» Sat May 08, 2010 6:00 pm The Rerim were one of the most recognised familes of Morrowind, reknown for their genius and cunning. With several members holding high positions within house Telvanni... they were known as meticulous planner's, grand engineers, and exquisite mages. Their legacy delved deep into Morrowinds history, and it would seem that they would hold their position of power for many generations to come.
That is, until Reznar Rerim: Eldest living family member and leader of the family name , went insane. The Dunmer stalked the cold and desolate halls of the family grounds murdering his own flesh and blood. Servants, children, his own wife. No mercy was shown as he went bedroom to bedroom, door to door, building to building...leading a trail of brutal and underhanded slaughter in his wake. That very night, the old elf fled the Rerim mansion and Vvardenfell altogether. He took to the sea and arrived at an unnamed isle out in the middle of the ocean. Chartered by no map and never discovered before, the mere fact that Rerim found this isle alone shows that there was divine intervention at hand.
And indeed there was. Molag Bal. King of [censored], daedric god of domination and enslavement of mortals...was using Rerim as an agent of destruction. He had led Rerim to the killing of his own family, and he had led him to this island. Now he would see to it that Rerim would serve as his personal link to the physical world. And so, with aid from the gods legion of demons and beasts - Rerim set out to achieve the mission Bal had given him.
Rerim started work on the Molarerim. A giant clockwork golem of steel and steam.
A third Numidium.
Now the workings of this mad engineer are no secret. The newly named "Clockheart island" is a foreboding and barren place. Bleak red skies cast shadows over giant towers of steel and machine. Beasts formed of both metal and flesh stalk the land, walking in horrible contortions. Morrowind had sent entire fleets of ships to infiltrate the island and kill the madman running it, but each and every time the ships had barely neared the coast when they were ruthlessly destroyed.
Time and resources are running out. Soon, Rerim will unleash the Molarerim upon Morrowind...ransacking the land and paving the way towards Bal dominating the ashlander people. From there, he can branch out and conqueor all of Tamriel. This cannot happen. Thus, a team of mercenaries are assembled. Made up of tamriels finest fighters, tacticians, mages, marksmen, and clerics...a small boat now travels across the broad sea to sneak in unawares and sever the brain of Clockheart Island itself. Kill Rerim. Destroy the Molarerim.
This is your mission.
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The RP
Reznar Rerim is a demented engineer...responsible for the occupation of "ClockHeart Island", a small and unforgiving isle out in the middle of the Padomaic Ocean. The island resembles more of a living mechanical being then anything else. Giant steel towers dot the coasts, the black smog of great iron chimneys blots out the red sky. It's the most technologically advanced place in all Tamriel, it's also the most hostile.
Reznar is building the Molarerim deep in the heart of this island. A walking god, the Molarerim serves as a third Numidium..and will serve as a weapon of Molag Bal. With Reznar in his possession, Bal intends to use the Molarerim to ransack Morrowind and pave the way for his domination of the province and the enslavement of its people. This serves as the first step in his plan for a hostile takeover of all Tamriel.
Armies have tried and failed to take out Reznar. The Dunmer uses both magic and metal to defend his mechanical paradise. Arcane forcefields, Steam Cannons and the menacing "Automen" ( Soldiers of both metal and flesh ) ward off any giant fleet that intends to infiltrate the place. The people are getting desperate. A more subtle approach is needed.
Rather then trying to throw thousands of spanners into the works, Duke Dren now seeks to simply drive a dagger into its heart. The finest fighters of Tamriel have already been rounded up and are now bound for the island on a small and nimble unmarked vessel. You are one of these individuals. The fate of Morrowind and tamriel completely falls down to you. You are the last resort.
But beware, Clockheart island is an alien place. Rerim holds technology you didnt even think exist, but this can also play in your favor. Should you find yourself in possession of such technology...your mission might be made all the more easier.
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BESTIARY ( This segment contains all the information on the enemies you may face on the island. Little is already known, and more entries will be listed as the roleplay progresses )
* Automan : Imagine an ordinary Imperial Legionnare. Now imagine that legionnare stripped of all flesh, leaving only pulsating muscle and exposed tendons and ligaments. Now take that skinned soldier, and picture all manner of queer machinery welded into his exposed skin. Pulsating pistons, vibrating generators...a walking beast of steam powered terror. This is an Automan...Rerims staple expendable soldier. They come equipped with all manner of weaponry, and run like clockwerk. Whether these wretched creatures were once real people or if Rerim crated them single-handedly is open to speculation. Hope its the latter.
*Vampiric Whelp : When Rerim first arrived on the island, Molag Bal had already amassed a large amount of these slaves to aid the mad machinist in his mission. Varying in size and appearance, this demons come straight from the plane of Coldharbour itself. They serve as manual labourers and servants to Rerim...and are usually coloured red with wings. They are useless in battle due to cowardly nature, but can be dangerous in large numbers.
Automated Raven : These poor creatures are a true example as to the extent of Rerims madness and extravagance. A morbid fusion of bird and metal...these foul mechanical creations serve a purpose unknown. Perhaps the truth of their creation will be revealed eventually.
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Items ( This section encompasses all the information one might find in regard to weapons, armor, and items that may be found on ClockHeart Island that would not normally be found anywhere else in Tamriel. More entries will be added as new items are found. )
*Dwemer Charge : Once a rare sight to any adventurer. Dwemer Satchel Packs are now in mass-production at Clockheart Island. Rerim uses them for all manner of things. Excavation and traps are the two main uses for these potent packages of high-powered explosive. The package is lit with a fuse, but can also be activated via tripwire when utilised as booby-traps.
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Locations ( This section covers any major locales one may find on Clockheart Island. Nothing is known at the moment. )
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RULES
* No flaming
* No Spamming
* No Cybering
* No Controlling of others characters without the consent of the characters controller.
* Romance is allowed but keep it minimal.
* Vampires = Okay
* Werewolves = Not Okay
* Use the sheet provided
* Posts must be well thought out and spelled. No one-lined posts!
* OOC's must be accompanied by an IC
* RP realistically. Your leet, but your not uber.
* Have a good time ;D
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SHEET
Name:
Nicknames: ( if any )
Age:
Race:
Gender:
General Appearance:
Psychological Profile: ( How you think? Are you a good/bad person? )
Class name:
Class skills: ( 7, can be anything eg. trapping, sniping, cooking, climbing, breath-holding, tailoring...glass-blowing )
Class description:
Weapons:
Armor/Clothing worn most often:
Armor/Clothing worn least often: ( what "backup" clothes do you have? )
Miscellanious Possessions:
Miscellanious Information: ( Fears? Quirks? Flaws? )
BRIEF Bio ( 1-2 paragraphs )
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Characters: ( to be added )
HolyWalrus
Name: Vespasian Marduck
Nicknames: Vespy, Vard, "You Old Troll"
Age: 53
Race: Nord
Gender: Male
General Appearance: Vespasian's face is more or less unremarkable, with the classic Nord blue eyes and blonde hair. He has a nose that has been broken many times, and a slightly larger head than most people, but it looks normal on his massive body. He is the size of an ogre, his bulk can sometimes be hard to fit through doors. He stands at 6'7, and is a 350 pound leviathan. He also has short black and blonde stubble that will probably grow out during the adventure to the island.
Psychological Profile: Vespasian is a very pleasant man to be around, and he tries not to flirt with the ladies too much, because it usually ends in rejection due to his appearance. He loves to relax and drink ale with his buddies. He can get angry when drunk, but is usually in a calm mood. When he goes into battle, however, he will do anything and everything to win, and will sometimes lose himself in the moment.
Class name: Warrior-Brute
Class skills: Reading, Cooking, Block, Drinking Ale, Blunt, Wrestling
Class description: Warrior brutes are battle hardened individuals and keen drinkers. Burly and brutish, these ruthless warriors excel in blunt weapons and blocking...but their background as hardened soldiers has given them the opportunity to cook on more thank one occasion for their brothers. Literate warriors, Warrior brutes like to induldge in reading up on new fighting moves or recipes. Warrior-Brutes usually come from a rough background, but in Vespasian's case it was just his size, and as he discovered new things he was good at, he became a Warrior-Brute. Warrior Brutes like to get down and dirty in a fight, their kick and pound techniques can bring down the toughest of opponents.
Weapons: A one-handed heavy hickory club, with three silver spikes sticking out one end, and a gold-lined, spiked flail.
Armor/Clothing worn most often: Due to his massive size, Vespasian had to get custom made clothing. He has three sets of the clothing, and it consists of a gargantuan leather trench-coat, a white undershirt, a black silk button-up shirt, black leather pants, and large leather boots. His armor, also custom made consists of a full silver set with a diamond-embedded, gold-lined ebony helmet. The diamonds were a gift from his parents, rich nobles.
Miscellanious Possessions: Three flasks of hard ale, two hundred septims, a walking stick, pouches of various herbs, spices, and five sacks of dried meat and dried fruit.
Miscellanious Information: Marduck has always had an insane fear of crickets, just seeing one will make him yelp and run to get something to smash it with, much like an elephant is with a mouse. He has slight OCD, and hates some things that he considers dirty, or unclean.
BRIEF Bio : Vesp has always been accepted into the more popular groups, and was never really an outcast. He soared through his teenage years, and at the age of 18 he joined the Imperial Legion. His parents, nobles in a the town of Falpen up in High Rock were disappointed, but decided to support their beloved son. They bedecked him with gifts, all of them he refused besides the diamond-engraved helmet and the gold-lined flail. They were immensely proud of their son when over the years he achieved feats of strength and tactical genius that got him the title Captain of the Second. His troops loved him, and he has been their proud leader since. Now he has embarked on the trip to the island, and his lieutenant, Ladin is the acting Captain until he returns.
Nicknames: Vespy, Vard, "You Old Troll"
Age: 53
Race: Nord
Gender: Male
General Appearance: Vespasian's face is more or less unremarkable, with the classic Nord blue eyes and blonde hair. He has a nose that has been broken many times, and a slightly larger head than most people, but it looks normal on his massive body. He is the size of an ogre, his bulk can sometimes be hard to fit through doors. He stands at 6'7, and is a 350 pound leviathan. He also has short black and blonde stubble that will probably grow out during the adventure to the island.
Psychological Profile: Vespasian is a very pleasant man to be around, and he tries not to flirt with the ladies too much, because it usually ends in rejection due to his appearance. He loves to relax and drink ale with his buddies. He can get angry when drunk, but is usually in a calm mood. When he goes into battle, however, he will do anything and everything to win, and will sometimes lose himself in the moment.
Class name: Warrior-Brute
Class skills: Reading, Cooking, Block, Drinking Ale, Blunt, Wrestling
Class description: Warrior brutes are battle hardened individuals and keen drinkers. Burly and brutish, these ruthless warriors excel in blunt weapons and blocking...but their background as hardened soldiers has given them the opportunity to cook on more thank one occasion for their brothers. Literate warriors, Warrior brutes like to induldge in reading up on new fighting moves or recipes. Warrior-Brutes usually come from a rough background, but in Vespasian's case it was just his size, and as he discovered new things he was good at, he became a Warrior-Brute. Warrior Brutes like to get down and dirty in a fight, their kick and pound techniques can bring down the toughest of opponents.
Weapons: A one-handed heavy hickory club, with three silver spikes sticking out one end, and a gold-lined, spiked flail.
Armor/Clothing worn most often: Due to his massive size, Vespasian had to get custom made clothing. He has three sets of the clothing, and it consists of a gargantuan leather trench-coat, a white undershirt, a black silk button-up shirt, black leather pants, and large leather boots. His armor, also custom made consists of a full silver set with a diamond-embedded, gold-lined ebony helmet. The diamonds were a gift from his parents, rich nobles.
Miscellanious Possessions: Three flasks of hard ale, two hundred septims, a walking stick, pouches of various herbs, spices, and five sacks of dried meat and dried fruit.
Miscellanious Information: Marduck has always had an insane fear of crickets, just seeing one will make him yelp and run to get something to smash it with, much like an elephant is with a mouse. He has slight OCD, and hates some things that he considers dirty, or unclean.
BRIEF Bio : Vesp has always been accepted into the more popular groups, and was never really an outcast. He soared through his teenage years, and at the age of 18 he joined the Imperial Legion. His parents, nobles in a the town of Falpen up in High Rock were disappointed, but decided to support their beloved son. They bedecked him with gifts, all of them he refused besides the diamond-engraved helmet and the gold-lined flail. They were immensely proud of their son when over the years he achieved feats of strength and tactical genius that got him the title Captain of the Second. His troops loved him, and he has been their proud leader since. Now he has embarked on the trip to the island, and his lieutenant, Ladin is the acting Captain until he returns.
Solidor
Name: Almerion Enveri
Nicknames: Not if you value your limbs
Race: Nord, Vampire
Gender: Male
General Appearance: http://s190.photobucket.com/albums/z10/leecarey_2007/090731_133741.jpg Though old, he has remained forever with the face of his thirty something body. The only part of him which has changed in looks are his eyes and hair. His hair lost its healthy golden brown sheen many years ago, his eyes too lost their almond colour in place of a diluted blood red. He stands around 6'5, his body is built for muscle but he never allows it to go past a certain point, lest he sacrifice his speed and agility for sheer size.
Psychological Profile: Almerion, being the creature that he is, has learned a great deal of patience over the years. But he prefers to be decisive and because of that, his temper does get the better of him some times. He is not the kind of man for idle banter or immature jokes, even if he does find something amusing, he wouldn't openly admit it. More of a lone wolf, he will work in a team if he must, but would rather take a support role rather than work side by side.
Class name: N/A
Class skills: hand to hand combat, Alteration, several Vampire skill (volkiharclan specifically). Non combat skills include painting, writing and an avid obesession with architecture.
Class description: Almerion is gifted in the Art of martial combat, or hand to hand combat. He is fast and strong. He uses an aggressive fighting style, often pushing an attack relentlessly even when he cannot land a blow, pushing his enemies to the edge until they falter and he can strike. He uses Alterations creatively, using some offensive spells (burden etc) defensively and some defensive and miscellaneous spells offensively (levitate, shield spells etc) .
With his mastery of Alteration he can (in conjunction with the pommel jewel on his ebony arm) Spread the ebony around his body like the most powerful of shield spells. He looks like a black jugger naught of a statue when he uses this ability, although he rarely uses it for lack of need.
Weapons: Proffering unarmed combat over armed combat, Almerion has honed his fighting techniques beyond that of any man alive which he knows of, his left arm is encased in metal, a modified armour from a suit of ebony, the kind of armour you would expect to see on the arm of a gladiator, only there are not breaks in this armour. The tips of the gauntlet are modified, each finger has a talon like claw upon the end of it. The knuckles are each studded with a small steel sharpened stud. On the Shoulder of this ebony casing is a green pommel jewel, It vibrates with untold power when Amerion gives into his blood lust, And provides a source of Almerions enhanced talents.
Armor/Clothing: for armour, see above. Almerion wears a fine red silk tunic, with black silk pants. He hides his armoured arm with a thick black travel cloak and black gloves, he often leans on an old staff, limping along at a gentle pace in his leather shoes. He likes being underestimated, The guise of a weak old man suits him well.
Armor/Clothing worn least often: A spare set of black cotton pants with knee high leather boots. A spare thick wool travel cloak with a hood and thick black leather gauntlets.
Miscellanious Possessions: A journal of his thoughts. An enchanted quill that needs no ink, A cherry smoking pipe and pouch of tobacco
Miscellanious Information: He has an un-rational fear of the sun. And more than anything, he fears death. This has lead to an insatiable thirst for power.
BRIEF Bio- http://www.gamesas.com/bgsforums/index.php?showtopic=1024246
Nicknames: Not if you value your limbs
Race: Nord, Vampire
Gender: Male
General Appearance: http://s190.photobucket.com/albums/z10/leecarey_2007/090731_133741.jpg Though old, he has remained forever with the face of his thirty something body. The only part of him which has changed in looks are his eyes and hair. His hair lost its healthy golden brown sheen many years ago, his eyes too lost their almond colour in place of a diluted blood red. He stands around 6'5, his body is built for muscle but he never allows it to go past a certain point, lest he sacrifice his speed and agility for sheer size.
Psychological Profile: Almerion, being the creature that he is, has learned a great deal of patience over the years. But he prefers to be decisive and because of that, his temper does get the better of him some times. He is not the kind of man for idle banter or immature jokes, even if he does find something amusing, he wouldn't openly admit it. More of a lone wolf, he will work in a team if he must, but would rather take a support role rather than work side by side.
Class name: N/A
Class skills: hand to hand combat, Alteration, several Vampire skill (volkiharclan specifically). Non combat skills include painting, writing and an avid obesession with architecture.
Class description: Almerion is gifted in the Art of martial combat, or hand to hand combat. He is fast and strong. He uses an aggressive fighting style, often pushing an attack relentlessly even when he cannot land a blow, pushing his enemies to the edge until they falter and he can strike. He uses Alterations creatively, using some offensive spells (burden etc) defensively and some defensive and miscellaneous spells offensively (levitate, shield spells etc) .
With his mastery of Alteration he can (in conjunction with the pommel jewel on his ebony arm) Spread the ebony around his body like the most powerful of shield spells. He looks like a black jugger naught of a statue when he uses this ability, although he rarely uses it for lack of need.
Weapons: Proffering unarmed combat over armed combat, Almerion has honed his fighting techniques beyond that of any man alive which he knows of, his left arm is encased in metal, a modified armour from a suit of ebony, the kind of armour you would expect to see on the arm of a gladiator, only there are not breaks in this armour. The tips of the gauntlet are modified, each finger has a talon like claw upon the end of it. The knuckles are each studded with a small steel sharpened stud. On the Shoulder of this ebony casing is a green pommel jewel, It vibrates with untold power when Amerion gives into his blood lust, And provides a source of Almerions enhanced talents.
Armor/Clothing: for armour, see above. Almerion wears a fine red silk tunic, with black silk pants. He hides his armoured arm with a thick black travel cloak and black gloves, he often leans on an old staff, limping along at a gentle pace in his leather shoes. He likes being underestimated, The guise of a weak old man suits him well.
Armor/Clothing worn least often: A spare set of black cotton pants with knee high leather boots. A spare thick wool travel cloak with a hood and thick black leather gauntlets.
Miscellanious Possessions: A journal of his thoughts. An enchanted quill that needs no ink, A cherry smoking pipe and pouch of tobacco
Miscellanious Information: He has an un-rational fear of the sun. And more than anything, he fears death. This has lead to an insatiable thirst for power.
BRIEF Bio- http://www.gamesas.com/bgsforums/index.php?showtopic=1024246
Illusionary Nothing
Name: Saren the Still (People more often call her 'Still' than 'Saren')
Race: Nord/Altmer
Gender: Female
Age: 35
Birthsign: The Apprentice
Class: Healer
Skills: Restoration*, Alteration (only shields*, water walking, lock, and jump), Athletics, Destruction (only drain health, small fire, and frost*), Alchemy, Enchant*
[*] Indicates particularly powerful spells/skills.
Physical Description: Saren is a tall woman of about 5ft9", not of a particularly fit build, although she does exercise regularly. She holds herself tall and straight, head held high, but there is always a sense of tension about her, as if she is string held too taut, and about to snap. Many have said that Saren is cool as a glacial lake, and just as unmoving, but that she is twice as dangerous as an avalanche, for she gives no outward warning before attacking. She has a mop of tangled curly red hair. Her features are typically nordic, she has a strong but straight nose, pallid complexion, and predominantly human features, although her pale eyes are almond-shaped, and she is just a little more gaunt than most Nords tend to be, and her skin has a hint of a golden hue, none would assume she had any elvish in her. The thing that draws the most attention about Saren is that her face is disfigured by thick, claw-like scars that slash across her face from the right of her forehead to the left of her chin. She might once have been considered beautiful, but for them. Many are curious as to how a healer would come by such a scar, but Saren is not the most open of people and their questions go unasked and unanswered.
Mental Description: Saren is cold, and not just because she's a Nord. She is reserved and sometimes callous, and if she finds things amusing, she does not show it. Indeed, never so much as a flicker of a smile seems to pass her lips. She's calculating, often harshly so, and spends a lot of time thinking about things, as she prefers to be thorough than quick. She is quite patient, however, and though few recognise it there is something selfless about her. The opinion of most is that she is a frosty old witch, and nobody understands why someone so heartless and unfeeling would ever have become a healer.
Weapons: A gnarled wooden short staff, only as long as her arm, though about as thick, hangs from her belt as if it were a sword. There is a crystal orb embedded at the top of this, with swirling, oceanic mist within.
Clothing/Armour: She wears a long-sleeved, simple aqua gown that fits her well. Beneath this, she wears brown leggings and knee-high, soft doeskin boots. The only jewellery she wears is a white-gold amulet with an amber crystal set within, a powerful crystal which absorbs all magicka cast at her.
Misc:
N/A (For now!)
Short History: TBR!
Race: Nord/Altmer
Gender: Female
Age: 35
Birthsign: The Apprentice
Class: Healer
Skills: Restoration*, Alteration (only shields*, water walking, lock, and jump), Athletics, Destruction (only drain health, small fire, and frost*), Alchemy, Enchant*
[*] Indicates particularly powerful spells/skills.
Physical Description: Saren is a tall woman of about 5ft9", not of a particularly fit build, although she does exercise regularly. She holds herself tall and straight, head held high, but there is always a sense of tension about her, as if she is string held too taut, and about to snap. Many have said that Saren is cool as a glacial lake, and just as unmoving, but that she is twice as dangerous as an avalanche, for she gives no outward warning before attacking. She has a mop of tangled curly red hair. Her features are typically nordic, she has a strong but straight nose, pallid complexion, and predominantly human features, although her pale eyes are almond-shaped, and she is just a little more gaunt than most Nords tend to be, and her skin has a hint of a golden hue, none would assume she had any elvish in her. The thing that draws the most attention about Saren is that her face is disfigured by thick, claw-like scars that slash across her face from the right of her forehead to the left of her chin. She might once have been considered beautiful, but for them. Many are curious as to how a healer would come by such a scar, but Saren is not the most open of people and their questions go unasked and unanswered.
Mental Description: Saren is cold, and not just because she's a Nord. She is reserved and sometimes callous, and if she finds things amusing, she does not show it. Indeed, never so much as a flicker of a smile seems to pass her lips. She's calculating, often harshly so, and spends a lot of time thinking about things, as she prefers to be thorough than quick. She is quite patient, however, and though few recognise it there is something selfless about her. The opinion of most is that she is a frosty old witch, and nobody understands why someone so heartless and unfeeling would ever have become a healer.
Weapons: A gnarled wooden short staff, only as long as her arm, though about as thick, hangs from her belt as if it were a sword. There is a crystal orb embedded at the top of this, with swirling, oceanic mist within.
Clothing/Armour: She wears a long-sleeved, simple aqua gown that fits her well. Beneath this, she wears brown leggings and knee-high, soft doeskin boots. The only jewellery she wears is a white-gold amulet with an amber crystal set within, a powerful crystal which absorbs all magicka cast at her.
Misc:
N/A (For now!)
Short History: TBR!
Darkom95
Name: Sleeps-Through-Storms
Birthname: S'letr St'a
Age: 27
Race: Argonian
Gender: Male
Sign: The Steed
Class: Sailor
Major Skills: Athletics, Sailing, and Acrobatics
Minor Skills: Drinking
Physical: A very slim, fit Argonian, Sleeps' only joy is in running or swimming. His scales are a deep red, with several blue blotches, notably two small markings on his face. He is rather lanky and has never been very good at fighting.
Hair: Two small fins, the left one is missing a small chunk where he was once bitten by a slaughterfish
Eyes: A shade lighter than the red of his scales
Mental: He is happiest when running or swimming and simply cannot stand sitting still. He lacks the patience for anything, but if he sets his mind to something he will do it immediately. Procrastination is not in his nature. Other than that, he is usually optimistic and, more often that not, reckless.
Armor: None
Weapons: None
Clothing: A pair of brown pants, made of an unrecognizable fabric and a small pink pearl on a string around his neck.
Biography: Sleeps signed on a shipping crew at Rockpark, Argonia. He has been slowly saving money, going on trip after trip with several different crews. His name was given to him by a few sailors on his second journey out to sea, after sleeping through the captain's call to go on deck and man the sails.
Sleeps now lives in Vvardenfell, having signed on with a grim crew of sailors, none of whom told him where the ship was bound. His curiosity is at its peak as he sees a strange island in the distance.
Fears: Heights
Goals: Get enough money to buy a small boat
Interesting Fact: He found the pearl on his necklace in a clam at the bottom of a particularly deep dive. If you asked him, he would tell you it was from the bottom of the open ocean, but no one can be certain
Birthname: S'letr St'a
Age: 27
Race: Argonian
Gender: Male
Sign: The Steed
Class: Sailor
Major Skills: Athletics, Sailing, and Acrobatics
Minor Skills: Drinking
Physical: A very slim, fit Argonian, Sleeps' only joy is in running or swimming. His scales are a deep red, with several blue blotches, notably two small markings on his face. He is rather lanky and has never been very good at fighting.
Hair: Two small fins, the left one is missing a small chunk where he was once bitten by a slaughterfish
Eyes: A shade lighter than the red of his scales
Mental: He is happiest when running or swimming and simply cannot stand sitting still. He lacks the patience for anything, but if he sets his mind to something he will do it immediately. Procrastination is not in his nature. Other than that, he is usually optimistic and, more often that not, reckless.
Armor: None
Weapons: None
Clothing: A pair of brown pants, made of an unrecognizable fabric and a small pink pearl on a string around his neck.
Biography: Sleeps signed on a shipping crew at Rockpark, Argonia. He has been slowly saving money, going on trip after trip with several different crews. His name was given to him by a few sailors on his second journey out to sea, after sleeping through the captain's call to go on deck and man the sails.
Sleeps now lives in Vvardenfell, having signed on with a grim crew of sailors, none of whom told him where the ship was bound. His curiosity is at its peak as he sees a strange island in the distance.
Fears: Heights
Goals: Get enough money to buy a small boat
Interesting Fact: He found the pearl on his necklace in a clam at the bottom of a particularly deep dive. If you asked him, he would tell you it was from the bottom of the open ocean, but no one can be certain
Instantdeath59
Name:Tey- Enus
Nicknames:none
Age:30
Race:Argonian
Gender:Male
General Appearance:He has green scales with some red stripes on his head. There are two large fins on his head, one with a hole in it. He is a bit tall for for an argonian but still has a body decent for sneaking. His face is long and large and small teeth are all around his mouth which are exsposed when he smiles. Theres a few missing scales all over his body and head. His eyes are a peircing red with small blue pupils in the center. His claws are sharp, long and a few are broken and cracked. His legs are long and muscular and his feet are bare with large claws on them.
Psychological Profile: Hes relatively nice and doesn't really get mad, but he doesn't talk too often. He doesn't really care if he does a bad job or a good job, so hes mostly neutral. Hes relatively smart for an argonian, and thinks most people are just dumb. He just smiles at people when greating them but doesnt have much to say to them.
Class name: Adventurer
Class skills: Swordsman, athletics, acrobatics, marksman, sneaking, surviving traps, and hand to hand.
Class description: Experts at getting treasure and competing jobs. Somtimes gets hired by people to retrieve something of value or kill something.
Weapons: A long curved steel blade, a crossbow hooked on his back, and a few knives on his belt.
Armor/Clothing worn most often: Dark brown leather and a hood over his head. Doesn't wear shoes at all.
Armor/Clothing worn least often: A grey shirt and brown pants.
Miscellanious Possessions:Some survival equipment and some money in a pouche.
Miscellanious Information: Not frightened easily due to his life style. He doesn't have someone to back him up so he would usually run if hes alone and against greater number.
BRIEF Bio: He grew up in Layawin in Cyrodill. His parents had an okay amount of money but weren't too nice. He had one or two freinds, but spent most of his time alone. At 18 years old he set off to adventuring. Armed with the most simple equipment, it was surprising to see how successful he was. He started to get even more riskier than the small things and soon needed a group to survive. He came by a group who saw his talent welcomed him in. The group lost a few member, but still grew in size and got rich fast. The group leader, got the idea that they could take on an alyied ruin. Tey-Enus just followed on and didn't say anything. They went to a seamingly small one, but when they entered they lost half the group to the numerous traps and undead roaming the ruin. When he left, he was the last one. The word sread that he was rather good. He started to get numerous high paying jobs and got very rich. He retreived numerous artifacts and slew some of the toughest monsters.
Nicknames:none
Age:30
Race:Argonian
Gender:Male
General Appearance:He has green scales with some red stripes on his head. There are two large fins on his head, one with a hole in it. He is a bit tall for for an argonian but still has a body decent for sneaking. His face is long and large and small teeth are all around his mouth which are exsposed when he smiles. Theres a few missing scales all over his body and head. His eyes are a peircing red with small blue pupils in the center. His claws are sharp, long and a few are broken and cracked. His legs are long and muscular and his feet are bare with large claws on them.
Psychological Profile: Hes relatively nice and doesn't really get mad, but he doesn't talk too often. He doesn't really care if he does a bad job or a good job, so hes mostly neutral. Hes relatively smart for an argonian, and thinks most people are just dumb. He just smiles at people when greating them but doesnt have much to say to them.
Class name: Adventurer
Class skills: Swordsman, athletics, acrobatics, marksman, sneaking, surviving traps, and hand to hand.
Class description: Experts at getting treasure and competing jobs. Somtimes gets hired by people to retrieve something of value or kill something.
Weapons: A long curved steel blade, a crossbow hooked on his back, and a few knives on his belt.
Armor/Clothing worn most often: Dark brown leather and a hood over his head. Doesn't wear shoes at all.
Armor/Clothing worn least often: A grey shirt and brown pants.
Miscellanious Possessions:Some survival equipment and some money in a pouche.
Miscellanious Information: Not frightened easily due to his life style. He doesn't have someone to back him up so he would usually run if hes alone and against greater number.
BRIEF Bio: He grew up in Layawin in Cyrodill. His parents had an okay amount of money but weren't too nice. He had one or two freinds, but spent most of his time alone. At 18 years old he set off to adventuring. Armed with the most simple equipment, it was surprising to see how successful he was. He started to get even more riskier than the small things and soon needed a group to survive. He came by a group who saw his talent welcomed him in. The group lost a few member, but still grew in size and got rich fast. The group leader, got the idea that they could take on an alyied ruin. Tey-Enus just followed on and didn't say anything. They went to a seamingly small one, but when they entered they lost half the group to the numerous traps and undead roaming the ruin. When he left, he was the last one. The word sread that he was rather good. He started to get numerous high paying jobs and got very rich. He retreived numerous artifacts and slew some of the toughest monsters.
Saint-September
Name: Ael'ama (Knight Strider)
Nicknames: None
Age: 26/26
Race: Bosmer
Gender: Male
General Appearance: Small, gaunt figured. A slightly more pale tone than most Bosmer. His hair is a dirty blond and his eyes are a lime green color with vague hints of light brown. a small gash on his right cheek that has healed into a scar, just above his jawline. Very athletic figure.
Psychological Profile: Believing in what most Wood Elves do, kind at heart, eager to help others in need, not the traditional rogue/thief that most Bosmer become accustom to. Very proud of his lineage and his race as well as his ancestry.
Class name: Scout
Class skills: Sneaking, Archery, Short Blade, Endurance (Running), Camouflage, Silent Running, Long Distance Sight.
Class description: Scouting ahead of the party, using the landscape as cover and easy to adapt to most situations. The Scout is able to see what's coming before what's coming knows he's even watching. A Scout can run long distances without tiring and keeping silent as he does so.
Weapons: Longbow, Elvish Scimitars.
Armor/Clothing worn most often: Mossy Green Leather Armor, Hood, Quiver, Arrow Bracer (Holds smaller arrows)
Armor/Clothing worn least often: None
Miscellanious Possessions: Fletching, Camping, Cooking.
Miscellanious Information: Fear of water, fear of most women.
BRIEF Bio: Like most Bosmer, in Valenwood he was born, living his life there and brought up by none other but his parents. Ael'ama has two siblings; two sisters, Gil'Lyth and Rhy'ern. As children they were quite cruel to their younger brother, which lead to anxiety towards women as he grew older, but his relationship with his mother was quite close.
He was not in Valenwood for too long after he was of age, he left his home life to grow outward. Breaking from the traditions of his family he ventured out to Cyrodil, a dream of his was to meet the Emperor and perhaps be a scout in his army.
Now, he travels Cyrodil, searching for a place to make his mark in the world, an adventure is what he craves. He still writes to his mother, though. She worries about him, and she awaits his letters. As he was away from home his father passed away and to this day he regrets his choice to leave home.
Nicknames: None
Age: 26/26
Race: Bosmer
Gender: Male
General Appearance: Small, gaunt figured. A slightly more pale tone than most Bosmer. His hair is a dirty blond and his eyes are a lime green color with vague hints of light brown. a small gash on his right cheek that has healed into a scar, just above his jawline. Very athletic figure.
Psychological Profile: Believing in what most Wood Elves do, kind at heart, eager to help others in need, not the traditional rogue/thief that most Bosmer become accustom to. Very proud of his lineage and his race as well as his ancestry.
Class name: Scout
Class skills: Sneaking, Archery, Short Blade, Endurance (Running), Camouflage, Silent Running, Long Distance Sight.
Class description: Scouting ahead of the party, using the landscape as cover and easy to adapt to most situations. The Scout is able to see what's coming before what's coming knows he's even watching. A Scout can run long distances without tiring and keeping silent as he does so.
Weapons: Longbow, Elvish Scimitars.
Armor/Clothing worn most often: Mossy Green Leather Armor, Hood, Quiver, Arrow Bracer (Holds smaller arrows)
Armor/Clothing worn least often: None
Miscellanious Possessions: Fletching, Camping, Cooking.
Miscellanious Information: Fear of water, fear of most women.
BRIEF Bio: Like most Bosmer, in Valenwood he was born, living his life there and brought up by none other but his parents. Ael'ama has two siblings; two sisters, Gil'Lyth and Rhy'ern. As children they were quite cruel to their younger brother, which lead to anxiety towards women as he grew older, but his relationship with his mother was quite close.
He was not in Valenwood for too long after he was of age, he left his home life to grow outward. Breaking from the traditions of his family he ventured out to Cyrodil, a dream of his was to meet the Emperor and perhaps be a scout in his army.
Now, he travels Cyrodil, searching for a place to make his mark in the world, an adventure is what he craves. He still writes to his mother, though. She worries about him, and she awaits his letters. As he was away from home his father passed away and to this day he regrets his choice to leave home.
Chriso123
Name: Caius Sallonus
Nickname: Caius.
Race: Imperial
Gender: Male
Age: 38
Birthsign: The Ritual
Class: Caius specializes in heavy arms when it comes down to combat. He is usually in the front line, using power and strength to defeat his enemies. However due to being brought up by a noble family, and the fact that he's an Imperial, he has developed a way with words. However he is more of a snobby type than a charismatic soldier
Skills: Block, Heavy Armour, Long Blade and Speechcraft.
Weaknessess: His biggest flaw is his lack of politeness to anyone he deems less than himself. Which is to say, quite a lot of people. He will treat others with utter disrespect if he feels it necessary. He is not afraid to speak his mind either, some may see this is a good asset, but at times it can upset others greatly, making it difficult for him to make friends. In fact he was once targeted for assassination; thankfully for him the assassin could defeat his guards.
However with this said, once he gets to know someone well and believes they can are of equal caste, he will happily call them a friend.
Due to his arrogance he can often get very complacent in certain situations. This could easily get him killed when in battle and in fact has almost happened. He has a nasty scar stretching across his right side.
Due to his age and lack of activity, he has lost a fair amount of speed so he will be quite slow when in armed combat.
Weapons: A lavishly decorated silver longsword. It is in fact a Sallonus family heirloom, and has been passed down the decades. Whilst not any stronger than a regular silver blade, it has golden engravings carved throughout the blade and the name "Sallonus" engraved in the hilt. The sword has been crafted so that is light and smooth around the hilt, allowing easy grip and fluid and fast swings, but slightly heavier on the actual blade, making sure his enemies fall to the might of his sword.
Armor/Clothing: Caius dons a full suit of steel armour, as did his father and his father's fathers. It was somewhat a Sallonus family tradition to wear heavy plate metal. It was a noble uniform but more importantly, very reliable in battle. With a few modifications it could be made more mobile and lose.
Likewise with his sword, there are all kinds of engraving and patterns engraved into the armour.
Caius maintains a very varied wardrobe. Ranging from travelling cloaks, lavish robes to elegant and extravagant collared shirts.
However he usually wears a simple blue linen shirt with faint red spiral patterns on the back. His pants and shoes are of a similar colour and design, both very soft making it pleasant to wear. Along side that he has a diamond ring, also a family heirloom. It is said to supply the wearer with extra energy, and give them an extra boost in battle.
As an arming doublet, Caius wears a thick brown tunic; it has a few small thin plates on its own.
Equipment: Like most Imperials, Caius loves gold, he usually carries a wallet with him that carries a good 200 septims. Of course he also carries a key to his Chorrol Manor.
Spells: Does not use magic.
Physical Description: Caius is not too good looking but he is definitely not ugly either. He is of a slightly above average build, due to the vigorous training by his father and other hired teachers, and of course due to the numerous battle experiences. Naturally, he also has quite a snobby look. Some say it is because he is so used to giving people bad looks or looking down on them, but in fact he has had it since birth. His lips are quite puckered and protracted, which for me is quite a bad thing seeing as his lips tend to get quite dry. His eyebrows are also naturally raised and quite high up his forehead, which in Caius opinion makes his eyes look larger than they actually are. His noise is probably his worst facial feature; it has taken a lot of damage and is lumpy, crooked and even a little hooked at the tip, however he does have quite high cheekbones, but that impressive feature is destroyed by his battle-damaged face.
Caius is of average height but is quite thick. This thickness could be called solid muscle when he was young and in his prime, however these days some of it has turned to fat due to lack of exercise, eating and drinking more regularly than he usually used to.
Caius always tries to keep his hair neat, and spends an awful lot of time doing so. It is kept in an oiled style, but he likes the ponytail (feeling it looks elegant) to let it grow into a rouge-knot fashion. However the tail is only short, and reaches about half way down his neck. He feels having it too long makes him look like some filthy beggar who needs to neaten up and was. His hair used to be a very solid brown, but as he as aged it is now starting to grey.
He also keeps a faint moustache. It stretches all the way across his up over his upper lip but is quite thin. Like his head hair, it is also starting to grey.
Height: 6'
Weight: 188 lbs
Hair colour: Cool brown with a hint of grey
Eye colour: Blue
Personality: As explained in the weaknesses section, Caius is a very snobby man. He is far too interested in himself, only doing things that benefit him or that may expand his fame. He has a very large ego, and thinks very highly of himself, and believes that he truly is as some kid of god. However not even he would go as far to actually say that. Although in a way you can't really blame him, he has been brought up in a certain way and it has been embedded in his mind, also he has achieved quite a lot in life, so it is only natural for him.
Caius feels that first impressions last, and if he doesn't think much of someone when they first meet, it is doubtful that his opinion will ever change unless they turn themselves around drastically. Nonetheless he is not racist or prejudice like many Imperials are, and he feels that an Imperial noble is no more than an Orc noble, as long as the way they act is etiquette than they're equals. This also means that if an Imperial is dirty and badly educated, then that man/woman is just as bad as anyone with the same traits, regardless of race.
If Caius does actually like someone and considers that person a friend then he is completely different towards him or her. He will treat that person with utmost respect and as an equal. Along side that he will often get drunk and host parties, but only the biggest of the big can be invited. You could say he is a little bit of a hypocrite, but no one dare say that to his face.
Caius is actually quite a smart man; he is good with speaking and knowledgeable about a many great things, one of these topics being the culture of each race. Although he is actually quite weak when it comes to magical terms. He was taught the way of the sword, or as he called it, "The Noble's way". He and his family believed magic and spells are for cowards and people who are weak, using cheap parlour tricks and witchcraft to benefit themselves.
Bio:. Caius was born into the noble Sallonus family in Chorrol. From an early age his Father, called Janus, taught him the ways of the sword as also hired special trainers to help. Janus was very proud of his family's name and wanted it to pass on through the eras.
It wasn't long before Caius was adept to heavy armour and by the age of 15 he could don a full set of steel with almost no problems. Of course there were a few modifications but it was still considered an impressive feat for a boy of such normal size.
By 18, Caius had established himself in Chorrol, and was well known in the city due to his good deeds, even if they were only in self-interest. Most notably was tracking down and killing a vampire in the city. This was the event that made him known, the event that some admire him, but also the event that changed him.
From there on he was only interested in making septims and fame, not caring for the ignorant people who looked up to him. Sure out in public he made himself look like a saint, but outside of that he was selfish. However he was never evil by any means, he hated the evil and would never go as far as to actually murder someone or anything similar.
The peak of Caius career hit when he was of about 27 years of age. Since he was about 25 he was trying to rid the area of goblins, which would frequently attack farms outside the city, shortening Chorrol's food supply. Once they even tried to break into the city itself, but thankfully to no avail. Much of Caius life from there and most of his battles consisted of fighting these goblins. At first all he and his men did was stop them when they decided to attack. This worked but they'd always come back. It was only until two years later that Caius and a few soldiers found out the source of the goblins (a cave to the southeast of Chorrol) and slaughtered them all one by one. From then onwards, there were no more attacks, and Caius was considered a saviour and hero. If only they knew what he was really like.
Since then he did a few odd jobs to get some of the beloved gold but his time mainly consisted of bathing in his glory, throwing parties and the like. However it was when he was 38 years old, whilst he was relaxing Sallonus Manor, that he had a messenger at his doorstep, telling Caius of how Duke Vadem Dren wanted to attend a meeting and how it was of utmost importance?
Miscellaneous:
*- His wine and food has to be of top quality. He was drink no less than Tamika.
*- Speaks in a very typical posh Imperial accent, and has a wide range of vocabulary.
*- Has a twitch in his nose.
*- Has a very powerful sword arm, and his attacks can be instantly fatal if he catches you in the right place at the right time.
Nickname: Caius.
Race: Imperial
Gender: Male
Age: 38
Birthsign: The Ritual
Class: Caius specializes in heavy arms when it comes down to combat. He is usually in the front line, using power and strength to defeat his enemies. However due to being brought up by a noble family, and the fact that he's an Imperial, he has developed a way with words. However he is more of a snobby type than a charismatic soldier
Skills: Block, Heavy Armour, Long Blade and Speechcraft.
Weaknessess: His biggest flaw is his lack of politeness to anyone he deems less than himself. Which is to say, quite a lot of people. He will treat others with utter disrespect if he feels it necessary. He is not afraid to speak his mind either, some may see this is a good asset, but at times it can upset others greatly, making it difficult for him to make friends. In fact he was once targeted for assassination; thankfully for him the assassin could defeat his guards.
However with this said, once he gets to know someone well and believes they can are of equal caste, he will happily call them a friend.
Due to his arrogance he can often get very complacent in certain situations. This could easily get him killed when in battle and in fact has almost happened. He has a nasty scar stretching across his right side.
Due to his age and lack of activity, he has lost a fair amount of speed so he will be quite slow when in armed combat.
Weapons: A lavishly decorated silver longsword. It is in fact a Sallonus family heirloom, and has been passed down the decades. Whilst not any stronger than a regular silver blade, it has golden engravings carved throughout the blade and the name "Sallonus" engraved in the hilt. The sword has been crafted so that is light and smooth around the hilt, allowing easy grip and fluid and fast swings, but slightly heavier on the actual blade, making sure his enemies fall to the might of his sword.
Armor/Clothing: Caius dons a full suit of steel armour, as did his father and his father's fathers. It was somewhat a Sallonus family tradition to wear heavy plate metal. It was a noble uniform but more importantly, very reliable in battle. With a few modifications it could be made more mobile and lose.
Likewise with his sword, there are all kinds of engraving and patterns engraved into the armour.
Caius maintains a very varied wardrobe. Ranging from travelling cloaks, lavish robes to elegant and extravagant collared shirts.
However he usually wears a simple blue linen shirt with faint red spiral patterns on the back. His pants and shoes are of a similar colour and design, both very soft making it pleasant to wear. Along side that he has a diamond ring, also a family heirloom. It is said to supply the wearer with extra energy, and give them an extra boost in battle.
As an arming doublet, Caius wears a thick brown tunic; it has a few small thin plates on its own.
Equipment: Like most Imperials, Caius loves gold, he usually carries a wallet with him that carries a good 200 septims. Of course he also carries a key to his Chorrol Manor.
Spells: Does not use magic.
Physical Description: Caius is not too good looking but he is definitely not ugly either. He is of a slightly above average build, due to the vigorous training by his father and other hired teachers, and of course due to the numerous battle experiences. Naturally, he also has quite a snobby look. Some say it is because he is so used to giving people bad looks or looking down on them, but in fact he has had it since birth. His lips are quite puckered and protracted, which for me is quite a bad thing seeing as his lips tend to get quite dry. His eyebrows are also naturally raised and quite high up his forehead, which in Caius opinion makes his eyes look larger than they actually are. His noise is probably his worst facial feature; it has taken a lot of damage and is lumpy, crooked and even a little hooked at the tip, however he does have quite high cheekbones, but that impressive feature is destroyed by his battle-damaged face.
Caius is of average height but is quite thick. This thickness could be called solid muscle when he was young and in his prime, however these days some of it has turned to fat due to lack of exercise, eating and drinking more regularly than he usually used to.
Caius always tries to keep his hair neat, and spends an awful lot of time doing so. It is kept in an oiled style, but he likes the ponytail (feeling it looks elegant) to let it grow into a rouge-knot fashion. However the tail is only short, and reaches about half way down his neck. He feels having it too long makes him look like some filthy beggar who needs to neaten up and was. His hair used to be a very solid brown, but as he as aged it is now starting to grey.
He also keeps a faint moustache. It stretches all the way across his up over his upper lip but is quite thin. Like his head hair, it is also starting to grey.
Height: 6'
Weight: 188 lbs
Hair colour: Cool brown with a hint of grey
Eye colour: Blue
Personality: As explained in the weaknesses section, Caius is a very snobby man. He is far too interested in himself, only doing things that benefit him or that may expand his fame. He has a very large ego, and thinks very highly of himself, and believes that he truly is as some kid of god. However not even he would go as far to actually say that. Although in a way you can't really blame him, he has been brought up in a certain way and it has been embedded in his mind, also he has achieved quite a lot in life, so it is only natural for him.
Caius feels that first impressions last, and if he doesn't think much of someone when they first meet, it is doubtful that his opinion will ever change unless they turn themselves around drastically. Nonetheless he is not racist or prejudice like many Imperials are, and he feels that an Imperial noble is no more than an Orc noble, as long as the way they act is etiquette than they're equals. This also means that if an Imperial is dirty and badly educated, then that man/woman is just as bad as anyone with the same traits, regardless of race.
If Caius does actually like someone and considers that person a friend then he is completely different towards him or her. He will treat that person with utmost respect and as an equal. Along side that he will often get drunk and host parties, but only the biggest of the big can be invited. You could say he is a little bit of a hypocrite, but no one dare say that to his face.
Caius is actually quite a smart man; he is good with speaking and knowledgeable about a many great things, one of these topics being the culture of each race. Although he is actually quite weak when it comes to magical terms. He was taught the way of the sword, or as he called it, "The Noble's way". He and his family believed magic and spells are for cowards and people who are weak, using cheap parlour tricks and witchcraft to benefit themselves.
Bio:. Caius was born into the noble Sallonus family in Chorrol. From an early age his Father, called Janus, taught him the ways of the sword as also hired special trainers to help. Janus was very proud of his family's name and wanted it to pass on through the eras.
It wasn't long before Caius was adept to heavy armour and by the age of 15 he could don a full set of steel with almost no problems. Of course there were a few modifications but it was still considered an impressive feat for a boy of such normal size.
By 18, Caius had established himself in Chorrol, and was well known in the city due to his good deeds, even if they were only in self-interest. Most notably was tracking down and killing a vampire in the city. This was the event that made him known, the event that some admire him, but also the event that changed him.
From there on he was only interested in making septims and fame, not caring for the ignorant people who looked up to him. Sure out in public he made himself look like a saint, but outside of that he was selfish. However he was never evil by any means, he hated the evil and would never go as far as to actually murder someone or anything similar.
The peak of Caius career hit when he was of about 27 years of age. Since he was about 25 he was trying to rid the area of goblins, which would frequently attack farms outside the city, shortening Chorrol's food supply. Once they even tried to break into the city itself, but thankfully to no avail. Much of Caius life from there and most of his battles consisted of fighting these goblins. At first all he and his men did was stop them when they decided to attack. This worked but they'd always come back. It was only until two years later that Caius and a few soldiers found out the source of the goblins (a cave to the southeast of Chorrol) and slaughtered them all one by one. From then onwards, there were no more attacks, and Caius was considered a saviour and hero. If only they knew what he was really like.
Since then he did a few odd jobs to get some of the beloved gold but his time mainly consisted of bathing in his glory, throwing parties and the like. However it was when he was 38 years old, whilst he was relaxing Sallonus Manor, that he had a messenger at his doorstep, telling Caius of how Duke Vadem Dren wanted to attend a meeting and how it was of utmost importance?
Miscellaneous:
*- His wine and food has to be of top quality. He was drink no less than Tamika.
*- Speaks in a very typical posh Imperial accent, and has a wide range of vocabulary.
*- Has a twitch in his nose.
*- Has a very powerful sword arm, and his attacks can be instantly fatal if he catches you in the right place at the right time.
FC4
Name: Norien Histran
Nickname: Nor
Gender: male
Age: 50
Race: Imperial Lycanthrope
Birthsign: The Thief.
Class: Werewolf/ Demon-hunter
Class Description: Norien is a werewolf himself, and a mercenary by trade. A werewolf now for over thirty years, he has begun to grasp very basic control of himself in Werewolf form, able to choose who he kills. He has become in the last ten years a very infamous Hunter, tracking and destroying desecrations and taints. His methods are questionable, his purpose is questionable; hell, he's questionable. But he gets the job done.
Skills: Blade, Hand-to-hand, Destruction, Unarmored combat, Acrobatics, Hunting (which includes tracking and trapping of prey), Sneaking.
Appearance: Norien is not a large man, average in height and in width. But he is by no means skinny nor is he bulky. A well toned body shows years of steady exercise and battle. His posture is always slightly hunched over, his chin in line with his shoulders and back bent. His eyes are hard and serious, and he generally looks ready to kill anyone who would take a mug of ale from him. He also doesn't look like a man who appreciates the idea of regular bathing, as he is always dirty and smelling of wet dog.
Height: 5' 8" at full height, 5' 7" because of his slight slouch.
Eyes: Hard, wary hazel. Occasionally they turn a deep golden in color.
Skin: tanned well, and smeared with black dirt in many places.
Hair: he has a military cut hairstyle, and his short hair is black.
Tattoos/Scars: His chest, arms, and back are like a painting canvas for some sick, twisted artist, a myriad of scratches, burn scars, and bruises. Four parallel scars run across his left cheek.
Weapons: A silver katana, and a silver Wakizashi.
Armor: He wears no armor, though the leathers he calls clothes come close.
Clothes: He wears a leather shirt without sleeves, and tight leather pants. A buckle shaped like a wolf head holds his belt in place.
Inventory: Along his belt he has a few bottles of healing potion, as well as money, a map of Tamriel, and a compass in a satchel on his belt.
Misc: ?prone to taking risks.
-heightened senses of smell, sight, and hearing, though only a little over that of an average man.
-When a werewolf, he is vicious, unrelenting, and deadlier than human. He is around 5' 11" in height, with more muscle mass than a Nord, and more hair than one too. His hair is glossy black, and his eyes a fiery gold. He exercises only a minimal semblance of control, able to stop himself from killing certain people, on occasion. He transforms every night, something he takes immense advantage of in his line of work.
Spells: He knows only minor fire spells in Destruction, to deal with vampires.
Mental: Norien never was a 'safe' boy, always rough-housing the other children and throwing stones. His favorite games included King-of-the-Hill and sword-fights with wooden blades. He always won, or else the winner got beaten up afterwards by him.
That mentality continued through advlthood despite his infection, and he is as risky and danger-loving as ever. He willingly walks into danger, laughing at Death as he slaps it in the face. His humor is aggressive in nature, and he isn't the politest of men.
Bio: Norien was only 20 when he was infected with the disease of Lycanthropy while vacationing in Morrowind with his family. Afterwards, he killed his family, finding the taste of their blood better than the greatest feast. For twenty years he hunted under the name of his Lord, until the anniversary of his infection, when he began to combat his own urges. That night had come with the death of another Lycanthrope at his own hands. Maybe it was the Lycan blood in his throat, or maybe it was just his own conscious realization, but he found himself capable thereafter to control just who it was he killed. Barely, as he still had to kill each night, but he could stop himself from killing a child and kill the father instead.
And what came with this reality was a decision. He was going to hunt his own kind, and other outcasts of society tainted by Daedra. Though he is feared by all that employ him, he has risen as the greatest Demon Hunter in Tamriel. However, his disease is not forgotten, and one step out of line in a town, and he is likely to find a sword in his chest in any city.
Nickname: Nor
Gender: male
Age: 50
Race: Imperial Lycanthrope
Birthsign: The Thief.
Class: Werewolf/ Demon-hunter
Class Description: Norien is a werewolf himself, and a mercenary by trade. A werewolf now for over thirty years, he has begun to grasp very basic control of himself in Werewolf form, able to choose who he kills. He has become in the last ten years a very infamous Hunter, tracking and destroying desecrations and taints. His methods are questionable, his purpose is questionable; hell, he's questionable. But he gets the job done.
Skills: Blade, Hand-to-hand, Destruction, Unarmored combat, Acrobatics, Hunting (which includes tracking and trapping of prey), Sneaking.
Appearance: Norien is not a large man, average in height and in width. But he is by no means skinny nor is he bulky. A well toned body shows years of steady exercise and battle. His posture is always slightly hunched over, his chin in line with his shoulders and back bent. His eyes are hard and serious, and he generally looks ready to kill anyone who would take a mug of ale from him. He also doesn't look like a man who appreciates the idea of regular bathing, as he is always dirty and smelling of wet dog.
Height: 5' 8" at full height, 5' 7" because of his slight slouch.
Eyes: Hard, wary hazel. Occasionally they turn a deep golden in color.
Skin: tanned well, and smeared with black dirt in many places.
Hair: he has a military cut hairstyle, and his short hair is black.
Tattoos/Scars: His chest, arms, and back are like a painting canvas for some sick, twisted artist, a myriad of scratches, burn scars, and bruises. Four parallel scars run across his left cheek.
Weapons: A silver katana, and a silver Wakizashi.
Armor: He wears no armor, though the leathers he calls clothes come close.
Clothes: He wears a leather shirt without sleeves, and tight leather pants. A buckle shaped like a wolf head holds his belt in place.
Inventory: Along his belt he has a few bottles of healing potion, as well as money, a map of Tamriel, and a compass in a satchel on his belt.
Misc: ?prone to taking risks.
-heightened senses of smell, sight, and hearing, though only a little over that of an average man.
-When a werewolf, he is vicious, unrelenting, and deadlier than human. He is around 5' 11" in height, with more muscle mass than a Nord, and more hair than one too. His hair is glossy black, and his eyes a fiery gold. He exercises only a minimal semblance of control, able to stop himself from killing certain people, on occasion. He transforms every night, something he takes immense advantage of in his line of work.
Spells: He knows only minor fire spells in Destruction, to deal with vampires.
Mental: Norien never was a 'safe' boy, always rough-housing the other children and throwing stones. His favorite games included King-of-the-Hill and sword-fights with wooden blades. He always won, or else the winner got beaten up afterwards by him.
That mentality continued through advlthood despite his infection, and he is as risky and danger-loving as ever. He willingly walks into danger, laughing at Death as he slaps it in the face. His humor is aggressive in nature, and he isn't the politest of men.
Bio: Norien was only 20 when he was infected with the disease of Lycanthropy while vacationing in Morrowind with his family. Afterwards, he killed his family, finding the taste of their blood better than the greatest feast. For twenty years he hunted under the name of his Lord, until the anniversary of his infection, when he began to combat his own urges. That night had come with the death of another Lycanthrope at his own hands. Maybe it was the Lycan blood in his throat, or maybe it was just his own conscious realization, but he found himself capable thereafter to control just who it was he killed. Barely, as he still had to kill each night, but he could stop himself from killing a child and kill the father instead.
And what came with this reality was a decision. He was going to hunt his own kind, and other outcasts of society tainted by Daedra. Though he is feared by all that employ him, he has risen as the greatest Demon Hunter in Tamriel. However, his disease is not forgotten, and one step out of line in a town, and he is likely to find a sword in his chest in any city.
Verlox
Name: Robyn Dale
Nickname: Ugly
Gender: Male
Age: 65
Race: Breton
Birthsign: The Ritual
Class: Friar
Class Description: Friar are similar to priests. Unlike priests, however, who sit in their temples, flogging themselves for minor transgressions, friars got out amongst the people, preaching and offering their services to anyone who is in need
Skills: Blunt, Dodging, Restoration, Alchemy, Speechcraft, Mercantile, Marksman
Appearance: An almost perfect copy of the merry friars from Breton legend, with his blonde tonsure and cheerful face. He is not very tall, easily dwarfed by a good majority of the men he meets. His cheeks are a bright rosy red, and he has good blue eyes. He is by no means a skinny man, with his well-sized paunch. Despite the bulk, however, he is no slouch. Though he can tire easily, and despite his old age, he seems to be in decent shape. Despite the cheerfulness, he is an incredibly ugly man.
Height: 5' 4"
Eyes: Blue
Skin: He is rather pale, but his face is pretty red
Hair: Blonde Tonsure
Tattoos/Scars: Scars, deformities, you name it
Weapons: A steel chained Morning-Star
Armor: An ugly, dirty, smelly robe, tied about him with a rope belt. He wears undergarments, and a pair of well-worn sandals.
Clothes: N/A
Inventory: Because he carries a case specially devoted to potion bottles, Robyn carries a great deal of Restore Health and Restore Fatigue potions. He also carries a small dagger
Misc:
- A very jolly, happy man.
- Prone to harmless flirting with most women, despite his horrible ugliness.
- Loves to tell jokes, even bad ones that no-one actually finds funny
- Loves wine a little too much
- Has a deep devotions to Stendarr. However, he rarely actually talks of religion.
Spells: Robyn knows a plethora of Restoration spells. Ranging from restoring a person's health, to fixing their bodies if they are diseased or cursed.
Mental: One of the jolliest men a person can meet. He seems almost oblivious to his ugly looks, and if commented on, he jokes about it. Nothing seems to actually phase him, and even in very dire circumstances, he is always a source of comedy and laughs.
Bio: Abandoned at birth because of his grotesque nature, Robyn was found on the side of the road by a group of traveling misfits. He was raised by a bearded woman and a man with a hare-lip and one eye. Because he had never encountered "normal" people, he had no problem mixing with the "freaks" of Tamriel's society. As he grew, he began to appear in shows, both as the bands "Troll Act" and as a standup comedian. When he was twenty years of age, he was walking back to the camp the misfits had made for themselves when he was accosted by a group of drunk youthes intent on killing him. He likely would have been murdered if he wasn't rescued by a man he could not see. Convinced that his rescuer was none other than the God of Mercy himself, Stendarr, Robyn left his "family" and entered a monestary. After seven years of study and the learning the ways of the Nine, Robyn left his place of residence, taking up the mantle of a Friar, and began criss-crossing the continent of Tamriel
Nickname: Ugly
Gender: Male
Age: 65
Race: Breton
Birthsign: The Ritual
Class: Friar
Class Description: Friar are similar to priests. Unlike priests, however, who sit in their temples, flogging themselves for minor transgressions, friars got out amongst the people, preaching and offering their services to anyone who is in need
Skills: Blunt, Dodging, Restoration, Alchemy, Speechcraft, Mercantile, Marksman
Appearance: An almost perfect copy of the merry friars from Breton legend, with his blonde tonsure and cheerful face. He is not very tall, easily dwarfed by a good majority of the men he meets. His cheeks are a bright rosy red, and he has good blue eyes. He is by no means a skinny man, with his well-sized paunch. Despite the bulk, however, he is no slouch. Though he can tire easily, and despite his old age, he seems to be in decent shape. Despite the cheerfulness, he is an incredibly ugly man.
Height: 5' 4"
Eyes: Blue
Skin: He is rather pale, but his face is pretty red
Hair: Blonde Tonsure
Tattoos/Scars: Scars, deformities, you name it
Weapons: A steel chained Morning-Star
Armor: An ugly, dirty, smelly robe, tied about him with a rope belt. He wears undergarments, and a pair of well-worn sandals.
Clothes: N/A
Inventory: Because he carries a case specially devoted to potion bottles, Robyn carries a great deal of Restore Health and Restore Fatigue potions. He also carries a small dagger
Misc:
- A very jolly, happy man.
- Prone to harmless flirting with most women, despite his horrible ugliness.
- Loves to tell jokes, even bad ones that no-one actually finds funny
- Loves wine a little too much
- Has a deep devotions to Stendarr. However, he rarely actually talks of religion.
Spells: Robyn knows a plethora of Restoration spells. Ranging from restoring a person's health, to fixing their bodies if they are diseased or cursed.
Mental: One of the jolliest men a person can meet. He seems almost oblivious to his ugly looks, and if commented on, he jokes about it. Nothing seems to actually phase him, and even in very dire circumstances, he is always a source of comedy and laughs.
Bio: Abandoned at birth because of his grotesque nature, Robyn was found on the side of the road by a group of traveling misfits. He was raised by a bearded woman and a man with a hare-lip and one eye. Because he had never encountered "normal" people, he had no problem mixing with the "freaks" of Tamriel's society. As he grew, he began to appear in shows, both as the bands "Troll Act" and as a standup comedian. When he was twenty years of age, he was walking back to the camp the misfits had made for themselves when he was accosted by a group of drunk youthes intent on killing him. He likely would have been murdered if he wasn't rescued by a man he could not see. Convinced that his rescuer was none other than the God of Mercy himself, Stendarr, Robyn left his "family" and entered a monestary. After seven years of study and the learning the ways of the Nine, Robyn left his place of residence, taking up the mantle of a Friar, and began criss-crossing the continent of Tamriel
Woolymammoth45
Name: Jamaal Arhano
Nicknames: N/A
Age: 29
Race: RedGuard
Gender: Male
Birthsign: The Steed
General appearance: Jamaal has compelling deep brown eyes, with short cut black at about 1/2 an inch. His hair is very thick. He has a deep muscle tone, and bears the usual Red Guard tan. His nose looks quite normal, not too short, not too long. The RedGuard's calf muscles are enormous, along with most of his leg muscles, from his birthsign. His Arm muscles are at a moderate size, along with his height, where he stands about the average man's size. He bears a lean body, and is careful to maintain it, for assassins need to be quick. Jamaal wears a large, thick scar along his right forearm, along with a scar just under his left eye. His overall muscle composition is moderate overall, with his legs as an exception. He is quite athletic and fast, through genetics, and the stars. He also keeps a black hood tied around one of his belt slots.
Psychological Profile: He isn't evil, but he isn't good. He pays his respects to Sithis, because he believes Sithis was there first. He also respects the Nine, since he believes they created Nirn. However, he more moderate in a karma sort of category. Many however, do not know his deep personal views, and view him more evil than good, because he respects Sithis. He believes Sithis is a being.
Class name: Stealth Soldier
Class skills: (I don't like doing this) light armor, blade, security, sneak, marksmanship, speed, acrobatics
Class description: An elite assassin, a good face up fighter, although he relies on his stealth as a primary ability.
Weapons: Jamaal bears a rather small longsword that hangs from his belt. It is bigger than the usual short-sword, but is not as big as an average longblade (A longblade classified in history as a sword with the blade twice the size of its hilt, therefore, it may very in size somewhat to a degree.) He also bears a short blade, the hilt 6 inches, and the blade 9 inches. It is held in a tie up leather strap pocket on his right arm just below the shoulder, covering his horrible scar. He also wears a small iron dagger in a pouch above his ankle, for such needed instances. It is very light, and does not affect his running in a way that matters. The last weapon of his is a short steel and leather cross-bow, featuring steel in the middle, right on the straight section from which the arrow is aimed, and flexible leather covering it. It sits in his light flexible black leather quiver, slung across his shoulder, with 20 iron arrows. Short blades stick out of both ends of the head, allowing somewhat of a good killing technique.
Armor/Clothing worn most often: Jamaal is an assassin, but he always doesn't try to look like one obviously. He usually wears, unless disguising himself on certain events, Black Leather Armor, with Light, flexible leather boots. He bears an amulet, which he wears under his armor. His mother gave it to him in his childhood. It is said to give him luck, and it may possibly be enchanted with that ability. He also wears a black leather belt, with many slots of its own. He also wears leather braces, and fingerless leather gloves.
Armor/Clothing worn least often: Jamaal wears a thin linen shirt under his armor, in which he uses to disguise himself as an ordinary citizen. He also wears thin linen shorts. However, this does not matter, as it is of no use to him on the island.
Miscellanious Possessions: Jamaal also keeps one minor invisibility potion handy within his gear belt. He saves it only for life saving instances.
Miscellanious Information: Jamaal fears not for himself, but for the ones that he loves. He fears losing his family, and friends to death, as he has before.
BRIEF Bio: Jamaal grew up in Rihad, Hammerfel, and studied the ancient Ansei as a boy. His Mother was a caring mother, a former Morag Tong Agent. His Mother taught him the arts of stealth, and the little combat that she new when he was young. His father was always away. He really knew anything about what he did when he was young. Later though, he finally realized his father was not a former member of the Morag Tong, but an active one of the sort. He was always away in Morrowind doing whatever he did, which Jamaal didn't know about at his young age. Meanwhile, he continued to study the Ansei, the ancient battles of Hammerfell, and the works of Destri Melarg. At the age of ten, his Uncle, a high ranking fighters guild member, taught him some advanced combat techniques, for his mother did not know much of combat. At the age of 16, his father retired, and trained him in stealth, and the art of the stealth kill as much as he could. He was an Ark'ay worshiper growing up, and also worshiped Julianos. At the age of 18, he forsook his parents will to become a member of the Morag Tong, and joined the Dark Brotherhood after being invited by an assassin that saw his talent. He therefore started to worship Sithis. Even though he wasn't as religious as some of the other members, he still pays his respects to the void. He worked his way up through the Brotherhood, prospering through the ranks. He achieved a high rank, and, besides from managing a good bit of the Brotherhood, is famous for his freelance work. He has now beem called up on to go to a so called "island" where mysterious whereabouts lay.
Nicknames: N/A
Age: 29
Race: RedGuard
Gender: Male
Birthsign: The Steed
General appearance: Jamaal has compelling deep brown eyes, with short cut black at about 1/2 an inch. His hair is very thick. He has a deep muscle tone, and bears the usual Red Guard tan. His nose looks quite normal, not too short, not too long. The RedGuard's calf muscles are enormous, along with most of his leg muscles, from his birthsign. His Arm muscles are at a moderate size, along with his height, where he stands about the average man's size. He bears a lean body, and is careful to maintain it, for assassins need to be quick. Jamaal wears a large, thick scar along his right forearm, along with a scar just under his left eye. His overall muscle composition is moderate overall, with his legs as an exception. He is quite athletic and fast, through genetics, and the stars. He also keeps a black hood tied around one of his belt slots.
Psychological Profile: He isn't evil, but he isn't good. He pays his respects to Sithis, because he believes Sithis was there first. He also respects the Nine, since he believes they created Nirn. However, he more moderate in a karma sort of category. Many however, do not know his deep personal views, and view him more evil than good, because he respects Sithis. He believes Sithis is a being.
Class name: Stealth Soldier
Class skills: (I don't like doing this) light armor, blade, security, sneak, marksmanship, speed, acrobatics
Class description: An elite assassin, a good face up fighter, although he relies on his stealth as a primary ability.
Weapons: Jamaal bears a rather small longsword that hangs from his belt. It is bigger than the usual short-sword, but is not as big as an average longblade (A longblade classified in history as a sword with the blade twice the size of its hilt, therefore, it may very in size somewhat to a degree.) He also bears a short blade, the hilt 6 inches, and the blade 9 inches. It is held in a tie up leather strap pocket on his right arm just below the shoulder, covering his horrible scar. He also wears a small iron dagger in a pouch above his ankle, for such needed instances. It is very light, and does not affect his running in a way that matters. The last weapon of his is a short steel and leather cross-bow, featuring steel in the middle, right on the straight section from which the arrow is aimed, and flexible leather covering it. It sits in his light flexible black leather quiver, slung across his shoulder, with 20 iron arrows. Short blades stick out of both ends of the head, allowing somewhat of a good killing technique.
Armor/Clothing worn most often: Jamaal is an assassin, but he always doesn't try to look like one obviously. He usually wears, unless disguising himself on certain events, Black Leather Armor, with Light, flexible leather boots. He bears an amulet, which he wears under his armor. His mother gave it to him in his childhood. It is said to give him luck, and it may possibly be enchanted with that ability. He also wears a black leather belt, with many slots of its own. He also wears leather braces, and fingerless leather gloves.
Armor/Clothing worn least often: Jamaal wears a thin linen shirt under his armor, in which he uses to disguise himself as an ordinary citizen. He also wears thin linen shorts. However, this does not matter, as it is of no use to him on the island.
Miscellanious Possessions: Jamaal also keeps one minor invisibility potion handy within his gear belt. He saves it only for life saving instances.
Miscellanious Information: Jamaal fears not for himself, but for the ones that he loves. He fears losing his family, and friends to death, as he has before.
BRIEF Bio: Jamaal grew up in Rihad, Hammerfel, and studied the ancient Ansei as a boy. His Mother was a caring mother, a former Morag Tong Agent. His Mother taught him the arts of stealth, and the little combat that she new when he was young. His father was always away. He really knew anything about what he did when he was young. Later though, he finally realized his father was not a former member of the Morag Tong, but an active one of the sort. He was always away in Morrowind doing whatever he did, which Jamaal didn't know about at his young age. Meanwhile, he continued to study the Ansei, the ancient battles of Hammerfell, and the works of Destri Melarg. At the age of ten, his Uncle, a high ranking fighters guild member, taught him some advanced combat techniques, for his mother did not know much of combat. At the age of 16, his father retired, and trained him in stealth, and the art of the stealth kill as much as he could. He was an Ark'ay worshiper growing up, and also worshiped Julianos. At the age of 18, he forsook his parents will to become a member of the Morag Tong, and joined the Dark Brotherhood after being invited by an assassin that saw his talent. He therefore started to worship Sithis. Even though he wasn't as religious as some of the other members, he still pays his respects to the void. He worked his way up through the Brotherhood, prospering through the ranks. He achieved a high rank, and, besides from managing a good bit of the Brotherhood, is famous for his freelance work. He has now beem called up on to go to a so called "island" where mysterious whereabouts lay.
BSparrow
Name: Mavus Ulenis, House Telvanni
Age: 76 (appears in his late twenties)
Race: Dunmer
Gender: Male
General Appearance: Mavus looks like any (relatively) young Telvanni male, clocking in at the tender age of 76 (appearing to be in his late twenties... he is a Telvanni, after all!). He is thin and poorly muscled, since he spends all of his time studying and practicing magic. His facial features carry a harsh, gaunt mein that is often associated with other Telvanni, and he keeps his dark red hair tied back in a tidy tail with a silk ribbon. The most noticeable part about him are his eyes, which are quick, intelligent, and piercing, as if everything he looks at is a thing to be dissected.
Psychological Profile: Mavus thinks like a Telvanni wizard, just as he looks like one. He tends to hold himself above everyone else, and is wholly obsessed with perfecting his magic. He is, however, extremely curious about the world around him... which leads him into all sorts of precarious situations in pursuit of his study, as he is just arrogant enough to wander into the dragon's maw for the sake of an extra bit of data.
Class name: Telvanni Wizard
Class skills: Mysticism, Illusion, Alteration, Destruction, Enchanting Items (minor) Scientific anolysis, Random Academic Trivia
Class description: Mavis is a Telvanni Wizard. He spends most of his time cloistered in his tower on the east coast of Vvardenfel, but does occasionally venture out for "field study," which usually includes tagging along with a group of adventurers to a dangerous location for the sole purpose of collecting data. This time is no different.
Known Spell Effects:
Mysticism:
Mark and Recall
Reflect
Detect Animal
Detect Enchantment
Dispel
Illusion:
Light
Silence
Paralyze
Chameleon
Alteration:
Levitate
Feather
Water Walking
Water Breathing
Shield
Open and Lock (although not strongly)
Destruction:
Fire, Shock, and Frost Damage (Strong only in fire)
Weakness to Fire, Shock and Frost (Strong only in fire)
Disintigrate
Weapons: He keeps no weapons, as he is arrogant enough to think he'll never need steel when he has magic.
Armor/Clothing worn most often: He favors intricate robes equipped with a minor Fortify Fatigue enchantment to keep him awake during long nights of study. He keeps the robes immaculately clean when he can, but will sacrifice their cleanliness in the interest of pursuing his studies.
Armor/Clothing worn least often: He has a light linen undershirt and trousers as backup, but he is loathe to wear them.
Miscellanious Possessions: He keeps a number of scrolls secreted in his robes in case of an emergency, including 2 Dispells, 4 Restore Healths, 4 Restore Magickas, and 1 Almsivi Intervention. The one item you can always count on seeing him with is his field journal, a leather-bound book with shock enchantments should anyone but himself open it... he's constantly writing in it when not in his tower.
Miscellanious Information: Mavus's biggest flaw is his arrogance. He considers himself to be highly intelligent and a formidable magic-user; therefore, his actions carry an almost naive surety in his own success. This also obstructs his dealings with "lesser races." However, he can get very passionate about his studies; once you engage him in a topic he's interested about, all arrogance goes flying out the window.
BRIEF Bio:
Mavus had always lived with the rest of his House, clustered on the eastern coast of Vvardenfel. He spent most of his early years studying with a minor house noble named Eli Saren, helping the older wizard with his projects until he finally earned enough to start growing his own Telvanni tower. Mavus remains, to this day, a minor Telvanni wizard, with only five retainers to speak of.
In truth, he signed up for this mission because he'd heard rumors among the other Telvanni about what Rerim has accomplished. Mavis is, put simply, curious about these Dwemer-like clockwork objects the rumors speak of. He wants to find out more... and perhaps learn how ot harness the technology for himself. Not that he's going to tell his companions that.
Ambrose51
Name: Orson Ashcroft
Race: Breton
Gender: Male
Age: 37
Sign: The Lord
Legion Rank: Knight Bachelor
Class name: Legion Agent
Class skills: Destruction, Blade, Heavy Armor, Tracking, Poisons, Interrogations, Hand-to-Hand
Class description: A Legion Agent is the right hand of any powerful member of the Imperial Legion. They take high profile missions that no ordinary soldier could be expected to survive, but unlike the Blades, they serve the Elder Council and serve in the open, rather than in the shadows as spies. This makes them obvious targets, and their causality rate is usually high. It takes a special kind of person to be an Agent, and they are not to be crossed.
Physical Description: He has light brown hair that is slicked back, with a small portion hanging forward over his right eye. His eyes are equally brown, and have dark bags underneath. He had a semi-thick beard and gaunt cheeks. He's fairly muscular, as his position in the Legion would suggest, and is more than capable of some heavy lifting if need be, but presents that aura of nobility that would make people assume he would never sink that low. He has a thin, faded scar on his right cheek and another crossing his abdomen, which is not faded. Overall, he looked to be a very serious and driven man, not one to joke with.
Mental Description: Orson often acts like a man possessed. He was follow any order, no matter what it is, to the letter. He acts only with a singular purpose in mind, and while he is more than capable of deception, he will only do so to help accomplish his mission. Despite his rank, he is not a particularly effective leader, preferring to take orders rather than give them. That said, in times of crises, he is perfectly capable of taking charge.
If necessary, he will not hesitate to give his life or the lives of others for the mission and the overarching objective. Anything that gets in the way of that has no chance of living in his eyes. He's extremely cold and unfriendly for the most part, though those that have served for long periods of time know him better than most, and he may act almost friendly with them in times of ease. Once danger becomes apparent however, all pretenses of friendliness drop, and he becomes nothing more than another soldier in the crowd.
He feels that he has no time for relaxation, and is so driven is his objectives that he may go without sleep for days at a time while he works. Any attempts at helping him with this issue is usually met with passive hostility, which is to say that he won't physically lash out for interruptions.
Armor/Clothing: He has a special set of Legion armor from Morrowind, rather than the type commonly used in Cyrodiil. It was a gift from his wife, who was the daughter of a rich merchant. It's a set of silver armor, or rather would could be made from silver. The helmet and cuirass, specifically. The rest is a polished steel, though still of the Morrowind variety. The armor isn't terribly practical, and while being slightly lighter, it's also more fragile than the standard armor, and can't withstand significant force as well as steel.
Underneath it is a regular tunic and pants, both a light blue. It shows beneath his armor in places, giving it a bit more color than the Legionnaire standard of a dull gray. This tends to make him stand out.
Weapons: Similar to his armor, his sword is silver and made specially in Morrowind. The sword is a point of curiosity to most Legionnaires around him, as it's far from typical. The scimitar is kept sharp at all times, and has seen heavy use by Orson over the years.
Miscellaneous Possessions: He carries three powerful healing potions on his belt, and one vial that is a poison, but looks identical to the potions. In addition, he has a book he carries around inside his tunic. Some believe it to be a diary, but Orson is the only one that knows the contents.
Miscellaneous Information: Orson fears very little, but has recurring nightmares every night that plague his sleep. One thing he is terrified of is the undead, specifically zombies, due to an unfortunate incident. He also refused to eat cheese, and becomes paranoid around large birds.
Bio: Orson grew up in the Imperial City and enlisted in the Legion as soon as he came of age. He didn't rise through the ranks very fast at first, and suffered five years as a trooper before meeting a man named Lucius and receiving a promotion alongside him after a daring feat of valor. He refuses to talk about said feat. Several years after the promotion found him married to a young woman named Monica, whom he loved dearly. She was the gem of his life, and he was obsessed, bordering on paranoid with her safety.
His paranoia was proved justified in the worst way when, after finishing a particular mission with Lucius, Monica was assassinated. Someone had shot a crossbow at him, but missed and hit her instead. Though not killed by the shot, the poison on the tip insured a long and painful death. Orson was sent spiraling into a deep depression, barely registering what was going on around him.
He eventually recovered, after the death of Lucius, but was never the same again. He radiated a sense of danger, and everyone was careful to avoid him, fearful that he might snap. He is often sent on missions with high death rates, as he has little value for his own life, but still maintains a fierce sense of loyalty. He's the personal hand of a specific commander, who sent him to board a boat in Morrowind...
Now remember folks. You dont have to send me the sheets. Just post them up here and if theres something I do not like , I will ask for you to change it. Remember, your one of Tamriels elite so full sets of Daedric arent really a problem if you have a good story to go with it. Just dont go to overboard. You will still be challenged on the island, and you will still die if you run around acting the fool.
I will not have a character, rather...I will be posting as a "narrator" for the story. This will ( hopefully ) make it funner for everyone, adding an element of uncertainty to the RP. I may also PM you with happenings to your character EG. a weapon you may find or a mortal wound you may suffer :D
Right now the ship is nearing ClockHeart Island. You can see it in the distance, but its not until the official RP thread that you arrive there. In the mean time, post up your sheets and feel free to walk around the small vessel and talk to other peoples characters. Plan ahead, and good luck!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Ocean is suprisingly calm, as the weather has been decidedly treacherous over the course of the last few days. A relief to be sure, as the ship would surely be dashed upon the rocks along Clockheart's coast if the seas were as choppy as they were on Morndas. For now, the ship sways calming in the late afternoon breeze. The sky is cloudless and orange as the sun begins to fall...and ClockHeart Island can be seen in the far distance.
Already the smell of smoke fills the air. The heavy, metallic sound of pumping generators can be heard in the distance. It is a strange sound to be heard, and stands in complete contrast to the natural and smooth sound of the rippling waves. There is an air of uncertainty amongst the crew members aboard unmarked and unnamed ship. No one knows what obstacles lies ahead, but by the sound and smell of things...its bound to be dangerous.
The Island itself looks menacing with the sun behind it. Large black steel towers can be spotted along the islands cliffy coastal region, casting a shadow across the blue ocean. Small square windows can be seen on these towers, glowing yellow inside. Thick black smog rises into the windless air, and a manner of strange bat-like creatures can be seen circling the sky like Vultures anticipating the kill. A foreboding warning of things to come. The vast amount of machinery to be seen stands in somewhat contrast to the natural, tropical look of the isle. It's as if Rerims industrialism has tainted what was once a natural paradise.
You decide now is as good a time as any to socialise with your fellow mercs, as you know that once you reach Clockheart, there will be little time for idle pvssyr. The Molarerim could already be finished....or its production might not of even started yet. But better safe then sorry.
I shall keep a spot in reserve should you find the time to join. 
Any questions or input are welcome. 
it was either him or mephala...Im not really too lore orientated, so if you dont mind me taking a few artistic liberties , im sure you might find something in this RP you may enjoy. Im not going to rewrite original TES history or anything like that though.
