchemy and cooking, and has just begun to grasp the basics of enchanting. In addition, he is well versed in ancient history and lore.
History: Varth was born and raised in an orphanage in the city of Balmora, never knowing his parents. After ten years of surviving on scraps of food and constantly stealing to survive, Varth was discovered by the Tribunal Temple, and inducted into its ranks. His prowess in magic was quickly noted, and he soared through the ranks, being the youngest acolyte to complete the Seven Graces. It was decided my envious superiors that Varth would have to take an extended pilgrimage into the world to understand how other faiths are inferior, in a hope that he would be killed.
Not Provided
Spoiler
Name - Hroggar the Mad
Race - Nord
Gender - Male
Age - 56
Class - Priest
Skills - He is an adept of Destruction, Conjuration, Alteration and Illusion, and can make various odd, crippling poisons.
Appearance - He is a tall, stocky fellow, with ragged, greying brown hair. One of his eyes is green, and the other is amber. He is an old, hardened man with a number of mysterious scars. He has the tan of someone who considers having a house to be posh. He's missing two of his teeth (which he claims he sold to the Ayleids in exchange for the meaning of life). He has hoarse, gravelly voice.
Inventory - He has a tall, gnarled wooden staff, inscribed with a number of Daedric runes. Through unknown means, he's magically bonded himself to the staff, so that he can cast spells through it without even holding it. (For instance, he could position the staff on the opposite side of a room from him, and cast a spell so that comes from the staff instead of from him). His connection to the staff is limited so that he has to be aware of where the staff is; if it was stolen, he wouldn't be able to use it, but if someone told him where it was, he could.
He wears a suit of leather armor, with a long, tattered leather cloak. He has a bear-skull helmet, with a single deer's antler implanted on the left side of it's forehead.
Biography - He was born in one of the most backwater, inbred noble families of the Reach. Descended from Hackdirt cultists, they made their fortune managing a large, isolated diamond mine. His family had been seen as recluses and eccentrics for generations, and were generally treated with great suspicion, but young Hroggar was a rare exception. He was seen by the locals as a nice, intelligent young lad, and he would often make trips to Markarth to converse with the locals. When he was nineteen, he moved to the Imperial City and quickly became known as an expert in subjects such as the Outer Realms, the Psijics, and other oddities of magic.
His studies lead him into the dustiest, oldest annals of the University Library. Over the years, he went from being an extroverted, likable youth to a moody, anti-social obsessive. His studies engrossed him, and he rarely even discussed his findings with the other mages.
Eventually, completely confident in his abilities as a mystic, he attempted to travel to the Outer Realms, using an old Altmeri ritual he'd discovered in a tome from the mid Second Era.
The ritual, which he performed on the shores of Lake Rumare, was a complete failure. The ingredients were all in the wrong quantities, he mispronounced a number of the words, and he hadn't nearly enough magic to power the trip.
It left him broken, trap in a bizarre border-realm between Oblivion and the Mundus, a place of alien geometries and dark, trapped beings.
It was there that he was found by Sheogorath, who claimed him for his own. Hroggar solemnly took his place as an agent of the Mad God, spreading Paranoia and Schizophrenia to the citizens of Tamriel. He has since wandered Tamriel, babbling nonsense prophecies and begging for spare change.
Name - Hroggar the Mad
Race - Nord
Gender - Male
Age - 56
Class - Priest
Skills - He is an adept of Destruction, Conjuration, Alteration and Illusion, and can make various odd, crippling poisons.
Appearance - He is a tall, stocky fellow, with ragged, greying brown hair. One of his eyes is green, and the other is amber. He is an old, hardened man with a number of mysterious scars. He has the tan of someone who considers having a house to be posh. He's missing two of his teeth (which he claims he sold to the Ayleids in exchange for the meaning of life). He has hoarse, gravelly voice.
Inventory - He has a tall, gnarled wooden staff, inscribed with a number of Daedric runes. Through unknown means, he's magically bonded himself to the staff, so that he can cast spells through it without even holding it. (For instance, he could position the staff on the opposite side of a room from him, and cast a spell so that comes from the staff instead of from him). His connection to the staff is limited so that he has to be aware of where the staff is; if it was stolen, he wouldn't be able to use it, but if someone told him where it was, he could.
He wears a suit of leather armor, with a long, tattered leather cloak. He has a bear-skull helmet, with a single deer's antler implanted on the left side of it's forehead.
Biography - He was born in one of the most backwater, inbred noble families of the Reach. Descended from Hackdirt cultists, they made their fortune managing a large, isolated diamond mine. His family had been seen as recluses and eccentrics for generations, and were generally treated with great suspicion, but young Hroggar was a rare exception. He was seen by the locals as a nice, intelligent young lad, and he would often make trips to Markarth to converse with the locals. When he was nineteen, he moved to the Imperial City and quickly became known as an expert in subjects such as the Outer Realms, the Psijics, and other oddities of magic.
His studies lead him into the dustiest, oldest annals of the University Library. Over the years, he went from being an extroverted, likable youth to a moody, anti-social obsessive. His studies engrossed him, and he rarely even discussed his findings with the other mages.
Eventually, completely confident in his abilities as a mystic, he attempted to travel to the Outer Realms, using an old Altmeri ritual he'd discovered in a tome from the mid Second Era.
The ritual, which he performed on the shores of Lake Rumare, was a complete failure. The ingredients were all in the wrong quantities, he mispronounced a number of the words, and he hadn't nearly enough magic to power the trip.
It left him broken, trap in a bizarre border-realm between Oblivion and the Mundus, a place of alien geometries and dark, trapped beings.
It was there that he was found by Sheogorath, who claimed him for his own. Hroggar solemnly took his place as an agent of the Mad God, spreading Paranoia and Schizophrenia to the citizens of Tamriel. He has since wandered Tamriel, babbling nonsense prophecies and begging for spare change.
Trixy901
Spoiler
Name: Ray
Age: 25
Race: Imperial
Gender: Female
Physical Discription: She is tall, (5'7") skinny but altheltic looking. She has milk chocolate brown wavy hair, that comes to about her shoulders. She has hazel eyes, and tanned skin. She is very pretty.
Mental Discription: She is perky, fun, outgoing, which can be a disadvantage to the fact she often acts without thinking things through. If she dislikes somebody she can hold a grudge and will either use the silent treament or be very mean towards that person. If the time calls she can be understanding and quiet
Equimpent: Studded armor, iron boots, achient Nord sword, bow and arrows (20)
Combat Skills: One handed, mainly. A ltitle archery, but not much
No magic skills
Other skills: Speechcraft, Intelligence (sometimes lol)
History: Ray grew up in a very political home. Her family were nobles in Cyrodill, and were well known throughout Cyrodill. She was always differnt from her brother and her 3 other sisters, who followed in the proper way of edicute and such. She didn't care about getting dirty, and she always loved the outdoors. With the secret support and help from her father, she learned to swing a blade and hit a target at age 12. Her mother espically frowned upon the whole fighter/adventurer dream of Ray's. She spent day after day nagging Ray about being a proper lady. Ray was finally fed up with her mother's constant pulling at the way she wanted her to live, and she moved out at 16. Now, and just after the Oblivian Crisis, she has begun to travel up to (wherever the rp begins), to find a strange aura about the land.
Name: Ray
Age: 25
Race: Imperial
Gender: Female
Physical Discription: She is tall, (5'7") skinny but altheltic looking. She has milk chocolate brown wavy hair, that comes to about her shoulders. She has hazel eyes, and tanned skin. She is very pretty.
Mental Discription: She is perky, fun, outgoing, which can be a disadvantage to the fact she often acts without thinking things through. If she dislikes somebody she can hold a grudge and will either use the silent treament or be very mean towards that person. If the time calls she can be understanding and quiet
Equimpent: Studded armor, iron boots, achient Nord sword, bow and arrows (20)
Combat Skills: One handed, mainly. A ltitle archery, but not much
No magic skills
Other skills: Speechcraft, Intelligence (sometimes lol)
History: Ray grew up in a very political home. Her family were nobles in Cyrodill, and were well known throughout Cyrodill. She was always differnt from her brother and her 3 other sisters, who followed in the proper way of edicute and such. She didn't care about getting dirty, and she always loved the outdoors. With the secret support and help from her father, she learned to swing a blade and hit a target at age 12. Her mother espically frowned upon the whole fighter/adventurer dream of Ray's. She spent day after day nagging Ray about being a proper lady. Ray was finally fed up with her mother's constant pulling at the way she wanted her to live, and she moved out at 16. Now, and just after the Oblivian Crisis, she has begun to travel up to (wherever the rp begins), to find a strange aura about the land.
Kalmari
Spoiler
Name: Marque Hearthton
Race: Breton Gender: Male
Age: 56
Physical Description: Marque is sleek in build, both in torso and limbs. His legs and arms have slightly more muscle mass, due to the common walks he preforms. His hair is gray, and still long, but going no further than his ears and the bottom of his neck. While normally combed back, current situations have stolen the time to do so, and as of such, it runs loose and wild. Skin is somewhere lost between tan and pale. Wide brown brown eyes compliment his nose of similar size, and large lips finish it all off. Wrinkles showing his years are most common near his lips and eyes, though mostly they mass on his forehead.
Mental Description: In times of peace, Marque is a kind man. Blessed with a yearning for knowledge and high intelligence, he loves to talk of all things magic, and is a natural teacher. Ever the patient one, he is willing to listen to others plans for hours on end, often adding in his own thoughts. When someone does not understand something, he does his best to describe it in terms they understand. Marque is a While excusing stupidity, the ignorant make him enraged, as of such, he mocks them loudly. When they are not around, of course. However, when under stress, the aged Breton has a rash manner of thinking, constant worry, a obession for his well being, and only his well being.
Equipment: Marque is often found in a blue mages robe with a leather belt tied around the waist, with shoes of simple pigskin. The most interesting piece he has is a Mace of Daedric orgin. He bought it from a odd traveling merchant, in hopes of it being a effective weapon. It turned out that Mace is one used by Dremora, but hardly as dangerous as a true Daedric mace. Forged by weaker Daedra, it's potency equals to that of a common steel mace. It is quite a cumbersome weapon, but over the years, Marque hs gotten used to his weapon. The only reason he refuses to throw the mace away is because he refuses to waste it, even if he did pay a inflated price for it. Combat Skills: Marque is a mage, not a fighter. The only skills he posses that one may consider combat oriented are the ability to wield blunt weapons efficiently, and a talent for athletics. Often times, he would take morning walks around the arcane university everyday, for sevreal years. Other days, he would jog around the campus to keep himself in shape. Pratice with the mace over the years has made him handy with a mace.
Magic Skills: Being a Scholar at the Arcane University, Marque needed to have a talent in the magical arts. Since a young age, he has been studying Destruction spells, Conjuration of Daedra, and the Restoration school. Under the various schools, he knows several spells that can be used in combat without to many bad results. Such spells include a burning ball of flame being thrust forth in one united orb (Fire Ball), bringing a low ranking Kyn of Dagon's deadlands into Mundus to act as a Guardian (Summon Dremora Catiff), and the mending of damage to one's physical form (Heal Major Wounds).
Other Skills: Amazing memory, high intellect
History: Growing up in Chorrol, Marque was always in close contact with the Mage's Guild. Enchanted by their sercets, he joined at the age of 17. Noted for his apptitude for helping other mages learn, he spent years attempting to get to the lofty goal of all Mages, the Arcane University. He learned many things there, and when he became 30, he was offered the postion of a Scholar. His research revealed much about the various schools, and students were always happy to learn under his calm hand. A short time after the Oblivion Crisis, he bought a Daedric mace, but was dismayed to learn that it was a weak weapon, made for Churls of Dremora. He planned to spend the rest of years teaching and learning about Magic.
Name: Marque Hearthton
Race: Breton Gender: Male
Age: 56
Physical Description: Marque is sleek in build, both in torso and limbs. His legs and arms have slightly more muscle mass, due to the common walks he preforms. His hair is gray, and still long, but going no further than his ears and the bottom of his neck. While normally combed back, current situations have stolen the time to do so, and as of such, it runs loose and wild. Skin is somewhere lost between tan and pale. Wide brown brown eyes compliment his nose of similar size, and large lips finish it all off. Wrinkles showing his years are most common near his lips and eyes, though mostly they mass on his forehead.
Mental Description: In times of peace, Marque is a kind man. Blessed with a yearning for knowledge and high intelligence, he loves to talk of all things magic, and is a natural teacher. Ever the patient one, he is willing to listen to others plans for hours on end, often adding in his own thoughts. When someone does not understand something, he does his best to describe it in terms they understand. Marque is a While excusing stupidity, the ignorant make him enraged, as of such, he mocks them loudly. When they are not around, of course. However, when under stress, the aged Breton has a rash manner of thinking, constant worry, a obession for his well being, and only his well being.
Equipment: Marque is often found in a blue mages robe with a leather belt tied around the waist, with shoes of simple pigskin. The most interesting piece he has is a Mace of Daedric orgin. He bought it from a odd traveling merchant, in hopes of it being a effective weapon. It turned out that Mace is one used by Dremora, but hardly as dangerous as a true Daedric mace. Forged by weaker Daedra, it's potency equals to that of a common steel mace. It is quite a cumbersome weapon, but over the years, Marque hs gotten used to his weapon. The only reason he refuses to throw the mace away is because he refuses to waste it, even if he did pay a inflated price for it. Combat Skills: Marque is a mage, not a fighter. The only skills he posses that one may consider combat oriented are the ability to wield blunt weapons efficiently, and a talent for athletics. Often times, he would take morning walks around the arcane university everyday, for sevreal years. Other days, he would jog around the campus to keep himself in shape. Pratice with the mace over the years has made him handy with a mace.
Magic Skills: Being a Scholar at the Arcane University, Marque needed to have a talent in the magical arts. Since a young age, he has been studying Destruction spells, Conjuration of Daedra, and the Restoration school. Under the various schools, he knows several spells that can be used in combat without to many bad results. Such spells include a burning ball of flame being thrust forth in one united orb (Fire Ball), bringing a low ranking Kyn of Dagon's deadlands into Mundus to act as a Guardian (Summon Dremora Catiff), and the mending of damage to one's physical form (Heal Major Wounds).
Other Skills: Amazing memory, high intellect
History: Growing up in Chorrol, Marque was always in close contact with the Mage's Guild. Enchanted by their sercets, he joined at the age of 17. Noted for his apptitude for helping other mages learn, he spent years attempting to get to the lofty goal of all Mages, the Arcane University. He learned many things there, and when he became 30, he was offered the postion of a Scholar. His research revealed much about the various schools, and students were always happy to learn under his calm hand. A short time after the Oblivion Crisis, he bought a Daedric mace, but was dismayed to learn that it was a weak weapon, made for Churls of Dremora. He planned to spend the rest of years teaching and learning about Magic.
Skyrim Guy
Spoiler
Name: Aenar Snow-Hunter
Race: Nord
Gender: Male
Age: 35
Physical Description: He is relatively strong from his past years of being a soldier and after that a sellsword. He has lost some muscle due to his lack of vigorous excursive but he still has some bulk to him. He stands at about 6'5" with soft blonde hair to his shoulders. He has the pale white skin of most nords and a telltale scar that starts at just below his nose down to his chin.
Mental Description: He is normally quiet and stays off to himself but he is very kind and will continue any conversation started by another person. He often tries to make jokes but they mostly turn out to be cruel and harsh. Despite his size and stature he doesn't try to take control instead he'd prefer to simply make suggestions and stay in the background.
Equipment: Aenar carries around a steel longsword with Nordic runes up and down the blade. He prefers not to use a shield but he still carries a steel shield on his back.
Combat Skills: Aenar is extremely skilled with a shield and sword combo. He knows how to use a bow pretty well but he never carries one except to hunt. He prefers to use heavy armor but he can use light just as well.
Magic Skills: He never really tries to practice any magic but he knows a basic healing spell for minor wounds.
Other Skills: He knows how to use basic ingredients found around the forest to make potions.
History: Aenar was born to a merchant woman and and old Nord soldier. As he grew up his father saw the boys talent with combat and began to train him. When Aenar was 18 his father went off to confront some bandits who had been troubling merchants including Aenar's mother. His father was brutally murdered and he was never the same again. He grew quiet and distant rarely speaking to his mother. Eventually when he thought he was ready he joined the imperial army. Eventually he grew bored of the army because it was too strict and wasn't exciting enough for the young Nord. He left the army and became and sellsword fighting for anyone who could pay him. He sent money to his mother often as he had no need for it himself. When his mother died he went back home and took up his mothers job as a merchant.
Name: Aenar Snow-Hunter
Race: Nord
Gender: Male
Age: 35
Physical Description: He is relatively strong from his past years of being a soldier and after that a sellsword. He has lost some muscle due to his lack of vigorous excursive but he still has some bulk to him. He stands at about 6'5" with soft blonde hair to his shoulders. He has the pale white skin of most nords and a telltale scar that starts at just below his nose down to his chin.
Mental Description: He is normally quiet and stays off to himself but he is very kind and will continue any conversation started by another person. He often tries to make jokes but they mostly turn out to be cruel and harsh. Despite his size and stature he doesn't try to take control instead he'd prefer to simply make suggestions and stay in the background.
Equipment: Aenar carries around a steel longsword with Nordic runes up and down the blade. He prefers not to use a shield but he still carries a steel shield on his back.
Combat Skills: Aenar is extremely skilled with a shield and sword combo. He knows how to use a bow pretty well but he never carries one except to hunt. He prefers to use heavy armor but he can use light just as well.
Magic Skills: He never really tries to practice any magic but he knows a basic healing spell for minor wounds.
Other Skills: He knows how to use basic ingredients found around the forest to make potions.
History: Aenar was born to a merchant woman and and old Nord soldier. As he grew up his father saw the boys talent with combat and began to train him. When Aenar was 18 his father went off to confront some bandits who had been troubling merchants including Aenar's mother. His father was brutally murdered and he was never the same again. He grew quiet and distant rarely speaking to his mother. Eventually when he thought he was ready he joined the imperial army. Eventually he grew bored of the army because it was too strict and wasn't exciting enough for the young Nord. He left the army and became and sellsword fighting for anyone who could pay him. He sent money to his mother often as he had no need for it himself. When his mother died he went back home and took up his mothers job as a merchant.
Trannigan
Spoiler
Name: Trannigan 'Dratt' Drattmer
Race: Imperial
Gender: Male
Age: 30
Physical Description: Slightly taller than the average Imperial, and with a more muscular body build. He is stronger than most men of his race but less agile because of being slightly more built than most. He has tanned skin and unkempt hair grown a few inches past the shoulders as well as a grown out goatee. His hair is black and goes a about an inch past his shoulders and his eyes are a bright green with amber flecks in the outer edges. On his right cheekbone is a scar from where he got shot by an arrow head, a scar that still occasionally causes him pain and causes his face to not be able to take a punch like it used to.
Mental Description:
Confident in his abilities yet sometimes very arrogant and full of himself. He has been known to pick fights with individuals for various reasons, The main one being when someone insults him or insinuates that they are better then he is. He also tends to be quiet when in a group, which some people view that as him being a shady individual but he is usually just not a very chatty person unless in a good mood or drunk. Tends to have respect for the beast races of Tamriel on account of where he grew up as a child, he also has a respect for Orcs, Nords and Redguards while disliking most Dunmer for their thinking they can use others as their slaves and male Bosmer as very tiresome to be near for too long. Altmer and Bretons he is indifferent about, as he respects The arcane power that they wield yet finds them to be of The most arrogant of all races.
Since the apocalypse however he has become weary of necromantic magic users, believing they are the most likely cause for the dead seemingly coming back to life. He will try to help most individuals that he comes across as long as they seem like they really deserve it, even the races he once thought negatively about.
Equipment: His specially made Scimitar. It is made out of Quicksilver and moonstone instead of the usual steel, and the hilt is black with jade designs. He also carries with him 2 normal daggers and 3 potions. 1 health potion, one magicka potion, and one potion of cure disease. Normal clothes consists of a short sleeved wool shirt and blacksmiths pants, as well as deer skinned moccasins and. Carries with him a sack that has the 3 looted potions as well as 10 lock-picks and some hunted animal meat and fruits food to make a meal the next oppurtunity he has to eat. His armor consists of (oblivion styled) Orcish cuirass and gauntlets, Ebony greaves and an Imperial Horseman helm. He also has 40 gold that he las looted from a few empty places during his travels.
Combat Skills: Blade, Armoror, Heavy Armor, Unarmored , Hand to Hand, Axes (but only one handed ones)
Magic Skills: Destruction and Restoration. (his restoration skill is only at novice though, because he only started using it once the apocalypse really got bad and it became much harder to be alive.
Other Skills: Sneak, Security, Speechcraft and Hunting.
History: Originally from his home land of Cyrodiil, Trannigan grew up in the city of Bravil, Trannigan figured out in his early teen years how much he liked doing tasks that let him use his natural talents, aswell as tasks that came with a payload, so he became a Mercenary. He then traveled the country for years doing most tasks he found that payed well enough, save for a few things that went against his moral code such as slavery or skooma/sugar smuggling. Although Trannigan did gain fame as well as quite a bit of infamy in Cyrodiil so he left before the law could bring him down. When the apocalypse broke out he had to retreat to the wilderness (of wherever we decide we are lol) and took to live off the land. He tried to stay out of big cities and instead stuck with smaller villages, aiding people in necessary or checking for needed supplies if they ended up being over-run or abandoned. the plague had in some way been beneficial to Trannigan for before the zombies showed up his talents were more focused towards a warrior that was proficient with shock magic. He now knows how to make some basic healing potions and cure disease potions and he has gotten better at sneaking past small groups of the bonewalkers.
Name: Trannigan 'Dratt' Drattmer
Race: Imperial
Gender: Male
Age: 30
Physical Description: Slightly taller than the average Imperial, and with a more muscular body build. He is stronger than most men of his race but less agile because of being slightly more built than most. He has tanned skin and unkempt hair grown a few inches past the shoulders as well as a grown out goatee. His hair is black and goes a about an inch past his shoulders and his eyes are a bright green with amber flecks in the outer edges. On his right cheekbone is a scar from where he got shot by an arrow head, a scar that still occasionally causes him pain and causes his face to not be able to take a punch like it used to.
Mental Description:
Confident in his abilities yet sometimes very arrogant and full of himself. He has been known to pick fights with individuals for various reasons, The main one being when someone insults him or insinuates that they are better then he is. He also tends to be quiet when in a group, which some people view that as him being a shady individual but he is usually just not a very chatty person unless in a good mood or drunk. Tends to have respect for the beast races of Tamriel on account of where he grew up as a child, he also has a respect for Orcs, Nords and Redguards while disliking most Dunmer for their thinking they can use others as their slaves and male Bosmer as very tiresome to be near for too long. Altmer and Bretons he is indifferent about, as he respects The arcane power that they wield yet finds them to be of The most arrogant of all races.
Since the apocalypse however he has become weary of necromantic magic users, believing they are the most likely cause for the dead seemingly coming back to life. He will try to help most individuals that he comes across as long as they seem like they really deserve it, even the races he once thought negatively about.
Equipment: His specially made Scimitar. It is made out of Quicksilver and moonstone instead of the usual steel, and the hilt is black with jade designs. He also carries with him 2 normal daggers and 3 potions. 1 health potion, one magicka potion, and one potion of cure disease. Normal clothes consists of a short sleeved wool shirt and blacksmiths pants, as well as deer skinned moccasins and. Carries with him a sack that has the 3 looted potions as well as 10 lock-picks and some hunted animal meat and fruits food to make a meal the next oppurtunity he has to eat. His armor consists of (oblivion styled) Orcish cuirass and gauntlets, Ebony greaves and an Imperial Horseman helm. He also has 40 gold that he las looted from a few empty places during his travels.
Combat Skills: Blade, Armoror, Heavy Armor, Unarmored , Hand to Hand, Axes (but only one handed ones)
Magic Skills: Destruction and Restoration. (his restoration skill is only at novice though, because he only started using it once the apocalypse really got bad and it became much harder to be alive.
Other Skills: Sneak, Security, Speechcraft and Hunting.
History: Originally from his home land of Cyrodiil, Trannigan grew up in the city of Bravil, Trannigan figured out in his early teen years how much he liked doing tasks that let him use his natural talents, aswell as tasks that came with a payload, so he became a Mercenary. He then traveled the country for years doing most tasks he found that payed well enough, save for a few things that went against his moral code such as slavery or skooma/sugar smuggling. Although Trannigan did gain fame as well as quite a bit of infamy in Cyrodiil so he left before the law could bring him down. When the apocalypse broke out he had to retreat to the wilderness (of wherever we decide we are lol) and took to live off the land. He tried to stay out of big cities and instead stuck with smaller villages, aiding people in necessary or checking for needed supplies if they ended up being over-run or abandoned. the plague had in some way been beneficial to Trannigan for before the zombies showed up his talents were more focused towards a warrior that was proficient with shock magic. He now knows how to make some basic healing potions and cure disease potions and he has gotten better at sneaking past small groups of the bonewalkers.
Holy Assassin
Spoiler
Name: Arturo Leonde
Race: Imperial
Gender: Male
Age: 30
Class/Profession: Gladiator
Physical Description: Not as tall as most of his kin, but what he lacks in size, he makes up for in his lean and agile physique. Tanned skin, not unlike most Imperials, and short dark brown hair, almost black, that naturally form a fauxhawk of sorts. Clean shaven, and relatively handsome, with deep set, engagingly beautiful brown eyes, and a perpetual charming smile that sets itself right under a perfectly curved nose, and above a bold looking chin, supported by a strong jaw. His body however, is riddled with various scars from the slashes of swords, and gashes from arrows that hit. When in the arena, he sports nothing more than light padding for his private regions, leather boots, and leather gauntlets. When outside however, he dons a loose robe and coarse silk lowers.
Mental Description: Arturo is a charming and friendly sort. Enjoys a good joke, and generally an amiable person. His good-natured disposition is however, a mask that veils his deep, inner pain and angst that he has kept inside of himself since childhood. A rage the likes of which would strike fear into the heart of any man. He only lets this part of himself take manifestation in the arena. Takes a liking to bards, hunters, warriors, rich and poor alike. Is neutral about mages, but harbors a severe loathing for thieves and assassins.
Equipment: Light leather padding for legs and mid-region. Leather gauntlets and boots.Two steel shortswords, the hilts of which are notched every time he kills.. A coin purse of gold.
Combat Skills: Fiercely skilled in one handed combat, he dual wields swords most of the time, but knows how to use a bow, or his hands if needed.
Magic Skills: Low level restoration. Minor healing spells.
Other Skills: Very quick and agile. Can run fast and strike down multiple foes in a flurry. Very sharp during combat and uses environment to his advantage. Also a great speaker and bargainer.
History: Arturo was born into a rich, influential, and prestigious and family, and since childhood had taken a liking to the arena, and gladiators. His father used to take him there as a boy. However, his father took to drinking and gambling, and eventually, they lost everything. Unable to continue with his education, Arturo took what little he knew of combat, and improved it until he was able to join the arena. With his family finally supported once more, Arturo was pleased with life when suddenly an enemy of his father performed the black sacrament, ordering the Dark Brotherhood to kill his father. The contract went wrong, and his entire family was killed in the process, while looters took everything they could, and burned the house down. He survived only because he was at a match at the time. He acts as if nothing ever happened, and carried on with his life, but this deeply scarred him.
Name: Arturo Leonde
Race: Imperial
Gender: Male
Age: 30
Class/Profession: Gladiator
Physical Description: Not as tall as most of his kin, but what he lacks in size, he makes up for in his lean and agile physique. Tanned skin, not unlike most Imperials, and short dark brown hair, almost black, that naturally form a fauxhawk of sorts. Clean shaven, and relatively handsome, with deep set, engagingly beautiful brown eyes, and a perpetual charming smile that sets itself right under a perfectly curved nose, and above a bold looking chin, supported by a strong jaw. His body however, is riddled with various scars from the slashes of swords, and gashes from arrows that hit. When in the arena, he sports nothing more than light padding for his private regions, leather boots, and leather gauntlets. When outside however, he dons a loose robe and coarse silk lowers.
Mental Description: Arturo is a charming and friendly sort. Enjoys a good joke, and generally an amiable person. His good-natured disposition is however, a mask that veils his deep, inner pain and angst that he has kept inside of himself since childhood. A rage the likes of which would strike fear into the heart of any man. He only lets this part of himself take manifestation in the arena. Takes a liking to bards, hunters, warriors, rich and poor alike. Is neutral about mages, but harbors a severe loathing for thieves and assassins.
Equipment: Light leather padding for legs and mid-region. Leather gauntlets and boots.Two steel shortswords, the hilts of which are notched every time he kills.. A coin purse of gold.
Combat Skills: Fiercely skilled in one handed combat, he dual wields swords most of the time, but knows how to use a bow, or his hands if needed.
Magic Skills: Low level restoration. Minor healing spells.
Other Skills: Very quick and agile. Can run fast and strike down multiple foes in a flurry. Very sharp during combat and uses environment to his advantage. Also a great speaker and bargainer.
History: Arturo was born into a rich, influential, and prestigious and family, and since childhood had taken a liking to the arena, and gladiators. His father used to take him there as a boy. However, his father took to drinking and gambling, and eventually, they lost everything. Unable to continue with his education, Arturo took what little he knew of combat, and improved it until he was able to join the arena. With his family finally supported once more, Arturo was pleased with life when suddenly an enemy of his father performed the black sacrament, ordering the Dark Brotherhood to kill his father. The contract went wrong, and his entire family was killed in the process, while looters took everything they could, and burned the house down. He survived only because he was at a match at the time. He acts as if nothing ever happened, and carried on with his life, but this deeply scarred him.
TheIrishMidgit
[reserved]
Distrubing
Spoiler
Name: Daedalus
Race: Breton
Gender: Male
Age: 24
Physical description: Daedalus is of average height and a somewhat lean build. He has short dark brown hair and and a trimmed stubbly short beard. His eyes are a deep green. Daedalus is average in attraction but makes up for it with his quick wit.
Mental description: Daedalus is quick witted and sharp but is somewhat lazy. Being a bard, Daedalus is a great speaker and has a deep rich voice. Daedalus also has a cynical sense of humor and can be pessimistic.
equipment: regular pants with a leather shirt. Daedalus is armed with an ebony dagger that he won in a bet with a drunken dunmer(but that's a different story), and a wide array of deadly poisons
Combat skills: Daedalus can be quite formidable with his ebony dagger (named snake tongue) which is laced with many dangerous poisons. Daedalus is an expert Alchemist
Other skills: Speech craft
History: Daedalus was born from a wealthy family in High Rock. Being a Breton, his family tested him for any signs of magical talent. But Daedalus is no mage and his parents were disappointed at his lack of magical capabilities. At the age of 10 his mother began to notice that Daedalus had a way with words and a beautiful singing voice and decided that he should be a bard, much to the disapproval of her husband. Arrangement were made and at the age of 12 Daedalus was enrolled into the bards college in Solitude. Despite being homesick, Daedalus soon learned to love his new home. 8 years later, now a full fledged bard, Daedalus decided to seek adventure and traveled the land. After 2 years of hardship and adventure, Daedalus returned to his homeland to see what had happened to his family. On arrival Daedalus learned that his mother had died of rockjoint and his father was a decrepit recluse who shooed Daedalus away. Deeply saddened by what had befallen his mother, Daedalus was not alert on his journey home and was ambushed by bandits. Daedalus managed to escape but was mortally wounded by an arrow. With his life blood leaving him Daedalus lay by the roadside and excepted his fate. Much to his surprise, Daedalus did awaken in a lone cottage. Not long an alchemist by the name of Sinderion entered and told him of how he found him by the roadside and nursed him back to health. They soon became fast friends and the older man taught Daedalus all he knew about alchemy. After 2 years of being Sinderion's assistant, Sinderion suddenly left. Only leaving a letter explaining that he had gone on an expedition to the providence of Skyrim in search of a rare plant known as crimson nirnroot. Somewhat disheartened Daedalus gathered his belongings and left for the imperial city. When he arrives he gets much more than he bargained for...
Name: Daedalus
Race: Breton
Gender: Male
Age: 24
Physical description: Daedalus is of average height and a somewhat lean build. He has short dark brown hair and and a trimmed stubbly short beard. His eyes are a deep green. Daedalus is average in attraction but makes up for it with his quick wit.
Mental description: Daedalus is quick witted and sharp but is somewhat lazy. Being a bard, Daedalus is a great speaker and has a deep rich voice. Daedalus also has a cynical sense of humor and can be pessimistic.
equipment: regular pants with a leather shirt. Daedalus is armed with an ebony dagger that he won in a bet with a drunken dunmer(but that's a different story), and a wide array of deadly poisons
Combat skills: Daedalus can be quite formidable with his ebony dagger (named snake tongue) which is laced with many dangerous poisons. Daedalus is an expert Alchemist
Other skills: Speech craft
History: Daedalus was born from a wealthy family in High Rock. Being a Breton, his family tested him for any signs of magical talent. But Daedalus is no mage and his parents were disappointed at his lack of magical capabilities. At the age of 10 his mother began to notice that Daedalus had a way with words and a beautiful singing voice and decided that he should be a bard, much to the disapproval of her husband. Arrangement were made and at the age of 12 Daedalus was enrolled into the bards college in Solitude. Despite being homesick, Daedalus soon learned to love his new home. 8 years later, now a full fledged bard, Daedalus decided to seek adventure and traveled the land. After 2 years of hardship and adventure, Daedalus returned to his homeland to see what had happened to his family. On arrival Daedalus learned that his mother had died of rockjoint and his father was a decrepit recluse who shooed Daedalus away. Deeply saddened by what had befallen his mother, Daedalus was not alert on his journey home and was ambushed by bandits. Daedalus managed to escape but was mortally wounded by an arrow. With his life blood leaving him Daedalus lay by the roadside and excepted his fate. Much to his surprise, Daedalus did awaken in a lone cottage. Not long an alchemist by the name of Sinderion entered and told him of how he found him by the roadside and nursed him back to health. They soon became fast friends and the older man taught Daedalus all he knew about alchemy. After 2 years of being Sinderion's assistant, Sinderion suddenly left. Only leaving a letter explaining that he had gone on an expedition to the providence of Skyrim in search of a rare plant known as crimson nirnroot. Somewhat disheartened Daedalus gathered his belongings and left for the imperial city. When he arrives he gets much more than he bargained for...
Capitainrex
[reserved]
Athell
Spoiler
Name: Parvo Sestius
Race: Imperial
Gender: Male
Age: 35
Physical Description: Parvo is roughly averaged height for his age at 6 foot 1. His hair is a dark brown and he keeps it cut short however most of the time it is hidden underneath his hood. Whilst he has been out of proper training for a while he has kept himself as trim as possible but a life of priesthood does not lend itself it to the intense conditioning he would need to keep his former shape, he is still broad shouldered and slightly more muscled than your average priest.
Mental Description: Pious and deeply devoted to the Nine, specifically Stendarr because of this he abhors the unnatural. He has been known to optionally accompany groups of temple hired knights to root out necromancers and daedra worshipers out of his want to take the fight to them.
Equipment: A flanged steel mace, his old vigilant armor (slightly worn and not as protective as it used to be), copies of various religious books and a bedroll.
Combat Skills: After his time as a Vigilant, however brief, he is proficient with the weapon of Stendarr's choice, the mace. He also learnt to use the partial, concealed armor of the Vigilants, knowing almost instinctively how to twist to take strikes as a glancing shot rather than full on on the flat chest plate.
Magic Skills: Basic restoration magic learnt working as a priest healing the infirm.
Other Skills: None as such his life in the priesthood, whilst not being easy, provided him with the basics he needed to survive. The only survival tricks he has left to him are fading memories of his time as a Vigilant.
History: Born in the Imperial City Parvo grew up without any real trade or skills. He became a wanderer, drifting his way from province to province, city to city. He was in Bruma when the Mythic Dawn attempted to destroy it by opening a great gate outside it. The sight of a former priest of Akatosh leading the combined forces, accompanied by the Champion, into battle was staggering to him. This inspired him to find a calling of his own.
Parvo was one of the first Vigilants, joining the order straight after the horrors of the the Oblivion Crisis. He found a home in the Order of Vigilants and companionship to boot. They took his raw energy and directed it, turning it into fervor for the Divines.
He spent as much time as he could with the Vigilants training and working to seek out Daedra worshipers but eventually a time came when he thought it would be best to settle down into the priesthood somewhere and spread the word of Compassion.
Name: Parvo Sestius
Race: Imperial
Gender: Male
Age: 35
Physical Description: Parvo is roughly averaged height for his age at 6 foot 1. His hair is a dark brown and he keeps it cut short however most of the time it is hidden underneath his hood. Whilst he has been out of proper training for a while he has kept himself as trim as possible but a life of priesthood does not lend itself it to the intense conditioning he would need to keep his former shape, he is still broad shouldered and slightly more muscled than your average priest.
Mental Description: Pious and deeply devoted to the Nine, specifically Stendarr because of this he abhors the unnatural. He has been known to optionally accompany groups of temple hired knights to root out necromancers and daedra worshipers out of his want to take the fight to them.
Equipment: A flanged steel mace, his old vigilant armor (slightly worn and not as protective as it used to be), copies of various religious books and a bedroll.
Combat Skills: After his time as a Vigilant, however brief, he is proficient with the weapon of Stendarr's choice, the mace. He also learnt to use the partial, concealed armor of the Vigilants, knowing almost instinctively how to twist to take strikes as a glancing shot rather than full on on the flat chest plate.
Magic Skills: Basic restoration magic learnt working as a priest healing the infirm.
Other Skills: None as such his life in the priesthood, whilst not being easy, provided him with the basics he needed to survive. The only survival tricks he has left to him are fading memories of his time as a Vigilant.
History: Born in the Imperial City Parvo grew up without any real trade or skills. He became a wanderer, drifting his way from province to province, city to city. He was in Bruma when the Mythic Dawn attempted to destroy it by opening a great gate outside it. The sight of a former priest of Akatosh leading the combined forces, accompanied by the Champion, into battle was staggering to him. This inspired him to find a calling of his own.
Parvo was one of the first Vigilants, joining the order straight after the horrors of the the Oblivion Crisis. He found a home in the Order of Vigilants and companionship to boot. They took his raw energy and directed it, turning it into fervor for the Divines.
He spent as much time as he could with the Vigilants training and working to seek out Daedra worshipers but eventually a time came when he thought it would be best to settle down into the priesthood somewhere and spread the word of Compassion.
Mangnus the Red
Spoiler
Name:Julius Scipion
Race:Altmer
Gender:Male
Age:172(appear in about late 30's)
Class/Profession:Retired Battlemage,now Imperial surveyor
Physical description:Lean but not overly muscular he stands at 6`3,Black hair tinges of grey,Grey eyes,Clean shaven,Smooth wave(see oblivion),Scars on right shoulder and slight limp sometimes on the right leg.
Mental description:Having seen alot in his life Julius is sometimes is withdrawn but most of the time he prefers company,however under his calm facade is a man pained by some of the atrocities he was forced to commit while in the legion and blades.
Equipment:Elven longsword,Grey hood,Blade Armour (apart from helmet),bagpack with maps,measurement tools ETC. and a whetstone,flannel and some biscuits.
Combat skills:Well trained in the blade and generally favours heavier armours.
Magic skills:Well versed in destruction magic and conjuration but recently more focused on restoration.
Backstory:Julius Was an orphan left outside an orphanage one night there he was a normal boy who kept to himself until he was eligible to join the legion he did straight away and was tested for magic then took to the battle college before service, while in service one day he was forced to massacre a small hamlet due to their apparent 'threat' to the empire however afterwards he saw service in the blades after years of service he retired only to join the Imperial Surveyors where he was ever since until now.
Name:Julius Scipion
Race:Altmer
Gender:Male
Age:172(appear in about late 30's)
Class/Profession:Retired Battlemage,now Imperial surveyor
Physical description:Lean but not overly muscular he stands at 6`3,Black hair tinges of grey,Grey eyes,Clean shaven,Smooth wave(see oblivion),Scars on right shoulder and slight limp sometimes on the right leg.
Mental description:Having seen alot in his life Julius is sometimes is withdrawn but most of the time he prefers company,however under his calm facade is a man pained by some of the atrocities he was forced to commit while in the legion and blades.
Equipment:Elven longsword,Grey hood,Blade Armour (apart from helmet),bagpack with maps,measurement tools ETC. and a whetstone,flannel and some biscuits.
Combat skills:Well trained in the blade and generally favours heavier armours.
Magic skills:Well versed in destruction magic and conjuration but recently more focused on restoration.
Backstory:Julius Was an orphan left outside an orphanage one night there he was a normal boy who kept to himself until he was eligible to join the legion he did straight away and was tested for magic then took to the battle college before service, while in service one day he was forced to massacre a small hamlet due to their apparent 'threat' to the empire however afterwards he saw service in the blades after years of service he retired only to join the Imperial Surveyors where he was ever since until now.
The Tamriel Terror
Spoiler
Name: Gearalt the Valiant
Gender: Male
Race: Nord
Age: 35
Physical: Standing at an impressive seven feet and three inches, Gearalt towers over other races and stands out in a group. His long blonde hair draqes to his waist and is held together by a leather strap. Gearalt's face is of a blocky and chiseled nature, only blemished with small beard stubble. He would be a looker if not for a large scar seamlessly running down his nose.
Mental: Gearalt does not always think things through under pressure, resorting to brute force if taken by surprise. During his time with the Fighters Guild, this sudden behavior shift made many an easy task more difficult to complete. He cares little for other races, but will not leave a comrade behind if there is no other alternative. More friendly swords means more chances to swing your sword in the future.
Equipment: A Silver claymore enchanted with the devastating cold of the north. A full set of steel armor sans helmet. Slung across his body is a leather hide sack filled with rations.
Combat: Gearalt only knows how to use that big sword of his and is surprisingly agile with it. However, given any other weapon and he will be reduced to a novice.
Magic: When there's not enough room to swing your sword, you need to at least do something. While he's not the best mage, Gearalt can at least use a frost spell to keep close enemies at bay and a healing spell when a chapel is too far.
Stealth: Stealth is not Gearalt's strong suit. But if there is a rock big enough, he could perhaps execute a well timed chop on an unsuspecting enemy.
History: Born in Snowhawk and raised by a tavern wench, Gearalt did not have much going for him and tried his best to find something that interested him. It was not until he found a big stick outside and swinging it at the bushes and trees did he discover his calling. To travel Tamriel with a big sword. At the ripe age of 16, Gearalt left Snowhawk to adventure, hoping to help his mother and make himself a living. He found himself doing odd ball jobs given to him by the Fighters Guild who saw no future for the kid. That was until he was given an assignment by his friend and mentor, Gallaron the Valiant, who believed the young Gearalt could accomplish the task rather than he. Gearalt was to stop a small group of smugglers in the northern reaches of High Rock. He escaped death countless of times just to even catch a glimpse of these criminals, and when he did catch up to the smugglers, Gearalt sheathed his claymore into their bodies. When word reached Gallaron, he was overcome with joy, and bestowed on Gearalt his moniker. Thus dubbing him, Gearalt the Valiant. Since then, Gearalt has helped countless people with his heroics.
Name: Gearalt the Valiant
Gender: Male
Race: Nord
Age: 35
Physical: Standing at an impressive seven feet and three inches, Gearalt towers over other races and stands out in a group. His long blonde hair draqes to his waist and is held together by a leather strap. Gearalt's face is of a blocky and chiseled nature, only blemished with small beard stubble. He would be a looker if not for a large scar seamlessly running down his nose.
Mental: Gearalt does not always think things through under pressure, resorting to brute force if taken by surprise. During his time with the Fighters Guild, this sudden behavior shift made many an easy task more difficult to complete. He cares little for other races, but will not leave a comrade behind if there is no other alternative. More friendly swords means more chances to swing your sword in the future.
Equipment: A Silver claymore enchanted with the devastating cold of the north. A full set of steel armor sans helmet. Slung across his body is a leather hide sack filled with rations.
Combat: Gearalt only knows how to use that big sword of his and is surprisingly agile with it. However, given any other weapon and he will be reduced to a novice.
Magic: When there's not enough room to swing your sword, you need to at least do something. While he's not the best mage, Gearalt can at least use a frost spell to keep close enemies at bay and a healing spell when a chapel is too far.
Stealth: Stealth is not Gearalt's strong suit. But if there is a rock big enough, he could perhaps execute a well timed chop on an unsuspecting enemy.
History: Born in Snowhawk and raised by a tavern wench, Gearalt did not have much going for him and tried his best to find something that interested him. It was not until he found a big stick outside and swinging it at the bushes and trees did he discover his calling. To travel Tamriel with a big sword. At the ripe age of 16, Gearalt left Snowhawk to adventure, hoping to help his mother and make himself a living. He found himself doing odd ball jobs given to him by the Fighters Guild who saw no future for the kid. That was until he was given an assignment by his friend and mentor, Gallaron the Valiant, who believed the young Gearalt could accomplish the task rather than he. Gearalt was to stop a small group of smugglers in the northern reaches of High Rock. He escaped death countless of times just to even catch a glimpse of these criminals, and when he did catch up to the smugglers, Gearalt sheathed his claymore into their bodies. When word reached Gallaron, he was overcome with joy, and bestowed on Gearalt his moniker. Thus dubbing him, Gearalt the Valiant. Since then, Gearalt has helped countless people with his heroics.
?I wont be posting any rules, because i'm sure you all know the basics. No ubering, no character controlling, and so on.
