» Tue Feb 26, 2013 7:34 pm An Elder Scrolls Roleplay
GM's:
August Kohr1993
The Pompous Altmer
Ra'Bassa
http://www.gamesas.com/topic/1439540-seasons-end-sign-upooc-thread/
It has been three long years since the Helgen Incident. Three long, bloody years for Skyrim. The country has been wracked with war, destroying more homes and families every day. But all that was coming to an end, at last. With a fresh legion from High Rock, and more and more conscripts in the Western Holds, The Empire began winning battles. After the battle of Whiterun, Imperial troops began pushing farther and farther into Ulfric's holds. A year after Whiterun, Dawnstar also fell, and it's port once again became a safe haven for the Imperial Navy. With the year after that, General Alain Weyler, a skilled tactician from High Rock, led his legions through the ruins of Helgen and directly into the Rift, taking Ivarstead and soon Riften as well.
The Stormcloaks were on the brink of collapse. The taigas north of the Rift were constantly falling between Imperial and Stormcloak power, while Winterhold was cut off from most of the supplies it had once received from friendly Holds. Either through attrition, or conquest, Skyrim would soon be a stable, if damaged, Imperial Province once again.
However, such success was not present in other parts of the Empire. Cyrodiil's border with Valenwood and Elsweyr's kingdoms had become quite unsafe, with constant border disagreements and skirmishes resulting. Thalmor diplomatic relations were quickly failing as well, as many Thalmor believed that Talos worship was still going strong throughout the Empire. A petty claim for war, some would say. But the Thalmor were nontheless insistent that the White-Gold Concordant was being breached.
In the waning months of 4E 203, the Aldmeri Dominion demanded that Cyrodiil cede the city of Anvil and the majority of the Gold Coast to them, as reparations for alleged damages to border settlements in Valenwood. The Empire adamantly refused, hoping that a show of backbone would dissuade the Dominion from any rash moves. Unfortunantly, the Aldmeri Dominion invaded Cyrodiil for the second time, and took Anvil once again. Fighting erupted throughout southern Cyrodiil, and war was declared soon after. While the Empire was not as ill-prepared for this second war, it still proved terrible. The entire border of the Imperial Province became host to battles between Legions and Thalmor armies, each trying to take a foothold in the other's lands, while hold onto their own.
It was only two months after the war broke out that the unthinkable happened. A Dominion Fleet, larger than any ever seen in past battles with the Thalmor, attacked Skyrim. Some believe that while the Empire's troops and attention was focused on it's southern borders, the Dominion sailed completely around Argonia and Morrowind, a massive undertaking that would have taken months of planning and arranging beforehand. Others are convinced that Aldmeri Wizard-Lords opened portals straight to Alinor's ports in the vast sea north of Skyrim, giving the fleets a fresh supply route after they attacked. Theories mattered little, when compared to the actual invasion.
The Thalmor fleet first attacked Dawnstar, with such ferocity that only a handful of runners could escape the Massacre of Dawnstar. The Imperial Fleet there was completely destroyed, most ships burned down before the deckhands could even wake. A massive Dominion army then moved south to occupy Fort Dunstad, and block off any and all movements into the Pale. The fleet then split off into two more groups, with a strong siege force attacking Solitude, and a second group of smaller, troop-transports filling into the White River to take Eastmarch.
Skyrim, already weak and battered from years of civil war, now faces an even more powerful enemy then itself. Tired, weather-worn Legions face fresh, eager Dominion armies, wielding weapons, magics, and even soldiers that the Empire has hardly faced before. The Stormcloaks are shattered with the Sack of Windhelm, with some fleeing south to join the Empire to fight a common enemy, and others fleeing north, namely Ulfric Stormcloak himself, to find safe haven in Winterhold, whose steep cliffs and harsh climate deterred an immediate Thalmor invasion.
This is where you come in.
The Roleplay Itself:
It has been four days since the Aldmeri Dominion invaded Skyrim. You can start in or near one of two places, where will we focus the story for now;
The Siege of Solitude
Solitude has been placed under a vicious siege by the Thalmor, who seem intent on disrupting Imperial power as early as possible in the invasion. Siege camps dot the swamps to the east, firing artillery at Solitude's Arch. Several heavily-armed camps surround the city, regularly making charges on the gates, and attempting to scale the walls with ladders and ropes. The city proper was attacked before the gates were shut, and many civilians and soldiers alike are dead or wounded. General Tullius himself was lost in that battle, leaving the command of Solitude's defenses to a younger officer. Will you be an archer on the walls, or a healer in the streets? A brave knight looking for a battle, or a blacksmith overwhelmed with repairs and the horrors of actual war?
The Refugees' Path
Windhelm was lost almost immediately. The Dominion surged through the city from the docks, cutting down everyone in their path in what became known as the Sack of Windhelm. The City of Kings now lies in ruin as the Fortress of Elves. During the sacking, many people were able to escape south out of the gates, just before the Dominion troops took the bridge and gatehouses. While Dominion cavalry soon slaughtered most of the survivors on foot, a few groups ran southeast instead of straight south, knowing that cavalry would have trouble chasing them into the foothills of the Velothi Mountains. Most of these survivors have enough ties to the Stormcloaks to avoid moving south to the Rift, for fear of Imperial jails. So the only ways left are north, or east, both being dangerous enough to consider prison a better option. Eventually, the only option is to flee north, across the mouth of the White River, and hope that Winterhold is a safe haven for the Stormcloaks. Will you be a wounded craftsman, or a Stormcloak officer? Will you flee north because of fear of the Empire, or to protect a headstrong loved one?
BASIC RULES:
-Whatever a GM says, goes. Simple as that. We'll try not to be Nazi's though.
-This is NOT a war sim. While I can see one or two players commanding some troops, do it as a story, not as statistics and constant combat. This story is about the character, not the armies.
-Start with one of the groups listed above. While I do hope to eventually bring the two groups together towards central Skyrim, that won't be for some time, so avoid making a character in Whiterun or something. I mean, he can be FROM Whiterun, and that'd even make for a good tale. But we won't be going too far out of Solitude or Eastmarch for a little bit.
-Any basic RP rules and manners that I didn't mention in specific.
-Let's not do one or two sentence posts. I can understand a post being short if you're having a conversation with other players, but don't milk it. I prefer quality to quantity.
-Every player can have a few NPC's if they want, just include a very brief detail about them in your character sheet. But let's not have massive groups here gang.
-NO. THALMOR. PLAYERS. I have alot of ideas in mind for the Thalmor's intentions, and don't want them to be revealed any time soon. I'm strict about this.
-Be aware that the game Skyrim is scaled down quite a bit. So, cities don't have a population of about twenty or thirty people, they can contain hundreds or thousands of people. And you can't walk from Windhelm to Riften in a day, it's be more like a week or so on foot.
-Have fun, and let's all try to weave one great story here. This is my first roleplay I've ever GM'd, so I'm pretty pumped.
Some Helpful Information;
These are the Theatres of War in Skyrim right now. I will try to include most of these places at some point in the story, but this is mostly for you to get an idea of how Skyrim fares in the war so far. Suffice it to say, not very well.
WESTERN THEATRE;
Haafingar: The city of Solitude is under siege by a Dominion Army, and cut off from any outside help. The mountains west of the city are dotted with Thalmor camps as well. The Hold is considered lost for now.
Hjaalmarch: After sacking the village of Morthal, the Dominion mostly ignored this hold. A handful of siege camps are in the parts of swamp nearest Solitude, but the only parts of this Hold considered lost are those nearest the river.
The Reach: The Dominion isn't foolhardy enough to send an army into the Reach, but several smaller raiding parties will occasionally harass the settlements, always giving Markarth a wide berth. With Solitude besieged, Markarth has become the center of Western Imperial power and resistance to the Thalmor.
CENTRAL THEATRE;
The Pale: Communications with Dawnstar have been lost, aside from the initial riders who were able to escape the Dominion's Army. It is believed that the town was massacred, and the port made into the Thalmor's center of military power in Skyrim. No scouts have been able to proceed north of Fort Dunstad, which is now home to a massive Thalmor garrison. It's from Fort Dunstad that the Thalmor constantly launch small-scale attacks on Whiterun Hold. The Pale is considered out of all the Holds right now to be the least likely to be taken back from the Dominion's grasp.
Whiterun Hold: Thanks to reinforcements from Falkreath Hold, Whiterun stands strong against the Thalmor's invasion. War parties are constantly going back and forth between the northern plains and farms of the hold, and cavalry clashes make up the majority of the fighting. Neither side really has enough power at the moment to force any footholds into either one's territory, and fighting between Dominion forces and the Empire is fierce and constant. Whiterun's forces will soon grow tired though, and many fear that if it fell, so too would the rest of Skyrim.
Falkreath Hold: Not threatened directly by the Thalmor at all presently, but now overrun with refugees from neighboring holds. Camps dot the Hold, and the tensions strain between natives of Falkreath and refugees being forced south by warfare.
EASTERN THEATRE;
Winterhold: The Thalmor seemed to have diverted either few or no troops to take this Hold, knowing that it's harsh winter-time climate would prevent an easy victory, and that it's seaside cliffs were too steep to attack. When Windhelm fell, many Stormcloaks fled to Winterhold, including Ulfric himself, and it is now the only place they control to any degree. Communications with Winterhold are almost non-existent, apart from reports that magical barriers now surround the city itself, and many consider the Hold lost simply by proximity to other lost Holds.
Eastmarch: A large Dominion fleet poured into the White River, taking both sides of it quickly. Windhelm fell in a single night, and is now a bastion of Elven power. The taiga south of the city itself is slowly being overrun, but Imperial and Stormcloak forces in the region have united to face a common foe, forcing the elves to fight for every inch of ground they want. Even with the harsh resistance by the Empire and Stormcloaks, the Hold is considered a lost cause by most.
The Rift: Before the Thalmor Invasion, Imperial Legions were gathering in the Rift for an invasion of Windhelm, fortifying it heavily along its northern natural border with Eastmarch. Once the Thalmor invaded, Imperial riders immediately rode north to help evacuate the southern settlements of Eastmarch. Troops from the Rift are now fighting a losing rearguard battle in Eastmarch, but will hold fast at the mountains in the north of the Rift, preventing the Dominion from climbing them anywhere. Riften has become more of an Imperial Fortress than a city now, and this has caused much resent with the city's nobles, who are rumored to be Thalmor supporters. However, the Rift is nontheless the Empire's most powerful hold in Skyrim currently, with it's Legions there being at their largest.
SIGN-UP:
As people post their character sheets, I'll try to keep them organized here. I'll have my own up here soon, once I get this posted and saved. As for the sheet layout, just use the basic one you find in the "So You Think You Can RP" thread. Great stuff in there, btw.
To prevent this having too many players, I'll be setting a limit of four or five players in each of the two areas. A player can have as many characters as they can handle, but don't let having too many characters cause everyone's actions and feelings to become watered-down.
The Refugees' Path
August Kohr1993:
Uther Elf-Blood, Nordic Warden
Spoiler
Name: Uther Vidarrson, Uther Elf-Blood
Race: Nord
Age: 36
Birthdate: 3rd of Sun's Dusk, 4E 167
Birthsign: The Atronach
Class: Warden
Class Description: A Warden is an older, Nordic take on the Battlemage. When humans first settled Skyrim, they often battled with the native elf races, who were naturally proficient at magic. While some men learned to throw fireballs and summon daedra like their foes, others chose a different path. They learned to shield themselves from spells, and how to use magicka purely to disrupt others' flow of power. These first few Wardens would charge into battle headfirst at wizards, absorbing frostbolts, deflecting bolts of lightning, and walking right through walls of magical flames, swords-swinging at the throats of their foes. These early Wardens were seen as heroes to simpler folk, men who balanced out the magic the elves would bring to battle.A Warden's first advantage comes from his understanding of Restoration magic, specifically in avoiding damage itself. They use powerful shield spells, and sometimes even passive wards, to act as a first line of defense against spellcasters. More experienced Wardens can bring forth barriers just large enough and for a just enough time to deflect a single spell, saving magicka costs greatly.
The Warden's second advantage is in his usage of Alteration magic. A Warden, just like any other magic-user, only has so much magicka to begin with. Using Alteration, the Wardens learn not only to passively resist basic spells, but to absorb the energy in them as well. This enables a Warden to do what he does for a longer time before burning out.The Warden's final advantage is his weapon. After closing between him and his foe, the Warden shows great dexterity with whatever weapon they have chosen, and make short work of mages without actual weapons training.
Some Wardens also make use of basic destruction spells for distance-based battles, and often wear thick heavy armor in battle. Their weakness however, lies in their role in battle. A Warden is deployed in war only for one reason: to slay a powerful spellcaster on the other side. The skillset Wardens use make for a perfect mage-slayer, but against a handful of swordsman, the Warden is as vulnerable as any other similarily-armed man. Wardens have also been known to fall against a barrage of spells, usually when the casters outnumbed the Wardens greatly. All in all, Wardens are great one-on-one fighters, but fail to shine on the field of battle.Skills: Blade, Restoration, Alteration, Heavy Armor, Block, Destruction
General Appearance: Built like a bear, Uther takes after his father physically. One look at him would suggest a barbarian, dues to his lowbrow, large nose, and warrior's jaw. His eyes have a natural shadow beneath them, from so many nights spent reading tomes in low light. His eyes are a deep green, like his mother's. His hair is sandy blonde, and is more or less straight, reaching down his neck and to his shoulders. He often keeps his hair in a braid behind his neck for battle or formal occasions.
Personality: Uther is loyal to a fault, going so far as to serve a cause that he doesn't fully believe in just for his family's sake. His personality reflects the way he fights, somewhat. He is mostly withdrawn, preferring to protect his feelings and trust at the sake of not making friends as quickly. He can handle large loads of stress without losing his head usually, and tries to take the smartest path out of any bad situation. His sense of humor is a bit uplifted, thanks to his years at the College, and he sometimes has trouble getting along with the simpler minded folk he is often around. That isn't to say that he's hostile to them - he just tries not to get too involved with them. While he doesn't feel like a natural leader, he often tries to take the reins of any situation he's involved in, if only to help the group better get through it. This can be seen as him being controlling at times.Clothing/Armor: For clothing, Uther wears a thick fur cloak, with a simple tunic and pants dyed in deep, earthen colors. He also wears a pair of thick leather gloves, and similar boots. Uther's armor is the standard steel style worn in Skyrim, with his fur cloak draqed over his pauldrons, and a plain, unadorned steel helmet.
Weapons: A nordic longsword, made of steel and quicksilver. Shaped with a straight back, but a thicker curved tip. The blade was forged a foot longer than most of it's style, and more length was added to the hilt, making it an efficient hand-and-a-half sword.History: Uther was the third son of Vidarr, a powerful Thane of Eastmarch. While both of his brothers and father went off to be young heroes in the Great War, Uther was too young to leave Skyrim. So, the nine-year-old Nord was sent north, to live with his Aunt in Winterhold, at the College. Uther's aunt had never gotten along with Vidarr, and the siblings' relationship had at times been borderline abusive, but she was a decent woman and held no resent to Uther for his father's actions. She was unable, or unwilling, to bear children, and Uther quickly became the son she never had. A mage of great power, she molded the young child into an inquisitive, quick-to-learn teenager. Uther took to learning of magic with much gusto, having never been exposed to such things in Windhelm.
When his father and only one brother returned from the war, they sent for Uther's return as well. He came back to Windhelm as a different person, but soon discovered he also now had a different family. His father had once been a loud, happy man(if somewhat close-minded), but turned to drinking when Uther's oldest brother fell in battle to the elves. Uther's living brother, Svaniir, had earned much accolade as a hero in the south, and allowed it to fill his ego. Uther would endure much torment from his family for the next few years.His father became abusive, both emotionally and physically at times, and if he hadn't already been a Thane and war hero, his antics in the Palace of Kings would have had his head on a spike. He constantly pushed Uther to become a great warrior like Svaniir, and to forget the foolishness he had learned in Winterhold. He soon even made magic in his presence a crime, worthy of quite the beating.
Svaniir wasn't much better. He and Uther would train with the Jarl's men in the yard, and though Svaniir had experience in battle, it soon became apparent that Uther was a natural with a sword. Out of jealousy and spite, Svaniir soon took to publicly embarassing Uther at every chance, making his younger brother the talk of the city, "Thane Vidarr's useless son." Svaniir, after discovering his brother reading about magic and practicing in private, even went so far as to spread it out that Uther was a bastard, born of his father and an elf-[censored] he had won. Combine this with Uther's skill with magic, and the nickname "Uther Elf-Blood" soon became more common than his actual name.When he came of age, Uther returned to Winterhold to continue his learning. He spent nearly five years there, only leaving when his aunt passed from age and illness. On his return, he became involved in Ulfric's Rebellion against the Empire, out of some unhealthy loyalty to his father, not loyalty to Ulfric or his ways. Having learned more of the Warden's craft, Uther soon became a well-known Stormcloak officer. After several engagements with Imperial troops, he gained fame with his soldiers as a skilled mage-slayer. This fame also garnered him a large bounty in the Empire, and his nickname, "Uther Elf-Blood", soon became a feared title to Imperial battlemages.
Race: Nord
Age: 36
Birthdate: 3rd of Sun's Dusk, 4E 167
Birthsign: The Atronach
Class: Warden
Class Description: A Warden is an older, Nordic take on the Battlemage. When humans first settled Skyrim, they often battled with the native elf races, who were naturally proficient at magic. While some men learned to throw fireballs and summon daedra like their foes, others chose a different path. They learned to shield themselves from spells, and how to use magicka purely to disrupt others' flow of power. These first few Wardens would charge into battle headfirst at wizards, absorbing frostbolts, deflecting bolts of lightning, and walking right through walls of magical flames, swords-swinging at the throats of their foes. These early Wardens were seen as heroes to simpler folk, men who balanced out the magic the elves would bring to battle.A Warden's first advantage comes from his understanding of Restoration magic, specifically in avoiding damage itself. They use powerful shield spells, and sometimes even passive wards, to act as a first line of defense against spellcasters. More experienced Wardens can bring forth barriers just large enough and for a just enough time to deflect a single spell, saving magicka costs greatly.
The Warden's second advantage is in his usage of Alteration magic. A Warden, just like any other magic-user, only has so much magicka to begin with. Using Alteration, the Wardens learn not only to passively resist basic spells, but to absorb the energy in them as well. This enables a Warden to do what he does for a longer time before burning out.The Warden's final advantage is his weapon. After closing between him and his foe, the Warden shows great dexterity with whatever weapon they have chosen, and make short work of mages without actual weapons training.
Some Wardens also make use of basic destruction spells for distance-based battles, and often wear thick heavy armor in battle. Their weakness however, lies in their role in battle. A Warden is deployed in war only for one reason: to slay a powerful spellcaster on the other side. The skillset Wardens use make for a perfect mage-slayer, but against a handful of swordsman, the Warden is as vulnerable as any other similarily-armed man. Wardens have also been known to fall against a barrage of spells, usually when the casters outnumbed the Wardens greatly. All in all, Wardens are great one-on-one fighters, but fail to shine on the field of battle.Skills: Blade, Restoration, Alteration, Heavy Armor, Block, Destruction
General Appearance: Built like a bear, Uther takes after his father physically. One look at him would suggest a barbarian, dues to his lowbrow, large nose, and warrior's jaw. His eyes have a natural shadow beneath them, from so many nights spent reading tomes in low light. His eyes are a deep green, like his mother's. His hair is sandy blonde, and is more or less straight, reaching down his neck and to his shoulders. He often keeps his hair in a braid behind his neck for battle or formal occasions.
Personality: Uther is loyal to a fault, going so far as to serve a cause that he doesn't fully believe in just for his family's sake. His personality reflects the way he fights, somewhat. He is mostly withdrawn, preferring to protect his feelings and trust at the sake of not making friends as quickly. He can handle large loads of stress without losing his head usually, and tries to take the smartest path out of any bad situation. His sense of humor is a bit uplifted, thanks to his years at the College, and he sometimes has trouble getting along with the simpler minded folk he is often around. That isn't to say that he's hostile to them - he just tries not to get too involved with them. While he doesn't feel like a natural leader, he often tries to take the reins of any situation he's involved in, if only to help the group better get through it. This can be seen as him being controlling at times.Clothing/Armor: For clothing, Uther wears a thick fur cloak, with a simple tunic and pants dyed in deep, earthen colors. He also wears a pair of thick leather gloves, and similar boots. Uther's armor is the standard steel style worn in Skyrim, with his fur cloak draqed over his pauldrons, and a plain, unadorned steel helmet.
Weapons: A nordic longsword, made of steel and quicksilver. Shaped with a straight back, but a thicker curved tip. The blade was forged a foot longer than most of it's style, and more length was added to the hilt, making it an efficient hand-and-a-half sword.History: Uther was the third son of Vidarr, a powerful Thane of Eastmarch. While both of his brothers and father went off to be young heroes in the Great War, Uther was too young to leave Skyrim. So, the nine-year-old Nord was sent north, to live with his Aunt in Winterhold, at the College. Uther's aunt had never gotten along with Vidarr, and the siblings' relationship had at times been borderline abusive, but she was a decent woman and held no resent to Uther for his father's actions. She was unable, or unwilling, to bear children, and Uther quickly became the son she never had. A mage of great power, she molded the young child into an inquisitive, quick-to-learn teenager. Uther took to learning of magic with much gusto, having never been exposed to such things in Windhelm.
When his father and only one brother returned from the war, they sent for Uther's return as well. He came back to Windhelm as a different person, but soon discovered he also now had a different family. His father had once been a loud, happy man(if somewhat close-minded), but turned to drinking when Uther's oldest brother fell in battle to the elves. Uther's living brother, Svaniir, had earned much accolade as a hero in the south, and allowed it to fill his ego. Uther would endure much torment from his family for the next few years.His father became abusive, both emotionally and physically at times, and if he hadn't already been a Thane and war hero, his antics in the Palace of Kings would have had his head on a spike. He constantly pushed Uther to become a great warrior like Svaniir, and to forget the foolishness he had learned in Winterhold. He soon even made magic in his presence a crime, worthy of quite the beating.
Svaniir wasn't much better. He and Uther would train with the Jarl's men in the yard, and though Svaniir had experience in battle, it soon became apparent that Uther was a natural with a sword. Out of jealousy and spite, Svaniir soon took to publicly embarassing Uther at every chance, making his younger brother the talk of the city, "Thane Vidarr's useless son." Svaniir, after discovering his brother reading about magic and practicing in private, even went so far as to spread it out that Uther was a bastard, born of his father and an elf-[censored] he had won. Combine this with Uther's skill with magic, and the nickname "Uther Elf-Blood" soon became more common than his actual name.When he came of age, Uther returned to Winterhold to continue his learning. He spent nearly five years there, only leaving when his aunt passed from age and illness. On his return, he became involved in Ulfric's Rebellion against the Empire, out of some unhealthy loyalty to his father, not loyalty to Ulfric or his ways. Having learned more of the Warden's craft, Uther soon became a well-known Stormcloak officer. After several engagements with Imperial troops, he gained fame with his soldiers as a skilled mage-slayer. This fame also garnered him a large bounty in the Empire, and his nickname, "Uther Elf-Blood", soon became a feared title to Imperial battlemages.
Madhog:
Heddvi "The Headless" Valund, Nordic Warrior
Spoiler
Name: Heddvi “The Headless” Valund
Race: Nord
Age: 29
Birthsign: The Warrior
Class: Warrior
Skills: Two-handed, Heavy Armor, Block, One-Handed, Survival, Hand to Hand
General Appearance: This
Personality: Fearsome and stern, Heddvi does what she has to to survive. She has a short temper and a loud mouth. She is constantly taking risks to prove herself in her dead father's eyes, and can be quite head-strong and reckless. When she gets some ale in her, she becomes very loud and cheerful.
Clothing/Armor: Wears heavy chain-mail under her Stormcloak garments during combat. Outside of combat she wraps herself in warm furs and thick cloaks.
Weapons: A large Nordic battle-axe which once belonged to her father. Also carries the sword that Runar crafted for their father.
History: Born and raised in the small town of Riverwood, Heddvi was a loud and boisterous child. Her father was a great warrior and armorer, and her brother was highly skilled in smithing.
Often they would go out fighting together, their father teaching them all he knew. Heddvi loved the thrill of fighting, and quickly developed a great skill for combat. She would love to go out with her father and fight Skeevers, enjoying his company immensely.
Her brother fashioned a sword for her father, and he handed his old batle-axe to his daughter as a present. She practised with it day and night, growing bitter towards her brother who was getting all her father's praise. She grew reckless and desperate for attention, and took mad risks to try and win back her father. But no matter how many trolls she killed, or how many deer she butchered, her father always scolded her for being to reckless.
Finally she grew sick of his neglect, and hatched a plan to dispose of her brother. She planned to take him into the woods, and leave him there for several days. Then she would return to him, and bring him home to her grief-stricken father, and bathe in the glory of her heroics. Unfortunately as she was making her way through the woods, she heard cries from the village. The place was shrouded in chaos and destruction of a battle between the Stormcloaks and The Legion. She watched as her father was butchered, and her brother fell to the ground sobbing. She however, leapt to her feet and charged madly into the battle seeking revenge. She cut down everyone in her path, fighting to get to her father's corpse. She fell beside the near-dead corpse and leaned close to hear his last words. “I love you. I always have.”
She reeled back, tears forming in her eyes. She remebered what she had tried to do to her brother and fell to her father's sword, grasping it tightly until she fell asleep.
She awoke to the sound of men's voices and cursing. Stormcloaks were all around her, celebrating their victory. They remebered her fierce attack on the field, and recruited her to their ranks. She held on to her father's sword, and vowed to return it to her brother to attone for what she had done.
After several months in the Stormcloaks, she ahs earned the nickname Heddvi The Headless, due to her ability to remove the skulls of her foes. During the Sack of Windhelm, she fought valiantly, but was forced to flee as the city was overrun.
Race: Nord
Age: 29
Birthsign: The Warrior
Class: Warrior
Skills: Two-handed, Heavy Armor, Block, One-Handed, Survival, Hand to Hand
General Appearance: This
Personality: Fearsome and stern, Heddvi does what she has to to survive. She has a short temper and a loud mouth. She is constantly taking risks to prove herself in her dead father's eyes, and can be quite head-strong and reckless. When she gets some ale in her, she becomes very loud and cheerful.
Clothing/Armor: Wears heavy chain-mail under her Stormcloak garments during combat. Outside of combat she wraps herself in warm furs and thick cloaks.
Weapons: A large Nordic battle-axe which once belonged to her father. Also carries the sword that Runar crafted for their father.
History: Born and raised in the small town of Riverwood, Heddvi was a loud and boisterous child. Her father was a great warrior and armorer, and her brother was highly skilled in smithing.
Often they would go out fighting together, their father teaching them all he knew. Heddvi loved the thrill of fighting, and quickly developed a great skill for combat. She would love to go out with her father and fight Skeevers, enjoying his company immensely.
Her brother fashioned a sword for her father, and he handed his old batle-axe to his daughter as a present. She practised with it day and night, growing bitter towards her brother who was getting all her father's praise. She grew reckless and desperate for attention, and took mad risks to try and win back her father. But no matter how many trolls she killed, or how many deer she butchered, her father always scolded her for being to reckless.
Finally she grew sick of his neglect, and hatched a plan to dispose of her brother. She planned to take him into the woods, and leave him there for several days. Then she would return to him, and bring him home to her grief-stricken father, and bathe in the glory of her heroics. Unfortunately as she was making her way through the woods, she heard cries from the village. The place was shrouded in chaos and destruction of a battle between the Stormcloaks and The Legion. She watched as her father was butchered, and her brother fell to the ground sobbing. She however, leapt to her feet and charged madly into the battle seeking revenge. She cut down everyone in her path, fighting to get to her father's corpse. She fell beside the near-dead corpse and leaned close to hear his last words. “I love you. I always have.”
She reeled back, tears forming in her eyes. She remebered what she had tried to do to her brother and fell to her father's sword, grasping it tightly until she fell asleep.
She awoke to the sound of men's voices and cursing. Stormcloaks were all around her, celebrating their victory. They remebered her fierce attack on the field, and recruited her to their ranks. She held on to her father's sword, and vowed to return it to her brother to attone for what she had done.
After several months in the Stormcloaks, she ahs earned the nickname Heddvi The Headless, due to her ability to remove the skulls of her foes. During the Sack of Windhelm, she fought valiantly, but was forced to flee as the city was overrun.
exile19:
Rex Afrikanus, Dunmeri Veteran
Spoiler
Name: Rex Afrikanus
Age: 100
Birth Date: 3rd of Hearth Fire
Sign: The Serpent
Gender: Male
Race: Dunmer
Height/build/body features: 6 ft and 185 lbs He has a ponytail with a knot.
Facial features: He has a facial scare on his face in the shape of a claw mark. He has an unshaven face and red eyes. He also has a Dunmer tattoo on his face in light blue.
Armor and clothing: He wears Bonemold armor.
Weapons: He has a Bow along with two scimitars for close quarters.
Miscellaneous Items: He carries a copy of Immortal blood....and the Lusty Argonian Maiden and carries Alchemical ingredients and equipment. He also has a War-Dog named Arcturus.
Personality: Serious when the situations demands but joking in a casual occasion.
History: Born to Netch farmers in Morrowind, Rex was born on the day on Tales and Tallows under the sign of the Serpent. Born on the day of spirits to the darkest sign, many believed that due to his sign of and day of birth, he was to grow up cursed and forsaken. When Rex lost his family to the Argonians during the Invasion, that was all but confirmed. For much of his life he thought the rest of his life was to be a cursed, wretched existence but then he was taken in by the Imperial Cult and learned the ways of the Empire. Despite still adhering to the Native Tribunal Temple, he adopted Imperial Custom as well. To honor this He changed his name and adopted an Imperial name, Rex Afrikanus. For much of his younger years he served as a Witch-Hunter to the Temple and Cult, hunting Vampires, Ghosts, necromancers, and all kinds of Dark Creatures throughout Morrowind trying to out live his birth day; he even hunted remnants of the 6th house, earning his scar fighting an ascended sleeper. When the Red Year occurred, he evacuated to Cyrodiil and settled in Anvil as a wine maker and part time alchemist. When the Great War began, Rex repaid his debts to the Cult and joined the Legion. He served as a Decurion, a Cavalry Officer, and fought at numerous battles during the great war including the Escape and recapture of the Imperial City. His unit would gain distinction and, after the war, he would retire with full benefits Later, Rex would retire with full benefits, traveling and trying to help his fellow Dunmer. Recently, he traveled to Windhelm to asses the situation of his people the Gray Quarter but before he could do any real help, the war happened...
Age: 100
Birth Date: 3rd of Hearth Fire
Sign: The Serpent
Gender: Male
Race: Dunmer
Height/build/body features: 6 ft and 185 lbs He has a ponytail with a knot.
Facial features: He has a facial scare on his face in the shape of a claw mark. He has an unshaven face and red eyes. He also has a Dunmer tattoo on his face in light blue.
Armor and clothing: He wears Bonemold armor.
Weapons: He has a Bow along with two scimitars for close quarters.
Miscellaneous Items: He carries a copy of Immortal blood....and the Lusty Argonian Maiden and carries Alchemical ingredients and equipment. He also has a War-Dog named Arcturus.
Personality: Serious when the situations demands but joking in a casual occasion.
History: Born to Netch farmers in Morrowind, Rex was born on the day on Tales and Tallows under the sign of the Serpent. Born on the day of spirits to the darkest sign, many believed that due to his sign of and day of birth, he was to grow up cursed and forsaken. When Rex lost his family to the Argonians during the Invasion, that was all but confirmed. For much of his life he thought the rest of his life was to be a cursed, wretched existence but then he was taken in by the Imperial Cult and learned the ways of the Empire. Despite still adhering to the Native Tribunal Temple, he adopted Imperial Custom as well. To honor this He changed his name and adopted an Imperial name, Rex Afrikanus. For much of his younger years he served as a Witch-Hunter to the Temple and Cult, hunting Vampires, Ghosts, necromancers, and all kinds of Dark Creatures throughout Morrowind trying to out live his birth day; he even hunted remnants of the 6th house, earning his scar fighting an ascended sleeper. When the Red Year occurred, he evacuated to Cyrodiil and settled in Anvil as a wine maker and part time alchemist. When the Great War began, Rex repaid his debts to the Cult and joined the Legion. He served as a Decurion, a Cavalry Officer, and fought at numerous battles during the great war including the Escape and recapture of the Imperial City. His unit would gain distinction and, after the war, he would retire with full benefits Later, Rex would retire with full benefits, traveling and trying to help his fellow Dunmer. Recently, he traveled to Windhelm to asses the situation of his people the Gray Quarter but before he could do any real help, the war happened...
BethesdaGamerNewbie:
Sylvan, Bosmeri Archer
Spoiler
Name: Sylvan
Race: Bosmer
Age: 31
Birth sign: Thief
Class: Marksman/ Archer
Skills: Archery/Marksman, Survival, Light Armor, AlchemyAppearance: This
Weapons: An Elven Bow with Ancient Nord and Dwarven Arrows
Armor: Leather Armor (Underneath the cape) And the Bird feather Cape, With a Leather Hat.Personality: He's a Quiet mouth. He followers orders, But if someone crosses his line. He does not hesitate to put them where they belong.
History/Backstory: Born in the land of Valenwood. There once was a Bosmer named "Sylvan" he was a hard working kid, His mother "Persea" was a traveler gathering supplies from Cyrodiil. Food/Arrows/Plants that sort of thing. His mother Persea was an Alchemist. A very trained one at that.
And his father "Populus" was a Great Hunter with a bow and a Great smith.
Persea and Populus came home one day.
Little Sylvan said "Mom can you teach me how to create deadly poisons and great Healing potions?"
Persea said to Sylvan "Sure dear, But why don't you go in the Tree and eat your dinner?"
Sylvan followed up by saying "Yes Mom..."
His father Populus began to walk into the house. But suddenly his Wife grabbed him by the Shoulder and said "Populus dear, You need to teach Sylvan how to defend himself, okay Maybe after Tomorrow?"
Populus nodded his head and began to walk into the doors. Cooking the dinner.
Sylvan ate his dinner and asked "May I be excused?"
His father Populus said "Yes you can, Now go up to bed"
Sylvan nodded with Excitement he could not wait to get up tomorrow for his mother to teach him Alchemy
Sylvan woke up as the Sun in Valenwood was gleaming in through his window. "Ah what a beautiful day." He remarked. He heard his mother yell and say "Sylvan come down here, I have something for you!"
Sylvan ran downstairs knowing that his Mother was standing behind something "Mom what's that" He said.
"This is an Alchemist table for you, I bought it in Cyrodiil. Just for you!" His mother said
"Wow. It's so amazing, when will you teach me
"I'll teach you right now if you want" She said.
"That'll be great" as he gazed at the Alchemy table his mouth was watering. "I can't wait to make deadly poisons"
His mother sighed and said "Alchemy just isn't about deadly poisons. It's also about creating Healing potions to help you in battle"
Sylvan said "But I won't ever need to battle Mom!" "I also heard you say dad was going to teach me hunting, And I have Dad with me So I won't get hurt!"
Persea began to teach Alchemy Lessons to Sylvan. Sylvan was rushing his potions to fast and some Ingredients fell on the floor.
His mother gasped and said "Now look what I have to clean up!"
Sylvan had a frown on his face and sadly said "Sorry Mom, I just wanted to make a potion"
Persea understood and said "It's okay. I messed up a lot on Alchemy when I was young too."
And the lessons began until the end of the day, Sylvan knew how to make Poisons and deadly potions by the end of the day.
In fact at night, Be began to silently go down stairs. Creeping and Crawling he made his way to the Alchemy room. He began to make deadly poisons for Tomorrow's hunt with Dad. The night went on and on, And Sylvan got sleepy. He walked up to bed making noise as he forgot to go to sleep. Be brought his poisons with him. And put them under his bed.
The sun came up and went down all the way to Sunset
Sylvan woke up screaming "OH NO!"
Persea and Populus ran up the stairs very quickly barging in the door "What happened"
Sylvan said "I missed my hunt with dad"
Persea and Populus looked at each other and went "We wanted you to get your rest" They both said. Populus said "I'll still take you if you want Sylvan."
Sylvan screamed in excitement He took all of his poisons out underneath his bed. And said "Mom, Look how many i made last night!"
Persea said "That's great, But.. Why did you?"
Sylvan replied "For The hunt with Dad!"
Populus and Sylvan walked out the Door the sun was setting now.
Populus said "Now son take this bow, and if you hear anything draw it back and shoot where ever the noise came from okay?"
Sylvan nodded "Okay dad"
Sylvan and Populus crept into the woods. They heard nothing for about an hour, Then they heard a Fellow Bosmer a Friend of Populus's scream "Help! I'm being attacked by a bear!!!!!!!!" Sylvan ran over to the noise drawing his bow back very quickly. He brushed through the leaves, Branches hitting his face. He fell he still heard the screaming "HELP!" He got back up quickly. after hearing the noise he was very close. He shot the bow right into the Bears eyes Populus's Friend said "Thank you. Oh thank you so much, Who are you?"
Populus had a hard time catching up with his Speed. He eventually got there and said "Hi Alder, This is my son Sylvan"
Alder said "You saved my life, I must repay you with something, Here I don't need this anymore you can take it"
Sylvan said "Wow, What type of bow is this?"
Alder said "This is a Special Elven Bow, This bow draws back very quickly and has very accurate aim"
Sylvan said "Wow, this is great"
Populus replied "How about you have come have dinner with us, We're having bear"
Everyone laughed and went home after skinning the bear.
At the dinner table Populus said "Son, How did you get that right in the eye?"
Sylvan replied "I guess it came from you dad." Sylvan smirked.The years rapidly went past and Populus trained Sylvan with crafting armor and Elven arrows
During the Five year war. His mother Persea said "Why don't you go up to Anvil and get some ingredients for some Health potions we might need them if the Imperials attack down here
Sylvan replied "Yes mom."
He walked into the door and said "Mom, I'm going to leave Valenwood, I hope that's okay with you, Anvil Seems nice, And I want to help other people I Promise I will"
Persea said as he started to cry "Okay, Just be Back soon if you can"
Sylvan said "I'll try Mom"
He walked to Anvil and walked around the town "Did you hear about that Civil war in Skyrim?"
Sylvan \ heard about the Civil war. He walked up to the person who said this and replied "Do you know where Skyrim is?"
"Why would you want to go up there?"
"Because I made a promise to myself." Sylvan replied.
"It's just north of Cyrodiil"
"Thank you." Sylvan said
Sylvan walked up towards Skyrim and went to Windhelm hearing about That's the Stormcloak Capital. The sun fell down as he walked into the Palace of Kings
The Palace of kings Shined with Blue and Tons of food was on the table. Sylvan thought "Oh yes, This is Windhelm all right"
He walked up to the man Sitting on the Throne
Ulfric said "Who are you, And make this quick I'm a busy man"
Sylvan replied "Oh I'm sure you are, And I Would like to join the Stormcloaks and help you get rid of these Imperial Invaders. I know there home is Cyrodiil and I can't let them take Skyrim from you"
Ulfric said "This is a man I like, You're in. You don't even need a test"
Sylvan smiled and said "Thank you"
Ulfric replied "My name is Ulfric, Ulfric Stormcloak you can sleep Upstairs or in the Guard barracks, You're choice"
Sylvan walked upstairs and he fell asleep. He woke up the next morning.. "This doesn't feel like Valenwood. But I guess it's okay" As he replied.
Race: Bosmer
Age: 31
Birth sign: Thief
Class: Marksman/ Archer
Skills: Archery/Marksman, Survival, Light Armor, AlchemyAppearance: This
Weapons: An Elven Bow with Ancient Nord and Dwarven Arrows
Armor: Leather Armor (Underneath the cape) And the Bird feather Cape, With a Leather Hat.Personality: He's a Quiet mouth. He followers orders, But if someone crosses his line. He does not hesitate to put them where they belong.
History/Backstory: Born in the land of Valenwood. There once was a Bosmer named "Sylvan" he was a hard working kid, His mother "Persea" was a traveler gathering supplies from Cyrodiil. Food/Arrows/Plants that sort of thing. His mother Persea was an Alchemist. A very trained one at that.
And his father "Populus" was a Great Hunter with a bow and a Great smith.
Persea and Populus came home one day.
Little Sylvan said "Mom can you teach me how to create deadly poisons and great Healing potions?"
Persea said to Sylvan "Sure dear, But why don't you go in the Tree and eat your dinner?"
Sylvan followed up by saying "Yes Mom..."
His father Populus began to walk into the house. But suddenly his Wife grabbed him by the Shoulder and said "Populus dear, You need to teach Sylvan how to defend himself, okay Maybe after Tomorrow?"
Populus nodded his head and began to walk into the doors. Cooking the dinner.
Sylvan ate his dinner and asked "May I be excused?"
His father Populus said "Yes you can, Now go up to bed"
Sylvan nodded with Excitement he could not wait to get up tomorrow for his mother to teach him Alchemy
Sylvan woke up as the Sun in Valenwood was gleaming in through his window. "Ah what a beautiful day." He remarked. He heard his mother yell and say "Sylvan come down here, I have something for you!"
Sylvan ran downstairs knowing that his Mother was standing behind something "Mom what's that" He said.
"This is an Alchemist table for you, I bought it in Cyrodiil. Just for you!" His mother said
"Wow. It's so amazing, when will you teach me
"I'll teach you right now if you want" She said.
"That'll be great" as he gazed at the Alchemy table his mouth was watering. "I can't wait to make deadly poisons"
His mother sighed and said "Alchemy just isn't about deadly poisons. It's also about creating Healing potions to help you in battle"
Sylvan said "But I won't ever need to battle Mom!" "I also heard you say dad was going to teach me hunting, And I have Dad with me So I won't get hurt!"
Persea began to teach Alchemy Lessons to Sylvan. Sylvan was rushing his potions to fast and some Ingredients fell on the floor.
His mother gasped and said "Now look what I have to clean up!"
Sylvan had a frown on his face and sadly said "Sorry Mom, I just wanted to make a potion"
Persea understood and said "It's okay. I messed up a lot on Alchemy when I was young too."
And the lessons began until the end of the day, Sylvan knew how to make Poisons and deadly potions by the end of the day.
In fact at night, Be began to silently go down stairs. Creeping and Crawling he made his way to the Alchemy room. He began to make deadly poisons for Tomorrow's hunt with Dad. The night went on and on, And Sylvan got sleepy. He walked up to bed making noise as he forgot to go to sleep. Be brought his poisons with him. And put them under his bed.
The sun came up and went down all the way to Sunset
Sylvan woke up screaming "OH NO!"
Persea and Populus ran up the stairs very quickly barging in the door "What happened"
Sylvan said "I missed my hunt with dad"
Persea and Populus looked at each other and went "We wanted you to get your rest" They both said. Populus said "I'll still take you if you want Sylvan."
Sylvan screamed in excitement He took all of his poisons out underneath his bed. And said "Mom, Look how many i made last night!"
Persea said "That's great, But.. Why did you?"
Sylvan replied "For The hunt with Dad!"
Populus and Sylvan walked out the Door the sun was setting now.
Populus said "Now son take this bow, and if you hear anything draw it back and shoot where ever the noise came from okay?"
Sylvan nodded "Okay dad"
Sylvan and Populus crept into the woods. They heard nothing for about an hour, Then they heard a Fellow Bosmer a Friend of Populus's scream "Help! I'm being attacked by a bear!!!!!!!!" Sylvan ran over to the noise drawing his bow back very quickly. He brushed through the leaves, Branches hitting his face. He fell he still heard the screaming "HELP!" He got back up quickly. after hearing the noise he was very close. He shot the bow right into the Bears eyes Populus's Friend said "Thank you. Oh thank you so much, Who are you?"
Populus had a hard time catching up with his Speed. He eventually got there and said "Hi Alder, This is my son Sylvan"
Alder said "You saved my life, I must repay you with something, Here I don't need this anymore you can take it"
Sylvan said "Wow, What type of bow is this?"
Alder said "This is a Special Elven Bow, This bow draws back very quickly and has very accurate aim"
Sylvan said "Wow, this is great"
Populus replied "How about you have come have dinner with us, We're having bear"
Everyone laughed and went home after skinning the bear.
At the dinner table Populus said "Son, How did you get that right in the eye?"
Sylvan replied "I guess it came from you dad." Sylvan smirked.The years rapidly went past and Populus trained Sylvan with crafting armor and Elven arrows
During the Five year war. His mother Persea said "Why don't you go up to Anvil and get some ingredients for some Health potions we might need them if the Imperials attack down here
Sylvan replied "Yes mom."
He walked into the door and said "Mom, I'm going to leave Valenwood, I hope that's okay with you, Anvil Seems nice, And I want to help other people I Promise I will"
Persea said as he started to cry "Okay, Just be Back soon if you can"
Sylvan said "I'll try Mom"
He walked to Anvil and walked around the town "Did you hear about that Civil war in Skyrim?"
Sylvan \ heard about the Civil war. He walked up to the person who said this and replied "Do you know where Skyrim is?"
"Why would you want to go up there?"
"Because I made a promise to myself." Sylvan replied.
"It's just north of Cyrodiil"
"Thank you." Sylvan said
Sylvan walked up towards Skyrim and went to Windhelm hearing about That's the Stormcloak Capital. The sun fell down as he walked into the Palace of Kings
The Palace of kings Shined with Blue and Tons of food was on the table. Sylvan thought "Oh yes, This is Windhelm all right"
He walked up to the man Sitting on the Throne
Ulfric said "Who are you, And make this quick I'm a busy man"
Sylvan replied "Oh I'm sure you are, And I Would like to join the Stormcloaks and help you get rid of these Imperial Invaders. I know there home is Cyrodiil and I can't let them take Skyrim from you"
Ulfric said "This is a man I like, You're in. You don't even need a test"
Sylvan smiled and said "Thank you"
Ulfric replied "My name is Ulfric, Ulfric Stormcloak you can sleep Upstairs or in the Guard barracks, You're choice"
Sylvan walked upstairs and he fell asleep. He woke up the next morning.. "This doesn't feel like Valenwood. But I guess it's okay" As he replied.
The Pompous Altmer:
Vaelen, Almteri Spellsword
Spoiler
Name: Vaelen Wolf-Runner
Gender: Male
Race: Altmer (High Elf)
Age: 550
Date of Birth: 3E 186
Appearance: Vaelen stands at 6 feet and 5 inches tall, and has a medium build from his days as an adventuring Spellsword. He is also very strong for a High Elf too; some say even as strong as a Nord. Vaelen's face is somewhat weathered from his middle age and his past lifestyle. He has some of your usual Merrish facial traits: High, pronounced cheekbones, gaunt cheeks, high jawline, almond shaped eyes, and pointed ears. What separates him from other Altmer is his more Mannish features: wide and strong jaw, and tan complexion. His long golden blonde hair, comes down to his shoulders and is pulled back and braided. His eye color is ice-blue and he also has a thick beard that is twisted and braided. He finally has a long moon scar under his left eye.
Skills: Alteration, Restoration, Destruction, One-Handed, Block, and Heavy Armor.
Personality: Vaelen for a High Elf, is very easy going. He tends to get along better with Nords than anybody else, even better than his own race. He's very deliberate with almost everything he does. He does not do anything without a specific purpose. After adventuring for most of his life, Vaelen knows how to get along with people no matter who they are. He also has very strong feelings for Skyrim herself, due to his father being a Nord. He fight to protect it at the very cost of his life. He also loves to drink mead too.
Clothing/Armor: Vaelen wears heavy Mithril Armor given to him as a gift from the king of Wayrest.
Weapon: The main weapon that Vaelen uses is his Silver Longsword, and his secondary or backup weapon is a Steel Shortsword.
History: Vaelen was born in Bruma, Cyrodiil, in 3E 186. Vaelen's father was a former Legionnaire and his mother was a Altmer from Summerset Isles. No one knows why a Nord and a High Elf would fall in love, considering each race's animosity towards each other, but obviously these two were the exception. Growing up in Bruma, Vaelen hung around a lot with his father's friends, who mostly Nords. Some times, he would get odd looks from the folks in Bruma, especially the Nords. They thought it was despicable that Nord blood would be mixed with Elven blood. So through his childhood and adolescence, Vaelen had to prove himself to people, specifically Nords.
Starting at the age of 8, Vaelen was taught Magic by his mother, who became a member of the local Mages Guild hall in Bruma. She eventually rose to the rank of Magician, that's when she started teaching Vaelen about the about the proper applications of Destruction, Restoration, and Alteration. At that same time, his father taught him the ways of combat. Swordsmanship and effectively blocking opponents attacks with either a shield or the weapon, and when Vaelen became strong enough, Heavy Armor.
By the time he was 19, Vaelen was already strong in body and mind. Getting tired of the day to day routines, Vaelen decided to become an adventurer. He started with exploring the abandoned Imperial garrison forts scattered across Cyrodiil and even, Ayleid ruins. After spending sometime exploring what Cyrodiil had to offer, Vaelen decided to become even more adventurous and headed towards High Rock.
In High Rock, Vaelen met some important people. The king of Wayrest for one, and some clan members of house Direnni. Becoming a Spellsword for hire in the Illiac Bay region, Vaelen made quite a name for himself. He was often on escort jobs, were he had to protect someone of nobility or royalty.
By the time of Uriel Septim's assassination, Vaelen was in the Imperial Legion as a support Spellsword for the 11th Legion, stationed near Cheydinhal. When the Great War broke out and the Aldmeri Dominion invaded the Heartland and bread basket of the Empire, Vaelen was called into action from his 50 year retirement. He eventually took part in the retaking of the Imperial City. After that, he headed up north to his father's homeland, Skyrim.
After coming to Skyrim, Vaelen decided to move to Windhelm, his father's family's home city and for a little over, 30 years of living in content, in 4E 203, the Aldmeri Dominion invaded Skyrim, and one of the first cities they took was Windhelm. During the siege, Vaelen, with a couple of other able bodied people, slipped out of the city under the enemy's nose and fled towards Winterhold.
Gender: Male
Race: Altmer (High Elf)
Age: 550
Date of Birth: 3E 186
Appearance: Vaelen stands at 6 feet and 5 inches tall, and has a medium build from his days as an adventuring Spellsword. He is also very strong for a High Elf too; some say even as strong as a Nord. Vaelen's face is somewhat weathered from his middle age and his past lifestyle. He has some of your usual Merrish facial traits: High, pronounced cheekbones, gaunt cheeks, high jawline, almond shaped eyes, and pointed ears. What separates him from other Altmer is his more Mannish features: wide and strong jaw, and tan complexion. His long golden blonde hair, comes down to his shoulders and is pulled back and braided. His eye color is ice-blue and he also has a thick beard that is twisted and braided. He finally has a long moon scar under his left eye.
Skills: Alteration, Restoration, Destruction, One-Handed, Block, and Heavy Armor.
Personality: Vaelen for a High Elf, is very easy going. He tends to get along better with Nords than anybody else, even better than his own race. He's very deliberate with almost everything he does. He does not do anything without a specific purpose. After adventuring for most of his life, Vaelen knows how to get along with people no matter who they are. He also has very strong feelings for Skyrim herself, due to his father being a Nord. He fight to protect it at the very cost of his life. He also loves to drink mead too.
Clothing/Armor: Vaelen wears heavy Mithril Armor given to him as a gift from the king of Wayrest.
Weapon: The main weapon that Vaelen uses is his Silver Longsword, and his secondary or backup weapon is a Steel Shortsword.
History: Vaelen was born in Bruma, Cyrodiil, in 3E 186. Vaelen's father was a former Legionnaire and his mother was a Altmer from Summerset Isles. No one knows why a Nord and a High Elf would fall in love, considering each race's animosity towards each other, but obviously these two were the exception. Growing up in Bruma, Vaelen hung around a lot with his father's friends, who mostly Nords. Some times, he would get odd looks from the folks in Bruma, especially the Nords. They thought it was despicable that Nord blood would be mixed with Elven blood. So through his childhood and adolescence, Vaelen had to prove himself to people, specifically Nords.
Starting at the age of 8, Vaelen was taught Magic by his mother, who became a member of the local Mages Guild hall in Bruma. She eventually rose to the rank of Magician, that's when she started teaching Vaelen about the about the proper applications of Destruction, Restoration, and Alteration. At that same time, his father taught him the ways of combat. Swordsmanship and effectively blocking opponents attacks with either a shield or the weapon, and when Vaelen became strong enough, Heavy Armor.
By the time he was 19, Vaelen was already strong in body and mind. Getting tired of the day to day routines, Vaelen decided to become an adventurer. He started with exploring the abandoned Imperial garrison forts scattered across Cyrodiil and even, Ayleid ruins. After spending sometime exploring what Cyrodiil had to offer, Vaelen decided to become even more adventurous and headed towards High Rock.
In High Rock, Vaelen met some important people. The king of Wayrest for one, and some clan members of house Direnni. Becoming a Spellsword for hire in the Illiac Bay region, Vaelen made quite a name for himself. He was often on escort jobs, were he had to protect someone of nobility or royalty.
By the time of Uriel Septim's assassination, Vaelen was in the Imperial Legion as a support Spellsword for the 11th Legion, stationed near Cheydinhal. When the Great War broke out and the Aldmeri Dominion invaded the Heartland and bread basket of the Empire, Vaelen was called into action from his 50 year retirement. He eventually took part in the retaking of the Imperial City. After that, he headed up north to his father's homeland, Skyrim.
After coming to Skyrim, Vaelen decided to move to Windhelm, his father's family's home city and for a little over, 30 years of living in content, in 4E 203, the Aldmeri Dominion invaded Skyrim, and one of the first cities they took was Windhelm. During the siege, Vaelen, with a couple of other able bodied people, slipped out of the city under the enemy's nose and fled towards Winterhold.
BTCollins8:
Bedrir Wave-Rider, Nordic Sailor
Spoiler
Name: Bedrir Wave-Rider
Gender: Male
Age: 58
Birthdate: 8th of Last Seed, 4E 146
Race: Nord
Class: Sailor
Appearance: A short, stocky man, with long grey hair with two braids hanging down to his shoulders, and dark blue eyes, like pools of water. Scar across his left eye, which is blind. Deep wrinkles cover his face, the ocean's wear and tear ever evident. His face is one you would expect from a loving grandfather, but hides the pain he still feels from the scar, or maybe the pain from losing all he ever loved that night on the sea...
Equipment (Weapons, armor, etc) : Wields a wooden walking staff, and a short iron sword he's always carried. He wears a simple set of sailors clothes, consisting of dark blue pants, a dark green shirt, and his lucky Horker-Tooth necklace, with a scabbard tied around the waist and a large fur cloak draqed over his shoulders.
Personality: Kind, but tough from life on the sea. While he is used to being in charge, he knows his old age and disabilities prohibit him from doing so, which he accepted long ago. He prefers solitude, and is generally a loner.
Background/History: Born and raised in Dawnstar, his mother was a simple barmaid and his father the captain of the "Wave-Rider," a ship bought for a names after his father's father. It was a quick, swift ship, mostly used to carry cargo into places that one would rather not be caught in for too long. At the age of 10, he joined his father as a deckmate, and slowly learned the sailing business. He took over from his father at the age of 21, and soon after moved his home port to Windhelm. He's been sailing ever since, his only mishap on a trip to Hammerfell, his last great run. Caught up between a group of pirates tailing them and a storm straight ahead, he sailed into the storm. Ropes lashing around, one struck him in the face, blinding his left eye. All of his crew survived, but the pirates weren't so lucky. On the return trip, the saw the body littered wreckage still floating about the ocean. He would return to Windhelm, sell his ship as he had no wife or kids, and settle down, enjoying quiet evenings at Candlehearth Hall.
Motives: Survival is all that drives him, as he has no family, a few friends that weren't sailing at the time of the attack. He hopes to make it to Dawnstar or find a boat to sail out of Winterhold with.
Skills: One-Handed, Expert Sailor. Little fighting experience, as his ship usually outran pirates instead of facing them.
Gender: Male
Age: 58
Birthdate: 8th of Last Seed, 4E 146
Race: Nord
Class: Sailor
Appearance: A short, stocky man, with long grey hair with two braids hanging down to his shoulders, and dark blue eyes, like pools of water. Scar across his left eye, which is blind. Deep wrinkles cover his face, the ocean's wear and tear ever evident. His face is one you would expect from a loving grandfather, but hides the pain he still feels from the scar, or maybe the pain from losing all he ever loved that night on the sea...
Equipment (Weapons, armor, etc) : Wields a wooden walking staff, and a short iron sword he's always carried. He wears a simple set of sailors clothes, consisting of dark blue pants, a dark green shirt, and his lucky Horker-Tooth necklace, with a scabbard tied around the waist and a large fur cloak draqed over his shoulders.
Personality: Kind, but tough from life on the sea. While he is used to being in charge, he knows his old age and disabilities prohibit him from doing so, which he accepted long ago. He prefers solitude, and is generally a loner.
Background/History: Born and raised in Dawnstar, his mother was a simple barmaid and his father the captain of the "Wave-Rider," a ship bought for a names after his father's father. It was a quick, swift ship, mostly used to carry cargo into places that one would rather not be caught in for too long. At the age of 10, he joined his father as a deckmate, and slowly learned the sailing business. He took over from his father at the age of 21, and soon after moved his home port to Windhelm. He's been sailing ever since, his only mishap on a trip to Hammerfell, his last great run. Caught up between a group of pirates tailing them and a storm straight ahead, he sailed into the storm. Ropes lashing around, one struck him in the face, blinding his left eye. All of his crew survived, but the pirates weren't so lucky. On the return trip, the saw the body littered wreckage still floating about the ocean. He would return to Windhelm, sell his ship as he had no wife or kids, and settle down, enjoying quiet evenings at Candlehearth Hall.
Motives: Survival is all that drives him, as he has no family, a few friends that weren't sailing at the time of the attack. He hopes to make it to Dawnstar or find a boat to sail out of Winterhold with.
Skills: One-Handed, Expert Sailor. Little fighting experience, as his ship usually outran pirates instead of facing them.
The Siege of Solitude
Ra'Bassa:
Titus Quintus, Colovian Legionnaire
Spoiler
Name: Titus Quintus
six: Male
Age: 50
Race: Imperial, Colovian
Birthdate: 6th of Evening Star, 4E 152
Birthsign: The Lord
Facial Appearance: How cliché. (More aged, of course).
Physical Appearance: He weighs 191 pounds and stands at 6 feet. His skin is tanned and healthy, and he has several faded scars from the Great War 30 years ago.
Clothing/armor: Imperial Legion Heavy Armor with a closed helmet. For extra warmth, he wears an additional cloth under layer that covers all exposed skin. He also has a large red cape with equally large fur shoulder pieces that hangs down from his shoulders to just above his feet. Around his neck he wears an Amulet of Akatosh.
Class: Legionnaire
Skills: His 30 years in the Legion have given him exceptional skill in the use of Heavy Armor and Blade & Block. Despite his older age, he has most of the vigor he did as a young man, and is still in Athletic(s) shape. He is also well trained in Spears, but his skill with more Blunt weapons, such as Axes, has waned. He has learned, not through a given gift but by hard work, to become a good leader and motivator. (Speech)
Weapon: Instead of using a traditional Imperial short sword like most common soldiers, he instead ops to use his own longsword. While it takes more strength to swing, he prefers the longer range and greater damage. On one side of the sword is engraved the symbol of the Empire. It also has an enchantment that sends a stinging flow of cold into whoever is struck by it, and it faintly glows a light blue.
Miscellaneous items: None
Personality: He is personable and empathetic. He tries to solve problems by diplomacy first, and stays calm in bad situations. His age has given him considerable wisdom. As a commander, he is firm, but not strict. He often gets to know his troops and some even call him by his first name, something they immediately afterwards struggle to rectify only while on-duty. He is a devout worshipper of the Nine, especially Akatosh.
History: He was born in 4E 152 in the Imperial City. His father was a captain of the Imperial Watch, and he had strong Imperial influences all around him. He would visit the Temple of the One at least once every week, instilling in him his devout religious beliefs. His reverence of Akatosh came from standing in awe of the large statue of Akatosh himself, manifested through Martin Septim. When he got older, he knew exactly what he wanted to do, and shortly after he turned 18, he joined the Legion.
He received excellent training, and not too long later, the next year, the Thalmor invaded, beginning the Great War. His legion was sent to relieve the Siege of Bravil, then to defend Kvatch from the Dominion. Needless to say, he was young and fresh, not fully prepared for the horrors of war. The fighting was tough, and draining. They were eventually called back to the Imperial City, like most other forces. They defended valiantly, but after 3 total years of fighting, the city fell. He joined in taking it back the next year.
While assisting refugees, he met his future wife, Lucia, whom he married several years later. He also learned that in the time the Thalmor ruled over the city, his father had been murdered. His father killed several Thalmor soldiers, but was overwhelmed and publicly executed as a display of power. After the war ended with the White-Gold Concordant, and Hammerfell leaving the Empire, he found his loyalty called into question.
The Empire had banned the worship of Talos – its very founder – and gave the Thalmor free reign to execute innocent citizens. His father had died under the Empire, which he served faithfully for many years until the end. Where was his father’s protection? The statue of Akatosh he visited for years was badly damaged – witnesses say it was not destroyed because the stone proved very resilient to the Thalmor. Was this an Empire he really wanted to follow? In the end, his loyalty still stood, thinking it’s what his father would have wanted.
From then on, he mainly assisted in rebuilding the city. After, his main combat experiences were quashing the multitudes of bandits that sprung up, taking advantage of the weakened Empire. He steadily rose in the ranks of the Legion, up to Legate, which he reached 5 years ago. He was stationed to patrol the Empire-Dominion border, but was called back to the Imperial City a few months ago.
Legate Rikke was killed on the field of battle by the Stormcloaks months prior and he was sent to replace her, arriving at Solitude just a week before the second war started. He was in Solitude, receiving briefing from General Tullius on the situation in Cyrodiil, when the Thalmor suddenly invaded. On the third day, the Thalmor invaded Solitude itself, causing much damage to the buildings and slaying many of the citizens. Tullius was killed defending, a shock of electricity sent through him by a Thalmor Wizard, stopping his heart.
They pushed the Thalmor back and sealed the city off, and now this is the first day of the siege proper. With both Rikke and Tullius dead, he has taken command of the defending garrison. The supplies they have will hold, for now, but not for long. Morale has made a sharp turn down and is falling quickly. Titus has taken on this large burden, knowing that the battle is likely already lost.
six: Male
Age: 50
Race: Imperial, Colovian
Birthdate: 6th of Evening Star, 4E 152
Birthsign: The Lord
Facial Appearance: How cliché. (More aged, of course).
Physical Appearance: He weighs 191 pounds and stands at 6 feet. His skin is tanned and healthy, and he has several faded scars from the Great War 30 years ago.
Clothing/armor: Imperial Legion Heavy Armor with a closed helmet. For extra warmth, he wears an additional cloth under layer that covers all exposed skin. He also has a large red cape with equally large fur shoulder pieces that hangs down from his shoulders to just above his feet. Around his neck he wears an Amulet of Akatosh.
Class: Legionnaire
Skills: His 30 years in the Legion have given him exceptional skill in the use of Heavy Armor and Blade & Block. Despite his older age, he has most of the vigor he did as a young man, and is still in Athletic(s) shape. He is also well trained in Spears, but his skill with more Blunt weapons, such as Axes, has waned. He has learned, not through a given gift but by hard work, to become a good leader and motivator. (Speech)
Weapon: Instead of using a traditional Imperial short sword like most common soldiers, he instead ops to use his own longsword. While it takes more strength to swing, he prefers the longer range and greater damage. On one side of the sword is engraved the symbol of the Empire. It also has an enchantment that sends a stinging flow of cold into whoever is struck by it, and it faintly glows a light blue.
Miscellaneous items: None
Personality: He is personable and empathetic. He tries to solve problems by diplomacy first, and stays calm in bad situations. His age has given him considerable wisdom. As a commander, he is firm, but not strict. He often gets to know his troops and some even call him by his first name, something they immediately afterwards struggle to rectify only while on-duty. He is a devout worshipper of the Nine, especially Akatosh.
History: He was born in 4E 152 in the Imperial City. His father was a captain of the Imperial Watch, and he had strong Imperial influences all around him. He would visit the Temple of the One at least once every week, instilling in him his devout religious beliefs. His reverence of Akatosh came from standing in awe of the large statue of Akatosh himself, manifested through Martin Septim. When he got older, he knew exactly what he wanted to do, and shortly after he turned 18, he joined the Legion.
He received excellent training, and not too long later, the next year, the Thalmor invaded, beginning the Great War. His legion was sent to relieve the Siege of Bravil, then to defend Kvatch from the Dominion. Needless to say, he was young and fresh, not fully prepared for the horrors of war. The fighting was tough, and draining. They were eventually called back to the Imperial City, like most other forces. They defended valiantly, but after 3 total years of fighting, the city fell. He joined in taking it back the next year.
While assisting refugees, he met his future wife, Lucia, whom he married several years later. He also learned that in the time the Thalmor ruled over the city, his father had been murdered. His father killed several Thalmor soldiers, but was overwhelmed and publicly executed as a display of power. After the war ended with the White-Gold Concordant, and Hammerfell leaving the Empire, he found his loyalty called into question.
The Empire had banned the worship of Talos – its very founder – and gave the Thalmor free reign to execute innocent citizens. His father had died under the Empire, which he served faithfully for many years until the end. Where was his father’s protection? The statue of Akatosh he visited for years was badly damaged – witnesses say it was not destroyed because the stone proved very resilient to the Thalmor. Was this an Empire he really wanted to follow? In the end, his loyalty still stood, thinking it’s what his father would have wanted.
From then on, he mainly assisted in rebuilding the city. After, his main combat experiences were quashing the multitudes of bandits that sprung up, taking advantage of the weakened Empire. He steadily rose in the ranks of the Legion, up to Legate, which he reached 5 years ago. He was stationed to patrol the Empire-Dominion border, but was called back to the Imperial City a few months ago.
Legate Rikke was killed on the field of battle by the Stormcloaks months prior and he was sent to replace her, arriving at Solitude just a week before the second war started. He was in Solitude, receiving briefing from General Tullius on the situation in Cyrodiil, when the Thalmor suddenly invaded. On the third day, the Thalmor invaded Solitude itself, causing much damage to the buildings and slaying many of the citizens. Tullius was killed defending, a shock of electricity sent through him by a Thalmor Wizard, stopping his heart.
They pushed the Thalmor back and sealed the city off, and now this is the first day of the siege proper. With both Rikke and Tullius dead, he has taken command of the defending garrison. The supplies they have will hold, for now, but not for long. Morale has made a sharp turn down and is falling quickly. Titus has taken on this large burden, knowing that the battle is likely already lost.
Madhog:
Runar Valund, Nordic Blacksmith
Spoiler
Name: Runar Valund
Race: Nord
Age: 27
Birthsign: The Tower
Class: Blacksmith
Skills: Smithing, Block, One-Handed, Heavy Armor
General Appearance: This
Personality: Bashful and shy, Runar prefers to be seen and not heard. His years working at the furnace have made him humble and kind-hearted, and have given him the ability to take a lot of stress. He will always try to do what is right, and will often help those in need.
Clothing/Armor: Simple blue blacksmith's apron over a simple red cloth shirt and grey trousers. Worn leather boots and battered leather gloves. When in combat, dons iron armour.
Misc Items: An amulet of Talos beneath his shirt.
Weapons: Hammer for smithing. He also has a simple iron sword and shield.
History: Born and raised in the small town of Riverwood, Runar was a quiet and withdrawn child. His father was a great warrior and armorer, and his sister was highly skilled in combat. Often they would go out fighting together, their father teaching them all he knew. However, Runar preffered to watch the glint of the blade rather than swing with it, and it soon became apparent he was to become a great smithy.
He spent hours a day sweating over the forge, practiscing his craft while his sister and father fought fiercly in the wilds. His father grew extremely proud of his son as the years went by, encouraging him to continue his work. Finally after several years, Runar was skilled enough to forge a blade for his father.
For months he never left the smithy, hammering away day and night, desperate to please his father with his creation. When he finally emerged sweating and smiling, he held in his hands a wonderous sword. It was made with compassion and love, and his father prized it greatly, using it from then on to fight every battle.
Unfortunately, love and compassion was not enough to keep his father alive. One night while he was hunting in the woods with his sister, he heard cries from the village. They returned to find the place ablaze, with Stormcloaks and Legion troops engaged in brutal combat with each other. Runar spotted his father amongst the chaos, fighting a loosing battle against two figures. He screamed just as a blade was driven through his father's chest, and fell to the ground sobbing. His sister leapt from the woods and charged into the fray, and Runar never saw her again.
He awoke the next morning to sound of horse's hooves. Imperial troops had surronded him, and demanded to know who he was. He told them everything, tears streaming down his eyes. Luckily, one of the officers knew of a blacksmith who needed someone to help around the forge, and Runar was placed in Solitude, to assist an old smithy by the name of Vulgar, where he has been stationed ever since.
NPC:
Name: Vulgar The Rude
Age: 51
Appearance: This
Personality: As his name suggests, Vulgar is very rude and vulgar. He has a penchant for ale and women, and a dirty sense of humour. However, he has grown quite fond of Runar, and treats him like the son he never had.
Skills: A skilled blacksmith.
Race: Nord
Age: 27
Birthsign: The Tower
Class: Blacksmith
Skills: Smithing, Block, One-Handed, Heavy Armor
General Appearance: This
Personality: Bashful and shy, Runar prefers to be seen and not heard. His years working at the furnace have made him humble and kind-hearted, and have given him the ability to take a lot of stress. He will always try to do what is right, and will often help those in need.
Clothing/Armor: Simple blue blacksmith's apron over a simple red cloth shirt and grey trousers. Worn leather boots and battered leather gloves. When in combat, dons iron armour.
Misc Items: An amulet of Talos beneath his shirt.
Weapons: Hammer for smithing. He also has a simple iron sword and shield.
History: Born and raised in the small town of Riverwood, Runar was a quiet and withdrawn child. His father was a great warrior and armorer, and his sister was highly skilled in combat. Often they would go out fighting together, their father teaching them all he knew. However, Runar preffered to watch the glint of the blade rather than swing with it, and it soon became apparent he was to become a great smithy.
He spent hours a day sweating over the forge, practiscing his craft while his sister and father fought fiercly in the wilds. His father grew extremely proud of his son as the years went by, encouraging him to continue his work. Finally after several years, Runar was skilled enough to forge a blade for his father.
For months he never left the smithy, hammering away day and night, desperate to please his father with his creation. When he finally emerged sweating and smiling, he held in his hands a wonderous sword. It was made with compassion and love, and his father prized it greatly, using it from then on to fight every battle.
Unfortunately, love and compassion was not enough to keep his father alive. One night while he was hunting in the woods with his sister, he heard cries from the village. They returned to find the place ablaze, with Stormcloaks and Legion troops engaged in brutal combat with each other. Runar spotted his father amongst the chaos, fighting a loosing battle against two figures. He screamed just as a blade was driven through his father's chest, and fell to the ground sobbing. His sister leapt from the woods and charged into the fray, and Runar never saw her again.
He awoke the next morning to sound of horse's hooves. Imperial troops had surronded him, and demanded to know who he was. He told them everything, tears streaming down his eyes. Luckily, one of the officers knew of a blacksmith who needed someone to help around the forge, and Runar was placed in Solitude, to assist an old smithy by the name of Vulgar, where he has been stationed ever since.
NPC:
Name: Vulgar The Rude
Age: 51
Appearance: This
Personality: As his name suggests, Vulgar is very rude and vulgar. He has a penchant for ale and women, and a dirty sense of humour. However, he has grown quite fond of Runar, and treats him like the son he never had.
Skills: A skilled blacksmith.
X-Monarch:
Bryngard Barrow-Born, Cyrodiilic Bard
Spoiler
Name: Bryngard Barrow-born
Race: Imperial
Class: Bard
Class Description: He's good with words, and even better with a lute. He can haggle with merchants, inspire cowards to bravery, woo women, and sing quite proficiently.
Age: 19
Appearance: Bryngard has fair skin and brown hair. He has a clean shaven, handsome face, and usually wears fine clothing or Imperial leather armor.
Personality: Bryngard has always been a bit of a dreamer. His loyalties lie both in the Empire and Talos. Although he's an Imperial by blood, Skyrim is his home. He is very lighthearted and rarely solemn.
History: 20 years ago, a group of bandits known as the Silver Wolves ran rampant through Skyrim. Their leader, an Imperial named Decius Umbranox, was a clever, heartless man. There were rumors among the group that there was something going on between him and another member, a dancer named Sylvia. One day, Decius announced that he was marrying Sylvia. A few days after their marriage celebrations, she became pregnant.
Many weeks later, the Silver Wolves raided a farm. They slaughtered several civilians and got away with some sheep, goats, and horses. With days to go until they would reach their hideout, the Imperial guard chasing after them, and a storm approaching, the Silver Wolves reluctantly plunged into a nearby barrow.
With the storm outside raging too strong for them to move on, the Silver Wolves were stuck in that barrow. Suddenly, Sylvia began to go into labor a few weeks earlier than expected. Her son was born in a musty, cold, smelly barrow. Sylvia and Decius named the boy Decius Umbranox.
Later that day, the storm cleared. Almost as soon as it did, Imperial soldiers rushed into the barrow and slew the bandits, who were outnumbered by far. After the barrow was clear, soldiers heard a baby crying. They found a newborn baby lying on the ground. The question was raised as what to do with it. One soldier suggested that they kill it. Another objected.
This old, Nord soldier who objected's name was Ulfdar. He explained how he and his wife were too old to have children of their own, yet they yearned for them. He volunteered to raised the boy. The leader of this group of soldiers agreed, on the condition that the boy would be raised loyal to the Empire, and that he would never learn of his bandit heritage.
Ulfdar agreed and took the baby home to his wife in Solitude, where they gave him a name: Bryngard.
Ulfdar kept his promise. Bryngard was raised ignorant of his true past, and was practically trained to be an Imperial soldier from the time he could walk. His father, now retired, was very strict. He fit in somewhat with the local Nords, but it was obvious that he was an Imperial. Being a different race than his Nord parents, it was apparent that they were not his birth parents.
The story Ulfdar invented was that his birth parents were Imperial soldiers who were good friends of Ulfdar. He told Bryngard that he was born in a barrow during a long blizzard a few days before his parents died. Bryngard still believes this story.
When Bryngard was 16, he was overheard in the market haggling with a merchant by an expert bard. The bard recognized Bryngard's talent and followed him around. He witnessed Bryngard flirting with women, playing lute, and finally, singing. The bard was so impressed, he personally invited Bryngard to join the nearby Bard's college. Bryngard accepted, despite his father's disappointment.
In the following years, Bryn left home. He went to Hammerfell, where he began performing in lots of taverns in the middle of Hammerfell's resistance to the Dominion.
To make a long story short, a native Redguard named Weylon saved Bryngard's life when he ran out of water in the Alik'r desert. The two became very good friends and began travelling and performing together, Bryngard displaying his musical prowess, and Weylon juggling, throwing knives, and showing his agility in other ways. Bryngard recently came back to Solitude, with Weylon, after he received a letter telling him that his father had died.
Race: Imperial
Class: Bard
Class Description: He's good with words, and even better with a lute. He can haggle with merchants, inspire cowards to bravery, woo women, and sing quite proficiently.
Age: 19
Appearance: Bryngard has fair skin and brown hair. He has a clean shaven, handsome face, and usually wears fine clothing or Imperial leather armor.
Personality: Bryngard has always been a bit of a dreamer. His loyalties lie both in the Empire and Talos. Although he's an Imperial by blood, Skyrim is his home. He is very lighthearted and rarely solemn.
History: 20 years ago, a group of bandits known as the Silver Wolves ran rampant through Skyrim. Their leader, an Imperial named Decius Umbranox, was a clever, heartless man. There were rumors among the group that there was something going on between him and another member, a dancer named Sylvia. One day, Decius announced that he was marrying Sylvia. A few days after their marriage celebrations, she became pregnant.
Many weeks later, the Silver Wolves raided a farm. They slaughtered several civilians and got away with some sheep, goats, and horses. With days to go until they would reach their hideout, the Imperial guard chasing after them, and a storm approaching, the Silver Wolves reluctantly plunged into a nearby barrow.
With the storm outside raging too strong for them to move on, the Silver Wolves were stuck in that barrow. Suddenly, Sylvia began to go into labor a few weeks earlier than expected. Her son was born in a musty, cold, smelly barrow. Sylvia and Decius named the boy Decius Umbranox.
Later that day, the storm cleared. Almost as soon as it did, Imperial soldiers rushed into the barrow and slew the bandits, who were outnumbered by far. After the barrow was clear, soldiers heard a baby crying. They found a newborn baby lying on the ground. The question was raised as what to do with it. One soldier suggested that they kill it. Another objected.
This old, Nord soldier who objected's name was Ulfdar. He explained how he and his wife were too old to have children of their own, yet they yearned for them. He volunteered to raised the boy. The leader of this group of soldiers agreed, on the condition that the boy would be raised loyal to the Empire, and that he would never learn of his bandit heritage.
Ulfdar agreed and took the baby home to his wife in Solitude, where they gave him a name: Bryngard.
Ulfdar kept his promise. Bryngard was raised ignorant of his true past, and was practically trained to be an Imperial soldier from the time he could walk. His father, now retired, was very strict. He fit in somewhat with the local Nords, but it was obvious that he was an Imperial. Being a different race than his Nord parents, it was apparent that they were not his birth parents.
The story Ulfdar invented was that his birth parents were Imperial soldiers who were good friends of Ulfdar. He told Bryngard that he was born in a barrow during a long blizzard a few days before his parents died. Bryngard still believes this story.
When Bryngard was 16, he was overheard in the market haggling with a merchant by an expert bard. The bard recognized Bryngard's talent and followed him around. He witnessed Bryngard flirting with women, playing lute, and finally, singing. The bard was so impressed, he personally invited Bryngard to join the nearby Bard's college. Bryngard accepted, despite his father's disappointment.
In the following years, Bryn left home. He went to Hammerfell, where he began performing in lots of taverns in the middle of Hammerfell's resistance to the Dominion.
To make a long story short, a native Redguard named Weylon saved Bryngard's life when he ran out of water in the Alik'r desert. The two became very good friends and began travelling and performing together, Bryngard displaying his musical prowess, and Weylon juggling, throwing knives, and showing his agility in other ways. Bryngard recently came back to Solitude, with Weylon, after he received a letter telling him that his father had died.
kingkonig:
Qa'ahliter, Khajiiti Mage
Spoiler
Name: Qa'ahliter (rough translation to unknown clanmate)
Race: Dagi-raht Khajiit (Lives high up in the trees, can rival the Altmer in magic skill - and the Bosmer in stealth)
Age: 38
Birthdate: can't be specific, the position of the moons would be impossible to determine with the information at hand
Birthsign: same issue with birthdate
Class: Mage
Skills: Destruction, Illusion, Alteration, Sneak
Unskilled at: Archery, Heavy Armor, One-handed/Two-handed
Appearance: Approximately 3/4 the size of a Bosmer, is capable of climbing much higher into the trees, and therefore is stealthier than anything else as long as he is in the forest. Looks similar to a Suthay-raht, with the exception of the hind legs. It is easier to get around on all four paws, especially in the trees. He can walk around as a bi-pedal creature, but he is faster on all four legs. He has no apparent scars. He has no (extra) facial hair, but he has long hair that he pushes around the back of his head.
Clothing: Wears black mage robes, which are enchanted to increase his magica regeneration, a Moon Amulet, and a black hood that increases his Illusion skill. He wears no shoes, as he is faster in the trees without them.
Personality: Qa'ahliter is quite young, especially to be out on his own in a cold harsh land. He usually prefers to avoid the other Khajiit caravans, since he knows they are not trusted. When at all possible, he avoids other people, especially Argonians. He sees himself superior to Bosmer, yet prefers to use illusion magic rather than destruction.
History: Qa'ahliter was found as a ja'khajiit in the slums outside of Dune. Being a Dagi-raht, he was seen as a possible mage, and trained with other Dagi-raht to learn magic. The Thalmor saw potential in him, and then brought him to Alinor to train. In 4E198 he left, since he did not see the Thalmor ideology as sound. He snuck back into Anequina, but was shunned for leaving the Thalmor saviors, so he was forced to leave. He went to Falkreath, knowing that there were others of his kind in the region. He was shunned by the Imperial soldiers, so he went North. He entered the Reach, and joined a Forsworn clan for a few years. He was sent to Solitude to negotiate the release of some prisoners from Cidna mine, but it was to no avail. He was about to leave the city when the seige started. Qa'ahliter ran into the nearest shelter he could find.
Race: Dagi-raht Khajiit (Lives high up in the trees, can rival the Altmer in magic skill - and the Bosmer in stealth)
Age: 38
Birthdate: can't be specific, the position of the moons would be impossible to determine with the information at hand
Birthsign: same issue with birthdate
Class: Mage
Skills: Destruction, Illusion, Alteration, Sneak
Unskilled at: Archery, Heavy Armor, One-handed/Two-handed
Appearance: Approximately 3/4 the size of a Bosmer, is capable of climbing much higher into the trees, and therefore is stealthier than anything else as long as he is in the forest. Looks similar to a Suthay-raht, with the exception of the hind legs. It is easier to get around on all four paws, especially in the trees. He can walk around as a bi-pedal creature, but he is faster on all four legs. He has no apparent scars. He has no (extra) facial hair, but he has long hair that he pushes around the back of his head.
Clothing: Wears black mage robes, which are enchanted to increase his magica regeneration, a Moon Amulet, and a black hood that increases his Illusion skill. He wears no shoes, as he is faster in the trees without them.
Personality: Qa'ahliter is quite young, especially to be out on his own in a cold harsh land. He usually prefers to avoid the other Khajiit caravans, since he knows they are not trusted. When at all possible, he avoids other people, especially Argonians. He sees himself superior to Bosmer, yet prefers to use illusion magic rather than destruction.
History: Qa'ahliter was found as a ja'khajiit in the slums outside of Dune. Being a Dagi-raht, he was seen as a possible mage, and trained with other Dagi-raht to learn magic. The Thalmor saw potential in him, and then brought him to Alinor to train. In 4E198 he left, since he did not see the Thalmor ideology as sound. He snuck back into Anequina, but was shunned for leaving the Thalmor saviors, so he was forced to leave. He went to Falkreath, knowing that there were others of his kind in the region. He was shunned by the Imperial soldiers, so he went North. He entered the Reach, and joined a Forsworn clan for a few years. He was sent to Solitude to negotiate the release of some prisoners from Cidna mine, but it was to no avail. He was about to leave the city when the seige started. Qa'ahliter ran into the nearest shelter he could find.
Star Killer:
Cornelu Wadarkhu, Khajiiti Entreprenuer
Spoiler
Name: Cornelu Wadarkhu
Race: KhajiitAge: 54
Birthdate: Circa 4E 149Birthsign: Thief
Class: EntrepreneurClass Description: Entreprenuers are Merchants who've taken on a buisness through some financial risk. This is exactly what they are. Entreprenuers are essentially Merchants who are involved in some "not so legal" activites. They run a merchant buisness and on the side they often trade illegeal goods to gain some more money and are not above theivery to gain what they need.
All Entrepreneurs are skilled in buisness and to a certain extend Theivery.They are often ruthless hagglers that will ring out as much money they can out of the most tight pursed person. They are not above stealing other peoples wares and making it there own and are often considered the lowest of the low. They operate in back alley's and most are Khajiit and Argonians which are often considered "low races" who are dirty liers and thieves and most are happy to rise to the expectations.All Entreprenuers are somewhat skilled in numbers which is a bit nescary when keeping accounts and are quite good at sneaking around which is again nescary when being a thief. Some but not all are skilled in the art of Assasination when buisness goes power but these are often considered "bad for buisness." They are all quite atheltic and are in good physical shape. They have there intrests above anybodys else and value money.
Skills: Sneak, Speechcraft, Athletics, Acrobatics, Security, Blades,General Appearance: Blue Eyes, White Fur with a Tan Crest across Forehead and down to Nose, Sar across Eyes, Tail is cut short a bit as if he got into a fight, thin and wiry, Tall at 6 3/12,
Clothing/Armour: Has a moderatly expensive outfit, with colored glass hanging down with tiny chains to look like Jewlery, Color Gold with blue stripes at the feet and the rest is simply golden without any other designs, folded at wrists to look sophisticated.Weapons: Has some Lockpicks when he needs to use them, One chipped Elven Dagger and another Steel one.
Biography/History: Cornelu was born in Dune an area of Northern Elsweyr that was close to Valenwood. His family was a poor one and they were nearly illiterate. He doesn't even know the exact date he was born. As a young child he was just like any other Khajiit child, he often played games with all the other children and often preferred the games that involved racing or seeing how many things you can steal. He grew to be a bit taller and thinner then most of the kids but he was still strong. Luckily for him, he met and befreinded a local merchant who decided to teach him his numbers.For a while everything was good.Sadly for him, this wouldn't last.Cornelu's family ran up there debt and when it was paying time, they couldn't measure up. So one day when Cornelu was coming back home from playing with friends he arrived to his entire house burned down. Cornelu had absolutely nothing, and the merchant who had been helping him had disappeared to another one of his trading missions. Cornelu did what any other lad at his age, and got involved with some illegal activities. He did what he could often stealing things for his employers and getting a cut or sometimes shanking people that his bosses wanted dead. He did this for about 7 years and grew acustomed to it. Towards the end of the 7th year he thought that this was all that there was to life. Until he got sent to the hospital.
He was on what was supoosed to be an ordinary job, one of his bosses other employes was stealing more money then what was in his cut. So Cornelu did what he was supposed to do, as he approached the target he stuck his knife straight threw his back, and to his surprise he melted away. Cornelu stood there dumbfound and a second to late realized it was an illusion when he got stabbed in the back. As he fell over he heard laughing and someone scrambaling away. The last words he heard were, "Consider what I gave you, a gift of a sorts..."Cornelu woke up in a hospital being nursed back to health. He had been stabbed in the back with a knife and the person who'd done it had disappeared. The only thing he had left behind was the chipped Elven Knife that had been plunged into his back. Cornelu decided to take this in stride and persue another carrear in life. He took the considerable amount of sums that he had aquuired over the years and decided to open up his own buisness. Cornelu made some smart buisness choices and managed to get a buisness up and running. Yet this wasn't enough, Cornelu fell back in with the crowd he had attempted to leave. He ran some dirty dealings but usually kept his nose clean from the highly illegal activites. Cornelu grew to be moderatly rich in his long years of working as a merchant. He decided to explore the word out there. He visited Valenwood the place he'd lived next to all his life but had never visited, he went into Cyridal the massive Imperial Empire, and he found himself in Skyrim.
Cornelu was in Skyrim towards the end of the Stormcloak rebelion. He was intrigued by the politics and Nordic culture. He explored the land of Skyrim visting all its citys and he was fasinated by Nordic Culture. Towards the end of the rebelion Cornelu decied he'd had his fill of this Northern Land. He decided to head to Solitutde to make some last minute deals when the Thalmor hit. He is now stuck in the siege of Solitude wondering how he can get away.
Race: KhajiitAge: 54
Birthdate: Circa 4E 149Birthsign: Thief
Class: EntrepreneurClass Description: Entreprenuers are Merchants who've taken on a buisness through some financial risk. This is exactly what they are. Entreprenuers are essentially Merchants who are involved in some "not so legal" activites. They run a merchant buisness and on the side they often trade illegeal goods to gain some more money and are not above theivery to gain what they need.
All Entrepreneurs are skilled in buisness and to a certain extend Theivery.They are often ruthless hagglers that will ring out as much money they can out of the most tight pursed person. They are not above stealing other peoples wares and making it there own and are often considered the lowest of the low. They operate in back alley's and most are Khajiit and Argonians which are often considered "low races" who are dirty liers and thieves and most are happy to rise to the expectations.All Entreprenuers are somewhat skilled in numbers which is a bit nescary when keeping accounts and are quite good at sneaking around which is again nescary when being a thief. Some but not all are skilled in the art of Assasination when buisness goes power but these are often considered "bad for buisness." They are all quite atheltic and are in good physical shape. They have there intrests above anybodys else and value money.
Skills: Sneak, Speechcraft, Athletics, Acrobatics, Security, Blades,General Appearance: Blue Eyes, White Fur with a Tan Crest across Forehead and down to Nose, Sar across Eyes, Tail is cut short a bit as if he got into a fight, thin and wiry, Tall at 6 3/12,
Clothing/Armour: Has a moderatly expensive outfit, with colored glass hanging down with tiny chains to look like Jewlery, Color Gold with blue stripes at the feet and the rest is simply golden without any other designs, folded at wrists to look sophisticated.Weapons: Has some Lockpicks when he needs to use them, One chipped Elven Dagger and another Steel one.
Biography/History: Cornelu was born in Dune an area of Northern Elsweyr that was close to Valenwood. His family was a poor one and they were nearly illiterate. He doesn't even know the exact date he was born. As a young child he was just like any other Khajiit child, he often played games with all the other children and often preferred the games that involved racing or seeing how many things you can steal. He grew to be a bit taller and thinner then most of the kids but he was still strong. Luckily for him, he met and befreinded a local merchant who decided to teach him his numbers.For a while everything was good.Sadly for him, this wouldn't last.Cornelu's family ran up there debt and when it was paying time, they couldn't measure up. So one day when Cornelu was coming back home from playing with friends he arrived to his entire house burned down. Cornelu had absolutely nothing, and the merchant who had been helping him had disappeared to another one of his trading missions. Cornelu did what any other lad at his age, and got involved with some illegal activities. He did what he could often stealing things for his employers and getting a cut or sometimes shanking people that his bosses wanted dead. He did this for about 7 years and grew acustomed to it. Towards the end of the 7th year he thought that this was all that there was to life. Until he got sent to the hospital.
He was on what was supoosed to be an ordinary job, one of his bosses other employes was stealing more money then what was in his cut. So Cornelu did what he was supposed to do, as he approached the target he stuck his knife straight threw his back, and to his surprise he melted away. Cornelu stood there dumbfound and a second to late realized it was an illusion when he got stabbed in the back. As he fell over he heard laughing and someone scrambaling away. The last words he heard were, "Consider what I gave you, a gift of a sorts..."Cornelu woke up in a hospital being nursed back to health. He had been stabbed in the back with a knife and the person who'd done it had disappeared. The only thing he had left behind was the chipped Elven Knife that had been plunged into his back. Cornelu decided to take this in stride and persue another carrear in life. He took the considerable amount of sums that he had aquuired over the years and decided to open up his own buisness. Cornelu made some smart buisness choices and managed to get a buisness up and running. Yet this wasn't enough, Cornelu fell back in with the crowd he had attempted to leave. He ran some dirty dealings but usually kept his nose clean from the highly illegal activites. Cornelu grew to be moderatly rich in his long years of working as a merchant. He decided to explore the word out there. He visited Valenwood the place he'd lived next to all his life but had never visited, he went into Cyridal the massive Imperial Empire, and he found himself in Skyrim.
Cornelu was in Skyrim towards the end of the Stormcloak rebelion. He was intrigued by the politics and Nordic culture. He explored the land of Skyrim visting all its citys and he was fasinated by Nordic Culture. Towards the end of the rebelion Cornelu decied he'd had his fill of this Northern Land. He decided to head to Solitutde to make some last minute deals when the Thalmor hit. He is now stuck in the siege of Solitude wondering how he can get away.
August Kohr1993:
Aleksander Merrick, Colovian Cleric
Spoiler
Name: Aleksander Merrick
Race: Cyrodiil
Age: 22
Birthdate: 18th of Last Seed, 4E 181
Birthsign: The Warrior
Class: Cleric
Class Description: Both a healer and a soldier, the cleric protects those who cannot protect themselves. Wandering clerics are often heroes against the forces of evil, using their knowledge of restoration to heal the sick, and their knowledge of weapons to destroy undead threats across Tamriel. Clerics are often great public speakers, able to recount tales of past heroics with pride. Most clerics use blunt weapons, although some have been known to use swords as well.Modern Clerics have also taken to dabbling in the school of conjuration, if only for the knowledge of how to banish and repel daedra more effectively. Clerics also tend to be adept at making potions and tonics of healing.
Skills: Heavy Armor, Blunt, Restoration, Alchemy, Speech, Blade.General Appearance: Aleksander is of average height and build, and the only feature of his worth pointing out in a crowd would be his fiery-red hair, usually kept at about three or four inches of length, and always messy. His face hold no sign of wear or aging, causing many to make the presumption that he is as inexperienced as he is innocent-looking.
Personality: Aleksander tries to do the right thing no matter, what, but has often found his own fears to be a large factor against action. He will often volunteer for dangerous roles if it means protecting the innocent, but his own self-doubts will haunt him through the entire role. His most notable trait is away from the battlefield, where he is a kind, generous, and well-read person. He gets along well with almost anyone, having no qualms about race or religion. While he may not be the most reliable warrior at your back, he'll always be a great friend at your side.Clothing/Armor: Although he left his order almost two years prior, he still wears an outfit very similar to the Vigilants of Stendarr's. Soft-shades of blue and white cover his robes and hood, with a leather mantle protecting his shoulders. He's taken to wearing a coat of chainmail beneath his robes at most times, to prevent any serious torso wounds of course. His arms and legs are both protected by steel armor, made in the nordic style of Skyrim's people, as opposed to the Imperial style preferred in his homeland. Under his clothes, he wears an amulet of Julianos.
Weapons: A simple steel mace is Aleksander's favored weapon, along with a wooden walking staff that he carries between towns. He also wields an Imperial Sword, but rarely uses it.History: Aleksander was the fifth child of a Colovian nobleman, which automatically meant he had nearly no inheritance. He spent most of his youth living in his siblings' shadows, and relegated most of his time to reading in his family's rather large library, becoming a know-it-all of sorts. He even found a few dusty tomes on restoration magic, and he became interested in the school.
When he came of age, he left the boring life of his family's estate behind for the Imperial City, where he learned more and more about the world from massive libraries. However, simply reading about the world was not enough for him. Aleksander traveled north to Skyrim, and became a Vigilant of Stendarr after hearing promises of adventure and learning. He was taught the way of the cleric in the Hall of the Vigilant, and traveled much of Skyrim as a member of the Order, slaying witches and vampires, and clearing graveyards brought back to life by necromancers.His skill was not in doubt, but his confidence was. While he was offered higher positions in the order, he never accepted them, fearful of letting down his friends and companions. Besides, he was content enough to spend his days adventuring, and his nights reading about the many secrets of the world that he had yet to uncover. Another excuse he would tell himself, was his faith. While he dutifully served the Eight in prayer, he considered Julianos to be more of a model to him than Stendarr, and to move upwards in the Order just wouldn't be doing the proper Divine fair justice. And so, Aleksander adventured his days away.
Until of course, the burning of the Hall. He was far from the Hall when it happened, but was still heartbroken. So many of his friends, his new family, dead. He had no leads to go on, and no way to avenge them. So, he ran. He fled the scene, and never returned to Dawnstar or The Pale. Aleksander, after coming to terms with such a loss of life, decided to take the role of the wandering cleric, continuing his order's work, even if it meant doing so by himself. He traveled Skyrim, High Rock, and Cyrodiil, slaying more undead in each land, and gaining more knowledge as well. However, the image of the Hall, burned and desecrated, still haunted him along his paths, waking him in the dead of night with terror.
Race: Cyrodiil
Age: 22
Birthdate: 18th of Last Seed, 4E 181
Birthsign: The Warrior
Class: Cleric
Class Description: Both a healer and a soldier, the cleric protects those who cannot protect themselves. Wandering clerics are often heroes against the forces of evil, using their knowledge of restoration to heal the sick, and their knowledge of weapons to destroy undead threats across Tamriel. Clerics are often great public speakers, able to recount tales of past heroics with pride. Most clerics use blunt weapons, although some have been known to use swords as well.Modern Clerics have also taken to dabbling in the school of conjuration, if only for the knowledge of how to banish and repel daedra more effectively. Clerics also tend to be adept at making potions and tonics of healing.
Skills: Heavy Armor, Blunt, Restoration, Alchemy, Speech, Blade.General Appearance: Aleksander is of average height and build, and the only feature of his worth pointing out in a crowd would be his fiery-red hair, usually kept at about three or four inches of length, and always messy. His face hold no sign of wear or aging, causing many to make the presumption that he is as inexperienced as he is innocent-looking.
Personality: Aleksander tries to do the right thing no matter, what, but has often found his own fears to be a large factor against action. He will often volunteer for dangerous roles if it means protecting the innocent, but his own self-doubts will haunt him through the entire role. His most notable trait is away from the battlefield, where he is a kind, generous, and well-read person. He gets along well with almost anyone, having no qualms about race or religion. While he may not be the most reliable warrior at your back, he'll always be a great friend at your side.Clothing/Armor: Although he left his order almost two years prior, he still wears an outfit very similar to the Vigilants of Stendarr's. Soft-shades of blue and white cover his robes and hood, with a leather mantle protecting his shoulders. He's taken to wearing a coat of chainmail beneath his robes at most times, to prevent any serious torso wounds of course. His arms and legs are both protected by steel armor, made in the nordic style of Skyrim's people, as opposed to the Imperial style preferred in his homeland. Under his clothes, he wears an amulet of Julianos.
Weapons: A simple steel mace is Aleksander's favored weapon, along with a wooden walking staff that he carries between towns. He also wields an Imperial Sword, but rarely uses it.History: Aleksander was the fifth child of a Colovian nobleman, which automatically meant he had nearly no inheritance. He spent most of his youth living in his siblings' shadows, and relegated most of his time to reading in his family's rather large library, becoming a know-it-all of sorts. He even found a few dusty tomes on restoration magic, and he became interested in the school.
When he came of age, he left the boring life of his family's estate behind for the Imperial City, where he learned more and more about the world from massive libraries. However, simply reading about the world was not enough for him. Aleksander traveled north to Skyrim, and became a Vigilant of Stendarr after hearing promises of adventure and learning. He was taught the way of the cleric in the Hall of the Vigilant, and traveled much of Skyrim as a member of the Order, slaying witches and vampires, and clearing graveyards brought back to life by necromancers.His skill was not in doubt, but his confidence was. While he was offered higher positions in the order, he never accepted them, fearful of letting down his friends and companions. Besides, he was content enough to spend his days adventuring, and his nights reading about the many secrets of the world that he had yet to uncover. Another excuse he would tell himself, was his faith. While he dutifully served the Eight in prayer, he considered Julianos to be more of a model to him than Stendarr, and to move upwards in the Order just wouldn't be doing the proper Divine fair justice. And so, Aleksander adventured his days away.
Until of course, the burning of the Hall. He was far from the Hall when it happened, but was still heartbroken. So many of his friends, his new family, dead. He had no leads to go on, and no way to avenge them. So, he ran. He fled the scene, and never returned to Dawnstar or The Pale. Aleksander, after coming to terms with such a loss of life, decided to take the role of the wandering cleric, continuing his order's work, even if it meant doing so by himself. He traveled Skyrim, High Rock, and Cyrodiil, slaying more undead in each land, and gaining more knowledge as well. However, the image of the Hall, burned and desecrated, still haunted him along his paths, waking him in the dead of night with terror.
Alexei_K:
Borrs Reachhammer, Nordic Warrior
Spoiler
Name: Borrs Reachhammer
Race: Nord
Age: 35
Birthdate: 9th of Suns Dusk, 4e 168
Birthsign: The Steed
Class: Warrior
Skills: Blade, Block, Light Armor, Archery, Sneak
General Appearance: Borrs is a reasonably well built man, with the athletic build common of warriors in Skyrim. He’s not as big as some of the Nords you might meet. He’s a little on the lean side and his features are svcked in from years of unhealthy diet habits. He’s got scruffy brown hair and stubble that’s moving it’s way toward a beard. There is a very, very nasty scar running down the right side of his cheek and neck from a sabrecat fight.
Clothing/Armor: He favors darker clothing, chain mail and leather. Very rarely goes anywhere without his sword on his hip.
Personality: Borrs is a grim man who’s been in the mercenary game for longer than he’d like to be. He’s out for himself in the end, and he’d cut and run if he had the option. His loyalty can be bought. A man’s got to eat, but he makes it clear up front that he’s not in it to make friends. He’s in it for the money. Yet, he’s a bit more rounded than someone might expect. When he was a younger man he was a bit of an idealist. He defended Solitude as best he could during his time as a guardsman for the city and honestly believed in the legion and its efforts. Now though, he’s just trying to survive.
Skills description: Very briefly, he served in the Imperial Legion. He was a scout, searching for military targets and being the first shot in the dark if they really needed him to. He’s good with a sword. VERY good with his bow, and an expert at disappearing when he needs to.
Weapons: Steel sword, Hunting Bow
History: Borrs was born out in the countryside of Haafingar, born to a family that made it’s living off the farms and the fields. His memories of those early days are hazy, but he grew up happy. His parents were caring people. His father, Nells, taught him how to use a bow and instilled a strong work ethic in the boy. His mother, Greta, told him Skyrim was home. That no matter where he went, home would always call to him. His life changed when he was thirteen. The guards caught his father killing a deer and an overzealous captain charged him with poaching. He was taken to Solitude to stand trial, and Borrs refused to let him leave without accompanying him. Well, there was no grim ending to that story. Once brought before the court it was agreed the charges held no weight and his father was pardoned. For Borrs though, the great city of Solitude inspired him. He saw what people could do together. He saw what the Empire could achieve with everyone working together. From then on, he knew he had to be part of it.
He joined the Legion at first opportunity. The training was difficult, and a few other trainees washed out. Borrs kept his head down and pushed through. The day he took the Oath was a proud one. He was as much of a true believer as anyone…at first. It was the Civil War that changed everything. Being surrounded by that much death affects a man. For someone who had joined the Legion because he was inspired by the spirit of unity in the Empire, seeing Brother kill Brother was more than he could take. After a particularly hard fought battle at some nameless little fort in The Rift, Borrs had enough. He simply walked off into the forest.
In the last year, he’s become a sword for hire. He’s done as much as he could do to stay away from the Legion, growing out his hair and facial hair in the hopes he could stay hidden. He’s a relatively unremarkable looking man, so that aides him. Unfortunately, his travels have taken him back to Solitude. Against his better judgment he headed back to hook up with some noble he didn’t know for a few weeks of bodyguard work while they headed south. When the Siege started, he was trapped. So now , in the worst possible place he could be, the deserted tries to keep his head down and survive this latest obstacle.
Race: Nord
Age: 35
Birthdate: 9th of Suns Dusk, 4e 168
Birthsign: The Steed
Class: Warrior
Skills: Blade, Block, Light Armor, Archery, Sneak
General Appearance: Borrs is a reasonably well built man, with the athletic build common of warriors in Skyrim. He’s not as big as some of the Nords you might meet. He’s a little on the lean side and his features are svcked in from years of unhealthy diet habits. He’s got scruffy brown hair and stubble that’s moving it’s way toward a beard. There is a very, very nasty scar running down the right side of his cheek and neck from a sabrecat fight.
Clothing/Armor: He favors darker clothing, chain mail and leather. Very rarely goes anywhere without his sword on his hip.
Personality: Borrs is a grim man who’s been in the mercenary game for longer than he’d like to be. He’s out for himself in the end, and he’d cut and run if he had the option. His loyalty can be bought. A man’s got to eat, but he makes it clear up front that he’s not in it to make friends. He’s in it for the money. Yet, he’s a bit more rounded than someone might expect. When he was a younger man he was a bit of an idealist. He defended Solitude as best he could during his time as a guardsman for the city and honestly believed in the legion and its efforts. Now though, he’s just trying to survive.
Skills description: Very briefly, he served in the Imperial Legion. He was a scout, searching for military targets and being the first shot in the dark if they really needed him to. He’s good with a sword. VERY good with his bow, and an expert at disappearing when he needs to.
Weapons: Steel sword, Hunting Bow
History: Borrs was born out in the countryside of Haafingar, born to a family that made it’s living off the farms and the fields. His memories of those early days are hazy, but he grew up happy. His parents were caring people. His father, Nells, taught him how to use a bow and instilled a strong work ethic in the boy. His mother, Greta, told him Skyrim was home. That no matter where he went, home would always call to him. His life changed when he was thirteen. The guards caught his father killing a deer and an overzealous captain charged him with poaching. He was taken to Solitude to stand trial, and Borrs refused to let him leave without accompanying him. Well, there was no grim ending to that story. Once brought before the court it was agreed the charges held no weight and his father was pardoned. For Borrs though, the great city of Solitude inspired him. He saw what people could do together. He saw what the Empire could achieve with everyone working together. From then on, he knew he had to be part of it.
He joined the Legion at first opportunity. The training was difficult, and a few other trainees washed out. Borrs kept his head down and pushed through. The day he took the Oath was a proud one. He was as much of a true believer as anyone…at first. It was the Civil War that changed everything. Being surrounded by that much death affects a man. For someone who had joined the Legion because he was inspired by the spirit of unity in the Empire, seeing Brother kill Brother was more than he could take. After a particularly hard fought battle at some nameless little fort in The Rift, Borrs had enough. He simply walked off into the forest.
In the last year, he’s become a sword for hire. He’s done as much as he could do to stay away from the Legion, growing out his hair and facial hair in the hopes he could stay hidden. He’s a relatively unremarkable looking man, so that aides him. Unfortunately, his travels have taken him back to Solitude. Against his better judgment he headed back to hook up with some noble he didn’t know for a few weeks of bodyguard work while they headed south. When the Siege started, he was trapped. So now , in the worst possible place he could be, the deserted tries to keep his head down and survive this latest obstacle.
