Race: Dunmer
Gender: Male
Age: 20
Birthsign: The Lover
Height: 5' 11"

Appearance: tall and lithe, what he lacks in muscle he makes up for with his charismatic and graceful appearance. He has red eyes, and very dark red hair that falls just below his chin.
Personality: Sometimes brooding, sometimes as jubilant as a child. Sometimes charismatic, sometimes as blunt as they come. Whatever mood he is in, Resdayn is sharp, and scarcely boring. He is slow to trust, but once you get to know him, you will be hard-pressed to find a more loyal companion.

Skills: Longblade, Light Armor, Speechcraft, Armorer, Athletics, Hand to Hand

Inventory: common pants, common red tunic w/ undershirt, common hooded cloak, several heavy scarves of various colors to keep him warm in the snow, Red Dream (steel longsword), Moon-Tear (ebony dagger that is mostly ornamental), The Rose of Massitha (a decorative glass rose), a satchel with some medicinal herbs and a few potions, as well as 50 gold pieces.

Background: Resdayn Omothan, born in in Windhelm in 4E 28, is an ambitious and adventurous young Dunmer. He values his family above all else, and he is leery of outsiders, but once you win his heart he will put his life on the line for you. Tragic circumstances coupled with a hint of insanity have driven Resdayn from his home. His ultimate goal is to return to Morrowind to set a foothold for his family name, so that they might one day return to their true Home under the banner of a new Great House.

Race: Breton

Gender: Male

Age: 31

Appearance: His piercing blue eyes are the first thing that people generally notice when they first meet him. Other than that, not much really stands out about him with his looks, he has a small beard that isna€?t spectacularly big and his hair is kept very short. The colour of his hair is a dirty blonde. Hea€?s physically big from his time being a blacksmith and he stands just under six foot.

Personality: Elliota€?s a very outgoing character and very confident, some people would say cocky. Hea€?s over confident with his own abilities believing his skill with the sword is far superior to what it actually is. He loves being sarcastic to serious people and having little squabbles with people.

Birthsign: The Steed

Class/Skills: Two Handed, Smithing, Light Armour, Speech and Lock picking.

Inventory: Leather armour, a two handed steel sword (ita€?s a little smaller than an average one making it faster but not as strong) camping equipment, hunting equipment, 20 gold coins and a whetstone.

Backstory: Elliot was raised in the city of Chorrol, were he and his father owned a blacksmithing company. Since an early age he had been learning how to use the forge and how to create all types of weapons and armour. When he turned 15 his father thought that he was a friendly enough person to become the salesman when his dad was busy and he became good at bartering with the customers. In his spare time he practised with all the weapons that he was creating. A few years later his Father lost a bet, were he gambled a lot of his money and his shop to another business owner. They had lost everything and would soon lose the house having no way to pay the ever increasing taxes that Chorrol were demanding. Elliota€?s father became depressed and started drink, a few weeks later he was found dead, after he stumbled into one of the ponds and drowned.

Having nothing left, Elliot sold his house, barely making any money due to the unpaid bills and decided to leave. He gathered a few bits of equipment first, which he bought with the last of his money, and headed off looking for jobs. He learned how to hunt animals so he could survive in the wilds. When he was 20 he decided to become a mercenary and went round for the next ten years making money anyway he could. Shortly after turning 31 he headed off towards Morrowind hearing of a man sailing to Vvardenfell, just wanting to make a lot of money.

Race: Argonian
Gender: Male
Age, or apparent age: 23
Appearance: 6'1" dark green scales, light brown horns with a small red rag tied to his left horn. Broad and muscled, but not to the extent of MUSCLE MAN! Just..well built.
Personality: Slow to trust, calculating at times, educated, fun.
Birthsign: The Thief
Class/Skills: Ranger [so marksman or bow], one handed weapons, speech craft, medium armor, Sneak, Hand-to-Hand
Inventory: Bow, [clothing and such], dark brown cloak- to be all sneaky sneaky, necessities[food, bed roll, water pouch, stuff like that]. Studded leather armor. ... 200 gold.
Back story:

My mind flutters back to me, I had begun day dreaming again. I guess I cana€?t hold it against myself though, I had been sitting on this one branch for at least two hours nowa€|or was it three? Hmm.
a€?I wonder if birds ever get bored of sitting on branches.a€?
Focus Teeka, focus!! I shake my head to see if that might help clear it from its random thoughts. It had always done that to me, daydreamed constantly, thought up odd ideas and odd imaginings. Usually I wouldna€?t mind it, but right now? I needed to focus on the hunt.

A crack below resounds around the forest about me, and my silver eyes quickly shoot like an arrow downwards. There, right there, about 35 feet below me is a lone deer; one that I had been chasing for about a week now. I can tell ita€?s the same one on account of the antlers, one of which, was bent awkwardly and at a very uncomfortable looking position. But I paid no mind to it, it was only a sign of characterization, NOT a sign of malnourishment or anything of that sort.
a€?If anything, he probably smacked a few trees rather badly with it, while it was still growing and young.a€?

I cup my dark scaled hands around the grip of my bow, and knock the bright green feathered arrow I had set apart for this deer onto the rest. Slowlya€|ever slowly do I pull it back, not wanting to lose my balance, or lose my prey- because obviously it was still walking, it wasna€?t just going to stand still. A couple breaths leave my lungs, I pull the arrow back and within a fraction of a second, let it fly.

I was born in the Black Marsh, on the outskirts of Helstroma€|in a small little swamp of mud and reeds. But that was not where I lived. I had been abandoned there, just a newborn hatchling, crying out for some form of protection, some form of warmth from the never ending night that surrounded me- for that was when I was born; on the night of a full moon. Some would say thata€?s fate, but Ia€?ve been raised to believe ita€?s coincidencea€|and in truth, a slight inconvenience, because night is not warm, and new hatchlings can die quickly if left alone for too long. But, as luck would have it- or again some people would say it was fate- I was found, by a young couple of Bright-Throats that were in the city on duty and somewhat pleasure. My mother tells me that the only way she saw me was from the little hint and shine the moon gave off on my eyes; since my dark scales were almost as black as night- but if you caught them in the right light, it would actually reveal that they were but a deep green. I think she found me because I was crying so loudly, but she liked to make it more special and dramatic.
My Mother and Father, Monesa and Derkeethus, were just married two years prior to finding me, and they were already making a name for themselves. My mother was good with trade and numbers, in fact- people who knew of her in Black Marsh, would beg her to come and help out with their business, because when she did- their profit would usually double in that same year. a€?Ia€?m just good with numbers, it all justa€|makes so much sense to me.a€? Shea€?d say, trying to blow off how educated and brilliant she really was.
My father, Derkeethus, was a speaker for the Bright-Throats when he first began- just like HIS father was. But, within the two years of his office, he had already gained the favor of the Gee-Rusleel tribe and the Kota-Vimleel tribe; which were the largest of the ten- besides the Bright-Throats- and since the Archeins had since all but died off after the slavery of argonians was abolished by a few nobles in other countries. In those two years alone, he had become a name that tribe leaders would mention now and then, and usually sat in on big notable events that happened in Black Marsh. He was a genius, and many people knew that; some gooda€|a lot bad. Or at least it seemed like a lot, when they would come and threaten his life and his families. But, he wasna€?t a weak man; standing at six and a half feet tall, and being able to lift at least three barrels full of seedlings, he was not a man to threaten lightly.
On one notable occasion, when he was teaching me about proper speech and how boldly it can impact the people around you, a knock had come to our door from the first floor. By the sound of it, and the pvssyring just after it, even I knew something was wrong about our a€?guestsa€?. a€?Stay here, and keep reading, my Little One.a€? Hea€?d say, before getting up and slowly walking down the stairs, a stern but fixed anda€|somewhat knowing smirk across his lips. I of course didna€?t listen to my father, I was only around eight!! So, what do I do? I stick my head out the window and watch what happens!
A group of TEN-a€|ok thata€?s exaggerating. A group of abouta€|maybe five rough looking lizard folk were outside my home, hands on swords, and their fins- if they had any- were at full mast. They were ready for a fight. I of course worried for my father, he was still young, and these men looked aged and knowledgeable in their endeavors. Then I see him, my father! He comes out with only his nicely dressed pants on, and his top half, shirtless- revealing his dark red and black scales, and the broad chest and arms that he had. His two broad horns were showing off his little bits of rags he had tied to them, his frill fully erect- and the bright yellow around his face giving off a threatening glow. All in all, he looked rather threatening, and incredibly impressive!
I tried my hardest to listen to what he was saying, just standing there with his hands behind his back, like a proper politician, but my window was too high to hear it!! Plus I had to stay clear, in case some of the men saw me.
Then, without as much as a warning, one of the men in the back of the group fell dead with an arrow jutting out of his neck. What had just happened?! All I remember was seeing my father crack his knuckles and then THAT!! Was..was that a signal? I turned my head upwards quickly, to find my fairer scaled mother, dressed in black above me and staring me down. She gave me a gentle wink and turned back to shoot another arrow. THIS one I followed, and watched it stab into a lizards hand, just as he was about to bring it down upon my fathera€?s crest- the mana€?s axe falling free from his wounded hand. My father? HA! It was almost a thing of beauty to see him fight! Like a dance, being played out, hea€?d jab and twirl, then kick and flip. Hea€?d punch one man in the face, and then trip up the one behind him with his broad tail- while simultaneously pulling at another lizarda€?s horn to bring him crashing down to the earth below.
Moments, only moments! And the fight was finished and won, my father holding a rather green looking argonian by the throat, his feet just barely off the ground, and his claws trying to dig themselves into the dirt. He yelled somethinga€|something in Jel. I couldna€?t quite catch it but I did hear him swear, which he rarely ever did. With a shove and a grunt, he threw the lizard folk away from him, who ran swiftly away from the slaughter and back down the path to our home. My father stepped back into the house, and I ran downstairs to greet him.
a€?That was amazing papa!! What you did?! That was fantastic!a€? My father, with blood on his hands and chest, stared down at me with a fierce glare, his bright orange eyes piercing me to the core. a€?Sona€|do you know why my mother and I killed those men?a€? I took a small moment to think about it, and shook my head. a€?Not really, but it was so amazing-a€? I didna€?t finish that sentence, for my father had his hand wrapped around my entire head, shutting my jaws tight. I watched as he got to his knees, looked me in the eyes, and sigheda€|a sigh that seemed to age him. a€?Son. I killed those men, not for grandeur or pride or anything of that nature. I killed them, so I might protect the ones I love, and to send a message that they are protected.a€? I watched his attention turn to someone stepping up from behind us, and I tried to turn my head to see, he let go willingly of course. There, my mother was- taking the black, what looked like silk, off her head and wiping away the sweat from her brow. a€?Listen to him, my boy. Youa€?ll have to learn this sooner or later.a€? I turned back once more, my attention affixed on my father. He smiled down to me, and picked me up in his arms- setting me on his right arm while placing his left around Monesa. a€?Son, listen closely, and please- I beg of you- take this to heart.a€? He bent his head forward and I did the same, our foreheads touching, which was a very personal sign of affection in our familya€|not sure where it came from. a€?Do not kill for sport, or for your own pride. Only kill, when it is necessary. If you EVER have to kill one of our own, or anyone from the outer countries, pleasea€|please only do it to protect yourself, or protect those who are in danger.a€? He pulled back, after blowing a jut of breath at me. a€?Never kill, just to kill.a€?
I looked at my father, I looked to my mother, both smiling- both looking a bit tired and weary with what they had just accomplished. a€?I promise. I promise I wona€?t.a€?
So that was them. That was my family. Well educated, and well protected. As I grew, and as I learned, my parents thought it best to teach me a thing or two about protecting one self. So I learned to fight with my strength alone, becoming strong in body. And then I was taught by my mother, who taught me to use a bow and to stay as silent as possible, which taught me much. Then when I wasna€?t being taught physically, I was being taught mentally. How to speak well in front of the different class levels. How to know which plants are edible and which were deadly poisons. All in all? I grew up.
Years passed, I am now twenty three years on this land. My mother and father took me to the main Hist in our city when it was time, and I drank of its sap, the sweetness there of was unlike anything I had tasted before. It made me feel strong, and part of something more, something greater. My scales have grown a bit lighter since the first time they touched air. You can see the dark green much better now. My father has given me one of this rags from his horns to me, and I have tied it tightly around my left. I have no frill about my tan, curved horns, but no matter- that would just serve as a weakness if I ever were to get attacked. My mother has given me her bow and her arrows, they had served her well in her time. a€“in my opinion I think she just wanted an excuse to have her go to the shop and have a bowman build her a better one with her help- but the sentiment is still important to me, and the bow is still a very good craft.
During these years, I have been working with my mother, learning numbers- which doesna€?t seem my forte; and working with my father, even sometimes standing in for him when he couldna€?t meet with a tribe, because he was meeting with another. They had come to honor me almost as much as my father.
This year though, of my twenty third, after going to the Hist for a time, I came home to ask my father what hea€?d have of me.
a€?What do you mean son?a€? He asked, looking up from a few papers from the Bright-Throats he was staring at.
a€?Well...a€? I let linger, looking over his shoulder at the papers, truthfully interested. Seemed like he was being asked to go on another excursion to one of the tribes he knew, they needed help talking peace with some nords from the north who were stealing from their crops.
a€?Right sorry, no I was just wondering what you want me to do in this life, where you want me to go, what endeavors youa€?d like me to follow?a€? My father stopped writing his response to his brother- for thata€?s the one who sent the job- and stood up to lean against the table and fold his arms across his broad chest.
a€?What kind of question is that, Teeka? Youa€?re your own Saxhleel, you can make your own decisions in this life, and you know that.a€? I furrowed my brow, my hands twisting behind my back and my fingers picking at the dirt under my claws. a€?Yes I know that father, but I just wanted your opinion, your view on my path.a€? For a few moments, he didna€?t speak, he just stared off at mea€|or through me, I couldna€?t tell sometimes with him.
a€?You havena€?t done much besides work with me and mothera€|you havena€?t even gotten the chance to see the world of Tamriel, I have, your mother has. But you? Youa€?ve been in Black Marsh for the better part of your young lifea€|hmm.a€? I watched as his eyes glazed over for a moment, and then the life returned to them. With a few quick jabs, he poked me to the side and went over to a side table in his work room to open up a desk drawer.
a€?MONESA!! Where is that letter you got two days prior?!a€? And here comes my mother, barreling down the stairs and stopping just dead of the last step.
a€?What? What letter?a€? I could FEEL my father roll his eyes in frustration, I couldna€?t help but smile.
a€?Kaoc! The letter, lizard! The letter that, that man gave us, about mercenaries or something.a€? He said, while his hand flailed in the air.
a€?Mercenary work? a€|is father really alright with that?a€?
a€?Oh, ita€?s in this one.a€? My mother piped in, shoving my father out of the way with a playful poke of her tail at his side. He pulled away willingly and watched her with crossed arms. I couldna€?t hold back my laughter.
a€?My familya€|a bunch of fools, we are.a€?
a€?Ah-ha! Found it!a€? She said, while lifting up her hand to reveal a partially open letter. a€?Good, give me that.a€? Dad took it from her hands, and ripped it open, reading it quickly.
a€?Hmma€|this might be a chance for him.a€? My mother of course knew what she meant by that- I had actually asked her this same question about a week ago, and she said to ask my father. a€|Seems that actually worked out well.
a€?What is it?a€? I wondered, taking a step over to see the paper. It was hand written of course, but seemed to follow a rhythm, like it had been copied over and over again.
a€?While I was in Stormhold last weeks end? This man came up to me and gave this to me and said, a€?For those seeking adventure, treasure and riches!a€? a€|I of course thought it was Kaoc, so I stuffed it in my satchel and came home- but this lizard! This lovely Saxhleel of mine!a€? Father said, while slapping the letter on my mothera€?s head, who just whipped him with her tail. a€?She kept it, and Ia€?m glad she did, look here.a€? He handed it to me, and I read it.
a€?Come one come all! Seeking adventure and treasure and the like! Greatness awaits you! Heroicness is your path!a€? It kept going on like thisa€|which was annoying, but I read anyways.
a€?Come to Windhelm! Where the Serpenta€?s Wake is docked and ready to take people to Vvardenfell for expeditions to the mountain! FOR ADVENTURE AND GRANDEUR!a€? Hmm...Grandeur was spelled right, and probably the biggest word this man had used. Down at the bottom he had signed it.
Heinrich Oaken-Hull
a€?Hmm.a€? Is all I can say, and my father slaps my arm- which used to hurt, but Ia€?m certainly use to it by now, Ia€?m almost as tall as he is actually.
a€?Hmm, what?! Thata€?s an adventure! Why not take it?a€? I shrug my shoulders a bit, looking to them both. Now that the chance was offereda€|it was worrying to think I might actually go.
a€?How reliable is this letter?a€? I ask, holding it up in the air.
a€?Oh its reliable trust me on that. Heinrich has been sending these out all across Tamriel for a while now, thata€?s how he gets his money. Passage and voyages for the adventuring type.a€? I still wasna€?t surea€|but my father seemed to trust it enough, and mother didna€?t seem to disagree with him.
a€?This is a start son, somewhere you can just begin and work your way up from that. Ita€?s something easy to begin with.a€? In my head I thought, a€?Doesna€?t feel that easya€|Windhelm is certainly far away...a€? But he was right, it was a chance, and I should at least try to take it.
a€?Well...alright.a€?
It took me a couple months to get to Windhelm, which that endeavor in and of itself was an adventure. My parents dropped me off at Stormhold, and said their goodbyes- we had left that same morning, no time to mourn or be sorry for how long it would be until I saw them again, but I had promised Ia€?d write all of my adventures down in this new journal they had given mea€|and so I have been. From my memories, to the stories, to now. But as I was saying.
We had to cut through the bottom corner of Morrowind to wrap around some cliffs on the side of Cyrodiil, and then wea€?d come out on Cyrodiil land and continue onwards. We of course- like any good caravan, got attacked by some bandits. One person got stabbed, and that was only one of the guards, another was almost stabbed in the back, but I had taken out my bow and arrow and had shot the man in the chest, killing him.
This wasna€?t the first time I had seen a Dunmer in my lifetime. My father had actually made some deals with them a while back. Buta€|this was the first time I had killed one. I remembered those words my father had taught me so many years ago. a€?Dona€?t kill just to kill.a€? Which I wasna€?t doinga€|it was to protect the caravan, and I could justify it, thata€?s why I let the arrow fly. To protect those that needed protecting, it was only right of me to do. And I felt dirty for it, but the guard gave me the mana€?s golda€|he said we shouldna€?t waist what has been given to us rightfully, so I guess Ia€?ll keep it. a€|Maybe give it to someone who might need it later. But for now I end my writing, we shall be coming to Windhelm soon and then from Windhelm, to Blacklighta€|I wonder how it will be.

Name: Galendor Adrar

Race: Ayleid (Approved )

Gender: Male

Age, or apparent age: Around 120

Appearance: Commonly mistaken for a Bosmer due to his height, despite being slightly taller than them. He has lightly pale skin with just some color to it, dark brown eyes and overall is well built physically. He is nothing extraordinary on the physical scale otherwise. His voice is melodious. His hair is blonde and long, flowing freely if not under a hood.

Personality: Reserved about his emotions and very slightly introverted, people tend to get along with the Elf quite well. Assuming they don't figure his actual race out and judge him based off of that.

Birthsign: The Atronach

Class/Skills: The Ranger. Light Armor, short blade, marksman [Shortbows], sneak, acrobatics, and athletics.

Inventory: A single elven short sword, an elven short bow, and a quiver with about 40 elven arrows. For armor he wears leather armor under a black cloak and hood which is used to cover his face if need be. He keeps a small satchel around his chest as well, it has a Varla stone in it, he simply uses it as a good luck charm. A belt around his waist with a series of six pouches and things to hold potions. Three minor health potions. A potion of stamina. 100 Septims. One pouch contains a map of - Tamriel, Black Marsh, Vvardenfell, Cyrodiil, and Valenwood. Next pouch contains a bone knife to carve kills after hunting. The rest contain nothing.

Anything else you can think of: Well, he's an Ayleid. Nothing else, really.

Backstory:

Somewhere along the Xylo river of Valenwood lived quite a mysterious race of hunters, warriors, and sorcerers. The Bosmer referred to them as the Hidden Ones or Wild Elves, as their skill in vanishing matched even the best illusion mage, or rogue. Able to hide themselves and their last bit of civilization. They are known as the Ayleids. Of course, very few exist across Valenwood to date.

The current Ayleid civilization, or more like tribes now did not owe it simply to themselves to their survival and their own capabilities to stay hidden of course. The court of Valenwood had as much to do as it as did the Ayleid people. The Bosmer offering much protection to the Ayleids after being kicked out of their homes, in return they would join the Green Pact. Lead now by King Falenir Dynar, the last King residing over the remaining tribes, hoping to restore glory to his people.

One such Ayleid, a ranger, known as Galendor Adar would be tasked by King Dynar to attempt to restore the glory of his people. At least, Galendor was just one of the instruments sent to possibly false rumors of treasure and power to restore his people. Many of the remaining Ayleids who were combat effective were spread across Tamriel to rumors of riches and potential power. Galendor himself happened to have been sent to Blacklight, in Morrowind. It seemed the perfect opportunity thought King Dynar, Morrowind in turmoil, a man calling out for support on a expedition to a ruined land. Much profit would could be had by young ranger Adar, which would be taken back to the now fledgling Ayleid tribe.

His entire life, Adrar would live as a nomad in Valenwood, moving from place to place and being taught the way of the forester, or ranger. As a young one Adrar was given an elven short bow, which he was instructed then to hunt down a wild boar and bring it back as food for his tribe. After many days of tracking and hunting, Adrar found himself as one attuned to natural survival, completing the task well and flawlessly. It was apparent that he would go on the be one of the hunters for the small tribe.

At the age of thirty, Adrar was gifted an elven shortsword by an outsider, a Bosmeri noble of all things. It was at this age that Adrar would be taught to learn how to fight.

At age one-hundred, Adrar was taken to King Dynar.

The guards pushed me into the room, as if I were some sort of criminal, and at this point with the rough treatment I'd received from them when it came to bringing me up to the King's tower, I felt like one. Then again, they were just doing their job.

After composing myself, I looked up to see the interior of the room. A rather modest one for being King Dynar's, a plain room with a bed, dresser, and a table with some chairs. Really not what I expected at all. It wasn't odd to me at the time that the room stood out more than the male sitting at one of the wooden chairs around the table, now thinking on it I wonder why I didn't address him immediately. The male was quite the opposite of the room as it was, wearing a crown with a strange white material acting as gems around it, as well he was wearing the finest red robes I had ever seen in my life. No doubt all of this was gifts to him from Bosmeri nobles. All of this was a gift from the Bosmer, really. They treated us well.

Silent. White. Nothing was said by the male sitting in the chair in the room, he was obviously expecting me to sit down. I was mesmerized by the crown though, from the other side of the room I simply stared at it, feeling some sort of faint connection to it. It was not diamond for certain, nor was it any other type of gem I'd heard of. It did not shimmer or gleam or have any color, it was just white. Yet something about the material had a feeling. I moved and sat down anyways. Across the table from him.

"Glass of Aetherius. Meteoric glass. Stars," Dynar spoke without looking up at me, he simply rested his hands on the table, looking down at one of the rings on each of his hands, each ring having a similar but blue material on them, both still pulling my interest, pulling me towards them even. I wanted whatever it was, I did not know why.

"What?" Was all I could manage to respond, I had no idea what Dynar was speaking about, all I knew is that he sounded apathetic towards the situation. This in turn made me feel apathetic towards him.

"On my crown is better known as Varla, a material used by our ancestors to create powerful artifacts. I digress, do you know why I brought you here, Galendor?" It was then that King Dynar finally did look me straight in the eyes, the sincerity of the question shocked me for some odd reason, maybe because I didn't know.

"No, sir."

"I have need of your skills, Galendor. I know we have never met, and you may be surprised I know who you are, but trust me, I know all of my denizens. We only have a handful of our kind left as it is. Are you familiar with our history?"

I shook my head. We never bothered to learn any of it.

"Well, to put it short. The Ayleids come from a powerful time, when we ruled Cyrodiil. I need to send you out to a specific place, at a specific time to retrieve a specific item, or series of items which will allow us to survive. Do you understand?"

Everything he was saying was so simple, yet I did not understand any of it. I nodded anyways. He sent me off with directions to go towards a city by the name of Blacklight in Morrowind, it was far, and would be a long journey. Especially since I was not allowed to be seen, or heard. I was given the parting gift of leather armor as it is, and went off the same day after getting a few maps and a path to go on. All I knew was to meet one man, an Oaken-Hull on arrival.

Name: Kaivel Bainax. (Pronounced like "eye" with a K, and then like "full", but with a V. Emphasis on the first syllable.)
Race: Imperial
Gender: Female
Age: 30
Appearance: (Aprox. 5'-7", athletic, but feminine, build) Her face is gentle, and her features soft, but around her mouth and eyes, laugh-lines co-mingle with the etchings of grief. She has clear grey eyes, that betray a steeled heart, framed by lashes the color of pitch. Walnut brown hair falls to the middle of her back and her eyebrows and nose are as straight as her determination. A plump mouth, turned up so sweetly at the corners, is the only thing that belies her ferocity. The scarred remains of a vampires bite at the left side of her throat are her permanent reminder that life is always worth the fight.
Personality: Determined, contemplative, introverted, slightly impatient, intuitive and compassionate. Hardened against the ills of the world. Gives herself completely to whichever cause she deems significant. However, at the end of the day, she is still human and susceptible to deviations from these norms. In rare circumstances she can be as calculating and cruel as the worst of them.
Birthsign: The Lady (Born 3rd of Hearthfire 3E 431)
Class: Scout
Skills: Alchemy, Athletics, Long Blade, Medium Armor, Sneak, Speechcraft
Inventory: Wedding Band, 2 Daggers, Silver Longsword with Oiled Black Scabbard, Small Phial of Soil, Pack (with bedroll, rations, healing potions, other potions, alchemy ingredients etc.). Her look: Nordic Ringmail with some modifications in leather. Hooded wool cloak. Knee-high boots and leather-metal gauntlets. Simple circlet on her brow. (I will draw her and post her up sometime)
Backstory: On the third day of Hearthfire 3E 431, in the beautiful city of Kvatch, Cyrodiil, I was born to parents who rejoiced at my arrival. My Father, Antitus Galloff, and Mother, Juniver, had been trying for years to have a child, and when I was born they deemed their happiness complete. I don't remember anything of the time shortly after my birth, but I am told that the first two years of my life were a dream. That is, until the nightmares came.

In 3E 433 a gate to the planes of Oblivion opened on Kvatch and razed my birth home to the ground. My parents, a few others, and I were all that remained of a once thriving city. We had become refugees in our own land. With no other options before them, my parents and the others fled to the port city of Anvil, hoping to find aid. Their relief, however, was short lived. A week after their arrival, another Oblivion gate opened just outside the walls of the city. The Oblivion Crisis had truly begun.

Once again, my parents (and others like them) found themselves without home or security and they retreated into the wilderness of Cyrodiil. Evidence of the presence of Oblivion was apparent everywhere, but it wasn't until the small group happened upon the settlement of Hackdirt that they felt they could be safe once more. The Planes had not touched this place...but something had.

When my parents and their companions explored the buildings, all that could be found of Hackdirt's citizens were corpses. Someone had killed them all. However, rather than facing the prospect of a winter spent homeless, the new arrivals buried the bodies near the chapel and set to work building a new life.

10 years, my parents and I spent living in Hackdirt. The Oblivion Crisis was short lived and we experienced peace and plenty. My father, being a skilled swordsman, started a local chapter of the Fighter's Guild. My mother, anxious to be productive, spent her time exploring the woods and meadows around our village, acquainting herself with the flora and fauna. In time, she became a talented alchemist and ran a small apothecary from the front room of our home. I spent these years of my childhood equally between training with father, learning from mother, and playing with the other children in Hackdirt. Life was blessed.

Just after the celebration of my 11th year, (4E 9) my father received what he called a Gift from the Nine: an invitation to run the Fighters Guild in the city of Bruma. His years of work and strain had been recognized and it was a blessing that could not be ignored. Within weeks, my father answered the call and my family relocated to Bruma.

Bruma was, and is to this day, a beautiful city, but adjusting was hard for me. The city walls were so thick and so high that the wilds of Cyrodiil were blocked from view. Many times during my first year I felt caged and wounded. Thankfully, my mother chose to reopen her apothecary and regular trips outside the cloistered city became a necessity. 3 days a week I explored and collected with my mother; reveling in the freedoms of nature. I learned faster and more efficiently than I had previously and our customer base grew exponentially. However, the remaining days of my week were spent in activities quite different from those performed with my mother.

3 days were relegated to training with my father's guild members, and the final day was spent reading any of the steady stream of books my parents had requisitioned from the Imperial Library.

Training days were brutal, but bruises, and cuts, and sore muscles didn't dissuade me from the practice. I knew what my parents had done to survive when I was an infant and I was determined to be able to fight for myself should the need arise.

The days spent reading, however, were...not something I had agreed to easily. They were thrust upon me by parents who believed I should be given whatever I could in order to be able to think and fight and live for myself. It was years before I began to appreciate my parents foresight, but by my 17th year, these days had become a pleasure for me. I had even begun ordering books and scrolls for myself.

It was on one of these days, when a small crate of new reading material arrived, that my life changed in the best way. I had just received a new copy of Fire and Darkness and in my excitement to share it with my father I rushed to the Guild Hall. I burst through the iron door, barreling into a group of men who had been standing just inside the entrance. In my wild attempt to regain balance, I pulled one of the men down with me; limbs and weapons tangled together as we crashed to the floor. Mortified at my own clumsiness, I clambered to my feet and turned to retreat back through the door. However, my flight was halted as a stone grip tightened around my upper arm and held me fast.

I turned to face my father, and whatever punishment he deemed appropriate for my actions, but was surprised to find that it was not he who had detained me. My grey eyes met those of a rare shade of wintry-blue: something behind my ribs stirred.

"Andyr Bainax", spoke the man behind the eyes; the man I had pummeled. My stupor must have been apparent, because he was forced to repeat himself before I was coherent enough to respond. "I'm Andyr Bainax."

"I'm so sorry!" I half-shouted into his face.

"Interesting first name", he smirked.

"What? No. Kaivel. Kaivel Bainax."

Suddenly Andyr and the group around us, including my father, erupted into laughter. Not realizing what I had done, my father, through his tears of mirth, had to remind me that my family name was Galloff, not Bainax.... Despite my physical and verbal awkwardness, at that moment an incredible friendship was formed.

Andyr was a Nord from Markarth, Skyrim who had come to Cyrodiil to join the Bruma Guard and learn from my father at the Fighter's Guild. He was four years my senior and I quickly began to rely on him for his experience and knowledge of the world outside of Cyrodiil. Many of our free days were spent together and after nearly 3 years of steady friendship, a love more powerful than I had ever read of, or experienced myself, had blossomed in our hearts.

On the first day of Evening Star 4E 18, in my 20th year of life and Andyr's 24th, we were married in the Chapel of Talos in Bruma. To say that this was the best day of my life would not be an exaggeration. I had found the half of me I hadn't realized was missing.

Three months after our wedding, Andyr applied for a position with the Anvil Fighter's Guild and town guard. He was immediately accepted, and we moved shortly thereafter.

Leaving my parents was difficult, but I was excited at the prospect of starting a life together with Andyr. I was also looking forward to opening my own apothecary shop: a blessing I owed to my mothers tireless years of instruction. We quickly acclimated to our new environment and the fresh sea air; life was near perfect.

Almost 2 years later, on the 8th of First Seed 4E 20, our blessings were increased again; we welcomed our first child, a fair-haired, blue-eyed son, who we named Eovir. I finally understood what it was to have complete happiness.

Eovir was a joy and every day was filled with the pleasure of watching him grow. He was the embodiment of pure love and as each year passed, my love for him, and his incredible father, expanded. I had everything I had ever wanted, or needed, and I was complete. However, time was unfair to me. Just after celebrating my beautiful Eovir's 4th year, My Heart was clawed from my body.

It was the very early morning of the 19th day of First Seed 4E 24 and I had just fallen asleep. The nightmare came almost immediately.

Thick blackness swirled behind my eyes and I felt restrained and short of breath and as though I were being poked and pricked all along my neck. I struggled and fought the demons and was finally able to wake myself, but the horror was real. A man with fiery eyes lifted his bloody mouth from my neck and growled ferociously: vampire. Then, releasing my arms, he disappeared into the shadows of the room. Screaming, I sat up and reached to Andyr's side of the bed only to find it empty and cold. Warm blood was pulsing from my neck and I could feel it running down my bosom. Dizzy, I stumbled to my feet, screaming Andyr's name. With more power and strength than I should have been capable of, I ran to Eovir's room. The sight that met me was unbearable.

Empty.

I fled my home and took to the streets, screaming, pleading, shouting for help.

Many came.

Confusion. Panic. Worry. Fear. Resolve.

I was half-dragged to my apothecary shop and, in a moment of clarity, begged for a potion of cure disease. I feared an infection of Porphyric Hemophilia and did not want to become that which had temporarily taken My Heart from me. One of my neighbors brought me the vial and I downed it in one quick gulp.

Blackness.

I awoke 5 days later.

In her compassion, my good-intentioned neighbor had mixed a powerful sleeping draught with the cure disease potion. I had missed any opportunity I may have had to save....

Blank inside.

Her words sounded far away and fuzzy as she explained that multiple search parties had been sent. "10 groups of three", she said.

One group never returned.

I didn't care.

I would never find My Heart again.

.........................

I returned to our home, the home Andyr had built, and cried.

For days. Weeks.

I sold my shop.

I collected a phial of dirt from our front garden; the garden I'd planted with Eovir.

I boarded up the windows and bolted the door.

And returned to my parents home in Bruma.

.........................

For nearly 2 years, I was a shell. I spent all of my time at the Fighters Guild or at my mother's apothecary, focused on my alchemy work. I was relentless in my study, but going to bed beyond exhausted meant no dreams, no nightmares.

Then, one morning in the month of Morningstar 4E 26, I finally

Woke.

Up.

The black cloud in my head, the one that had swallowed my soul whole, had dissipated. The shackles of grief had fallen away and I could breathe again.

In place of where my heart had been, something new, something savage and wild, had grown. With a determination and will more powerful than the gods, I chose life. I chose to take all that I had learned and experienced over the years and shift the balance of the world.

My parents relief was palpable; they had grieved for me for 2 years.

Feeling impatient and stagnant, I hurriedly purchased the necessary gear and informed my parents of my plan. I was going to leave Bruma and travel to wherever had the most need of help. I would answer the call for any cause that felt significant.

With tears in their eyes, and the gift of my father's treasured silver blade, they let me go.

For two years I wandered Cyrodiil and Skyrim to help those who could not help themselves. I survived on the generosity of strangers and on the pay I earned for services rendered. I came to a greater appreciation of the world and discovered a powerful love for the birthplace of My Heart.

Skyrim was the answer to a prayer I didn't know I'd uttered. The sky seemed to never end and the swarms of mountains were a steady and powerful reminder that resilience and defiance can result in perfect beauty. Everything there sang of Andyr. For the first time I felt him again: in the land, the water, the mountains, in the winter-blue sky that matched his eyes. Eovir was there too: in the giggle of a brook, in the song of the larks, even in the tall grass that danced along my fingertips. I had regained a small part of what I had lost and knew I had one responsibility that could no longer be ignored. I needed to go to Markarth; the home of Andyr's family.

My trip to Markarth was uneventful and all too soon I found myself standing on the stoop of House Bainax. I would have stood there for hours, arguing with myself, had Andyr's mother not opened the door, intending to visit the market. To say she was startled would be somewhat of an understatement as it was necessary for me to steady her. After a moment, a look of dawning realization spread across her features and she whispered, "By the Nine! Kaivel!"

Then, she embraced me.

It had been a long time since I had allowed anyone to be so close to me, but something in this woman, this mother of My Heart, broke though my carefully constructed shell, and softened me. Andyr's mother, Bertahl, was everything I knew she'd be and more, and his father, Daveth, was goodness personified. The both of them did everything in their power to make sure I knew that I was theirs, and I loved them for it. But, it was meeting Andyr's younger brother that had the profoundest effect on me.

Thorvald was Andyr in every way; just looking at him brought back a pain so acute it was hard to think. I did my best to avoid being alone with, or speaking, to him. However, with an intuition to rival his brothers, Thorvald quickly discerned the truth behind my avoidance.

Finding me alone in the market one day, nearly two weeks after my arrival, he asked me to walk with him to a nearby shop.

"I am sorry, for your sake alone, that I am so similar to him," he said softly as we wove through the crowds. "I can see it hurts you to look at me."

Tears pricked at my eyes but I blinked them away. "It is a pain I willingly bear," I choked. "Your presence is...can be...painful, but at the same time you are a reminder that is was all real."

I smiled up at him and for the first time since our strained meeting, I appreciated his steadyness and sweet spirit; I had gained a true and real brother.

Just over a month after my arrival in Markath, an adventuring summons was posted on the notice board in the local pub. A man called Heinrich Oaken-Hull was taking an expedition to Vvardenfell: a place desperately in need of balance. I tore the notice from the board and pocketed it: determined to join the party. I returned to House Bainax to deliver the news of my impending departure, but they were one step ahead of me.

Daveth had seen the summons that morning and knew that I would be unable to resist the urge to go. He had told Bertahl and Thorvald and while I was out, they had purchased for me a beautiful set of Nordic Ringmail. Songs of praise could not adequately express my gratitude and love in that moment. This family had given me everything, and even now, we're giving me more. With the promise of letters, I took my leave of them the very next morning and joined a small caravan heading East.

The trek across the whole of Skyrim took all of a month, and just as my patience was on its last leg my companions and I crested the final hill and the ebony claw of Blacklight came in to view.

Name: Larry Wall

Race: Imperial

Gender: Male

Age: 32

Appearance: 1.75m (~5' 7''). Larry is extremely slim and he isn't very strong, only having the very minimum strength. His legs are long and while his face hints at a tan the rest of him is deathly pale. His hair is short and he's well shaven. His eyes glint a light blue, there are no obvious signs of his addiction.

Personality: Larry is an alcoholic and abuser of anything that's available. While sober, he is often regarded as a fine gentleman, intelligent, honest and on occasion, can be funny. He is however chained by his addiction to alcohol and will often be found tipsy or flat out drunk. He has a bewildering sense of adventure that has come from years of being cooped up into a small office.

Birthsign: The Steed

Class/Skills: Scholar - Larry is well versed in historical lore, both on the dwemer, daedric and nation provinces. His specific field is that of dwemer constructs. He is well versed in diplomacy, public speaking and in general - Is often deemed a social and outgoing individual and thus counts speechcraft as a well developed skill.

Inventory: Larry is often seen wearing a tan trench coat with dark brown trousers and cream coloured cotton shirt. Weather dependant he has a selection of fine fur clothes. He carries with him 3 large bottles of flin that are filled into 2 water pouches and another final water pouch that is actually filled with water. The other parts of his inventory include some spare food, bedroll, tent and flint for fire. His only weapon of choice is a fine wooden staff which he uses to either prop up his tent or help him walk, it would however stand up to a sword but the very act of blocking would be mere luck.

Background:
Born and raised into the Imperial City, Larry was told he would always be a scholar. He was never to live a heroes life and instead become an accountant or assistant historian. This played on his mind and as he found his time spent diving into historical books about wars, he would often pretend to be one of the heroes within. This quickly lead to an infatuation with the adventurous sort and he would search out local taverns and pubs just to hear their stories.

His parents, both wealthy traders were often away from home and therefore never really caught wind of his actions and thus he was left to himself. At the age of 27, Larry was banished from his household where he lost his job at the imperial library and with nowhere to turn, decided to join the expedition into Vvardenfell so that he could not only satisfy his adventurous cravings but finally, further his studies of Dwemer ruins by actually stepping foot inside of one.

Name : Elissandre (of Cadra, though she doesna€?t use the title)

Race : Breton

Gender : female

Age : 27 (appears to be 22)

Appearance : Elissandre is a rather short but good looking redhead, her hair almost copper- colored, worn at shoulder length. Shea€?s a little on the plump side as her lifestyle isna€?t exactly driven to physical exertion.
Her whole attire tends to be functional rather than fancy- stout brown leather walking boots, undyed suede trouser and linen tunic. Ita€?s supplemented with a leather armor (cuirass, bracers and greaves), of somewhat imperial design and a stout hooded cloak of dull brown linen (with a grey lining of the same material, which let it to be turned inside out to better match the area).
Thanks to her looks and a regular use of restoration magic she looks a bit younger than she is.
Her only visible piece of jewelery is a cheap copper signet ring, somewhat bulky for her fingers.
She wears an arming belt with a sheathed dwemer shortsword, which an expert could identify as haling from the Hammerfell rather than Morrowind clans.

Personality : A relatively easygoing person, who takes pride and joy in the art of healing and tends to see the best in others.
Shea€?s not blindly trusting but is convinced that peoples tend to put forth the facet of their character youa€?re expecting of them.
She has a clear appreciation for creature comforts, with a special soft spot for warm bathes, which she considers the truest hallmark of civilization.
Which makes her somewhat lazy when she thinks she can get away with it and nobody needs help.

Birthsign : the Lady

Skills : Illusion, restoration, alchemy, short blades, medical, alteration

Inventory :
Leather cuirass, bracers and greaves.
Weapons : dwemer vampire blade (dwemer short sword, cast on strike absorb health and fatigue, not very powerful nor many charges)

Cadra signet ring - constant effect restore health and fatigue (at low levels, it makes for quick recovery and comes handy for a long travel, but it's effect will barely be noticed in combat).
The gold-and-ruby signet is hidden with a bulky (and rather ugly) copper add-on.

Several restoration potions (fatigue, health and magicka, 3 of each), one fire shield potion
three Firestones (enchanted with fire damage, they can be used to cook, warm water or the like, they're tools rather than weapons)
Healer's kit (a leather tool bag with a selection of medical goodies for mundane healing a€“ bandages, splinters, thread and needle, probes, scalpels, tweezers and the like.
Also includes an apprentice quality mortar and pestle and several empty potion vials)

Background : Elissandre is the daughter of the now-defunct baron of Cadra, a minor breton domain and therefore the proud heiress to a smoking ruin, as during the Empirea€?s crumbling the domain was invaded by a neighboring baron and his mercenaries and her family killed.
That was 14 years ago and she barely managed to flee. Her only heirlooms are her sword and ring, ancient relics of the Cadra barons.

She ran as far away as possible, going into hiding among the dregs of society, as the usurper paid various adventurers to find her. First with an eye to legitimate his usurpation by marriage, but later to extinguish her claim along with her life.
She drifted increasingly eastward, learning the healera€?s trade from a wandering hedge wizard (a former chapter house master, expelled for internal politics and questionable personal habits). He also schooled her in Illusion magics, a useful tool to keep trouble at bay.

Now arrived about as far east as she could get and having caught rumors of dubious characters looking for a redheaded breton woman shea€?s getting a bit desperate.
This drove her to to take her chances with another rumor : an expedition to the several times accursed Vvardenfell. A place with such a repute that she may be able to fake not coming back from there, and hopefully earn enough goodwill from her skills keep the other participanta€?s mouths shut.

Name: http://witchermemes.com/uploads/fufu/9/wtm_fu_5445412426e7c.jpg

Race: Breton/Nord

Gender: Female

Age, or apparent age: Appears to be in her late 30's.

Appearance: (Aprox. 6'-1a€?, athletic and muscular) Sigourney's features are not those one would expect from a women of her pedigree. She appears to be chiseled from the most elegant of marble retaining both the beauty and strength of the stone. Her muscles are well toned from years of fighting and training both of which have helped her slender physique.
When it comes to her face she has the look of a warrior. Her pale blonde hair nearly appears white in certain light and only just comes past her eyebrows. Her nose is slightly off center at the bridge where it was broken in one of her many fights either on or off the battlefield. A fresh but faded scar runs just below the right side of her jaw back to her hairline from a sword blade caught during a duel. Although it may be the only visible one it is not the only scar she possesses, years of fighting have a way of adding to your collection of 'trophies' as it were.

Personality: Eccentric is the best way to describe her personality. Sigourney takes well to those that would raise a blade in defense of their beliefs and respects any man or woman that carries themselves honorably. She is an interesting mixture of refined morals of an age long past and a sometimes unwavering compassion for chaos. In most cases she conducts herself like a lady but she is also likely to start a brawl in a tavern or brandish a sword in a Lords court, feeling any dispute should be settled honorably in a duel rather than in a court.

Travelers have reported passing her bathing nvde as a babe in rain puddles while singing songs of glory and adventure, while some have overheard her having deep conversations with herself and arguing with trees and woodland creatures for insulting her honor. But for those that have fought with or around her they tell stories of a woman that fights with grace and compassion. A warrior that carries herself with great dignity and respect even her worst enemies are treated as her greatest friends, and the men who served with her were treated as family. Regardless of how you feel Sigourney is a kind of woman all her own, whether that is a good thing or not is irrelevant for she doesn't change for anyone.

Birth-sign: The Steed

Class/Skills: (OOC: I used Skyrim skills as I felt they gave me more choices to make my character unique although I can switch them to whatever ones you want me to use.)

Class: Duelist

Skills: Long Blade, Hand to Hand, Athletics, Etiquette, Medium Armor, and Streetwise.

Inventory: A http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/1a/Dresden-Zwinger-Armoury-Sword.04.JPG carried in a sheath strapped to the back when not needed to help protect the blade from the weather. Although when in use or when traveling on dangerous roads she carries it http://i.ytimg.com/vi/xjURzgkCuAE/maxresdefault.jpg and ready for combat. A http://www.armorymarek.com/public/default/userfiles/image/cinquedea-katzbalger/m-018.jpg arming sword worn on her waist is drawn in most cases where the flamberge would be ineffective. Her third and final weapon is more of a tool than a weapon but can be used with deadly efficiency if need be, that weapon is her http://www.medievalcollectibles.com/images/Category/medium/191.png worn in a sheath on her hip opposite of her arming sword. Her http://www.arcobosque.com/kronus0606.jpg consists of multiple bags connected together that are worn on her back. These contain everyday items such as food, clean water, a small amount of gold, and other assorted tools such as a shovel and hatchet, eating and cooking utensils things along those lines.

Clothing: Covering all articles of clothing from the undergarments (or lack of) to her jack of plates. The jack of plates she wears can be tied shut but while she is out of combat she leaves it open, while rather revealing it keeps her cool and comfortable. The entirety of her wardrobe consists of a light blouse, trousers made of sewn together pieces of fabric salvaged from defeated opponents this is a sign of defiance and a common symbol of the poor. Dark brown leather boots worn from age and use are worn over the trousers held tightly in place with leather buckles. The most extravagant article of clothing she possesses is most certainly her hat, with her since her youth she cherishes it almost as much as her sword and never lets it go. In terms of armor she wears her jack coat over her clothing with leather elbow and knee protection, along with leather gloves.

Back-story: Sigourney was born into a noble family in Jehaana a city in High Rock close to the border with Skyrim. The side effect of a scandalous affair Sigourney was seen as nothing more than a bastard child. Her mother had been caught with a Nordic merchant from Windhelm and rather than take the fall she ridiculed Sigourney for bringing disgrace to her lineage even though she had nothing to do with the scandal, a child can not prevent themselves form being born after all. Understanding his illegitimate daughters plight the husband of Sigourney's mother was willing to carry the burden of a bastard child and raised her without her mother for the first few years of her life. Occasionally allowing her legitimate father to visit her and give her gifts and send her letters long before she could read. They were both men who cared deeply for her all be it for vastly different reasons.

The Lord only wanted to raise her for status and good face. He seen it as an opportunity to smudge his estranged wife's reputation further while at the same time making him appear as a kind and honorable man. While his intentions where less then ideal he still took very good care of Sigourney raising her as if she were his own and brought her up in the ways of the noble court.

Her biological father however longed for his daughter and begged the Lord upon every visit to let him take his daughter with him back to Skyrim, even going to far as to send tribute to the Lord in the form of goods and gold. But the Lord could not let her go, she garnered him attention and renown. A Lord so courteous that he would raise a child that wasn't even his own, he loved the attention and wouldn't trade it for anything.

As she grew older it became harder for the Lord to hide his true intentions from Sigourney and shortly thereafter her biological father was forbidden from entering the city and would be killed if he was seen in or near the city limits. Even still the Lord took good care of her giving her the finest clothing and care. She had instructors from all of High Rock that came and taught her the ways of the affluent elite. But these things did not interest Sigourney and she was often found at the local garrison following the city guards with admiration. She was awestruck by the Lord's military and whenever the garrison commander was around he would be found with Sigourney in toe asking questions or just watching. Such behavior was not something a Lord wanted his child to be interested in especially his daughter and he tried to confine her even going so far as to place guards around her quarters.

An extreme action to take on a child but it worked, but not for the reasons you may thing. For Sigourney it was paradise she no longer had to leave her home to admire the guards, they came to her. Most guards actually fought and bid for the position not only because it was an easy job but because they enjoyed hearing the youthful and optimistic ramblings of a young girl so interested in their line of work. It was something the guards were not accustomed to but appreciated it none the less.

When Sigourney came of age she was tested for magical abilities as all children of noble birth are in
High Rock. For the Lord it would be a huge lift in his status and he hoped it would elevate him out of his position and into a higher one. Sigourney's mother came from a prestigious line of mages so hopes were high. Unfortunately for both parties all though more so for Sigourney she showed no magical abilities whatsoever, she was the first child in generations to come from her mothers line that didn't have any magic in her. The Lord was furious and broke out in a rage beating Sigourney for days and went so far as to lock her in the dungeon for supposedly 'insulting and betraying' a Lord. She was broken, although this was not the first time she was punished for something she couldn't help this was the first time she could remember. She wept for days until her sorrow turned to rage, she beat her fists against the walls of her cell until they were bloody, she cursed her blood that stained the cell saying that without it she wouldn't of been treated the way she was.

Her rage took her so far that she attempted to kill herself by bleeding to death. Against the Lords orders not to interact with her, Sigourney's guards prevented her from going through with it and with a sense of compassion for the poor girl, escaped with her. The guards where caught with Sigourney in their possession and the Lord ordered them to be arrested and killed. But the guards refused after all the years of being mistreated they finally had enough. They disobeyed their Lord leaving the city with Sigourney in search of her real father who the garrison commander revealed the identity of now that the threat of death no longer prevented him from doing so.

It was nearly 6 years until Sigourney and the guards found her father now a serf for a Jarl in Skyrim. He had grown old and feeble and Sigourney didn't recognize him, but even after 18 years he still recognized his daughter embracing her like he wanted to the day she was born. Sigourney now 21 had very little time with her father, he was ill and barely clung to life. In what time she had with him she cherished every day. He humbled her and taught her what he could. That honor and respect was not just for nobles but for everyone. That just because of her gender or upbringing her fate is not sealed. Sadly Sigourney only had 2 years with her father and while she mourned his death she felt robbed by the Lord who acted as her father, she was upset for all the years he stole from her and the opportunities he forbid her from having. It was her late father that stopped her from seeking revenge, yes she was wronged but killing him would not do anything but prove a point. That a bastard children would stoop so low as to kill the man that raised her. So she moved on forming her own mercenary band using the guards that saved her and the ones that fled with her. Her mercenaries became known as a€?The Serfs Soldiers'a€? they focused on helping those that needed it for no amount of gold, but they also served countless lords as guards and escorts for caravans jobs for which earned them handsome pay.

It was with this prestige that Sigourney left her men and set out on her own. With all of the wealth and renown that she and her group had earned she still didn't feel satisfied. The compassion was still there but she felt as if she needed to be on her own for sometime. So she parted ways with a€?The Serfs Soldiers'a€? and left them under the competent leadership of the old garrison commander until she returns whenever that may be......

Name: http://th01.deviantart.net/fs70/PRE/f/2013/152/2/8/princess_ahu_duqurba_of_sarravid_empire_by_gambargin-d67gllp.png

Race: Redguard

Gender: Female

Age: Appears to be in her early 30's.

Appearance: (Aprox. 5'-11???, slender and petite) Andalah's beauty is striking, her skin is the warmest shade of brown, and her emerald green eyes shine like crown jewels. Although she had a rather rugged upbringing she still retains the soft delicate features that she inherited from her mother. She is rather slim but years of physical training have toned her muscles and made her appear rather athletic.

Andalah's hands and feet are decorated with http://i01.i.aliimg.com/photo/v1/138260543/Body_Art_Henna.jpg but if asked what they represent she dodges the question. Fortunately the question rarely comes up as they are usually concealed under her clothing. She does also have tattoos of similar design that continue from her left arm and wrap around the upper part of her torso and down to her waist.

Personality: She is very quiet and reserved during most social interactions. Preferring to stay out of conversations or just listen, examining the people she is interacting with before speaking. She does this in an attempt to avoid any conflict that may come from her insulting or upsetting the person or persons she is speaking to.
Andalah does not drink alcohol and will politely refuse it if offered. If she finds herself in a setting where it is involved she will more than likely sit by herself away from everyone else and just watch. She is a very observant individual making any attempt to do something without her knowing extremely difficult.

Those that took the time to know Andalah will tell you of a woman full of passion, a woman who never starts fights but almost always ends them. She does not flaunt her skills as a warrior but she fights with unbridled fury. Striking faster than the wind can blow, she is known as a peaceful woman but is also a woman who very few want to cross.

Birth-sign: The Shadow

Class/Skills:
Class: Mystic Agent
Skills: Light Armor, Persuasion, Short-Blade, Athletics, Acrobatics, Illusion

Inventory: A http://qph.is.quoracdn.net/main-qimg-c2dbdddceabeab1fc00fb68314b8ea94?convert_to_webp=true worn on her waist, and a http://getasword.com/5617-thickbox_default/medieval-rondel-dagger.jpg worn in a scabbard on her waist as well. The saber although capable of being used in combat isn't Andalah's first choice as she prefers to use her dagger in a fight. She does carry a http://image.absoluteastronomy.com/images/encyclopediaimages/r/ru/rucksack_schweizer_armee_1960er_a.jpg made that she uses to carry a two spare sets of clothes, food, water, a large pouch of gold, assorted potions/poisons, throwing knives, assorted alchemy ingredients kept in individual packets, a journeyman's Illusion Magic spell book, and multiple cooking and eating utensils.

Clothing: Andalah usually wears her armor consisting of silk robes worn under a chain-mail hauberk, with additional pieces of riveted leather used to reinforce vital areas of her body. Her spare clothing consists of a bra, panties, silk shirt, silk trousers, a heavy insulated jacket, and a spare pair of knee high boots. She is very rarely ever seen out of her armor and is almost never seen without any clothes on. Though the clothing she does posses is very exotic to anyone that has never set foot in Hammerfell, but that does not mean her armor isn't practical in it's purpose.

Back-story: Andalah was born to a family of farmers in Dragonstar, Hammerfell. Her family did not posses an exuberant amount of wealth but they were seen as part of the 'noble' class in Dragonstar. Andalah's father Masyaf Hajjar was a farmer and a great friend to the cities municipality. He was an extremely skilled farmer and outdoors-man, so skilled that he had garnered a reputation in the region for growing the best crops and scoring the heartiest of prey during his hunts.

Andalah's mother Jade was unfortunately not as well respected as her husband. She was born in the Imperial City to a family of mages that had been banished from Hammerfell 3 generations prior. It was in the Imperial City that she studied in the art of Restoration magic for most of her younger years under the full support of her family. When she was older she returned to Hammerfell only to meet the disdain of it's people. The people of Hammerfell are highly skeptical of mages and most outright hate them.

This treatment is what forced Jade to seek refuge in the border town of Dragonstar. Since Dragonstar is so close to the Highrock border it is not uncommon for Breton mages to pass through or visit. So the city has adopted a more lenient policy on mages, regardless some people still stand firm in their beliefs, so Jade is forced to stay home caring for the children and helping on the farm.

Ever since Andalah was born hard work was all she knew. The only girl in a family of 6 boys she was seen as an odd sight. Her affinity for magic didn't help things either, but her mother being a mage as well was all to familiar with the reactions certain people had towards mages, so she helped her daughter hide her gift. Andalah was bullied by her brothers a lot growing up and even the other children in the city harassed her. Life was rough for her and she spent most of her time on the farm or in the woods with her father.

Aside from her mother Masyaf was the only person who didn't criticize Andalah. He seen her as the greatest gift of all, and loved her very much. It was with this admiration that he raised her the best he could, he took her hunting at every opportunity, and would treat her to the finest goods in the market. His treatment of Andalah may not of helped with her brother's harassment but his stern response usually did. Regardless of how hard her parents tried to care for and protect her, she still received abuse from her brothers. They would beat her when their parents where not around, at one point they stripped her and abused her for two days while their parents left, intrusting her care to the eldest brother who became the most heinous of abusers.

Andalah was left emotionally scarred from their treatment and when her parents found out they were heartbroken. Masyaf felt that he had failed as a father, for he was unable to protect his young and fragile daughter from the abuse she had received from her own brothers. Not sure what to do he sent her away with her mother so she would no longer have to face her brothers. It was with great sorrow that Jade and Andalah departed from Dragonstar and headed into High Rock. Jade had friends in the Jehanna royal court that would look after them until Andalah was old enough to be on her own.

Although the exodus from her home removed Andalah from the hell she once received. She was left forever broken from the experience. It was months until she spoke again, and even then she was so fearful of her every word that she barely spoke. Jade's friend however was the court mage for Lord Benoit Etienne and he took Andalah under his wing. It was this mentor-ship that helped Andalah recover, she became more focused on her studies then her past life. Her mentor was a Dunmer from Suran, he had fled Morrowind during the eruption of the Red Mountain and with the winds of fate found himself in High Rock. At first Andalah was fearful of him as she was with most men, they quickly struck a kinship. It was with his help that she honed her skills in Illusion magic and came into the service of Lord Benoit himself. He needed a care giver for his daughter, and the Dunmer always seeing an opportunity when one reveals itself, quickly used his influence with the Lord to get Andalah into the position.

At first Andalah was very shy and nervous, she barely spoke to the young woman and only did what she was told. The poor girl was lost in the world she clung to the Dunmer and never wanted to leave his side. Her mother a few days earlier had mysteriously died in her sleep, no one knew why but Andalah was devastated. Her mentor knew the circumstances behind her death though, for he had killed her. He was hired many years ago to kill off all of the members of Jade's family, he didn't ask why but it was his obligation to fulfill his contract. He was a over 200 years old serving as an assassin for the Morag Tong for most of his life, when he killed Jade he cried uncontrollably for the first time since his family was killed in their attempt to flee the Red Mountain eruption.

So many targets have fallen to his blade but this was the first time he felt empathy for one of them. Burdened so greatly by his guilt he felt obligated to raise Andalah as his daughter, at least until she could be returned to her father. It was hard for both of them, Andalah never truly recovered from her mothers death, and the Dunmer fought back tears every time he was with Andalah. It was in these dark times that Andalah sought comfort in the one she cared for. Sigourney who was not much older than Andalah at the time was looked at as more of a mother figure than anything else, and it was in the service of Sigourney that Andalah received the nickname 'Ana' mostly because Sigourney had trouble pronouncing her name.

The two's relationship turned from one of a mother and daughter to that of lovers. Not only was such a thing strange in High Rock it was also frowned upon in. Once again Andalah had to endure harassment from her peers and when Sigourney eventually fled Jehanna her beloved 'Ana' was left behind. Her only friend being her caregiver, Salvas Indrano, he was still stricken with sorrow but was honor bound to care for Andalah. Going against his oath of service to Lord Benoit he fled Jehanna with Andalah in toe. Neither of them have been seen since they fled the city and not even Andalah's father knows where they are.

Race: Nord

Gender: Male

Age: Thirty-two

Appearance: A sturdy built Nord of around average height, blue of eye and light brown of hair. His complexion is poor, pock-marked and rough from the cold winds of his homeland. Small patches of hair and stubble spread across his jawline, and his hair is worn at neck-length with a single braid running from fringe to behind his right ear.

Personality: Egil is a straight-edge through and through, despite being one more inclined to keep his opinions to himself.

Birthsign: The Lord

Class/Skills: Medium Armour, Block, One-handed (Sword & Axe), Crafting (Woodwork).

Inventory: Common clothing made of linen and wool in a mixture of browns and greys. Calf-length leather boots, Fur-trimmed cloak. Nordic Byrnie (Chainshirt), Gauntlets and Nasal Helm. Nordic Broadsword in a brown leather sheath, two iron axes for throwing/utility, and a large round shield. Whetstone, bedroll and other basic supplies.

Other information:

Backstory: As the son of Eorn, Egil was born into a middle class working family of Morthal. His father had his own ship, running supplies between the various holds of Skyrim, whilst his mother kept the home in a reasonable state. Egil wanted to follow his fathers footsteps as most boys do, and was taken with his father from a young age on trips throughout Tamriel, visiting as far as Highrock and the Imperial city. Once of age, he took off from the family home in order to better understand how the world works and earn his own way in the world.

As is often the case, Egil didn't find as much success as he'd wished. He took in with the fighters guild of Wayrest, High Rock but found himself longing for home after little more than a year on his own.