Woops, it appears that I put this as my first RP, infact, it's not. But it is my first Rp in a long time.

PM ALL CHARACTER SHEETS TO ME AND AWAIT CONFORMATION BEFORE YOU POST IN THIS THREAD. kthx

The Beginning :-
The beginning is always delicate, the balance of fate and time hang from the starting threads of life. It is said that thousands of tiny moments make up a beginning; but it is in fact a single decision that can create life or begin a series of events which not only destroy life, but everything life can touch and feel.

A beginning is always delicate, Good and Chaos swing constantly in the pendulum of life, and only man can choose which.

The Beginning
It was cold, far too cold for the Dark Elf as he grimly scanned the bloody scene in front of him. He managed to make out the silhouettes of legionnaires; fighting in the distance and yet the heavy snow made it difficult to tell, all he knew was that it was going well. He withdrew his sword from the dead body on the ground, the sound of slicing flesh was muffled by the wind and the shouts of fear and pain.

The elf walked towards the nearest silhouette, the body was arched forward and looked almost inhuman. The red eyed warrior picked up the pace, focusing on his new target. He hadn't made more then 3 paces before the silhouette saw him coming and charged, it's body leaping forward with an almost, unnatural movement. It raised it's axe but it's opponent had already thrust his longsword into the barbarians chest. The body twitched and the mouth gurgled but life still showed in the eyes. They turned; horrified and stared at the Dark Elf, it's arm's had gone limp and it stood almost lifelessly. The dark elf gripped the blade tighter and grinned, "Remember my name when you pass on into the next life. Remember the name Xerca, for you would do well to flee when you hear it, for not even the gods can protect you in hell!" the voice called and ripped the blade out of the chest before swinging it around to cut off the head.

With the rush of the kill, Xerca turned around and charged towards the nearest pray, two of the barbarians clashing with a fellow legionnaire, their clubs and axes battering against the troopers' armour and shield. Xerca roared in anger and swung ferociously; slicing the arm off of one of the attackers giving the legionnaire time to shove his own blade into the head. The body fell back covering the snow with blood and now the warriors advanced upon the untrained barbarian. It roared angrily and jumped at Xerca who was propelled to the ground, his helmet skimmed away, revealing short, wavy grey hair.

The thing punched at Xerca and hit him square in the face but soon fell back as a knife became embedded deep into the barbarians thigh. It screamed in terror as the blade was twisted and pulled away only to be shoved deep into its throat. Xerca heaved and pushed the dying body off of him and stood up. He searched for his blade and found it underneath a body of one of the fallen. The sound of battle had almost been crushed and Xerca could finally see through the snow. He grimaced as he noticed he had taken very few casualties while the ambush had lost all 30 odd warriors.

The snow of solstheim had been stained blood red by treachery and Xerca would have his revenge.

----

This Roleplay takes place 8 years after the Oblivion Crisis, signs of the struggle still show, but for the most part, Tamriel has been rebuilt. Ocato Firsthold claimed right to the Throne and the Imperial Legion is stronger then ever with the unwavering support of courage it gained during the crisis. It wasn't until 2 years ago; when a great tribal leader in Solsthiem contacted Ocato, stating that he wanted to unite the tribes and join the Imperial Empire.

Instantly; the emperor agreed, he knew of the rumours of the Nords in Solstheim, of how they could tame even the most fiercest of enemies and that their leader was a giant who could cleave men with his fists. Of course, most of the speculation was wrong, but they were still a fearsome opponent with whom their plans went ahead of schedule.

The garrison at Solstheim was heavily reinforced and turned into a large city of trade and commerce; of war and battle. The Garrison still retains it's original name, with the old fort at the very center of the city.

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You play as a legionnaire in Xerca's unit. You were patrolling the wastes of Solstheim when you were ambushed by Nordic barbarians of a peculiar nature. You won the bloody battle and now Xerca; your Captain calls for a gathering. The bitterness of the blizzard digs deep into your skin while your mind is troubled by the betrayal.

---

PM ALL CHARACTER SHEETS TO ME AND AWAIT CONFORMATION BEFORE YOU POST IN THIS THREAD. kthx

Name:
Alias/Nickname:
Species:
Gender:
Age:

Physical Description:

Height:
Skin Tone:
Hair Colour:
Eye Colour:
Physique:

Skills and Equipment:

Proficiencies: (What are you good at?)
Deficiencies: (What aren't you goot at?)
Weapon(s): (At the beginning of the RP, you are equipped with standard issue legionnaire weapons: shortsword/longsword/broadsword/spear/bow)
Armor: (At the beginning of the RP, you are in either full light legionnaire armour, or heavy.)
Clothing (Optional):
Miscellaneous:

Mental Description:

Short Bio:

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RULES!!

#1 - Be cool - Don't start getting ratty at people in this RP, if you've got a problem, come to me, half the time if you go to the person you have a problem with. It'll end messy.
#2 - Uber lolz - Uber is relative, we all know that. But there's a line, and I'll tell you if you've crossed it in the character sheet and I'll be very blunt with you in the RP. Of course, i too am human and so thus I'll let you off occasionally. =F
#3 - Romance~ - Oooh ehh! Romance; I understand that you probably think it'd be pretty epic to make out with every female in the RP; and make it as juicy as possible, but I'll just tell you to clean it up. (Right after I've saved the posts! )
#4 - Common Sense - Something, most of us (myself included) have very little of, and so for that reason, we should just pool our common sense together and really try to work it. Don't speed up time, don't character control, don't be an idiot and you'll be fine, anything else; Contact me.
#5 - For everything i've missed - Don't doo eeet!

Mine

Name: Xerca
Alias/Nickname: Captain Xerca or Captain
Species: Dunmer (Dark Elf)
Gender: Male
Age: 203 (looks around 30-40)

Physical Description: A well built warrior with strong muscles, he has gaunt features due to long nights in the freezing cold and his skin is dry and rough. He's around average height for a dunmer, and he wears a full facial tribal tattoo of black ink that travels across his face like a spiderweb. He has a fearsome look about him that brings courage to his allies and dread to his foes.

Height: 6'1"
Skin Tone: Dark Grey
Hair Colour: Short and wavey, dark grey hair.
Eye Colour: Ruby Red.
Physique: He has a warriors body, strong leg and arm muscles aswell as a firm chest, he has very little fat on him and looks abnormally thin due to living off military rations for most of his life.


Proficiencies: Long Blade, Melee, Athletics and block would be the main traits of Xerca
Deficiencies: The magical arts, archery and anything that isn't combat related.
Weapon(s): Fine Imperial Longsword and Dagger.
Armor: Templar Heavy Armour.
Clothing (Optional): Padded leather vest and thick hide trousers. He also carries with him thick fur boots and well worn hide gloves. He is occasionally seen wearing a heavy black trenchcoat that covers him from the tip of his ears to the bottom of his ankles.
Miscellaneous: He carries with him a compass, maps, septims, a journal and all his spare clothes in a backpack.


Mental Description: Xerca's mind has slowly been twisted by combat, his mind seems to wonder often when he's not slaying beasts and he gets bored quickly. He has never truly loved, he has experienced women, but has never loved them; not due to having no heart for them, but because he has never found one that has taken him completely by surprise. He is a dangerous man to cross, and can be very trustworthy, having a deep belief in honour and the Empire. He is very rarely seen smiling, and often has a grim, determined face upon his brow; it is only with his friends that he will smile and maybe make a joke or two.

Short Bio:

Xerca was born in relative comfort, he attended school, and quickly learnt how to wield a blade as his father did for house Hlaalu. When he was 10, his family was betrayed by the house Hlaalu; his father had been suspected of treason and they had fled to Tamriel where they found relative safety. Xerca's mother had eventually returned to Vvardenfell and Xerca's father found work in the form of the fighters
guild and had a great many girlfriends and it wasn't until Xerca was able to sign up for the Legion that he was
free of his father. For no matter how great a warrior he was; he never cared much for Xerca, always living in the
moment of the kill and finding his son if anything.. A bore.

Xerca raised through the ranks of the legion, gaining respect and friends as he went, his lack of caring for both
life and death meant he could carry orders swiftly and accuratly and was favoured by his ranking officers. Soon
after Xerca had reached Captain, he began to feel very much how he believed his father had felt.. He wanted more then what he had; he needed new things, new situations around him otherwise he became broody and bored. He had almost jumped for joy when they relieved him of his stay at Fort Moonmoth in Vvardenfell and sent him to Solstheim where he joined a new unit of warriors.

William III's

Name: Alberon Lambert
Alias/Nickname:
Species: Breton
Gender: Male
Age: 26
Physical Description: Not a very large man, at least in muscle though being a mage it adds nothing to his fighting ability.
Pale, dark haired and a strange way of thinking Alberon fits in with the 'classic' idea of what makes a Breton a Breton.
Badly scarred fingers on His right hand, five cm (2 inch) scar that reaches from the right left side of His mouth.
Slightly curly dark brown hair that at it's longest point reaches His chin

Height: 6' 2"
Skin Tone: Pale
Hair Colour: Dark Brown
Eye Colour: Blue on the outside, fades to yellow-green in the centre, flecked with yellow
Physique: skinny and lanky

Skills and Equipment

Proficiencies: Alteration, Restoration, Mystysism, all magic skill really, nut those are His preferences
Deficiencies: Most physical activities, exept swimming
Weapon(s): Shortsword and spear
Armor: Light legion armour
Clothing (Optional): Dark red cloak with broze studs
Miscellaneous: Journal, medic supplies, basic alchemy gear, spell book all in a backpack.

Mental Description: Generally happy and quick with a joke or smile, though He can change between that and being depressed and angry so quickly that it's almost certainly a mental problem. Considered 'easy' to the opposite gender.

Short Bio: Raised in Anvil along with his older Sister, His lif for the most part was uneventful. Until the Oblivion invasion, whilst none of His family died as a result, His fathers business was destroyed, the school where His Mother taught was razed to the ground, and His sister was kidnapped in the ensuing chaos and sold as a slave in Sentinel. He never willingly joined the Legion, but was drafted as a battlemage from the University where He was studying. He had a few years in relative comfort protecting high level emisarries but recently got transferred to Solstheim.

RavenVW's

Name: Gwinas
Alias/Nickname: -
Species: Bosmer
Gender: Male
Age: 27

Physical Description: Gwinas has a very typical 'wood elf' face, with neck long brown hair, brown eyes and long pointed ears. His eyebrows are fine and almost feminine, while his nose too is rather straight and pointed. He only has one scare on his face, but it stretches from his eyebrow to near his ear, and is unfortunately rather unappealing.

Height: 5'10
Skin Tone: Slightly tanned.
Hair Colour: Brown
Eye Colour:Brown
Physique: Rather large for a Bosmer (not in height, but in physique) Gwinas has a thick and muscular build, with broad shoulders and a short neck. This physique makes him rather strong too, though not in an unusual way.

Skills and Equipment:

Proficiencies: Tracking, Blade, Athletics, Throwing, Heavy/Medium Armour.
Deficiencies: Any form of Magic, however basic; sneaking/stealing.
Weapon(s): Legionnaire Broadsword, no shield.
Armor: Heavy Legionnaire Armour.
Clothing (Optional): -
Miscellaneous: Unlike many Bosmer, doesn't follow the Green Pact.

Mental Description: Gwinas, while being pleasant to speak to most of the time, can get aggressive over small things. He isn't exactly booksmart, and often has a somewhat hard time understanding what other people are saying, and while this isn't the cause of his aggression when people mock him for it he gets violent and this has made him all through his life more aggressive as a result. He is most of the time sincere, and means well, but he never got a good education as a child, leading to his forgetful and almost child-like demeanour.

Short Bio: Gwinas was kicked in the head by a horse at a very early age, as a result he was partially brain damaged as a child, and while he has almost fully recovered at his current age, he nonetheless didn't get even a simple education. He can't do sums, he can't write, all he can do is draw, basically. Fortunately for him though, he has always been rather strong, and with the help of several friends managed to learn enough about Legionnaire etiquette and swordplay to be allowed into the Legion. While not the best swordsman, he is strong, and is getting better and better at it - he is a good soldier, and will do anything his commander says without doubt, which overcomes his faults in regards to being a soldier.

Canzeri

Name: Lucius Cornelius Sulla Felix
Alias/Nickname: Sulla or The "Fox-Lion"
Species:imperial
Gender:male
Age:34

Physical Description: Sulla is not as physically endowed as most men, but he is suprisingly strong for his size. His clean shaven face and well combed hair show he is a clean and well-kept person. Even so, he would gladly throw this all away to make sure he is doing well in battle.

Height: 5 feet 10 inches
Skin Tone: a tad lighter than most imperials
Hair Colour: blond with a slight brown hue(dirty blond) that goes down to his neck
Eye Colour:hazel
Physique: is not as well built as most legionnaires

Skills and Equipment:

Proficiencies: blade, heavy armor, block, speechcraft, mercantile
Deficiencies: magic, hand to hand, most steath skills
Weapon(s): silver longsword
Armor: full legion armor and shield
Clothing (Optional):a black burgandy suit for parties and diplomatic missions
Miscellaneous: a diamond-ebony ring

Mental Description: He is known as the "Fox-Lion" because of his courage and cunning. He prefers to not fight, but he is not above having someone else do it for him. He wants to rise through the ranks to gain wealth and power, and he will do almost anything for a promotion. He is sometimes manipulative as well as uncaring for the people he uses.

Short Bio: Born into a noble family, he grew up believing he had no troubles to worry about. But one day his father told him about how their wealth was fading, and how the family would soon run out of money. When he was 19, his father tried to get Sulla to move to Bravil with the family since they had no money, but he refused. Instead Sulla joined the legion, hoping that his skill with a sword and his silver tongue would give him the fortune he desires.

Jarod Kayne's

Name: Black-Eye
Alias/Nickname: Blake
Species: Argonian
Gender: Male
Age: 25

Physical Description: Has red and orange scales all over his body, also a black colored area around his right eye. Long dark red spines on head.

Height: 6'3
Skin Tone: Red + Orangy
Hair Colour: Dark red
Eye Colour: Orange
Physique: Not very muscular in the arms or upper torso, but is well muscled in the legs.

Skills and Equipment

Proficiencies: Marksmen, Athletics, Acrobatics, Restoration, Tracking
Deficiencies: Close Quarter Combat, Having to deal with more then one foe alone
Weapon(s): Standard-Issue Bow + Arrows, Standard Issue Shortsword
Armor: Light Legionnaire Armor
Clothing: Green Long-Sleeve shirt, brown trousers, fur Boots
Miscellaneous: Some gold, food, maps, and a necklace.

Mental Description: Calm is most situations, has a bizarre sense of humor, has a thing for cheese.

Short Bio: At his early ages, Blake was a Hunter. He worked at a local farm in Skingrad to help kill bobcats, bears, and other predators trying to kill the livestock. Over the years, he had become a master in Archery and Tracking, so the Imperial Legion took him in. He learned to use a blade, but is not very skilled with it, as well as that, his torso and arms developed slightly less muscle then a normal person, which tampered with his blade-skills. His legs on the other hand, were very muscular, and enabled him to move fast. He was also taught Basic Restoration Skills.

W00tz's

Name: Ilmiril
Alias/Nickname: N/A
Species: Altmer
Gender: Male
Apparent Age: 40-50 ish.
Actual Age : (How does one keep track after so many years?)


Height: 6'7
Skin Tone: Golden/Slightly Pale
Hair Colour: White Blonde
Eye Colour: Pale Icy Blue.
Physique: Tall and Slender, Toned muscles.

Skills and Equipment: Magicka Potions, Ink and quill, parchment, Preserved food, icepick.

Proficiencies: Destruction, Restoration, Mysticism, Illusion, Alteration, Blade, Light Armor, Agility.
Deficiencies: Archery, Heavy Armor, Blunt.
Weapon(s): Elven Dagger strapped to the small of his back, Elven Shortsword sheathed at his side. Small weak stave inside robe.
Armor: A few bits of padding, Leather Bracers.
Clothing (Optional): Hooded Light Robe with Gold Trimmings and lined with fur for warmth. Matching shoes with specialised padding for good foot support.
Miscellaneous: Legion Crest on Shoulder padding.

Mental Description: Feels a sense of duty for Summerset Isles, Can be the "Typical" Altmer.

Short Bio: Born to a Noble Family of Landowners in Alinor, Ilmiril remained in the Isles for years, learning and training in all the cities.
Ilmiril then boarded a trading ship owned by his family, headed for Anvil. Ilmiril had since traversed Tamriel, to all the provinces, save for the lands of the Argonians, and not staying in Morrowind and Elsewyr for long. He had just finished studying with a few mages in the Arcane University, ready to head back to his homeland when he recieved word he was to travel to the Nord lands to travel with an Imperial Contingent.

Shadow666's

Name: Aerin Sylori
Alias/Nickname: Hawk
Species: Imperial
Gender: F
Age: 25
Birthsign: The Shadow

Physical Description:

http://i22.photobucket.com/albums/b334/shadow620/ScreenShot6.jpg http://i22.photobucket.com/albums/b334/shadow620/ScreenShot5.jpg

Height: 1.8 m
Skin Tone: average
Hair Colour: ruby red
Eye Colour: emerald green
Physique: Aerin is of a slim build, and despite having a slight athletic build, was never strong enough to wear heavy armour or do much leavy lifting. But her slim build enabled her to be faster and more agile and hence harder to hit and made her an excellant scout.

Skills and Equipment:

Proficiencies: Marksman, blade, light armor, athletics, sneak, security, acrobatics.
Deficiencies: most heavy armour/weaponry and every other magical skill.
Weapon(s): Imperial steel shortsword, Imperial Steel bow
Armor: light legionnaire armour (scouts armour)
Clothing (Optional): black pants, white shirt.
Miscellaneous: 150 Imperial Steel Arrows, a couple restore health potions.

Mental Description: Aerin is a young woman, who is fairly intelligent for her upbringing. because of her past, she is fairly anti-social to others only speaking to them when she was spoken to, or when an order was given to her by a superior. Has a tomboyish attitude imprinted onto her from her upbringing on the streets, and so has very few feminine aspects about her other than her features. she is fiesty in nature especially when men from the legion believe that she is entertainment, which they learn a few seconds later is something they should not have thought.

Aerin is also terrified of fire, becuase of her house burning to the ground with her still inside at the time.

Short Bio:

Born within relative comfort in the imperial city, Aerin would not know that by the time she turned eight her life would be shaken to its very core. Up until that point she lived with her parents, her father a legionaire and her mother a shopkeeper. As they lived in the store while her father lived at the barracks, they were unprepared for a break in. The men, however, didn't seem to be interested in the good, but the mother and daughter instead. Being born under the shadow, Aerin dissappeared often, and most of the time unconsciously especially when she was scared.

Because of this she became invisible as she watched her mother get taken away. Apparently these men worked for a crime boss who wanted to send a message to her father who was the garrionsed captain for the district, and he was causing them trouble. As they didn't find Aerin however, the men decided to burn the building to the ground, with the girl inside. As the flames burned the building, Aerin could not move. And it was not until her father came in to find her was she able to get the courage to move. But all was for naught as her father got them to a window and tried to get her out as the building collapsed. Aerin fell from the window, and her father crushed beneath the pillars.

WIthout any word of the fate of her mother, and with neither parent to be there for her the Imperial girl had nowhere to go, and not a clue of how to survive on her own. But she had been taken in by the thieves guild when they saw the girl begging on the streets. Now with a 'family' to look after her, she was able to scrounge a bit of money for some books. She loved to read, and it helped her escape her current predicament she was in.

Being brought up by thieves now, she was able to learn the skills required to be stealthy, and also to survive and defend herself.

When the oblivion crisis was upon Tamriel, Aerin was 17. The flames that errupted from the gates reminded her of her home, and as always she dissappeared. But seeing some legion men in danger reminding her of her father she did something she had never done before.. she took out her blade and dispatched a dremora archer that had the legion pinned down, with a few men that seemed important. Taking the Dremora's bow in her hand, she continued to help the men reach their destination.

A short time after the Crisis was over, one of the Legionaire officers who she had helped had found her after some searching. Knowing about her father and how he had helped serve the city before his death, offered to train Aerin to be a scout within the legion. He was impressed with her abilities, and wanted to make sure that the Imperial girl did not spend the rest of her life on the streets, and on the wrong side of the law.

And so for the next 7 and a half years Aerin served with the legion, mostly in scouting parties, and as a messenger. When her name was called to go to the icy island of solstheium she was thrilled that her skills were recognised. She would finally be able to prove to herself that she would keep her father's memory alive by doing her Providence proud.

Arathorn's

Name: Kai.
Gender: Male.
Species: Human
Race: Imperial.
Birthsign: The Steed.
Age: 23.

General appearance: Strong, tall and powerful, muscles emanate from under his armour. He has a dark shade of olive skin; with stubble dominating the lower half of his face. He has piercing blue eyes that seem on contact to bore into you. Scars, something Kai certainly doesn’t lack, fierce battles and epic fights have played there part on the young mans hardened body, and the reminder of each encounter lay embedded into his rough skin. His hair is a neatly styled and well kept ponytail with a side fringe.

Height: At 5ft 11" he is not overly tall. But due to this he is more agile and fast than most other Imperials.

Weight: 170lbs, Not heavy but not light, his muscle causing the extra weight, however he is still quick and acrobatic.

Skills: Kai is greatly suited to close assassinations and mortal combat fights, using his athletic, well toned body to dodge and avoid as well as his acrobatic ability to manoeuvre himself into an advantaged position against his enemies. With no magical or weaponry aid, the Martial Artist focuses on harnessing his power to aid him in winning a fight, harnessing the body to become the ultimate battle machine. Though the Martial Arts often focus on self discipline and control when fighting, Kai's interests are far from controlled.

Disadvantages: Kai is overconfident and lacks judgement of when something is out of line or unfair, he often has to be calmed by the people around him. Kai also has a tendency not to favour the good guys, something necessary when working close with the Legion, and instead often puts himself first.

Armour: A thick leather robe, crimson, the colour of blood, torn and ripped from various encounters. His favourite item of clothing is his face mask, a thin sheet of crimson material that covers up his face from his lower neck to the bridge of his nose, leaving only his cold blue eyes the only feature uncovered.

Weapons: Kai relies on agility his only weapon being a long steel wristblade that shoots from his gauntlet, other than this he uses mainly what he was blessed with at birth, Kai uses his arms and legs to inflict damage onto his opponents with lashing kicks and rapid punches he is still a worthy adversary to even a well armed Nord.

Miscellaneous Gear: Kai carries with him at all times a map of the region he may be in, usually bought from the local inn, as well as a few herbs and plants he has collected on the route to any town, though not a fan of Alchemy, he is well aware of the money it brings. He will also often carry a small amount of gold.

Personality: Over the many years, shut off from the world, Kai has become cold as frozen steel, rarely joyful and always very serious, he revels fighting, enjoys conflict and his very life depends on the spilling of blood. Winding up anyone he can, turning them against him, so that he can fight. Kai loves blood, though he is not a Vampire, he loves to kill and he does it well, precise and accurate, Kai never misses an opportunity to assassinate anyone. Kai will eliminate anyone that does a wrong doing towards him, using any means possible to assassinate his target. Headstrong and confident, Kai is not invincible, something he claims himself to be, and although it is not his intention he is often viewed to be boasting. Kai loves a challenge, taking pleasure in someone backing him into a corner and having to fight his way out, wanting the more powerful enemy to step up their game, so that he can try to overcome them, despite their superiority. He takes much pleasure in pain and injury, claiming that sometimes the scars themselves are the lessons of life left permanently on your mind, and that you have not truly won a fight if the enemy cannot do as much as lay a cut in your flesh.

Bio: Born into a long line of trained Martial Arts experts, he is certainly no beginner on the subject. Though as time went on and he grew older, he began to turn against the normal code, seemingly forgetting the guidelines of discipline and control when fighting. He was, not long after his 13th birthday, exiled from the guild, he had shown extreme talent and it was a hard decision, but the injuries of the other guild members were no price to pay for such uncontrolled violence. For years he lived, training himself, fighting beasts and bandits in the wild. By no means was he a good man, but the within the bloodthirsty, came a distorted vision of the world, killing only for fun, and taking pleasure in any form of combat. The cave was, one day, overrun with men seeking hiding from the Imperial Guard, he found the guard, and helped them to fight through the caves, promised of a large reward. And from that day forth he has fought alongside the men of Justice, travelling with them to the region of Frost to serve with the guard.

HK-47's

Name: Indoril Vyrn Relothi
Species: Dunmer
Gender: Male
Age: 319

Physical Description: Vyrn Relothi has handsome, slightly aged features set around intense eyes of red fire. http://i129.photobucket.com/albums/p204/HK-50/Vyrn1.jpg

Height: 6'3"
Skin Tone: Ash gray
Hair Colour: A mane of black hair, swept back with a thick braid on each sideburn
Eye Colour: Crimson
Physique: Vyrn is athletic and fit for his age, though not nearly as active and energetic as he once was. Tall and slender, Vyrn sometimes appears incongrously like an old Dunmer man.

Skills and Equipment:

Proficiencies: Vyrn Relothi is a skilled master of deception. He spins lies upon halftruths like a professional. His skill with a blade is only mediocre, but makes up for it with his mastery of Destruction magick. As a Dunmeri spellsword, Vyrn used to be quite active in his younger years, but no longer relies on brute strength to achieve his goals in combat, but rather his cunning and his magick.
Deficiencies: Vyrn Relothi is old. By human standards, he would physically be in his sixties or seventies, and this has made him physically weak, although centuries of fighting have hardened his mind and body.
Weapon(s): Vyrn carries a glass longsword as a weapon. Often, he uses his mastery of Destruction to set the blade aflame temporarily, giving him the advantage over his enemies he needs to compensate for his age.
Armor: Rarely will Vyrn wear his armor, but when he does, he wears an old suit of Nordic armor based on a Daedric design. The armor, originally designed for ceremonial Daedric cultist purposes, is still relatively functional.
Clothing (Optional): Vyrn wears cloaks and garments of the finest silks and weaves, reflecting his supposed fortune. In Solstheim, Vyrn wears a black shirt and pants with gold livery in a vaguely military cut, with a fur-lined cloak.
Miscellaneous: Vyrn carries his personal autobiography, which he has been in the process of writing and contains every detail and secret of his life. A mysterious red jewel the size of a fist with Daedric engravings is his most prized possession. He also carries a small sack of gold drakes.

Mental Description: Indoril Vyrn Relothi is contemptuous, arrogant, aristocratic and very deceptive. His generally hostile and racist nature is hidden behind a mask of curtesy and politeness, one that very few see through unless he gets angry enough to drop the charade.


Short Bio: Indoril Vyrn Relothi was born in Llolanthis Heights, in eastern Morrowind, on the mainland. Born the son of Rathis Relothi, a leading member of House Indoril and the Ordinators of Morrowind, Vyrn was always predestined to live a life with little wants or needs. He was raised as a nobleman; a Dunmer gentleman of the finest calibur and sophistication.

Vyrn did not always adhere to his family's beliefs, however. Despite House Indoril's heavy involvement with Morrowind's judicial system, Vyrn disagreed with his parents beliefs in the Tribunal, and increasing years found him dabbling in Daedra worship. A worshiper of Mephala, the Webspinner, Vyrn quickly learned to use his speech tutoring to spin webs of deceipt to manipulate things to work his way.

As decades passed, Vyrn returned to his parents, seeming to repent of his Daedra worship and return to the worship of ALMSIVI, the Tribunal, but it was only cunning lip service. Vyrn had focused on what he wanted, and what he wanted was his wealthy parent's estate.

Another ten years passed, and throughout that time Vyrn spent the time to trick his father into a seemingly close relationship, while all the while poisoning him ever so slowly. It took years, and Rathis Relothi's health decline seemed perfectly natural as he delegated more and more to his son, Vyrn. At the age of sixty-four, Vyrn's father passed away of seemingly natural causes, leaving the entirety of his estate to his only son, Vyrn Relothi.

Established as an Indoril noble, Vyrn slowly began the patient game of extending his tendrils of influence through careful manipulation. The application of funds to one company as opposed to another, the mysterious disappearance of an important document or person... the list of Vyrn's manipulations only grew and grew.

In his spare time, Vyrn started taking up the practice of magick. Rather than work with Illusion magick, as so many followers of Mephala did, Vyrn instead chose to learn Destruction spells; a common pasttime in a Telvanni ruled city.

After two hundred years of building his estate, Vyrn came into possession of a mysterious Daedric artifact. The red orb plagued him with its mysteries, but no scholar he could contact in all of Tamriel could give him any answers as to its purpose or origin. It was therefore a surprise when an adventurer Vyrn came into contact with informed him that he'd seen similar markings among the snowy forests of Solstheim.

Having been one of the major investors in the construction of the new town Frostmoth, Vyrn found it relatively easy to secure transport, first by carraige, and then by boat. To the north-west, to Solstheim, ignorant of the role he was to play in that island's history.

The-Nord's

Name: Derlin Sfentir
Alias/Nickname: Limey Bastard
Species: Imperial/Nordic
Gender: Male
Age: 29

Physical Description: Derlin is incredibly physically fit, he's by no means large, but his muscles are toned to the fullest extent of their potential from head to toe. He has messy, shoulder length, blond hair that has natural red highlights, which is almost always kept out of his face by an ornamental leather headband. His face is well shapen, he's considered quite handsome by the feminine crowd, although he rarely shaves, usually wearing a thick stubble. He has several scars on his body, the only notable one on his right forearm, which is covered up with a tattoo of nordic swirls.

Height: 6'0"
Skin Tone: Medium light, it's lightened slightly by his Nordic genes.
Hair Colour: Blonde with red highlights
Eye Colour: Cobalt blue which strangely appears to contain speckles of red.
Physique: Very well built, toned to the extreme

Skills and Equipment:

Proficiencies: Derlin's fighting style is unique to say the least, he attacks directly while his entire defense is based more upon dodging incoming strikes as opposed to blocking them, though he parries regularly in order to get a foothold in combat (think Brad Pitt in Troy). He is incredibly skilled with a blade, and prefers to wear light armor, he has some skill with a bow, but it's quite limited. Given his fighting style and physique, he is incredibly agile, fairly fast and strong.
Deficiencies: All arts relating to the use of Magicka, he has tried and failed numerous times to use Magicka, it's something that he seems simply unable to accomplish. Derlin is also rather incapable of using heavy weapons, as it conflicts entirely with the way he fights.
Weapon(s): A falchion which he keeps sheathed on his back, resembling http://i.xanga.com/Dexargile/Dex%20Scimitar.jpg. And a small curved dagger which he wears on his left hip.
Armor: Derlin wears partial light mithril armor which has a reddish hue, his whole left arm is armored, as well as his left leg and hip, his right side is garbed in solid, intricate leather armor, which gives him increased flexibility during combat.
Clothing (Optional): When not wearing his armor he is usually seen wearing descent red, tan and brown apparel which compliments his appearance.
Miscellaneous: He keeps a flask with mead at his right side always, as well as some sweets hidden in a pouch and a small vial containing a somewhat strong healing potion.

Mental Description: Derlin has the wit of a jester, he constantly jokes and seems unable to take most things seriously, even going as far as joking with his enemies during battle, laughing as he dodges strikes and pointing fun at their mothers carnal activities. He has always had a problem with authority, often disregarding orders and doing whatever he believes is right, leaving it a mystery as to how he ultimately ended up in the military. His mind is solid as they come though, as much as he jokes around his perception of the world is simply amazing, though he sometimes has trouble making decisions, seeing equal value in either side.

Short Bio: Derlin was born to unknown parents and left to die at the edge of the harsh Alik'r desert where he was discovered by a tribe of nomadic redguard warriors. They took him in at the suggestion of their shaman who took the strange hints of red in his hair and eyes as a hint of his destiny to come. The blade-master of the tribe adopted him as a son and raised him on a strict regimen of flawless swordsmanship and hard work, which is a past you certainly wouldn't expect from him given his personality.

When he came of age he made the decision to leave the tribe and travel to the great city of Rihad, which was the nearest locale to where the tribe found him as a child. Upon arriving in the city he was ambushed by a group of cutthroats who tricked him into an isolated alley and ambushed him, he killed every last one of the attackers with the help of a Hammerfell military guard who had been following the group, hoping to end their criminal actions once and for all. After the fight the guard took note of his unique appearance and told him of a general who had a very similar appearance. Derlin met the general, who upon first sight he knew in the deepest part of his heart was his father, but the general shunned him and told him off. In response to this Derlin joined the Hammerfell military to spite the man who abandoned him.

Shortly after enlisting the Oblivion crisis encompassed Tamriel and he gained a reputation as a great warrior, but also as an annoyance to commanding officers everywhere. Once he managed to fight his way to a sigil stone after his entire unit had been decimated a short time after taking control of a tower adjoining the central one. Being the only survivor and having closed an Oblivion gate on his own he was granted a lieutenant position in Hammerfell's military.

When news of Cyrodil's incursions into Solstheim came to Hammerfell Derlin didn't really take note, but apparently one of the higher ups had decided they would be rid of him and sent him to Fort Frostmouth as a military liaison where he was ordered to act as an attachment to Xerca's unit.

Xerca placed his helmet over his face; the cold metal made his ears tingle slightly but it didn't last long. The Dark elf wiped his blade with a cloth and sheathed it, "FAALLL INNN!" He called out to motion for everyone to regroup. He brought out his compass and found that they had headed West during the fighting which was no real concern considering they were still; fairly close to Fort Frostmoth. We'll head there, make sure we relay the information to them. he stated with a nod.

He could see a few of his men come towards him, no doubt the rest were on the way. He shifted his weight and found that he had a slight pain in his back which had alluded him due to the battle rush.

"FAALLL INNN!" Alberon looked up from the fallen legionnaire that he had been too late to save. As he raised the hood that he replaced his helmet with,Alberon noticed that his hands were stained with the blood of the few barbarians who got past his ranged spells. After cleaning his hands Alberon downed a Magicka potion, of which he had many left, he didn't seem to be as tired after using a large amount of spells as the other mages.

As he quickly ran over to his irritable Dunmer captain Alberon made sure that his gear was all in good condition still, fortunately the Breton rarely had to feel the captain's wrath as he relied more on Magic than physical gear.

Xerca saw the battlemage come towards him, "Alberon!" he called out, "A word if you may." He finished, walking away from the troopers and out of direct earshot. Alberon was no doubt the most intelligent man in the unit, what with him having experience in magic and only intelligent people can do such things.

Xerca needed answers, the battle had confused him greatly for he deemed the Nords to be friends, and even then, he thought them at least human! These monsters fought like animals as if they were possessed by some daedric spell.

Alberon had just finished putting on some thick fur gloves when the captain called out to him "Alberon!" he called out, "A word if you may." At this the mage looked up with surprise, the captain never addressed him by name before and only talked to him when his magic was necessary.

What's he want?
I'm not sure, probably wants us to do some "crazy mage thing."
What if it is about that altmer maid before we got shipped out?
How would he know about that? Hell we barely remember it.

At this Alberon's internal monologue trailed off leaving him looking at the captain, realising that they had left the main group of soldiers

He's either asking for something or tring to kill me.
Yep, either way this is going to be painful.
Terrible pun, that was.

Blake looked across the Blood and Body strewn battlefield, he gritted his teeth and sighed angrily. Nord barbarians ambushed Blake and his unit, they hadn't done much damage, but took a lot of causalities, loosing about thirty of their warriors. He walked over to a few Legion corpses, and flipped one over on its back, he then proceeded and placed his hand on the Legionnaire's throat, checking for a pulse.

Nothing.

Blake grunted, and checked the other bodies. They had no pulses as well. He stood and moved over to the next bodies, a few Nords and a Legionnaire. He carelessly kicked over one of the Nord corpses over on its back, and began poking it suspiciously with his Steel Shortsword. When he finished, he checked the Nords pulse, then the Legionnaire's. Nothing? Come on! They cant all be dead..., Blake sighed annoyingly and moved to the last Nord, whom was already on his back with a large gash driven across his chest.. Blake took out his Shortsword again, and poked the Nord's arm. The arm jolted slightly, which caught Blake off-guard, he leaned over and checked the Nord's pulse.

It was incredibly weak, he wasn't going to live for very long in this condition. Blake put his hand on the Nords bloody chest-gash, and used a light Restoration spell. The spell would keep him alive for a while longer, but if he didn't get proper care, he would die very soon. ''Captain!'' Blake yelled out in his Argonian accent, ''We've got a straggler!''

Xerca was about to begin speaking to Alberon when he was interupted, "By the gods man! Make the bastard suffer!" He called out with a wicked grin, "For that's all they deserve." he added silently, returning his gaze to Alberon.

"What do you believe happened here? These men were not normal men, there was something evil at work here. Can you explain it?" he asked him, he figured the man could just snap his fingers and pop up an answer.

"I'll tell you what the problem is sir." Sulla said casually, "The problem is that they didn't show their true colors earlier. Then we could've killed them like the animals they seem to be before they did this."

Sulla gave a small chuckle at his own comment and walked towards his captain. "These barbarians will think twice before pulling another stunt like this. They should have known not to act against their betters. Their ignorance cost them their lives, as well as a few of ours. I would recommend our mage friend here come up with a spell to either civilize these brutes or wipe them from the face of Tamriel."

While he was walking he stumbled over a dead Nord, and with a grin he crouched and began searching the corpse for any valuables. "Got something good here!" he exclaimed as he pulled out a small satchel, "I hope there's something good in here!"

He opened the small bag and gave a small chuckle of joy as he pulled out a couple of small emeralds. "Looks like our friend here was one lucky Nord!" he said happily as he stood back up, "I'm willing to share this one time, but only this one time. Want one my dear Captain?"

"By the gods man! Make the bastard suffer!" Xerca shouted in reply to Blake. The Argonian looked down at the injured Nord, and felt a small sense of pity. Oh well, Orders are orders... He withdrew his Shortsword and plunged it into the Nords chest, penetrating into his heart. Blake then stood, and brushed imaginary dust off of him, then looked around, spotting a set of tracks away from the battlefield.

He walked over casually to them, and knelt down beside them. They were relatively fresh, and led straight into the treeline. Blake examined the large footprints for several seconds before making a conclusion. He stood and shook his head, ''Sir!'' He called out again, and ran up to the Captain. ''We have a problem sir....''

"Hahahah" Laughed Alberon, and he continued to laugh at the surprisingly well groomed Imperial's allegation "You've never spent much time with Nords have you? These men were under a spell I'll wager."

At that Alberon went to the closest corpse and examined the pupils, which were pin-pricks of darkness in the sky blue eyes of the Nord.

"..Yep they were under a spell, or at least this one was, certain illusion spells can adversely effe...:"

The Breton trailed off as an Argonian had ran up to the captain with an aprehensive look on his face.

Xerca was a little annoyed with the troopers interuption, he really wanted to know the truth about the whole situation and the Fox-Lion as he liked to call himself had made that not possible. He was about to dismiss the man but the battlemage started talking of illusion spells and Xerca thought he was finally getting somewhere when the pesty argonian had ran up to him shouting that there was a problem.

"And what is it now, Argonian?" He asked, the word Argonian came out as harsh, Xerca had grown up to think of the things as slaves, even if it had been abolished. He still didn't think of the monster as an equal.

ooc: Edited for idiocy.. I'll learn to speak english soon.

The female Legionnaire lifted the helmet off of her head as she walked back towards the group, the imperial's firey hair falling freely after many hours of being hid beneath the cold metal. Aerin was not used to the cold, and she shook slightly because of it.

Wondering how she ended up being in a squad of mostly men, she sighed as they boasted about their victory, even spying one taking a satchel from a corpse. Something was obviously not right about these men that they had killed, and she knew this as she retrieved an arrow that had hit its mark from a good 30 metres away.

"Don't get blinded by glory.. these men probably never knew what they were doing. It was almost as if they were animals stalking prey before they jumped us. Not even I could have seen this ambush coming.." Aerin said as she cleaned the arrows she retrieved and returned to the others.

The Imperial would normally be more angry but she was tired from the long trip, and exhausted from the battle in the freezing cold.

ooc: My character's been posted in the thread, but I didn't get a reply from the message, hopefully I was allowed in

ic: At the orders of 'fall in' issued by the commander of the group, Gwinas dropped everything he was currently doing and headed towards him. Blood covered his sword and little specks of blood had splashed on his face but he didn't wipe them off. He came beside Xerca and cringed as the elf spoke harshly. He seemed angry - though he rarely saw Xerca actually look happy.

Gwinas often thought of Xerca as one of those soldiers you hear about in stories and tales - in appearance and demeanour. He never seemed to smile, and always seemed to be in control of the situation. He was one of those people that simply couldn't die, Gwinas had watched in awe as he seemingly flicked away opponents in battle, and went aggressively towards the next without a flinch. At times the elf scared him, with his tattoos and somewhat grim image, but Gwinas knew that he couldn't let the man know this, he didn't tell people much unless it was important nowadays anyway, he stayed to himself somewhat.

He blinked and realised that he had been looking up and staring at the taller man, he looked away nervously back towards the floor as if he had done something wrong. Annoyed with himself, he remained silent and awaited orders.

Ilmiril squinted to see the group through the snow. He walked slowly, inspecting the bodies carefully, stopping every now and then to take notes.
Save for a few specks on his face, Ilmiril was clean of blood. He had made sure to relentlessly keep his cloak immaculate. The almost bleach white colour would camoflage him in the snow.
That, and he was sent here as an emissary. He wished to give the best impression of Summerset Isles as he could, and that would begin with him remaining almost pristine.

After inspecting a few bodies and no new discoveries, Ilmiril paced towards the group, pulling up his hood for warmth.
Muttering under his breath about the cold, he approached in long strides, holding his head up high.

Ilmiril stood on the edge of the group, watching as everyone fell in. He made sure to stand proud, back straight.
He sometimes found it a bit difficult to be with this group. A Dunmer, a Breton, and a Bosmer. Thank god he didn't have to actually follow the Dunmers orders.

He spoke in a slow deliberate voice, " What do you plan next, Xerca. " Ilmiril cringed inside as he spoke his name. A proud Altmer, the most civilized people of Tamriel, stuck with this Dunmer.

"And what is it now, Argonian?" The spite used in 'Argonian' hit Blake like an arrow. The Captain was a Dunmer, and most of them thought Argonian's as slaves. Well, we're in the same unit, so He's gonna have to deal with it... Blake squinted his eyes slightly, ''I spotted some tracks, too big to be made by any of us...'' He looked over at several dead Nords, ''But, big enough for one of them...'' He looked back at Xerca, ''One of 'em must have fled, I'll bet he's warning his buddies right now that their ambush didn't go so well....'' He gave the Captain a few seconds to take in the information, then continued, ''I suggest that we leave, and soon'' He said then looked off at the treeline, Very soon....

Ilmiril saw this Argonian as an ally of sorts. They both disliked this Dunmer Captain, and he seemed to hold some degree of intelligence.
Perhaps they could be friends. An Altmer mage skilled in the arts of the blade, and an Argonian tracker with a bow.
The possibilities were great. He would gauge how much he could trust him before making any decisions, but for now all seemed well.

Waiting for Xercas reply, seeing as he was busy with the others, Ilmiril struck a conversation with the Argonian. " Argonian, you seem worried. "

Xerca ignored the Altmer, he didn't like the elf, he was aggrivating and he couldn't wait until the the fetcher was on his way home. "Well then, Argonian, quick march back to Frostmoth! No doubt our superiors will want to hear about this." He stated before turning towards the red haired imperial.

"Hawk!" He called out, "Scout ahead, I know visibility's a bit tight, but I want to know if we're running into a trap further ahead." He added before turning back to his men, "We have a full day's march ahead of us lads! No breaks until we're at frostmoth so conserve water, and keep your damned eyes peeled." He ordered.

He watched as members of the unit fell into two rows and began to move in a southern direction, Xerca mearly stood and watched, he'd fall in behind them and slowly make his way to the front. "That's it lads! Two rows!"

Like ever, Gwinas made sure that he didn't get involved in the arguments. He didn't know why Xerca didn't like the lizard-man, he seemed pleasant enough, but he didn't want to get involved in case he was shouted at. He looked at the floor as they talked, but looked up when Xerca seemed to be issuing orders, and listened carefully. He shouted Hawk's name, and Gwinas smiled to himself. He always wondered why a normal person would call herself hawk, especially when she didn't have wings.

It was a silly name.

They began to march just like they were taught, and Gwinas folded in near the front without hesitation, keeping the pace and not talking. The air was cold, but he marched on regardless, he was used to cold weather.

ooc: wow, short posts so far.

I know that its hard to see in the snow but 'hawk' is a woman if you didn't notice

As Aerin saw the others return, Xerca called to her to scout ahead, and the Imperial nodded, before returning the helmet on her head. "Yerssir I'll see what i can do, just don't fall behind now boys" she called out to the others as her superior ordered the others into two lines.

in a place like this, having her Ruby red hair visible would be one of the most stupid things one could do, so the young girl made sure that her hair was hidden beneath the helmet before moving forwards, keeping low, and moving quickly to scout the area ahead. As she moved she kept her eyes peeled for any threats. She was called hawk for one reason.. because her vision was sharp, and clear allowing her to be able to see things that the soldiers that were following behind wouldn't notice first glance.

Guess I'm going to have to prove myself to the others now.. many don't seem to like having Women with important positions.. The imperial thought to herself as she kept moving, but at the same time ensuring the others were behind her. The last thing Aerin needed was to get separated.

Alberon had kept himself out of the 'unpleasentness' between Captain Xerca, Sulla and that Argonian, and was using the time to think over the possible spells that would cause such rage

It could be a simple frenzy spell.
No, they wouldn't of stuck as a team, besides doesn't dilate pupils.
Ahhh, yes illusion class....Command?
Commandeds generally only attack when they've been attacked first.
Could it have been Rally?
That does make sense, rally is hard to cast though.
Does it dilate the pupils?
I think so.
Well then I have my spell.

Alberon snapped out of his head to realise that they were marching with a slight scout leading them, he would have to wait until the next camp to tell the irritable captain about his theory

Blake half-expected an argument to erupt from the Dunmer Captain, he gritted his teeth in preparation. "Well then, Argonian, quick march back to Frostmoth! No doubt our superiors will want to hear about this" Xerca finally said, Blake sighed in relief, then nodded. The Captain then headed off towards to one of the other legionnaires. Blake then noticed an Atlmer staring at him, he returned a look back at the mer. ''What?'' Blake asked, and the Altmer walked up to him. ''Argonian, you seem worried''

Blake took out his canister of water, and took a small swig. ''I'm worried about a lot of things...'' He replied, ''Mostly that we're probably going to run into more ambushes on our way to Frostmoth'' He sighed and shook his head, and looked over at the other legionnaires and the Captain. "We have a full day's march ahead of us lads! No breaks until we're at frostmoth so conserve water, and keep your damned eyes peeled" The Dunmer shouted. Blake looked back at the Altmer and smiled slightly, ''It seems we're on the move'' He said, then stuck out his hand, ''Names Black-Eye, by the way, but you can just call me Blake''

Sulla was annoyed when not a single person took him up on his offer, but he became really annoyed when they began marching back to the fort. He wanted to loot some more corpses, but the small amount of goodies he found would have to do for now. He hated the fact that he had to march all the way back to Fort Frostmoth, he hated how cold it was out. None of the others seemed to be troubled by the weather, but Sulla absolutely despised the cold. He wished that he was posted in Hammerfell, or maybe Morrowind. To him Skyrim was just a frozen wastland full ofdirty barbarians. "One day I'll be Captain." he thought angrily, "Then I'll make you march through Oblivion itself." Sulla was still thinking of ways to punish Xerca when his thoughts were interrupted by his captain's voice telling "Hawk" to scout ahead, then by her reply. "Don't fall behind boys." he thought mockingly as he continued marching, "Don't you worry, I'll catch up with you and smack that pretty little face of yours."

He was a little annoyed at having a woman leading them, but then he realized he would be just as annoyed if he was scouting ahead himself. "Oh well," he said with a sigh, "I guess if this is what it takes to reach the top, then I have to go through it." And with that he resumed his previous activity of thinking up gruesome punishments for his captain, hoping that some excitement would intervene with the trip.

Xerca smiled as they fell into line, he quickly followed behind them, he stopped for a few seconds and knelt by one of the fallen, he'd never seen anyone fight in such a way, and he'd been into Oblivion. "What are you?" He whispered before looking back at his men, he stood up and made his way back towards them, all the while, his mind troubled by thoughts.

He shrugged them off and rubbed his eyes, he was tired, hungry and angry at the damnable weather, he thought coming to solstheim would mean small skirmishes with warm tents and campfires, but no.. Instead it was boring patrols inwhich the only action they ever got was when a bear or a pack of wolves got dumb enough.

Black-Eye.. I wonder how these Argonians get their names.
" Ilmiril, Emissary for Summerset Isles. As for your worries of an ambush, If it comforts you i will utilise my knowledge of magicka to keep an eye out. "

He was not doing the Argonian a favor with the offer, he was intent on it anway. No one would ambush him.

Ilmiril was happy at first to be sent on this embarkment, he had never had a chance to travel this far north, But this was not what he had expected.
He had not expected any combat, but at least he was prepared. Even if he lost his weapon his proficient knowledge of magic meant he was always prepared for a fight.

(OOC: Sorry, didn't know what to post. And i'm very sore today.)