The Battle of Ouadabridge : The Elder Scrolls Series Discussion

» Sat Feb 02, 2013 12:22 am

HER KINGDOM COME

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The Battle of Ouadabridge

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http://www.majhost.com/gallery/Anticlere/Timeline/morrowind.jpg

The courtyard of the High Chapel of Mournhold was truly crowded that morning. Prince pressed against pauper and elder leaned against child; half-naked labourers, perfumed nobles and sharply dressed merchants mingled together into one vast mass of men and mer, muttering restlessly amongst themselves. Some had clambered into the trees, hanging precariously from their branches, while others stood atop hastily procured boxes and chairs, struggling to keep their head above the sea of faces despite others' persistent attempts to take their place. Occasionally, there would be a yelp - and one of the heads poking out above the rest would disappear, replaced by another at a moment's notice.

That morning, it was almost as if the entirety of the blessed city had squeezed itself into that one courtyard. Each and every one of those assembled expecting something incredible to happen; and none of them sure what, exactly.

After nearly a month, the dreadful ashstorms that had descended so inexplicably over the streets of Mournhold were no more. They were gone, every bit as abruptly as they'd started - and it did not take long for rumours to start spreading. The harsh winds had been the will of their goddess, Holy Almalexia, her wrath incurred by the godless acts of the people of her own city. It stood to reason that it was only the Tribune who could have reined them in - but why? What had happened, that had changed Her mind so suddenly?

That was what the people were here to learn.

Finally, its hinges moaning under the strain, the massive doors to the Temple creaked open - and a thousand mouths breathed in at once.

They had come expecting the Patriarch. Standing before them, though, was their Goddess Herself.

She appeared before them almost naked, golden skin glimmering in the morning sun, the divine glow that surrounded it dancing in tandem with the shimmering silks trailing after her; modesty was the province of mortals, not of gods like herself. Noiselessly she glided forward, her feet never once gracing the ground with their touch. And when she finally spoke, it was as though the entire rest of the world had simply stopped.

"My children."

The Goddess smiled - and the people assembled realized then why was it that those who had seen it considered Almalexia's smile a blessing in and of itself.

"You do not yet realize it, but we stand now on the precipice of change. The spirit of my own husband - the one you know as the Nerevarine - served as its herald; and I saw in his face, and in his deeds, the reason why my spirit had yearned for solitude, my children, even as my heart wished to walk among you as I had always done. Only so could I test your hearts, your faith and your resolve; a test that some failed..."

A shiver ran through the crowd as the smile disappeared from her face. Most only now noticed that the grim and emotionless Hands of Almalexia had emerged from the Temple as well, arrayed around their Tribune.

"...But not all."

Her smile bloomed again. "Some remained true - and to them shall go my blessings. It pains me greatly to say that Sotha Sil - my friend; my ally, your Tribune and once-god, - lies dead now; maddened by his power, he had to be struck down. Grieve, and grieve doubly, for this victory came with a terrible price - and though I put Seht's troubled spirit to rest at last, the life of my husband and your Nerevarine was extinguished by his hand. Side by side we fought, as we had in ages long past, and on my hands he perished - and with his dying breath, asked me to do what he could not."

"With his dying breath, he asked me to free Morrowind."

Never before had Mournhold been so quiet, so still.

"Grieve, my children, but do not let your grief consume you; one enemy has been defeated, but another remains. Vivec is gone; Sotha Sil is gone; the Nerevarine, too, is gone. But I remain - I, Almalexia, your god, your one true god! The time for my kingdom has come, and I will not suffer the wicked to tread its soil!"

WORD FROM THE GM

I've carried around this idea for a different ending for The Elder Scrolls III: Tribunal in my head for a long, long while, and it's quite exciting to see it finally become something solid. The doors to this RP are never closed - we take anyone and everyone, those experienced in RPing and fresh arrivals right off the boat; those who clocked 300+ hours with Morrowind and those who've never even seen the game's case. I won't bore you with teary-eyed preaching and proclamations, and simply go on to express the hope that we can put together this thrilling, complex and above all believable story chock-full of memorable scenes and characters from both sides of the conflict, regardless of the final outcome - even if that is the whole thing crashing and burning.

Two weeks.

Two weeks since Almalexia stepped out of her temple for the first time in an age, drowning Morrowind in a tide of blood. Two long, long weeks since the brittle peace was shattered and the east shook with the cries of raging crowds, the boots of marching soldiers; since rusted swords were drawn and old oaths remembered. Houses thought fallen rise again, a humbled people yearning for vengeance.

Two weeks since the Empire found how little weight the threat of its Legions carries compared to the voice of a Living God.

Morrowind is in turmoil. Loosened by long years of peace, the shackles of the Empire's rule have been cast aside in the east. Roused by the words of Ayem, the One True God and Last of the Three, the sacred city of Mournhold-Almalexia fell within hours; King Helseth was forced from his palace, but none know whether he or any of his court yet live. Those who surely do care little for distant rulers, only for their own life, for it hangs now by a thread - of all the Imperial fortifications in the so-called Sacred East, only the fortress of Old Ebonheart still stands free of siege.

Despite such a grand first victory, the hosts of Ayem are not content to rest on their laurels. The rest of Resdayn is still to be liberated of outlanders and traitors, which requires crossing the great river Thir. And with the mighty walls of Old Ebonheart standing watch over the bridges in the north, all eyes turn to the Ouadabridge, and the village that sits upon it.

Either the bridge holds, and the west is spared a chance to catch its breath - or it falls, and House Hlaalu tastes the bitter price that is to be paid for betrayal.

Reinforcements will not come in time. Mustered hastily in the nearby town of Oldrenthis, Ayem's warriors are already upon that small handful that stands now between them and the rest of Morrowind. And none can tell if the few will triumph against many, or if the echo of the words of a goddess will not suffer any defense to stand against it.

The Empire

It is a very thin line that separates the Maddened East from the west. That line is us.

We are not heroes, nor the pride of the Imperial Legion. Most of us never expected to see war in our lifetime. A good few of us practiced more peaceful crafts than war, not so very long ago. But in these times, you either take up the sword or you die upon it; the hordes of the Mad Goddess of Mournhold leave no other choice. There will be no mercy for those who surrender - not even the mercy of a swift death.

So we'll fight. For the Empire, for House Hlaalu or just for our homes, we'll fight, because a heart need not belong to a soldier for courage to take root in it. When reinforcements come at last to Ouadabridge, it will be to find us still defending it.

Let the fanatics come. They will find that in the right hands, even one sword can have enough bite to silence their madness.

Spoiler

60 Imperial Legionnaires - It is not the fearsome Imperial Battlemages, or the foreign auxiliaries that form the backbone of the Legion. That burden falls upon the common Legionnaire, and it is a burden that he shoulders admirably. Rightly hailed as the most effective fighting force in Tamriel's history, Legionnaires are versatile, determined and above all else - disciplined; and though the soldiers stationed on the Ouadabridge may not be the finest examples of these virtues, they are nevertheless most of them sons and daughters of the Colovian Reserve, a land that has given birth to many heroes. Most of them are clad in the heavy armour typical of the eastern Legions and have also been issued the usual tall legionary shields and Imperial steel broadswords; being as they are a garrison unit (and not an awfully important one, at that), though, their equipment is not as uniform as it would be with frontline soldiers, and some Legionnaires might thus be seen sporting lighter armour, whether by preference or necessity.

250 Hlaalu Retainers - The sword-arm of House Hlaalu, these mer have different stories each; but be they mercenaries or plantation guards, oathmer or hired vagabonds, now their purpose is singular - the defence of Ouadabridge and those Hlaalu lands that stretch behind it. Though they are not professional soldiers, none among them are strangers to fighting, valuable experience will no doubt serve them in good stead in the battle to come.

170 Retainer Spears - Well armed and armoured thanks to the deep pockets of their employers, most of these soldiers sport Bonemold armour (though a few may be seen in western chainmail). Under present circumstances, their primary weapon is the spear and they fight with them as one - at least, as far as that is possible with their diverse backgrounds and lack of familiarity with one another, a factor that is certain to hamper their cohesion as a unit to some degree.

80 Retainer Bows - By choice or forced by financial constraints, these retainers forego the use of entire suits of armour in exchange for the lessened protection but greater mobility of only partially complete sets, or even ones crafted of lighter but less durable materials altogether, such as Netch leather. A colourful bunch, there are almost as many types of bows to be found here as there are archers, from the composite bow common in Morrowind to the great longbows of the west.

300 Dunmer Levies - In this time of need, anyone who can hold a spear or a club, or fire a bow is of use to the Empire and House Hlaalu. Fishers, farmers, hunters; some who have seen too many seasons and some who have seen too few. It does not matter who they were, though - what matters is that now, they are the defenders of Ouadabridge, whether they like it or not. Given just enough instruction to know which way to point their weapons and with hardly anything in the way of armour, their only purpose is to lend the weight of numbers to the Imperial forces. Most of them will not live to see the battle's end - which, depending on its nature, may yet turn out to be a mercy.

The Temple

ALMSIVI is no more. All voices must sing praise to Ayem, now.

It is with her name on our lips that we march, and with her words in our ears that we wash away the sins of the heathen and the traitor with their own blood. Already, the Sacred East is ours. The puppet-king Helseth flees before us rather than face righteous retribution. The outlander legions quiver in their boots at the sight of our blessed armies, hiding behind their walls; they will not hide for long. And this is only the beginning.

Many are the lands that we have already liberated, but more remain. Resdayn will soon be ours, all of it - we need only take this one bridge, rid it of its pathetic defenders to open the gate to the west. Try as they might, it is inevitable; our voices shall drown theirs out.

In Ayem's name.

Spoiler

The Penal Legion: Those that were disloyal and traitorous to The One True God were sent to the front-lines to atone for their sins, to die for Her Holiness. Around sixty of these blasmpheous dogs compose the legion, ranging from Worshipers of the House of Troubles to false prophets, traitors, liars, and even Necromancers and witches. They will be sent in first as martyrs, with sparse equipment distributed among their ranks. Those who survive the battle will be forgiven of all offense, and those who die in Ayem’s name will be cleansed of all sin.

The Retainers: Trained and well equipped warriors, they are the strongest force The Temple has deployed. Serving as House Indoril’s sword arm, the retainers are hired blades, soldiers who serve their Gods above all else. Outfitted in durable Bonemold armor to provide good protection and equipped with spears of steel, the retainers are a hardened force, and have been fighting for House Indoril for many decades. A few Blessed Ordinators are to be found within their ranks, who generally take command of the groups of ten that the Retainers are divided into. Although small in number, just two hundred faithful Dunmer, they are loyal and strong, a deadly mixture that is sure to cause destruction.

Temple Priests: Preachers, scholars and clerics make up this delegation of the military. Around a one hundred pious souls have been placed within the ranks to spread and strengthen the faith, and heal the wounds of our Holy Warriors. Able to mend flesh and spirit with the magic of restoration, and conjure the spirits of our ancestors to aid in battle, Ayem’s Priests are a vital component of the army, and will bless every square foot of Ouadabridge once it has been taken from the Imperial’s filthy grasp.

Militia: Some skill and basic equipment, these are the men and women are the soldiers who make up the hastily raised levies of Oldrenthis. Most of these scantly trained militiamen are armed with spears, axes, swords, and cheap crossbows, although the odd mage is known to be amongst them. They are usually broken into bands of twenty led by Indoril Priests or retainers, and number at around three-hundred blessed souls (making fifteen bands in all).

Her Chosen Men: The Common Man’s Army: Ordinary people swept up in the craze of revolution, they have little to no equipment but what they have been able to salvage along the way, and no formal military training, though not all are completely daft when it comes to defending their home. With a roaring fire blazing in their hearts, these commoners believe that Ayem has called out to them personally, and ordered them to take Ouadabridge from the heretics. Numbering at around 940 strong, they make up the largest part of the force, but are far from the toughest. They will may emerge victorious purely because of their superior numbers.

Technicalities

Rules

1) Read GeraldDuval's http://www.gamesas.com/topic/1343911-geraldduvals-guide-to-battle-rps-reposted/. Don't think about it, just do it. It's not going to tell you how to win a battle, but it *is* going to tell you how to write one believably. And that's precisely what we're here to do - write a good story.
2) As I've already mentioned, we're here to write a good story; to that end, I don't mind you taking a bit of a while to post. Hell, I'm not the most punctual of posters myself - take a day, a week even if you're not feeling it. Moving the RP along is all well and good, but it's pointless if you and your fellow RPers aren't having fun along the way (one liners being one of the many things not included in my definition of fun).
3) Characters *will* die along the way. Be ready to say goodbye to any you have, and please for the love of all that's holy don't think of dying as 'losing' and jump through hoops to avoid it. Winning should be a secondary concern to having fun, and dying can be fun (as weird as that sounds :tongue:

) if you turn it into a memorable scene.
4) Abandon all game mechanics all ye who enter here. The world of TES games, while thoroughly enjoyable in its own right, has its own set of technical limitations, most of which should not concern us here.
5) I, Person from Anticlere, am the Iron Chancellor, the Galactic Emperor, the Shahanshah, the King AND the Queen, the Tzar, the Grand Duke, the Prime Minister and Great Khan of this RP. Embrace me as your Lord and GM or die a painful death (you may still die a painful death even if you do the aforementioned embracing, however).
6) Have fun. Right now

Character Sheet Template

Spoiler

Name:
Race:
Age:
Birthsign:

Physical Description:

Weapons:
Clothing/Armour:

Misc. Items:

Biography:

Reference Material

Spoiler

Not all of us are thoroughly familiar with the world of Morrowind, inside and out; and even those of us that are need the occasional reminder and reference when making a post. To that end, here's a slew of links you might find interesting and useful. Feel free to suggest additions to this category!

http://www.imperial-library.info/content/pocket-guide-empire-first-edition-morrowind (to be taken with a grain of salt; the First PGE is often a bit unreliable, but richer in fluffy bits we might scavenge from its propaganda-filled depths than its successor)
http://www.imperial-library.info/content/pocket-guide-empire-third-edition-temple-morrowind
http://www.tamriel-rebuilt.org/?image=g/maps/map_mw_factions.jpg&p=modding_data/maps (settlements do not entirely correspond to the map we're primarily using, but there will be some borrowing from this one too - for example, Old Ebonheart exists in our 'universe'; of more interest to us are the divisions of land by faction, with red depicting Redoran holdings, yellow for Hlaalu, brownish orange for Telvanni, blue for Dres, pale gold for Indoril, green for the Temple and black for the Empire)
http://www.imperial-library.info/content/great-houses-morrowind (brief info on the five Great Houses; mostly the three that have a presence on Vvardenfell and thus made it into the game)
http://www.imperial-library.info/content/morrowind-imperial-province (regarding the circumstances of Morrowind's incorporation into the Empire and something on its aftermath)
http://www.imperial-library.info/content/savants-notes-vvardenfell (a slew of interesting stuff, largely concerned with Vvardenfell but also applicable to wider Morrowind as well - particularly the notes about the architectural styles to help visualize the unique aesthetics of Morrowind, as well as the notes on the Great Houses)

» Fri Feb 01, 2013 7:37 pm

The Empire

Person From Anticlere

Spoiler

Name: Lidus Tabonus

Race: Imperial (Colovian)
Age: 53
Birthsign: The Lady

Physical Description: Already past his prime, Lidus has the looks of a man who likes to occasionally indulge in the luxuries life has to offer. Though no weakling, his muscles have begun to go flabby and, in general, the Colovian is starting to look a little overweight, something he isn’t oblivious to himself (what with taking to calling himself a ‘healthily portly man’).

Gaunt in his youth, the logistics officer’s face too bears the signs of his changed lifestyle, putting on a bit of fat. His black hair, though far from greying with age, has undeniably lost some of the richness of its colour; in the military style, it is kept quite short, which somewhat conceals the fact it has started to thin around the edges. The brown of Lidus’ eyes, though, has proven resistant to age, remaining lively and almost playful.

Weapons: Being as he is a logistics officer, normally Lidus wouldn’t bother carrying a weapon everywhere he goes; under present circumstances, he’s been forced to arm himself with a standard-issue Imperial broadsword.
Clothing/Armour: With war looming near, the Colovian has dusted off his armour for the first time since coming to Ouadabridge. Nowadays, he huffs and puffs around with the uniform Legion chainmail cuirass and steel boots; he has, however, chosen to forego the greaves, favouring instead his usual slightly puffed brown pants in the Dunmer style. Lidus’ helmet, too, is still stuffed somewhere far out of sight, gathering dust.

Misc. Items: A silvered ring with the Septim dragon upon it, marking him as an officer of the Imperial Legion.

Biography: Born into a typical family in the rural reaches of the Colovian Reserve, Lidus was the sole son of a veteran optio and the daughter of a destitute aristocrat – which, given the respect his father’s years of service and his mother’s lineage afforded them, made him something of an aristocrat. In the ancient Colovian tradition, this meant that he could only go on to serve in the Legion himself; somewhat unfortunate, considering he was never the best or the most enthusiastic when it came to physical pursuits, often bested by other children.

Tradition is tradition, though. His father’s resolve never wavering for a moment, the sixteen year old Lidus was sent off to the Imperial Legion. He lived through the basic drills, just, but it was always obvious he would not be a frontline soldier – instead, he found himself winding up in the logistical branch of the Empire’s mighty machine of war. Assigned to one of the eastern Legions, Lidus’ long tour of duty took him throughout the entirety of Morrowind, from Ebonheart to Almalexia; unexpectedly, he grew attached to the military life (or whatever relative of such that he was living), staying on even when he could have retired back to Colovia to start a family.

Now, after many years of chasing after locals’ skirts, wasting his wages in brothels and whatever Dunmer taverns would welcome an Imperial officer, Lidus has ended up manoeuvring himself for a quiet little retirement in the unremarkable village of Ouadabridge, looking after the supplies of the local garrison. The scenic little settlement built straight on the vast river Thir seemed to him like the last place in the world that could suddenly become far too exciting for his tastes.

Oh how very wrong he was.

What is That! Your Mom

Spoiler

Name: Titus Mananius
Race:Cyrod.
Age:24.
Birthsign:The lord..
Role:Imperial Centurion. (Commander of 100 men.)

Physical Description:Slighlty built, brown eyes, short black hair, slightly pointed nose, and stands at 5'11.

Weapons:Titus holds a Gladius, made specifally for the fighting style of the Legion. Unlike standars issed Gladius's, Titus's has the Empire's symbol imprinted onto the sword. Which is to show the he's an Imperial Officer.
Clothing/Armour: http://www.turbosquid.com/3d-models/roman-armor-lwo/370706

Misc. Items: A journal, a manuel for Imperial officers, a bag of gold, and a personal canteen.

Personality: Titus is an intelligent, but arrogant man. While he can make good and smart tactical decisions, his lust for glory can could his judgement. Though while he may take glory over the wellfare of his men, he does care about them. And he does get allong with them.

Background: Titus was raised to a minor Noble family who owned a small estated in Cheydinhall County. His childhood was mostly sheltered Titus couldn't care less what was going on outside of the estate. But when he became he a teenager, he just wasn't satisfied with his family's status. So when he was 18 years of age, he joined The Imperial Legion hoping to gain glory and raise his family's status. Thanks to being a son of a noble, Titus was immedianlty given the rank of Centurion after training and was Sent to The Imperial City to be an effective officer.

As soon as he was done with officer training, he was sent to Morrowind to command a cetury stationed in Oudabridge. 2 years were spent and nothing happened. And so Titus was getting frustrated. He constantly tried to get redeployed somewhere else, but his supperiors denied his requests again and again. But just when Titus was about to give up, word has been spreading of a rebbelion lead by the last remaining Tribunal, Almax. Slowly, the joint forces of the Temple and House Indoril were advancing to the bridge. Anytime there will be a battle there. To Titus, this is his one chance to prove himself.

Yes Man FTW!

Spoiler

Name: Revain Yukar – Role in RP: Battle-planner, in charge of troop placement and proper fortifications.
Gender: Male
Race: Dunmer
Height: 5ft 8in
Age: 64 (Appears about 35)
Birthsign: The Thief
Moral Alignment: Neutral with Good Tendencies
Appearance: http://browse.deviantart.com/?qh=§ion=&global=1&q=Dunmer&offset=24#/d4xc0ic
Personality: Bit misunderstood, slightly curious and nervous, rarely shows bravery

Class: Geographer
Non-Combat Skills: Master of Geography and the surrounding area.
Combat: Can barely swing a sword properly
Magic: None whatsoever
Stealth: None

Clothing/Armor: Nobleman’s clothing reinforced only by a thin layer of leather.
Weapons/Equipment: None what so ever.
Miscellaneous: A small amulet hangs on his neck

Allegiance: The Empire
History: Revain Yukar, prestigious geographer. He retired to Ouadabridge about fifteen years ago after his prestigious “Guide to the Ashland” was published, detailing the various regions of the Ashland and its denizens. He published one localized map, purely out of both boredom and curiosity, unfortunately it caused the Empire to come and use him for tactical planning regarding the coming battle, and he was swiftly appointed and thoroughly misunderstood.

Spoiler

Name: Delam Hlaalu
Gender: Male
Race: Dunmer
Height: 5ft 10in
Age: 97
Birthsign: The Steed
Moral Alignment: Good
Appearance: http://fc08.deviantart.net/fs71/i/2012/144/f/7/dunmer_by_victoriadaedra-d50ymzj.jpg
Personality: Typical disciplined soldier type, intelligent and will use it against you, talks with respect to those he respects, has a tendency to yell if he believes that his point isn’t being taken seriously, he has had a tendency to get carried away in battle and should never be trusted to interrogate a prisoner if they are to survive the encounter.

Class: Tactician/Warrior
Non-Combat Skills: Excellent Planner for small engagements runs extremely well.
Combat: Excellent swordsmen, blocks and dodges well.
Magic: He has dabbled in enchanting but you’ll not see him use much of it.
Stealth: None

Clothing/Armor: (See Appearance) Steel and Bonemold armor mixed with various ceremonial cloths, one inscribed with House Hlaalu’s Emblem, it’s flexible and allows for mobility whilst still giving its wielder proper protection.
Weapons/Equipment: An Ebony Longsword and a Darkened Steel Katana, he often alternates between their uses.
Miscellaneous: An Amulet made of different tones of Ebony and Steel.

Allegiance: Great House Hlaalu and the Empire.
History: His long history began, and has lasted, in the small but important city of Oudabridge. His family raised him with the ideals of honor, justice, and loyalty. Yet his family supported Hlaalu, possibly the most dishonorable house outside of the disconnected Telvanni who thought of men as science experiments rather than living beings. His father was a Kinsman in the House and his mother stayed at home watching over her son. There would be months where his father would be out on business, and Delam yearned for his chance for honor in battle. Finally his father had returned, and had come back with enough gold to set up the family for several generations. His father settled down, and began to train Delam. Over the course of several years Delam rose through the ranks of the House, gathering wealth and fame for his family, eventually reaching the rank of Kinsmen as well. It was a golden age for his family, wealth, influence, and finally solace.

Then tragedy struck; his father was found guilty of treason to House Hlaalu and was excommunicated. Delam’s mother decided to leave with her husband, and all that remained of Delam’s past wealth was himself. He decided to use this as a chance for redemption, and was forced to rise through the ranks yet again; finally he reached the rank of House Cousin, and served as the Hlaalu representative in Ouadabridge.

The Legion called on Hlaalu as an ally and Delam thrusted himself into the conflict and was to lead into battle a squad of Hlaalu Honor Guard, ten heavily armored bodyguards placed there by the Great House to ensure the protection of Delam and the City of Ouadabridge.
---
Hlaalu Royal Guard:
There are ten royal guard, all of them wear Bonemold Armor with House Hlaalu’s Symbol painted in gold on a blue cloth located near the shoulders. Various inscriptions detail their own rank. Each of their weapons has been hand crafted for them, allowing for better swordsmanship, though two of them use spears. They all carry shields, also bearing their house’s symbol, and are sworn to protect Delam.

WD40

Spoiler

Name: Flavius Domitius
Race: Imperial
Age: 24
Birthsign: The Tower

Height: 5’11
Appearance: Short blond hair, with a Caesar cut. Slender but athletic build. His features are defined, he has bright blue eyes.
Weapons: Recurve bow, Gladius sword
Armor/Clothing: He wears the typical light armor of a member of the Legion.

Misc. Items: Nothing of importance

Personality: Flavius is straight to the point. He likes to get the job done fast and effectively without messing around. Though he has a strong personality, he is a born follower without a want to lead.

Background: Flavius was the lone child of his parents. His family was one with a distinct heritage of Legionnaires. When his father passed away when Flavius was 15, he left to join the Legion himself.

Not Provided

Spoiler

Name - Taren Draylyn
Gender - Male
Age - 25
Race - Dunmer
Birthsign - The Lover
Appearance - Taren is 6' tall. His eyes are extremely pale, to the point of being more pink then red. He has short, shaggy black hair. He has "Almsivi" tattooed on his back in Daedric. He has a mostly faded scar going down from his forehead to his nose, which he received in a fight with a bandit a year ago.
Skills/Abilities - Long Blade, Medium Armor, Restoration, Mysticism, Speech
Weapons - Steel longsword.
Armor/Clothing - Indoril armor. When not in combat, he wears a common brown robe and sandals.
History - Taren was born on the bridge to the Telvanni canton in Vivec, during a rainstorm. His mother worked as a seamstress, however, she barely had enough work to pay for his father's skooma habit. He never learned what his father's job was; however, due to the man's abusive demeanor and refusal to speak about his work, Taren generally assumed he was some kind of criminal.
He grew up in an apartment in St. Delyn, and spent most of his time with the local orphans. An incident when he was ten in which his best friend, an Argonian called Asum, was kidnapped by rogue Telvanni, inspired a dislike of slavery which continued throughout his advlthood.
After the kidnapping incident, he decided to leave his family, devastated by the loss of his best friend and sick of his father's physical and verbal abuses. He spent a few days living on the streets, living off scraps of food given to him by his wealthier friends.
Before long, he was taken in by the Temple, learning basic magic and theology from the priests. At first, he considered it simply an opportunity to sleep indoors and eat a square meal a day. However, as time passed by, he became increasingly interested in the Temple's beliefs, and without even realizing it, began to consider himself a worshiper of Almsivi, albeit primarily Vivec.
When he turned twelve, the Ordinators began to teach him basic swordplay, and he became increasingly interested in fighting, eventually joining their ranks. With Taren, the Ordinators found a particular problem; he was too tolerant of the Outlanders and heretics for his own good, but no amount of discipline could beat it out of him. Despite this, he was a competent soldier and the priesthood favored him, meaning it would be unwise to get rid of him. They settled for sending him to the Foreign Quarter, where the weakest Ordinators (who were still nothing to be trifled with) were generally stationed.
Despite being the largest Canton by far, the Foreign Quarter was heavily understaffed and poorly supplied, and crime in the Canton was by far the worst in Vivec, if not all of Vvardenfell. He soon decided that clearly, the challenges that beset the Quarter were a test from Vehk, and he devoted himself to cleaning up the Canton. Of course, he came nowhere near succeeding, but it was impressive enough that anyone would try and make a dent in Vivec City's endless supply of shady activities.
Like everyone else in the Temple, the loss of Vehk came as a shock to Taren. He barely remembers the day it went public, having spent most of it in a daze. For awhile he forged on, continuing to protect the city (which seemed a far more hopeless task then it had before), and praying that Vehk would return.
When Almalexia declared herself the One True God, Taren was one of the many who were sent to join her army. However, before long he was having second thoughts about her war. Dead or not, Vehk and Seht were just as divine as her, and her self-proclaimed title was, in Taren's eyes, blatant heresy, even if she was the last of the Tribunal.
As soon as the march to Ouadabridge began, Taren deserted to join the Imperials. He hated himself more and more every second for it, but he knew that if Morrowind was to be truly free, it could not be beneath the heel of a mad god.

Personality - Taren is generally a very honest, compassionate individual, willing to help others at any cost. For his entire life he's felt like an outcast; as a child, being avoided by his mother and abused by his father, and later at the Temple being one of the most moderate, sympathetic Ordinators, even purposefully letting Abolitionists get away several times.
The death of Vivec left him an emotional wreck, which he's only barely recovered from.

Argonian Scum

Spoiler

Name: Oriton Entius
Race: Imperial
Gender: Male
Age: 21
Birthsign: The Warrior

Physical Description:
Height: 5'11"
Weight: 180 lbs.
Hair: Short, brown
Eyes: Hazel
Physique: Oriton is in prime physical condition for a man of his age and size.
Weapons: Imperial Sword, Imperial Shield
Clothing/Armour: Studded Imperial Armor (reinforced Leather)

Misc. Items: Oriton wears a silver amulet. It is two swords crossed behind a shield, in the way that two swords and a shield are mounted for display. He crafted the amulet himself while working for the Imperial Legion (see History). The Swords represent the Legion and Family, and the Shield represents his duty to protect both.

Biography: Oriton was born and raised in the Imperial City, in Cyrodiil. His mother, Emilia, died when Oriton was seven years old. She was killed by Highwaymen on the Silver Road, while returning from visiting a sick family member in Bruma. Silian, Oriton's father, took the loss hard. Silian found comfort in mead, and essentially married every bottle that he could get his hands on. His work as a Blacksmith for the Imperial Legion became sloppy, but Oriton managed to learn what he could from his father throughout his childhood. Silian alwats told stories of his days serving in the Legion, and it was all that Oriton aspired to be: an Imperial Soldier.

At age eighteen, Oriton was accepted as a Blacksmith's Apprentice for the Legion. He worked tirelessly for three years, with an impeccable record of virtue, trustworthiness, and physical endurance when performing his daily duties. Cidius Peleiu, an Imperial Captain, kept an eye on Oriton; when Oriton turned twenty-one years old, Captain Peleiu offered to recruit Oriton into the Legion. Oriton accepted, and was stationed as a Blacksmith and Guard in the Imperial City's Legion Barracks. Captain Peleiu then assigned Oriton to go to Quadrabridge before the Mad Goddess's ascension to power, to join a small detachment of Soldiers. The Captain wanted Oriton to experience another province, in order to gleam knowledge of the world outside of the Imperial City. It was to be the first of several posts Oriton would serve at.

Oriton has a strong distaste for mead, ale, wine, etc.. While his father never mistreated him, Oriton feels that his father's fall from good-standing with the Legion was at the hands of his addiction. Oriton has vowed to never the let the allure of the bottle take hold of him, for fear that he too may waste good years of his talent, ability, and life. He believes a good soldier is always at the ready, both mentally and physically, in times of war and peace. He prides himself on serving the Empire with duty, honor, and integrity of the highest standards.

Mostlyharmless

Spoiler

Name: Tariq Kalashar “The Lion”
Race: Redguard
Age: 34
Birthsign: The Steed
Role in Battle: Battle Scout, Skirmisher

Physical Description: Dark skin. Long black hair, tied back in a multitude of braids. Amber colored eyes. Tariq is tall, lean, and well toned.

Personality/Motivation: Tariq is a warrior, a lone hunter. He works best on his own, or with a small group. He has a personal stake in this, as his intent is to buy time for his wife to escape. He is, however, pragmatic, and heroic last stands are not his bag. If the forces at the bridge are overwhelmed, he will not hesitate to ride for Septim’s Gate Pass and into Cyrodiil to rouse the full wrath of the Legion.

Weapons: Imperial shortbow (15 broadheads, 10 bodkins, 5 whistling), Steel Shamshir
Clothing/Armour: Hammerfell style garb incorporating the light leathers and chain of Imperial Auxiliary gear.
Misc. Items: A horse (a light and fast mare), trip wire, razor wire, spyglass, flint and steel, tinder, field rations, Hammerfell signal flares

Biography: A native of the Alik’r desert of Hammerfell, Tariq was a born hunter. By the time he had reached advlthood, around 16, he joined the Imperial Legion as an Auxiliary scout. For the next 15 years, Tariq served with the Legion, seeing nearly all of Tamriel.

During his final year in the Legion, Tariq was stationed at Fort Moonmoth. He would have been content to serve his station there and move on to his next assignment, had he not fallen in love in a local Dunmer woman. After his year at Fort Moonmoth, he filed his official resignation. He was over thirty. It was time to settle down, and Revyen had seemingly swept him off his feet.

They found a small bit of land, on the Trandel Plains. It was your standard farm, crops, livestock, the works. His severance pay allowed them to live comfortably. For the first time in his life, Tariq felt content. However, fate is a fickle mistress.
That morning, he saw the fires on the horizon. He had heard the Nerevarine had defeated Dagoth Ur, or whatever that creature was called. He wasn’t certain. Revyen was more knowledgeable of the subject. But those fires, those were to the East, in Mournhold. Mournhold was burning.

Then came the refugees ,crossing his land so brazenly. The stories they told were horrifying. Almalexia was marching west, crushing all in her path, offering the choice of conversion or death. As a Redguard, his life was forfeit. His wife, for being wed to an outlander, was as good as dead. He had to move quickly. He saddled a horse for Revyen, filling the saddle bags with provisions. He instructed her to ride west and keep riding until she got to Cyrodiil. He would meet up with her in Cheydinhal.

With Revyen on her way, Tariq entered the barn, climbing into the loft. He uncovered the great oaken chest he had hidden there. He opened the chest, looking upon his panoply. It was time. It was time for The Lion to return to war, and those who roused him would soon know true fear.

Jgreenz

Spoiler

Name- Darryl
Race- Imperial
Age-62
Gender- Male

Background- Darryl was born in an alley behind a [censored]house in the town of Bravil. His mother was young and kind, but also destitute and uneducated. She worked as a prosttute in the vain hope that one day one the nameless john's that she serviced would fall in love with her and sweep her off her feet, away from all her troubles. As time passed and the johns came and went, she became pregnant with Darryl and then, three years after his birth, she became horribly sick with an unknown malady. The worse she got, the fewer customers came, and it wasn't long before she could no longer afford food for both herself and Darryl. Two months after she contracted the sickness, Darryl's mother died. The proprieter of the brothel never could figure out whether it was starvation or the sickness itself that killed her but he didn't waste any time trying to find out. Upon finding her dead body, the proprieter dragged her out of the establishment(through the back door) with little Darryl in tow, still holding on to her hand. He proceded to weight the body with several stones and a coil of rope, explaining to Darryl between knots and grunts that, "its all for the best" and "nobody'l be askin strange questions this way" and "you ain't welcome in my house no more ya little [censored]". Darryl understood nothing the man said, he felt only an overwhelming feeling of sadness and then cold loss as the man pried his hand off his mothers' and then nudged her into the edge of the river with a mudstained boot. Darryl remained, still as stone,by the patch of dark water where his mother lay. He did not move for two days. On the third he was found by a khajiit street urchin named Kiara. She looked in the water and then at Darryl and she knew. She sat down next to him and gently put her arms around him, pulling him into a warm furry hug. Kiara became Darryls sole friend and protector, his mother sister brother and father all in one, together they were a family. Darryl and Kiara lived togeer on the streets of Bravil for 12 years, survivng mostly by fishing and theft, usually in the form of pickpocketing but also the occasional burglury by B and E when they were feeling bold or desperate enough. When Darryl was 15 and Kiara 18, they decided that Bravil was too small for two people as exciting and potentially important as themselves so they set off for adventure as stowaways upon a merchant ship bound for Elswyr. Darryl emerged from Elswyr 5 years later as a mercenary contracted to the good merchant ship Seatub. He spent the next three decades of his life aboard ships, merchant ships usually, as hired help and protection from unsavory types (as he likes to call them). On his 60th birthday, Darryl purchased a sturdy little rowboat, a small merchant stand, and a modestly sized room above an inn on Ouadabridge with the hope of living out the remainder of his life in peace as a fisherman.

Appearence- Darryl stands 5 feet 10 inches tall and wieghs in at about 175 pounds. His skin is tan and rough from decades of exposure to sun and sea. A black leather eye patch covers the hollow of his left eye bisected vertically by a thick scar starting at the top of his forhead runing down through his brow, eye and cheek, coming to an end just below the lobe of his left ear (courtesy of a saber to the face). The hair on his head is about an inch long and sticks out in every direction, his beard follows the same description except that it generally is angled downward. All the hair on Darryls body have long since been sunbleached completely white, which make his light hazel eyes seem darker then they really are. Although Darryl is certainly getting on in years his body is still hard and trim. He is accustomed to wearing leather steel-toe working boots (think classic Tims) paired with sackcloth pants and shirt, with the ocassional wide brimmed straw hat on sunny days (think sombrero).

Personality- Darryl likes to be alone not because he dislike others, but because the freindship he had with Kiara makes all other friendships seem like insignificant aqauintances. He is hesitant to trust others and puts up a gruff exterior to deter people from getting too close. He does this beacuse he never wants to lose someone he loves again, therefore he has decided to never love again and avoid all relationships. Below this grim decision and gruff exterior however, lies the young mischevious street urchin aching to break out of his self enforced prison of lonlieness.

Weapons- Back in his mercenary days Darryl wielded a simple, one handed steel war axe and a broad wooden shield with a steel buckler on the front. He also carries a finely made steel hand and a half sword which represents the single most expensive purchase he has ever made. The sword was specially forged and balanced for him with the name Kiara engraved in the base of the blade.

Armor- Simple leather cuirass with chainmail reinforcement on the armpits, heart and stomach.

Misc- wooden pipe, pipe weed, tinder and flint.

The Temple

Madhog

Spoiler

Name: Vendal Alen
Race: Dunmer
Age: 54
Birthsign: The Mage
Role: Leader of Temple/Indoril Force

Physical Description: Grey skin like most of his race. Dark black beard and mowhawk, both of which are showing signs of grey. Red paint around his eyes, wich contrast with his pale pupils. Slim build and 5'10” in height. Gaunt, streched features, which show off his angular cheeks. (http://fc08.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2011/319/3/e/dovahkiin_by_theminttu-d4gafsq.jpg)

Weapons: No physical weapons, instead Vedal uses the power of Magicka to dispatch of his foes. Highly skilled in destruction and restoration, as well as some skill in alchemy. Also a very talented strategist.

Clothing/Armour: Wears simple, heavy brown cloth robes, inside of battle and out.

Misc. Items: Has a few pouches around his waist which contain religious scriptures. Wears an Amulet on The One True God Almalexia around his neck.

Personality: Highly pious and loyal to his God. Serious and stern at all times. He is happy to be known as a martyr. Becomes very angry when others are disobedient.

Biography: Vendal's father was an Ordinator, and a highly skilled one at that. He would teach his son how to plan an attack so well that it was nearly all that occupied his mind. However other thoughts began to seep between the cracks of Vendal's military minded brain. While his father loved to cut down foes, Vendal wanted something more than following in his fathers footsteps. He told his father as much, and in return got a beating for even dreaming of such things, but he would not relent. As much a his father wanted him to be an Ordinator he would not comply. He realised he needed a strong belief in something, so he turned to the priest-hood. He soon accepted Almalexia as the only god he needed, devoting his life to her. His devotion was soon noticed, and he quickly became a highly respected member of the Temple. When Almalexia declared herself The One True God it was an obvious choice to pick Vendal to lead her forces, and he was more than happy to accept the role.

The Ascended Sleeper

Spoiler

Name: Garen Oril
Race: Dark Elf
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Birthsign: The Lover

Physical Description: Moderately tall, thin, and lanky, Garen isn’t the most imposing Mer you’ll ever meet. Indeed, the Cleric lacks the physical prowess and bulky muscles of most soldiers and gaffers, though what he lacks in physique he makes up for in stature. He knows how to hold himself before a crowd, how to arch his shoulders in anguish when preaching of the Empire’s injustices, how to arch his back and puff out his chest when speaking proudly of the one true Ayem. These gestures and mannerisms, in combination with his moving sermons and speeches, are his true muscles. When fighting on the battlefield, Garen moves with agile grace and stamina, though he often prefers to stand back and let his subjects do all the work. To be more particular on Garen’s appearance, the Mer has a gaunt face that can be described as roguish, or dashing. A mane of unkempt black hair rests upon his skull, and the typical red eyes of the Dunmer are always ablaze when he speaks of Ayem, Morrowind, and the Empire.

Mental Description: Some simple words can be used to describe the complex psyche of Garen Oril: Pious, Strict, controlling, intelligent, and cowardly. Garen loves to be in control; as a boy, he was always the ‘group leader’ among his friends, and his desire for power often resulted in him trying to command and control where and what his friends did. It is here in his childhood when he first began to develop his natural talent for oral manipulation, as well as using body language effectively when attempting to both persuade and deceive. The Mer is also quite pious, joining the Tribunal Temple at a very young age after both of his parents met their end smuggling skooma. Convinced that their life of sin and lack of devotion caused them to meet their end, Garen became quite Zealous in his worship of the Tribunal, particularly Ayem. Dreams and ambitious of Martyrdom often came from the adolescent Dunmer, as he hopes to one day sacrifice himself for Ayem’s glory. Despite his nearly mindless devotion, Garen is highly intelligent, able to dechypher code quickly, translate languages, form efficient strategies in battle, and has memorized the recipes to dozens of different potions. One thing that doesn’t stand out among all of these traits is how much of a coward Garen is; often running from what he considers dangerous and convincing others to do his dirty work him, fear controls this Dunmer more than faith does.

Equipment: Garen is equipped in simple robes of the Tribunal Temple, and wears a pendant around his neck that is the symbol of Ayem. He carries a staff with him at all times that is enchanted to sap the stamina and energy from whoever is struck by it. As far as other, more miscellaneous equipment goes, Garen often carries many potions, as well as tomes and scrawling’s that contain pre-written sermons and scripture that he often recites to his men with zealous fervor.

Biography: Born deep in Indoril Territory, Garen received a fair amount of religious tutoring as a child, which may have been the foundations for his powerful zeal. His parents were both smugglers, trading illegal goods such as Dwemer Artifacts and Skooma. When they died in a vicious ship-wreck, Garen grew sad, missing his parents, despite the fact that they were rarely around to raise him. The Tribunal Temple, seeing Garen parentless, adopted him into their ranks, teaching him that those who are unfaithful meet terrible ends, a lesson which is one of the Dunmer’s favorite sermons to preach now adays. Training him in the arts of alchemy, enchanting, restoration, speechcraft, and the conjuration of Dunmer ancestors, Garen became an adequate cleric, often traveling to smaller villages and settlements to restore the people’s waning faith, heal the sick, and perform miracles.

Garen, however, had a habit of trying to be in control of everything, including his friends’ lives, his fellow cleric’s duties, and the upper workings of the Temple. This habit became so bad, and he had received so many infractions and warnings, that his superior banished him the Tribunal Temple for ten years, bade him not to return until an entire decade had passed. Depressed and upset, Garen was not entirely disheartened, and began to wander the countryside, preaching of the Tribunal and Ayem, and healing the sick. He had been living in a small, solitary village until word of Ayem’s revolution reached his ears.

Since then, Garen has been making his way towards Ouadabirdge, recruiting whatever farmers and herders he could from the small settlements he has passed through. He is determined to clear his name of his infractions, to show Ayem how pious he is, and to perhaps even Martyr himself in Her name, as well as hold off the evil Imperial dogs.

Spoiler

Name: Alavesa Ulen
Race: Dunmer
Age: 38
Gender: Female
Birthsign: The Mage
Faction: Temple (Heretic Band)

Physical Description: Standing at a modest five foot eight inches, Alavesa is not a bulky warrior or a lithe rouge or thief. She has scant muscles in her arms and legs, the strongest muscle in her body being her brain. Despite her lack of physical prowess, Alavesa is quite an attractive lass, her face sporting the signs of good aging, still retaining the attractive visage of someone in their late twenties. Short locks of brown hair cascade from the base of her skull, framing her pretty face that most often holds a scowl.

Mental Description: Cyncial, paranoid, and egocentric, Alavesa cares not for others, but merely her own self interests. Holding an egotistical and hot-headed mindset, she will always believe herself to be right in an argument even when proven wrong, and will do all in her power to make sure that things happen the way she wants them to. As far as Alavesa is concerned, everyone, especially those of other races, are inferior. Alavesa often tries to appear as though she is filled with angst, shrouding herself in a dark and edgy aura, an act which is perhaps linked to a psychological disorder. All of these shortcomings aside, the Dunmer lass is quite intelligent, as well as multilinguistic, and is quite skilled in the fields of Conjuration, Illusion, and Alchemy. Alavesa is not as skilled in these schools as a practicing mage or aspiring sorcerer might be, however, as she is quite lazy and unambitious.

Equipment: Alavesa carries nothing but the tattered robes on her back, and a club made of Chitin. All of her personal possessions were stolen from her when she was apprehended by the Temple in Oldrenthis.

Biography: Born in the Indoril Heartland of Morrowind, Alavesa was the child of two pious commoners, her father being a merchant and her mother being a housewife. Her father was a successful merchant and trader, causing the family to have more money than most, and Alavesa had many things simply handed to her in life, such as clothes, food, and an education, whereas others had to work for it. Pressuring her to join the Temple, the young Dunmer lass became quite distasteful of the Tribunal, instinctively moving towards anything that shared a polar opposite of faith.

It is unknown how Alavesa came to adopt the art of Necromancy as her only passion (aside the recreational use of drugs), except that she did, becoming the assistant and informal apprentice of a Telvanni mage who hid out in the undercity of Oldrenthis. Being a rouge Telvanni, this mage wasn’t too entirely picky about who he recruited as his helper, though it is believed that Alavesa picked up many of her bad habits from this Mer before she murdered him at the age of twenty four. From that point on, the Dunmer lass traveled the Indoril lands, practicing her magic and necromancy, hungering for power when she wasn’t high, drunk, or lazy. It was only in the past year that the Temple discovered her necromantic operations, and threw her into prison, destined to die in a fire. The only thing that prevented her from burning at the stake was Ayem’s revolution, and considering the close proximity of Ouadabridge to Oldrenthis, Alavesa was drafted in a Penal Legion to help take the town from the Imperial’s wretched hands.

aSaPp!5@

Spoiler

Name: Darys Androthi

Age: 84, (Appears in his late 30's)

Race: Dunmer; Of the Great House Dres

Gender: Male

Appearance: Darys is of an average size. He stands about 5’10” and has a slender, but strong, frame. His body is well toned and his muscles are lean. His ash colored skin is rough and riddled with scars in all places, tokens from his years in the business of slaving. His charcoal black hair is of medium length, falling a few inches shy of his shoulders, and is either tied back with a leather cord or a cloth bandana. His ears are pierced with a few rings of varying sizes and metals. His face is somewhat gaunt, with slightly concave cheeks and pronounced cheek bones. His face is also slightly less scared than his body, ignoring the nasty jagged line that cuts across the right corner of his mouth and down through his chin, which has a small chunk missing where the scar crosses, and is covered in a dark rough stubble that never gets shaved. His eyes, like those of all of his kinsmen, are a deep red. His body is covered in a myriad of cultural and tribal tattoos, a typical practice among those of House Dres. Upon his face is one of a deep teal hue that twists and crosses across his skin in an intricate pattern and continues on across his body. This twisting bluish design mingles with other tattoos of various origins and colors, from parables in Daedric script and portrayals of the Almsivi to ones depicting the symbols of various criminal syndicates and organizations. As a whole none of them make sense, yet when you focus on a particular set you begin to notice the pattern. Every tattoo tells a tale from the story of his life, the snaking tribal design serving to link them together almost like a timeline.

Skills: Darys is a man of many talents. The Dunmer is well versed in the art of swordsmanship and the use of a spear, yet he lacks skill with heavier, unbalanced weapons. He relies on his almost unnatural speed and agility in combat, rather than brute strength. He also has a way of getting what he wants, be it through intimidation or smooth talking – the tattoos and scars, as well as his reputation in some parts of Morrowind, tend to make the former much easier. Darys is also well acquainted with the tasks of navigation, and survival. Long raids deep into Argonia have tempered him into a very enduring mer, allowing him to go longer without food and water and survive off the land with ease. Darys also holds a strong grasp on the arts of illusion and destruction. While not as adept at the arcane arts as one who has studied them intently, he knows enough to get the job done and is a rather good illusionist.

Clothing: To cope with the dreaded humidity of the south, Darys is garbed in a style that is light and unrestricting: his tan linen sleeveless-shirt is light and breathable, as are his darker pants. Around his waist is a maroon sash, on top of it a leather belt with various pouches. On his feet are worn netch leather boot. If the occasion arises where Darys requires more protection than simple clothes, which happens quite often, he wears a rough, boiled netch leather cuirass and greaves. The armor is just as scarred as its owner and if it were appraised it would not bring much coin.

Weapons: Darys carries a sleek Dunmeri wakizashi made of tempered black steel (in truth it’s more of a metallic grey than true black) with a wrapped netch leather grip. The smaller size of the weapon makes it easier to use in the dense jungles of southern Morrowind and northern Argonia, where a lengthy blade is likely to get caught in vines or branches. Darys also carries a dagger made in the same Dunmeri style. Depending on the occasion he will also carry with him a hardened chitin spear or a few slender javelins which he wields with deadly accuracy.

Misc: Darys carries a few worn pieces of parchment depicting charts and other things of importance such maps and ledgers. He also carries with him a pouch full of dried tobacco and rolling papers.

Background: Darys was born into a poor family in the Jewel of the East, the city of Tear. His dysfunctional family consisted of his mother, father, and 3 siblings. They lived a poor life in one of the cities many slums. His father made a living as a caravan guard, so Darys and his 3 siblings were often left at home with only their mother to care for them. His father made some good money guarding the slave caravans in and out of the city, but what he did make he wasted away on women and alcohol. Darys and his mother were often the regular victims of his father’s drunken rages. At the age of 17 he got a job in the slave pens of Tear to help keep the family afloat. During this time he grew accustomed to the horrors of slavery and oppression.

One day his father left on another caravan, but never returned. Whether he had died or abandoned them, he couldn't say.

Darys continued on working in the slave pens. After a few years he began to work his way up the ladder. When he was in his early 30’s the slave-master he was serving began to send him along on the raids. He secured himself a spot as a raider after displaying a great aptitude to the task. Over the years he worked up a reputation as one of the best slave-raiders in the business. This opened up other opportunities to Darys. Not only did he continue to run a raiding team, but he also got into the business of smuggling skooma and moonsugar up the coast and through the jungles of southern Morrowind for the Camonna Tong. With the recent insurrection against Imperial rule, the Camonna Tong thought it best to have their hand, someone that is, in the pot somewhere. That somewhere is Ouadabridge, and that someone is Darys Androthi, slaver, smuggler, and occasional sellsword.

Spoiler

Name: Indoril Theras Velothren, Magistrate of the Order of Inquisition

Race: Dunmer of the Great House Indoril

Age: 127 (Appears early forties)

Gender: Male

Birthsign: The Mage

Physical Description: Theras is an imposing individual. He stands at a hair over six feet, and, even though his is just past his prime, his body is in very good physical condition; he is neither rippled with muscle nor skin over bones. His hair, which he keeps tied back behind his head in a short pony tail and, in traditional Dunmeri fashion, shaved short on the sides, has lost its jet black sheen and been replaced with a duller almost charcoal color. His crimson eyes are deep set, and wrinkles have begun to etch their way below them. He bears a hairline scar down his left cheek. At times it is almost unnoticeable.

Weapons: He carries an elegant ebony scimitar upon his hip. Its hilt is decorated with wrapped golden wire, and the words of the inquisition are etched into the blade in Daedric script: “In the Light of the Three all is revealed.”

Clothing/Armor: Theras wears the traditional garb of house Indoril, flowing robes of various hues and designs, on informal occasions. When enacting his duty to the Temple he wears the traditional armor and robes of the Order of Inquisition: reinforced chitin plates polished to a golden sheen and cream robes stitched with dark teal designs and borders of beige silk. A single golden line is stitched into the beige trim of his robes, denoting his rank of Magistrate.

Misc. Items: A signet ring of office bearing the seal of the Magistrate, and, at any given time, various official documents.

Biography: Theras was born into House Velothren, an influential family within the remnants of Great House Indoril. As was custom, he was tutored during his childhood and adolescent years at the Temple in Oldrenthis. Around the age of 17 he left for the city of light and magic, Mournhold, where he would continue his education and pledge his life in protection of the Temple and the Tribunal. From there he embarked upon a pilgrimage to Necrom and later Vvardenfell. Upon his return four years later, he was put through the Trials of Faith, Justice, and Conflict. He emerged wearing the golden raiment of the Ordinators. He was first placed within the Order of War where his natural talent in the arcane arts was used to combat rogue bands of Daedra and their worshippers. After spending a considerable time in the Order of war and rising steadily in the ranks, he requested to be transferred into the Order of Doctrine and Ordination to further his knowledge, both of the spiritual and the mundane. During this period of 30 or so years Theras began to study into the school of illusion, as well as Temple doctrine, with great diligence.

He was more than content with remaining in the Order of Doctrine and Ordination; however, with the recent rise in heresy the temple was in need of a strong and competent Order of Inquisition. Theras was offered a position within the Order due to his extensive knowledge in the arts of illusion and his habit of being extremely thorough and precise. It is here were his career within the Temple sky-rocketed. Many dissidents and heretics found a rope around their neck because of his work, and due to this he rose quickly through the ranks. Serving for just over 40 years, he is the considered a “Senior” Magistrate, an unofficial title showing that one has spent a considerable time in their position, and is thought by some to be the most likely candidate for the position of Archmagistrate should it become available.

With the rise of Ayem, the Inquisition has seen a drastic increase in activity and use within the Temple. Seeking to cast a net to capture the fleeing Helseth and any from his court, Almalexia has ordered the Archmagistrate to dispatch Inquisitors to all corners of Resdayn. Seeing Ouadabridge as an important choke point, the Archmagistrate has seen it fit to send a Magistrate to do Ayem’s bidding. And so, Magistrate Theras Velothren finds himself walking through the streets of his hometown of Oldrenthis for the first time in almost a century.

Broken-Scale

Spoiler

Name: Senes Varvun

Age: 26

Race: Dunmer of Great House Indoril

Gender: Male

Appearance: Young and attractive, with a strong chin and jawline, a long and straight nose, and striking bone structure, Senes easily fits the idealized picture many commoners have of nobility. Senes’s black hair is usually long and somewhat shaggy, but he usually keeps it kept up in a neat topknot, and tries to keep himself clean-shaven as well. Like almost all Dunmer, his eyes are a deep crimson. Senes stands at five feet, ten inches tall, and fills out that height with an impressively muscular physique.

Skills: Though Senes has yet to see an actual battle, he has proven himself incredibly skilled throughout his training to become an Ordinator. Most talented with the standard mace of the Ordinator order, Senes has also proven capable with swords and spears as well. Many of his instructors have observed that his skill comes from “relentless determination and a refusal to be beaten” rather than any technical sort of mastery, but have also noted that such a style of fighting has served him well enough. Senes also has some ability with magic, but this has remained mostly limited to some basic fire magic, as Senes prefers to rely on martial talents. Senes skills are somewhat limited beyond these, having never lived in anything but luxury, but he can make a decent cup of tea when he wants to.

Clothing: Clad in a newly forged suit of Ordinator armor, Senes is a striking figure clad in gold and blue. Because his armor has never seen real combat yet, it remains unblemished, and has been impeccably shined by Senes since he received it several months ago.

Weapons: Hanging on Senes’s belt is the signature weapon of the Ordinators: a heavy, spiked ebony mace. Like his armor, the mace is in impeccable condition having never been used in a real battle. Senes also has a finely-made short sword strapped to his leg, and carries a spear as well. Like the mace, these weapons are of the finest quality possible.

Misc: Senes carries a large golden ring with the crest of House Indoril on it, and a small locket given to him by his twin sister. In addition to these personal items, Senes’s pack also contains some water, some food, a small flask of sujamma, and a few notes and maps of varying importance.

Background: Born into the influential Varvun family, Senes was the youngest child of the family, behind his elder brothers Realyn, Draven, and Teres, along with his twin sister Senise. Always coming up short in the eyes of his father and brothers, Senes grew to identify more with his sister. At the age of 16, Senise encouraged him to put his effort into something that could earn him respect in the eyes of his family: a life as an Ordinator. Putting all of his effort from that point forward into training for the life, Senes became as skilled, if not more so than, his brothers, though still not good enough for his father. Shortly after completing his training, the war for independence broke out. As his older brothers were sent out with more impressive forces, Senes was given the chance he had wanted all of his life: the chance to earn his father’s respect.

Assigned to help lead the force sent to claim Ouadabridge, Senes knows it isn’t the biggest or most prestigious assignment, but he also realizes that it is just a stepping stone to greater things.

» Fri Feb 01, 2013 8:34 pm

As the sun set over the lands of Morrowind, the rays of Magnus' wane painting it in blood, the town of Ouadabridge was a far cry from the turmoil of the Sacred East. Even with the air feeling oddly electrified and the thick stormclouds - literal and figurative - drawing ever closer, it looked almost peaceful, a world apart from the depredations tearing the eastern plains apart; it would take more than the mere wars of mortals, after all, to trouble the stones of that ageless crossing.

Wide and majestic it stood, straddling the great river Thir. Hewn in the old Velothi style, it was said sometimes that it was old enough to have felt the footsteps of the Tribunes when they were yet to shed their mortality; some even claimed that it had seen the days of the Great Prophet, Saint Veloth himself, and survived intact the troubled times since. The truth of the matter had long been lost to history, but there was no doubt in anyone's mind - this was a construct of considerable ancestry.

And yet for all its alleged age, the Ouadabridge looked neither forgotten nor crumbling under the burden of years. As though guarded by arcane wards of some sort, the great pillars that kept it aloft - thick as the trunks of the trees in Valenwood - were without a crack. Caressed gently by Thir's ponderously slow waters, even with the weight of a town upon them, they seemed in no hurry to break.

For a town there was - and a rather lively (if small) one, at that. Buildings, the manner of their much the same as that of the bridge itself, lined its either side; but such was the width of the Ouadabridge that even so, it was still wide enough for seven horseman to ride alongside untroubled.

In all shapes and sizes these buildings came - single-storied and two, some entirely plain and others with balconies that gazed out at the great river. Some belonged to fishermen, the prize they had claimed for the river hung up to tempt passersby and tickle their noses with the appetizing scent of salted fish; others were farmers' dwellings, the tools of their trade leaned against the front walls. A cloth banner hung limp with the absence of wind, setting apart the local merchant's abode. And then at last, rising over the rest, there was the old watchtower - a relic from a bygone age. It had been an outpost of warriors sworn to House Indoril, once; the wooden sign that hung now by its door denoting an inn, though, left no doubts over its present impotence.

How symbolic that it should be robbed of its role by the new watchtower - the Colovian architecture evident in its bare brick walls and the Dragon-banner of the Septims that hung from them leaving no room for ambiguity about its western origins. On the eastern end of the Ouadabridge it stood, watching with impunity as the great road snaked its way onwards through the hills, towards distant Oldrenthis.

Thirty two miles lay between that ancient city that Great House Indoril still clung to despite Hlaalu advances and the town upon a river. A three day march, for most armies; two, perhaps, to the Ruby Ranks of the West, but few could keep the Legion's pace.

Somewhere to the east, the rumble of thunder shattered the evening's silence, which returned deeper still for the interruption. It would not be long now until the first drops fell upon Ouadabridge, the skies promising to bear down upon the bridge with inspired fury come nightfall.

Three days it had been since Oldrenthis shook under a different thunder - that of marching feet and bloodthirsty cries for vengeance. The host of Ayem would come to the bridge with the storm, and few knew whether the blow of the hammer would stand to wait until the break of dawn to land.

The board had been set, the pieces - in motion. All Morrowind stood silent and still, waiting for the plunge.