Name: Fiona Barrow-Heart
Age: 41
Race: Reachwoman (Nord/Breton)
Gender: Female
Height: 5'11
Birthsign: The Apprentice
Appearance: Being a native of The Reach, Fiona's appearance naturally falls somewhere between the average idea of a Breton and a Nord. Fiona Barrow-Heart is a tall woman, with an unruly mess of shoulder length auburn hair. Fiona has the long. lithe limbs of a Nord complimented by the more rounded facial features of a Breton. Her nutmeg coloured eyes are dashed with green, her pale skin is generally anoited with a simple pattern of face paint: black below the eyes and two marks on one cheek. Her lips are an unnatural grey. A certain light behind the eyes, an animation in her expressions provides Fiona Barrow-Heart with something of the look of a wild beauty. (or something like this: http://imageshack.us/photo/my-images/259/fionabriarbarrow.png/ )
Class: Witch (Applying for position of Court Mage)
Skills and known spells:
Alchemy - An impressive knowledge of the magical propeties of flora native to Skyrim
Alternation - Journeyman level at best
Conjuration - A worrying affinity with the communion and summoning of undead and daedric creatures.
Destruction - Essentially capable in the flinging of lightening bolts, and the application of certain frost and fire runes
Enchanting - Skilled in the preperation and study of a vast array of enchantments
Illusion - Conspiculously talented
Restoration - Competent to a reasonable level in restorative magic
Clothing / armor: Fiona wears a simple, slightly ragged mage's robe, complete with various pouches. Around her wrists, her neck and in her ears she wears various ornaments, mainly fashioned of bone, mainly bone from creatures she herself has killed.
Weapons: Fiona carries a small hunter's knife for the gathering of ingedients, and a mage's staff which omenously finishes it what appears to be a human skull.
Miscellaneous items: Fiona brings with her a trunk full of various pieces of mage's miscellany; soul gems, scrolls, a few books, and a number of alchemical ingredients.
Personality: Fiona Barrow-Heart is often a severe woman. She takes the arcane arts rather seriously; her powerful mind is often far away in the contemplation of deep mystic mysteries, even when she is being addressed. She is an animated woman, hands always busy, mind never empty of ideas. Her own mastery of magic leans towards the practical side, and she is deeply pratical in all her dealings with other people. Her heart is profoundly spiritial, althought Fiona may often be sharp with those who do not understand her, she is an extremely empathetic, if not sympathetic woman.
Major flaw: While not actually mad, Fiona Barrow-Heart could easily be described as "away with the faeries". It has often been joked that she gets on better with Will-o-the-Wisps than with actual people, and this is hard to dispute. In actuality, human affairs seem to bother her a chillingly small amount.
Background: Fiona grew up amongst the natives of the Reach, in a community that became entangled in the Forsworn rebellion. Local witches noticed her unusual talent for magic at a young age and plucked her from her village, to educate the girl in the ways of their Hagravens. However, Fiona's thirst for knowledge was insaitable, and as a young advlt she rejected the oppertunity herself to become a Hagraven and left the covern to join the College of Winterhold, where she held a research position for many years. Though her research was undoutably brilliant, Fiona became increasingly detached from the other mages at the College, and, with a glowing recommendation from Arch-Mage Savos Aren, left to wander Skyrim and practice her arts alone. When word of a new Hold being opened and the position of Court Mage coming available reached her, Fiona Barrow-Heart rushed to The Rift in reply. It turns out one can only spend so much time living in caves and talking exclusively to Hagravens before one becomes insufferably bored.

Name: Radwulf Spurvhauke
Age: 57
Race: Nord
Gender: Male
Height: 6’4”
Birthsign: The Lady
Appearance: He is fair skinned though dark circles have developed beneath his eyes, and he he appears to have a leathery toughness to his skin as well from his time spent in both the legion, and enduring the docks and ships of Anvil. He has green eyes, and dark brown, wavy hair that reaches down to his shoulders, and a fairly long, full beard, braided at the ends. Overly tall and lanky in his youth, years in the legion filled Radwulf out, giving him an impressive frame, complete with very broad shoulders.
Class (what would you describe your character as?): Jarl
Skills and known spells (if any): Radwulf is more than competent with a blade, but his main weapon is his mind. Jarl Radwulf has a keenly anolytical brain, and is a hard man to fool.
Clothing / armor: He wears an orange cloak with a white fur collar over black finery, as well as steel plate boots, and steel bracers.
Weapons: A silver short sword, more for decoration than anything.
Miscellaneous items: N/A
Personality: He was once a shrewd, selfish man who cared only for himself and his family, but since his wife’s death, his personality has softened considerably. When the one thing in the world that mattered to him more than anything was gone, he no longer cared so much for worldly possessions, as he finally realized how little they meant to him. This isn’t to say he won’t surround himself by luxury, but that he takes little pleasure from it, and is far more generous than he was. He often appears melancholy.
Major flaw: He hasn’t been himself ever since his wife passed away. While this doesn’t tend to visibly affect him, he tends not to pay attention to people when he drifts down memory lane, as he has become prone to do.
Background: He grew up in Anvil where his family had lived for several generations, and spent much time learning of business practice from his father. When he came of age, he joined the legion, and quickly rose through the ranks. Radwulf kept the supply books for General Decianus during the Great War. It was said that the young Radwulf's acumen had saved the lives of thousands during that campaign in Hammerfall. During this campaign, Radwulf met his future wife, Allendra, and moved to Skyrim in order to marry her. Afterwards he and his wife moved to Anvil to take over the Spurvhauke family business.

In Anvil his family owned a shipping company that had been in business for well over a hundred years, and had made his family rich. Radwulf took to the business well, as his father had taught him to when he was younger, and he soon proved to be a shrewd businessman. His family had always been wealthy, but with Radwulf leading the shipping company, they soon gained riches to rival nobility. Radwulf, his wife, and son lived well like this, and they would have remained in Anvil if not for the day Radwulf’s wife, Allendra, grew ill.

They had healers come to tend to her, but she grew worse despite their efforts, and within a few days she was dead. Her dying wish was to be buried where she was born, which meant the Rift in Skyrim, and so Lliro and Radwulf traveled by boat around the continent arriving in the Solitude harbor. From there the duo took the coffin and their possessions to the Rift by wagon, and eventually they found a nice spot to bury her. Radwulf decided he didn’t want to return to Anvil, as he couldn’t bear to leave his wife behind, so he arranged for his shipping company to be sold, and he used his wealth to purchase as much land as he could in the Rift.

And so after much work, Valton was built, and became a new hold.

Name: Gorbad Yak-Bogadbu
Age: 72
Race: Orc
Gender: Male
Height: 6’2’’
Birthsign: The Lord (Those born under the sign of the Lord are stronger and healthier than those born under other signs, which explains why is in such a good shape even at such a high age)
Appearance: A tall and muscular Orc, but age has made him look less tough and his face is full of wrinkles. His hair is bright white, but is merely a short mess at the back of his head. His skin has been exposed to the sun, the forges fire, cold and storms, giving his dark green skin a leather-kind look.

Class: Blacksmith and Enchanter
Skills:
-Armorer: Given enough heat and time, Gorbad can fix nearly anything that is broken and reinforce nearly anything.
-Smithing: As a master smith, he is able to make strong and durable weapons of any materials.
-Enchanting: His knowledge of weapons and armor is so wide that he can bless them with enchantments, if the soul gem is provided. He enchants the items with his master’s forge while creating them; he is unable to enchant anything that he doesn’t craft at that moment.
-Speech: His profession has made him quite proficient when it comes to selling and buying things, not that he needs his silver-tongue when selling his products.

Clothing / armor: A blacksmiths outfit with custom heavy armor reinforcement with a small amount of fire resistance, heavy Orcish gauntlets and boots.
Weapons: Two blacksmiths hammers that he uses in his forge.
Miscellaneous items: Tools needed at the forge, a collection containing small pieces of ore from all across Tamriel. Has a good amount of iron and leather at his forge, a small chest that used to contain his savings of gold septims, now merely 50 gold septims.

Personality: Calm and focused, loyal, friendly. Doesn’t get angry easily, but when he does, it’s serious business.
Major flaw: His age is a problem; he can feel his vigor and strength from his youth slowly fading him. The Lord-birthsign has kept him going for the last ten years and it hasn’t given up on him just yet. In a fight, he wouldn't be much of a challenge. He might be able to crack a skull with his hammer, but it'd be a game of luck for him, not skill.

Background: Gorbad has lived a long and tough life. He grew up in a stronghold. In early child-hood, his passion for smithing was far greater than his will to fight and never was an excellent warrior. That didn’t make him weaker than anyone else and he might even have been one of the strongest young-ones in the stronghold. His skills as a blacksmith were appreciated and Gorbad would surely have lived all his days in the stronghold if it wouldn’t have been for the attack against it, when he was 22. They never knew who attacked them in the darkness of the night, but there were spell casters, archers and warriors up against them and in overwhelming numbers. They were forced to retreat through the mines and blew it up behind them. This little group of Orcs eventually found their way to a new stronghold, but wasn’t welcomed with open arms. Especially the existing blacksmith didn’t like Gorbad’s arrival one bit. Out of jealousy, the strongholds blacksmith framed Gorbad for theft on his very first week there and fled the scene. Everyone thought he was guilty, eve the Orcs he had come there with. He didn’t want trouble and moved out. After that he spent time in many different places and got to learn the secrets of the arcane enchanting. It was on his travels he learned the art of business and trade and the mastery of every material known in Tamriel came from these decades of adventure and hard work. He even set up his own shop in a small town and was able to save up a nice amount of septims, around 1500 gold. Now, at the age of 72, he learned of Valton, a new hold on its making. He spent his savings to transport his forge, tools and materials to the new hold and bought a small house for the rest.

Name: Alfhed "Milk-Drinker" Melkedrikk
Age: 18
Race: Nord
Gender: Male
Height: 5"11'
Birthsign: The Lady
Appearance: A typical young nordic youngling, but with much less muscle than most. He's slightly shorter than most nords. He has bright blond, short hair. He has a rather small nose, unlike other nords.

Class: The Jarl's Scribe and errand-boy.
Skills: Has a particulary good memory and is an able writer. He's a natural talent in math and problem solving. Would make for an excellent mage, but has never been interested in it. He was trained in the use of swords, but quickly got the nick-name "Milk Drinker", due to his lack of skill and strength.

Clothing: He wears a fine tunic of the same color the Jarl has, with the Valton symbol on the back. (two yellow axes that cross eachother, and a yellow sailors knot above them). Black boots and brown pants complete his outfit.
Weapons: Carries an iron dagger that has never seen action. Mostly used for opening letters.

Miscellaneous items: Pens and papers.
Personality: Tries to avoid conflict whenever possible, always eager to please and help.
Major flaw: He's weak and isn't fast either, making him terrible in a combat situation.

Background: His family knew the Jarl's family from a long time back during the Sparvhauke sailor years. It was almost a natural choice for young Alfhed to take up a job by Radwulf's side in the new hold.

Name: Nuramon
Age: born in 4E110, 102 years old (appears in his late twenties.)
Race: Bosmer
Gender: Male
Height: around 1.80meters
Birthsign: the thief

Appearance: He looks much like his father, Weldarion. He stands at around 1,76 meter and has a slender built, although he has more strength one would give him, considering his light built. He has a face that people would consider somewhat handsome, but nothing more. His hair reaches is just past his shoulders and is of a brownish color and he has dark green eyes, encircled by fiery gold, they are almost exactly the same as his father's. he has several scars but except for a long scar on his right upper arm, none of them are really striking or noticeable.
Class (what would you describe your character as?): Alchemist/Wizard/Assassin/Local citizen

Skills and known spells (if any):
Archery: he learned to shoot the bow at a young age from his parents. He has used and practiced it for almost his whole life and is very good at it.
Hunting & Tracking: also skills he learned from his parents at a young age. He also kept on using it for his whole life and he is very proficient in it.
Alchemy: A skill he learned from his mother who believed it was one of the most powerful forms of magic. He further studied it in Elswheyr for his job.
Dagger: he learned this for his job during his years in Corinthe when he was trained to be an assassin/enforcer for local, high ranked noble.
Sneak: he learned this for his job during his years in Corinthe when he was trained to be an assassin/enforcer for local, high ranked noble.
Unarmed: he learned this for his job during his years in Corinthe when he was trained to be an assassin/enforcer for local, high ranked noble.
Magic: He knows some things about magic, which he learned from his aunt and friends of his father but he isn't an expert. He knows most about illusion and conjuration, especially a good invisibility spell and multiple Daedra (no dremora's, atronarches, undead or any real intelligent daedra.) summons like Clannfears, Vermais, Hernes, morphoid daedras, … he also knows a little about the other schools like a simple healing spell, ...

Minot skills: He can also read, write, play the lute, flute and sing.
Miscellaneous: although he is stronger and faster than most (this is barely noticeable most days of the month) he is also less durable due to his posture. He can't take much damage and will not survive very long in head on fight.

Clothing / armor: he wears simple commoners clothes, in his closet in his home he has several sorts of leather and fur armors and also his orange and yellow Elsweyr robes.
Weapons: A simple wooden bow, some arrows (with heads for all different situations and targets) and two Steel daggers.
Miscellaneous items: A special necklace resembling the head of a mountain lion it was made by his father.

Personality: Although he looks a lot like his father in appearance, they are not very alike to how they view others. Where his father saw the other people as lesser beings on which he hunted, Nuramon sees them as his equals and he does his best to control his nature. He is, however, seen by other as feral and un-educated because of his behavior. When things don't go the way he wants, or when people anger him, he tends to hiss and spit, much like a cat. it is this behavior that makes other people misjudge him as being simple-minded, which is a mistake.

He prefers the dawn and dusk, which are his most active moments of the day and by the time the sun reaches it highest place he can be found taking a powernap. He likes high places, like branches of trees, roofs, high rocks and mountain tops, … He is also carnivorous and a cannibal, although not strictly and he doesn't mind eating the animals he hunts down or even plants. Although when possible he prefers human flesh.

Major flaw: he believes nothing can hurt him due to his years of experience in a lot of fields.

Background: He was born in a small estate in Valenwood. His father, Weldarion, was a well known hunter and bounty hunter and his mother, Nardinel, who was also a gifted huntress. They settled down in the forests of Valenwood when she was pregnant of her only son. Nuramon was trained by his parents in the hunt.

His father taught also taught him about his family history and heritage that his blood carried. He also helped him through the first steps of accepting this heritage. He lived with them for more than a two thirds of his life. When his parents passed away due to old age he decided to leave Valenwood and pursue the same life his father and mother once lived.

He travelled around Tamriel for many years, offering his hunting and tracking skills to nobles who would organize hunting trips. This went great until a few years before the Great War started. Less and less Nobles offered him jobs and he eventually had to commit petty thievery to survive. At the start of the Great War he lived on the streets in Corinthe, committing petty thievery and even murder to survive. A high ranked nobleman hired him to take care of his shady business and as a personal bodyguard, and he accepted and started his training under the current person to have that position. After Nuramon thought he knew enough and deemed himself ready, he killed his master and killed him, making it look like an accident.

He took over the position and lived a good and wealthy life for many years. He didn't only offer his skills to the nobleman, but also to others who had the money to pay for it. When his employer was caught plotting against the current ruler of Corinthe he had to flee out of town. He stole a horse and travelled to the Imperial City as fast as possible. He travelled further, with his money, to skyrim and there he lived for many, many years. But he eventually had to flee the hold after a bounty was put on his head after locals found out what he truly was and still is.

He decided to settle in the newly formed hold and start a new life without violence. He is thinking of maybe opening a shop or applying for court wizard and that fails he'll just become a local hunter.

Name: Daikanos
Age: 264 born in 3E381 (appears to be in his middle thirties.)
Race: Dunmer
Gender: Male
Height: 1.96 meters
Birthsign: the warrior
Appearance: He has the usual ash-colored skin of the Dunmer but his is slightly darker. His eyes are a dark red colors like the others of his race. He has long, straight hair that reaches halfway his back. It is of a dark red color, like his eyes. He is tall for a dunmer and can even rival most Nords in height and in built. He stands at around 1.96 meters and has a strong, muscular build. He has several scars across his body, the most notable is a scar above his right eyebrow. He has a sharp, hawk like face and a pronounced cheek bones. Several tattoos adorn his body, they are all written in old dunmer or daedric runes and talk of his several accomplishments and are in a dark blue and purple color.

Class (what would you describe your character as?): Spellsword/Ex-Royal Guard/Mercenary/mage
Skills and known spells (if any): Bladed weapons, Destruction, Alteration, light & Medium armor, conjuration, block.

Minor skills: cooking, survival, non magical medical treatment.

Through years of harsh training in the hardest conditions Daikanos has become a master of bladed weapons as well as the use of destruction, alteration. He also feels comfortable wearing light and medium armor, which feels like his second skin to him and he knows how to effectively use a shield although he prefers to fight without one.. He is also faster than his build would make you think and he has great endurance making him continue were others would have stopped. He is a warrior trough and trough.

This was years back during his mercenary life. He wanted to deeper his knowledge of the destruction and alteration school of magic and through his studies he came in contact with the other schools of magic. He started studying the school of conjuration and became very good at it, even gaining the skills to prolong ones own life. For some time he even dabbled in the black arts. His magical studies don't mean he has let his condition get bad or he lost his skills with the blade. He is still as good with those as he was before his studies.

Clothing /armor: he has lost his Royal Guard armor a long time ago and now instead he wears finely crafted, dark red armor, that is even better as his beloved Royal Guard uniform. The color matches perfect with his eyes and hair and weighs a bit less than the normal medium armor. It is the perfect mix of protection and movement. Over it, mostly only over his left shoulder, he wears a broken-white cloak, complete with hood.

When not wearing any armor he wears tunic of brown expensive cloth that reaches just past his knees with a golden edges and tan lines as pants, which are usually nicely tucked away in dark brown leather boots. Around his waist a belt on which he hangs his sword.

Weapons: A double edged, straight longsword with a grip fit for two hands made out of ebony. The blade is not much wider than five centimeters and extremely sharp. It is enchanted in a way to never become dull, break or chip off. And he has another dispel effect on it that enable it to cut through magical barriers. The handle is wrapped with a dark red cloth and in the pommel is a beautiful ruby in the shape of a teardrop. On the tips of the guard are also a ruby on each side.

Over his shoulder is a cresent dunmeri scimitar strapped and when he wears his armor he is also carries several daggers. One in each boot, two on his lower back and a dagger strapped to the scabbard of his ebony sword.
Miscellaneous Items: a tinderbox, bandages, a few potions to cure disease, poison and to restore his health and energy.

Personality: He is ruthless to his enemies and feels no qualms about ending lives, but if possible he refuses to kill innocent people. He is quick of mind and decisive. When he has made up his mind he will stick with his idea. He finds it hard to admit he is wrong and will generally start grumbling, and tends to act like an annoying child when someone points out he is wrong and proves it. he is actually pretty prideful and sees himself better as most others. He is destructive and kills first and asks later. Although he has learned to control his destructiveness and aggression. Towards his friends he is a nice guy, with whom you can have lots of fun if everything keeps going the way he want things to go.

Major flaw: he has a big pride and can be arrogant sometimes. He is also pretty destructive when he gets angry. Because of his years of dabbling in destruction and in conjuration he started to hear voices in his head. They are always present, but luckily they hold no real power over him. He believes it are the voices of daedra and dremora of the oblivion but he isn't sure. He just hopes that they won't start taking over his control over his body.

Background: from a young age he was selected to join the Royal Guard of king Helseth of Morrowind. He trained hard and showed great intelligence and was eventually selected to follow up the then current captain of the Royal Guard. There was another mer selected to and together with some members of the Guard they set up a trap to get Daikanos in prison for not doing his job good.

Daikanos, however, escaped and while doing so took the life of several Royal Guards. Proving once more that he was the best one of them. He fled to Cyrodill and there he eventually became a member of the fighter's guild. But he found the contracts he got were beneath him and as such cut most of his contacts with the fighter's guild and he started of on his own as a freelancing mercenary.

He travelled far and wide and visited most places of Tamriel. But all the while never going back to Morrowind, afraid that he might be recognized by someone. When Red Year came and Morrowind got destroyed he felt sad that he never visited his beloved homeland again and thus decided to go back.

He worked as a mercenary for several years there and helped locals rebuilt their homes, towns. He took care of the problems with wildlife harassing those locals and did his best to help rebuilting Morrowind. Eventually he got recognized and ratted away by a local who could use the money. In anger he killed the man and fled Morrowind again.

He roamed around Tamriel for many years afterwards doing mercenary jobs until he got the idea to deepen himself in magic. First he joined the Synod. But soon realized they were just a group of mages not interested in the actual study of magic but more so in acquiring as many artifacts as possible.

He left the synod together with an altmer called Lorundil who is one of the last remaining Telvanni master wizards. From him he learned a lot more about magic. And he deepened his knowledge of destruction and alteration while also learning a lot of conjuration. He studied for years also serving as the altmer's bodyguard.

The more he studied the bigger his knowledge became and the more frequent he began to hear voices. Lorundil said it was very normal and not something to worry about and as such Daikanos doesn't worry about it as long as he can keep it under control. By doing experiments he found out it were souls of oblivion speaking to him and they mostly try to convince him to kill or hurt other people.

He learned to live with his devils and one day told Lorundil that he wanted to continue on his own. Their ways parted and Daikanos was alone again. He lived through the Great War and became even older without visually aging that much. Eventually he decided to settle down and maybe become a miner or farmer and perform an honest job for once in his life since he is tired of always fighting. For this he chose a little place called Valton where he is now going to.

Name: Nellis Nelsh
Age: 35
Race: Nord
Gender: Male
Height: 5' 7"
Birthsign: The Tower
Appearence: Large, Fish like lips. Small blue eyes. Hair is a brownish-red, put in a ponytail. Poofy sideburns on the side of his face. No scars or warpaint. Fair skin, a bit pale. Large nose. Sleek build, little muscle. Rather fast.

Class: Miner
Skills: A small amount of One-Handed to handle himself when need be. Bit of Marksmen for hunting. Slighty skilled in Light armor, mainly for protection when he leaves towns. Speech, mainly to get good deals with traders. A interest in Alchemy, and a skill that needs improvment. Unarmed combat, mainly due to bar brawls. Skilled in Mining, Woodcutting, and Running. Only known spells are flames and Healing, and he isn't that skilled with either one.

Clothing: A white set of miner's clothes with thin dirt stains covering the front and the collar, along with a orange colored fine hat with a white fur border/ (Basically the Miner's Clothes mixed with the fine hat)
Weapons: A pickaxe, long bow with about 20 or so iron arrows, a Iron dagger.
Misc. Items: Potatoes and Carrots, Few health and stamina potions, The book Pirate King of the Abecean

Personality: Nelsh is a rather meek man, but in no way shy. His life is rather bland, and likes it just like that. He can be fearful of large and imposing fighters, and is a bit nosey when it comes to other's conversations. He likes to be with other hard workers, and loses interest rather quickly with people.

Major Flaw: Weak and Cowardly, easily bored, few combat skills. An insane case of Rage can also over take him when someone who could have stopped a innocents death let's others die.

Background: History on Nellis Nelsh is fairly bare boned. He says he grew up in Anvil after the great war ended. Before that, he was raised on a ship sailing the sea, avoiding as much of the war as possible. He worked on the docks for most of his life, but decided to move to the "Land of his people" when money in Anvil grew sparse. He arrived in Dawnstar, and worked in the town, before leaving for Windhelm. He once killed a guard in Dawnstar for letting citzens die in a Horker attack. He doesn't care for the Stormcloaks, and hides the fact that he is a imperial supporter. He seeks wealth, and he comes to Valton in attempt to make enough money to live on.

Name: Danus Maximus
Race: Imperial,
Age: 30
Gender: Male
Height: 6.2
Birthsign: The Lord.

Appearance: Short, blonde hair, Blue eyes. Whiter than a normal imperial yet not as pale as a nord, And quite muscular for an imperial diplomat.
Skills/spells: He is not a big fan of magika but he does uses a minor healing spell once on a great while. And if he is in a tough situation he would use the voice of the emperor to get out of it. He is decent with a one handed sword but prefers to use persuade people so as a result he is a master of speech craft. In fact compare to most imperials who are naturaly good diplomats he is could be one of the best the empire has to offer.

Clothing: He just wears typical clothes that wealthy nobles tend to wear.
Weapons: He uses an enchanted imperial sword he calls. "Septima" in honor of the previous Dynasty of the third era,
Misc: Mostly just a bag of gold as well as some books. (including speech skill books and the lusty argonian made)

Personality: Danus is quite a humorous person. When not serving as an ambassador in a situation he tend to tell jokes about the current events of Tamriel. Funny but offensive. However when need to he is quite serious and is a determined to serve the empire till his last breath. And he is also quite calm.
Flaws: Despite being an excellent diplomat he is quite stubborn an ignorant of former empire provinces. (though he does secretly respect the stormcloaks despite disagreeing with them) Also he has anger issues, A huge alcoholic, and has a deep hatred of the thalmor that could be a threat to his life. (though he will be safe as long as he keeps it to himself)

Background. Born during the start of the great war he never knew his father. In fact his father left there home in the imperial city as a soldier heading to fight the dominion before he was born. When he was three the thalmor attacked the IC. Having somehow escaped the city his mother had to stay behind and would die in the brutal occupation. (Thus giving him his hatred for the thamlor) Eventually he was raised by an imperial called Julius Maximus. Thus how he got his last name. As the war came to an end he was raised as a farmboy. However by 16 He decided to leave the village he called home ever since Julius found him as a toddler hungry on the road North of the IC; to return to the IC to find out what happen to his mother after the siege. Eventualy after 3 years he found out that she was kept in Thalmor barracks as a six slave along with other women during the occupation only to be killed when she was impregnated by a thalmor soldier. That his when his hatred for the thalmor grew. At 25 he self taught himself the arts of speech craft and combat. He then joined the legion leaving nothing besides of the village he grew up in behind. Over the next few years he was earned the rank centurion. After given orders to clear out a bandit cave he somehow convinced the leader to give up and surrender. That was the start of his career.
At 28, after being a very successful imperial diplomat he was personally sent to Skyrim by the emperor Titus Mede II To help stop violence in Skyrim by convincing as much jarls as possible to stay loyal to the empire. While it did not work as plan he did managed to convince Falkreath hold to remove their stormcloak supportive jarl and replaced by one loyal to the empire. Over the next couple of years the high king was assassinated, the civil began. and Danus was no longer needed in Skyrim. However General Tulius quite trustful in Danus convince the emperor to make him stay should there be a situation that be can resolved peacefully.
Over the next few months there is a new mission for Danus. There is report of a new hold. It is simple Danus is to go into the hold. And convince the Jarl to fight on the imperial side. However the jarl is quite stubborn when it comes to the civil war and it could be proven a challenge. Even for Danus.

Name:Roymund Inventius
Age:28
Race:Imperial
Gender:Male
Height:5ft 8"
Birthsign:The Thief
Appearance:Weather worn facial features, Grim appearance, Brunette, Slender build.

Class/Career: Woodsman
Skills and known spells (if any): Archery, One-Handed weapons, Light armour, Stealth, Fletchery/craftsmanship

Clothing / armor: Dark olive Tunic, Brown trousers, Leather boots, Long travellers robes (Fur-trimmed & hooded), Fur Gloves
Weapons: Imperial bow, Iron Shortsword, 20 Iron-tipped Arrows
Miscellaneous items: Backpack, Flint & Tinder, Whetstone, Journey bread, Small craft knife, Partly whittled light wooden statue, Bedroll, 400 Septims

Personality: Shy, Perceptive, Mistrustful
Major flaw: Too long spent alone in the woods has lead him to become mistrustfull of others, leading him to come across as mistrustworthy instead.
Background: Roymund was born in the city of Anvil in the Imperial province. His family all worked various Woodsman crafts such as Hunters, trackers, trapper, etc.
Aged 17, Roymund signed up with the Imperial Legion who soon assigned him into the Scouting regiments. After many years of uneventful soldiering, his unit was merged with another and tasked to head upto Skyrim. Whilst travelling, arguments with another Scout named Keller broke out and eventually led to a fight between the two leaving them both discharged from the military. Roymund fell back on his Woodsman background and starting carving out a living as a in the trade whilst travelling, He offer services through small hamlets and towns as a primarily a Hunter, though should the need arrive he could make a few septims from Fletchery, Tracking, Trapping and occasionally as an archer for passing merchant caravans.

Name: Alguidar
Age: 34
Race: Nord
Gender: Male
Height: 1.80 cm (~6' 0'' I think)
Birthsign: The Steed
Appearance: Sturdy, wide body. Short neck. Strong arms and back. Tends to sit in a bad posture, hunched over the table. His hair is light brown and pushed back to his shoulder line. His eyes are green and deep within the eye sockets giving him a mysterious and not very expressive look. He has a full, thick beard.

Class: Farmer
Skills and known spells (if any):
Alchemy - Working the land for a living, he has come to know most flora in Skyrim and many useful recipes to treat wounds, diseases and fortify stamina for the long hours of work.
Barter - Due to the low profit margin of his products, he got used to haggling for every last Septim.
Two-handed - Basic skills using an axe to defend himself. Farms, being outside city walls, are very exposed to bandits and wildlife, a woodcutter's axe is usually close by when city guards aren't.
Cooking - Not the best but he knows how to turn his farm's products into a delicious stew. He can do wonders with beef.

Clothing / armor: He's usually seen wearing common clothing that doesn't draw attention to himself. Usually in darker tones. He also has a full set of leather armor stored in his house that he never used.
Weapons: None.
Miscellaneous items: None.
Personality:
- Impatient, sometimes rash in his decisions. Will tend to take action quickly instead of pondering his decisions at length.
- Strong nationalist and supporter of the rebellion. Tolerates other races but feels more comfortable around other Nords.
- Hard worker. Doesn't make much eye contact. He usually keeps to himself, especially when he's focused on his job.
- He loves a good joke though and he's very loyal to those he considers he's friends. Can talk for hours if alcohol is involved.
Major flaw: Close minded. He looks down to magic, outsiders and laziness. He frowns on exterior signs of wealth.

Background: Born in a family of farmers near Windhelm. Life was rough and he helped around the farm for as long as he can remember. The farm was fairly successful for a while, supplying Windhelm and Winterhold with all sorts of products, most notably beef. The harsh climate up north has always hindered its yield though. Eventually, his brothers started leaving, seeking new jobs around Skyrim but his father was always too stubborn to leave the farm.
Alguidar thought they could still turn things around so he stayed behind helping. As the seasons passed though, they were slowly dragged into a life where they were just barely surviving. They just couldn't compete with the cheaper production from the south, where the climate was much more forgiving.
News of a new hold being built somewhere along the fertile shores of the Treva River, reached him at that point. It stroke him as a great opportunity to buy the best piece of land on the hold before others flocked in, and leave this dying farm for good. His father still refused to sell the farm though. Both argued violently for days until his father finally succumbed from old age and disease.
Alguidar knew exactly what to do then. In a mix of anger and hope, he sold the property in a hurry for as little as 2000 Septims and traveled south, looking for a new start in the Rift.

Name: Jacqueline Hawkford (Nickname: Jack)
Age: 19
Race: Breton
Gender: Female
Height: 5’2”
Birthsign: The Shadow
Appearance: Jack inherited her Mother’s soft and curvy features, and her Father’s golden blonde hair and deep blue eyes. Her hair is somewhat short. She cuts it herself so it is uneven and messy. She doesn’t really care about how her hair looks as long as it doesn’t get in her way when she works.

Class (what would you describe your character as?): Mason/carpenter.
Skills and known spells (if any): Masonry, carpentry, farmwork, writing/reading and math. She has no magic talent and has never been educated in the arcane arts.

Clothing / armor: She wears a light grey sleeveless cotton shirt and light brown linen breeches that stop right below her knees. Around her neck she carries a small amulet in the shape of the Hawkford family insignia.
Weapons: I guess all her tools can count as weapons if she finds the need to protect herself.
Miscellaneous items: Masonry- and carpentry tools (hammers, mallets, chisels, measuring tools, etc.) She also owns a donkey, a goat and two chickens. The donkey pulls a small cart containing a tent, food, Jack’s tools, cookware, clothes and blankets, various personal items and the chickens in their cage.

Personality: Jack is a very cheery and friendly girl. She is not a fan of conflicts and drama, but instead tries to make friends with everyone she meets. She might come off as a bit pushy by some, but she only means well.
Major flaw: Jack talks a lot. She rarely knows when to shut up and often ends up saying more than she should. Her dialect (butchering grammar) can also get on the nerves of the educated upper-class citizens of Skyrim.

Background: Jacqueline was born in north-eastern High Rock as the youngest daughter of the Hawkford family, renowned for their excellent masons and carpenters. Along with her brothers and sisters she was taught from a very young age how to read, write and do math. She was also taught the art of masonry and carpentry, and she was set to work with her Uncle and his team of workers. When Jack reached her nineteenth birthday she had a falling out with her Father and she decided to leave the family home and find a new place to call home.

Name: Sarynetta Vycomte (Sarya for short)
Age: 42
Race: Imperial
Gender: Female
Height: 5'4"
Birthsign: The Tower
Appearance: Her face carries the typical regal features of fullblooded Imperial women. A soft but strong nose, a gaunt jaw, sharp eyebrows and a slightly tall forehead. Her eyes are emerald green with a hint of grey around the iris. Faint wrinkles have begun to appear in the corner of her eyes and lips. Her black hair falls to her waist in long, soft curls.
Her body is curvatious and lean with wide hips and generous briasts, though it has lost its youthful bounce and vigor.
Class/profession: Baker/cook/merchant
Skills and known spells (if any): Cooking, reading and writing, haggling and shopkeeping. She has no knowledge of magic.
Clothing: Sarya only wears dresses, and prefers a simple and practical style while working. Most of the time she will wear her favorite work dress. It is moss green with a brown underskirt that shows when she walks or moves around. It reaches her ankles and has long, snug sleeves that are folded up to stay out of her way while preparing food. Around her waist is a soft brown leather corset made only for fashion purposes. On her feet she wears simple doeskin shoes.
Weapons: None. She is not a fighter.
Miscellaneous items: She carries her little bag of money tied to her corset along with a keyring.
Personality: She is friendly and polite, and always enjoys a good conversation. She has a weak spot for children, and she absolutely loves parties. All the dancing and music brings a feeling of bliss to her aging heart.
Major flaw: She can sometimes be too trusting, and it often results in people taking advantage of her kindness and generousity.
Background: She was born and raised in Skingrad where she lived with her parents her entire life. Her parents were running a very successful business selling food and drink from both local farms and by importing from all the corners of the continent. The shop had been passed down through generations and made quite a name of the Vycomte family in the upper class society.
When Sarya was 40 years old she and her younger brother made the desicion to leave Skingrad and find a new place to set up shop in order to spread the Vycomte name and success. Her brother traveled west and Sarya went north. They both took with them goods and gold for the journey, and left their younger sister and parents to take care of the shop in Skingrad. Sarya traveled for months with a heavily guarded convoy headed for Skyrim.

Name: Itan-Ru
Age: 23
Race: Argonian
Gender: Male
Height: 6'0
Birthsign: The Serpent
Appearance: Dark blue scales, with Light Blue spots and stripes. He Has Acid Green eyes, and a row of short spikes in a mohawk pattern on top of his head.
He is very thin, and though he has some muscle, is by no definition very strong.

Class: Magician, Alchemist, Priest.
Skills and known spells: Alteration (Novice Level: Oakflesh, Candlelight, Magelight), Destruction (Journeyman Level: Fireball, Fire Rune, flames), Restoration (Apprentice: Healing Hands, Lesser Ward, Turn Undead, Healing), Conjuration (Novice Level: Summon Familiar), Alchemy (Expert Level) only knows potions, not poisons)

Clothing / armor: Wears a simple blue robe (without a hood)most of the time, with plain pants and shirt underneath.
Weapons: Carries a small Steel Dagger, though he mostly uses it for gathering samples instead of fighting
Miscellaneous items: carries several basic potions with him, as well as a mortar and pestle and a small puch of gold. often carries sweet foods for snacks, as they are his favorite

Personality: Itan-Ru is a somewhat nervous individual, though he is very friendly. He is rarely purposefully rude or impolite. He is easily frazzled or distracted, due to his nervous nature, and this isnt helped by his affinity for sugar-rich foods
Though his high levels of energy let him accomplish tasks rather quickly. He is a bit uncomfortable around new people, but will warm to them eventually. The only time when he seems calm is when casting Magic or mixing potions
Major flaw: His nervous, twitchy energy, while allowing him to quickly power through most tasks, also has its drawbacks.
He's found that he can only achieve regular sleep with the aid of a potion his former caretakers created out of local flowers an roots.
Without this potion, within a week his temper goes foul, and he cannot focus enough to reliably cast even simple spells.

Background: Born in Riften, Itan-Ru spent his ealry years on the streets, trying to scraqe by.
He lacked the talent to steal or pickpocket, but was always fascinated by flowers and their properties.
The local priesthood noticed him one day attempting to make a potion out of some flowers and river water,
and out of amusemant and pity decided to take him under their wing.
over the next few years, he learned much about alchemy and surprisingly a good deal about magic from his teachers, Which, considering the argonian's unusal energy, was quite the chore. When the chance to have his own start in a new hold came up, his teachers forced him accept, insisting that the argonian had learned all that he could teach, and that the rest he would have to learn on his own. And so he moved to Valton to join the priesthood there so he could help a new town.

Name: Sae-Kas
Age: 28
Race: Argonian
Gender: Male
Height: 6' 3"
Birthsign: The Tower
Appearance: Similar to Itan-Ru, another Argonian would have no trouble in seeing that they are brothers, though men and mer might have difficulty. He has the same Acid-green eyes and dark blue scales, though the stripes and spots on his body are a dark red and dark purple. Like his brother, he has a row of spikes in a mohawk pattern on top of his head, though his spikes are a little longer than his brother's. He has a medium build, and is stronger physically than Itan-Ru.

Class: Smuggler
Skills and known spells: Sneaking, Speech, Illusion (Expert Level: knows Invisibility, though his time invisible rarely lasts more than ten seconds; can create small visual and auditory illusions (he wont make you think there's another whole person standing in front of you, but he can create distracting sounds and movements, the louder the sound or the larger the illusion the more energy it takes, and he typically only uses the visual illusions to back up the audio ones EG: the sound of a coin dropping might be accompanied by a small flash of light near the floor. nothing much bigger than that, and he can't do it often) muffle)
One-Handed (focuses on shorter blades, such as daggers and shortswords), Light Armor, Lockpicking

Clothing/ Armor: Wears dark leather armor, almost black when traveling or otherwise prepared for a fight. Wears simple clothing otherwise, never having been one for finery.
Weapons: carries a pair of curved steel daggers, with slight serration on one side of the blades. He is agile enough to use them both for stealth and open combat. Also wears a special glove on his right hand with a secret blade that extends when magicka is run through it.
Miscellaneous: carries a pouch of coin, and not much else

Personality: In contrast to his brother's nervous, twitchy energy, Sae-Kas is usually calm and collected, though is not above becoming enraged at incompetence. He is heavily sarcastic, and is fully aware of how infuriating it can be to others. When he chooses to, he can be quite charming, and is rather good at making deals which many would otherwise cringe at.
Major flaw: has a soft-spot for his brother, and would put himself in harm's way to prevent harm from coming to him. Aside from this, he is also arrogant and overconfident, and has gotten in over his head many times, only surviving through extreme luck.

Background: Born in Riften five years before his brother, Sae-Kas actually remembers his mother, who died due to illness when Itan-Ru was too young to remember her. Sae-Kas then took it upon himself to care for his younger brother on the streets of Riften. Forced to steal by the need to provide for his brother, he was quickly found by the Thieves Guild, becoming a runner for the Guild in exchange for coin, food, and other necessary supplies. After Itan-Ru's naming day, which took place in a similar manner to his own, the argonian dock workers providing the needed hist sap, when his younger brother had joined the priesthood, Sae-Kas began to take a more active role in the guild, his brother's wellfare now secured. He found that he enjoyed the lifestyle of the thieves.
Like his brother, he found he had a natural talent for magic, though instead of healing, he turned his abilities towards deceiving others with Illusion magic. eventually, he left the guild (On good terms) to form a small smuggling outfit known in criminal circles as the Red Scales, which does a good deal of its business with the guild, as Sae-Kas still has contacts among their ranks. He was last seen doing business in Markarth, though some recent news may just convince him to leave...

Name: Julius Scipion
Race: Altmer
Gender: male
Age: 173(appear's in early 40s-late 30s)
Height: 6'4
Birthsign: The mage
Appearance: Black hair with tinges of grey in the hairline,Lean but not overly muscular,grey eyes.

Class: Ex-battlemage now mason
Combat Skills: Trained in the use of longswords and heavy armor, but his abilities aren't what they used to be back when he was a battle-mage. He knows how to maintain his armor and weapons in good shape.
Magic skills: Destruction mainly shock and frost spells, but will run out of magicka quite fast, some restoration and Illusion for basic changes E.G to change appearance.

Clothing: Usually Black leather boots, black linen tousers and white shirt and usually a blue woolen jumper
Armour: Steel armour reinforced with corondum. It gives the armor a rusty-gold look.
Equipment: Dwarven longsword, Maps, Mapping equipment, Measurement tools and some biscuits plus a brown horse with a white star down nose.

Personality: Quiet,reserved but usually speaks He has a long temperament but can snap.
Major flaw: He has sars on his right shoulder from a wolf attack and a deep wound on his right thigh from an old battle,when temper snaps alot happens.

Background: Raised in an orphanage Julius Was instilled with Imperial doctrine due to the orphanage being run by the legion. He was found to have Magical skills but was strangely weak for an altmer, he served with the legion until in 4E150he was put in charge of supervising the building of a new fort after talking and learning from some of the masons Julius had found his true calling. He resigned from the legion and has been a mason ever since even through the great war unable to fight his Brethren he requested to be a quatermaster until the end of the war where he resigned and his been in masonry ever since and has recently come to valton hoping to aid the hold in its infancy as to insure a northen bravil was not built.

Name: Jormaw
Age: 24
Race: http://www.google.co.uk/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=argonian&source=web&cd=2&ved=0CEYQFjAB&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.uesp.net%2Fwiki%2FLore%3AArgonian&ei=C0taT-GjBsni8AOltZDjDg&usg=AFQjCNEvIxH4aZk47-lghQP3pm6sIW50OA
Gender: Male
Height: 6'1"
Birthsign: The Atronach
Appearence: Slightly mesomorphic in build, has a long gator-like snout, ridged scales going from the tip of the nose to the end of his thick and long tail, the base of his short stubby legs are given expanded feet for keeping balance in mud, his claws are webbed- showing an amphibious ancestry. He holds himself in a hunched position at most times to appear smaller.
Colour wise his scaled skin is covered in a dark murky texture of brown, the underside of his neck, stomach and tail are of a lighter almost bleached shade with his upper ridged scales being a tinge of dark grey and what could be described as moss green. His slit eyes are covered in a light coat of black, which aid Jormaw in finding prey in the watery abyss, wherever they may be lurking. Occasionally he will apply a mixture of bird dung and specific tree sap to his face to form a temporary, plain white, ritualistic tattoo.

Class: Fisherman | Former Mercenary
Skills: He has expertise in most hand-to-hand techniques and is moderately proficient in the use of the blade. Both were practiced in his time among the Ukoa-Sieen and of course his former occupation as a mercenary to wealthy nobles.
His only magically imbuned skills are in that of alteration and mysticism, (Detect Life, Spell Absorption, Feather & Slowfall). Learned grudgingly from a whet-fang hermit whom's lair had been discovered by Jormaw in his hatchling days of wandering the darkness of Lilmoth's surroundings, looking for food and shelter. The vampire offered the training in exchange for his lair not being revealed to the general populace, which Jormaw surprisingly agreed on.
He can also be said to be skilled in cooking and preparing seafood or even forming basic herbal mixes to cure ailments.

Clothing: He'll casually appear to wear a garb of durzog leather: including a ripped kama with two rootworm grubs hanging off each side- both of which are next to the large tail. Two bands hang just beneath his knee and elbowcaps that are of woven bandage make.
Underneath those bands are fur shorts and a wrinkled tunic of the aforementioned durzog leather; conjoined with this is a set of cloth made shoulderpads made in vertical layers of flapped material. Sometimes he will wear a scarf of an albino netch's leather for the cold climate as well. One sling satchel is carried so that he can luggage any of his coin or needed materials around.
The argonian appreciates the addition of beaded or feathered embroidery to the depths of his apparel. When fishing or in the water he will strip down to be only wearing his kama, fur shorts and his bands.

Weapons: The young lizard prefers to keep his poison dipped claws as his weapons, but when needed he'll draw his self crafted dagger; shaped from the tooth of a sea-drake and hilted with a single exposed root's stub. He may also wield his bloodied carving knife into combat.
Miscellaneous items: a carving knife, some insect bait, a satchel full of medical supplies and materials, a tool belt.

Personality: Jormaw is a comfortable individual to get along with, if a little paranoid and alien-minded at times. For his age he has decent amount of life experience, making him a perceptive person to be around. He can definitely be stubborn in his views but wields a sharp, protective attitude to those whom he trusts. His greed can get in the way of goals, as well as his quick-wit and boggled temperament do in getting in the way of the 'land-striders' at the most conveniently helpful of moments.
Major flaw: is reclusive about his nature and secretive about his past. A good liar when it comes down to it. He isn't very appreciative of any sort of authority figure and will seek to undermine them if a chance crops up.

History: Jormaw is not the usual archein of Black Marsh. He lived as an outcast in the swamps near Lilmoth for much of his life, cast out of his tribe, Ukoa-Sieen, for consorting with the dark folk of the north. From here his life changed inevitably once he found a well paying job as a mercernary to a representative of an ann-xileel patron.-----------------
Such a career gave him brief moments of renown for his bravery in bringing Black-Marsh back into the isolationistic comfort of the Hist, even if he did not know about this himself. Such work even brought him to many different provinces, where he learned the common tongue of Tamriel. In these provinces he befriended new peoples and learned their ways. In time, he found a comfort he had not felt since his days among the Ukoa-Sieen.---------------
But war changes any man's heart to soil in time, so did this happen to Jormaw. An event which occured when he was about to take the head off a lone redguard smith, as he was payed to do. However, a little girl of maybe nine or ten stopped in him in his path, whom fighted at his bare stomach and begged him not to kill her father. A flash of memory came to him, or you could say a realization.. ----------------
The child reminded him of himself when he was her age. Prideful, headstrong, commanding. He remembered back to a day when he lost a spear head. He begged the Ukoa-Sieen's mystic to help him locate it, as it was the only thing that he had left of his now dead father. The mystic smiled, gave the stalwart young man a wink then passed him a riddle to be pondered on: "the spear is headless; but is it rusted or lost?" -----------
He dropped his blade. Walked on untill he was tired, then he rested, got up and walked again. Soon he was in new lands, now a traveller perhaps? Jormaw would not know or care. He had problems of his past to set his mind on. His destination was unknowable. He wanted time to think and rest.

Name: Urgoc
Age: 30
Race: Orc
Gender: Male
Height: 5 foot tall
Birthsign: The Tower
Appearance: A small man with dwarfism. You'd see his body in sight to be plump with fat and still has the muscle expected of an orc.
Urgoc's arms are inproportionate to his body, being lengthy enough to extend a slight bit further than his knees would bend.
Otherwise, his condition of dwarfism is only effecting of his height. But he'd argue his endomorphic stomach is also the victim of the problem.

From his head features the result of orc and ogre inbreeding or the ancestry to such offspring. His neck is wide, flapped. a gullet of stretching
skin that reaches down to the chest in a triangular angle. Reminiscent to an argonian's neck, if only through the curling muscle of his neck.
A flat chin or jaw makes a straight cliff at the top of this, barely notable in the fact because the colouration of it blends well into the gullet area.
Above the jaw holds a tri-tusked mouth that would look to have several, small yet pointed teeth that could give a nasty bite as a last resort.

On the upper reaches of his face one could find Urgoc's nose (or the lack of one at that) to be abridged between a raised brow and swollen epicanthic eyes.
The nose's openings or slits, are facing to the sides of the two large bumps that which make up his nose. Most would see it as if he had no nose at all.

One could relate the sides of his upper skull to be rather square in pattern, before swirling to a tip at the top. The back in conjuction looking to round to the neck.
Where these finish off in length, the ears would end in width. Like an ogre's ears, they flop into an outward frizzle- a half crescent moon shape on each side.

The colouration to all of these odd features would be a mixture of forest greens, camel browns and a variation of light touches honing to the natural orc appearence.
Although Urgoc's dye is more suitable to a camouflaging in a forest than an open field, like an orc's would. The reason for this is unknown, although it could be a
defense to fill in for the lack of height. A gift from Malacath perhaps. But this changes when the wrinkled pelt looks to slowly blend into a pale, near white, face.
Holding two deep orange gems otherwise one should call his eyes. Twins in being cat-like in form or structure, yet without a pupil that changes with light intensity.

Class: Barbarian | Farmer ( Weaver | Apiarist | Candlemaker | Potter)
Skills:
Hand to Hand - Fights with his brethren in the stronghold would be settled with dominance- pit fighting. A trait which Urgoc is more or less a journeyman in.
Blunt - His training with the flail that he calls 'Old Nancy' has given Urgoc an expert knowledge on which area to crack or smash into a bloody mess.
Mercantile - As a rather laughable, yet efficient speaker for the stronghold, Urgoc would learn to trade with other tribes. Deals are settled with an alright cunning.
Block - Not the best man to talk to when it comes to how defend yourself in the open. However his knowledge of obscuring view temporarily can come in handy.
Marksman - The little man is good at swinging things. Very good. As he was an old practitioner of throwing stones at various creatures. Orc, bird or otherwise.
Sneak - A small height can be useful for sneaking away or hiding in corners not reachable by the average man. Urgoc has an workable ability in this interesting skill.
Speechcraft - A wizard betters his spells with tomes of knowledge, likewise Urgoc has learned to talk his way out of any trouble from old books found or lost.

Clothing / armor: His outfit is relatively simple looking. As it has the overall structure of the College of Winterhold's college robes.
However, the material is of various mountain furs, appropriate for long nights in the cold. And slight rips of chainmail have been added to the set.
The finishing touches are an attached gut plate made out of the iron wood of Skyrim's northern forests, a prize given to the orc by his father.
Weapons: A flail with a troll-teeth (for blades) macuahuitl at the end, an iron hammer, a marking knife, his own teeth.
Miscellaneous items: An etched pipe, a reaching sickle, a rusted dwemeri thermometer, a wooden shifting scale, an iron hammer,
a tin full of string, a sack for all of his odd bits & bobs, a seam ripper, chalk, needles, a marking knife, a small woolen cushion, ruffback smoker,
handling pads (a sort of tight grip that goes around Urgoc's hands to keep a pressure hold on the ruffback), a sling of cloth, a fur 'hood' pack.

Companion: Skarc, an albino ruffback that has been his friend since the days of both of them were a grub in the cavernous mountains of the Jeralls.
The beast like most of it's kin has the https://images.nonexiste.net/popular/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/Saw-one-of-these-in-my-garage-yesterday-Can-only-think-of-them-as-a-tiny-Chaurus-now-.jpeg but with the fur of a goat or a yak, http://www.wildlifeinsight.com/Insight/wp-content/gallery/gb_bees/buff-tailedbumblebee_1733.jpg.
And unlike a chaurus, most ruffbacks have several legs to sprout upon, as well as long length to match, this comes in handy when climbing trees or digging.
Their http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ef9Mnhcs8Ck/TuXk7m3caGI/AAAAAAAAEOg/4xDAFoNp4Gg/s1600/tarantula-Giant-Tarantula-spider.jpg, as well as making the bulk of the creature's main body structure. Skarc is different by his white fur and red eyes.
Skarc is about 3 feet (meaning 35 inches or 1 meter) long and about 1,5 feet tall (meaning 20 inches or 50 centimeters).
Personality: Optimistic, determined, crude humoured, a riddler in wise talk, a communicator of quotes, reactive in nature, absent minded, confusing.
Major flaw: Ill tempered, honour bound, disgruntled with himself, self doubt is faced in any serious undertakings, dislikes the so-called 'knife ears.'

Background:
Son of the Chieftan of the Stronghold of Whin-Skur. An orc stronghold held in a cavern within one of the western Jerall mountain's rock.
The orc was born a pariah among pariahs, for he was a dwarf. His life was shaped around this moment of birth and choice of this quaint identity.
Some would say it was a gift of Malacath, others more poignant or literal minded would spell it as a curse from Sheogorath or him not being an orc at all.

None of this hogwash is true, however. For Urgoc is as much orc as any found within the reaches of Whin-Skur, which is to say not a lot.
In time's past after the escape at Orsinium and the founding of Whin-Skur by Borba Gra-Agum, many orcs were lost or deceased in number.
To make up for this, a few 'little brothers' of Malacath (or otherwise called ogres)- locals to the mountains were permitted entry into the stronghold's inner walls.

In time they inbred with the orcs to form a half breed. Such ancestors made their way into other bloodlines and so the famous trait of Whin-Skur was born.

Urgoc also has this blood of his ancestors in him. It's helped him in his younger years spent climbing rock falls, snow filled slopes, as well as craggy peaks.
Bullying came in similar fashion, but usually in vocal tone. As no one wanted the chieftan on their backs nor the future leader destroying their career.
That would of course be his eldest sister, Mazoga Gra-Yarzol, whom was eternally protective of her stunted younger brother. To an extreme in-fact.

For example: at one point an orc named Atulg Gro-Bagdub threatened to pick up Urgoc and boil his hide in a cauldron untill his very bubbles of breath would choke to death. After hearing this, Mazoga had personally brought the young Atulg to the family's cauldron before boiling him alive. Then throwing him into a pit of skeevers to be gnawed on.

This relationship would eventually come to help both of them in the near future, when the usurper Orbul Gra-Yarzol would look to overthrow the ruling.
The event was scheduled as such after the murder of both their father and her mother, then the attempted assassination of Atulg Gro-Bagdub in her sleep.
But the intervention of the nearby Urgoc had given enough time for the orc to awake and defend herself. The perpetrator being found shortly afterwards.

With Mazoga Gra-Yarzol now in matriachal chieftanship of the Stronghold, her middle sister was quickly disposed of by being brought to the attention of a most distant chieftan. Mauhulakh, leader of Narzulbur. To be sold to him is a fate worse than death to any self respecting orc woman. Such a destiny was now Orbul's, quite deservedly. She had brought ruin to one of Whin-Skur's oldest families, grief to sisters, a brother and shame upon the whole orc populace with her deceit, betrayal or under handed dealings.

Orbul Gra-Yarzol's trip was arranged and a deal to Mauhulakh came to be agreed upon in the old council to the new yarzol chieftanship of the jerall mountains.
Twenty one ruffbacks, three grunts, a stack of deer meat, goat hides, as well a number of smithing tools in return for building materials, ebony ore and some supplies. The leader of the expedition was insisted to be "Mazoga's little brother," a ransom incase the deal would look to be sour. Which the woman only grudgingly agreed to after numerous debate.

With a large pack settled for, Urgoc unhappily came to set out with the men. Eastmarch was their destination. The outcome being as unknown as the very blizzardous winds.

Name:Roland
Age: 32
Race:Imperial/Nord
Gender:Male
Height:5’10”
Birthsign: The Lord

Appearance:http://i865.photobucket.com/albums/ab216/asapp152/RolandFace.jpg is a gruff man. His body is lean and in good physical condition. His scruffy dark brown hair falls down almost to his shoulders. His eyes are a deep hazel green and look as though they belong to a man much older than he. His face is rough and unshaven leaving dark brown stubble across his strong jaw and thin cheeks. His face is slender but not gaunt.

Class: Ranger
Skills and known spells:
Archery- Roland is extremely talented in archery and more than at home with a bow and arrow in his hands.
Blade- Roland is also extremely proficient in the arts of the sword. He prefers a hand-and-half sword.
Alchemy- Roland has a strong grasp of alchemy. Not in the same way a mage would. Roland instead focuses on creating poultices and herbal remedies from things found in the outdoors.
Riding- Roland is a good rider and knows how to sit a horse well.
Tracking- Roland is a master tracker, of both game and other quarry.
Survival- From many years of training and being in the wilderness Roland has figured out how to survive on even the most minimal of resources.
Ranging- Roland possesses all skills that most associate with rangers, from climbing to cooking to basic first aid, if it is required for ranging he knows how to do it.

Clothing / armor: Roland wears a beige linen shirt under a worn leather jerkin. Over the Jerkin he wears wool tabard trimmed in leather, and on top of that he wears a worn leather vest and mantle for extra protection. He also wears light wool trousers and high leather boots. Around his shoulders he wears a travel-worn brown cloak clasped together by a bronze brooch. (http://www.alleycatscratch.com/lotr/Human/Gondor/Ranger/Ranger_A_8354_GLeaf.jpg)
Weapons:Roland carries a steel http://www.the-mathom-house.com/images/strider_scabbard-H.jpg as well as a http://images.wikia.com/deadliestfiction/images/5/5b/English_longbow3.jpg composed of hickory and lemonwood. To accompany his bow Roland carries at least 20-25 steel tipped arrows with him at all times. Roland also carries a steel hunting knife on the back of his belt. It is more of a tool than a weapon, but can be used to as one if need be.

Miscellaneous items: Roland carries a thin bedroll, a small hatchet, a few small wooden alchemical tools such as a mortar and pestle, a few first aid ointments and bandages, flint and tinder, and various other small items used for ranging or camping.
Personality: Roland is a kind person at heart, but he has seen much in his life and it has made him a different man. He's a friendly man most of the time, if not a bit rough. He tends to keep to himself, but once he's acquainted with someone and gets to know them he tends to be a bit more extrovertive.
Major flaw: Roland has seen some pretty gruesome things in the past few years, and it has left a large imprint on his mind. He sometimes relapses into periods of extreme abrasiveness and becomes extremely touchy when matters of his past are brought up.

Background:(Not going to give too much away here, most of his character development will be through revealing his past) Roland was born to an Imperial father and a Nordic mother in the town of Bruma. He joined the Bruma guard like his father at the age of 16 and from there went on to join the Imperial Legion’s 6th Forester Division. The 6th division was transferred from Cyrodiil to Skyrim soon after his enlistment. Roland spent close to 13 years in the 6th division. During the Civil war of 4E204 his Uncles and the rest of his mother's family declared allegiance to Ulfric Stormcloak. Much to Roland's dismay the 6th Forester division, acting as outriders and scouts for the 4th Legion, was dispatched on campaign against the Stormcloak rebellion. During their campaign the 6th Forester Division engaged in a large skirmish with Stormcloak forces around a village on the White River. The village was home to his mother's family. The 6th Division won the skirmish with aid from a 4th Legion regiment. However Roland deserted shortly afterward and has been running from the legion ever since. Some claim he runs on chargers of treason, deserting, and murder.

Name:Varyn Uvirith
Age: Born 2E 386 (1148 as of 4E 204)
Race: Dunmer
Gender: Male
Height:5’7”
Birthsign: The Mage
Appearance: http://i865.photobucket.com/albums/ab216/asapp152/TESV2012-03-2320-11-16-10.jpg is getting quite old and it shows rather badly. Even though he stands at 5’7” he hunches over making himself seem a few inches shorter. His face is somewhat gaunt, making his already pronounced cheekbones even more noticeable, and covered in a rough grey beard that he keeps tied in a knot. Upon his head, surprisingly, is a wild mess of grey/white hair showing a rather bad receding hairline. Varyn’s brow is also somewhat pronounced and home to thick flared white eyebrows.

Class: Mage
Skills:Once upon a time Varyn was an extremely powerful Telvanni Mage-Lord. However, that was a very long time ago. Old age has stripped Varyn of most of his power. While still maintaining the potential to wield the same power he had when he was younger, it is now much harder for him to do so.
When Varyn was in his prime he was a master in the arts of Destruction, Alteration, and Mysticism. His power was quite awe inspiring at one time. Even though he has aged and his power has waned, Varyn still retains the knowledge he acquired while achieving such power. He may not be able to blow things to pieces anymore, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know how.

Clothing / armor: Varyn wears an ensemble of robes and sashes in the Telvanni fashion. Most follow an earthen palette, but a few are quite a bit flashier.
Weapons: Varyn has no need for weapons. However he does carry a Dunmeri dagger made of razor sharp glass as a last resort.
Miscellaneous items: Varyn is in possession of a large collection of scrolls and tomes with focus on the arcane arts and other less common things. He almost has enough to populate the shelves of a rather sizeable library. Other than his books and magical apparatuses Varyn has brought quite a few things to Valton. Mostly small insignificant items like his pipe, ink and quills, random chunks of dilapidated and seemingly inoperable Dwemer machinery, a set of alchemists tools (even though he knows almost nothing about alchemy), a few magical trinkets that seem to do nothing of importance, a bronze and glass dish engraved with runes that also seem to do nothing at all, and an assortment of other odds and ends packed into suitcases and trunks.

Personality: Varyn is a very opinionated and blunt person. He tends to speak his mind no matter what the consequences and is in no way scared of the outcome. Varyn can also come off as quite mad at times. Having almost 1200 years of memories tends to jumble things up pretty bad. He often mumbles random nonsense to himself or forgets even the most obvious things. Varyn also strongly believes that he’s still capable of the feats he was able to do while in his prime. This causes him to be quite feisty and strong willed. He often attempts to do things he used to do back in the day, and just as often he ends up failing miserably in some way or another.
Major flaw: Varyn is very old, even for a Dunmer. Even though he’s not disabled he finds it hard to walk for longer than ten minutes without the help of a cane, which he sometimes is reluctant to use as a walking instrument and instead uses it as a club to whack unsuspecting “Fetchers” and “imbeciles”. Varyn also is no longer able to use the arcane arts as he used to. However he still has the potential to do some damage, that is if he remembers how to cast the spell without blowing himself up (something that almost happens on a regular basis.)

Background: (This is the condensed version of Varyn’s extremely long history. It would be a nightmare to include 1200 years of back-story into a suitable post.)
Varyn was born into House Telvanni, and like all born in House Telvanni he strove to achieve greatness. He studied the arcane arts for centuries and eventually worked his way up in House Telvanni, through the normal means of backstabbing, murder, and trickery. After establishing himself as a Mage-Lord and Councilor of the Telvanni, through the rather brutal murder of his older brother, Varyn began construction of his tower, Tel Uvirith.

However, late in the 3^rd Era Varyn’s younger brother, ironically, drove him from his tower and off of Vvardenfell. Since then Varyn has been plotting his revenge as he continues to age and wane in power. His obsession with killing his brother is almost comical at times due to his age and his extreme conviction.

Name: Leandra Flavia Lavidia
Age: 26
Race: Imperial (Nibenese)
Gender: Female
Height: 5’7
Birthsign: The Atronach
Appearance: So long as she maintains a safe distance from her (certainly bizarre) equipment, Leandra looks like a fairly ordinary young woman of her age. Her lithe build belies a wiry strength that is well complemented by the swiftness evident in her step – light, bouncy, yet also firm and sure. Quite tanned skin and swirly patterns tattooed in light blue over her left arm, reaching up her neck and touching upon her face slightly, betray her Nibenese heritage – said tattoo being the only thing that might strike a non-Nibenese as inherently strange about her.

Her face is generally rather gaunt, having notable, rather pronounced cheekbones that, accompanied by her just slightly snub nose, give her a slightly ‘soft’ look. A slight glint to her deep blue eyes sitting beneath thin, slightly arced black eyebrows, suggests that she’s more experienced than her age might suggests, and her thin lips are usually curled in a smirk that speaks of no lack of confidence in the young Imperial. Her pitch black hair is usually the deciding factor in the first impressions people get about Leandra; when it is tied into a ponytail, which is most often when she’s ‘on business’ (or when the fancy simply strikes her), her looks lean towards someone who might be half-seriously considered an actual mercenary. When it’s left loose, however, she seems almost comical, a soft-looking girl dressed in the strangest things imaginable.

Class: Mercenary. Daedra Hunter extraordinaire. Traveling weirdo.
Skills and known spells (if any): A good shot with her crossbow, capable in a fistfight (so long as she’s not expected to stand still and take any blows herself) and handy with her dagger, Leandra also has the advantage of an education, being able to write and read several languages, having some rudimentary familiarity with the theory of magic (that is not to say she can cast any spells herself; she can merely tell what school of magic she’s being blasted with) and quite the repository of knowledge regarding various things Daedra.

Clothing / Armor: To call Leandra’s choice of clothing weird would be an understatement. A blouse of padded cloth and the steel briastplate worn over it are not so unusual for a woman of action as she (says she) is; neither are the slightly baggy brown pants or almost knee-high tough leather boots, with a plate of steel on the front and further steel reinforcement for the toes. The fingerless leather glove with a slim green gemstone in it and Daedric etchings that glow slightly – making its strength-augmenting enchantment plain to the skilled eye – might be considered rather off.

All that most often goes unnoticed, however, in favour of the fact her right arm seems quite a bit larger than her left. The long dark brown woollen trench-coat that she’s taken to wearing since beginning her journeys in Skyrim doesn’t help much, by virtue of the fact its right sleeve is slightly lighter than the rest of the fabric, as well as much wider to accommodate for what seems like a misshapen lump for an arm – but what is actually, as becomes apparent when Leandra removes the coat, a mess of Dwemer metal that will seem senseless and chaotic to all but the most knowledgeable in the field.

Starting with a gauntlet that seems slightly too large for her hand, it trails off into pistons and metal connections to her arm that look like they must feel quite painful to the wearer. That Leandra can move her arm easily beneath what seems to be a Dwemer Centurion’s limb torn off and slapped on top of her own is a true feat of Dwemer engineering; that she has a small, slightly steaming tube protruding out of the greatest lump on her shoulder that’s made by a somewhat clunky pauldron is a source of infinite wonder and suspicion to everyone she comes into contact with. Add to that a set of thick goggles that are rather too large for her, also clearly of Dwemer make and with quite a few small levers and witches on them, and it becomes little wonder Leandra is always received by strangers as a walking oddity at best.
Weapons: Her primary and most notable weapon is a http://www.instructables.com/files/deriv/FNW/50NH/G1QWB4FI/FNW50NHG1QWB4FI.MEDIUM.jpg of http://www.instructables.com/files/deriv/FET/2PYJ/G1QWB4FL/FET2PYJG1QWB4FL.MEDIUM.jpg (rather less shiny and more rusted and worn in person than the pictures depict), which she affectionately calls Veronica. Strapped to her hip is also a slightly curved steel knife with a silvered edge – ‘just in case’.
Miscellaneous items: A small silver locket on a chain of the same material, inside which is a painting of the White Gold Tower and the surrounding Nibenese countryside, and a Dwemer-looking key, tied to simple string. Both hang from her neck.

Personality: Leandra is an odd one, fluctuating between a rather extroverted state and a love for solitude quite a bit and often without warning. While she does enjoy company often, she just as quickly grows tired of it. A curiosity that once knew no bounds (particularly where Dwemer are concerned) is counteracted by a wary, almost fearful shade acquired through several years of intense dealings with Daedra and all the various horrors associated, which is why she most often avoids talking about her occupation, never outright shooting down anyone who might have some notions about the romantic side of being a wandering fighter, but rarely if ever speaking of it fondly; sometimes, it might seem she actually hates her profession. About the only part of her that is constant is the attachment – almost love, one might say – she formed towards her crossbow.
Major flaw: The Dwemer contraptions that cover the entirety of her right arm might make her capable of firing Veronica, her odd crossbow, but even Dwemer technology is not above acting up at the worst possible time – and when this particular device does, it tends to bend her arm involuntarily in whatever directions it sees fit, going as far as breaking it once or twice.

And that’s before Leandra’s chased out of town or openly ridiculed for looking like she raided a Dwemer Centurion’s wardrobe.

Background: Born into a house of minor nobility in the Imperial Heartland, not too far from the Imperial City itself, Leandra is reluctant to talk of what she did in the past, much rather deflecting to question other people about theirs. If pressed, she will most gladly about her education in the Synod – making mention of the fact she never possessed the aptitude for the arcane necessary for actual membership – and the past eight or seven years she spent travelling through northern Cyrodiil and southern Skyrim, which suggests she’s been a ‘Daedra hunter’ (as she describes her occupation) since the early age of 18 – quite a young age, especially for facing certainly far worse things than the horrible beds and food Leandra jokingly mentions recalling from her travels.

Name: Titus Aetius
Age: 24
Race: Imperial
Gender: Male
Height: 5'11"
Birthsign: The Lord
Appearance: Clean shaven, short dark brown hair, hazel eyes, with several small scars upon his face, gained from his 6 years of mercenary work.

Class: Knight
Skills and known spells : Heavy Armour, Blade, Block, Speech
Clothing / armor: Iron Armour, boots, gauntlets.
Weapons: Imperial Sword, Iron Shield
Miscellaneous items: Torch, Lockpicks,

Personality: Selfish, Slightly arrogant, Titus only cares how something benefits him, but is cheerful when the occasion warrants it.
Major flaw: Has a bit too much confidence in his own abilities, and demands respect when he hasn't earned it.

Background: Titus is an Imperial from the family of a poor Imperial Legion soldier. Proud of the Empire and himself despite his low birth, Titus eventually grew bitter over the years, due to the White-Gold Concordat and the attitudes displayed towards him by Cyrodillic nobility. When he reached 18, Titus left to find money as a mercenary, being hired by some town or Count to kill some bandits. Upon hearing of the new hold in Skyrim, Valton, Titus made his way there, and has just arrived in the hold. Seeing how relatively new Valton is, Titus hopes to exploit the Jarl and the town for protection.

Name: Theseus Naik
Age: 21
Race: Nord/Redguard
Gender: Male
Height: 6 feet, 3 inches
Birthsign: The Atronach

Appearance: Theseus is tall with broad shoulders and a medium build. He has ear length black hair and attractive brown eyes. He has a long scar that runs underneath his right ear and a burn on his left arm. Theseus always has a placated look of intensity on his face.

Class: Warrior / Vigilante
Skills: Theseus is a skilled swordsman and a master at throwing javelins. He can also create many makeshift traps. He knows no spells.

Clothing: Simple clothes underneath scaled leather armor that covers his whole body besides his head.
Weapons: Simple steel sword and three four-foot steel tipped javelins that he has in a makeshift quiver attached to his back.
Misc. Items: A small satchel that he uses to carry his supplies and a wineskin water jug.

Personality: Theseus has a strong sense of justice and will try to help anyone around him. He tends to be quiet around strangers but will be cheerful and hearty around anyone he considers a friend. He can also be reckless and loves danger.
Major flaws: Theseus's sense of justice and addiction to danger have gotten him into trouble on various accounts. He also has a weakness for women and will often freeze up and act awkwardly around them. He has a fear and hatred towards spiders. He also hates alcohol and refuses to drink any.

Background: Theseus was born in Markarth to a cruel drunken Nord. His father would often fly into a drunken rage and beat him. He never met his mother and would often day dream of her rescuing him from his father. At the age of twelve Theseus's father got a bit more drunk than usual and burned him with a firery piece of fire wood. At that moment Theseus decided to escape from his prison of a home. That night he gathered supplies and snuck out of the city.
He had not made it far before falling into a crevice face to face with a frostbite spider. The sight of the monster caused the young boy to faint. The creature was about to feast on its prey but was interrupted by a javelin to its back. It turned around only to be stabbed through the eye by an old imperial.

Theseus awoke in a small hut. His eyes fell upon his rescuer, A tall thin man probably in his early fifties. The man was an ex legionnaire who had witnessed many horrors of the Great War. His name was Andrell and he told the boy that he could stay as long as he carried his own weight.

Andrell became the father that Theseus never had and the two got along almost telepathically. During the day the two would fish by the stream that ran next to the imperial's hut and by night Andrell would school Theseus in the ways of combat.

Seven years passed as if they had merely been days. The now nineteen year old Theseus was returning to the hut after a long day of gathering ingredients for the nights dinner. Something seemed wrong though. He could see an unusual amount of smoke rising from where the two resided and Theseus broke into a run.
The sight he saw struck him like a punch to the gut. The charred remains of the hut lay in clumps around the dead body of his mentor. Three arrows protruded from his chest and his face was unrecognizable from what looked to be a mace strike. His steel sword lay limply in his dead hands. Now in a sobbing enraged state, Theseus swept up the sword and ran towards the foliage where the fresh steps of Andrell's killers where sprawled. I'm gonna kill them was the only thought on the young man's mind.

And indeed he did. I could go into detail but all that matters is that Theseus got his revenge, and since that day he vowed to become a force against evil and to stop tyranny wherever it may be.
His journeys eventually guided him to the town of Riften and that is where his story truly begins.

Name: Annika
Age: 25
Race: Nord
Gender: Female
Height: 5'7"
Birthsign: The Steed (of course ;D)

Appearence: Her hair is very long, but looks full and not strangly at the ends. It is a dark brown and slightly wavy. She has a paler complexion from the Skyrim cold, but no blemishs on her skin or face. Her eyes are large and a lighter shade of blue. She is thin, but not weak looking. She is pretty.
Class: Shopkeeper
Skills: Other than like speechcraft she is good with one handed skills, and archery. She moves well in light-armor.

Clothing: During the shop hours she usually just wears a nice long blue dress.
Weapons: She carries on her a dagger, but in a chest in her room she has a steel sword and a bow and arrows.

Miscellaneous: She has gold. (can't really think of anything else right now)
Personality: Friendly, kind, and usually gentle. She usually does not get angry very fast.
Major Flaw: She cannot swing a long sword for the life of her, and she has a fear of Frostbite Spiders. A paralizing fear of them.

Background: She was origionally from Windhelm, and after many attempts to join the Stormcloaks and everytime beinging turned down, she gave up and moved out of Windhelm. She discovered Valton as she traveled down with the ententions of finding Riften. But she decided to stay, settle down by herself, and when the shopkeeper went missing, she filled in for him.

Name: Garrett
Age: 18
Race: Breton/Imperial
Gender: Male
Height: 5'11ft
Birthsign: The Lady
Appearance: In plain clothes http://i1137.photobucket.com/albums/n515/Stoic_Guardian/2012-04-11_00005.jpg , http://i1137.photobucket.com/albums/n515/Stoic_Guardian/2012-04-11_00004.jpg
In Guard Armor http://i1137.photobucket.com/albums/n515/Stoic_Guardian/2012-04-11_00014.jpg

Class (what would you describe your character as?): Journeyman Swordsman
Skills and known spells (if any): Minor Healer, very basic smithing and alchemy, has some knowledge of using a sword and a shield, as well as light-armor. Although his inexperience greatly limits his talents. Has some knowlegde of fighting with and without a weapon, due to his martial arts training when he was younger.

Clothing / armor:Weapons: Reglar clothing for the moment (See picture above), though with time things may improve.
Miscellaneous items: Amulet of the Nine, http://static.skyrim.nexusmods.com/downloads/images/6539-1-1326958635.jpg

Personality: Introverted,Scholarly, Nine Divines Devotee
Major flaw: Inexperianced, Though he understands the basics of many skills, such as Combat, Smithing, Alchemy and Restoration Magic, he can be considered no more than a beginner in all of them, though His swordsmanship is better than his other skills.

Background: It is unkown exactly where Garrett was born.
The Great war caused a flood of Refugees who his parents most likely included who migrated all around Northern Regions of Cyrodil, South Western Skyrim and Eastern Hammerfell.
His parents were most likely killed by the Bandits who would often raid the Groups of Refugees,Or Possibly even the Forsworn, he grew up almost as a stray being fed by the other refugees but not exactly adopted in a permanent sense, as the refugee group parted as people found more permanent enclosings, Someone dropped the young kid off in Markarth where he was soon Taken in by an Elderly Priest of Talos.

He grew up in the City doing random tasks for Gold, and became known as a little errand boy in the City, The priest never asked for any money from the child but he would often place much of it in the Donation bin and also Bought thing to offer too Talos. The Boy learned spirtual instruction frome the priest and he encouraged others in the town to do the same, He took notes from the Court Wizard Calcelmo, Learned a Bit of smithing from Ghorza gra-Bagol,a bit of Alchemy from Bothela. He learned about Arkay from Verulus in the Hall of the dead and Studied in the Temple of Dibella, As an adolescant he was attracted to many of the Women in the city(namely Hroki) but never got up the nerve to pursue any type of romantic relationship. He grew greatly interested in the martial arts and learned a bit from Yngvar the Singer, Argis the Bulwark and Vorstag.

In recent Years with the Tensions rising in Skyrim, The Old priest was Arrested by the Aldmeri Dominion for Refusing to stop his "Heresy" of Preaching on Talo's Divinity.

When Garrett found out about this he Ran to the Jarl Demanding action, the Jarl said that his hand were tied, Enraged Garrett confronted the Thalmor, Drew his Sword and Demanded the priest released the Thalmor struck the sword out of his hand as electrocuted him to the Floor, the Markarth guards then arrested him, On his way to Cidhna Mine He broke free of the guards and ran out of the city.
He had to get as far away as possible.

Name: Lokir
Age: 26
Race: Nord
Gender: Male
Height: 6'2"
Birthsign: The Steed

Appearance: He looks even younger then he is with a very unblemished, round and hairless face. Rather pale complexion. Large, light blue eyes. A short, flat nose. Wispy, wavy blond hair. A slight, wiry build.
Class (what would you describe your character as?): Merchant and Spy
Skills and known spells (if any): Decent with small blades and a crossbow. A decent enough merchant. Speedy and agile, very good at climbing and moving quickly and quietly. Can pick locks well and can set and disarm traps. An exceptional liar and public speaker as well.
Clothing / armor: Assortment of basic, middle class clothing. No armor.
Weapons: A short iron blade. A medium-weight wooden crossbow.
Miscellaneous items: Small coin with a symbol showing he's a Stormcloak, but only know to other rebels, or those very knowledgeable of Stormcloak espionage (I cannot stress that enough).

Personality: Quite serious about his role, he will not mess around when it comes down to getting work done. However, he can play many personalities depending on what his job requires, moving between sarcastic, drunk, angry, comedic and everything in between.
Major flaw: Despite his skills, he is still young and thus rash in some of his decisions.
Background: Grew up in a very anti-Empire family, so he naturally joined the Stormcloaks. He is only a mediocre soldier however, despite his decent skill with a blade, so he applied his talents to the rebellion to act as a spy. He has done two minor jobs so far, on in Whiterun and one in Solitude, both trying to weed out informers, and he has had success on both of them. Now he has been assigned to this new hold that has sprung up to see if any notable people are in the settlement, as well as to see if the Imperials plan on interfering in the city and to determine where the Jarl's loyalties lie, along with the general populace's.

Name: Alessandra
Age: 23
Race: Nibenese (Imperial)
Gender: Female
Height: 5'8"
Birthsign: The Warrior

Appearance: Like her "husband" she looks very young, even for someone who is 23. She has a thin face, with short, straight black hair and narrow green eyes. She is fairly short, and also quite thin and wispy, definitely not an obvious physical threat.
Class (what would you describe your character as?): Merchant, Illusionist and Spy
Skills and known spells (if any): Enough skill with a blade to defend herself adequately but not much beyond that. Good at Illusion magicks, able to cast strong Charming spells, as well as blinding flashes of light, Invisibility, and Calm spells. Supplements this with decent skill in Destruction, mainly used to supplement her torturing skills. Also good at moving silently, and is quite acrobatic.
Clothing / armor: No armor. Assortment of basic middle-class clothing.
Weapons: A small iron blade.
Miscellaneous items: Small coin with a symbol showing she's a Stormcloak, but only know to other rebels, or those very knowledgeable of Stormcloak espionage (I cannot stress that enough).

Personality: By all accounts she is a charming young lady with a winning smile, bright eyes and an innocent, youthful outlook on life. Like her "husband" she can play any number of personalities, and is not afraid of confrontation with most people. In private however, she is quite sadistic and also very serious about her job. She is capable of torturing captives for information, and doesn't seem to have any problem with doing it.
Major flaw: Like her partner, she is very young and rash, and her lack of powerful offensive skills can mean trouble if she doesn't calm your mind with her strong Illusion magick.
Background: Although she was born in Cyrodiil, she has lived in Skyrim with her family for most of her life. This is generally due to her parents disliking the way the Empire was going, and this led to her entire family joining the Stormcloak rebellion when it began. Soldiering was out of the question for her, but she quickly and naturally found a position in espionage. This is her first major job in the field, though she has done a few basic tracking jobs on targets before, and has been used by several soldiers to "interrogate" Legion captives.

Name: Ra-Tara
Age: 25
Race: Khajiit (Cathay-raht)
Gender: Male
Height: 6’10”
Birthsign: The Warrior
Appearance: Ra-Tara is a Cathay-raht and he has the characteristic coloration of his peers, orange-yellow fur with black spots all over. He is also typical for another reason, his size, there are few amongst the races of men who can look into his eyes or boast his innate strength. His eyes are yellow with black, almost snake-like, pupils.
Class: Merchant/Smuggler/Thief
Skills:
-Speech: As the mouthpiece of the brothers Ra-Tara has learnt to use his voice almost as well as his claws
-Unarmed: Like most Khajiit Ra-Tara prefers to use his claws and teeth to fight and has learnt to use his strength and weight effectively when called upon to defend himself
-Light Armor: Ra-Tara prefers wearing light armor if he has to wear any at all as it avoids adding to his already impressive weight
Clothing / armor: When not on guild duty he wears a comfortable grey tunic made for his oversize, however when on a job he wears his, once again custom made, Thieves Guild Armor.
Weapons: His claws.
Miscellaneous items: Five lockpicks and a small roll of lock picking tools and a pouch of guild money to allow the brothers to set themselves up in Valton.
Personality: Gentle giant, loud but often not with his own words.
Major flaw: Unable to do anything fiddly or requiring a modicum of skill.
Background: See J’Shar’s history.

Name: J’shar (Often called ‘Little Tiger’)
Age: 26
Race: Khajiit (Alfiq)
Gender: Male
Height: 11” (28cm) from the ground to the top of his head.
Birthsign: The Tower
Appearance: J’shar is similar in build to an average housecat, like all of his sub-species. However his appearance is slightly different, he has bands of orange and black all along his body, it is this that invariably earns him the nickname ‘Little Tiger’ wherever he goes.
Class (what would you describe your character as?): Mage/Thief
Skills and known spells (if any):
-Lock picking: Even as an Alfiq J’shar has learnt to pick locks through the use of Telekinesis spells.
-Sneak: A sort of byproduct of his sub-species but J’shar is very competent at sneaking and slinking.
-Alteration: As a necessity he has learnt to manipulate the world around him using magic to make up for his lack of ability otherwise.
-Destruction: He has no claws to speak of so had to learn to defend himself in other ways.
-Spells: Telekinesis, Detect Life, Telepathy, Lightning Bolt, Flame Cloak, Wall of Flames, Invisibility, Steadfast Ward, Healing.
Clothing / armor: None
Weapons: None except his not very fearsome claws
Miscellaneous items: None

Personality: Dependent upon his brother to act as his voice, strong willed and devious, will use people to achieve his goals.
Major flaw: Other than being less than a foot high and unable to manipulate the world if separated from magic and his brother?
Background: The brothers were born in the warm sands of Elsweyr in Dune, they quickly left though seeking adventure, fame and fortune (mostly fortune). They travelled together for a while and soon found themselves in Cyrodil, with no real interest in the war they made small amounts of gold trading with whoever had a need.
Quickly though they got bored of the inherent danger of trading with soldiers and looked for a safer haven. They had been told that Skyrim was safe and that many of their race had made a living in the area.
Skyrim was not the safe land they had been promised, Dragons and war disrupted their border crossing but cross they did. Eventually they fell in with a trading caravan run by Ri’saad. From here they forged links with the Thieves Guild, their unique set up allowing them to complete some of the more unusual requests received.
It is because of this skill that they have been sent to Valton, to establish a foothold for the guild in the fledgling hold.

Name: Erutáron (lit. "lofty God") (Air-oo-tar-onn)
Age: 45
Race: Bosmer
Gender: Male
Height: 5'6
Birthsign: The Steed
Appearence: Well fit Bosmer with long red hair with an overlaying back hanging ponytail. He is clean shaven and well kept.

Class: Horse-Seller, archer.
Skills and Known Spells: He is a Master Archer and Alchemist. He is an established hunter and handy with making good use of pelts for clothes and armor. He can command animals and is resistant to poison and disease. He uses no spells.

Clothing/Armor: He wears Hide Armor and hide boots when hunting. He wears belted tunics and fines boots in towns and cities.
Weapons: He has an Elven Bow and an assortment of arrows. He also has a huting
Misc Items: Enchanted Gloves of Archery, given to him by his father.

Personality: Laid back and easy going. Hard worker and lover of animals.
Major Flaw: Too trusting.

Background: Erutáron was born in Valenwood on the 17th day of the First Seed. He was raised by his father, Artoro, since his mother was brutally attacked and killed by a rouge vampire wandering the hills of Valenwood. Artoro hunted dwn the vampire and killed it with Erutáron in tow. Artoro taught Erutáron everything there was about being a great hunter. They hunted everyday and learned to live on what the world offered them. His mother ran the stable in town and favored the animals more than people. After her death, Artoro would never let Erutáron hunt the Big Game animals though. In fact, Artoro hung up hunting all together and took over the stables that his wife ran. He spent all his time at the stables and forced Erutáron to work along side him. He longed to hunt them. Erutáron considered himself the greatest hunter of all Tamriel and wanted, so desparately to prove it with the pelts of bears, sabre cats and whatever else roamed Tamriel.

Erutáron won every archery contest in his hometown but still had a strong pineing to tackle, what he considered his greatest challenge, and that was Big Game hunting. Erutáronworked the stables all day but hunted every morning before te stable opened. His father never came with him. Artoro was too protective of Erutáron and wanted to stay as safe as possible. He wanted him to run the stable after him. He already lost his wife, he could not bear to lose his son or worse, leave his son alone in this world. One day Erutáron left his home and set out alone to hunt the game of his life. If his father wouldn't take him, he would do it alone.He had gone out to the plains he had hunted as a boy and knew once he crossed the river to the south, the hunt would be on. It took him 2 days to reach the river and he crossed it. He wondered what his father was doing and if he would be mad at him. He shook those thoughts and focused on what was truly important, the hunt. he spent 2 more days south of the river and to much dismay, nothing to show for it but some fox skins and a slew of deer meat. No big game here. He decided to head home.

He was about a few hours from home when he first saw the smoke rising above where his village usually sits. The black smoke rose like a tower hundreds of feet in the sky. Erutáron's heart sunk as he raced towards his village, his father? Was he alive? Was he hurt? How could he have been so selfish to leave his father after all he has done for me? He never left me alone, he always kept me safe. Why did I have to leave? These questions circled Erutáron's mind until he reached the village.

He was not ready to see what lay ahead. His whole village lay dead in the streets, murdered by what? How? He started shouting for his father, but no answer. Was there nobody left? He reached his house but not in enough time, there lay Artoro in a puddle of blood with his bow in his hand and a claymore in his back. The whole town was desolated. Nobody was around. He saw a shimmering light off in the distance. It was coming from the woods where he and his friends played as children. He raced t the woods and found 10-12 Bosmer folks huddled in the trees. He recognized them from the village and they explained that the village was attacked by Daedra and that they were able to escape but nobody else survived. They told Erutáron that his father refused to leave his house and come to the woods for safety. He would not come without you they said. "He died waiting for you so that you would be safe."

Erutáron was sick to his stomach and now riddled with even more guilt. He was asked to stay and help rebuild the village with the 12 that survived. He declined and set out towards Skyrim. He could not stay in Valenwood. He needed to get away. He decided to head to Skyrim. He needed to get far away and he decided to give up hunting. the thought of it turned his stomach. He decided to take the 6 horses that remained in his father's stable and head north to reopen his family's stable in Skyrim. He had one Chestnut Horse, one Bay Horse, two Painted Horses and two Black Horses. He would follow in his other and father's footsteps and thrive in the horsetrade.

After arriving in Skyrim, it did not take Erutáron too long to realize that this country was worse off than Valenwood. It was in the middle of a civil war and dragons were attacking towns. Erutáron His life was empty and for the tried to open a stable in manyof the holds in Skyrim but found that most had a stable or did not have the desiree to open one. First time, he realized he was lonely.He felt very frustrated and a faliure. He heard of a new hold starting up called Valton and decided he would head there to settle down, open a stable there, since most of the other Holds already had a stable, but Valton did not. He hoped to also find a wife there and start a family of his own and possibly have a son and name him Artoto and never leave him alone and always keep him safe.

Name: Ulfgar Holdin
Age: 35
Race: Nord
Gender: Male
Height: 6’0
Weight: 185lb.
Birth-sign: Warrior
Appearance: Ulfgar has a strong, rugged, and overall rough around the edges look to him, with well refined muscle definition. His dirty-blonde hair is long and unkept, and he has a thick bushy beard also somewhat unkept. He has a light tan from being out in the sun a lot, and a blue to his eyes that seem to have once been bright and lively, but have now become a dulled blue.

Class: Sailor and Trader. (Smuggler, Sell Sword)
Skills: One-Handed, Two-Handed, Speech, Light Armor, Archery

Clothing / armor: Fur Boots, Tan Pants, Brown Belted Tunic, Thick Black Hooded Cloak, Thick Gloves, Fur Hat
Weapons: Steel Dagger, Steel War Axe, Steel Sword, Crossbow
Miscellaneous items: Large personal collection of Alcohol, Dried Food Goods, Whet Stone, Several Healing Potions, Spyglass

Personality: Ulfgar is a Nord who has many sides to him, at a time when most have just one or two. When it comes to the trade and business Ulfgar does, he is a tough and unwavering trader, which comes off as a cold focus to many who deal with him. If a trade agreement doesn’t go in Ulfgar’s favor, he’s not at all unwilling to come at the situation another way, even if that means a more brutish approach the other side doesn’t know about. He has a very grey sense of right and wrong, nothing is black and white to him, and to many of those who see just one side or the other, Ulfgar usually avoids them. This lack of black and white morality, leads Ulfgar to also take seedier and more questionable jobs, along with the cleaner jobs he also takes. He’s not opposed to moving things illegal, or morally questionable that other traveling traders would otherwise keep away from. But aside from the cold trader side, Ulfgar’s less stringent and focused side often gets him into just as much trouble, usually with the city guard for being drunk and what follows. Aside from that though, respect and trust are two things Ulfgar holds in the highest regard, but often has a different way than usual of showing either.

Major flaw: Drunkard
Background: Born in the city of Markarth, Ulfgar lived the life of a miner’s son for several years. By the time Ulfgar was just 15, he himself had taken up the life of working a mine with no other viable options available to him, for just 3 years. His life in Markarth, when not working in the hot sweaty mines, was filled with reading about adventures and other exciting things that Markarth didn’t lead him to. His father had been a miner all his life, and his father before. Ulfgar, inspired and interested in what was happening out in the world, was not so set on continuing the family line. When he turned 20, Ulfgar set out into the world, set on having his own world adventures, just like the heroes and adventurers in his stories. He said goodbye to his mother and father in Markarth, and hit the road.

His life on the road for the most part, was uneventful and not as he imagined it being. What jobs he did take, didn’t pan out to be as he’d thought they be: they were dangerous in some cases, the payment was too little for the amount of danger Ulfgar took on, and in some cases, the pay wasn’t even handed over when completed. The adventures and people he’d read about in his books, just didn’t seem to be there for him. Slowly, Ulfgar began to get disillusioned with the life of being an adventurer.

But after several years of “adventuring”, Ulfgar found himself a job suitable for someone willing to move around and see places, but have a relatively steady flow of income at the same time, with the guarantee of being payed each time. It was in the city of Riften, Ulfgar joined the crew of a small, independent, and self-made trading group who went up and down the rivers of Skyrim when they could, to trade goods and other things. It was here, Ulfgar began to become the Nord he is today. Through the years of trading up and down the river ways, meeting the various traders and business dealers, Ulfgar began to see the life he’d looked for for so long.

Unbeknown to him until that time, the life of a traveling trader was an adventure all on it’s own, that was as adventurous and dangerous as the stories he’d read. All those stories he’d read in books, fit perfectly into the life of a trader who dealt with everyone, and knew a lot of things. Acting as an “apprentice” to his boss, Ulfgar saw first hand the deceit, backstabbing, and dirty underbelly of the trading life he and the crew were apart of. It was here, Ulfgar began to form his own ways of doing business, and taking care of those who double-crossed or were dishonest, among other things. He learned how to get even without necessarily having to use a sword or bow, and how to get his way in the business when the other side wouldn’t oblige.
But it was the murder of his boss, that Ulfgar and the rest of the crew became even more cynical and dark. While visiting the town of Dawnstar for business on one of their seedier jobs, Ulfgar and the crew’s boss was killed in the night. They had all been ordered to stay on the boat while their boss went and dealt with the people they were working with. It wasn’t until dawn, that someone from the town came and informed them of their murdered boss. Angry and wanting revenge, Ulfgar and the rest of the crew gathered their necessary things, and started out on land in search of their boss’s murderers. It wasn’t very far from Dawnstar, that the murderers had made camp and were discovered. Without hesitation or a second thought, Ulfgar and the crew butchered the murderers, leaving them in literally, dozens of pieces.

Since the death of their boss, Ulfgar and the small five man crew have continued to work as they had before. They currently find themselves in Riften.

Name: Trannigan 'Dratt' Drattmer
Age: 33
Race: Imperial
Gender: Male
Height: 6'5
Birthsign: The Warrior

Appearance: A good bit taller than the average Imperial, and with a more muscular body build. He is stronger than most men of his race but less agile because of being slightly more built than most. He has tanned skin and unkempt hair grown a few inches past the shoulders as well as a grown out goatee. His hair is black and goes a about an inch past his shoulders and his eyes are a bright green with amber flecks in the outer edges. On his right cheekbone is a scar from where he got shot by an arrow head, a scar that still occasionally causes him pain and causes his face to not be able to take a punch like it used to.

Class: He used to be a mercenary, but once he wanted to settle down he thought he might use his experience to become a guard.
Skills and known spells (if any): One handed weapons, Heavy Armor, Hand to Hand, Destruction, Conjuration, pickpocketing/Slight of Hand, Speechcraft and Mercantile. He specializes in shock magic as well as various Damage Attribute spells.

Clothing / armor: Normal clothes consists of a short sleeved wool shirt and blacksmiths pants, as well as deer skinned moccasins.His armor consists of (oblivion styled) Orcish cuirass and gauntlets, Ebony greaves and an Imperial Horseman helm.
Weapons: His specially made Scimitar. It is made out of Quicksilver and Moonstone instead of the usual steel, and the hilt is black with jade designs. He also carries with him 2 Steel daggers
Miscellaneous items: Carries with him a large pack that has the potions, 2 health potions and 1 magicka potion. (The pack is large enough to also hold his armor when he's on the move and can't wear it.) He also has some hunted animal meat and preserved fruits to eat when ever he gets the chance to have his next meal. In the bottom of his pack is a coin-purse that contains 238 gold coins currently.

Personality: Confident in his abilities yet sometimes very arrogant and full of himself. He has been known to pick fights with individuals for various reasons, The main one being when someone insults him or insinuates that they are better then he is. He also tends to be quiet when in a group, which some people view that as him being a shady individual but he is usually just not a very chatty person unless in a good mood or drunk. Tends to have respect for the beast races of Tamriel on account of where he grew up as a child, he also has a respect for Orcs, Nords and Redguards while disliking most Dunmer for their thinking they can use others as their slaves and male Bosmer as very tiresome to be near for too long. Altmer and Bretons he is indifferent about, as he respects The arcane power that they wield yet finds them to be of The most arrogant of all races.

Major flaw: As stated above, the scar on his face sometimes causes him pain and makes his jaw susceptible to strong blows. He is also quick to annoyance. He gets impatient fairly quick and doesn't like to just sit around and talk things out for too long.

Background: Originally from his home land of Cyrodiil, Trannigan grew up in the city of Bravil, Trannigan figured out in his early teen years how much he liked doing tasks that let him use his natural talents, aswell as tasks that came with a payload; so he became a Mercenary. He then traveled the country for years doing most tasks he found that payed well enough, save for a few things that went against his moral code such as slavery or Skooma/Moon Sugar smuggling. Although Trannigan gained quite a bit of fame in the southern parts of Cyrodiil, he also earned himself quite a bit of infamy among some Orsimer Skooma peddlers. The syndicate was too large for him and his small circle of well trusted allies to take out on their own so the Imperial decided it best to leave the province and head up to Skyrim. He eventually grew tired of being on the run and wanted to try and find a place he could permenantly call home somewhere. He knew he probably couldn't go back to Bravil still, and so while wandering across the different holds of Skyrim he caught rumors of a brand new Settlement called Valton, and he set out to see if he could hopefully create a more stable life for himself.

Name: Sargon Hlaalu
Age: 226 yrs, Born near the End of the Third Era during the height of the Oblivion Crisis.
Race: Dunmer
Gender: Male
Height: 6'2"
Birthsign: The Tower

Appearance: Sargon is an old Dunmer, although he has the face of a 35 yr old. With deep orange eyes and almost stark white hair, Sargon looks fairly noble, accented by the small, intricately patterned braids and knots in his hair and short beard. His features are sharp, almost hawk-like, sometimes seeming a tad intimidating. Sargon isn't just handsome though, his whole life has been about survival, honing his body into a well muscled, athletic frame.

Sargon's body is also his own personal canvas with which to paint his life upon, having Dunmer, Daedric, Nordic, Dwemer and even Orcish tattoos and ornaments covering his body. The upper portion of his back is dominated by Nordic runes and drawings, the lower half bearing Orcish tattooing, black swirls and sharp-edged ritual scars making it up. Sargon's most important tattoos are the ones most easily noticeable though, his fore-arms, covered in Daedric and Ancestral Dunmer runes and scars. The left half of his face also bears these runes. At last, his neck is wrapped in Dwemer runes, with the Daedric 'Beht' separating it in the middle.

Class (what would you describe your character as?): Partisan/Pirate/Assassin/Hunter
Skills and known spells (if any):
Medium Armor: Sargon has trained and fought in various suits of leather, chain, scale, and medium plate such as Bonemold.
Curved Blades: A common Dunmer sword is the scimitar, although katanas are just as popular. Sargon has used scimitars and katanas in combat since he began wielding them in the 7th year of the 4th Era.
Block: Sargon learned the art of using his ornate whale-bone crescent shield both for defense and offense.
Destruction Magic: As a Dunmer, Sargon was born with a natural affinity for magic, Destruction being the most obvious. He is no master, but has learned to dual-cast basic spells such as Flames and Lightning.
Pole-arm: Sargon's most unique combat skill is the use of a spear or staff in combat. He learned under the tutelage of an Ohmes-raht monk in Elsweyr.
Survival: Morrowind is a savage place, its strange beauty being just as abundant as the terrors and harshness that accompany much of the Province. Sargon learned from his Ashlander cousins (his grandfather was Sargon Zansatanit, of the Zainab), how to survive in the harsh environments. In the wake of the Red Mountain's eruption, these skills became invaluable.
Cooking: Damn good cook.
Brewing: Sargon's father was brought into Great House Hlaalu because of the great Matze and Sujamma he'd brew and sell, making him rather wealthy and almost forcing him to teach Sargon the tricks of the trade.
Revelry: Among these combative and basic skills, the ones most near and dear to Sargon were those his mother passed to him. A fine singing voice, and the playing of the Lute, Drum, and Flute.

Clothing: Sargon wears simple cloth pants and a long sleeved silk shirt. Over this, he wears a long, sleeveless, dark-blue hooded robe; embroidered with mithril thread on the lapels, hood, and skirting. His boots are Netch Leather, and he wears ornate bronze bracers crafted in Hammerfell.
Armor: (Worn only on special occasion and combat). Sargon has a suit of armor, somewhat of his own make. His briastplate is old Gah-Julan Bonemold, with the traditional embroidered Dunmer scarf and the Moon and Star burned into the chest-plate itself. His helm is Indoril, the plume cut down to small tufts of hair and the face-plate carved with Daedric letters spelling out blessings of Boethiah and Hircine, the right and left halves respectively. Sargon wears two leather http://www.theknightshop.co.uk/catalog/images/sr100989.jpg of Bosmer-make, worn on the biceps and partially raising over the shoulder, rather than covering over the shoulder itself, lending better flexibility in combat. His boots are the same as he wears always, Netch leather. The same goes for the ornate bronze bracers he wears.

Weapons:
-Sargon keeps his beloved katana, Dwemer made with ebony filigree praising Meridia inlaid on the blood-groove, locked in a chest along with his armor.
-He carries with him always a spear made of whale-bone, burnt-in Daedric letters adorning the top half of the spear; the spear-head itself broad with a moonstone edge.
-Sargon's shield is also a weapon of sorts, the crescent shape lending a sharp edge that can be used as a killing tool.
-A simple yew long bow and 32 arrows.
-The last weapon Sargon carries is an old ebony dagger, found in the aftermath of Vvardenfells' nearly complete destruction. It was gifted to him by Boethiah herself, each slain enemies' soul going to her realm through the dagger.
Miscellaneous items: A lute, flute, drum, wine-skin, bottle of sujamma, an old Amulet of Moon and Star, as well as two amethyst and malachite rings. He also has small idols of Azura, Meridia, Hircine, and Boethiah wrapped in cloth, kept in secret.
Personality: Sargon, to put it plainly, is a stoic old Dunmer. His eyes have seen countless wonders, and witnessed innumerable tragedies. However, even though he is a rock in the storm, always strong, always ready, Sargon has a human side. He is polite and kind to friend and neighbor, will never say a harsh word unless another does so first, and above all respects the gods and deeds done on Nirn.

Major flaw: Sargon has a dark and troubled past. He receives visions from Boethiah. Although Meridia is good, and Azura (his patron goddess) is better, Boethiah and Hircine are not. Hircine, Sargon has found, rarely troubles the mortal world, only once has he tried to rule and he was put to shame. Hircine's visions detail places of worship and other followers for Sargon to find... Boethiah is not so kind. Once, long ago in Sargon's life, she commanded and empowered him as her instrument. These visions Sargon receives are ultra-rare, even more so now in his later years, the last vision from his dark Goddess was 30 yrs ago. But should he have another, it must be fulfilled.

Background: Sargon 'Odairan' Hlaalu was born during the peak of the Oblivion Crisis, in the waning years of the Third Era. Born in the bustling town of Balmora, Sargon began working for his father at the age of 5, a job he didn't much care for at the time, but everything takes time to understand. His father, Reman, had bought a small building to turn into a brewery. It was a great success within just two short months, brewing a batch of matze and sujamma was easy work, and it was the best in Vvardenfell.
Soon enough, the Great House of Hlaalu found Reman's success, and they invited him into the House itself. Within just a few years, Sargon's family was living a great life in a fine manor, with all the niceties a Dunmer could desire. But it changed, at the age of 17, Sargon witnessed the greatest tragedy in the history of his people. While staying further north with his cousins in the Ashlands, Sargon felt the Ministry of Truth slam into the city of Vivec. Only seconds later, Red Mountain cloaked Morrowind in ash and debris.
Only a week before the destruction of Vvardenfell, Sargon's father gave him a great amount his wealth, his sword, and his briastplate. Sargon fled north, knowing the fate his father would suffer at the hands of the Morag Tong. With this wealth, his mother, two sisters, and 13 of the Zainab men and women, the refugees set of to the eastern coast of Vvardenfell, where they would live a new life. This life was to be one of piracy, but in the name of the Dunmer.
When the Argonians invaded Morrowind, Sargon and his crew harassed the Argonians mercilessly. Finally, though, after the death of his mother, a peaceful one, Sargon left behind his pirate's life. His sisters, Merena and Rayla, went north to Skyrim in hopes of joining the College of Winterhold. They all managed to slip past Argonians lines, and that was the last they saw of each other. Brother and sisters, but only for a while. Sargon took a separate path.
Sargon's life was spent as a wanderer, a warrior, a bard... an assassin, a mercenary. He learned great things from great people, and saw the world in all its beauty, as well as its ugliness. Now, he simply wishes to settle down, and the new Hold of Valton being built in Skyrim's southern reaches, seems just the place. Sargon heads there now, he leads a horse and carriage. Its cargo being of great wealth, as well as his most prized possessions. He'd like to continue his father's work, but he was sure these Nords would hate Sujamma or Matze.
... Perhaps, he could try his hand at mead.

Name: Cocius Gavanicus Jannus or simply, Gawain
Age: 29
Race: Nibenese father, Nordic/Breton mother
Gender:Male
Height: 5 feet 8 inches
Birthsign: The Warrior
Appearance: Gawain is about the size of your average Imperial, standing a little under six feet tall and fairly stout in musculature. Unlike the Colovian west, however, he has followed his father's roots and stuck to the Nibenese way of appearance. His skin, which is tanned from many days of outdoors labor, is also heavily tattooed in flowing, yet geometric designs. One tattoo in particular can be noticed regardless of what he wears, for it starts two inches above his left eye and separates into two lines which extend for another three inches below the eye. His hair is dark brown in color, about the same shade as the bark of the fir, pine, and other evergreens that make up most of the forests of Skyrim. Sticking to the Nibenese style, Gawain keeps it a medium length, letting it extend to his shoulders, but keeping it out of his eyes. Along with the tattoos, several scars mar his skin, but their stories are not notable.

Class: Dog breeder
Skills and known spells: Can calm creatures, perform some minor healing on himself and animals, and can also detect nearby animals. Gawain is also fairly adept at tracking and is skilled with the use of the war axe, while also being adequate with a short blade. His preferred method of combat is to dual wield two small axes, but will use whatever he has at hand, when the situation calls for it.

Clothing/armor: When the occasion calls for armor, Gawain dons an almost complete set of Leather armor. The only pieces missing are the shield, which he has no use for, and the helmet. In lieu of the typical leather helmet, Gawain uses a family heirloom that has been passed down through seven generations and has been cared for with the utmost care, for it is extremely rare. 'It' is a Dragonscale helmet. The family story says that Gawain's ancestor once saved the life of a master smith from a rival Nibenese hill tribe and to repay him, the smith disclosed to Gawain's ancestor the whereabouts of a full set of Dragonscale armor that had been buried with his mentor. Gawain's ancestor had set out with a few brothers and they had tackled the tomb and defeated several undead guardians, only to find that the helmet was all that was salvageable, for the rest of the suit was worn and far beyond repair. In general though, Gawain simply wears a belted, dark green tunic and dark brown pants with a cape made of the pelts of two snow wolves.

Weapons: Gawain has a certain affinity for axes, with war axes in particular, so those are his go-to weapons. When he knows that the fighting will be tough, he wields two Orcish War Axes that he had found in a cave when he was a younger man. However, those are rather impractical to carry around all the time, so instead, he carries two axes that he designed himself. They appear to be nothing more than shortened wood-cutting axes, but in reality, they are much more. They can still split wood with ease, but the heads of the axes have been lightened and the wood of the handles are denser than most, making them very well balanced. Carved into the bottom of each handle is the head of a wolf, which he carved himself. The breeder is quite deadly with them. He also has several other 'weapons' if you wish to call them such. His profession of dog breeding has given him several animals that are fearless, aggressive, and extremely protective. These dogs he keeps away from the rest of his animals, due to their nature. There is also a wolf pup that Gawain found on his journey to Valton, and he intends on keeping it and training it as well.

Miscellaneous items: A small satchel of jerky bits stays at his side, along with his coinpurse. He also owns miscellaneous cooking and eating utensils along with other everyday household items that stay in his wagon until he finds a house. Leashes and collars for all of his dogs are kept in a chest, along with blankets for them and his own bedroll.
Personality: Gawain's father was a rather eccentric warrior and son of the chief of a Nibenese tribe near the Corbolo River and Lake Poppad. This did a number of things to and for Gawain. Following in his father's footsteps, he became rather eccentric as well, and had a feeling of entitlement about many things, as did a lot of the Nibenese. However, this feeling of entitlement did not keep him from working for what he got, and so he became kind of an oxymoron, feeling as if he deserved something that he should not have to work for, but worked for it anyway. His mother, who was a Reachwoman, attempted to coax the entitlement out of him, along with civilizing him some more, but the young boy would immediately accuse her of being "too Colovian" and she would only shake her head and let out a sigh. However, as the years passed, Gawain lost some of his entitlement, but not his hard-working mentality. His love of tattoos and philosophy though, which were standard among Nibenese, never left, and while it may be odd for a Dog Breeder to discuss philosophy, it was common for him. Along with that, he did not lose the mindset that he was better than most other races, especially the Colovians, for whom he bore a special disdain.
Major flaw: This would more than likely be his personality, since it leads to him being rather anti-social and 'uppity.' He also seems to have a ceremony for everything, which most people feel gets old after a while.

Background: Coming from a Nibenese father, and a Reachwoman, Gawain has had some interesting cultural forces that played a part on his life. He was born to the equivalent of a Nibenese prince, and was therefore brought up as a Nibenese noble, regardless of how little power his family and title had outside of the small, yet very profitable village his tribe inhabited. His father had found his mother when they were both nearing the age of twenty, when his father had taken a few cousins to the Colovian Highlands, looking for adventure and had ended up slightly north in the northeast of Hammerfell, just south of its border with High Rock. It was love at first sight, he had been told. She had been the daughter of a retired adventurer and mage and so had known and learned a small bit of magic. It was that magic that she taught their son, Gawain. When he was around ten, his father became the head man in the village and gave Gawain his first dog. It was a purebred wolfhound from Skyrim named Forsta, and Gawain became immediately intrigued with the dog. As the years passed, he was taught how to fend for himself should it ever be needed, and also how to fight with a weapon. Originally, his favored weapons were two long knives, but when he traded them for axes one day, on a whim, they just flowed in his hands and he knew immediately that they were right. He had never much liked the shield, and his father had not used one either, nor had his father before him. In his position, it was necessary for Gawain to learn some diplomacy, since he would have to deal with other Nibenese "noble's" in the Basin and Valley, so it was that at the age of eighteen, he was fluent in the common tongue and the old tongue of the Nibenese, and could broker deals with the other "noble's" without breaking a sweat.

For a while, he lived the easy life of a prince, never wanting for much, sleeping with whatever woman he chose, besting his friends and the other men at arms in combat, drinking profusely, and amassing a pack of dogs that almost seemed to obey commands that he had not even spoken, for his love of dogs had never waned and Forsta had constantly stayed by his side. When he was twenty-six however, a smaller Nibenese tribe raided the village in the night, and had killed the majority of Gawain's family. Gawain had only survived because one of his newer dogs had run off and he and his pack had gone looking for it. Upon their return, they found the village burning and in ruins, with dead bodies scattering the streets. After several days of mourning, the young man had found a wagon and filled it with what was left of his possessions and some other miscellaneous items that he had found still in-tact in other homes before proceeding to hit the road and head north. He knew that his mother had come from the Reach, and so he figured that he would head there, but after reaching the southern edge of Skyrim, he heard rumors that a new hold was being established and settlers were encouraged. Gawain figured that it would be no worse than where he was already headed, and so it was that he came to Valton.

Name: Wolfgar Cut-Throat.
Age: 37
Race:Nord
Gender: Male
Height: 5'9
Birthsign: the steed.

Appearance: Blond, long viking like hair, Left eye been cut out. Scar on his throat, and left cheek. And like any Nord. Really muscular.
Class: Bandit leader.
Skills: Lockpicking, 1 handed, and light armor

Armor: leather armor.
Weapons. A steel sword.
Items: A bag of gold and the lusty argonian maid.

Personality: Uflgar is a violent individual. Though he views himself as a hero for challenging the riften government many poeple see him as an evil person.
Major flaw: A drunkard, very greedy, and due to losing an eye, he can't see well.

Background: It is simple, he was born in Riften. His mother was a prosttute who died in child birth and his father was drunk and abusive. When he was 12 his father died drinking himself to death. He spent 2 years in the streets begging until he meet a kahjiit called R'zeer. R'zeer got him into the thieves guild and for 11 years served it well. However despite their promises of making the members rich he barely got enough money from the guild.

Wolfgar was left with no choice but to raid caravans. After taking some members from the guild the bandit group prospered from the gold from the caravans. After 7 years Wolfgar began to become more Gruesome. After every caravan raid he would kill every victim except for the young who might eventually become part of the group. When the bandits started to raid villages it became clear to the Jarl that Wolfgar is a threat.

When Wolfgar was 37 the riften guardsmen hunted the group down. They then attacked a fort which was Wolfgar's HQ. Barely escaping with a few other bandits they heard of a new hold..

His bandit group has 3 experienced bandits, 2 recruits and Wolfgar himself.

Name: Skelen
Age: 56
Race: Argonian (Naga)
Gender: Male
Height: 7'4
Birthsign: The Ritual
Appearance: Even though his age is 52 he looks well over 60. His whole face looks worned out and the right side of his head is burned. His skinn is
red and he has two big horns going down from his head to the middle of his back. He has uncountable amounts of scars on his back, stomache,
arms en right leg. He misses 1 finger on both hands, on his right hand his pinkie and on his left hand his middle-finger. Summed up he looks like a
pretty scary argonian.

Class: Witch-hunter with a good skill in small knives.
Skills and known spells: His main skills are Illusion, Conjuration and Small knives / blades. But he also knows a few lesser destruction and mysticism spells.
Clothing / armor: A grey/black robe with a hood that he always wears, mostly to cover up his wounds. He has two rings on his right hand one is
black and has a red stone on it and the other one is just silver collored and has some weird symbols written on them.
Weapons: He carries two small knives inside his robe.
Miscellaneous items: He has a little flask inside his robe that he drinks out of constantly. Also he carries a little book with weird symbols inside his
robe.

Personality: He does not really care about other people, he is mostly disgusted by them. However he does enjoy talking to people once in a while,
but he always talks slowly and does not seem to really be listening. Once in a while he stumbles acros a person that interests him and then he
enjoys long conversations.
Major flaw: Because of all his wounds he suffers from a lot of pain constantly, even though he does not seem to pay much attention to it. Also due
to the fact that he has lost some fingers he can not take up stuff with his left hand easilly.

Background:
Skelen was hatched inland in black marsh in his naga tribe. At the age of eight he "accidentally" put an end to the life of a nine year
old argonian while they were playing a game. Because of his young age he was forgiven, but not by all. The familly of this nine year old boy
kidnapped Skelen in his sleep and sold him to dunmer slavers. He served a familly somewhere in Elsweyr.

When he was fiftheen he violently murdered his masters and set the house on fire. The body's were found burned and without limbs. Skelen has taken their limbs as food for his journey home. Also the man in the familly, his name was Ashin, was missing his skull, several bones and was skinned from top to bottom. They have never traced these murders back to Skelen, as the family was involved in some illegal stuff, so they were happy they cought them.

In the following night the dark brotherhood contacted Skelen, but he was not interested in their offer. Skelen was determined to go back to black marsh and take the lives of the people that have sold him to the slavers. On his way he has feeded
himself with the corpses of people he found in the night and on stolen food. On his return to Black Marsh he could not find his tribe. A woman told him that they left to the imperial city to make some more money. Skelen decided to go to the imperial city. On his way he met an old man with a caravan carrying books. Skelen was impressed by the books about magic, rituals and gods. He decided he wanted to help the man with his caravan rather than hopelesly trying to find his tribe, only for the taste of revenge.

After a few years when Skelen was 24 the old man died and he left his shop to Skelen. A few guards have linked Skelen to the murder of two couples in Elsweyr that he had eaten on his way back to Black marsh. He was send to jail.
In Jail one guard allowed Skelen to read books, and he brought him the books about the things that interested him. Eventually they broke Skelen out of prison legally by proving him unguilty of the murders. Skelen was 34 at that time.
For about twenty years he has travelled acros Tamriel, (the stories about exactly what he has done in that time will maybe be discovered in the
Roleplay, What I can tell you is that he carries a bunch of secrets and burdens with him)

When he was 54 he got a job in a bookstore in Skyrim. He had worked there for 1 year untill he heard rumours about a new city called Valton. He had also heard rumors about some people in the city that might help him getting corpses that he could use for his experiments, mutilate and eat.
as a cover he decided to get the books the old man with the caravan left him (They were somewhere in an old storage room in Cyroddil) and head out to the city to get a house, and maybe sell some books himself. After he left the bookstore in Skyrim the original owner was missing and was later found skinned from bottom to top, missing bones and pieces of his skull in the woods. They could not trace Skelen to the owner.

Name: Roscoe the Butcher
Age: 48
Race: Nord
Gender: Male
Height: 6’7
Birthsign: The Lord

Appearance: Roscoe is a mountain of a man, even for a Nord, towering over even the average Altmer, He is heavily built and broad shouldered from years of wielding a massive battleaxe, and he keeps works to keep himself in shape. He wears his fair hair cut short to his head, and keeps his facial hair groomed into a neat goatee. His eyes are an icy blue color, his gaze more intimidating than his size. Scars line his body, with several being featured prominently on his face. One passes just over his right eye and ranges down to his chin, with his left cheek having several slash marks.

Class: Butcher/General Store Owner
Skills: Back in his heyday, Roscoe was quite the warrior. He was a barbarian, fighting with two handed weapons in light armor, decimating enemies with his quick movement and overwhelming strength. Now, Roscoe uses that arm strength to wield cleavers to cut meat for Valton. With his combat experience, Roscoe could easily step into a combat role to protect the town if he needed to. Hunting has taught him how to move unseen and fire a bow with accuracy. Roscoe has had to brush up on his mercantile skill in order to avoid getting shafted, but his days of hiring himself out have come in handy in procuring other supplies, as well as selling his own. Working with food and ingredients has given him a basic understanding of alchemy, and he dabbles in basic frost spells to keep meat fresh for longer.

Clothing / armor: Typically, Roscoe wears what he wears to work, which consists of boots, gray trousers, and a red shirt covered by a white apron, typically splattered with blood. As far as armor goes, Roscoe has a full set of scaled armor hidden away in his home.

Weapons: There is typically a cleaver within arm’s reach of Roscoe, as well as an assortment of various other knives that could be used for fighting just as well as they are for butchering. Roscoe uses an orcish greatsword to cut bigger pieces of meat. In his home, Roscoe keeps a steel battleaxe tucked away with his armor.

Miscellaneous items: Roscoe is typically in possession of various types of meat, as well as salt for preserving the meat.

Personality: Roscoe is a blunt man. He will tell people what he thinks, and he isn’t one to beat around the bush. He’s never had a reason to, as his life has been made up of conflict after conflict, and that is about as straight-forward as it gets. He believes that anyone can make something of their life, if they were willing to work hard enough for it, and as such he typically dislikes people who rely on divines or daedra for help in their daily lives. Roscoe is also highly frustrated a lot of the time, particularly when he’s working. He’s going from life or death battle every day of his life to cutting apart various selections of meat. The Nord absolutely despises the monotony of his work, but it is made worth it by his family. Roscoe is proud to say that he is a family man, and as such his little girl and his wife are his whole world. They’re the only reason he is working in the general store and as a butcher in Valton, and seeing his little girl everyday is what he lives for. His typical cheerful personality emerges when he is with them. You can gauge how recently Roscoe has seen his family by the expression on his face: the closer it is to a snarl, the longer it’s been. He tries to avoid conflict for his little girl, although if it came to it he would fight himself to Sovengarde to protect his family.

Major flaw: Roscoe’s love for his family is only matched by his hatred for the profession he finds himself in now. Every day he wakes up and drags himself to a monotonous job without anything really at stake. Compared to living a battle filled life where he risked his life every day, a butcher’s work pales in comparison. It wouldn’t be hard to goad him into conflict, just so he could get a taste again. The only time he is really happy is when he’s with his family. Other than that, he just misses the lifestyle he used to lead.

Background: Roscoe the Butcher was born in Skyrim to a pair of bandits. Needless to say, he was exposed to violence from an early age. Roscoe likes to remark that the only good thing his dad ever did was teach him how to hold an axe. The bandit life made him sick, preying on those weaker instead of protecting them. They didn’t treat him much better, and Roscoe was beaten and abused by every bandit in the group. He fought back vigorously, but there wasn’t much the young man could do against full grown bandits.

The young Nord ran away during his early teens, effectively breaking himself away from a future as a criminal. Roscoe began traveling to different holds, finding various out jobs to sustain himself. He worked chopping wood, picking crops, mining ore, whatever was available. This work put coin in his pocket, and allowed him to pay for the things he couldn’t make himself. He got most of his food and clothes from hunting, and he even sold various pelts and trophies to make some coin on the side. He started wearing light armor to protect against the more vicious creatures of Skyrim he might encounter while he was out hunting. It wasn’t an easy life, but Roscoe scraqed by.

After Roscoe’s 18th birthday passed, he found a new means to live on. He joined the Imperial Legion, which was a much more reliable way of life than the one he had been accustomed to. The Great War started shortly after the young Nord enlisted, but the Imperial training in addition to his life experience made Roscoe more than capable in battle. He was big for his age even then, and so he carried a heavy battleaxe into battle against the Thalmor. His penchant for cleaving elves apart along with their shields is what gave him the name the Butcher. Roscoe took to combat like a fish to water, wading ferociously into Thalmor forces and hacking them to pieces as he danced away from their blades.
Despite his young age, Roscoe was seen as a valuable asset within the Legion. Over the course of the war he was promoted several times, from actions ranging from fearlessly charging Thalmor forces in the course of his mission to carrying an ally out of combat on his back. He fought in countless battles over the course of the Great War, even participating in the Battle of the Red Ring. After the signing of the While Gold Concordant, Roscoe served with the Legion for another 10 years. Over the course of his career he had the opportunity to become an officer many times, however he always turned it down, preferring to be one of the men on the front lines, fighting the fight.

After several uneventful years, Roscoe left the Legion in the interest of pursuing his own interests. He traveled around Skyrim, doing mercenary work to fund his adventures, exploring the land that he called his home, eager to discover as much as he could about the Fatherland. He always loved a good fight, and he often went to inns exclusively to get involved in a bar fight for some coin. After a particularly rowdy fight in Whiterun, an invitation was extended for Roscoe to join the Companions. He eagerly accepted, happy to be part of a group that valued the warrior lifestyle.

While working with the Companions, Roscoe frequently found himself working with a particular Nord woman named Gundis. They were constantly at each other’s throat, arguing about pretty much any topic that was brought up. They trained together constantly, fighting each other in bare knuckle matches as well as sparring in full armor. Despite their squabbling, each had tremendous respect for the other, and they would have died for each other in an instant. This relationship eventually blossomed into love, and the two were soon married. Now they fought together as husband and wife, and argued even more about everything.

They fought together for years, becoming even closer after every battle. Their marriage was as strong as steel, and they were happy with each other. However, after several years together, the two decided that their family was not complete, and they decided they would try to have a child. Roscoe’s first child was born soon after that, naming the baby girl Eydis. There was talk of continuing to fight with the Companions, but Roscoe refused to neglect his daughter like his parents had neglected him. They took positions training newer members of the Companions in an effort to spend time with their child.

As Eydis grew up, it soon became clear that the little girl had a much softer nature than her parents. She was scared of weapons, and preferred petting animals to hunting them. After enough Companions were brought in bleeding in front of her, or one of her own parents were injured during training, it was evident that they needed to find a different place to raise their daughter. It was then that the concept of a new hold sprung up. Eager for a better setting to bring up Eydis, Valton seemed like the ideal place. Roscoe took a job running the general store on top of working as the town’s butcher in homage to his title, looking to do something that would keep him away from combat as much as possible. Roscoe, Gurdis, and Eydis all work together to run the general store, and that’s the only reason the two former warriors can stand this new life. The hope is that the lifestyle will make raising the now 10 year old Eydis much easier.

Family:

Gurdis, 42, wife- She has had as hard a time as her husband has had in getting used to a peaceful life, and so she is equally frustrated by the everyday trivialities of Valton. The Nord woman is tall, blond, buxom, and beautiful, if a bit more rough looking than many women. Her brown eyes seem full of barely restrained fury when she looks at anyone but her daughter. She typically handles most of the day-to-day trading, as she has much more patience than her husband.

Eydis, 10, daughter - The reason for her parents’ departure from the lives they knew, Eydis feels like a burden to her parents. She sees how much they dislike their lives in Valton, knows it’s because of her. With both her parents’ blond hair and her father’s blue eyes, Eydis is obviously Roscoe and Gurdis’ child. She’s a pretty girl, but any little boy who might show interest would probably be scared away by her parents. Where her parents are loud and aggressive, Eydis is quiet and soft, and as such Roscoe calls her his little flower. Although she has tried to get a taste for it, Eydis hates fighting and violence. She prefers to be out in nature or to read a book. She helps out at the shop with her parents, although she tends to avoid the basemant where her father does his butchering.

Name: Lliro Spurvhauke
Age: 21
Race: Nord
Gender: Male
Height: 5’ 9”
Birthsign: The Lord
Appearance: He has a lean but strong build, and a perfectly straight posture. He has a strong jaw line with a slight cleft chin. His eyes are almond shaped, and have a golden hue to them, and he possesses a straight nose. His dark brown hair is usually cropped close to his head and his sideburns end midway past his ears. He generally has light stubble at all times, and he has a single circular earring in his left ear made out of ebony.
Class: Archer
Skills and known spells: He is an extremely skilled archer, and he also has a decent level of skill with blades. He is very athletic and is capable of amazing acrobatic feats. He is fairly sneaky, and he uses this to his advantage when hunting. He only knows the spell flames.
Clothing / armor: He has a white long-sleeve undershirt with the sleeves rolled midway up his forearms, a short-sleeve steel chainmail tunic above that, and above that a sleeveless brown leather cuirass with a hood. He has faded blue pants with a thick brown leather belt, and steel plated brown leather boots. On his left arm he has a fingerless brown leather glove with a steel plate on the back of it, and a brown leather archery armguard. On his right hand he has a brown leather traditional three-fingered archery glove.
Weapons: An Orcish bow, a dwarven quiver slung across his back that is filled with steel arrows, and a dwarven sword sheathed on his left hip.
Miscellaneous items: A small knife for skinning animals, a fishing pole, and a small row boat to go fishing with.
Personality: He is generally a kind man, and is tolerant of all the races. Lliro is quiet most of the time, though when he’s in the mood to talk you can’t get him to stop. He is incredibly loyal to his friends, and is generous as well.
Major flaw: He is headstrong, reckless, and quick to anger. He is also somewhat vain.
Background: Lliro is the son of Jarl Radwulf Spurvhauke, and is a high ranking member of the Valton guard. He grew up in Anvil where his family had lived for several generations. In Anvil his family owned a shipping company that had been in business for well over a hundred years, and had made his family rich. Lliro, his mother and father lived well like this, and they would have remained in Anvil if not for the day Lliro’s mother, Allendra, grew ill.

They had healers come to tend to her, but she grew worse despite their efforts, and within a few days she was dead. Her dying wish was to be buried where she was born, which meant the Rift in Skyrim, and so Lliro and Radwulf traveled by boat around the continent arriving in the Solitude harbor. From there the duo took the coffin and their possessions to the Rift by wagon, and eventually they found a nice spot to bury her. Radwulf decided he didn’t want to return to Anvil, as he couldn’t bear to leave his wife behind, so he arranged for his shipping company to be sold, and he used his wealth to purchase as much land as he could in the Rift.

And so after much work, Valton was built, and became a new hold.

Name: Raest Kivaan
Age: 25
Race: Half Nord and half Bosmer, werewolf
Gender: Male
Height: 5’11”
Birthsign: The Shadow
Appearance: He is a light tan, and mostly resembles an average Nord in his facial features, and in that he has a strong build with wide shoulders. His eyes and ears are distinctly Bosmer though, with almost completely black eyes, and pointed, elven ears. His hair is pure white and hangs down to his shoulders, but his eyebrows are black, as is his stubble. He has tattoos all over his right arm that resemble tiger stripes, and he paints his finger nails black. When in his werewolf form his fur is pure white with black claws, and his eyes are still black.
Class (what would you describe your character as?): Spellsword / Scout
Skills and known spells (if any): He is skilled with spears, swords, and shields. He is also skilled in acrobatics, athletics and is incredibly stealthy. He has a small amount of training in destruction and alteration. He knows the spells flames, frostbite, sparks, magelight and telekinesis.
Clothing / armor: He wears leather armor, faded blue pants with a thick brown leather belt, steel plate boots, fingerless black leather gloves, a steel bracelet on his left wrist, and a steel helmet.
Weapons: He has a steel tipped boar spear, a dwarven sword which is sheathed across his back, and a steel shield with a single conical spike protruding from it so he can stab an enemy by bashing them with his shield.
Miscellaneous items: A flute that he doesn’t know how to play.
Personality: He likes to talk, and will do so whenever given the chance, though he refuses to talk about his past however, and becomes very bitter and sad if it’s brought up in conversation. He is kind, helpful, generous and tolerant of all races, though he is also rather secretive. He tends to dislike what others would see as luxury, and even prefers to sleep outside near a campfire than on a warm bed in a house. He has a natural affinity for wandering the wilderness due to the Bosmer in him.
Major flaw: When he’s alone he has a tendency to talk to himself, so other people might think him to be insane if they overhear him. He is half Bosmer and half Nord, and isn’t fully accepted by either race, so he is forced to cover the features that mark him as elven in order to fit in with the Nords. He also suffers from lycanthropy, and has to hide this fact. On occasion his more bestial side may show through even when in his humanoid form, in that he may growl when angered, or roar in battle.
Background: His mother was a Bosmer and his father was a Nord, though his father left before he was born. Such unions are both rare, and frowned upon, and so when Raest was growing up in Valenwood, his mother kept his half elf nature a secret from everyone, including young Raest. Fortunately when he was young he resembled the other Bosmer, and he lived a normal life for a while, but as he got older he quickly outstripped the other children in height and strength. When his facial features began to become obviously more Nordic than Bosmer, it was clear to everyone what he was, and so he was shunned.

His mother died when he was fifteen, and so with no connection left to the Bosmer tribe he had grown up with, he left to travel across Tamriel to find some where he would fit in. During his travels he entered the province of Cyrodiil, and when in the Colovian Highlands he encountered a werewolf in the wilderness. He managed to fend it off, but the beast managed to bite him before fleeing, and he was infected. He tried to make his way back to civilization to get a cure disease potion, but he didn’t get very far before passing out from the intense pain and blood loss.

When he awoke he was a beast, cloaked in white fur and twice his normal size. He wasn’t in control of himself, but he was far enough away from civilization so that it didn’t matter. After an hour or so he returned to his normal self, though he began thinking of ways to train to control himself while in werewolf form. For years he remained in the Highlands until he had a semblance of control over his wolf self, before finally heading north to Skyrim. When he heard of the new hold in the Rift he headed there, hoping he could fit in with the local Nords if he covered his elven features.

Name: Jal Wolfsbane

Age: 57
Race: Nord
Height: 6"2
BIrthsign: The Steed

Appearance: Grey, which runs down to his neck, pulled back into a pony-tail. Once fit, strong and athletic, age has taken its toll. While still fit and broad of chest and shoulder, Jal is not the man he used to be. He walks with a limp. - and he uses a sturdy walking stick to support himself. He has a weather worn face, strong laugh-lines around his mouth and his eyes. His face, once possibly passably attractive, has suffered by years of battle. He once took an axe to the face leaving his left eye blind and his left cheekbone shattered, as well as a deep, crooked scar running from his left temple, through his eye to the corner of his mouth. His nose it flat from being broken more times than he cares to remember. He also is the proud bearer of a number of other scars and tattoos, signalling the various armies and mercenary groups he has sold his sword to.

Class: Barbarian. (Retired - wants to set up his own inn now.)

Skills: One handed, block, heavy armour. He can also cook pretty well.

Clothing/ Armour: Jal sold his old armour to make up the gold he needed to set up an inn in Valton. His only clothing item of note is a large, wolf fur cloak, with a hood and a gold chain that links the cloak across his chest.

Weapons: Again, Jal sold them so he could move to Valton. His only weapon now is his walking stick which also doubles as a cudgel.

Miscellaneous items: (nothing I can think of right now)

Personality: Jal was once a ball of fury, eager for battle and glory but age has tempered him. Now he is satisfied with a warm fire, mead, and good company. He drinks. Probably too much, maybe to forget his past life. He can be both quiet and introspective or loud and boisterous.

Major flaw: Addicted to the drink, partially crippled.

Background: Mother a [censored], Irik grew up street urchin on the docks of the Imperial city. When he was 10, he was picked up by a captain of a trading vessel and spent the next 10 years at sea, sailing around Tamriel. During one particularly ferocious storm, the crew were shipwrecked off the northern coast of Skyrim. With their captain dead, Jal (to whom the captain had become a father), the crew fell of a life of banditry as they struggled to survive in the cold, harsh land. It didn't go well. After a 6 months wondering the northern reaches of Skyrim, more than half the crew had died of starvation, sickness, or had simply frozen to death. One night, a pack of wolves, sensing an easy meal, attacked their camp. Jal fought like a man possessed, killing a number of wolves. Only 3 of the crew survived the attack, but those that remained gave him a new name - Wolfsbane. They ate well that night.

For the next 20 odd years, Jal has roamed Skyrim. He found some solace in the Companions, who paid well for his sword and gave him a home, family, mead and food. Once Jal found out their terrible secret, however, he quickly left. Without the protection of the Companions, Jal was easy prey, and the Silverhand ambushed him as he was making his way to Marketh - where he had heard a sellsword might earn a decent living.

In the fight that followed, Jal face was split open by an axe and he was left for dead. Whether it was the gods that saved him, or sheer luck, Jal could not say but he woke up in a log cabin with an old healer tending his wounds. After spending 6 months recovering, Jal made it to Marketh and joined the city guard, where in a battle against the Forsworn, his knee was smashed open by a mace - ending Jal's career as a warrior.

Name: Tsavani
Age: 28
Race: Allegedly Khajiit.
Gender: Female
Height: 5' 6"
Birthsign: The Lady
Appearance: Her body was once on the chubby side quite busty, but she's lost much of that weight in the years of hard living on her own. Her fur ranges from red to tawny, but spotted with a mix of spots and rosettes, while her face shows tabby markings. Her front and the insides of her limbs are white, though she has black "Spines" running down her back, tail, and the outsides of her limbs, with vibrant oranges, reds, and tawnies between, with a glossy sheen that catches the light from her body's jiggling when she moves. She's still kept a fair amount of once-abundant fat on her body, but her limbs and thighs do show a fair amount of muscle definition, even under the fur.
Class: Adventurer
Skills and known spells (if any): Cooking, Cleaning, Innkeeping, Archery (Kinda), Two-handed Weapons(Kinda), sneak, trapping, Flames, Healing
Clothing / armor: (None Yet - this SHOULD change quickly)
Weapons: The Spear of Bitter Mercy
Miscellaneous items: A giant Sabrecat corpse.
Personality: (Undecided yet... and it's bound to change anyway)
Major flaw: Has nothing but a fancy spear and dead cat, has been isolated from society so long it shows (And Smells)
Background: Tsavani has a boring past. She was raised in Chorrol, down in Cyrodiil. For most of her childhood, she was little more than a pest. Eventually, she inherited her family business, the local "upscale" tavern, the Oak And Crosier, which had been in her family since before the Oblivion Crisis. However, she didn't really take to the business very well... She was much more enraptured by the tales of an elderly elf who'd lived in the county as long as anyone could remember, who told tales of adventures and the beauty of the wilderness. As she matured, her fascination with adventurers grew, as she went out of her way to ensure that such men and women were given the best service she could offer (She probably went TOO far in this regard a few times).

She eventually decided to "sell" the inn to her younger sister after she recieved a reasonably simple bounty notice. Buying herself a basic suit of armor, an axe, and a bow, she quickly found the job was MUCH harder than it sounded. Still, she managed to complete the bounty, get paid, get better gear, and began exploring the Colovian Highlands and Jerral Mountains for herself. She ended up running afoul of bandits, losing her bow, armor, and much of her dignity, and was forced to retreat north to Skyrim.

She spent three years lost in the Jerrals, forcing herself to live off the land. She had no skill in tanning, bowmaking, or fletching, making her life quite miserable as she struggled to get by with a rusted battleaxe found on a less-fortunate mountain dweller. With the loss of all her gear, she'd have perished if not for a simple Flames spell she'd learned back in Chorrol, that she used to use to lazily light cooking fires.

However, just as she started to "Settle" into a life of being a mountain-hermit, a new threat reared its head. She found herself hunted, stalked, and pursued by a great pale-furred Sabrecat. The beast hunted her to the exclusion of all other prey, for almost a year. It had long hunted the treacherous mountains, and had claimed the lives of hundreds of unwary travellers and hikers.

One too many close calls eventually changed her resolve, and she sought to fight and slay the creature. After weeks of complex maneuvering, attempting to stay a step and a jump ahead of the beast, she eventually suceeded in trapping and crushing it beneath a rigged rockslide. Looking around frantically for something to finish the creature off with, she tripped over and pulled up a straight, stiff branch with a broken end that functioned as a spearpoint... Upon running Hircine's Aspect through, the blood ran across the surface of the branch, transforming it into the legendary Spear of Bitter Mercy. She pulled the corpse free, and headed east, down from the mountains to a newly-formed town.

Name: Theadas

Age: 22

Race: Imperial

Gender: Male

Height: 6’0

Birthsign: The Thief

Appearance: Standing at 6’0, he has Blonde hair and Blue eyes. His hair is usually spiked up and to the side. A full beard, a sandy blonde colour but not very thick. A muscular, athletic build, strong from doing a hard day of work. He and others would consider him handsome.


Class: Thief/ Shopkeeper

Skills:
Sneak – good at sneaking and moving unseen. Likes moving in the shadows.
Athletics/Acrobatics - A fast runner with a great jumping ability. He has the strength to pull him self up onto ledges if he hasn’t already jumped up there and has the agility to jump of high places and land safely.
Speech - A shrewd salesman and a good sweet talker prefers to talk or run his way out of things.
Pickpocket – loves having his hands in other peoples coin purses and is quite good at it.
Marksman – has skill with a bow and likes to use it if the need to fight likes to shoot first and stab later.
Blade – uses small blades a short sword or two daggers small but strong, piercing strikes. Prefers the stealth approach when using his blades, like to stab unnoticed.
Security – has a knack to getting places where he is not supposed to be.


Clothing: A leather cuirass, and leather gloves. Dark pants and hunting boots. His cuirass was not a regular leather cuirass found in Skyrim, it has smaller shoulders and sleeves that go down to his wrists (looks like the leather cuirass from oblivion). A strap hangs over his shoulder down to his waist which he uses to hold smaller items. Over all of this he has a long dark green and grey cloak with a hood. He usually has his hood up.

Weapons: Two iron daggers that he keeps at his sides. An iron short sword, and a Hunting bow with a quiver full of usually 12-15 arrows.

Miscellaneous items: He carries around a mortar and pestle and some dried food.

Personality: A charismatic person but prefers to stay quiet and listen. When in taverns he likes staying at the bar and listening to the cluster of noise or the conversation of the patrons around him. Unless he sets his eyes upon a pretty lady, which he then proceeds to trying and smooth talk his way into her room. He is a confident person but when he feels threatened he tends to be a little cocky. And when he is around people he has become comfortable with he will talk more often and likes joking around. Doesn’t mind helping people out but will do things for him self to get ahead.

Major Flaw: From many hardships when given the opportunity to succeed in life he will take it even if it means going behind people’s backs or deceiving them.

Background: Theadas was born in the Imperial City. His parents were poor and got by on the other side of the Law. He was brought up a thief and it became an instinct. When he was thirteen both of his parents were caught stealing from a house and were hanged. His Father was footpad in the Thieves guild and through his connections; Theadas was sent to his father’s friend who lived in Skyrim. The Bosmer, Falian, Theadas was sent to live with was an ex thief and now hunter. He was of very low class, which Theadas was used too, and didn’t own a home. This caused trouble as Theadas only knew a city life so when he found out he was going to have to hunt for a living and move from city to city selling hides, furs and other things from their kills he was unhappy. Though it wasn’t all bad, Falian taught Theadas how use a bow and blade. He also added to Theadas’ knowledge of his thief skills. He showed him run fast and get away in an open area, how to sneak in an open field or a snowy forest. He taught him how to get a good deal on low priced items. Theadas was never a great hunter and still loved the city life; even though his was never a good one. Every time they went to a city to sell their merchandise Theadas was very excited. When the market stalls closed he would get permission from Falian to go explore the city while Falian set up camp out side of the city walls. Theadas would walk around town “finding” new trinkets, and he always seemed to come across a few gold pieces. Whether it was from someone’s coin purse or just on a table he just loved the thrill of stealing. Though he was not the master thief he would have liked to think he is. He did get caught sometimes but when in that situation he would run away and fast. When he turned 17 Theadas parted ways with Falian and began hunting by himself. When Theadas went into big cities he would spend more time in them and practice his talents, it was also this time when he developed his strong interest in women. But when he wasn’t sneaking around town or chatting up the local bar maid, he was at the market stalls selling and buying, learning the trade; for, he wanted to open his own business one day, a tavern or general store, and settle down in a city. When Theadas heard of a new town coming he jumped at the opportunity to set up shop.

Name: Geddon

Age: 118

Race: Dunmer

Gender: Male

Height: 5'8

Birthsign: The Lady

Appearance: Black shoulder length hair usually worn in a ponytail. Bright blood red eyes.
A tattoo of a serpent snakes its way around his body, ending at the base of his neck. He has a lithe, muscled athletic build & is
considered handsome by all who meet him.

Class (what would you describe your character as?): Assassin & Priest/Healer

Skills and known spells (if any):
Sneak - Required in his profession.
Speech - A quick tongue is needed for everything.
Blades - Never hurts to be handy with a blade.
Marksman - Needed for the hunt.
Restoration - Never know when you might need some healing.
Destruction - What would a Dunmer be without this knowledge?
Conjuration - Knowledge of how one may summon his Ancestors is always good to have.
Light Armour - Proficient protection with lack of noise.

Clothing / armor: A black robe with an image of flames around its base. Under these is equiped a Black leather cuirass, greaves, gloves, pauldrons & boots. The pants are held together by a snow white belt. An enchanted Gold necklace inlaid with Glass & Rubies.

Weapons: Two custom crafted daggers made of pure Ebony from the mines of Morrowind. An ancient Dwemer crossbow also from Morrowind, & a bag of scrolls to help incase more direct magical means are recquired.

Miscellaneous items: A book written in the Daedric tongue, gifted to him by Boethiah.

Personality: A two faced personality. On the outside & to the general public he maintains an outgoing, jovial demeanure. Laughing & joking, always happy to make someone smile. On the inside & to private audiences he is a cruel & masochistic deviant, always enjoying in the pain & terror he can inflict upon others.

Major flaw: Acute case of Megalomaniacy.

Background: Born after the Oblivion crisis, Geddon was raised under the tutelage of his Grandfather, parents having perished at the hands of the Argonians. He was taught from a young age about the importance of worshipping the Daedra & Helping others. At age 16 he was inducted into the Imperial Cult. Rising through the ranks he was posted throughout the Empire, directed to the areas most lacking faith. After many years travel, Geddon grew tired of his dull life & desired a more challenging profession. Stumbling by chance or divine will, upon an Assassin, he impressed the man with his skill at survival & was introduced into the Guild. After decades of honing his art, he struck out on his own, reestablishing his links to the Imperial Cult & requesting a more permanent placement in Skyrim. With this he has ended up in Valton as the new priest at the Temple of the Divines, though he has also secretly set up a Murder for Hire business, always available to those who can track him down & have the recquired gold.

Name: Giovu Lepidus

Age: 32
Race: Imperial
Gender: Male
Height: 5'11"
Birthsign: The Serpent

Appearance: Very thin and weak in appearance, but also lithe and agile. Thick, dark brown shoulder length hair sits in a disorderly mess on his head. Has large dark bags under his green eyes and a slightly crooked nose. Wears a short and relatively neat beard, that only partially obscures a line of scar tissue that runs across his neck and chin. Has olive skin and looks young for his age.

Class: Alchemist/Acrobat

Skills and known spells (if any): Alchemy, Acrobatics, Athletics, Short blade, Light armour, Sneak, Is a skilled horseman.

Clothing / armor: Leather boots, faded and worn linen trousers, white shirt, wolf fur cuirass, cloth bracers, thin leather gloves, grey cowl.

Weapons: Steel stiletto(normally poison coated), Chitin shortsword

Miscellaneous items: mortar and pestle, retort, skooma pipe, Cyrodiilic brandy

Personality: Giovu is awkward and introverted. He is cautious and suspicious of others, rarely acting on impulse. Dithering indescision has often been mistaken by others as calmness under pressure. He is loyal and proud and tends to look down on people. He is lazy and apathetic, prefering to take the easy option. Giovu is not happy with the choices he has made in his life, but does his best to repress any feelings of inferiority and guilt. This leads to him appearing to be disinterested and somewhat flippant. He often prefers to play a character than reveal his true nature, telling people what they want to hear and performing a reasonable interpretation of what he considers to be normal. Favours logic and reason over wild superstition and intuition.

Major flaw: See above, there are many. Self loathing and self doubt are probably the most debilitating

Background: Giovu was born and raised in Skingrad in the Colovian Highlands. His parents were moderately wealthy traders, but the young Giovu showed little interest in learning the trade, spending his time chapel climbing and exploring the rooftops of the town. He worked in one of Skingrad's many wineries. The work was dull, but easy. He learned much about Cyrodiil's native flora in this time and experimented with varying results. The city's drunks and beggars were more than willing test subjects for his creations and no one seemed to mind or even notice the often debilitating effects. Giovu lost his job after an error in the fermentation process that caused much embarrassment in the court of Leyawiin and ruined some quite exquisite garments.

Giovu moved on to Bravil and fell in with one of the many skooma gangs in the city. He quickly learned how to process moon sugar, becoming an invaluable part of the profitable operation. For a time life was good, but stability is a rare state in the underworld and things went sour. Accusations were made and friends turned on one another. Giovu reluctantly played his part, out of fear more than anything. Loyalty was proven through blood and those that survived grew fat on the profits of their treachery. Next time the cycle of recrimination and violence came around a frustrated and disillusioned Giovu refused to have anything to do with it. Paranoia set in and Giovu became convinced that a contract had been taken out on him. He took what he could a got out, fleeing, first to the Imperial City before heading north onto Skyrim.

Name - Elena Wickhart
Age - 27
Race - Breton
Gender - Female
Height - 5'4
Birthsign - The Lover

Appearance - Elena is short and and relatively well tanned. She has light brown hair which she keeps no longer then her ears, and she has pale green eyes. She has a tattoo of Vivec (an artist's interpretation which is probably nothing like the real Vivec) on her back, which she got when she was more then a bit drunk (it was weeks before she got an old Dunmer to explain who Vivec was). She's attractive enough to rely on looks instead of talent as bard, but physical appearance isn't something she thinks about much, and as such she's not nearly as attractive as she could be.
Class - Bard/Assassin

Skills:
Music - Music is, more or less, her passion, and she's often said that she can play anything with strings. She can also sing beautifully.
Illusion - Mostly self taught, she learned so that she could safely avoid capture, if need be.
Sneak - Learned for the same reason as Illusion.
Alchemy - She rarely makes potions, but she has an acute awareness of the effects of virtually every useful plant in Skyrim, be they helpful or dangerous.
Marksman - Mostly for hunting purposes, although she has taken the occasional 'practice' shot at wandering Thalmor.
Short Blades - She is barely adequate at one to one combat, but she's a skilled assassin, so she can handle herself so long as she remains unnoticed.
Bluff - She's a skilled liar, which has gotten her out of quite a few pinches.

Clothing - A heavy green cloak, with leather armor underneath.
Weapons - A hunting bow, and an ebony dagger.
Miscellaneous Items - A lute, a book of poems, an Amulet of Dibella and a bottle of mead.

Personality - She is kind and compassionate to a fault, never letting go of an opportunity to help others. That being said, she has almost no mercy or forgiveness in her heart, and see's absolutely nothing wrong with seeking out revenge against her enemies. She's quite snarky and rude, and has a strong sense of mischief. Despite her playful and sarcastic demeanor, she's quite a depressive and wistful person, mostly because of the seeming hostility of the world as a whole. She has a nostalgic fascination with the Third Era, considering the reign of the Septims to be a Golden Age. She is a worshiper of Dibella, more out of romanticism then faith. However, it's sometimes been remarked that she comes off as more of a Sanguine worshiper then anything else.
Major Flaw - She is recklessly benevolent and emotionally driven; she see's little issue in completely blowing her cover for the sake of a good deed, much to the chagrin of her more cautious and rational allies.

Background - She grew in the Post-Great War Imperial City, the daughter of a wealthy, noble family who'd lost their wealth after the war. Her parents were noticeably unused to borderline poverty, although she rarely noticed. She grew up with a devout hatred of the Thalmor, although it was custom in Cyrodiil at the time to keep such things private. This was, however, something she had quite a bit of trouble doing; she was nearly executed once for speaking out against the ban of Talos worship, although she was eventually pardoned, with a warning. When she was sixteen she left home, trying to live as a bard. She traveled to a small Dunmer settlement in Western Morrowind, settling there for a few weeks. During her time there, she met an old Dunmer by the name of Saras (he never gave her his surname). The Dunmer took a liking to her music, and the two became fast friends. Eventually, Saras revealed that he was a former Blades agent, in hiding from the Thalmor. For the next two years, she served as his apprentice, learning how to gather information, assassinate opponents and defend herself. However, there came a point when the Thalmor tracked Saras to the town, nearly burning it to the ground in pursuit of him. When it seemed like the two of them had managed to escape, a lone Thalmor scout arrived, nearly subduing the two of them in combat. They managed to finish him off, but not before Saras took a fatal hit, bleeding to death before Elena could manage to do anything.
After burying her teacher, she decided to move north, hiding in Windhelm for a few months, and then deciding to pursue a career as a bard again. For years she worked with the Bard's College as a tutor, playing for the locals in Solitude by night and teaching by day. Aside from the occasional dangerous and adventurous quest into the depths of some long forgotten ruin to find some legendary artifact (whenever they were out of good stories), it was a quiet, uneventful life, although she tried her hardest to make it more noteworthy, even once robbing the Thalmor Embassy itself.
About a year ago, she chose to start traveling again, traversing Skyrim and making her living as an entertainer (and, on bad nights, having to choose between alcohol and food), her life as Blades Apprentice only a memory. However, upon hearing that a new Hold was being opened, she immediately decided to journey there, in search of the thing that all great bards sought after; a good story, and the possibility of eating at some point in the near future.

Name: Felix Sulla
Age: 21
Race: Imperial
Gender: Male
Height: 6'1
Birthsign: The Lord
Appearance:

-Neck-length light brown hair
-Sharp angular features, particularly in the jaw area
-High cheekbones
-Emerald green eyes
-Lithe yet muscular frame
-Several faded scars spanning a large portion of his upper back, visible on the back of his neck as well.
-Generally considered to be "beautiful" by many, though this often causes him to be underestimated.

Class (what would you describe your character as?): Knight

Skills and known spells (if any):

-One-Handed
-Heavy Armor
-Block

Clothing / armor: During combat he'll dawn a set of plain old steel plate with very little decor and more than a few dings. Outside of combat he wears a simple brown tunic with dark brown leggings. Owns one set of fine black boots that he wears everywhere as well.
Weapons: A well maintained steel sword (much thinner and more practical then the silly in-game model though) and a razor sharp steel dagger for shaving and other stuff. Basically a utility knife that can function as a weapon when needed.
Miscellaneous items: Small portion of venison jerky, two full waterskins, a few chunks of bread and a small bag of septims.
Personality: Supremely confident in his own abilities, Felix rarely finds himself doubting he can accomplish a given task. In spite of this he can and will stop to weigh his options when a bit of calculation is called for. Gets along with people who respect him but is also quite hot tempered when the right buttons are pushed.
Major flaw: His general cockiness tends to put him at odds with those around him.
Background:

Felix was born in the slums of the Imperial City even though he came from noble stock, a situation that reflected how bad times were during his childhood. In spite of his humble beginnings Felix had come to the resolution at a very young age that he would rise to greatness one day, whether the cost be in blood or gold. Around age twelve Felix began to squire for a knight of little renown, learning the warriors trade at a rapid pace in the process. By sixteen Felix had won his "spurs" on the field of battle, receiving the honor of being knighted for valor and skill-at-arms.

Though it seemed as if the young knight would finally be able to redeem his family name and restore their standing among the other noble families, his rise to glory was brutally cut short when a terrible fire scorched more than half of the city's lower slums, killing thousands in the process with his entire family among them. The incident shook young Felix to his very foundations and caused a drastic change in the way he perceived the world around him. After spending five years as a sort of wandering knight and lending his blade to whichever lord or count that paid well Felix used his amassed wealth to travel across the country, far north to very borders of Skyrim. Upon hearing of the formation of a new hold Felix made his way into the country of ice and steel, a desire to start anew burning within him.

Name: Burne

Age: Eighty-nine
Race: Imperial
Gender: Male
Height: Six foot two
Birthsign: The Shadow

Appearance: Burne has old, frightening eyes which often watch. His face is often hidden beneath a deep hood. Gnarled hands grip a wooden stick tightly and he walks extremely slowly, and as he does so seems to snarl and judge everyone around him. His hair is slowly receding though it is still long, white and tatty.

Class: Alchemist

Skills:
Alchemy
Restoration
Destruction
Mysticism
Merchantile

Clothing: Wears a long brown tatty robe. He refuses to wear footwear as it makes him feel young, though his feet can’t often be seen and are normally hidden beneath his robe.

Weapons: A wooden staff

Miscellaneous items: A variety of alchemical ingredients and potions, all on the back of a cart which he normally pulls around and travels with.

Personality: As Burne has grown older he has slowly turned into a grouchy, bitter old man with no time for ‘todays youth’. He moans and groans about the slightest thing and incessantly judges everyone for every action that they make. He is a nosy person who often will sit near a conversation and eavesdrop, or watch from afar.

Major Flaw: He is extremely protective of his daughter and often worries about her.

Background:
Burne was born a long time ago in Skyrim. Not much is known about his youth, other than the fact that he was a carefree innocent child for a long time, who like all children had a great ambition and longed to know more. This desire for knowledge led him to train as a mage for a short time, a magicians life was interesting, he discovered, but he soon learned to hate the rules and regulations that the mages guild contained and left, deciding to pursue other paths in life.

It is said that after leaving the guild Burne eventually became apprentice to a famed alchemist who taught him much about alchemy, but also about the world itself and even CHIM. It was a long time before he discovered, as the alchemist lay dying, that the man who had taught him so much was actually a member of the Psijic Order. It was then that he become a hermit and began to experiment in the far reaches, he was lost to the world for a long time and when he finally left his little cave in the middle of no-where he had reached the age of sixty. Shocked at himself he set about to find companionship, he knew someone, somewhere would want him. He found his love in a woman named Elena and with her he had a child, a young girl named Rosaline. His wife died in childbirth and from that point on he became a travelling merchant, selling potions to people throughout the land. His daughter now grown up, he yearns for a place of his own so that she will visit.

Name: Allard Maine

Age: 120, appears in early 20s
Race: Altmer
Gender: Male
Height: 6’4
Birthsign: The Lord

Appearance: Tall even for an Altmer, although not as tall as some, Allard can be described as quite a striking looking mer, his skin is more tanned than most Altmer’s, which he says is due to how close he is with his Ayleid roots. His eyes are deep orange and are reminiscent of a cats. From his training he possesses a lean, muscular, athletic build and is extremely flexible. His hair auburn hair is cut quite short and scruffy, doing nothing to hide his long pointed brown ears.

Class: Warrior

Skills:
Swordsmanship: After being trained by various tutors his skill with a blade has been honed to a tee.

Destruction: The magic of destruction is one which all Altmer are taught from a young age and as a result Allard knows some of the spells from the school, however he loathes the use of magic as a weapon and very rarely uses it.

Restoration: After studying under the Thalmor and escaping from that life, Allard turned to the one school of magic he most respected Restoration. As he began to help the resistance in Hammerfell, he found himself being used more and more as a healer rather than a warrior, a job he didn’t mind.

Poetry: Though one of his lesser skills Allard considers himself a poet and will often recite some sonnet or poem if asked.


Clothing/Armor: Normally Allard would wear a long chain mail coat, iron greaves and boots and gauntlets He also has a riveted mail hood which he pulls over when he fights.

Weapons: He carries with him a long one and a half hand sword, which he wields with a surprising amount of grace and finesse. Under his armour he also has a short dagger strapped to the underside of his thigh.

Miscellaneous Items: Carries very little money and nothing but the smallest amount of food.

Personality: Allard is driven by a burning hatred for the Thalmor, the very people who reared him. As much as he wishes to shake off their effect on him, he sometimes can’t help but fall into the familiar arrogance that the Altmer are renown for. The hatred for the Thalmor causes him to do thinks just to spite them, like take up Talos worship, something he had no thought of doing before they banned it. He tries his best to help people and be calm but having fought so often, he finds himself beset with fits of rage.

Major Flaw: An extremely short temper.

Background: Allard was born and raised in the Summerset Isles under the Aldmeri Dominion, he came from a very poor family, something which would have caused him great strife if not for his great ability with magic being picked up on by a passing official. It was then that he was given a superb education and spent many of his early years obsessed with the doctrine that the Altmer teach. He adored magicka but his passion truly lay for sword work, a practice which was often looked down upon by his tutors for not being fitting of an Altmer. He cared very little for politics or anything of the sort and only worked to please his master for the time being at least.

His education ended just years before The Great War between the Mede empire and the Aldmeri Dominion, it was there that Allard began to slowly become troubled by the actions of his people. He was just a soldier, a soldier who ransacked, murdered and pillaged. A soldier who could survive. Allard slaughtered countless innocents along with the enemy and could not forgive himself of that. The fact that he managed to stay alive please his superiors and brought him into their gaze. After the war had ended and the insatiable bloodlust that Allard felt began his superiors saw to it that he was offered the rank of a Justicar. Something he refused.

His refusal of the post was the first step, The Thalmor did not appreciate such an action and when Allard returned to his family, who he had not seen in many years, he discovered that they had all been murdered. There agents of the Thalmor were waiting to kill him, he fought wildly and managed to killed many of them before he escaped and managed to get a ship back to mainland Tamriel. There he travelled for many months through the wilds of Elswyr and through Cyrodiil until finally he reached Hammerfell, the home of the resistance.

It took him a long time to persuade the Yokudan warriors to accept him into their ranks and whenever any fighting started he was not permitted to fight but instead healed any of the sick and injured. Allard appreciated the position, it was one of the few times in his life he had managed to escape the bitter force that compelled him to kill so often. Upon hearing of the Stormcloak uprising many Yokudan agents were employed to go out into Skyrim and nudge things into the Stormcloak side. Allard was lucky enough to be permitted to travel there with a unit of men, upon crossing the border however the group was first set upon by bandits and then later Thalmor Justicars who named them ‘heretics’. Allard and one other, Rescal, survived the attacks and moved forward intending to head up to Winterhold..

Name: DarHonna (Honna)
Age: Twenty-seven
Race Khajiit
Gender Female
Height 6'2"
Birthsign: The Thief

Description; A short pelt with ebony stripes in the form of a tiger's. Has an ashur pelt, and white hued underbelly. Typical dark green eyes, but a white muzzle and black a black eye shadow. White tipped tail along side a black ringed tail.

Class A thief and trickster. Though she works for the guard.

Skills; A silver-tongue, elusive, and in the slightest bit cunning.

Clothing/armor Wears her own brand of Leather Armor which she has equipped to also have leather pockets where she stores daggers, to Arrowheads, to cash. Apart from leather armor, she wears a necklace crafted by her mother; a supposedly gifted necklace. It has a gold strand and at the end a silver shield like shape that in the center consists a amber stone. The necklace is her family upon generation's heirloom, which she will pass on to her first-born. Apart from the necklace also wears fur boots crafted of bear fur and sabre cat.

Weapons; A Ancient Nord Bow that she got from her pa. Also a black dagger, normal dagger but it's originally steel blade is made out of a ebony substance, it also has a wooden handle that has decorated designs on it. Also sometimes she'll actually throw [if she has enough] steel points if at a decent-close but still not hand-to-hand combat situation. In medium-range combat if not her sharp claws - her black daggers which are typically used for stealth.

Misc.; Arrowheads, some preserved foods, various pelts and the occasional Sabre-Tooth tooth. [Her favorite prey.]

Personality; Honna is the typical not anti-social but cryptic feline, often in which she keeps to herself.Though, this being said, she loves to debate things among people. Rather it be about a small or large thing, though shes not the best at it. Apart from a heated debate, the only time you can get her to talk is when she is with one of her own species. Honna craves danger, what some might call upon a "extremist" it would be her. This being said, she also extremely dislikes cowards in which would most likely be the person or thing to hire her.

Major Flaw; Large fear over fire, not just a little spark of fire - but a huge out of control type of wild fire. That is an example of her past reflecting on her out come in the future, for ever since she was sixteen, she still couldn't get over it.

Background Honna was raised in a tribe of Khajiit cats. Most of which where kin by blood or via adoption. Her grandmother was the one who raised her since her mother died the following summer in which she was born. Her grandmother; Dro'Banji [Banji] was the pretty much elder of her tribe, existing since their first leader was made and formed the people. Banji cared greatly for her granddaughter, she let her observe the hunt and at about six taught her mild tactics; how to use a bow, how to sneak properly, and how to fire an arrow as well as predict drift or such. Come age thirteen, she was allowed to attempt a hunt, it was yes just a mere caribou calf, but it was the step on to the next for the young huntress Honna. From there, she grew, by age fifteen hunting full-grown bucks. But, at age sixteen, one night she went out on a night hunt, this was close to her first minus the few before, in which this one she was to actually take part in. It was a surprising success, but to her dismay, when she got home to her tribe along side the other hunters, she found the place to be alight. She, along side the others, drug out the corpses of the fellow kin. Among them, she heard whispers of the unknown such as "I never thought the thieves would take it this far!" this alarmed her, for she was not known of these problems with thieves. Come the morning, when all ash and crispy flakes of fire was set out via rain; she was alarmed to find Benji's corpse. It startled her mentally and for a while even physically, not eating, but she lived out the remained of teen-hood with the four males and two female khajiit who were on the hunt the day it was set to burn. Then, she moved, already a good hunter, she made a life in Riften as a scavenger until discovering her talent with stealing, from there on, she was renounced as a thief. To this day, though despite she had moved, she is still considered to some a thief, though she even works as a guard, she is still attempted to take small samples of money.

Name: Glathor

Age: 120, looks around 20-25
Race: Bosmer
Gender: Male
Height: 5’2
Birthsign: The Lover

Appearance: Short but built for running long distances. Long light reddish hair pulled back into a somewhat angled ponytail. Stubble lines the lower parts of his cheeks. Most call it war paint, but the two finger thick lines that lie just below each of his eyes are actually tattoos that he had given himself after his first successful hunt. He used red dye to represent the blood of the animal.

Class(what would you describe your character as?): Hunter/Hideworker

Skills and known spells(if any):
Archery-how he hunts the animals for their meat and hide
Light Armor-for protection against the more aggressive beasts
Sneak-so he can get a jump on his prey before they dart off
Speech-so when he goes to town to sell his hide workings some stiff shopkeeper doesn’t try swindle him

Clothing/Armor: He wears a very fine set of Studded Armor that he had procured in an archery contest in the Imperial City. A pair of Hide Boots and Hide Bracers that he made himself from the pelt of a bear that he had killed. And a Huntsman’s Cowl made from fox pelt.

Weapons: A good ‘ole Longbow and quiver full of iron arrows. And an intricately etched Steel Dagger.

Misc.: Various poisons, and a manual for various kill spots on different types of game

Personality: Keeps to himself but is passionate about what he does(all that he was close to are now gone which is a reason for this)

Major flaw: Takes so much care and pride in his work that he has no time for anyone else(not so much a bad thing for the people who buy his products)

Background: He was born in 4E 80 and raised in the forests of Valenwood in a small independent tribe. When he came of age around 4E 110 he journeyed north through Cyrodiil. He entered himself into an archery contest that was being held in the Imperial City. Being a better archer than most he blew threw it like a breeze. While in the Imperial Capital of Tamriel he experienced his first successful hunt. It was an unusually large brown bear that he had tracked into a secluded cave way up in the mountains north of Bruma. After making himself a fine pair of hide boots and bracers he continued over the mountains and found himself in Skyrim, the “Home of the Nords” he used to hear the elders call it. They said that its many different terrains flourished with all types of wild game. He decided that this would be his home for many years to come. After years upon years of honing his skill he has become a well known hunter in these lands. Although most that he knew when he first arrived have died. He is now 120 years of age, but looks around 20-25 in human perspective, and doesn’t have many close people left. Even his elven friends are becoming scarce. He heard from a barmaid in Solitude, that there was a group of settlers that were trying to set up a new hold. “Valton” she called it. He remembered from the days he first arrived in Skyrim that the game was good down there and that he could help them by bringing in meat and hide and making them fur coats and fine pelt robes, occasional hide based light armor for the passing adventurer. The barmaid told him it was in between Ivarstead and Riften. He took a carriage from Solitude to Riften. Once he arrived he headed in the direction of the “X” that was marked on his map. He made it to Valton shortly after leaving Riften.

Name: Raryn Hlaalu
Age: 250
Race: Dunmer Vampire
Gender: Male
Height: 6 feet (186cm)
Birthsign: Steed

Appearance: Due to Vampirism, Raryn's face has aged dramatically. Gone, is the silk smooth skin, replaced by pale gaunt features and cloudy red eyes. This has made him look around 400-500 years old, much older than he truly is. To play to this character, Raryn deliberately arches his back and walks with a stick.

His hair is now white and tied back in a pony tail, his body, underneath his fine clothes is well built for someone who doesn't train or look after themselves.

Class: Merchant/Lord
Skills and known spells: Due to Raryn being a merchant for most of his life, he has gained a fantastic understanding of Speechcraft, he's able to lie and deceive many people but when it comes down to doing anything else, he usually falls short. Due to being a vampire however, he has gained some understanding of lockpicking and stealth.

Clothing / armor: Fine black and gold trousers and shirt. He also wears a grey hooded cape which is rimmed with bear fur.
Weapons: Raryn carries a fine steel dagger at his waist and a painted wooden walking stick.
Miscellaneous items: Lots of money, health potions, vials of blood and a diary.

Personality: Raryn has a very dry personality, over the years he has become extremely arrogant and feels that he is much better than the average person. He hungers for excitement however, finding it in both murder and friendship. He is a natural liar, so much of what he makes himself out to be is in fact false.

Major flaw: No combat abilities, vampirism and extremely arrogant.

Bio: Raryn was born and raised in Cyrodiil where his family owned a large investment company based in the Imperial City. Raryn was bred to become the owner of the company and so, from an early age was educated and given private lessons in business management and mercantile. As a teenager, Raryn was reckless and a little angsty, he knew his life, no matter what avenue it would take would land him manager of the family company. He fought hard against his father and those who thought he would never earn his money but ultimately gave in, accepting the role at the age of 30.

The next eighty years went by without anything notable happening, he ran the company as was expected and eventually became bored of it, always wanting something more. So, one day, quite spontaneously, he handed the rights to the company over to his best friend, signing a contract that would still give him a sizeable amount of money while never actually working. With this consistent income, Raryn was free to explore. He explored Vvardenfell, High Rock and Hammerfell. However, while exploring Vvardenfell, Raryn gained the vampiric curse. This curse would normally have been a thorn to anyone else but Raryn enjoyed the idea of it, another exciting challenge to take on. Another challenge to prove himself against.

Thus he became a vampire and continued to travel, learning how to break into houses and deceive people eventually began to come naturally to Raryn. He has decided to continue his travels through Skyrim, where he has heard a small settlement has recently began to spring up, bringing another new challenge to this now bored vampire.

Name: Bayard Arcturus

Age: 33
Race: Imperial
Gender: Male
Height: 5'7
Birthsign: Atronach

Appearance: Bayard's face is compeletely shadowed over by his large hood, but small, deep breaths can be heard from underneath
his hood when he is not talking.. No hair seems to be trailing out from underneath his hood aswell. As for the rest
of his body, he is fairly normal sized for an Imperial, with large hands and somewhat skinny arms; not so much macho man,
but also not a toothpick. His chest area is, again, fairly normal, and his legs are a bit stumpy looking.

Class: Pyromancer (A mostly destruction mage/caster, that uses the efficiency of fire)

Skills and Known Spells: Bayard knows a basic Firebolt attack, along with a skill in 1 handed axes (because fire doesnt always stop a sword
in your face). He also has mediocre skill in light armor, but mainly uses his mage robes for encounters. He also
has a somewhat larger stamina than most other mages, who mostly exercise in magicka.

Clothing: Bayard wears a large, dark green mages robe, with some dark brown trim on the edges, the color of a redwood pine
tree. His robes feature a chainlink sowing design, and the inside of the robe is consisted of various animal pelts,
to keep him warm in the harsh climates. While he does support a large belt with a ornate carved silver buckle, the robe
splits just below the belt into 2 parts, to help him get full girth of his legs while running. His pants underneath
are the same color of the trim, and his shoes are large and black, with some mud splashed about them. On Willem's head
is his hood, which shadows his entire face. the back of the hood trails off into a long point, similar to a pony-tail.
He also sports a pair of hefty gloves, with a dark brown color and three stripes running off his knuckles.

Weapons: Along with his Firebolt spell in his left hand, Bayard supports a Steel War Axe in his right, given to
him by a strange but desperate traveler.

Miscellaneous Items: Few potions of all types (Healing, Stamina, Magicka), couple bottles of black-briar mead, his personal journal

Personality Type: Baynard is neither the one to start a fight, or the one to follow a fight. He is the kind that
simply hangs back and watches things play out- unless, of course, the situation involves him directly. He enjoys
travelling across Skyrim, enjoying almost any bar he runs into. He also really hates trolls. Alot.

Major flaw: Baynard's tendency to watch a situation play out can often get the bitter side of people, and provoke a fight without
warning. His absence of a face can also terrify some townsfolk, leaving Baynard distressed at his appearance.

Background:
Bayard Arcturus was born to a semi-wealthy family in Cyrodiil, living in the town of Anvil. He lived a fairly normal
life as a child, but was interested in the arts of magic when he read about it in the town library. A few years later.
around the age of 13, he and his family were ambushed by trolls on a carriage ride to Skyrim. The trolls brutally
gored and murdered his parents, as Baynard was mortally wounded by a troll cut to his face. Later, he clumsily
stumbled into the town of Falkreath, where the town doctor immediately took care to him. After several attempts
at healing him, he was healthy but his face was scarred forever and would preferably be not shown around town.
He decided to buy a large cloak, hide his face, and sneak aboard another carriage to the College of Winterhold, with
the fond memories of his parents still fresh in his mind. There he grew as a powerful pyromancer, and at the age of 33,
disembarked from Winterhold to the other regions of Skyrim in hope of adventure and revenge upon Trollkin.

Name: Clayton Anarkhall
Age: 51
Race: Nord
Gender: Male
Height: 6'2
Birthsign: The Warrior
Appearance:
- short, cropped silver hair and thick stubble
- his nose was broken at some point, and his face bares a few scars and wrinkles, he has hazel eyes and a strong jaw
- he is broad in build, still strong despite his aging
Class(what would you describe your character as?): Warrior
Skillsand known spells (if any):
- Two handed (Battle axe)
- One handed (Swords)
- Speech (Very persuasive through coercion or intimidation, also good at bartering)
- Sneak
- Heavy armour
- Block
- Hand to hand brawling
Clothing/ armor: Typically wears tough leather boots and gauntlets, along with simple trousers and a tunic worn under a leather vest, displaying the "Crimson Sons" logo, a twisted sword dripping with blood. He also has a full set of Iron armour when the need arises.
Weapons: He has a large, well crafted Steel battle axe, though like his armour, it is only worn when "on the job". More often, he has his Steel broadsword and steel dagger.
Miscellaneous items: A few potions and poultices, some moonsugar, Skooma,
Personality: At first he seems to come across as gentlemenly, even if bit of a bad boy. He puts up a good front of being a kind man, but he is ambitious, greedy and takes care of himself, capable of great acts of cruelty. As leader of the Crimson Sons, every decision he makes he does for the gang, but in reality, he does what will benefit him. Still, in his time as leader, the gang has enjoyed relatively easy living.
Major flaw: Mentioned above.
Background: Clayton was one of the original Crimson Sons, founded on the border of Falkreath and the Rift, and at first, they were like any other group of bandits; raiding caravans for loot, attacking farms. Then one of their number, Wulf, had the idea of trafficking Skooma. This soon went on to drug trafficking, arms smuggling and dealing, and prostitution. Seeing as they were no longer causing trouble, none that anyone could proove, the Guardsmen and the Jarls paid less attention to them. They eventually revealed themselves publicly as "The Crimson Sons Mercenary Company", allowing them to make a living legally and providing them a good front to hide their illegal dealings. They are still notorious, causing more than a few brawls and bar fights, broken windows and damage to property, but they are quite skilled fighters, and relatively cheap for their skill. When Wulf, the leader, was killed many years ago, Clayton took control of the Crimson Sons. Under his rule, the gang enjoys relatively easy living, but one thing that Clayton wants to improve is influence, furthering the gang's, and more importantly, his own power. A new hold may give him that opportunity.

Name: Erik Steelsheen

Age: 27
Race: Nord
Gender: Male
Height: 6'
Birthsign: The Steed
Appearance:
- Fair haired, reaching his collar and a slight beard
- Muscled, but not overly so, lither and willowy
- kind green eyes
- over all, a rugged appearance that some would consider handsome
Class: Ranger
Skillsand known spells (if any):
- Bow
- one handed (sword)
- hand to hand (brawling)
- Light armour
- Speech
- sneak
- Healing (non magic, eg - local herb lore)
Clothing/ armor: Wears a Crimson Sons vest over a longcoat, trousers and tunic. He wears leather bracers and boots. He is also in possession of scale armour.
Weapons:Imperial bow, steel arrows, Steel hand-and-a-half longsword
Miscellaneous items: a few potions, gold.
Personality: He is loyal to his friends and to the gang. He doesn't enjoy or hate the illegal activities, he just sees it as something that has to be done; it's always been that way so why bother change it. He comes across as a decent guy involved in some unsavoury business, but he tries to make sure that the gang doesn't over step their boundaries and maintain a level of civility.
Major flaw: His loyalty to the gang and to Clayton, which can lead him to do things against his moral judgement.
Background: A respected member of the Crimson Sons, part of the reason being that he is Wulf's son, he is in a position to potentially challenge Clayton's authority. However, seeing as he is loyal to the gang leader, he poses little threat. Some people suggest that he could change the gang for the better, but he can't see the point; everything works now, no point in changing it. He had a hard life growing; his mother was sixteen when he was born, his father was killed a few years later. The Crimson Sons are his life, and he has spent his life living the lifestyle that his father had lived. The gang moves to a new hold, and Erik trusts that whatever happens there will be done for the interests of the gang. His conscious however is starting to creep up on him.

;Name: Tourmund Steelfist

;Age:50
Gender:Male
;Race: Nord
Height::5′9
Birthsing:The warrior

Appearence: Like all nords he is hardened man, with a grizzly beard and brown hair. He is a strong man with a scar that run from his eye to his neck,altought a big man he is not very tall. he lost three fingers in a fight with a an ice wraith and his hands fells like leather.
;Class: Warrior
;Skills:
;Two handed-He unleashes his warhammer if the fights get fierce9and he does so very well)
;Heavy armor-His armor has survived many battles and its hard to break
;One handed-He keep his enemies at bay with his sword and shield(altought he is better with the warhammer)>

;Clothing/Armor-When in combat he uses his iron armor,gaunlets,boots and helmet.When he is not at combat he uses to walk with his clothes of bear pelt.
;Weapons-His warhammer, an iron shield and an iron sword.
;Miscellaneous itens-he walks with his gold purse and some trinkets he earned.
;Personality- He is a hard and severe man, he is very proud,loves drinking and fighting.He also likes to tell war tales.He has a deep hate for the Thalmor for what he has seen in the great war and that makes people think he support the stormcloaks but in truth he supports the Empire for he thinks they are the best hope against the elves(but he keeps a shinre to talos anyway)

;Major flaw: For what he has presenciated in the great war he hates any kind of elves even with they dont have anything to do with the Thalmor.

;Background: He was born in Winterhold from a poor family of warriors.His father trained him in martial way and when he was 15 he was sent to kill an Ice Wraith as a test of valor,he boast that when the wraith knocked him to the grond and shattered his weapon he killed it with his fists.When he was 20 his father let him to Cyrodill to try to put him on the figherts guild but when the great war began he was sent to Hammerfell with the legion he was serving at the Battle of the red circle his father was killed by the elves and he lost his left eye,he hates the Thalmor since then.He has been wandering is Skyrim since after but when he saw this new hold and the prices of the houses he decided to go and try to settle himself there.

Name: J?kull Oakenspear
Age: 26
Race: Nord
Gender: Male
Height: 6'1
Birthsign: Warrior

Appearance: James is a tallish individual, standing at 5'11. He has a muscular build, weighing around 14 stone of muscle with very little fat. He has medium length black hair which is tied into a pony tail. His eyes are an emerald green colour.

Class: Guard

Skills/known spells: Light Armour, One-handed, two-handed and archery

Clothing/armor: Black leather armour with no helmet.
Weapons: Katana, Long Bow and a Steel Dagger
Miscellaneous items: None

Personality: James values his family, comrades and anyone who he can deceive with minimal effort, but will not heed their requests necessarily. If there isn't anything beneficial to be gained by the request; he'll see it as a trivial matter. If a friend or comrade desperately needed his aid, James would do it as a favor. He will try his hardest to complete the task/request, only if remained to be worth while. If he completed the task he'll expect the favor to be repaid in full.

James will do what ever necessary to get what he wants, as long as it benefits him in the end; killing innocents, betraying allies, lying. James doesn't have much of a conscience. There is no such thing as morality; virtue is a myth spread among those who are blind to the injustice they create themselves. James sees the world for what it truly is; a beautiful oasis full of creatures, who wish to live in peace and harmony, and vicious cretins and parasites that prey on those naive creature.

James will support the nation or army he is in, only if it is profitable to himself. He will also abide by that nation's/army's laws and rules as long as it is in his best interest to do so. James has no interest in politics. If his nation is in decline he will seek out to undermine his community, in order to cleanse it of the filth that made it weak and rebuild it anew.

He is incredibly prideful and conceited in his own abilities, as well as snarky. He will lie to anyone he sees fits. If he is caught in a lie, he'll try desperately to cover his tracks. Even if it means subjecting his oppressing to pain, as long as it gets him out of the interrogation. He shows no shame in killing innocent to acquire what he wants. Nothing is more satisfying, than killing a person who is weaker than himself. He only respects those who are stronger than him.

Not under any circumstances will he aid the weak, or will he show mercy to his enemies. There are only two things that await the weak and his enemies, death and despair. He will make sure they know both.

Major flaw: Due to James's arrogance and conceit, he looks down upon others, and is quick to condescend others no matter their disposition. He's has a troubling admitting his own mistakes, and loves to place he blame on others

Background: James was born into a middle class family, who owned a farm outside of solitude. James grew up on this farm, working long hours and learning the trade. He learned to hunt with his dad in the winter when food growth was poor and this is where he learned how to use his bow. After his parents sold the farm, he was given a small sum of money and he moved alone to Whiterun, he enlisted in the guard service and rose to a high position. He soon left the service of the guards after 5 years(he joined when he was 21), when he heard word that houses in Valton were going for 1,000 septim, he up sticks and moved immediately.

Name: Ulfgar
Age: 32
Race: Nord
Gender: Male
Height: 6’1”
Birthsign: The Ritual
Appearance: Tall, like most Nords. Brown hair, blue eyes, muscular build.

Class: Monk
Skills and known spells (if any): A formidable fighter in unarmed combat. Also has some training in the way of the bow and sword. Prefers the fists over other weaponry. Also he shows a basic understanding of alchemy. Knows a basic healing spell, and also knows the spells from his birthsign. Blessed Word, Lesser Power, Turn Undead, as many times as you can afford to cast it. Mara’s Gift, Greater Power, Extreme Healing, Once per day.

In-Game Description: Those born under the Ritual use the Mara's Gift power once a day as a powerful Restore Health spell. The Blessed Word can turn the undead.

Clothing / Armor: Simple brown monk robes, something like this: http://img.costumecr...stume-large.jpg (though he doesn’t have his hood on as often as off)
He also has this: http://www.uesp.net/...:SR-npc-Hod.jpg
Weapons: Iron bow, a quiver of Iron Arrows, Iron Dagger, his fists ( )
Miscellaneous Items: A few healing potions, some alchemic ingredients, a few septims

Personality: Humble, kind, and a strong pacifist, like the Greybeards. Prefers not to resort to violence, though if it is absolutely necessary, he can. A believer in fair and equal justice.
Major Flaw: Utterly jinxed. One minute he’s graceful, the next he’s slipper than butter. One day he could do something flawlessly, and the next he could totally mess it up.

Background: He grew up in Ivarstead. When he was 15, he found a young Alfiq-Khajiit (more information on them can be found here: http://uesp.net/wiki...b-species_Notes) abandoned and alone. He took him in, took care of him, and became friends with him. His real name is Baa’Dumiqa, though Ulfgar has taken to calling him Spot, and Baa’Dumiqa accepts that name. Since then, they’ve always been a pair. In Ivarstead, he worked as a woodcutter and a barkeep. He studied Nord culture, the Greybeards, and The Way Of The Voice, and became more and more interested. At 22, he gathered most of his belongings and left with Spot to go on the pilgrimage to the Throat of the World. He then studied with the Greybeards for the next 10 years of his life. He is learning about and showing understanding of The Dragon Language and The Way Of The Voice. He just recently left, not forever though; just as sort of a ‘vacation’ or a hiatus. Maybe he’ll return after a week, maybe after a few years. He will return when he feels it’s time, and then he’ll go back and study it more. He is looking for a place to live and work, and with the few Septims he has he plans to settle in Valton. The New Hold.

Name: Baa’Dumiqa (Ulfgar and everyone else calls him Spot; he accepts that.)
Age: Equivalent of 22
Race: Khajiit, Alfiq sub-species (http://uesp.net/wiki...b-species_Notes)
Gender: Male
Height: However tall a housecat would be
Birthsign: The Shadow

Appearance: He looks like an orange and white tabby cat
Skills and known spells: Intelligent and agile like all Khajiit, a little bit more agile than normal though. Knows no spells except for his Shadow birthsign invisibility.

Clothing/Armor: His fur
Weapons: Really his only form of weapons would be his claws and his bite, though those aren’t really proper “weapons.”

Name:Scarpaius Otavius (Skarpi for short)
Age:72
Race:Imperial
Gender:Male
Heigh:5’ 11’’
Birthsign:The Thief

Appearance:Scarpaius is an old man, but generally well fit for his age, taking time to work out daily and preform manual labor. Standing at roughly 5’ 11’’, he is a handsome man even in his old age, with high cheekbones and full lips, his looks wooed many women back in his day. http://cache.ohinternet.com/images/thumb/2/2d/Trollface_HD.png/618px-Trollface_HD.png now, and his shaggy head of hair is fringed with grey, but his eyes are still the color of pristine blue water, which seem to sparkle when he is telling a story. He enjoys portraying himself as a weak old man (which, in a way, he is), but it is only a fa?ade used to fool potential enemies, and a technique used to awe his audience.

Class (what would you describe your character as?):Ex-Sailor, Innkeeper and Bard

Skills and known spells (if any):Skarpi was once a brilliant swordsman and thief, talented with one handed weapons, stealth, lockpicking, and pickpocketing. While he has retained much of his knowledge and ability in his old age, his talent can be considered lack-luster at best. The two skills that he still uses to great effect are Alteration and Speechcraft. Skarpi used [and uses] alteration to create magical shields, fiddle with matter and the physical composition of materials, as well as further his own abilities. In combat, this is used in creative and unique ways, though more recently in his life, he has just been using it to help accomplish tasks, or for show-boating. His tongue and wit are sharp as steel, which is very useful when persuading a highway robber or a group of children listening to one of his stories.

Clothing / armor:Skarpi usually wears his old duster (http://hiltonstentcity.com/images-prod/filson-465-duster-lg.jpg), with common clothes underneath. He owns a simple pair of boiled leather boots, and he keeps an old suit of armor locked in his special chest, which hasn’t been put to use in several years. In addition, an innocent looking ring of coral resides on his right ring finger, though the sailor refuses to comment on its origin.

Weapons: Skarpi usually just keeps a simple dagger of steel on his person, as well as a small volcanic stone that has been enchanted to cast a weakish lightning spell, though it is unknown whether he discovered this trinket on his adventures or made it himself. In his special chest, he has a silver longsword, though it hasn’t been moved or used in several years.

Miscellaneous items:Skarpi has several books packed in what little luggage he has, as well as a few pairs of simple clothing. He also has a chest of lacquered redwood with him, that contains and old suit of armor, silver longsword, potions, and a few other odd trinkets from his adventuring days.

Personality: The old sailor is rather optimistic, cheerful, wise, and can be described as “a little loony”. On the outside, Skarpi seems rather open and happily willing to share his advice, wisdom, and tales of adventure, he is truly angry and world-weary from his persuer’s efforts to bump him off, but is far too stubborn and faithful to give up just yet.
Major flaw: Skarpi is old, thus hindering his combat abilities (ya know, cause he’s slower and such). Due to an old wound on his right leg, he has a slight limp.

Background: Skarpi was born in Bravil, and lived on the streets until he was about twelve years old until a friendly, wise Innkeeper paid for passage to Stormhold where he would procure an education at the Synod Enclave.

Skarpi took keen to the school of Alteration at the school, as well as your average subjects like arithmetic and lore. When he reached the age of 19, Scarpaius was weary of the Synod’s flawed system of education and greedy politics, and left the school behind in search for adventure, his ego brimming with arrogance. Leaving his friends and mentors in his wake, he got a job, raised enough money to procure some essential supplies, and ventured into the world in search of adventure.

His first attempt at an adventure, the plundering an ancient ruin will a small band of mercenaries, ended in utter disaster, to say the least, and opened the young man’s eyes as he narrowly escaped the vicious maw of Deadroth. He became far more cautious after that, and his ego slowly began to deflate.

A few years later, with a broadened knowledge of the world, he signed onto a crew of a cargo ship in Hammerfell, and worked as a sailor, moving goods from Skyrim to Morrowind and even to Elyswer. During these times, the crew encountered strange occurrences, and had a few brushes with the supernatural.

It wasn’t until Skarpi, now succumbing to the hands of becoming old, stole an artifact from a cult of Necromancers, in hope that its powers would help him retain his youth. The occultists discovered his heist, and nearly killed him, but he escaped. The mages of death hired and “created” minions to pursue Skarpi across the globe for many years.

During said time, Skarpi had an epiphany that almost crushed his spirit, caused by the deadly Necromancers that chased him. He gave up adventuring, and turned to being a traveling bard, poet, and inn keeper, still hailing that old man from Bravil as his hero. Skarpi kept moving around, growing old and more eccentric by the year, until he found the new hold of Valton. It is unknown if the old bard disposed of the artifact already, or if he still keeps, or if it even does anything. But one thing is for certain- those pesky necromancers are still after it, and the loony sailor who stole it.

Name: Zalabek "Zal" Mirshimammu
Age: 231
Race: Dunmer Ashlander
Gender: Male
Height: 5'11"
Birthsign: The Steed
Appearance: Zal is fairly average by Dunmer standards. His build is slender, almost lanky, though he is nigh weak. Hair is ashen gray, like the burnt leavings after a roaring fire. Eyes are white as Skyrim's snows, and seem to pierce a soul like a Daedric arrow through Dreugh Wax. His face is tattooed in the traditional Ashlander fashion - a dark hand 'pon his left cheek, a splash of red 'round his right eye. A deep scar tears a horizontal valley across his stubbled chin; a relic of the life he's left behind.
Class (what would you describe your character as?): Loremaster/Bookseller
Skills and known spells (if any):
Skills:
Archery - Adept
One Handed - Apprentice
Alchemy - Apprentice
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Misc Skills/Descriptions
Zal has spent much of his life collecting tomes and volumes of any literature he could reach, and as such he may well have been one of the best educated Ashlanders in Vvardenfell before Red Mountain erupted.
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Spells/Powers:
Summon Ancestral Guardian, Firebolt.
Clothing / armor: Zal wears simplistic clothing made from roughly patched Netch leather and Chitin. His waist is bound with multiple belts, bearing satchels and flasks filled with alchemical ingredients, simple potions, and often a few pinches of Moon Sugar. About his neck he wears an amulet bearing the likeness of Azura's Star - a gift given to him by his mother in his youth, and one of his most prized posessions.
Weapons: Zal carries a glass dagger on his person at all times. For hunting purposes he owns a weathered Chitin longbow, and the arrows to accompany it.
Miscellaneous items: Due to his Ashlander background Zal has accumulated a decent collection of odds and ends. Though most of his trinkets are quite useless he is in the posession of a journal, the very journal used by the Nerevarine in the Third Era while on his journey to defeat Dagoth Ur.
Personality: Though he carries himself with the usual pomp of a Dunmer, and oft barks out belittling comments without cause, Zal is a fairly softhearted individual. He has come to realize just how short one's life is, and sees no point in souring what is left of it.
Major flaw: Zal is fairly reclusive, being from a small tribe to the north of Morrowind and having not eperienced life around large crowds. He prefers to keep to his own affairs, and can often become farly shy and silent in stressful situations.
Background:Zalabek was born and raised in the old Ashlander camp of Urshilaku in Morrowind's north, on the Sheogorad coastline. He was raised with tales of the Nerevarine, who had visited their camp in 3E 427, and as such has always held a fascination for lore of all kinds. On his seventeenth birthday his mother and father presented him with two gifts - the Amulet of Azura, and the Nerevarine's journal - and was subsequently told to leave his home and explore the world.
For fourteen years young Zal explored Morrowind; from Dagon Fell to Vivec, Gnisis to Sadrith Mora...
Upon returning to his home in Urshilaku he found the place destroyed, raided by bandits from beyond the Ghostgate. Zal spent a week amongst the rubble, sleeping in his own bedroll near the bodies of his slain parents. Something had broken within the Dunmer, something that may nevere fully heal.

While he slept one night, there in the shadow of Red Mountain, Azura came to him in a vision. She told the Dark Elf to flee Morrowind - to let his past lay, and to travel West to Skyrim. The mountain was to burn the province, she said, and he listened. As Azura's star sparkled in the dawn's sky Zalabek buried his parents in shallow pits, gathered what scraps he could to travel with, and began his Westward journey...

Name: Frulgar Hrenelt
Age: 38
Race: Nord (culturally Imperial)
Gender: Male
Height: 5'10"
Birthsign: Steed

Appearance: Frulgar is an unremarkable figure, though distinctly Nord in appearance. Though rather tall, Frulgar does not tower above his Nord compatriots, with whom he shares most of his aesthetically predictable qualities. His hair is vaguely brown, though matted with such mud and so unkempt so as to preclude knowing its true color. The rough beginnings of a beard adorn his upper lip and chin. His eyes are deep-set, hidden beneath the shadow of an extensive brow, though they are dark-blue. His skin (slightly tan, though still unmistakably that of a Nord) is relatively unblemished, though a few scars (wounds from mishandled farm equipment as a boy, no doubt) are observable.

Class (what would you describe your character as?): Architect and Carpenter
Skills and known spells (if any): Frulgar studied in an Imperial Academy, gaining some skills as a mathematician and architect. He is capable of wielding a weapon in combat, though he is unskilled and not battle-tested. Frulgar can ride a horse and has used a bow before (though he can barely recall his archery technique, having not used it in over a decade).

Clothing / armor: Frulgar usually wears a simple set of monochromatic brown clothes (a tunic, trousers, and boots), though, when travelling, he dons a thick fur coat and a simple hat.
Weapons: Iron axe
Miscellaneous items: Amulet of Akatosh, a few gems and Septims

Personality: Frulgar is a calculating, educated man, adept in the fine arts of architecture. A realist, Frulgar is an exceptional “problem-solver” in his field of work (construction), and he is incredibly dedicated to defeating the daunting challenges associated with his projects. Though shrewd and generally unemotional, Frulgar is generally thought of as a kind, though detached man, preferring to retain a level of distance from his fellow Nords. Frulgar is religious, wearing an Amulet of Akatosh, his patron.
Major flaw: Though skilled in architecture and physically capable of performing most jobs requiring labor (farming, mining, etc.), Frulgar is not adept in combat (though he is strong enough to perform the duties expected of a villager). A more glaring flaw regards his relative lack of communication skills (he is laconic and aloof).

Background: Born in a small Nord farm in Whiterun Hold, Frulgar was orphaned at the age of 11 when marauding bandits, starving, looted the Hrenelt family’s crop and killed his father and mother (who had attempted to defend their livelihood). This traumatic experience has since produced a skeptical, brooding man who, though respected by his peers, is generally avoided. Discovered by an attachment of the Imperial Legion the next day, Frulgar was taken in by an officer, Barcola Palastre, to live at his estate in northern Cyrodil. There, he was educated at a secluded monastery of Akatosh, studying philosophy, mathematics, engineering, and history. Excelling in his chosen profession of architecture, Frulgar assisted in the addition of several new wings onto the monastery at the age of 17.

Leaving his adoptive father and monk-educators at the age of 19, Frulgar assisted in the planning of several Imperial towns, experimenting with sophisticated plumbing and transportation infrastructure designs. This macro-level construction skill made him invaluable to several projects in Cyrodil, and a wealthy architect during his 20s. However, Frulgar’s adoptive brother, Clagius, was found guilty of treason (conspiring to assassinate the father of his bride who, interestingly enough, was a member of the Imperial court and a landed aristocrat… also Clagius’ superior officer) and later executed. Disgraced by the name Palastre, Frulgar was unable to find work in Cyrodil and was nearly bankrupted by his unemployment. Frulgar’s adoptive father, Barcola, had died in his sleep following Clagius’ execution (attributed to grief, but more likely due to a disease which had been passing through northern Cyrodil during that time) and, without a formal will, his estate had been acquiesced by the Imperial state (broken down and redistributed to small farmers).

Fleeing to Skyrim under his original name, Hrenelt, Frulgar found some employment building a minor canol off the White River. Frulgar assisted in some mining projects (both mining himself and coordinating mine-construction), stealing a few gems as safeguards against destitution. Though initially ignoring the supposed opportunity of Valton, the New Hold (which Frulgar had initially perceived to be destined for failure), Frulgar’s desperation for employment spurred him to action, leaving the mines of the southern Reach to investigate the newfound frontier.

Name: Tippen Lucius
Age: 21
Race: Imperial
Gender: Male
Height: 5'8"
Birthsign: The Thief
Appearance: Tippen has an athletic build, like a swimmer, and weighs around 175 lbs. He doesn't have a fully grown beard, as he shaves every week. His hair is black, and it is shoulder length. He is generally good looking, but someone would have a hard time pointing him out in a crowd. On his side, he has a brand of his gang's symbol (explained in clothing).
Class (what would you describe your character as?): Thief, Assassin
Skills and known spells (if any): Tippen is skilled with a bow, and knows his way around a sword. Also, he'd stand a decent chance against a Nord in a fist fight. He's pretty good at hiding, both himself and contraband. He's a decent lockpick as well. He is decent with words, as he has negotiated many contracts in his criminal past. To round it out, he's used to lighter armors, especially leather since it allows for a good amount of freedom as compared to others.
Clothing / armor: A set of leather armor that's been dyed black without the helmet. A black hooded cloak with a golden chain used to attach it. He also has a nice set of clothes that includes a blue tunic, black pants, blue shoes with gold lining, and a coat with fur lining if it's cold. He always wears a black leather belt that has a gold buckle with his gang's symbol (a skeleton dual wielding a sword and a staff).
Weapons: Steel Sword, Elven bow (one of his prized possessions), steel arrows, Steel Dagger
Miscellaneous items: A couple of health potions, some bread, a leather skein full of water.
Personality: Tippen is good natured around people he's comfortable with, but can be very standoffish with those who insult him. He's quick to fight, and only kills when necessary. That said, if he has to kill, he won't hesitate, but he thinks it's better for those to remember what happened to them at his hands. He's not happy with his past, and this has led him to become quiet as of late. Where he used to joke around a lot, it's not nearly as common to see him smile these days.
Major flaw: Tippen was born into thieving, but has grown to want more out of life. Leaving the gang will make them unhappy, and may lead to repercussions in the future. The real downside to his past is his attitude. He's very quick to become hostile, and this has led to him underestimating his opponents. This is especially true when he's had a few drinks, which he tends to overindulge in after something bad has happened to him.
Background: Tippen was born the son of a member of the Black Skull Bandits. While they did do a little actual robbery, their forte was smuggling. Anything you wanted, they could get it anywhere in Tamriel. There were even rumors of them smuggling brand new Akaviri weapons to the Empire during the Great War. Though the governments of Tamriel have tried to shut them down, they have always failed, and the Bandits have continued to turn a profit.

When Tippen was 15, he was brought into the group's chapter in Solitude. He was given a sword by his father, and was told to help receive the shipment. The city guard showed up, and Tippen made his first kill. Haunted by the feeling this brought about, Tippen continued to participate in Bandit activities as it made his parents proud of him. Through the Bandits, Tippen learned how to shoot a bow, handle a sword, and even give someone a good punch or two in a bar.

As he approached the age of 21, Tippen's father had become the president of the Solitude Chapter. The man had become paranoid, and even ordered the killing of some of the Bandits throughout Skyrim. Seeing some of his closest friends killed by his own father directly conflicted with how Tippen viewed the gang. To him it wasn't business like his father claimed. Instead, he saw it as his family killing his family. Eventually, he couldn't handle it and asked to leave the Black Skull Bandits.

Name: Graymane (Eralian Anarys)
Age: 165 (45 by human standards)
Race: Dunmer
Gender: male
Height: 6'5''
Birthsign: The Lord
Appearance: A tall and muscular dunmer, in his late middle age but keeping in a very good shape. His skin is somewhat weathered from years of being outdoors, but his face don't bears much more marks of age.
Class (what would you describe your character as?): Sellsword - a Tamriel-born relative of Earth's condotierre, the sellsword is a sword for hire, specializing in hit-and-run tactics, on dirty tricks rather than brute force. But there' more to to the job than killing : leading mens, plotting tactics and strategy and most important keeping a firm eye on the bottom line....
Skills and known spells (if any): His forte are two-handed weapons, illusion and destruction magic as well as light armors. He's also reasonably skilled with sneaking around, restoration magic and acrobatics. From his years as a mercenary he's at least somewhat familiar with just about any weapon one might encounter.
Clothing / armor: a set of mithril mail armor, comfortable suede travel clothes - when socializing, dark red trousers, white silk shirt and dark red silk and gold brocade coat.
Weapons: dwemer greatsword and a glass dagger
Miscellaneous items:
Personality:Quite a cynic, Elarian is a mercenary through and thorough, mainly concerned with keeping his pockets full to finance his taste for grand living. But he maintains a tight grip on his temper, having seen too many idiots destroy themselves by overindulgence, laziness or blood-lust. He follows the mercenary's code (respect your contract, no pointless killing or destruction, an offence to your brothers in arms is an offence to you)
Major flaw: Elarian's has two main flaws – the first is greed, his expensive tastes requires a lot of money to sustain. A lesser problem is a propensity to show off – a well known mercenary gets better pay than a nobody.
Background: Born in a merchant family in what's left of Morrowind under dunmer control, Elarian soon felt the desire to escape the dull life of a provincial merchant, and embraced the way of the sword. Getting embroiled in various troubles with the local authorities, he left his home town to embrace a mercenary career that carried him all over Tamriel, fighting along and against about just any military force to be found there. The Great War was more boon than curse to him as the meatgrinder chewing the Legion meant plenty of people found in need of protection.
Somewhat tired of hte mercenary life he has decided to settle down, managing to save enough to buy a decent home in the new hold (and to finance some ameliorations – his new home uses a warm spring for heat and a nice indoor warm bath). He's currently seeling lessons in weapon handling, hoping to catch enouhg ot the Jarl's attention to become a thane with enough holdings to finance the sort of lifestyle he's aspiring to.

Name:Varlamo Aicandil
Age: 116 (Quite young for an Altmer.)
Race: Altmer
Gender: Male
Height: Relatively tall for an Altmer even, so he'd tower over your average Nord.
Birthsign: The Tower (Varlamo has a very acute understand of The Tower, and its metaphysical meanings, which seeps into his personality.)

Appearance: http://i40.tinypic.com/6sx2tj.jpg

Class (What would you describe your character as?): Altmeri Battlemage, Thalmor Justiciar and Thalmor Politician.

Skills and known spells (if any):
Combat: He has been trained by varying tutors in the art of combat from a young age. Varlamo has been taught in several sword martial arts, and in varying magic schools both by tutors and at magical colleges. His magical style and spells are based upon the Altmeri magical doctrine. He specialises in the Destruction (primarily a fire mage) and Alteration schools and has little knowledge of the other schools.

Other: Varlamo has experienced a long and detailed education, bred and reared to be a perfect Thalmor politician and missionary. He has a vast knowledge, almost all of which comes from biased Thalmor Lessonates however, possessing very little actual experience. He is slimy, sly, intelligent, perceptive, far-seeing and tactically very sound of mind.

Clothing / armor: He adorns full Elven (minus the helmet), however the elven armour has Ebony plates, the black metal covered in ornate gold gilding. A very large muddied black fur outlined velvet cloak/cape drags behind him.
Weapons: A traditional Ebony longsword, unenchanted and never properly used. (More like a Morrowind style Ebony longsword.)
Miscellaneous Items: Carries on his horse in small trapped chests a relatively large sum of money as assigned by his Thalmor superiors for any purposes possibly needed. Apart from a few books, he is travelling light.

Personality: He is known to be ambitious, very calm and highly intelligent, a promising young Thalmor battlemage. He is however utterly meglomanical and egotistical, and lives life like a game, a game in which he is playing and aims to win in. He is without emotion, and does not understand love and kindness, even such feelings as hate and dislike seem otherworldly to Varlamo. He is not even passionate or holds feelings towards the Thalmor cause and anti Talos worship, although he may pretend he does, he merely plays along with the whole ordeal. He's basically pure calculated evil, the worst kind of person. (Quite funnily, my main inspiration for him came from the UK Prime Minister David Cameron, it has obviously advanced quite a lot further, but still lol).
Major Flaw: He is not without his flaws however. His main flaw can be attributed to his huge inexperience. He has never left the safety and very unusual world of the Summerset Isles. He is young for an Altmer, and has seen little of the world. He is very naive and his inexperience and world view that is based purely on biased Thalmor education can lead him to have certain misconceptions and make mistakes. He cannot stand losing or being wrong, havind not had much experience in such circumstances. He is a psychoanolyst's dream, he could be attributed to have many mental disorders, primarily psychopathy. His simple incomprehension of emotion can be a huge weakness as well as a strength. He may also be well taught in combat, but in practise can be nervous and panicky due to his inexperience. His bark is bigger than his bite when it comes to combat, but still should not be underestimated as he is certainly a force to be reckoned with. He does not rely upon his combat skills for survival, but his wit and plotting.

Background: Born and raised in Alinor, capital ofthe Summerset Isles under the 2nd Aldmeri Dominion into a rich and influential noble family, Varlamo was brought up with all of life's privaledges and given a sublime education. He spent all of his early life learning and advancing in his already planned place as a political player and powerful Thalmor official. Absolutely smothered in Thalmor, master-race and anti-man propoganda, and surrounded by the finest tutors and academics money could buy, Varlamo began to lose emotion from an early age, and began to focus purely on his studies. Once his long period of education was beginning to draw to a close around the age of 80, the Great War began between the Mede Empire and the 2nd Aldmeri Dominion and the Aicandil family was at the heart of Thalmor politics. Varlamo however, did not depart as a military leader and tactician as offered by his family, and decided to stay at home and advance his studies. By the end of the Great War, the Aicandil family had lost some of its influence, and Varlamo was now beginning to be pestered for his inactivity. Being offered the rank and station as a respectable Justiciar, he accepted happily, and was now beginning to plan his surprise visit to the young and vulnerable Nordic hold of Valton. However, he did not just have Heretic hunting in mind, planning to do something more impressive that would be noticed back in Alinor, advancing himself on a poltical level.

Name: Roscoe the Butcher
Age: 48
Race: Nord
Gender: Male
Height: 6’7
Birthsign: The Lord

Appearance: Roscoe is a mountain of a man, even for a Nord, towering over even the average Altmer, He is heavily built and broad shouldered from years of wielding a massive battleaxe, and he keeps works to keep himself in shape. He wears his fair hair cut short to his head, and keeps his facial hair groomed into a neat goatee. His eyes are an icy blue color, his gaze more intimidating than his size. Scars line his body, with several being featured prominently on his face. One passes just over his right eye and ranges down to his chin, with his left cheek having several slash marks.

Class: Butcher/General Store Owner
Skills: Back in his heyday, Roscoe was quite the warrior. He was a barbarian, fighting with two handed weapons in light armor, decimating enemies with his quick movement and overwhelming strength. Now, Roscoe uses that arm strength to wield cleavers to cut meat for Valton. With his combat experience, Roscoe could easily step into a combat role to protect the town if he needed to. Hunting has taught him how to move unseen and fire a bow with accuracy. Roscoe has had to brush up on his mercantile skill in order to avoid getting shafted, but his days of hiring himself out have come in handy in procuring other supplies, as well as selling his own. Working with food and ingredients has given him a basic understanding of alchemy, and he dabbles in basic frost spells to keep meat fresh for longer.

Clothing / armor: Typically, Roscoe wears what he wears to work, which consists of boots, gray trousers, and a red shirt covered by a white apron, typically splattered with blood. As far as armor goes, Roscoe has a full set of scaled armor hidden away in his home.

Weapons: There is typically a cleaver within arm’s reach of Roscoe, as well as an assortment of various other knives that could be used for fighting just as well as they are for butchering. Roscoe uses an orcish greatsword to cut bigger pieces of meat. In his home, Roscoe keeps a steel battleaxe tucked away with his armor.

Miscellaneous items: Roscoe is typically in possession of various types of meat, as well as salt for preserving the meat.

Personality: Roscoe is a blunt man. He will tell people what he thinks, and he isn’t one to beat around the bush. He’s never had a reason to, as his life has been made up of conflict after conflict, and that is about as straight-forward as it gets. He believes that anyone can make something of their life, if they were willing to work hard enough for it, and as such he typically dislikes people who rely on divines or daedra for help in their daily lives. Roscoe is also highly frustrated a lot of the time, particularly when he’s working. He’s going from life or death battle every day of his life to cutting apart various selections of meat. The Nord absolutely despises the monotony of his work, but it is made worth it by his family. Roscoe is proud to say that he is a family man, and as such his little girl and his wife are his whole world. They’re the only reason he is working in the general store and as a butcher in Valton, and seeing his little girl everyday is what he lives for. His typical cheerful personality emerges when he is with them. You can gauge how recently Roscoe has seen his family by the expression on his face: the closer it is to a snarl, the longer it’s been. He tries to avoid conflict for his little girl, although if it came to it he would fight himself to Sovengarde to protect his family.

Major flaw: Roscoe’s love for his family is only matched by his hatred for the profession he finds himself in now. Every day he wakes up and drags himself to a monotonous job without anything really at stake. Compared to living a battle filled life where he risked his life every day, a butcher’s work pales in comparison. It wouldn’t be hard to goad him into conflict, just so he could get a taste again. The only time he is really happy is when he’s with his family. Other than that, he just misses the lifestyle he used to lead.

Background: Roscoe the Butcher was born in Skyrim to a pair of bandits. Needless to say, he was exposed to violence from an early age. Roscoe likes to remark that the only good thing his dad ever did was teach him how to hold an axe. The bandit life made him sick, preying on those weaker instead of protecting them. They didn’t treat him much better, and Roscoe was beaten and abused by every bandit in the group. He fought back vigorously, but there wasn’t much the young man could do against full grown bandits.

The young Nord ran away during his early teens, effectively breaking himself away from a future as a criminal. Roscoe began traveling to different holds, finding various out jobs to sustain himself. He worked chopping wood, picking crops, mining ore, whatever was available. This work put coin in his pocket, and allowed him to pay for the things he couldn’t make himself. He got most of his food and clothes from hunting, and he even sold various pelts and trophies to make some coin on the side. He started wearing light armor to protect against the more vicious creatures of Skyrim he might encounter while he was out hunting. It wasn’t an easy life, but Roscoe scraqed by.

After Roscoe’s 18th birthday passed, he found a new means to live on. He joined the Imperial Legion, which was a much more reliable way of life than the one he had been accustomed to. The Great War started shortly after the young Nord enlisted, but the Imperial training in addition to his life experience made Roscoe more than capable in battle. He was big for his age even then, and so he carried a heavy battleaxe into battle against the Thalmor. His penchant for cleaving elves apart along with their shields is what gave him the name the Butcher. Roscoe took to combat like a fish to water, wading ferociously into Thalmor forces and hacking them to pieces as he danced away from their blades.
Despite his young age, Roscoe was seen as a valuable asset within the Legion. Over the course of the war he was promoted several times, from actions ranging from fearlessly charging Thalmor forces in the course of his mission to carrying an ally out of combat on his back. He fought in countless battles over the course of the Great War, even participating in the Battle of the Red Ring. After the signing of the While Gold Concordant, Roscoe served with the Legion for another 10 years. Over the course of his career he had the opportunity to become an officer many times, however he always turned it down, preferring to be one of the men on the front lines, fighting the fight.

After several uneventful years, Roscoe left the Legion in the interest of pursuing his own interests. He traveled around Skyrim, doing mercenary work to fund his adventures, exploring the land that he called his home, eager to discover as much as he could about the Fatherland. He always loved a good fight, and he often went to inns exclusively to get involved in a bar fight for some coin. After a particularly rowdy fight in Whiterun, an invitation was extended for Roscoe to join the Companions. He eagerly accepted, happy to be part of a group that valued the warrior lifestyle.

While working with the Companions, Roscoe frequently found himself working with a particular Nord woman named Gundis. They were constantly at each other’s throat, arguing about pretty much any topic that was brought up. They trained together constantly, fighting each other in bare knuckle matches as well as sparring in full armor. Despite their squabbling, each had tremendous respect for the other, and they would have died for each other in an instant. This relationship eventually blossomed into love, and the two were soon married. Now they fought together as husband and wife, and argued even more about everything.

They fought together for years, becoming even closer after every battle. Their marriage was as strong as steel, and they were happy with each other. However, after several years together, the two decided that their family was not complete, and they decided they would try to have a child. Roscoe’s first child was born soon after that, naming the baby girl Eydis. There was talk of continuing to fight with the Companions, but Roscoe refused to neglect his daughter like his parents had neglected him. They took positions training newer members of the Companions in an effort to spend time with their child.

As Eydis grew up, it soon became clear that the little girl had a much softer nature than her parents. She was scared of weapons, and preferred petting animals to hunting them. After enough Companions were brought in bleeding in front of her, or one of her own parents were injured during training, it was evident that they needed to find a different place to raise their daughter. It was then that the concept of a new hold sprung up. Eager for a better setting to bring up Eydis, Valton seemed like the ideal place. Roscoe took a job running the general store on top of working as the town’s butcher in homage to his title, looking to do something that would keep him away from combat as much as possible. Roscoe, Gurdis, and Eydis all work together to run the general store, and that’s the only reason the two former warriors can stand this new life. The hope is that the lifestyle will make raising the now 10 year old Eydis much easier.

Family:

Gurdis, 42, wife- She has had as hard a time as her husband has had in getting used to a peaceful life, and so she is equally frustrated by the everyday trivialities of Valton. The Nord woman is tall, blond, buxom, and beautiful, if a bit more rough looking than many women. Her brown eyes seem full of barely restrained fury when she looks at anyone but her daughter. She typically handles most of the day-to-day trading, as she has much more patience than her husband.

Eydis, 10, daughter - The reason for her parents’ departure from the lives they knew, Eydis feels like a burden to her parents. She sees how much they dislike their lives in Valton, knows it’s because of her. With both her parents’ blond hair and her father’s blue eyes, Eydis is obviously Roscoe and Gurdis’ child. She’s a pretty girl, but any little boy who might show interest would probably be scared away by her parents. Where her parents are loud and aggressive, Eydis is quiet and soft, and as such Roscoe calls her his little flower. Although she has tried to get a taste for it, Eydis hates fighting and violence. She prefers to be out in nature or to read a book. She helps out at the shop with her parents, although she tends to avoid the basemant where her father does his butchering.

Did you know that I am a master procrastinator? : P